Ch. 3: Friendships Endangered
A good while passed and our three couples did not manage to get together again. We had been good friends for a couple of years and it was unusual for us to go even a couple of weeks without a gathering of some kind. It was beginning to look like our group would fragment. I knew it was no coincidence, but I sure as hell wasn't going to say anything.
However I eventually ran into Sharon and then Paula on separate occasions. The first was a bank social event—an employee appreciation afternoon— that included all banks in our area. Our management seemed to think the networking was good for business. It included free hors d'oeuvres and wine in a large hall with some piped in music. Since Sharon was in the banking business like me, and I felt sure she would be there.
I spotted Sharon as soon as I entered the room. Her short platinum-blonde hair made her stand out in any crowd. She wore a black dress that hugged her curves and made my groin tighten. Sharon was talking to a mutual friend of ours, a good looking black woman named Tasheera. They saw me and waved, but I noticed that Sharon dropped eye contact immediately.
As I approached Sharon and Tasheera, I admired Sharon's sexy appearance. This was the first time I had seen her since our coffee shop meeting and I became a little breathless as I got closer to her. I stopped to shake hands with a colleague and when I turned back, only Tasheera was there.
"Hello, Dave; it's good to see you." She greeted me with a body wiggle and a knowing smile. We shared a quick hug which felt pretty good, but my thoughts were on Sharon.
"Hey Tasheera, what happened to Sharon?"
"She said it was time to go home," she answered with a half smile and seemed to be watching me very closely.
I was in stunned disbelief at Sharon avoiding me, "Oh... I'm sorry I missed her."
My face felt burning hot and there was a long period of silence as I coped with the idea that a longtime friend and recent lover had just snubbed me. But another thought elbowed into my consciousness like a freezing winter wind. With my impulsive behavior, I may have done enough damage to lose my closest friends and I could even be in danger of losing my wife.
I lifted my gaze to make meaningful eye contact with Tasheera and her sympathetic smile. In a show of understanding she gently placed her hand on my shoulder.
"I wondered when you two would finally get together," she said jovially, "but I was beginning to think neither of you had it in you."
"What did Sharon tell you?" I demanded.
Tasheera patted my shoulder and said calmly, "Nothing, but you just told me a lot." She was being an understanding friend but at the same time her evil little smile indicated she enjoyed this sexy development. "It wasn't anything y'all said; it was the way you acted toward each other. In other words, I figure the pussycat wouldn't run out of the room like that unless the pussy has been restless."
Tasheera chuckled at her bawdy little joke but I just gaped at her. It terrified me to think she knew our secret. Tasheera looked at my stunned expression thoughtfully and added, "You white people are always so serious."
I was rattled and left as soon as I could.
Over the next week or so I did some soul-searching, asking myself what kind of person would fuck the wife of his best friend. Of course, I had a few lame excuses: I was drunk, she made me do it, it was an accident, and so forth. Eventually, an incident occurred with my father that helped me understand myself a little better.
When my divorced father reached his mid-60's he decided he would not age gracefully. He wanted young pussy, and he reasoned the way to find it was to buy illegal drugs for young women. I figured he was crazy, but he was right. However, he did not anticipate that these drug-addicted young women would want him to participate as they ingested crack cocaine. He transformed from a moderately respectable businessman to the oldest crack addict in our city. He lost every remaining friend and no family member would speak with him.
As dear old crazy Dad ran out of money he finally agreed to drug rehab. It was during my personal soul-searching week that the family nominated me to drive him to the drug rehab center and check him in.
Nothing was easy concerning Dad. When I arrived at his shack of a house, a 19-year-old crack whore was there with him. He made sure to pat her on the bottom in my presence and she turned to grin at me, showing missing teeth.
No one had called the rehab center ahead of time to let them know we were coming. But the workers there were very professional. They led us through the locked facility to meet the Center's Director. Two huge men each weighing easily 300 pounds positioned themselves at the door as the polite Director had us sit across the desk from him. There was a short silence and it dawned on me that the Director had no idea why we were there. Dad noticed the same thing and he managed to speak first.
"Sir, my son has a crack cocaine problem!"
In a panic I rose halfway out of my chair. The two brutes edged over to block the doorway in case I decided to make a run for it. I suddenly realized it could take me a couple of days to talk my way out of the place.
But that was a good enough practical joke for Dad, who laughed gleefully. "I just wanted to see if ya'll would believe me."
Eventually I got him checked in but I was still covered in a cold sweat when I left, thinking, No wonder I'm fucked up. On the walk to the car another thought kept nagging at me: That 19 year-old at Dad's house sure had a nice ass.
The whole experience with my father had me so disoriented I almost didn't recognize Paula's voice. It was coming from a construction site next to the center. Paula wore a hard hat and jeans and was arguing with a plumbing subcontractor.
