Secret Society (8 page)

“We’ve been married for eight years, since we were twenty-four. We have two boys, Darrell, Jr., or D.J., he’s seven, and Andrew, he’s four, and now a girl, Danielle,” Rachel volunteered.

“I always suspected that he was cheating on me, even before you, but I just couldn’t prove it,” she continued. “But he never slipped up like this before, giving out our home number. He must have felt comfortable with you calling here while I was in the hospital with Danielle. But that was still stupid of him,” she said, thinking aloud.

I just sat there and listened, occasionally getting lost in my own thoughts, trying to figure out why the hell I was there in the first place.

We heard a car pull up in the driveway. Rachel stood up and walked toward the door. I sat up straight and became alert.

“It’s him,” she said.

“Hey, honey,” Darrell said as he entered the opened door. Darrell kissed his wife on the cheek and gave her his laptop bag. She placed the bag in the closet by the front door as Darrell walked toward the living room.

“Who—who is this young lady, sweetheart?” Darrell stuttered, with a puzzled look on his face.

Rachel entered the living room behind him. “Don’t you recognize your friend Celess? She phoned the house on Friday and we got to talking and I invited her here today so that we can get to the bottom of your infidelity issues,” Rachel told her husband.

Darrell looked pissed off. “What did I tell you about snooping around in my business?”

“Honey, you’re the one who gave her this number. It’s not like I went looking for her.”

“Where are the kids?” Darrell asked, as if they’d just popped in his head.

“They’re over my mom’s.”

“Oh, so you actually planned this confrontation?” Darrell yelled.

“Yes, I did. I’m getting sick and tired of you cheating on me!” Rachel began to get emotional. “And you had the nerve to do it while I was in the hospital giving birth to your daughter! You’re sick!” Rachel said, as she hit Darrell in his chest with her balled fist.

Darrell gripped her by her arms and forced her into the kitchen. I just sat there and watched the whole thing like it was a movie. They were still arguing in the kitchen, but it was harder to hear them. I got up and walked over to a wall. I put my ear to it, hoping to hear better.

“Listen, you have to stop spying on me! That’s why I cheat! If I didn’t do anything, you would still accuse me, so I might as well do what I’m getting charged with!”

“What kind of logic is that, Darrell? You’ve been cheating since forever! If I’ve ever accused you it’s because you’ve given me reason to!”

It sounded like Rachel was crying.

“Oh, that’s bullshit, Rachel, and you know it! When I
was
faithful you didn’t trust me. You gave me hell about everything! And you wonder why I cheat on you. Look at the stunts you pull! Getting rid of the kids so you can invite a woman over to throw it in my face that you caught me!”

There was a brief pause.

“And you went all the way too! You went all the way this time!” Rachel yelled.

“What are you talking about?”

“A man, Darrell? What, did you think she had me fooled with those high heels?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I pressed my ear even harder against the wall. I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly.

“I know your little girlfriend is a man! She told me on the phone. Plus it ain’t that hard to tell. How could you not tell me you were gay?” Rachel screamed.

I didn’t wait around for Darrell’s response. I grabbed my bag off the couch and sped out of that house. I could not believe it. How could she tell? I wondered. I was insulted. I mean, I was not some typical transvestite or drag queen who wore women’s clothes and makeup for entertaining purposes. This was my life, and I worked damn hard to achieve this look. What the hell did she mean, it’s not hard to tell? I kept looking at myself in my rearview mirror to make sure my makeup was still intact. I didn’t notice any flaws. I drove to a McDonald’s on City Avenue.

“Excuse me, where’s your restroom?” I asked, sounding pressed.

I walked into an empty stall. I looked down at my private area. Shit! I thought. There was a huge bulge in my shorts. How could I have overlooked that? I hurriedly unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my shorts. I put my hands in my panties. My penis was no longer tucked in between my butt cheeks. The tape had come off.

“Shit!” I whispered.

I dug into my bag. No tape. I tried squeezing my cheeks together tight, but it wasn’t working, either. I was so frustrated. I just had to hurry home and hope no one would notice from here to there.

I held my bag in front of me, trying to hide my secret, and slipped out of the restroom. Now I knew what a girl felt like when her period came on unexpectedly.

