The Last Exhale Part 8

"I don't think you should give up your day job to tell jokes or do James Brown impersonations, ma'am."

That makes her laugh. "I'm serious. I had a prior commitment."

I say, "That is what marriage is, right?"

She lets those words marinate for a moment.

The women she walked in with walk over to our table with my brother, drinks in all of their hands. Andrew introduces one of them as his former student's mother, Katrina.

Sydney says, "This is Rachel, my best friend. Also, her husband works with mine."

I catch the hint. Either this town is getting too small or the world is shrinking. I shake their hands. "Nice to meet you both."

The tallest woman of the bunch says, "I would hate to have been your mother. Wouldn't be able to tell you two apart if I stood before G.o.d and spending eternity in heaven was on the line."

I say, "You'd be able to if you changed our diapers."

Laughter blends in with the music. Everyone's humored, but curiosity lies in Sydney's eyes.

Folks on the dance floor are sweating like they just finished two marathons. The DJ senses the need for a slow down. A song about a dude referencing his manhood to a lollipop brings a friskier crowd to the hardwood. Women are grinding dudes' laps like they're trying to start forest fires.

One of the mothers at our table puts her drink down, grabs Andrew's hand and drags him to the floor. Don't know why, but her actions catch me off-guard. My brother's inverted eyebrows tells me he's caught off guard as well. I guess neither one of us were expecting the mother of his previous student to be so aggressive. He doesn't hesitate being her sandpaper, though.

"Katrina's so mannish," Rachel says to Sydney as they watch their friend grind the life out of the identical version of me.

"To be single again," Sydney confesses.

I add my two cents. "Who says you have to be single to have a good time?" Feel her eyes on me when I say that.

"n.o.body says you have to be single to have fun, but what that girl is out there doing, men might start throwing dollars her way. And with her son's teacher at that." Rachel says, shaking her head.

I interject, "Well, she's single. She can do that."

Rachel sucks her teeth. "You're right, so let me mind my married-self's business."

All the women in the club go wild when an ex-Floetry member starts chanting, "I hope she cheats on you with a basketball player," through the speakers.

"You play basketball?" That's Sydney, a little too close to my ear.

Answer I do not. Fall into that trap I will not.

Reggae is the next circuit of music on the DJ's turntables.

"Aw, what the h.e.l.l?" the let-me-mind-my-married-business woman says while pulling me toward the dance floor.

"Murder she wrote. Nah nah nah nah, murder sheeee wrote."

I swear this woman is trying to ruin any chance of me ever having another child as she murders my pelvis with hers. She gyrates like she's trying to make her single friend know that her married-self can get down too. Whatever get down is. Something tells me the two took the same dance cla.s.s.

Sydney's laughing her b.u.t.t off at the table. Must be a sight we're creating.

My eyes beg for her to stop laughing and rescue me, to resuscitate what's left of my baby-maker. She's too busy laughing. Looks like she needs resuscitation herself from laughing too hard. If I wasn't in so much pain, I'd laugh myself.

Three songs later, I'm numb. If I don't get off this dance floor right now, I'll never see my p.e.n.i.s get hard again.

On cue, rescue comes. "Mr. Carter got us another round of drinks," Sydney tells Rachel.

The woman reaches for the non-sipped on gla.s.s in her hand.

Sydney pulls her hand away. "Yours is on the table." She hands the gla.s.s to me.

I blink twice for "thank you" while grabbing the gla.s.s and heading toward the table myself.

Her hand is in mine, holds me back. "Not so fast."

I tell her, "As much as I want to dance with you, I need to ice down my groin."

She cracks up laughing, guffaws louder than the music. The situation tickles her so much I can't hold back my laughter any longer.

"d.a.m.n, so it actually hurt worse than it looked?"

"You knew what I was up against. Saw you laughing before we even got on the floor."

She slaps a hand against my shoulder. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Oh, you owe me. First, for standing me up this morning and now this. You owe me big."

"Don't tell her I told you. Some years ago, before she got married, she put it on a guy so bad he had to be rushed out in an ambulance."

My eyes almost pop out of my head. "Again. You. Owe. Me."

The crowd pushes us together. A little too close for both of our comfort zones.

She looks at me the way a woman looks at her husband on their wedding night.

All of a sudden, I feel life returning to areas I thought were long gone. Every time I try to put some distance between us, another dancer seals us back together.

"What are we doing?" she asks with too much depth in her voice.

"Right now, dancing."

She lightly tosses her hand against my shoulder. "Don't play. I'm being serious."

"I am too."

"I feel like I barely know you, but lately you're all I think about."

"Somebody's getting deep in the middle of the dance floor."

She moves away. "Forget I said that."

"I'm flattered, actually."

Again, we're pushed back together by b.u.mpers and grinders.

I say in her ear, "Look, let's go somewhere else and talk."

Her head shakes. "Can't. Came with my girls and Rachel's husband works with mine. Can't risk anything suspect getting back home."

"Yeah, you said that."

"Let's go back to the table and I'll think of something."

Back at the table, my brother says, "Mel's been texting me like crazy. You look like you're having a good time, so I texted her the address to come get me."

"Man, I could've taken you home."

"Not a problem, but," he leans in closer, "be careful with Mrs. Holmes. Her husband's a cop, and you know how they have eyes all over the place. Wouldn't want the wrong thing to get back home."

I nod.

We hug and he says his goodbyes to the ladies.

Rachel says, "Wait up, I'll walk out with you. I need to get back home to my husband."

Both Sydney and Katrina roll their eyes at each other.

"Don't hate," Rachel says, flinging her blonde hair over her shoulders. "Toodles."

It's just me, the single lady, and the lady who wants to be single. "And then there were three."

"It's about to be two," Katrina says. "I think I see somebody I want to go home with tonight."

Sydney grabs her friend. "Umm, too much Patrn for you tonight, my dear."

"I'm perfectly sober, thank you very much. I'm the single one of this bunch, remember?" she says and looks us both in the eyes.

"It's not what you think," Sydney insists.

Katrina grabs her friend, hugs her, whispers something in her ear, and dances her way to a man waiting for her on the dance floor.

I ask, "What did she say?"

Her eyes are downcast when her lips part. "I know the smell of infidelity."

All of a sudden, an unfamiliar stench tap dances across my nose.

16.

SYDNEY.

I'm in Brandon's car.

Neither of us are talking. Think we're both trying to Febreze the funk we've created in our lives.

Yes, I'm an unhappy wife, but I never imagined I'd be here, in a car, with another woman's husband. What if he has kids? Oh gosh, EJ and Kennedy. What would this do to them? I grew up without a father in the home because my dad didn't know how to keep his pants up when he wasn't around my mom. What if Eric leaves me? What if he takes the kids with him?

Brandon summons me from my thoughts. "Maybe we should bow out before things go too far."

I think about all I have to lose. "But we haven't done anything, right?"

He shakes his head. "If we keep this up, might be a different story."

I sigh.

"You have more at stake than I do," Brandon says. "Let me get you to your car."

My head hits the headrest. "How did we get here?" The question is more for me than him.

"You're easy to talk to. The moment I walked in the gym, you were all in my ear like a Chihuahua."

I don't let him see my smile. "I thought you were someone else."

He bites down on his lip. Finger taps the steering wheel. Actions of a man with serious thoughts.

My hand reaches for the door. It's not worth it, not worth it, not worth it. Is it?

"Things that bad at home?" Brandon summons me from crazy thoughts.

"What makes you say that?"

"A happily married woman wouldn't be in the car with a happily married man."

"You're giving me a ride."

"So that story's working for you, huh?"