Hate Sex Happens
Jim Cryer closes the hospital door behind him, then takes another deep whiff from the hanky he used to sop up his firstborn son's detox forehead sweat. He sighs to himself, then takes another sniff, murmuring, "Mmm, I sure make some good-smelling spawn."
"Oh my God. I hope those aren't some poor dead hooker's used panties." Veronica Harrington, looking fierce as ever, is standing in the hospital hallway, scowling at him. He smiles at her, because that always makes her madder.
"Veronica. How the hell are you?"
"Who died to put you in such a good mood?"
Jim stretches his arms wide, because it feels good to let the world know that it all belongs to him. "I just saw my son, and he's alive and going to be fine. Well, he'll be better. And I have your son to thank for that. Jeffrey really cares for him, you know. I don't know what Wyatt would have done without your boy," he says with all the mock sincerity he can muster without two fingers of whiskey.
"Oh, cut the crap, Jim." Veronica takes a compact out of her purse and powders her nose, though it looks pristine. "You should keep that mangy son of yours on a leash. Jeffrey won't have time to babysit him anymore. He's got a fiancée and a baby on the way to—what the hell are you laughing at?"
Jim laughs until tears form in the wrinkled corners of his piercing blue eyes. "Oh, thank you, Veronica! I haven't laughed this hard since the last time I made love to a woman my own age."
Veronica snaps the compact shut. "I'd call you a pig but that's an insult to pork."
"Seriously, now," Jim says, sidling up to his nemesis—one of his nemeses. "You expect me to believe that Jeffrey, who's been a bit light in the Air Jordans since the day he was born, has actually knocked up some poor girl? When did this happen? Which drugs did he use?"
"My son is all man. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to visit the mother of my future grandchild—stop laughing, you son of a—oh!" Veronica clomps down the hospital hallway, and the speed and anger of her gait produces a bulbousness in her backside that Jim can't seem to ignore.
"Mmmm," he says to himself, "it's been way too long since I've had a sister."
When Wyatt Cryer wakes up in the middle of the night into his detox delirium, he hopes to find Jeffrey Harrington siting vigil by his bed. Instead he sees the crazy gay cop from his apartment.
"Wh-what are you d-doing here?" Wyatt sputters, the chills taking over his muscular chest and arms that he insists on keeping uncovered. "Where's Jeffrey?"
Justin the not-gay cop crosses his arms and stares down his competition. "What is it? Is it because you're rich, is that it? Why is Jeffrey so into you?"
Wyatt sits up, causing the hospital bedsheet to roll down to expose his twelve pack. "Me and Jeffrey go way back, all the way to the first eight times I did rehab. He's my friend, that's it. I'm not…like him. We're just friends, that's it. Now, where is he? He promised me he'd stay with me all night long! He's supposed to be here when I wake up! I'm not gay and I want Jeffrey with me right now!"
Justin makes fists. "This isn't right. Jeffrey shouldn't be wasting time pining over you. He's got more important things to be worrying about."
"Like how to bump butts with you?" Wyatt spits.
"Why you…" Justin grabs for his mace, but then he remembers that this was both a judge's son and a white man. "Nah, you're not worth it. Jeffrey would be pissed if I—"
"Why don't you get out of here…and go get me Jeffrey!" Wyatt doubles over in pain. "Ow, my abs! Jeffrey, where are you?"
Justin shakes his head in disgust as he heads for the hospital door. "Freaking closet cases."
The lavender sweater vest and plaid pants that Jeffrey Harrington hangs in his hotel room closet can't calm his nerves. Too much on his mind, too many lies to—Wyatt—keep straight, too many bodies in the—Wyatt—backyard to worry about. He falls on his bed and dials on his cellphone. "Melissa? You ok?"
"Don't call me again. I hate you," grunts his baby momma from her hospital bed, where she's still tethered under suicide watch. "Leave me alone."
"You're gonna be ok, I just know it," he says nonchalantly as he smooths the wrinkles out of the bedclothes. "The doctors say you and your baby will be fine. Not that I'll have anything to do with you once you get out."
Melissa starts to cry. "I have no life. You and your mother stole my life."
"Uh huh, that's nice. Do you need anything? How about a gourmet cheeseburger? Your baby needs protein. Not my baby, mind you."
"I can't believe I'm still pregnant," she groans. "I can't do anything right."
"You sure can't," Jeffrey moans, shaking his head at the memory of his ruined sheets. "But look at the bright side: at least my mother can't use your father's illness to blackmail you anymore…seeing as he's…you know."
The only coffee David Harrington can get in the hospital waiting room in the wee hours of the morning comes from a machine. He sips it and winces. "How do people drink this?"
"Most people aren't as daring as you, David," Jim quips as he walks up and claps his friend on the shoulder. "I mean, you were married to the meanest bitch on this planet, not counting my own wife. You must have balls of titanium."
"I'll thank you to leave my balls out of it," David sighs, rubbing his eyes.
