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Behind Closed Doors

Chapter One

Regina cruised the silver Mercedes in front of her two-story house and beamed with much admiration. The mere sight of Wesleyan Estates sent chills through her entire body. Perfectly landscaped lawns, a nearby golf course, gorgeous houses occupied by wealthy residents. She'd been blessed. Blessed at the age of thirty with what most black people were never able to reap throughout an entire lifetime. And it had all transpired in such perfect order too, one splendid event right after another. Graduating from U of I with no preposterous student loan balances to repay, marrying a well-educated, highly paid, gorgeous-looking black man named Larry, and then purchasing this immaculate home, located in a ninety-nine-percent white, upper-echelon subdivision. Simply put, they had it all. They'd obtained the American dream without even realizing it.

She crept past Larry's crystal white Lexus, parked next to the Cherokee inside the two-car garage, and frowned when she realized the door had been left wide open. She'd fussed at Larry no less than a thousand times for not closing that garage door, and still he didn't seem to be paying her the slightest bit of attention. Just didn't seem to be worried, since they lived in this ritzy neighborhood. But then he'd have a totally different attitude once all of those expensive yard toys of his came up missing. That high-tech electric edger, top-of-the-line snow thrower, and brand-new mulching lawn mower. It was so strange how men always had to learn everything the hard way. Just couldn't tell them anything.

She removed the key from the ignition, stepped out of the car, shut the door, pressed the garage door control on the wall, and walked through the door leading to the hunter green, country-style kitchen. She spotted today's mail stacked on the wooden, tiled-top table where Larry had left it. Bills, bills, bills. Not a day seemed to pass by without one showing up. Nordstrom, Saks, Visa, Discover. She might as well have listed them as joint owners on her checking account with all the checks that were written out to each of them every month, she thought, tossing the bills back onto the table one by one. But at the bottom of the pile was an elegant picture of Oprah Winfrey displayed across the cover of Essence magazine. It was their twenty-fifth anniversary issue, and it appeared to be pretty interesting. She'd definitely have to make sure and find time to read this before the weekend was over.

As she climbed the winding stairs and entered the upstairs hallway, she heard the shower running. It was a bit early to be getting ready for a nine o'clock show, the one she and Larry usually took in every Friday night, but maybe he'd decided to take her to a real restaurant for a change and not one of those tasteless fast-food places. She was sick of eating generic seafood every Friday night. The Boston Sea Party was far more to her liking, and that's where she prayed they were going.

Regina walked into the master bedroom, kicked off her navy blue pumps, slipped out of the navy blue crepe suit and carefully removed her panty hose by Christian Dior. Yesterday, before the clock in her office had barely struck noon, she'd torn a gigantic run in the ones she'd been wearing, and she was planning to get at least one or two more wears out of this pair before having to pitch them in the wastebasket. She'd known for a long time that these things were way too expensive, but as far as she was concerned, the ones they sold in some of those discount stores never seemed to cut it.

She heard the water tapering off and the shower door slide open. "Hey, hon," Regina said, walking into the bathroom, shedding her underwear. "How was your day?"

Larry stepped out of the shower, sawing his back with a burgundy velvet bath towel. "It was okay. How was yours?"

Regina leaned over and pecked him on the lips. "It was a typical Friday, but I'm glad the weekend has finally gotten here. It was a long week."

Larry finished drying himself off, moved in front of the double mirror, picked up his blue plastic razor, and began edging his mustache. "I know what you mean. It was a long week for me as well. I don't know when I've had so many meetings and so many insurance claims to review. Oh, by the way, Ted and I are going out to his boss's house again to play poker. Shouldn't be gone too late, though. I hope you don't mind."

Where did that shit come from? He hadn't mentioned going anywhere when she'd spoken with him at work. She'd assumed this Friday evening would be no different than any other. They would go to dinner, see a movie, and make love like two wild animals when they returned home. He had gone to play cards each of the two previous Fridays, but this once-every-week thing was a little more than she was willing to put up with, and it was starting to piss her off.

Regina placed her right hand on her hip, the way black women do when they intend to get their point across. "And what am I supposed to do sitting here all by myself on a Friday evening? This is the third week in a row. Here I am thinking you're about to take me out to a nice restaurant, and you're in here getting ready to hang out with Ted. We haven't gone anywhere together in two weeks, and I'm getting sick of this."

"We can go to the movies tomorrow. Right?"

"Do I have a choice? It sounds to me like you've already made your plans for the evening anyway," she said, staring straight at him ...