Somebody Else's Man Read online

  I went to Walgreens and bought cocoa butter for my scratches. My phone began ringing again, and I looked down to see that it was Reshaun. I knew I owed her an apology for embarrassing her in front of her new husband and acting crazy in the restaurant.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “Are you crazy, Nicole? What is wrong with you? I can’t believe you were acting like that. You pulled out big clumps of Tia’s hair. I really can’t believe this.”

  “Reshaun, she shouldn’t be suing my mom. When I see Tia again, I’m going to kill her. That bitch crossed the line.”

  Reshaun interrupted me and said, “Hold on, somebody’s on the other line. Don’t hang up.”

  “No, I’m hanging up.” I knew it was Tia on the other line. As soon as she answered her other line, I disconnected the call. Seconds later, Reshaun called back again.

  “I can’t believe y’all tripping like this,” she said.

  “Reshaun, I’m not tripping. My stepdad might have cancer. So my mom don’t need nothing else on her plate. I’ve been trying to call Tia for two weeks to try to get her to come to her senses. You know that bitch ain’t even answer the phone. But at dinner she wants to keep talking to me like everything is okay. No, that’s not going to happen.” I was getting worked up and had to take a deep breath. “Did you hear what she said about me? She called me a bastard child and said all that stuff about I need to get another woman’s man’s dick out of my mouth. That shit hurt. That hurt me more than any punches she could throw, because now I know how she really feels about me. She can’t take the words back, Reshaun. Not ever.”

  “She didn’t mean it. Y’all both were just mad. She doesn’t feel that way about you.”

  “Whatever, I got to go.”

  “Nikki, she is tripping and y’all both upset. She got fired from her job and you still upset about your dad.”

  “She got fired over that nigga. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. He got her fired from her job, she knocked up, and she still don’t see what’s happening with her life. Lamar is destroying her. Like I said, Tia is a dumb-ass bitch.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I was in my office goofing around. I was supposed to be making rounds at the hotel, making sure everybody was doing their job. Instead, I was too busy planning my weekend with Malcolm. His wife was going out of town and I would have the whole entire weekend with him, and I couldn’t wait. He was saying how much he missed me and I definitely needed my fix from him. I was more than overdue. Plus, I knew he could take my mind off all this Tia stuff. I was going to get with him and forget about everything. I couldn’t wait to be in his arms. Because if I didn’t get with him, I might go find Tia and finish beating her ass. Every time I looked in the mirror I got madder at that bitch.

  Ryan walked in my office. “What’s up?” I asked.

  “We need to have a meeting today. Heads up—start looking for a job.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, stunned.

  “The home office is selling this property to Clearview Parker Hotels.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “When they take over a property, the new team comes in and changes everything. They clean house, fire all of management, and totally rebuild.”

  “You are joking, right?” I said, standing up.

  “No, I wish I was. Clearview is real strict, with extremely high standards, and the hotel and staff get inspected all the time. There will be a lot of surprise inspections. Just a whole lot of bullshit. The new company is just too detail-oriented.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Very! I need everyone in the break room at five today.”

  As much as I hated this job, I needed it. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do without any income. I would never be able to fix up my house or move out of my mom’s house. I frantically began to type up a letter about the mandatory meeting that was going to happen. As I handed out the letter, everyone was asking questions. I didn’t really have a clue, either. It is not that I don’t like to work. Well, I really don’t like working, who does? It is just I had got so accustomed to doing nothing and calling it work, that I couldn’t imagine my cushy lifestyle changing. Doing nothing and getting paid was officially about to come to an end.

  At five, all the staff members met in our break room. The front desk staff, the housekeeping and laundry departments, were all in attendance. Ryan stood up with his dramatic self and said, “Everyone, I have some news to announce. This hotel is getting bought by another chain. There are going to be a lot of changes.” There were a bunch of sighs and murmurs. Unhappy employees complained that it wasn’t fair and conversed with each other, ignoring the fact that Ryan wasn’t finished speaking yet. Ryan cleared his throat and got everyone’s attention again.

  “Everyone here is an at-will employee. When you started working for the company, you signed a page from the employee handbook, agreeing to the company rules,” he said as he held up a copy of the light blue booklet.

  “So are we all getting fired?” Ms. Annette asked. Ryan looked at her and answered, “For the time being, everyone will keep their job, but I cannot guarantee what the next management team is going to do.”

  “I can see people like Smokebreak losing their job, ’cause all he do is smoke outside, but the rest of us shouldn’t be fired. We work too hard.”

  Ryan couldn’t get another word in before everyone began to complain. He tried unsuccessfully to answer all the questions.

  As soon as the meeting was over, I went online to look for jobs. I couldn’t afford to get fired. I applied for positions everywhere, from hospitals to day-care centers. I would be a security guard if I had to. I just had to keep money coming in.

  CHAPTER 8

  I got a few callbacks from jobs I applied for, but most of them were not paying enough. I thought I would work anywhere, but that’s a negative. Only one job seemed promising. It was for a daytime manager at this small hotel in Plymouth Meeting. It was about thirty minutes outside of Philadelphia. That was a little farther than I would like, but it was a small property and I would get to chill on the job again. Nothing ever happens at small properties in that area.