Jim takes a cursory glance below David's belt. "If you say so."
"Speaking of balls, I don't suppose you've talked to Mama Rosa about the Jennifer Sallison problem?"
"I'm handling it." Just then someone in the waiting room turns the TV channel to a news report on the missing district attorney. "Speak of the devil."
The report is from the field, in front of the police station. The reporter is interviewing a police officer, the fill-in district attorney, and one Quita Maxwell.
Reporter: Ms. Maxwell, is it true that before she disappeared, D.A. Jennifer Sallison met with you regarding the death of your brother, Quincy Maxwell?
Quita: Where he at? Where my brother at? Candace, she dead!
New D.A.: We've put out an APB on Candace Young, and—"
Quita: Where that ho at? Imma cut that bitch's throat! Where she at? Hey, is this gonna be on TV? Am I gonna get in trouble for taking that rich white boy Wyatt Cryer hostage? He owes me mad money! Where he at?
Jim grabs David's cup of coffee and takes a large gulp.
Jeffrey is just getting off to sleep when Justin appears at his hotel room door.
"I can't deal with this right now, Justin. I'll call you later." Justin doesn't speak, just plods into the hotel room, takes a look around, and undoes his gun belt. "I'm serious, man, I'm tired. We'll have to have a serious discussion about…our situation…another time. I can't deal with this right now."
Justin's bully club, mace, gun, and grenades fall to the plush carpeted floor with several thuds. He starts on the buttons of his uniform.
"Do you hear me?" Jeffrey scowls, looking like a younger, angrier, gayer Babyface. "We're not doing this, and that's final!"
Justin nods as he opens his police uniform shirt. "Your mother threatened me tonight. Told me she'd tell everyone that I'm—which I'm not!—if I don't stay away from you. Your mommy forbids me to see you, Jeffrey." Officer Justin unzips his police pants, hissing as the handcuffs Jeffrey favors so much jangle as they hit the floor. "Your mother will be angry if we see each other. Your mother."
"I…I don't care," Jeffrey whispers, inching closer to Officer Justin. "I have to be at the hospital early, to check on Wyatt."
"I hate him."
Jeffrey crosses his arms. "You need to work on your anger issues. Someone could get hurt."
"The only one getting hurt is me." Justin steps naked out of his clothes and approaches Jeffrey, who tries not to look down. "Why are you trying to make me jealous with that junkie with a stupid haircut? I know you want me."
"I'm not gay." Justin leans in and kisses Jeffrey on the corner of the mouth. They make slick, sticky kissing sounds while managing to not actually kiss. "See? You want me, Jeffrey. Just give in to me. You're making me crazy with your sexiness."
"But…my fiancée is in the hospital and—"
Justin grabs Jeffrey's hand and places it on his personal bully club. "Your mother wants me dead."
A lustful whimper escapes Jeffrey's lips. "Shut up and kiss me."
It's late when Veronica finally goes out to her car to leave the hospital, having visited—and slapped around—Melissa again. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees who is leaning against the side of her car.
"I'm too tired to fight with you, Jim." Veronica laces her keys sticking out between her knuckles, like back in the day in the hood. "Go away, demon."
Jim holds his hands up. "I just wanted to see where we stand with the whole Jennifer Sallison thing, that's all. Why don't you come by the house so we can get our stories straight again?"
"No, that won't be happening."
"Katheryn's moved out, if that's what you're worried about."
"Why would I be worried about that crazy wife of yours?"
"Then you should come over…so we can…strategize." Jim smiles with lots of teeth. Veronica gulps.
"Uh, what the hell is this? Are you trying to…hit on me? Are you out your damn mind?"
Jim moves forward, stopping when Veronica takes two steps back. "You've got it all wrong. I just thought we should finalize everything, in case anything comes to light. And you're still Katheryn's lawyer. We need to discuss this."
"How about an early breakfast?" Jim asks quickly, eyebrow raised.
Veronica fake gags. "I…I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."
Jim rolls his eyes. "You're impossible! You know, I haven't forgotten what you did to my son! You should be on your knees thanking me that you're still walking this earth!"
"On my knees?"
"Yeah," Jim says, coming closer, "on…your…knees."
Veronica's nostrils flare as she comes face to face with Jim Cryer, evil-and-stupid incarnate. "I really hate you."
"Right back at you, bitch." He kisses her fast. She bites his bottom lip. He laughs and grabs her around the waist. It makes her gasp, and he deepens the kiss. It lasts several loud, smacking moments. Veronica finally pulls away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I ought to have you arrested for that."
Jim smirks. "That good, huh?"
"In your dreams."
"No use denying it," Jim says, licking his wet lips, "I've been with Black women before. They couldn't get enough of old Jim. All three of them."
"You disgust me in every way, shape, and form."
"Yeah, that works for me." Jim leans in and starts kissing Veronica's neck. She struggles only a little.
"You really think you have what it takes to satisfy me? I'll break you in two."
Jim pulls Veronica against his lower body. "I'm counting on it. Now open your car door."
