In Between Men

by San Culberson

Genres: African American; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

One Moment. . . Hope Williams doesn't know what happened--the dream life she worked so hard to get suddenly feels like a trap. Her successful husband wants her to be wife-and-mother 24/7, her solid career is becoming a rut, and none of her friends get why "everything" isn't feeling like much to her. Only Anthony understands. One Night. . . A successful colleague, Anthony sees Hope's frustrations. Although his low-key sensitive ways and good looks are so sexy, Hope is sure they can keep their relationship strictly friendship--until they spend a sizzling night together. Now she can't resist the incendiary passion Anthony promises. One Chance. . . But Hope is fast finding out that too much of a good thing may not be nearly enough. With her marriage shattered and her life in turmoil, she'll have to decide what she's willing to lose. . .and how much more she dares to risk. "Culberson adeptly portrays characters with their own distinct traits and flaws, compelling the reader to examine how she defines happily ever after outside of a fairy tale." -- RT Book Reviews

Release date: December 1, 2010

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 385

Sample

“Shoot her, Mama! Just kill her!” Hope Williams looked down with amazement at the little girl who couldn’t have been any more than five years old. She could tell by the bloodthirsty expression on her otherwise angelic-looking face that the little girl was dead serious. Hope focused again on the “mama” standing near the front bumper of a gleaming white Mercedes. The woman had a tight grip on the hobo bag that was wrapped over her shoulder, and it wasn ’t hard for Hope to imagine her pulling out some sort of automatic weapon.

The nasty remark she had been about to make died a quick death. She was not about to get herself killed in a parking lot shoot-out … especially considering she didn’t have anything to shoot with other than her mouth! Yeah, the other woman was wrong … she had parked too damn close to the yellow line. Hope always–always–parked squarely between the lines. And it wasn’t always easy in the big-assed Navigator her husband insisted she drive. She took a deep breath before attempting to reason with the woman again.

“Look, I’m just saying that I can’t get into my truck. Will you please move your car over? I don’t want anything to happen to your paint job or mine.” Hope said it with as much pleasantness as she could muster, but she couldn’t control the slight roll of her neck.

“I ain’t movin’ a goddamn thang! And I don’t give a fuck about yo paint job, but lemme come outta this bitch and find a scratch on my car.” The “bitch” she referred to was the exclusive boutique Hope had just left. “You betta get in the best way you know how. Bring yo ass on here, Shairaqetria!” She grabbed the little girl’s hand and walked away, not even looking back to see what Hope might do.

Hope felt the rough-and-ready young girl that she used to be before she left the mean streets of South Dallas pleading with her ... Come on, Hope, you don’t have to take that shit! Kick her ass! Fuck up her car. When the former Hope realized that the mature thirty-four-year-old Hope wasn’t going to take her advice, she gave up with a disgusted sigh. Damn, girl, how you goin’ let her do you like that? The memory of the little girl pleading with her mother to commit murder kept her quiet. Her mother had always said the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

She walked to the passenger side of her truck and pressed the small button on her keychain to open the door. She draped the garment bag across the seat and climbed in and over the center console to get to the driver’s seat, cursing under her breath the entire time. The tears that stung the back of her eyes were from anger and frustration.

The engine sprang to life when she turned the key in the ignition. She backed out without looking and whipped the big Navigator around in the parking lot like it was a two-seater Porsche. Hope glanced at the small clock in the dashboard as she turned onto the street, and realized that she should have been back in her office thirty-five minutes ago. The drive back to the bank would take at least fifteen minutes. “Damn!” she muttered again under her breath.

If she hadn’t spent the last hour in the small, overpriced boutique trying to convince herself not to blow her clothing budget, she would have avoided the nasty confrontation because she would have been where she was supposed to be … sitting behind her desk. She wasn’t happy about the fact that she had spent a small fortune on a dress she would wear three times max. She couldn’t wear it to work and she certainly couldn’t wear it to church. Hope glanced at the satiny black bag next to her and decided that the bag had probably added about twenty-five percent to the price tag.

Her lips curled defiantly as she came to the first stoplight and reflected on the last ninety minutes. The dress looked good on her, and she had been at the bank long enough to take a long lunch every once in a while. “And you should have beat that heifer’s ghetto-fabulous ass! Since when did you start letting people talk to you like that? And that badass little girl needs an ass-whoopin’ too!” Since no one was in the truck to hear her profanity, she continued her tirade for a few seconds longer.

