After London lied to me, I couldn’t summon the courage to go upstairs and confront him with her. I stood outside in the December blistering cold temperatures waiting for her to leave. To bide my time, I counted each yellow cab that passed in the eight-hour time frame. I counted 543 cabs that drove down London’s block. When his guest left, she and I looked eye to eye and she almost said something to me, as if we’d met before. I rushed past her and banged on the door. He was still awake.
“Who is it?”
“Jovie!”
Silence. Then he pulled open the door and smiled. He was wearing a pair of boxers and had a toothbrush in his hand.
“Don’t tell me you were in the neighborhood,” he joked, and pulled me inside. “Je-sus, Jovie! You’re frozen. Your cheeks feel like icicles.”
My eyes welled up with tears.
“Who is she?”
“Who is who?” he asked.
“Mink coat . . . cocoa-colored skin . . . need I go on? Who is she?”
“She’s nobody. She’s a memory . . . just someone from my past that won’t be interfering in our lives again.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Jovie, this isn’t necessary.”
“Did you make love to her after you’d just made love to me?” I questioned.
“Don’t do this,” he replied.
“Answer me!” I cried.
“Please calm down. I know how this looks, but it’s not like that. She just came over to help me with some ideas for my new screenplay,” he reasoned.
I was already in the room, and I spotted several condoms disposed of in his wastebasket and messy sheets. My heart sank, and then I lost it.
“What is this!” I screamed hysterically and picked up the used condoms and tossed them in his face. “How could you put this ring on my finger, and then make love to that whore!”
“I just told you nothing happened,” he said, but was unable to look me in my eyes.
“Do you think I’m a fool?” I yelled, and slapped his face with all my strength. When I went to slap him again he grabbed my hand. I yanked it away.
“Jovie, listen, it’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it!” I bellowed. “Answer me!”
“I . . . can’t . . . I don’t know what to say or how to say it.”
“You said you’d never hurt me like this,” I said, and collapsed on the floor and began to cry. London bent down next to me and cradled my head.
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” he pleaded.
“How can you let that bitch jeopardize what we have? Didn’t this ring mean anything to you?” I said as I reached up and dug my fingernails deep into the dark chocolate skin of his arms. Long welts appeared immediately.
“It was her ring first!” he shouted back, and from the look on his face he realized he’d said something he didn’t want to.
“What? Did I hear you correctly? Is she the one who hurt you back in England? Is she the love of your life?”
“She was,” he replied.
“And you think that less of me that you’d give me a secondhand ring?”
“It’s not like that.”
I took off the ring and threw it in his face. “Then how is it? How is it?” I kept screaming but he wouldn’t answer me. He just kept staring at me with pity in his eyes. A look that I despised. I spit in his face.
“You’re pathetic, not me!” I roared, and felt an uncontrollable rage come over me. I lost it and ran into his bathroom and locked the door. There I trashed everything in sight. I smashed bottles of cologne and hair products. Ripped down his shower curtains and finally smashed my wrists against his mirror. I screamed out in pain as my wrists burst open and blood came gurgling out like from a crack in the Hoover dam. Blood spurted out as I watched in horror. As I slipped into unconsciousness I wondered if I’d know who I was when I awoke. Or if I wanted to awake . . .
You were supposed to come with me . . . in the pool . . . you never followed . . . now’s your chance to make it right. . . .