I
t was a misty Wednesday afternoon. I was sitting on the couch watching talk show after talk show, eating grilled hot dogs, and drinking iced tea. I hadn’t spoken to anyone all day and wanted it to stay that way. I was spending nothing time with myself and I actually enjoyed it, lounging around the house in nothing but a T-shirt and a terry-cloth robe. I was comfortable.

From my window I saw the mailman leave mail in my box. I got up from my warm and cozy spot on my couch and went outside to see what bills I had. Lately, I’d been seeing more and more bills, something I wasn’t used to. To pay my mortgage and utilities, I had been digging into the stash that I had been able to accumulate when O started doubling the money he gave me. For groceries and personal items like hormones, I depended on the rent money I collected from the tenants who lived in the duplex that Tariq bought me for my birthday. Tina helped out too, sending me money every two weeks. At times she even sent me new clothes and shoes, but that was because L.A. got styles before Philly did, so she said she was just keeping me ahead of the girls out here.

I skimmed past the junk mail and circulars and came across a cute decorative envelope with no return address. I went back inside, found my place on the couch, and opened the envelope.

Tina was right, I
was
wondering what the hell Derrek did to her. I closed up the letter and then read the invitation that was placed inside it. Tina and Derrek were getting married at the end of the month in Albany, New York. There were two round-trip train tickets stapled to the invitation. I sat back and reread the letter. I was trying to imagine Tina writing it. I couldn’t see her sitting down and writing a letter, period, much less those words. I took it all in, though, and started to feel mushy. I mean, I was happy that she was truly my friend and that she felt the way she did about me. Just like she didn’t have anybody else, I didn’t either, even though my family was alive. But on the flip side I was upset that she would come out of the blue and ask me to stop doing what I was doing. I mean, back when I was feeling bad about it she was the one telling me to get over it. Now that she found somebody and she was out the game, suddenly she cared about people’s feelings. So what did she expect me to do, get a job and start paying my own bills? Start frequenting gay bars looking for Mr. Right? Please. She had some nerve, I thought.

I put the mail to the side and finished watching my shows. I laughed at parts that weren’t even funny, trying to keep my mind off of Tina’s letter. I tried pushing it to the back of my mind. But it was impossible.

Who was she to tell me to reconcile with my mom when she lived with her grandmom for I don’t know how many years without even saying hi and good-bye? She was the one who told me to hell with my mom when I cried for three days straight after she told me she didn’t have a son anymore. And she said she forgave her grandmom. For what? Her grandmom didn’t do anything except let her do anything she wanted to.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get Tina’s letter off my mind. It was tripping me out and I wanted bad to call her, but I knew I wouldn’t have had the heart to say to her any of what I was thinking. So fuck it, I thought. Fuck the letter and fuck how she felt. Fuck her being a new person. I wasn’t about to have food taken out of my mouth because she found her conscience. And when did the wizard start giving out consciences, anyway? Shit, she should have gotten a brain, because she must be real stupid if she thought I was getting out the game.

It took about a week for me to completely get over the message I got from Tina, and I had to take yoga classes to do it. I just took the letter for what it was worth. In the meantime, I developed a love for yoga. It not only took my mind off of things, but it also occupied my time, which I had a lot of since I was without a man.

“Now breathe,” Debbie, the yoga instructor, said softly.

I was stretched across the floor surrounded by about seven women and two men. We were all in tights and T-shirts. I wore my T-shirt to the middle of my thighs, unlike the other women, who wore baby Ts or sports bras.

“Now pull…Now release.”

The room was completely silent except for the deep breaths. Everyone was concentrating and in their own worlds. It was calming.

“Okay, class, that’s our time,” Debbie said as she slid from her lying position to her knees.

“I’ll see some of you Friday and the rest of you next week.”

After class we all gathered our belongings and scattered. As I left, one of the women, someone new to the class, approached me.

“Great class, I can always go for yoga.”

“Yeah, it definitely does your body good,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah, forget about milk, right?” the pale-skinned lady said, winking a big green eye. “I’m Sue Ellen.” She freed her hand from her gym bag to give me a shake.

“Celess,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

“So how long have you been taking this class? Is the instructor any good?” Sue Ellen asked with a smile. She seemed happier than any average person on any average day.

“For about two weeks now, and yeah, she’s pretty good.”

“Well, uh, listen, I’m headed to Reading Terminal for lunch, you wanna join me?”

