Tainted Liberties
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Synopsis
Two starkly contrasting families collide amidst disturbing revelations that threaten to shatter their beliefs and marital vows in this raw and reflective romantic drama in the vein of Donna Hill’s Confessions in B-Flat.
Raised on red-blooded American traditionalism, Mark’s views on life are simple—the man leads, provides, and protects the household, and the family follows suit, no matter the cost. His refusal to part from his detrimental ways paired with his primitive ideologies drives an unknown wedge between him and those he cherishes. When he receives a series of devastating news, it could prove to be the catalyst for change that he doesn’t realize he needs.
Amy struggles to keep her family together as Mark’s behavior continues to spiral out of control. For years, she’s lived in the shadow of their marriage while trying to maintain an upstanding home and work-life balance. Soon, she finds herself immersed in a string of personal mishaps that may cause everything she’s tried to hold together to gradually slip between her fingers.
Sheldon has beaten all odds stacked against him. As a black man, he is Ivy League educated with a prominent career, a beautiful and equally educated wife, and adorable children. Their life is the epitome of the American dream fulfilled. For Sheldon, having everything you need doesn’t always equate to what you desire. Desires that could ruin all his accomplishments.
Eva has hopes and dreams that are buried under burping babies and wifely responsibilities. She loves her family but has lost herself in the process. In an effort to figure out her new normal, she becomes a woman her husband Sheldon doesn’t recognize. While trying to find her way back to herself, she risks losing the faith and family she holds dear.
Release date: June 25, 2024
Publisher: Black Odyssey Media
Print pages: 288
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Tainted Liberties
L.R. Jackson
Mark
The conference room buzzes with anticipation as everyone tries to guess who was fired today. Glances around the round table show that we use the process of elimination to figure out who is missing. We heard the rumor this morning. The person was fired by email and was told their items would be shipped to them later. I scan the room desperately, trying to solve the mystery, when it dawns on me that my manager is missing. The door swings open when I ask about his whereabouts, and the firm owner walks in.
“Good afternoon,” he speaks in a raised voice to quiet everyone down.
He waits until the room is silent before he continues to speak. “I know you all wonder why we’re gathered here this afternoon. Unfortunately, the rumors are true, and we had to let someone go. As of this minute, Mr. Hollis will no longer serve as the manager of this team.”
Silence fills the room, and everyone glances uncomfortably at one another. I am disappointed and can’t believe what I’m hearing. Colin Hollis was an exceptional manager, and because of his leadership and guidance, I was up for a promotion as a senior designer this year. So, what could he possibly have done to get fired? I’m about to ask if they’ll tell us what happened with him, but the conference room door swings open, and a tall, dark man wearing an expensive suit enters. He walks to the front of the room and stands beside the owner.
“I’d like you all to meet Andre Mays. He’ll be the new head manager of the international team. Andre has extensive experience and a wealth of knowledge in the architecture business. He has helped design some of the most famous buildings in the world. Please help me welcome him.”
Sounds of applause fill the room, but I’m barely clapping. I don’t like him, and I don’t like his kind. I never have. Who does he think he is barging in, wearing an expensive suit as if he can be as good as us? I don’t care what his credentials are or how smart the owner thinks he is. I know better. I know how they think. I know how they act and what they stand for.
He introduces himself and gives his background, but I’m not listening. I’m too busy imagining him hanging from a tree with a noose around his neck, like the images my father used to show me. Times were extraordinary back then . . . back when they knew their place. Back when they didn’t have positions of power. Back when they could be controlled.
Now, they think they can run shit. Say what they want and take over the country like a sewer full of rats. I won’t stand for this. I won’t stand for him prancing around like he owns me and looking down on me like he’s so much better. And I refuse to be managed by a nigger.
Amy
“We better hurry back before we get caught,” I tease as I slip into my pants.
His brown eyes meet mine. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I smack his forearm lightly but hard enough to leave a red mark on his skin. “I’m not into voyeurism so, no. I wouldn’t. Your mind is so dirty.”
“Isn’t that what you like about me?”
I smile. “Yes.”
