With This Ring Page 2

  “You can get it, ma. And you don’t have to return the shoes.”

  “Thank you. Thank you. You’re so sweet, Alphonso.” She had to restrain herself from covering Alphonso’s face with kisses and dancing joyfully around the store.

  Laden with shopping bags, Alphonso and Vangie breezed out of the store and headed for the underground parking garage. Alphonso hit the remote and the headlights of a red Jaguar came on. Cars were his business and he always drove a different luxury car whenever he came to town. She was so excited about her new handbag, she had momentarily forgotten what car they’d arrived in.

  “That F-Type Jag is smoking hot,” Alphonso said, eyeing the car like he was looking at a beautiful woman.

  “Yeah, it’s really sexy,” she agreed, but was actually picturing the unboxing of her sexy, new handbag.

  Inside the hotel bathroom, Vangie called her mother. “Can you keep Yuri overnight?” she whispered into the phone.

  Barbara Boyd made a disgruntled sound. “I’m not your built-in babysitter. I have a life, too, you know. I’ve had your son all day and I could use a break.”

  “I know, I’m sorry, but something came up.”

  “I don’t care. Mr. Harold and I like to walk around our home naked when we want to…”

  Vangie wrinkled her nose at the thought of her mother and old Mr. Harold walking around naked.

  “I have a hot love life of my own, and you can’t call me at the spur of the moment and ask me to keep your child overnight. Every time that boyfriend of yours comes to town, you start your mess,” Barbara continued.

  “What mess?”

  “Being unpredictable and unreliable. You should have warned me that I might get stuck with your little crumb snatcher past his bedtime.”

  “Please, Mom. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You’d better! And in the future, you’re going to have to check and see if I have any plans before you dump Yuri on me for an overnight visit.” Barbara made more utterances of discontent, and then asked, “Do you plan on taking your son to school in the morning or do you expect me to do that, too?”

  “I’ll drive him to school. I’ll be there at seven-thirty sharp.”

  “Yeah, all right.” From her skeptical tone, Barbara didn’t sound convinced. “Oh, yeah. You’re gonna have to stop by the store in the morning and pick up something for his lunch. That boy has eaten me out of house and home with his greedy-behind self.” Barbara gave a little chuckle, and Vangie realized she had finished with her tirade. She wondered why her mother bothered to fuss so much when she knew good and well she enjoyed spending time with her grandson. She simply loved to complain and give Vangie a hard time about babysitting.

  “Guess what that son of yours did?” Barbara said with a chuckle. “I’m telling you, Yuri’s too smart for his own good—smart as a whip. He showed me and Mr. Harold how to hack into your Netflix account—”

  “He didn’t hack into my account, Mom. He just put in the password,” Vangie corrected.

  “Whatever. Mr. Harold is in seventh heaven, watching one movie after another. And Yuri showed us how to stream it from the computer and into the TV.”

  “That’s not rocket science, you know.”

  “Oh, hush up. It’s rocket science to Mr. Harold and me! We don’t need to pay for all those high-behind premium channels now that we have access to your Netflix.”

  “Glad you’re enjoying it. Look, I have to go, Mom. Give Yuri a kiss for me.” After ending the call with her mother, Vangie rubbed lotion over her body and then doused herself with perfume. She reached for the flimsy lingerie that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and sighed as she slipped on a full-length black negligee. Why do I bother? Alphonso only wanted to feel her naked skin next to his; he didn’t care about soft music, lingerie, or anything remotely romantic.

  Biting down on her bottom lip, she opened the bathroom door and stepped inside the bedroom of his hotel suite. Naked on top of the covers, Alphonso was watching TV. He glanced at Vangie. “You might as well take that shit off,” he said in a guttural voice as he leered at her.

  She undid the tie in the front of the gown, allowing it to slide off her shoulders. It was time to pay for the $4,000 shopping trip she’d enjoyed earlier that day.

