An Accidental Affair by Eric Jerome Dickey Read Free Book Online Page A

art. A man had to be trusting to watch her topless or naked in scenes that the world wouldsee, then still feel as if her kisses and nakedness was special and, somehow, just for him.
    We ran away from the crowd, ran away laughing as cameras and cell phones flashed in our wake, took to a side street and resumed walking hand in hand, arms swinging like children.
    She said, “I wish that I could turn this fame on and off. You can go to the bathroom without people following you and yelling through the door while you sit and do your business. You don’t have people taking your picture or shoving cell phones in your face because they want you to talk to their momma or listen to their dog bark ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’”
    “Yeah. But the people love you. They’re just showing you their love.”
    “Who teaches their dog to bark ‘The Star Spangled Banner’?”
    In some ways I was as envious of Regina Baptiste as she was envious of me.
    I wondered what it would be like for that many people to demand to touch me, to demand a piece of me because I had written the words that actors had regurgitated with style and flair.
    Someone yelled, “Hey, look over there,
it’s Regina Baptiste
.”
    Laughing, we held hands and took off running again. Driver was there that day, shadowing us as he drove one of my cars. That day I think it was the Bentley. Might have been the Double-R. We ran to the car and fell into the backseat laughing like we owned the world.
    I said, “Sing that Janis Ian song you like.”
    “Driver, please pop in the Janis Ian CD. Play ‘At Seventeen.’ Volume at thirteen.”
    Then she sang and gave me kisses.
    It felt like she was here with me now, her warm tongue inside my mouth, her sweet lies inside my ear. Her hand moved across my chest, touched my nipples and I licked my lips.
    * * *
    I snapped out of that trance when Mrs. Patrice Evans rubbed my chest again.
    She said, “Did you hear me?”
    “What did you say?”
    She caught her breath and said, “Today is my fifth wedding anniversary.”
    I blinked marital memories from my eyes.
    She sighed, moved her hair from her face, and said, “Five years with Ted.”
    I opened and closed my damaged hand. “Even mistakes have anniversaries.”
    “I doubt if he remembers that today is our anniversary. He didn’t mention it all week, said nothing this morning. No card, no flowers, no hugs and kisses. So I decided to have sex. I just didn’t know if I was going to have it by myself or with you.”
    “He forgot your anniversary.”
    “Or worse. He remembers and just doesn’t care.”
    We listened to cars racing over speed bumps two stories below, to loud conversations that came from open windows, to music, to crying babies. The noises were unending. Even words of kindness were loud. It was a world where no one spoke, but everyone yelled like they were in a kitchen shouting orders. It was evening and everyone was returning home.
    A tense moment passed before I asked, “How much time is left for us to share?”
    “Enough time to make me come again.”
    “Is there?”
    “Put your finger here; make me come with your fingers.”
    I was about to, then I saw blood on the sheets. Not much. Just a couple of streaks of red. Just enough to remind me of the blood that had covered me after I’d beaten Johnny Bergs.
    I said, “You’re bleeding.”
    She sat up, saw the results from our war, from our round of vengeance, and cursed.
    She asked for a towel then hurried to the bathroom and washed herself.
    When she came back she asked, “Can we do this again?”
    “Sure. On your sixth wedding anniversary.”
    “Don’t tease me like that.”
    I asked, “Did your husband do something else to deserve being fucked over like this?”
    “He fucked me over first. He broke the Eleventh Commandment.”
    “Which is what, exactly?”
    “Thou Shalt Keep Patrice Happy.”
    “Your unhappiness is his failure?”
    “All I know is that I hate California and I was very happy