From the time she had thrown the covers back that morning, Hope had been pissed. The kids had been fighting, and by the time she realized there wasn’t any milk for cereal it was too late for her to cook anything. She had been forced to wait in the drive-thru line atMcDonald’s. And her husband, Ray, had waited until that morning to tell her that they were invited to an anniversary party that night and that he wanted to go. She hated going out on Friday!

The driver behind her pressed long and hard on his horn. She refocused her attention on the traffic light and saw that it was green. “So what! You can’t control my fucking driving!” Although she was yelling at the top of her lungs, her voice didn’t penetrate the two tons of steel that surrounded her. Hope pressed longer and harder on her horn before pulling off at a snail’s pace.

Her hand was positioned to respond to any sign language that he cared to offer. She was not going to run from a fight two times in less than fifteen minutes. But the other driver moved into the next lane and passed her without so much as a glance in her direction. She was instantly ashamed of her irresponsible and juvenile behavior.

What if he had been one of those road-rage maniacs they’re always featuring on the news? I could have been shot and killed, and no one would have ever seen how good I look in my new dress. My three children would have been left without a mother and Ray would have been forced to start cleaning up after himself. Ray cleaning up was such an impossibility that she laughed out loud, and suddenly the angst that she had been experiencing all day melted.

Her moods had been changing so rapidly recently that she had talked to her best friend Stephanie about the symptoms of premenopause. Stephanie had convinced her that at thirty-four she was much too young, and suggested instead that Hope was on the verge of losing her mind. “You just crazy,” were her exact words. Hope’s thoughts shifted again.

Going out on Friday wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to rush and do everything. She pondered. I could have a glass of wine, listen to some music, give myself a facial … Hope leaned over and grabbed the cell phone from the side of her purse before she had time to dismiss the plan forming in her head. She called her office and counted four rings before her secretary answered.

“Security National Bank.” The secretary’s voice was clear and professional.

“Helen, this is Hope.”

“Oh, hi, Hope.”

“I’m not going to be able to make it back in to the office today.” She started to make up an excuse, but decided not to. She didn’t owe the woman an explanation, and she hated to lie unnecessarily. But her voice did hold just a hint of “it’s something personal, I don’t care to discuss it” softness. “If anyone calls with an urgent question, and I do mean urgent, you can page me; otherwise, I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

“Okay… I hope everything is fine?” There was a slight question in her voice, but Hope ignored it and looked again at the garment bag to her right.

“I’m sure they will be, thanks, Helen.” She ended the call and chuckled to herself. I didn’t lie; things will be all right if Stephanie comes through for me. She mentally crossed her fingers as she made a second call. The phone rang five times before her friend picked up.

“Hey girl, what’s up?”

Hope chuckled some more before answering. “You and that damn caller ID.” Hope was not a fan.

“I know you didn’t call here to talk about my caller ID. What do you want?”

“I want you to stop being so rude, but I called because I’m looking for someone who can use a thousand dollars.” Hope knew Stephanie would take the bait.

“I know a lot of people who could use a thousand dollars. Myself first and foremost.”

Hope sighed deeply. “Well, girl, you’re in luck because I’m so tired, I’ll pay you that just to keep my kids overnight.”

Stephanie laughed into the phone. “Your cheap ass wouldn’t pay a thousand dollars for a first-class trip to the moon.”

Hope laughed back at her. “This is true, but I will buy pizza for you and your hungry monsters if my kids can spend the night at your house. Please, please, best friend… only real friend.” Hope pretended to beg as she continued to maneuver through the light midday traffic. Stephanie didn’t say yes immediately.

“What are you doing that you have to get rid of your kids for the entire night?”

“Ray and I are going to Ralph and Lisa’s tenth anniversary party. That is, if you can baby-sit,” she pleaded some more.

Stephanie tried to sound disgusted, but Hope knew that she didn’t really mind. “Bring ‘em on. The more the scarier. I’ll just throw them in the back with my three monsters.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The appreciation in her voice was heartfelt. “I’ll drop them off at six.” Hope was starting to feel like butter. Anticipation flooded her body, and suddenly she was really looking forward to getting dressed up and going out. “Girrrlll, you ought to see the dress I just bought.”

Stephanie, who was seven months pregnant and showing it, sighed into the phone. “If I can’t wear it, I don’t want to see it.”

Hope had a clear picture of her friend’s big, round belly. “I feel you, girl. I’ll let you wear it after the baby is born.” Hope laughed.

“After this baby is born, I’ll be wearing nursing bras and stretch pants.” Stephanie sounded cheerful about it, but Hope remembered what it felt like to be seven months pregnant and mother to a newborn. The flashback of midnight feedings and engorged breasts sent a slight shiver up her right arm.