  I had an interview and gave myself an hour to get there. I left my house at nine so I could fill up my gas tank and give myself a little delay time. I knew with traffic, it might take me about forty-five minutes. I pulled into the station, and ran in to pay for my gas. I was surprised by the long line. Some people were standing at the register waiting to pay for coffee, and others were playing the lottery. There was this lady in front of me with a long list of lottery numbers she was going to play. Come on, lady, I got to go, I thought as she yelled, “And box my triple threes for a dollar.” “The computer was spitting out her lottery tickets and she played like twenty more numbers that seemed to randomly pop in her mind. The woman finally left and the cashier asked me which pump I was using. The lady playing the lottery had taken so long, I had forgotten the number of my pump, so I squinted through the window so I could see the number, I gave her the number, handed her the money, and ran out to pump the gas. I opened up my gas tank and pressed the Start button on the pump and nothing happened. I hung the nozzle up and tried again. Nothing. The gas pump wasn’t working, Damn, I don’t have time for this. Furious, I stomped back into the convenience store and told the attendant that the pump wasn’t working.

  “What number you on?” she asked as she looked down at her computer screen.

  “Six.”

  “Six is working. Pull the lever up.” I stood there for a second, giving her a look like, you dumb bitch, don’t you think I did that?

  “I did that. It is still not working,” I said, trying to stay calm as I cussed her out under my breath again. I went back out to the pump and tried to make it work. I clicked the pump, lifted the lever a few more times, and it set to zero, but still no gas.

  “Do you need help pumping your gas?” a male voice asked.

  “No,” I said without botheri
ng to look up. I was becoming more frustrated by the minute. I looked down at my watch. It was now nine-twenty, and I was still wasting time. I looked at the window of the store to see if the dumb cashier could see that the pump was still not working. She was waiting on another customer and wasn’t paying me the least bit of attention. Damn, damn, damn! It just wasn’t my day.

  Finally, I looked over at the man who had offered to help me. He was wearing a brown vest, jeans, a vanilla long-john top and brown work boots. He said, “You sure you know what you doing?” He was nice-looking but he was being smart, so I ignored him. He took me not responding as an invitation to come and assist me. He walked over to me, took the nozzle out of my tank, put it back on the lever for a few seconds, and then lifted the handle like I just did, but this time it worked. The gas started flowing. I was happy it was finally working, but mad that I was appearing to be a moron.

  “You’re welcome. Anytime,” he said sarcastically as he walked back over to his black Toyota Tundra four-door pickup truck. I didn’t want to say thank you, and I didn’t, because I was a little embarrassed. The pump stopped at thirty dollars and I put my gas cap on and got back in my car. Before I pulled off, the man tapped my window, handed me his card, and said something corny, like if I needed help with pumping my gas again, I should call him. I tossed his card in my bag. I wasn’t thinking about a man right now. All I was trying to do was get to my interview on time.

  I flew up Interstate 76—luckily there wasn’t that much traffic. It was twenty minutes before ten and I was making good time. According to my directions, I was only five minutes away. That would give me enough time to walk into the interview early and make a good first impression. I got off the exit, made a right after .8 miles and then made a left after .5 miles, but I did not see the office building I was looking for. I went into the business plaza and searched up and down, looking for the building.

  I was lost for the next fifteen minutes. I kept circling tall buildings that all looked the same. For the life of me, I couldn’t find building 745. I started to get scared when the clock read ten o’clock. I was late. They would never hire me, after being late. Oh, my God, I was frustrated. I pulled over and asked for directions and got even more lost. I wanted to turn around and go home, but I needed this job. I kept looking for the damn building and finally I found it. I parked in a handicap parking space and ran inside the office building.

  “Hi, I’m here for an interview with Claudia Mitchell-Smith.” The receptionist looked at the round white clock on the wall and said, “What time was your interview?”

  “It was for ten.” I glanced at the clock, too. It was ten twenty-five.

  “You can have a seat, but she has another appointment. I’ll see if she can still see you. For now, you can start filling out this application.” I pulled out a pen and she handed me the application and clipboard.

  The woman who was going to interview me came out and greeted me. She was wearing a fitted, tailored taupe suit. From her handshake, she seemed really nice. As soon as we entered her oversized corner office I acknowledged that I was late. I figured I should get the elephant out of the room and then start emphasizing my positives.

  “This is a hard place to find. I am so sorry I was late.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It was hard for me to find it the first week I worked here.” She sat down behind her desk and began asking me about my background and my current job responsibilities. I answered all her questions. Then she went on to ask me what I thought were my best and my worst traits. I told her my best quality was that I worked hard and I was a team player. Then she asked me what was my worst trait, and I lied again and said sometimes I didn’t know how to stop working at the end of the day. She nodded her head with approval.

  “So what is your ideal work environment?” she asked. I looked her directly in her eyes and repeated her question back to her and then said my ideal work environment was somewhere I could grow on a professional and personal level. She smiled a little and then said, “That’s great to hear, because we believe in promoting from within. As a matter of fact, let’s take a tour. I want you to see some of our renovations.”

