After the Loving

"Well, listen to what you just said. Your home phone is unlisted after you changed it to stop your ex Ernie from phoning you and hitting you up for loans. There has to be a reason why his phone numbers have all been unlisted in the last four places he lived."

"Says you. You're reading things into this that aren't even there. So what if he don't want ex-girlfriends or business acquaintances hounding him looking for handouts. He is very well off. So naturally a lot of his-"

"Well off how? If he came from an orphanage broke. Where did he suddenly acquire all that money?"

"Duh! Earth to Daphne. Your brain is dead. Does it matter? Maybe he won a lottery. Maybe he started up a business that was successful. There must be ten million men in America that went from rags to riches virtually overnight. Some in the stock market, some in businesses, some with the lottery, some in real estate, some in pyramid schemes, some in inventions, some in sales. Some wrote books or songs that were overnight best sellers. Some wrote software to video games. Some started up companies that just took off. Would it make you feel any better if he was flat broke and didn't have even one fucking dime to spend on you? If you ask me, all this espionage crap you're trying to dredge up here is absolutely stupid, time wasting and doesn't make sense to anyone but you."

"What is really interesting, though, is that they have no record at immigration of him ever being allowed into this country. I mean, there was a green card issued, don't get me wrong. And there is a record of his social security number being issued at that time, but nothing at immigration about his landing, only that a green card was issued. The private eye has friends that work there and-"

"Will you just listen to yourself? Some bungling government office made a mistake on some stupid records. Since when has the fucking government ever been right about anything? And what if poor Peter should find out you've been hiring a private eye to dig into his past? You said so yourself, that trust was a big issue with him. If he did find out you didn't trust him then he would most certainly drop your stupid sorry fat black ass and you would have nobody to blame but yourself. You're an absolute moron. Here you are, with the man of your dreams, enjoying earth shattering sex. The guy is faithful, honest, hard-working, rich, handsome, buff, and single. He lives in a fucking mansion for crying out loud, and all you can do is whine over how some private eye who is bilking and milking you for cash, suspects he might be hiding something. You're a fucking idiot. I don't even know why I waste my time being your friend. For years before Peter came along you cried on my shoulder night and day, lamenting the fact you couldn't find any nice guys to date. Now along comes Mr. Perfect, and all you wanna do is tell yourself you're not good enough for him and that there must be some kind of catch. You make me puke!"

"The private eye said, that sometimes, people will leave their numbers unlisted in case those trying to track them discover the alias name they are going under."

"Let me guess, he won't dig any deeper unless you start coughing up a whole lot more cash, am I right?"

"Well, the two hundred was just for a simple but thorough background check. For him to spend more time investigating his past, he's going to need a lot more money."

"How much more money?"

"Five thousand, with a twenty-five hundred deposit as a retainer."

"Five thousand dollars? Will you listen to yourself? All the private eye has managed to do so far is back up Peter's story. Why give him more?"

"There are loose ends."

"I'll say, and all those loose ends are attached to that big old stupid head of yours, which is why your brain is coming apart at the seams. You're an idiot. Five thousand? And after that, he is probably going to lead you all over the place and then, at the last moment, tell you that for a mere ten thousand more, he will uncover some ground breaking truth, only you will be so convinced he is legit, that you will beg borrow and steal any amount he tells you, and in the end, all that will happen is that he will tell you that Peter is on the up and up. A lot of money just to reach the same place where you are now, and that is that you have a fabulous guy in your arms that you are in danger of losing because if he finds out you don't trust him then how will he react to that?"

"I still want to hire him to do a little more digging. You have some money saved. You could lend me some."

"Me? Me! Give you my hard earned money for some stupid hare brained scheme that will only cause you to lose him when he finds out what you've been up to. And if the shoe were on the other foot? I know I wouldn't want some guy hiring private investigators to follow me around and tear my life apart. Obviously, even if he is hiding something, it has nothing to do with women. You know where he lives and works and have been to both places often. You are always together or on the phone. He doesn't have time to date anyone else even if he wanted to. The whole thing is just so damn stupid."

"So you're not going to help me?"

"Give away my hard earned cash on some stupid plan that in the end will only hurt you? Not me! Not one thin dime. Look I gotta go. You can call me back when you're not asking me to part with my money."