“Been there, done that, glad to say I won’t be doing it again.” Hope’s baby-making days had ended with a snip of scissors and a flick of her doctor’s wrist twelve minutes after David had been born three years before. Hope was about to inquire about Stephanie’s pregnancy, but her friend cut in before she could.

“Girl, I have to go, the buzzer is going off on the dryer. Just bring them on by, and don’t forget to bring a super-large pizza with everything for the adults who don’t have any sort of social life that doesn’t involve minors, and some buffalo wings, and some cheese sticks too.”

Hope laughed. “See you later on.” Hope pressed the End button on the cell phone and tossed it back into her purse. She made the first possible turn, got on the expressway, and headed toward her home in DeSoto, Texas, a suburban community thirty-five minutes from downtown Dallas. She smiled as she always did when she thought about her home. Their five-bedroom house took up two lots in the center of a cul-de-sac. She and Ray had looked at dozens of houses before finding the one they fell in love with. The backyard had been the selling factor. The original owners had built a tropical pool with spa and waterfall in one corner, and had installed a large sandbox complete with swings and jungle gym close to the back fence. It was an idyllic spot for young children and lovers.

She was thinking about her boys as she turned onto the cul-de-sac, and made a quick decision to take them out for ice cream right after school … mother guilt. Whenever she knew she was going to spend any amount of time away from her kids (and with the exception of work, she rarely did) she felt compelled to do something special for them.

She pulled into her driveway and pressed the garage door opener. She frowned when she saw that Ray’s car was parked in the garage. Damn! What is he doing here in the middle of the day? Her thoughts were uncharitable, but she didn’t care. She had been looking forward to spending some time alone in her home … something else she rarely had a chance to do.

Hope noticed that her next-door neighbor, Margaret, was pulling weeds out of a flower bed. The woman was wearing a flower-patterned bonnet that tied under her chin. She probably ordered it from some Ladylike Living magazine. The thought of it caused Hope’s eyes to roll. Hope Williams was an anomaly in a neighborhood full of “soccer moms” and PTO volunteers. Most of the women were like Margaret; they stayed at home and tended their flowers and their children and their husbands. Hope had heard that some of the women had recently started a pinochle club. Rumor had it that a select group of women met every Wednesday for a game of cards and a cold lunch. It didn’t bother Hope that her invitations to join the other women in their pursuit of happiness had trickled to none a long time back.

She decided to leave her truck in the driveway and turned the engine off. Before she could open the door properly, Margaret was running across their yards like Chicken Little. Why the hell is she coming over here? Hope tried to smooth the irritation from her face. The bonnet looked even more ridiculous on closer inspection. The hand she waved in Margaret’s direction said “hi, but I’m really too busy to talk to you right now.”

“Hi, Hope.” The short run had made Margaret breathless. She was still carrying a small trowel in her hand. She looked at Ray’s car in the garage and then quickly back at Hope. “Hi, Hope,” she said again.

“Hi, Margaret.” Hope wondered how much neighborly conversation she would have to endure before she was allowed to go inside.

“You’re home early today.” The petite redhead smiled warmly at Hope, apparently unaware that she was a nuisance.

“Yeah.” Hope smiled back with exaggerated politeness. “We have plans tonight and I’m a little tired, so I decided to come home and get some rest.” Margaret pointed to the garment bag in her hand.

“Not too tired to shop I see.”

Hope’s fake smile widened genuinely. “Never too tired to shop.”

Margaret’s look was almost envious. “Well, before you go in why don’t you come over for coffee. I’m finished with the yard.”

Hope looked at the small containers of Mexican heather that Margaret had deserted. “Looks like you have quite a bit more to do.” What part of “I’m going to get some rest” didn’t she understand? Hope wondered, but kept the smile fixed on her face.

“Well, I’m almost finished, and I could use some adult company.” Margaret looked again at Ray’s car. “Why don’t you just come in for a minute … show me what you bought?” She sounded almost desperate.

Is she that lonely? Hope wondered. “Another time, Margaret.” The other woman started to protest, but Hope waved and walked through the garage without looking back. The sound of the alarm greeted her as she pushed the door open. She hurried over to silence it before looking around her living room as she always did. Hope loved her home. She tried not to make it a habit to love things, and the house and its contents were definitely things. But two years ago, after she had finally finished furnishing it, she sat down on her jewel green sofa, looked around at all the things that had been chosen so carefully–from the mahogany coffee table to the three identical silver frames that held each boy’s “first photo"–and gave herself permission to love this one thing… her home.