"Mmm. What do you think David would think about us?" Veronica curses and struggles with her keys. Jim laughs until his patience starts to wear thin. "Here, gimme the—where's the clicker thing?"
"Get in the damn car!"
The phone ringing wakes Wyatt from a fitful sleep.
"Hello? Jeffrey, where are you?"
"Honey, it's your mother," Katheryn Cryer murmurs from her new condo. "How are you, son?"
Wyatt rolls over onto his stomach, the hospital sheets sliding down to reveal his muscled back and the tops of his buttocks. "I feel like crap, Mom. Jeffrey's supposed to be with me. Why isn't he here?"
"Shouldn't you be concentrating on getting better on your own, son?"
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not gay!"
Katheryn clears her throat. "I never said you…oh, dear. I better go. Hanna's wailing in the sauna again."
"Sauna? We don't have a sauna, do we?"
"I'm leaving your father. I've moved out of the house and into a condo in town. You can come stay with me after you're released. As long as you're clean."
Wyatt moans with the pain of both detoxification and abandonment. "I don't know…can…can Jeffrey come, too?"
David does his not-quite-future-father-in-law-duties by checking up on Melissa the next morning. When he comes down the hallway he cringes when he runs into his soon-to-be-ex-wife.
"What are you doing here, Veronica? I won't let you torture that poor girl anymore, and I will definitely not let you hurt our son anymore!"
Veronica starts to give a devastating comeback, but when she steps forward on her stilettos, she wobbles and nearly topples over. "Oh, dear. How clumsy of me!"
"Veronica," David sighs, "tell me you're not using again."
"Why would I be using, David? Because my husband is a cheating lowlife, or because my son would rather play tiddlywinks with Eminem wannabes than own up to his adult, heterosexual responsibilities?"
David frowns. "Who's Eminem?"
"David, make yourself useful and go get me some real coffee. I just can't seem to wake up this morning." Veronica shifts in her shoes, wipes her perfectly coifed weave out of her eyes, and rolls her hips just the tiniest bit. David looks her up and down.
"My God, Veronica. You had sex last night, didn't you?"
Veronica actually blushes. "That's none of your business anymore. Once you took that slut Maggie Day—may she rest in peace—to bed, you lost all right to question me about my personal life. And now that bimbo you're with? How far can you sink? I bet she didn't even finish high school."
David points to a mark on Veronica's neck. "A woman your age with hickeys on her neck has no room to judge. You should be ashamed."
"She sure should." Jim walks up to the Harringtons carrying a large gourmet coffee. "I bet she rolled around in the hay with the biggest, blackest young buck in Savanah, right, Veronica?"
Veronica clears her throat and smiles nervously. "Drop dead, Jim."
Jim smiles and licks his lips. "That's not what you said last night."
As David goes pales, Veronica calmly takes Jim's coffee, removes the lid, and promptly tosses it in his face. He gasps, and then smiles as the room temperature coffee runs over his blonde hair.
"What, you think I'm stupid enough to hand you hot coffee? Give me some credit, Veronica. I've had you: I know you're the Princess of Darkness."
David's eyes go wide. "How…could…you?"
Veronica takes a deep breath, straightens her clothes, and grabs Jim in a fast, hard kiss. "Eat your heart out, David. Jim, come near me again and I'll cut your penis off." She kisses him again and wipes her mouth. "On second thought, I'll be over tonight. Get ready for me." She strolls away, hips swinging just a little, and waves at them over her head. "Bye, bye, bastards."
Jim watches her go. "That woman should have flying monkeys appear in her wake." He looks at David and holds his hands up defensively. "I know, I know."
David shakes his head, his eyes wide. "After all these years…after all she's done—after what she did to your son—how could you? She's my wife! How could you sleep with Veronica, Jim? What possessed you?"
"David, c'mon. We've known each other all these years and you never told me what she was like in the sack? I'm a little mad you never shared this with me. I thought we were friends."
"Friends? Would a friend sleep with a mentally ill monster like Veronica? Are you that hard up?"
Jim crosses his arms. "Shame on you, David. She's single, I'm…available. It was bound to happen. Veronica is a beautiful, intelligent, accomplished woman. Ok, she's a little…complicated."
"Complicated? She's freaking insane! She set me on fire!"
Jim smiles. "Maybe you just weren't giving it to her good enough." The punch to the face isn't entirely unexpected. Jim holds his face and laughs as David walks away in a huff. "It's ok, David. I forgive you. You're a good man. You never had a chance to give her what she needs anyway. Hey, let's have lunch later, huh?"
"You're sick!" David yells behind him as he whips out his phone. "Erica? David. I'm coming over right now, and I'm bringing my little blue pills!"
Jim watches his best friend stomp away, confident that he'll return once he's cooled off and gotten off. He takes out his phone and dials. "Katheryn. Any chance of us wife-swapping with the Harringtons? Well, it couldn't hurt to ask!"
Copyright 2017 by KTA