  She told her secretary she would be back and she took me down the road to the actual hotel. She introduced me to the manager and then we toured the property. They had a new fitness center, a nice restaurant, and everything was sparkling clean and so organized. Throughout the entire interview, Ms. Smith said everything I wanted to hear. They had a great benefits program that included tuition reimbursement after ninety days of employment. She also said seventy percent of their management was hired from within their company and they had hotels all around the world and there was always room for growth in their organization.

  After the tour we went back to her office. I knew I had the job. She said I was the last to interview for the position and she mentioned that she was really impressed and that I should be hearing back from her by the end of the week.

  I walked out of that interview feeling so good. I was ready to call Choice Springs and tell them I quit. Claudia said if she hired me, she’d want me to start in the position in two weeks. I needed that little break in between so I could be all energized and ready to go. But I was not going to quit, because I wanted to keep my paychecks consistent so I could keep paying my mom for the damages to her car. I decided to just wait for Claudia to call me on Monday. After I heard the words, You’re hired, Choice Springs could go to hell. Maybe instead of taking two weeks off, I’d take only one.

  When I arrived at work, I went into my office and, of course, I really wasn’t doing anything now that I was sure I was leaving. Ryan hadn’t been doing too much, either. Since getting the bad news, everybody was in laid-back mode. I logged online and checked my messages. There was a sale at Bebe’s and Reshaun had forwarded me some junk about ghetto prom pictures. But the e-mail that captured my attention was the one where the subject read, YOU AND MY HUSBAND.

  I looked at the name of the sender. It had the initial T and the last name Walker. I opened it immediately. It had to be a mistake. During all the years of me dealing with Malcolm, his wife had never contacted me. I was shocked. My mouth was wide open as I read:

  We have never met, but I know about you and I KNOW YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT ME! I am Malcolm’s wife of five years. I’ve known you have existed for at least the last year. So I know you are aware of our marital problems. REAL WOMAN to WOMAN, I would like to ask you to leave my husband alone. I am writing this letter as an alternative to confronting you. Let’s just say you don’t want that. Because I am aware of all the hotel stays and I know which one you work for at the airport. I would hate to come to your job and cause a scene. So that’s why I am writing you a letter instead. I am fighting for my marriage and I would hope that as a woman, you can respect that and won’t try to be the “clean up woman” waiting on the sideline.

  At the bottom of the letter she put P.S. Again, I would hate to come to your job and ask you this in person.

  After reading the letter I was pissed the hell off. How did she get my job e-mail address? How did she know where I worked and did she call herself threatening me? I was so mad. I never contacted her in three years, and how dare she deem it necessary to reach out to me? I been had her number and address, but I never used it. I wanted to but I didn’t. I always imagined how she looked every time I hung up on her when I was looking for Malcolm. From the sound of her voice she seemed perfect. Her “hello” was like she had her life together. But obviously her life was falling apart—anytime you got to reach out to the mistress, you have definitely lost control. She must have felt them papers were about to be mailed to her. I reread the letter again and started laughing. I looked at the time she sent it—it was at five twenty-nine in the morning. Wow, I thought. It showed her weakness—she couldn’t sleep because she was thinking about me. She was practically begging me, the other woman, to leave her man alone. How pathetic.

  Even though I had just come into the office, I went to lunch anyw
ay. I got in my car and dialed the number she left at the end of her e-mail. Yes, I was dealing with her husband and I loved him. And I was about to cuss her ass out for having the audacity to threaten me by e-mail. She felt like she knew so much about me, I felt compelled to call her and tell her everything I knew about her.

  “Is this Theresa?” I asked arrogantly.

  “Yes, this is. Who’s speaking?”

  “You sent me an e-mail this morning at five twenty-nine.” I think she was surprised I called her back. I had to let her know my position and that I was not scared of her.

  “I did and I meant what I said.”

  “I don’t care what you meant, but let me tell you something. Don’t you ever in your life e-mail me again. If you want to stop your husband from cheating, e-mail him or tell him to his face ’cause I’m never going to leave him alone.”

  “Oh, really!”

  “Yes, really, and don’t try to blame me as the reason why your marriage is having problems. You were having problems before I met him. He’s leaving you because you’re boring in bed, because you nag him, and because you never have time for him. You put your trips to Toledo to visit your family, school, baby, and your job before Malcolm. You never have enough time for your man.”

  She was silent and I was trying to think of anything else I wanted to get off my chest before I hung up on her.

  “Oh, and another thing, come to my job and I’ll get you arrested so fast for trespassing, harassment, and anything else I can think of.”

  “You’re nothing but a home-wrecking slut,” she said. I laughed. Was that the best she could come up with?

  “I’m a home-wrecking slut? You need to learn how to be a slut and then maybe your husband wouldn’t be all in my face all the time, telling me how good I make him feel, begging me for more.” I was being spiteful. But so what, she deserved it. She shouldn’t have come at me the way she did.