Five bedrooms, four and a half baths, hardwood floors where she wanted them, a Jacuzzi tub! It was a mansion and a haven to a girl who had grown up in the housing projects of South and West Dallas. It took six months of living in the house before she stopped feeling like Weezie from The Jeffersons. She was definitely a woman who had “moved on up.” A hissing noise somewhere toward the bedrooms broke her train of thought. She had almost forgotten Ray was at home. She put her purse and the garment bag on the sofa.

“Ray?” she called out as she walked to the back of the house. As she got closer to the master bedroom the hissing noise became louder. “Ray,” she called loud enough for him to hear and respond. When he didn’t, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she stopped in front of her bedroom door. Her thoughts moved immediately to the negative. Maybe Margaret was trying to keep me out of the house for a reason… maybe she knows something I don’t know. Hope’s heart started pounding faster as she turned the crystal doorknob that led to her bedroom. It was like she was playing the lead role in a second-rate soap opera. Lord, don’t let this be something I can’t handle, she prayed silently before pushing the door open.

Her eyes immediately went toward the bed. It was empty, the covers rumpled just as she had left them that morning. She felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment as she let out the breath she had been holding. Then she laughed; Ray was not the cheating type. He was more likely to be holed up with a sports magazine than with another woman. What was I thinking? She half snorted.

A quick scan of the room revealed the source of the hissing noise. In the corner closest to the door was the battery-operated car that her youngest son had gotten on his birthday. The spinning wheels made the hissing sound because the wall prevented the car from moving forward. She picked up the toy and turned it off. “This is why they’re always asking for batteries.” She held it in her hand as she walked to the nightstand and picked up the telephone and called her husband on his cell.

“Ray,” she almost whined into the phone. “Where are you?”

“What do you mean where am I? I’m working.”

“Your car is still in the garage,” she accused.

“That’s because I’m riding with Jacob today… in-troducing him to clients.”

“Oh. Is that the new guy?” Her husband was regional supervisor for a large pharmaceutical company.

“Yes, it is. Is there anything you need?” His tone probably sounded patient to anyone around him, but Hope knew it to be patronizing.

“No, I was just calling to make sure everything was all right. I thought you were at home, and I was calling your name, but you didn’t say anything.” The silliness of her statement embarrassed her.

“Well, I’m not at home, and everything is fine. I’ll see you later.” He hung up before Hope could say good-bye. She stuck her tongue out at the phone before putting it down. She took the batteries out of the car and tossed them into her nightstand before putting it back in the boy’s room; then she went to get the garment bag that she had left on the sofa.

Back in the bedroom, she looked longingly at her unmade bed before starting her normal home-from-work routine. Her jacket and her new dress were hung in the closet, and after removing her skirt and her lavender silk blouse, she tossed them in the dry-cleaning bin. As she was turning away from the bin, she caught a glimpse of herself in the long rectangular mirror positioned above the double sink. She stood in her bra, pantyhose, and three-inch black work pumps.

Hope was thirty-four years old, mother to three boys, and her dress size was holding steady at a size eight. She moved her long fingers over the stomach that was as flat as it had been when she was a freshman in college… well, almost as flat. A smile crossed her face; she was pleased that her hard work at the gym had paid off. Seven months after David, her youngest son, had been born, she was disappointed to discover a lone stretch mark had remained on her smooth brown belly.

She had managed to escape the marks of childbirth with the twins, but David had been leaving his mark on her since birth. Her only consolation was the fact that the mark was so faint that Ray probably didn’t even know it was there–that and her beautiful baby boy, of course. After her final postpartum checkup, her ob-gyn had proclaimed that she was made for having babies. She told him that she was made to have three babies.

Her eyes and fingers traveled upward and settled on her face. Her skin was literally the color of ground nutmeg. There were no lines on her face, and no blemishes … this time of the month. Her dark brown eyes were evenly spaced and her lashes were thick and very dark. She had been very attractive her entire life, but when she hit thirty, she had crossed the line from very attractive to stunning.

She put her hands in her hair and smiled at herself again. When she met Ray she had been a twenty-one-year-old senior at the University of Texas, and her hair was always caught up in a ponytail that extended past her shoulders. Then, he was always complimenting her on its lush thickness, telling her that she looked so sexy when she wore it down. Eventually his sweet talk had worn her down, and she had foregone the practicality of her ponytail and started leaving it loose for love’s sake.