I’m grateful for how easy it is to slide into my scrubs as I tighten the drawstring in the front. The easiness of getting dressed and undressed allows me to continue my regular lunch dates with Sheldon. And by “lunch date,” I mean sex. We’ve been sneaking around in the on-call room before and after his shift.
“You worry too much, Amy. It’s been seven months. Have we ever gotten caught?”
“No.”
“And we won’t. Just relax.”
My mouth curves upward in a devilish smile. Sheldon brings out a different side of me. One I’ve never shown to anyone else, not even my husband. I feel liberated with him. Vulnerable. Sexy. I can’t get enough of his baritone voice and big, strong hands. It keeps me coming back for more, which isn’t good because I could lose it all if I’m not careful. We could lose it all.
“I’ll see you later?” he asks before giving me a peck on the lips.
“Yeah, see you later.”
He places a pen inside the pocket of his white coat and slips out the door. I stay behind because it’ll look suspicious if I walk out right after him. Before walking out, I rush to the mirror to ensure I look presentable. I run my fingers through my messy hair, attempting to smooth my black strands down as neatly as possible. Exhaustion fills my eyes, courtesy of the three orgasms Sheldon gave me. But there’s nothing I can do about that right now. I check the time before grabbing the white pill from my pocket and pop it into my mouth. I swallow it, and then I open the door. The beeping monitors and announcements over the intercom greet me, reminding me I have five hours left in my shift. I pull the chart for my next patient and walk inside the examination room. The older woman smiles when she sees me. She’s holding the hand of a frail man, and her eyes are red and filled with tears. I take a deep breath before I speak.
“Hi, I’m Amy. I’ll be your nurse for the next few hours.”
“Hi, Amy. I’m Marsha Gillard, and this is my husband, Frank.”
I take a second to scan his chart, and stage four cancer leaps out at me. My heart breaks for both of them. “I understand Mr. Gillard has grown weaker these past few days?”
I walk over to check his vitals as she responds to my question. “Yes, he’s barely eating or talking.”
As I suspect, his vitals aren’t strong, but I don’t tell her. I leave that up to the oncologist, who’s already been paged. He looks peaceful as he watches me check his heartbeat. The calmness in his eyes tells me he knows he doesn’t have long. The worry shows me that he’s concerned more about his wife than himself. She watches him and caresses his head, assuring him that he will be okay. “I’m right here, honey; you’ll be just fine.”
I turn to face her while reading his chart. I’m interested in the length of time he’s been sick. When I find it, I speak gently. “Any other symptoms since his diagnosis three weeks ago?” She shakes her head. I offer a smile, but not a happy one. One more along the lines of compassion. “I know this must be hard for you both.”
She turns to look at him. “Yes. I can’t lose him.”
“How long have you two been married?”
Part of my job is to separate the personal lives of patients from my job. If I become emotionally invested in every patient I have, I’ll lose my mind. But this is different. This time, I’m curious.
“We’ve been married for over forty years,” she replies.
That’s a long time. It’s an even longer time if the marriage isn’t a happy one, like Mark’s and mine. Her eyes swing to mine. “Are you married?” she asks.
“Yes I am.”
She looks back at her husband, who’s clinging to life. “Cherish it while you can. Because one day, one of you will leave this earth.”
I take a risk and ask my next question, wondering if I want an honest answer. “Forty years is something to celebrate. Has it always been a happy marriage?”
She laughs lightly. “Honey, some days I can’t stand the sight of him. But that’s marriage. It’s not meant to be unicorns and butterflies every day. It’s two people choosing to love each other even when they don’t like each other. My Frank isn’t perfect, but he’s perfect for me.”
Watching how they look at each other brings tears to my eyes. Mark used to look at me like that. I used to look at him the same way. There was a time when I was head over heels in love with him. Now, not so much. Two kids later, I feel like I made a mistake marrying him, which saddens me. The loving couple in front of me is how I envisioned Mark and me, minus cancer. I look at the heart monitor before I scribble in my exam notes. When I’m finished, I glance at the time. “The oncologist should be in shortly.”