The phone went dead.

I was now in a quandary. Peter was certainly the man of my dreams, only there were some unanswered questions. Or where there? Was I making too much out of things? And after all, Lisa might have been right about private detectives that naturally needed to earn a living. Hitting me up for five grand then just cooling his heels until it was time to ask for more money did seem a very plausible and sordid scenario. If so, then I was setting myself up to be a very big sucker.

The phone rang, making me jump. The whole espionage thing was getting me paranoid. What would a private eye possibly find? Or would he find anything at all? I had never heard of a woman hiring a private eye before, unless of course she was concerned about her man cheating, or being married. Only Peter wasn't up to any of those things. I had his home address, and had been there, no wives there. I had been to his workplace and they all knew him as a single white guy dating a single black girl. No mention of any hidden wives there. He had never asked me for money and had been the perfect gentleman for a whole six months. He had spent a fortune on me in terms of gifts, outing and dinners, and was certainly a keeper, and yet, my inquisitive nosy parker side just wouldn't leave me the hell alone. I had heard the phrase that curiosity had killed the damn cat, only now, it was a thirst for damn unnecessary snooping that was about to kill a promising and blossoming relationship.

I glanced at my phone. Peter!

"Hi."

"Hi right back at you hon. Did you get my flowers?"

I sighed and kicked myself. The doorbell had rung earlier, but sometimes salesmen got into the complex and went door to door looking to sell stuff. Since I wasn't expecting anyone, then I assumed it was one of those pesky sales persons.

"Not yet."

"Hmmm, don't understand it. They promised you'd have them by now. Well, soon perhaps. Just called to say I was still feeling amazing over last night. Making love to you was well worth the wait. I could easily see myself spending my life making you happy. You are such an amazing woman."

I soaked up his words, sifting through the compliments looking for something binding and concrete. As usual, they were exotic, feel good words, and as usual, they did come with some type of gift but at the end of the day, there was still no definite engagement or proposal to hang my hat on. And yet, his words of praise gave me sizzling goose bumps as usual.

"Thanks," was all I could muster.

"You okay? I had thought that after our first spectacular night of lovemaking that you'd be just bubbling over with things to say?"

"I'm a little preoccupied with something," I blurted out, not believing I was about to risk our entire relationship with something so incredibly stupid.

"Everything okay?"

"Not quite. I'm in a bit of a jam."

"What kind of a jam?"

"Money."

"Money?"

"Yeah, money?"

"Care to elaborate?"

"Well, a few years ago I was laid off," I lied. "I fell behind by five months but then, just as they were about to kick me out, I found a job, the one I'm at now, and so they let me stay, but said that sooner or later they'd want me to pay off the five thousand dollar balance."

"And now they want it, is that it? They're not willing to wait any longer?"

"Exactly."

"Well, I can help you out, most definitely. If you give me the exact amount they need, and who to address the check to."

"I need it in cash. They won't take checks as the last ones I wrote all bounced."

"No problem. I can have the check certified."

"They specified they would only accept cash."

"I see, well, I'll go straight to my bank at lunch and get the money. Then you can come by any time after two and pick it up at my office."

"Thanks. I'll swing by at two."

"Although, there is an even better way," he said craftily.

"There is?"

"Sure, why not just stiff them for the money. Since you and I enjoy being together so much, and since we intend to one day get married anyways, why not just forget about paying them and simply move into my house right away?"

Peter's words slammed into me forcefully. They were words I had always hoped to hear. My spirit soared. His invitation to come on over and live with him was a giant step toward us eventually getting married. While it may not count as an actual marriage proposal, when and if I did get pregnant, then he would most certainly want to marry me as quickly as possible, especially since we would be living together at any rate. I was overjoyed, and desperately wanted to tell him that yes, I would be moving in with him. But if I did that, then I wouldn't get the five thousand with which to pay the private investigator, and so if there was something sinister in his past, then I would never get to find it out.