  Alphonso sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He gripped his dick and stroked it. “Get it harder, ma,” he instructed, demonstrating none of the finesse he displayed outside the bedroom. He was an unimaginative and selfish lover, and Vangie couldn’t stand having sex with him. She put up with his crude ways, hoping in time their sex life would improve.

  Knowing what Alphonso expected of her, she lowered herself down to her knees and took him inside her mouth. Thrusting and grunting, he cupped her face as he rammed his dick in and out, unconcerned that he was causing her to gag.

  Thank goodness, the assault on her windpipe didn’t last very long. After half a dozen strokes, he pulled out and roughly yanked her from her knees. On the bed, he positioned her on all fours and then urgently pushed his dick inside her pussy. Clenching her hips, he slammed into her, hard and fast. Like he was trying to do internal damage. There was no warmth between them during sex. Alphonso fucked like he was at war—and Vangie’s pussy was the enemy that he was trying to destroy. Fucking Alphonso was a nightmare, but she steeled herself and bore the assault.

  When the time was right, she’d coax him into taking his time and making love to her. Right now, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings by complaining about his lack of gentleness and his speedy ejaculation.

  As usual, after approximately five or six hard thrusts, in quick succession, it was over. Sweating and groaning like an animal, Alphonso collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes. Five minutes later, he was snoring.

  Vangie went in the bathroom to take another shower. Sex with Alphonso made her feel dirty. Hopefully, he’d sleep through the night and not wake up wanting to attack her again. Washed clean, she returned to bed. There was no point in snuggling next to Alphonso, who lay on his designated side of the king-size bed. Vangie and Alphonso never spooned or cuddled. He never slept with an arm draped around her. He was indifferent toward her, like she was a hooker he’d hired for the night.

  A few months ago, she had finally mustered the nerve to ask him about his views on marriage, and he didn’t bite his tongue. “Marriage is for suckers,” Alphonso had said with derisive laughter. “I’m a bachelor for life.”

  “Oh,” she said, crestfallen.

  “Do you think you’ll ever get married?” he asked, as if she was nothing more to him than a casual acquaintance.

  “Yes, I’d like to, someday.”

  He gave her a pitying smile.

  “I want to ask you something?”

  He raised his brows.

  “How would you describe our relationship?”

  He thought about it for a few moments. “We’re special friends.”

  “Oh.”

  She should have walked away from the relationship right then and there, but she hadn’t. She stubbornly believed that with patience and understanding, she could alter his views on marriage.

  It was frustrating being his “special friend,” but after dealing with his bad sex for six long months, she believed she’d put in too much time to walk away now. He owed her, and one way or another, she was going to get Alphonso to put a ring on it, goddammit!

  Remembering that happiness awaited her in another room, Vangie climbed out of bed and went into the living room area of the suite. She rushed toward the Louis Vuitton box and experienced something similar to an orgasm when she lifted the lid.

  HARLOW

  Harlow’s mouth tightened in frustration as she watched Drake organizing suits and shirts in his garment bag. “I wish you could postpone your trip.”

  Drake gave her a look of surprise. “You’ve known for months that we were launching an office in London. It’s a big deal; I can’t cancel.”

  “I know, but I think I may
be ovulating in a few days. Can’t Alphonso handle it without you?” Harlow felt stupid not knowing exactly when she was ovulating, but with irregular menstrual cycles it was hard to determine.

  Drake stopped packing and gave Harlow his full attention. “It’s important that I be there, too. Sweetheart, you’re stressing over nothing,” he said, sitting down. “Stop putting pressure on yourself. If you simply relax and let it happen, before you know it, you’re going to be pregnant with a big, healthy baby boy.”

  “But we’ve been trying a long time, and I’m getting desperate.” She felt the hot sting of tears but swiped at her eyes before they could spill. Lately, she’d been so emotional.

  Drake touched her chin, and gently stroked her cheek. “Everything is going to be fine. We’re both healthy and you’ll get pregnant when you stop worrying so much.” He brushed her forehead with his lips, and then kissed her on the mouth. “We’re going to be fine,” he said with certainty as he resumed packing. He paused and then nodded, as if struck suddenly by a bright idea.