She nods without taking her eyes off her husband. I don’t know how many patients I’ve seen during my nursing career. There are way too many to remember. But sometimes, I encounter a patient that sticks with me. I find myself thinking about one even after they’ve long been discharged. This is one of those times. My mind swirls with curiosity. Do they have kids? Will he miraculously live longer than what the statistics say? If not, what will his wife do without him? My heart softens at the thought of Mark dying or being gravely sick. I love him and would never want anything to happen to him. He’s the father of my children. He must sense that I’m thinking about him because my phone suddenly vibrates and when I check the message, it’s from him.
Hollis was fired today. Can you believe they brought in some monkey as our new manager?
I don’t respond. I’ve got more patients to see, and I won’t allow him to ruin my mood with one of his racist rants. They’re starting to become annoying. He hates anyone that doesn’t look like us. Native Americans, Chinese, Spanish—it doesn’t matter. He hates them all. But he especially has a hatred for Black people. I don’t know why, and I never bothered to ask. He’s my husband, so I go along with it. I pretend to hate Black people as much as he does, which kills me. How can I hate Black people if I’m sleeping with one? It’s another reason I’ve got to be careful. If Mark ever finds out about Sheldon and me, I don’t know what he would do, and I don’t want to find out.
Sheldon
I pull into my driveway and turn off the ignition. I take a deep breath and give myself a moment to gather my thoughts before I head inside. Today was an emotional day. I lost two patients, and although it’s not uncommon for doctors to lose patients, it’s never easy. I slowly leave my car and drag my feet toward the front door. As soon as I walk in, my daughter runs toward me.
“Daddy!” she excitedly yells.
I scoop her up and give her a big kiss on the cheek. “How’s daddy’s favorite girl?”
“Good,” she answers with a giggle.
Eva walks down the steps carefully, holding our newborn son, Sheldon Jr., and I can tell by the expression on her face that she’s had a long day. She’s wearing her usual outfit: baggy sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt, and a bonnet. My wife is beautiful: smooth brown skin, long hair, and curves in all the right places. God, I miss seeing those curves. And I miss seeing her doll herself up for me. When we first married, she made it a point to keep up her appearance. She got her hair and nails done every week. She wore sexy outfits for me and kinky lingerie. But those days are long gone. Sexy outfits are replaced with baggy jeans and t-shirts, and lingerie is replaced with long flannel pajamas. She doesn’t keep herself up anymore and could give a damn about keeping the spice in our marriage. Her only focus is Bible study and church.
“Do you mind taking the baby?” she asks.
“I just walked through the door,” I answer.
“So! I’ve been home with him all day, and I’d like to rest before Bible study tonight. It won’t hurt you to help with your son,” she fires back.
This is the reason I work late every chance I can. This is the reason we barely get along anymore. And this is the reason why I’m fucking Amy. Besides becoming a boring Bible scholar, Eva complains and nags like most Black women do. I’ve dated three in my lifetime, and all three caused me headaches. It’s the same with all of them. They don’t know how to stay in their place and submit to their men. That’s why dating white women is so much better. They’re easygoing, submissive, and know how to treat a man like a king. But I couldn’t dare bring home a white woman. My parents would disown me.
My parents grew up in the civil rights era. They marched, protested, and fought side by side against racial injustice. I won’t say they hate white people; just that they aren’t fond of them. No. Who am I kidding? They do hate white people. A big chunk of my family consisted of members of the Black Panther party. Growing up, I was taught that white people hated us and were not to be trusted. I was taught that I must work just as hard and be twice as good to have the same opportunities that they have. Racism was discussed daily, and I watched my parents struggle financially, working jobs that paid little, all while blaming it on oppression.
“Before you start an unnecessary argument, did you ever stop to think that it won’t be good for me to handle the baby until after I’ve showered and changed? I’ve been helping sick patients all day, Eva, and I’m full of germs.”
She narrows her eyes and tightly presses her lips together. “I’ll be in the nursery when you’re ready for him.”
I shake my head in frustration as I watch her climb the steps. This won’t be the last I hear about this, and it makes me want to walk right back out that door. Eva just can’t let shit go. She always must have the last word, and according to her, I’m in the wrong . . . about everything. Obviously, her church doesn’t teach her the importance of submission. I don’t know much about the Bible because my parents forbade me to read it. But I do know that there’s something in there about wives submitting to their husbands.