My mind was racing. Obviously, for a guy to give you the keys to his home, and tell you to just move right on in, would obviously mean that he cared for you very deeply and had nothing to hide. There were no hidden wives at his house. No other single women living there or coming over to visit. No ex's looking to rekindle old flames. If I did do the right thing and move in with him, then it would be a love nest made in heaven, only my curiosity was killing me. Unanswered questions were gnawing at my soul, but they were questions that ninety-nine percent of all other women would never have cared about. So why did I care about them? I suddenly realized that I was the kind of stupid person that would find a hundred bucks laying on the ground, and instead of just pocketing it, I would run around trying to find out who the money belonged to until eventually, someone would hear and claim it as theirs. I would certainly end up losing it. Was I going to do the same block headed thing here? End up losing him?

"I don't want to move in until we're actually married," I blurted out, kicking myself for being so incredibly stupid. Nine guys out of ten wouldn't give you the keys to their home even if they were boiled in oil, and yet, here was the handsome hunky Peter, offering to do just that with no strings. And what was I doing? Saying no? How was that possible?

I could picture in my mind Peter's countenance changing. And I knew right away what he was probably thinking. Why on earth would I want to hold out for marriage when moving in with him would make a marriage happen a whole lot quicker, and yet, I was holding my ground? I now guessed that his face also probably had a quizzical look to it. Was the five thousand actually for something else? Was I lying about needing it for back rent? Was I just trying to get money from him to go on some spending spree or save it at the bank?

Still, the lovemaking we'd shared just the day before had been beyond heavenly. His love for me was obviously solidifying. "You can come by for the money at two," he finally said, to which I thanked him and hung up.

My mind was now frazzled. Peter had made an unexpected offer which would have allowed me to move in. Not only would I be moaning the nights away in his handsome, hunky arms, but there would be no rent or bills to pay, not even food to buy. All the money I earned at my job could go into my bank. There was also the choice that I could just stay at his home and not work at all if I so chose. So why the fuck was I not doing it? All because I was curious about his past? What was I, nuts? Yes, I was nuts, most definitely loco as my best friend Lisa had so aptly already pointed out.

XXX

"You turned down Peter's offer to move in with him? Now I know you're crazy!"

"He gave me the five grand," I asserted.

"He should have given you the number to a psychiatrist. Just how fucking stupid can you get? The chance to move into his place and you turn in down for what? To line the pockets of some greedy Private investigator, who when all is said and done, is only going to lead you on into giving him more money. And what will your excuse to Peter be next time, that you need more money for a brain transplant? Girl are you ever as dumb as a damn post! Why that guy still has a thing for you is beyond me."

"But what if the P.I. finds something?"

"So what if he does? What could it possibly be? That the government lost some records on him? Or that he escaped from some two bit jail over some decade old drug charge and now will be forced to finish his sentence cause you alerted some P.I. to the reward on him? Or will it be that he was married twelve years ago, but backed out of it cause he was too young and too broke! Just what will you find? That he owes a lot of back taxes under some different name and now the IRS are going to wipe him out because of your damn snooping? Can't you just leave well enough alone? You have a well off, handsome, hunky, generous, caring, sincere Caucasian man that simply adores you and wants one day to marry you, and all you can think about is trying to dig into his past and find ways to fuck up your own marriage plans to him. How incredibly sick is that? And how incredibly stupid of you to waste all that time, money and effort doing it?"

"It's not that simple and you know it."

"The hell it isn't! Instead of spending every waking moment in his arms and taking him to jewelry stores and showing him the kind of ring you'd one day love, all you are doing is making him suspicious and doing things that will keep you apart from him. That five grand could have bought you the engagement ring of a lifetime."

"I need to know if he's hiding anything."

"You need to have your head examined. I suppose you gave that gold digging P.I. the two grand he wanted for a retainer already?"

"Actually I gave him all of it."

"The whole five, just like that? No questions asked? And how long and hard do you think Peter had to work to earn that damn money? You make it seem like he grows it on trees. And just remember. Whatever you find out about Peter you are just as bad or a whole lot worse, lying through your pretty dazzling white teeth to secretly spy on him and dig through his past. You make me sick."

"Don't say that."