I was hungry, so even though Sue Ellen struck me as one of those types who could get on your nerves with all of her talking, I accepted the invitation. I figured a little lunch couldn’t hurt.

Sue Ellen and I walked a few short blocks to Reading Terminal. Center City’s streets were crowded and busy, since it was lunch hour. Inside Reading Terminal, which looked like a mall food court, we got our orders, then grabbed seats at one of the few tables available.

I was happily putting a dent into my cheeseburger and paused when I realized Sue Ellen was looking at me the entire time.

“Here I am eating a cucumber salad and looking like a house and you’re chomping down on a cheeseburger with the works looking like a model. How is that?”

I smiled and said, “Genetics,” and continued chewing.

Sue Ellen kept her eye on me throughout lunch. I thought maybe that’s what white people do and overlooked it. Occasionally I would look up at her and smile. Then I decided to stir up a conversation about class.

“So what gave you the urge to try yoga?” I asked, sipping my root beer.

“I was in a bad car accident a little while back and my doctor recommended it, you know, for therapeutic reasons,” Sue Ellen explained between chewing a fork-full of cucumbers.

“Oh, well, I hope it helps,” I said.

“Yeah, me too. God knows I need to get rid of my back spasms. What about you? Why did you decide to take the class?”

“Honestly, it was a mix of being bored and needing to get my mind off of things,” I responded.

I kept the conversation going to avoid the awkward silences and stares by Sue Ellen. Then, as we were parting ways that afternoon, I found out what her stares were all about.

“It was a pleasure, Sue Ellen,” I said, ending our lunch.

“Oh, believe me, the pleasure was all mine,” she said.

I was taken aback by her enthusiasm.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you again in class,” I said as I stood up from the table.

“Or maybe we can see each other tonight for dinner. I’m great in the kitchen and”—Sue Ellen giggled—“in bed.”

First I was speechless. Then I was motionless.

“Excuse me?” I asked as if I hadn’t heard her.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood up. “You know,” she said as she licked her tongue out at me in a seductive manner.

“Oh, my, um, Sue Ellen, I’m sorry, but you have me mistaken. I don’t date women at all,” I said firmly.

“No kidding? Well, I am sorry. It’s just that you’re so masculine, I thought…”

I’d like to have slapped the hell out of Sue Ellen, but I just laughed it off. It must have been the overgrown T-shirt and the clunky track sneakers I was wearing. Whatever, the incident with Sue Ellen reminded me that I needed a man.

“Hi, I’m responding to an ad in the paper, SBM looking for SBF—” I said reluctantly.

“Yeah, it’s me,” the deep voice cut me off.

“Hi, how are you? My name is Celess,” I said, trying not to laugh.

I was all giggly inside, like a girl being introduced to her first crush.

“Hey, Celess, I’m Michael. I’m surprised someone responded,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m surprised I was that someone.”

There was a pause.

“So, Michael…what do you do for a living?” I asked. Apparently I was going to have to initiate the conversation.

“I’m an architect. I get contracts for universities, hospitals, and things like that. What about yourself?” he asked, sounding professional.

“I’m a…yoga instructor,” came sliding off my tongue.

He caught me off guard. No man had ever asked me that who I was interested in enough to lie to.

“Um, that sounds interesting,” Michael said.

“But my ultimate goal is to open my own hair salon,” I quickly added to throw him off.

“Hmm, a yoga instructor and a hairstylist? Sounds like you’re pretty well rounded,” Michael said.

“I guess you can say that,” I said before changing the subject. “What part of the city are you from?” I asked.

I was trying to gather some background information on Michael. It was easy and probably very likely to be deceived when hooking up with people who placed ads in search of companionship.

“Well, actually I’m from Boston. But I live in South Philly on Columbus Boulevard. I’ve been here for two years now,” he answered.

“How is it living on that strip? It must get loud on the weekends with all those nightclubs.”

“Actually, it doesn’t. For starters, I’m on the twenty-fourth floor, so—”

I cut him off and said, “Oh, you’re in those lofts down there on the water. You must have an amazing view.”

“I do, yes. I see the Delaware River from my living room and the skyline from my bedroom. It’s something to see at night.

“What about you? Where do you stay?” Michael turned the interrogation on me.

“I live in a town house myself, right off of the main line,” I told him proudly.

“Do you have any children?” he asked.

It was funny how men first wanted to know if a woman had children and women first wanted to know what a man did for a living.