Home Wrecker

“I’ll pay you.”
I looked at Marlene. “Excuse me?”
“I…I’ll pay you for…you know…helping me.”
We were still in the lounge. At a table this time. Sitting in a corner, away from bartenders and strangers trying to eavesdrop without making it obvious, but doing a terrible job. A small candle flickered in the middle of the table in between us. Soft music sighed from speakers.
The lounge had dim lighting. That, combined with the candle’s flame, cast an eerie shadow across Marlene’s pale face. She was looking off to the right, too embarrassed or ashamed, or both, to look at me.
“Are you calling me a whore, Marlene?”
Marlene’s head snapped back in my direction. “What?”
“You’re offering to pay me to trap your husband. Am I a prostitute in your eyes?”
Marlene’s mouth popped open. “Oh God no! No! I didn’t mean…Oh God no! Please. I…I didn’t mean to imply…I just…just figured…” Marlene paused, passed her hand through her hair, took a healthy sip of her wine, looked down at the designs in tablecloth, and then back up at me. “I’m…I’m sorry, Lisette. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Please forget I said that. Just forget I said anything at all.”
I watched her, but didn’t respond. She reeked unhappiness. Her shoulders were slumped, her head was bowed, her body shuddered as she began to cry. She was defeated. Her posture. Her demeanor.
This was why I stayed away from relationships. Relationships made you dependant. Being dependant meant you had no control.
One time.
I tried it one time.
I was eighteen. He was twenty-one.
He was Denzel handsome. Had P. Diddy’s style. Possessed 50 Cent’s body and attitude before fiddy ever stepped on the scene. He appealed to me on a level no one else had before.
I wasn’t myself when I was with him. All of the power I had was gone. I fell for him hard. Fell for his attitude, his style, and his looks. He was sure of himself in a way that no guy I’d dealt with before had been.
Had I been born a man, I would have been him.
We dated for two years. The first six months were bliss. He was sweet, loving, and considerate. Then month seven came and the tsunami hit. Sweet, loving, considerate disappeared. Ignorant, controlling, and abusive took its place.
Eighteen months.
That’s how long it took before I woke up from whatever spell I’d fallen under, and got medieval on his ass. He hit me, and I’d finally hit back. He kicked. I kicked. He tried to strangle me, I sent his balls up into his throat, Mike Tyson’d his hand. Things got ugly.
Very ugly.
To this day I’m not sure why I put up with the emotional and physical abuse, but I am sure of one thing: if another motherfucker ever puts his hands on me, they better pray they kill me.
Relationships.
Looking at Marlene was all the justification I needed for avoiding them.
“How much, Marlene? How much would you pay to get out of your marriage?”
Marlene looked at me. Her mascara had run from her crying. She shook her head. “Lisette…I…I didn’t mean—”
“How much, Marlene,” I said, cutting her off.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Ten thousand. Are you willing to pay that much? What about fifteen? How unhappy are you? How much do you want out of this?”
Marlene grabbed a napkin, blotted her eyes, and frowned at the mascara stain left behind.
“Twenty thousand,” I continued. “To get him out of your life. Twenty-five thousand to make sure you’re family can’t scrutinize. Thirty thousand so that he doesn’t get shit from you. How badly do you want out?”
Marlene stared at me. I stared at Marlene. This should have been an odd conversation for me. I was offering to trap a man for money. The conversation should have been awkward.
But it wasn’t.
For some reason it felt like everything I had ever gone through in my life, everything I’d ever done or said, had all led up to this moment in Houston, Texas. At the Sofitel Hotel.
“I…I would need evidence,” Marlene said. “Something I could use against him in court.”
I closed my eyes a bit. The tone in her voice had changed. The flaccid look in her eyes was disappearing.
“What would you want me to get?”
Marlene’s shoulders rose as her back straightened. “I don’t want you to get anything.”
“But you said you need evidence.”
“I want to walk in on you fucking him.”
Whoa.
Right before my eyes, Marlene had changed. The victim was gone.
“You want me to fuck him?”
“Yes. And I want to walk in on it. I’ll have someone with me. A witness. They won’t know what’s going on. I want to walk into my home and catch you with him. I want to see you riding him. Fucking asshole. I want him out of my life.”
“You’ve thought about this before?”
“Never. But I’ve dreamt it. I’ve watched him fuck other women over and over in my dreams.”
“How badly, Marlene? Trapping is one thing. Fucking him is another.”
“Fifty-thousand.”
My heart stopped beating momentarily.
Fifty-thousand dollars.
That was a lot of money.
“Are you serious?”
“I hate him, Lisette. He disrespects me every day when he looks at me with her pussy on his breath. I want him out of my life.”
“And you’re willing to pay?”
“Fifty-thousand dollars, yes. Are you willing to do it?”
Pink Martini was playing in the background. Their song, Amado Mio from their CD Sympatique. I had the CD at home. I loved that song. Listening to it always put me in a mood. I listened to the song as Marlene waited for her answer.
Was I willing to do it?
Fifty-thousand dollars.
I closed my eyes for a sec, let the song sooth and entice me the way it did at home.
Was I willing to do it?
She said Steve fucked like he invented it. I listened to the song and wondered if it was true. Wondered if he could fuck me as good as the song soothed.
Was I willing to do it?
Fifty-thousand dollars to be fucked by Pink Martini, live and in stereo.
“Yes. I’m willing.”