"Don't say that? You are just like those hypocrites at my church, telling me I'm forgiven for my past indiscretions with one side of their mouths, while the other side digs up my past sins and mistakes like they're some ghouls in a graveyard, exposing long forgotten skeletons in my closet that were so old and dusty they were about to blow away. Only my so called church sisters won't let them blow away, and they won't let me forget the men I might have slept with or the wild party I might have attended while I was drunk. I may have forgotten the details, but some way, somehow, they find out what happened, then add to it, then broadcast it. Only you're so much worse them those trolls because you are actually paying someone with Peter's money to try and hurt Peter and destroy the love and happiness both you and he should actually have had."

"I didn't call you up to make me feel bad."

"No, you called me up because you were already feeling bad over your boneheaded and pigheaded drudging up of a wonderful guy's sordid past. What if he were to do that to you, snoop around like you were some kind of lowlife that needed to be exposed?"

"But what if he's lying about his past?"

"And you weren't lying about your own past when you said you needed money for rent you didn't actually owe? Sounds like both lying and stealing to me, getting money under false pretenses, and the sick part of it all is, that the only reason you were able to get that money from him in the first place is because he is kind, sincere, generous and trusting. You're taking advantage of his great character traits to try and prove that he might have some bad character traits, as though any of us are perfect. What a hypocrite and bone head you are."

"I don't have to listen to your insults anymore."

"No you don't. So don't you ever call me back again until you get your head on straight! Being friends with you is a nightmare. You look a damn fine gift horse in the mouth, then go out of your way to try and sabotage your own life. You know how many black women we know would kill to have Peter on their arm? You think they would council you any differently than I would? And so now what? You're threatening to hang up on me instead? Let me save you the trouble. Bye bone head."

The phone went dead, and that hellish hum told me I was alone again, with nothing but my thoughts and my escalating guilt to keep me company. All my life I had managed to get myself into trouble because of my snooping nature. I was always, as far back as I could remember, morbidly curious. I just had to know everything about everybody. There was no gossip mill or grapevine I hadn't belonged to in order to feed my inquisitive habit.

The phone suddenly rang again. I supposed it was Lisa, calling me back to give me whatever piece of her mind was still left. But a quick glance at the tiny screen told me it wasn't Lisa. It was Peter.

"I'd like to see you tonight," he said seductively.

I suddenly felt like a snake in the grass. Would he still want to see me if he only knew what I'd been up to? And the damnable lack of trust I'd shown in him?

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"A walk downtown so I can show you off on my arm, then maybe a bite at the deli, then a ride along the water front in the ferry, then back to my place for a nightcap and some really moist kisses. You can spend the night if we run out of time?"

"Sounds yummy," I managed.

"You get to pay off your rent yet?"

"Huh?"

"Your back rent, you know, the money they were insisting on so as not to turf you."

"Oh yes, I gave it to them. Thank you very much. I'm safe now thanks to you."

"My pleasure. Sooooo, pick you up around six thirty?"

"Very good. I'll be looking forward to seeing you then."

"As will I, bye."

The room waxed hot suddenly, and I found it hard to breathe. I was so used to Peter taking me out on expensive, creative and fun dates so often that I had begun to take him for granted. What other guy was going to take me for walks and dinners and fairy rides before taking me back to his place? Most men would simply want to swing by and pump me full of sperm from the get go. I was now in a panic. I had handed over five thousand dollars of his hard earned money to some snoop detective that may or may not be acting in a professional manner. What if Peter were to find out I lied to get that money from him and then used it so abominably to have his private life opened up by strangers? Surely if he'd found out what I'd done then he'd want to break off our relationship. And then where would I be? I felt a headache coming on and I began to get dizzy. Even if there was something sinister in Peter's past, people changed. The same Peter that might have made an innocent mistake in his past may not the same Peter that was now becoming the man of my dreams. And what about the damn detective? It now suddenly dawned on me that if there was something illegal in Peter's past, that the snoopy P.I. may want to turn him in for a reward? If it was something like income tax evasion, then what if the accumulated penalties, legal fees and back taxes were to wipe him out financially? In a case like that, I would be merely shooting myself in the foot. My heart began to sink. What looked like such a great plan just a day before, was now starting to unravel in my mind as perhaps the stupidest thing I had ever done, and I had to admit to myself that I had certainly done some really stupid things in the past.