A sour feeling started to swell from the plexus of Daniella’s gut as she her ominous Escalade sliced thorough the chilly dark towards 5491 Chamomile Court. Johnston’s headlights reflected off of her perspiring rear windshield, per Simon Rose’s direct order. He ushered her with the strictest of synchronization.

As they entered the noteworthy neighborhood of Serenity, all the 34-year-old wife of a man who treated her more like a jealous roommate could think of was the next few hours before sunrise.

What’s going to happen when I see him? . . . How am I going to explain? . . . Will he flip out like he did when I got back from seeing his sister?

There was no love loss between “D-Man Donovan” and his always begging single parent homeless sister, Lena Mae.

“Stan, why can’t your sister just stay with us for a while, at least ‘til we find a shelter or a sponsor for her.”

“No way am I lettin’ that crack smokin’ bitch in MY house. Me and mama tried to tell her to leave that excuse of a useless boyfriend when we got her outta that rathole the first time.”

“You don’t mean that Baby . . . it’s your SISTER for God’s sake!”

“I used to have a sister. . . now she’s just another recycled vagina on the street.”

Daniella never thought of herself as a cussing woman, but she knew what it was like, being alone. She understood the loneliness and the lowliness that came about from being an unwanted foster child, given up because her own mother wasn’t woman enough to own up to the responsibility of what every woman should want when she sees her first child. And not having a father figure, she always seemed to get along better with men than with other women. In all three of her post-graduate positions at the then-infant society read, Top Notch Magazine, her male supervisors loved her as a reporter, then a news editor, and finally human resource manager.

Unlike her less fortunate female cohorts, Daniella refused to sleep her way to her promotions. But then she just had to go along with her sorority sisters to that ill-fated football game that balmy autumn weekend.

Why did I have to go to ''The Grind'' that night. Why couldn’t I just go back to my apartment. . . then I wouldn’t have to ‘go home’ to Mr. Wonderful. I bet he’s anything BUT wonderful now!

Her brain was sweating for answers. She could always say the car broke down, but he’d never believe it. Should she pull over and tell Johnston that he didn’t have to follow her home, that she could take it from there? No, that wouldn’t work. Then his employer’s trust would be diminished. She couldn’t do that to someone, even if she didn’t know them. In a way, allowing her backdoor chauffeur to escort her home was accepting the graciousness of what she found to be a very attractive and gracious man.

The moon gave her a sense of calm. But for how long?

Pulling up to entrance of the 500-foot semi-circle all brick drive, Daniella got out of her vehicle, engine still buzzing on idle. She waved on the silhouetted figure behind the steering wheel of the late-model Volvo. 

Signal understood. Mission accomplished.

Daniella''s stomach churned even tighter as she watched the red tail lights fade in the ever-thickening predawn fog.  With the exception of an automatic nightlight glowing from the family room garden window, the elegant executive-style stone and brick home Donovan showplace was stricken of any illumination. Daniella climbed back inside her vehicle, closed the door to where it just clicked—hoping to muffle the sound of any echo from the closing of her custom made chariot’s doorframe.  She pulled up to the entrance of their three car garage.

Still no sign of any motion coming from inside the house. Not even a rustling of drapery sheers; no bending of the blinds.  Just an eerie, total darkness.

Was he asleep? Was he drunk? Maybe he was in the shower, but surely not at 3:15 in the morning.  Stan always showers before midnight.

Deciding not to use the garage door opener, Daniella disembarked her SUV. With reclaimed keys in hand, she choose to go through the side garage door.

Screen door locked! How could this be?

She went to the back patio door. The double doors were bolted.

On to the front door. Ditto.

Daniella felt ruthlessly abused! She would be the first to testify that she and Stan had had their disagreements before, most of them downright ugly, but the house was big enough with four bedrooms with an entertainment room. In the lower level to where they could at least separate until they both cooled off. But after 12 years of marriage, he’d never locked her out before.

