Chapter 20
Straddling the Fence
Portia was so determined to leave married men alone that she changed her home and cellular telephone numbers. She repented to God and asked for His forgiveness but Portia didn’t vow to live a celibate lifestyle. She felt that she needed to take baby steps.
“I need to be weaned like a baby getting off the bottle.” Portia tried to explain her actions to Celeste and Ginger. She had called them on a three-way.
“Why can’t you keep your legs closed altogether?” Ginger asked her.
Portia loved sex. It made her feel good. “It’s difficult.”
“Difficult may take a day. Impossible may take a week but you can do this, Portia,” Celeste advised.
“Oh, sure. This coming from a woman who lies next to a man every night. What do you know about giving up sex?”
“I did it,” Ginger stated matter-of-factly.
Portia exhaled into the telephone line. “I don’t believe you ain’t breaking Joseph off, Ginger. You can’t tell me that man has been with you all this time, spends all kinds of money, and ain’t getting nothing in return. I just don’t believe it.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Well, heck, since you ain’t using your vajayjay, can you please loan it to me? I can certainly use another one.”
Celeste screamed out in laughter. “Girl, your behind is crazy.”
Ginger didn’t find Portia to be comical at all. The fact that Portia didn’t believe that she was celibate angered Ginger. She had come full circle since she rid Ronald from her life. Ginger was proud that she was able to turn her life around and live a celibate lifestyle. The benefit was God placing Joseph, her true soul mate, in her life. “That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t have to whore around to get nice things.”
“Okay. Hold on now, Ginger,” Celeste interjected. Their telephone conversation was taking the wrong turn. She and Ginger were supposed to encourage Portia to do the right thing, not call her names and point fingers. Celeste didn’t want the three of them screaming at each other and saying things that would separate them. Celeste remembered not too long ago when words had almost caused them to lose each other for good.
“Is that what you think I do, Ginger? Whore around?” Portia asked.
“You have sex with men and they pay you for it. I don’t know any other name for it. Do you, Celeste?”
“Oh, my God. Are we really gonna do this again?” Celeste wanted to just hang up the telephone and let Ginger and Portia have at it.
“She needs to understand,” Ginger started, “that having sex, whether the man is married or not, is still a sin. And receiving money for it is downright degrading and whorish.”
There goes that nasty word again, Celeste thought. “Okay, y’all know what, I’m hanging up. I’m not going to do this again with you two. I’m in a happy place and I’m choosing to stay there. You two can continue this conversation without me.” Celeste disconnected the line and so did Ginger and Portia.
* * *
At the car dealership, where she worked, Portia presented a bill of sale to a gentleman who was interested in purchasing a car. When she gave it to the man, he grabbed her wrist instead of the paper. He looked at Portia and smiled. “Thank you, beautiful.”
The man was handsome; Portia couldn’t deny the fact that he was extremely good-looking. She smiled back at him. “You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. . . .” Portia looked at the bill of sale for the man’s name. When she saw it, she glanced up at him. “Michael Jackson?”
He chuckled. Portia’s reaction to his name was no different from anyone else’s reaction. He answered Portia’s next question before she even asked it. The same question he had been answering his entire life. Whether Michael was applying for a job, signing a receipt, or standing in line at the DMV waiting for his name to be called. “Yes. My real name is Michael Jackson.”
“Do you sing?”
Michael chuckled again. “Uh, no. I don’t sing.”
“Can you dance?”
Having the same name as the King of Pop, Michael was constantly asked if he was in the entertainment business.
“I’m afraid not. I don’t sing or dance. I build highways.”
Portia was intrigued. In her mind she heard a cash register ring. Construction workers earned a great living. The Michael Jackson who stood before her didn’t have the cash flow of the famous silver-gloved one but Portia knew that mixing, pouring, and laying concrete came with great pay and even greater benefits.
She extended her hand toward him. “My name is Portia.”
Michael shook Portia’s hand. “As in Porsche?”
“Something like that.” She smiled.
Out of habit, Portia looked at his left hand for a wedding band but didn’t see one. “I don’t see a wedding ring. Are you married, Michael?”
“I’ve been divorced for six years.”
“Any children?”
He nodded his head. “I have an eight-year-old and a four-year-old.”
Portia was curious about the second child. “Four-year-old? You said you’ve been divorced for six years.”
“After my divorce, I met someone whom I thought I would be with forever but fate didn’t see it that way. However, I got a beautiful daughter out of the deal.”
Portia’s eyebrows rose. “You have two kids with two different women?”
“Apparently.” Michael answered.
Portia’s wheels were turning. “So, you have the letters CHISUP on your check stub, right?”
Michael didn’t understand. He frowned at Portia. “What’s CHISUP?”
“Child support.”
Michael laughed. Portia wasn’t letting up. He was uncomfortable. “Yes, I take care of both of my children.”
“What about your ex-wife? Are you paying alimony, too?” Portia knew the deal. With child support and alimony payments, there may not be any funds left over from Michael’s paycheck for her to enjoy any of it.
Michael smiled because he knew where Portia was headed with her interrogation and the chances of her dating him were slim to none. “At the risk of you never wanting to see me again, Portia, I’m going to be honest. Yes, I pay alimony as well.”
Portia shook Michael’s hand again and walked back to her desk. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Jackson,” she said over her shoulder. She got to her desk and sat down.
“Seriously, Lord? You got jokes today? I gave up married men but is that really the best you can do for me? I mean, can a sista at least get her hair and nails done?”