  “Why don’t you call Vangie and invite her to spend the weekend with you?”

  “Good idea. Vangie loves shopping in New York,” Harlow said, injecting false enthusiasm in her voice, and giving her husband the impression that the problem had been resolved. But it hadn’t. Being unable to give Drake a child made her feel unfeminine, unattractive, and unworthy. She didn’t want to miss this opportunity to try and make a baby. How she longed to accompany him to London. Before they’d become husband and wife, she used to travel with him everywhere. But marriage had changed that.

  Harlow’s knees shook with anxiety as Drake zipped his garment bag, closed the lid of his Pullman, and then shuffled through papers in his briefcase. Sensing her gaze, he looked up and gave her a considering look. “We’re good, right?”

  No, we’re not. There was another issue she wanted to discuss, but she didn’t know how to bring up the subject without sounding like a nagging wife. Harlow gripped his arm reassuringly and produced a convincing smile. “We’re good.”

  After a cursory glance at his watch, he gathered his briefcase and luggage. “My car is here.”

  Harlow walked with Drake from the bedroom to the front door. “Have a safe flight, and call me as soon as you touch down.”

  “I always do.” He gave her a quick kiss and was out the door.

  Alone in their enormous apartment, Harlow slumped into an elegant chair and gazed out the window, which presented a stunning panoramic view of Central Park and New York’s glimmering skyline. She stared at the blue sky and fluffy clouds and waited for the sense of serenity that she usually derived from the magnificent view. But all she felt was a deep sense of sorrow and impending doom.

  There was another side of Drake that he was keeping secret. Though it pained Harlow to think about Drake’s propensity toward violence, she couldn’t deny that he had a dark side. She’d witnessed it firsthand. The night of their wedding, while walking together to their limo, a lunatic woman from Harlow’s past, named Ronica, had been waiting in the shadows and suddenly lunged at Harlow, wielding a knife. From inside his suit jacket, Drake drew a gun, shooting and killing Ronica without hesitation.

  Ever since he’d defended her from the blade of Ronica’s knife, Harlow had been waiting for Drake to fully explain why he’d been carrying a concealed weapon at their wedding! What kind of man would attend his own wedding, armed?

  During the first few months, she’d broached the subject numerous times, but Drake always gave her vague and cryptic responses: I’m a wealthy man, and I have to either walk around surrounded by bodyguards or stay strapped.

  She’d eventually given up on getting the truth out of Drake. Her suspicions that her husband was involved in something illegal and dangerous hadn’t stopped her from loving him and hadn’t quelled her yearning to bear his child.

  She wanted a baby so desperately that her sex life with Drake had downgraded from passionate and steamy to mechanical. And Drake couldn’t be blamed for that. For Harlow, sex was no longer an act of love and intimacy; it was the necessary method to procreate. Hopefully, she’d regain a healthy sex drive after she conceived.

  God, she wanted a child so badly, it hurt. And the pain was practically physical. An emptiness in the pit of her stomach, as if she’d gone days without food. There was this feeling—this inner knowing. And she didn’t need an obstetrician to tell her that she couldn’t conceive. The illegal abortion she’d undergone at eleven years old had ruined her insides and left her barren. She knew it in her heart.

  Would Drake still love her if he knew that she couldn’t give him a child? Drake would never admit it; he’d be noble enough to suggest adoption. But she wouldn’t be able to bear the idea of depriving him of his own natural daughter or son.

  Then again, suppose Drake didn’t take the high road? Suppose he cringed at the idea of adoption and asked her for a divorce? Oh, God! Fear as strong as a tsunami swept over her and she fell back against the chair. Worked up into a state of panic, she sprang from the chair and grabbed the phone. I have to talk to someone, she thought as she speed-dialed her therapist and requested an emergency appointment.