Sitting on the front step in front of the rose bushes in tears, Daniella untied her ponytail. She figured at least that her hair should at least be free. The long brownish-auburn highlighted locks covered her shoulders. Daniella ran both her sweating palms from the sides of her flushed face through her brunette glory. Yet even her tresses weren’t free to trim, cut or alter any way shape or form without a thumb’s up from her higher-than-mighty spouse.

The women in her prayer group at Carlyle Avenue Worship Center knew her woes all too well. They even helped out her distraught sister-in-law in times of need. But there was no way she was going to call her prayer partner Josephina at this hour!

The woman was like a sister to her, but even Josie, a staunch proponent of working out bad marriages as she was for mastering English as a second language.  And if Daniella summoned her this hour of the night, her holy homegirl was apt to say this time, “Now Danee!, my deara Seestuh Gurl in da Loard,. . . that man may be kurrrrrazy ‘bout chu in heez zone awd-ball way, but you eez kurrrrrazy az da’hell to stay weeth heem!” Then as usual when something upset her, Josephina Marcella Lucia Mercado-Jones would ask the Lord to forgive her for using the world “da’hell” out of biblical context.

Why couldn’t I marry a nice black civilized man like Josie? He ain’t rich, but he’s kind and has a job that pays enough to keep them not so frilly, but at least they’re both happy and healthy.

Daniella decided to take the risk and awake the ticking time bomb with her cell phone. She forgot that she’d turned it off when she entered the gallery last evening.

“Oh crap!” she blurted under her breath. A voice message from Stan.

The passcode opened what she knew would be a royal chewout. He did say something about talking with her, about not taking too long and to be home before that football game between whomever and whatever was over.  She pressed “#” to hear what she knew would be that one fated message.

You have one message, press 1 to hear your first message. . .

Beep! You’re late! End of messages.

“That’s it?” Daniella thought to herself. ”I’m LATE?”

Stan knew where she was. If nothing else he could have called the Lennox to make certain she was alright. He could have thought something was wrong when her cell phone was turned off.

“Daniella never turns her cell phone off”. . . he could have thought.  But n-o-o-o-o-o-o!, not grand King of the Hill 1989 College MVP Stan “D-Man” Donovan! Did she feel so sorry for him getting injured and living off of his endorsements that she felt she had to say yes to him and marry him to fulfill his life? Did she think wrong thoughts when she felt she was too afraid to take care of herself and stay single.

Did she really need a father figure in husband’s clothing?

Now she was livid! How could he!? Anything  could have happened to her. Just because the law kept crime down in the wonderful world of Serenity was no reason for her own husband to lock her completely out of the house!

Wiping her tears and donning her pride, Daniella got back into her car. “May as well check into the Lennox Inn. Thank God there’s not convention happening or else I’d be sleeping in the back seat of this behemoth big boy toy Stan picked out for me.

How ironic, she though. The only reason he got me this car was so I’d be safe.

3:45 a.m--Daniella pulls up at the Lennox Inn. A posh silver limosine was parked just beyond the revolving doors of the main entrance in the loading zone.  Pulling up to the main door she gives the keys to the valet, and upon walking into the lobby, she''s ready for a night of uninhibited rest.

The Lennox Inn was a welcomed heaven away from what should have felt like a home with Stan. It was elegant, but not overly-elaborate in design. Delicately upholstered furniture greeted weary travelers with warm wood tones, uniquely orchestrated tapestry with goldtone threading intewoven in the satin draperies matching the furniture. Most precious to Danielle was the fact that she would have no more trials to deal with tonight. 

And in her heart of hearts, she almost wished she could share a cup of bottomless coffee with the wonderful host she met tonight, Dr. Simon Rose. 

Her eyes, still red and throbbing--thanks to the whims of an irritating husband--Daniella is ready to put the past behind her. 

"What the. . . ?" she exclaims. She can’t believe the sight before her very eyes! 

It’s him. And he’s not alone. 
 

This story continues as "Exhibitions--The Inquisition"

  © 2005 cynth''ya lewis reed
all rights reserved.