Throughout their ten-year marriage, she had had four inches taken off the top and two inches off the sides, and an inch here and an inch there until she had arrived at her current ultracontemporary style. Her hair was very short … so short that when she had gotten it cut to its current length, Ray didn’t say a word about it for twelve days. But she loved it, and had maintained the same style for over a year. It was relaxed, and special styling products kept it as glossy as pressed satin. Her bangs extended about an inch and a half past her hairline. Her hair stylist had expertly shaped and tapered the sides and the back. At its longest point, her hair was shorter than her pinkie.

If there was one thing she would change about her body, it would be her breasts. After providing sustenance for three hungry boys, and after twelve years of being a major source of amusement for a grown man, they would not be mistaken by anyone for those of a twenty-one-year-old. But they were small enough to have weathered the storm without too much damage. She still went braless … occasionally… to bed, mostly, she thought to herself wryly, before kicking off her shoes and carefully removing her pantyhose. As always, she checked her backside before turning away from the mirror. Her ass was a work of art.

After slipping on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, she thought about the housework waiting for her. She could use this free time to start a load of laundry, clean the kids’ bathroom, clean the refrigerator, or vacuum … or she could actually take the nap that she had promised herself. A tired sigh escaped her before she walked to the nightstand, set the alarm clock, slipped out of the clothes she had just put on, and slid her naked body between the rumpled sheets. Decision made.

Hope turned on her back and stretched like a cat. She moved her hands along the sides of her waist, appreciating the soft, smooth feel of her skin. She crossed her hands over her thighs, and massaged some of the knots that were left from her latest trip to the gym. Seemingly of their own volition, her fingers found the juncture between her legs. She caressed herself before rolling over on her stomach, keeping her hands and fingers in place. Hope moved her hand and fingers firmly and insistently for several minutes before she found quick release and peaceful sleep.



The alarm woke her two hours later. She flung the covers back and sat on the side of the bed and stretched before picking up the clothes she had discarded earlier. After taking five minutes to wash her face and brush her teeth, Hope dressed in jeans, T-shirt, baseball cap, and sneakers before walking out the door.

She made the trip to the boys’ school in less than ten minutes. As she walked into the double doors she caught the lingering smell of something that she couldn’t put her finger on, but it was the same smell that had lingered in the halls of every elementary school she had ever been in.

Her twins, Karl and Jordan, were in the second grade, but were placed in different classrooms. David, her three-year-old, attended the cooperative day care housed in the north end of the school. She knew they would not have a problem foregoing after-school care at the Y in order to go out for ice cream. She walked down the familiar halls to collect her children, and fifteen minutes later her boys were safely buckled in the backseat, talking excitedly about ice cream and sleeping over with their good friends.

Hope pulled into an empty parking space in front of the ice creamery in the shopping strip across the street from Southland Mall. The twins were unbuckling their seat belts before she had the truck in Park. “Don’t you open that door!” she warned. “And haven’t I told you not to unbuckle your seat belt until I say so?” At seven and a half years old, the boys knew a rhetorical question when they heard one.

They waited on the edge of their seats for either more fussing from their mother or permission to open the door. She gave her best frustrated-mother sigh before saying, “Now you can get out of the truck.” The twins were out of the truck and into the store before she made it around to the passenger side to help David out of his car seat.

She looked at the back of their heads through the glass front of the ice cream shop as she walked toward the door. They were not identical twins, but they were close enough. Same height, same slender build. Their facial features were arranged differently, but they were both good-looking boys. Good genes, Hope thought proudly as she opened the door.

David pulled his hand from hers and wasted no time joining his brothers at the counter. The man behind the counter looked up at her and gave her the sort of smile that she had been getting since she was fourteen years old… twelve, really. “Are these your boys?” His voice was friendly, but Hope pretended to be seriously considering what to have and answered without looking up.

“They are.”

“They sure are lucky to have such a pretty mommy.”

This time she did look up. “They are.” Hope smiled coolly. His smile widened. Apparently he didn’t know that he was flirting with himself.

“I’m Terrance Oliver, the owner.”

Hope looked back down into the freezer and kept her voice cool. “Really? We’re in here all the time … I’ve never seen you.”

His smile was self-satisfied. “This store practically runs itself. I spend the majority of my time at my other two stores.” If he was waiting for her to be impressed he had a long wait.

“Do you know what you want?” Her question was directed at all three boys.

“Can we have a banana split?” Jordan was the unofficial spokesperson for the brothers, and he sounded as if he expected her to say no. Hope knew a good mother kept her children guessing.

“Sure.” She smiled. . .