  Two hours later, Harlow sat in her therapist’s office and verbalized her fears. Though Dr. Wagner knew the details of Harlow’s tragic childhood, until today, Harlow hadn’t verbalized her suspicion that the abortion had damaged her and left her unable to conceive.

  “It is possible that the abortion caused some uterine damage, but you won’t know unless you take the appropriate tests,” Dr. Wagner said with a patient smile.

  “I’m too afraid to find out.”

  “Will worrying resolve the issue?”

  “No.”

  “Then make an appointment with your OB/GYN.”

  “I can’t talk about what happened to me with my gynecologist. It’s too sordid. Too personal,” Harlow said with a frown.

  “You don’t have to give details. Simply express your concerns. Your doctor will recommend the appropriate tests.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve made so much progress, Harlow. I believe you’ll be doing yourself a disservice if you allow shame and fear to prevent you from finding out the truth. Let’s say that scar tissue has formed on the uterus and it’s impeding your ability to establish pregnancy, your doctor can order tests that check the uterus and fallopian tubes for things like tubal blockage and uterine scarring.”

  Harlow grimaced and rubbed her forehead.

  “The good news is that if there is scar tissue, it can be removed by a simple outpatient procedure. Again, you can’t resolve this issue if you don’t take any action.”

  Dr. Wagner was absolutely right. Because of her doubts and fears, she was mired in anguish, and though Drake didn’t complain, they both were painfully aware that their marriage was suffering. The weight that was lifted from her shoulders was palpable, and Harlow gave an audible sigh of relief. “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Wagner,” she said, rising to her feet. “I feel a lot better, and I’m going to make an appointment with my gynecologist, ASAP.”

  At home, instead of making an appointment with her gynecologist, she called Vangie. Despite what she’d told Dr. Wagner, she wasn’t ready to be told that she couldn’t have children.

  “Hey, girl. What’s going on?” she asked Vangie.

  “Not much. Yuri will be with his dad this weekend, and as you know, Alphonso is handling business with Drake,” Vangie replied with a groan.

  “Well, jump on the train and come to New York. We could spend a half day luxuriating at the spa, and then check out a Broadway play or go out and have dinner. Drake and I recently discovered a new Caribbean restaurant in Harlem…you’ll love it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s my treat, Vangie, if you’re worried about money.”

  “It’s not always about money, Harlow. And I don’t need you to pick up the tab for me. I got a promotion, remember? I may not be rich like you, but I’m doin
g a little better.”

  “Are you okay, Vangie? You seem overly sensitive.”

  “I get tired of you treating me like a charity case.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, so let’s not argue, okay? I miss you and I figured since our men are out of the country, we should get together for some girlfriend time.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “Okay. Try to make it. I really, really miss you.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Vangie replied brusquely.

  “Vangie, what is it? You seem really perturbed. Are you upset with me for any reason?”

  “No,” Vangie said, her tone a little surly.

  “Is something going on with you and Alphonso?”

  “We’re fine. Listen, I have to go. My new job is stressful as hell. I’ll call you tomorrow. Smooches,” Vangie said and hung up.

  VANGIE

  Vangie stood at the kitchen counter, tearing open a package of frozen broccoli that would go along with the frozen lasagna that was already in the oven.

  “Mommy, can I get on the computer?” Yuri yelled from his bedroom.

  “Okay, but do your homework before you play any computer games,” she replied absently as she dumped the chunk of frozen broccoli into a pan of boiling water. She didn’t have the time or desire to cook dinner from scratch, but her method of heating up frozen meals was a great improvement over the greasy fast-food that had sustained her and Yuri for so long.

  “Come here for a minute, Mom.” Yuri’s voice was high-pitched and excited.

  Geez, a mother’s job is nonstop. Vangie sighed and wiped her hands on a dish towel. Believing that Yuri had logged on to First in Math, an online math resource that students were encouraged to use five to ten minutes a day to keep their math skills sharp, Vangie ambled to her son’s bedroom, mentally gearing herself up to provide praise for whatever it was he had accomplished.