“Daddy, I wanna go play with Shellon,” Kamryn says as she wiggles out of my arms.
I chuckle. She still can’t pronounce Sheldon’s name correctly, and I hope she doesn’t grow up calling him Shellon instead of Sheldon. I place her down, and she takes off running up the steps. I love my kids, and if I’m being honest, I doubt Eva and I would have lasted this long if it weren’t for them. My thoughts are interrupted when my cell phone vibrates. It’s a message from Amy.
Are we still on for tomorrow?
Yes, I reply.
I look forward to my time with her. At first, it was just sex between us. But as time passed, I started developing feelings for her. I wish things could be different with us. I wish we were both free and single so we could be together. I wish my parents weren’t so pro-Black. And I wish society wasn’t biased against interracial dating. Even if Amy and I could date, many challenges would affect our relationship.
She’s very different from Eva. They’re both gorgeous, but their personalities are like night and day. Amy is gentle and easygoing. She doesn’t nag or complain. She sees me as the perfect man. Come to think of it, all my white exes saw me as perfect. With them, it was easy. We got along well. They weren’t snappy and sassy all the time. And boy, did they know how to take care of me. They prepared my meals, washed my clothes, and spoiled me rotten with affection. They also did anything I wanted in the bedroom, unlike Eva, who thinks sucking dick or anal sex is disgusting.
I’m also sick of Eva’s rhetoric that she doesn’t need a man. Why would she marry me if she didn’t need me? And what man wants to be married to a woman who constantly reminds him that she’s okay with or without him? I like for my woman to need me. But in the Black community, finding a woman not on the independent train is almost impossible. They’re taking this shit too far. They act like allowing their man to care for them is a crime. Maybe if more of them learned that they could still be independent and care for their man, the divorce rate wouldn’t be so high, and there wouldn’t be so many single mothers. I planned to marry a white woman, but unfortunately, none of my relationships with them lasted because I knew I could never bring them home to meet my parents. So now, I’m stuck with the type of woman I swore I didn’t want.
Make no mistake; I love my wife. But I’m no longer in love with her. I don’t desire her, and I hate everything about our marriage—especially her resistance to her role as a wife. For one, she’s too opinionated. She has something to say about everything, and sometimes, I just want her to sit back and shut the fuck up while I handle things. I’m the man of the house, but she doesn’t see it that way. Secondly, we agreed that she would be a stay-at-home mom, but now, she’s changing her mind. How the hell can she have a career while raising our two kids? I almost lost my shit when she talked about sending the kids to day care so she could run off and work a job she don’t need. I make enough money to support us comfortably. She should be at home, raising our children and caring for the house. That is her job. But she thinks otherwise. And we clash because of it. Eva thinks my expectations are unreasonable. She feels she’s an educated, strong woman who can work, be a mom, and have a career. She doesn’t think she should have to compromise, but I say, yes, the hell she does.
Eva
I place Sheldon Jr. in his bassinet, grab my Bible, and sit in the rocking chair. He’s been fussy all day, and it’s caused me to feel both frustrated and overwhelmed. I wanted to give Sheldon a piece of my mind just now, but I didn’t want to argue in front of the kids. We’ve been doing much of that lately. He swears his job is the only important job on the planet. I know he saves lives every day, but that doesn’t mean that I’m supposed to do nothing but stay home and raise his babies. I’m sick of him and his misogynistic ways. I had an exceptional career as a marketing director before we had Kamryn. I planned to be a stay-at-home mom until she turned one. That turned into five years, and then Sheldon Jr. came. My position was given to someone else, and now my résumé displays a five-year gap in employment. I want to return to work, but Sheldon wants me home barefoot and pregnant. We argue nonstop over it, and it’s caused me to lose respect for him as my husband and as a man. What man wouldn’t want his wife to have a career?
Proverbs 18:22 says, He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord. It doesn’t say, He who finds a maid that caters to your every need finds a good thing. That’s what Sheldon wants. It’s almost like he’s child number three. “Eva, can you heat my dinner?” “Eva, can you iron my scrubs?” “Eva, the baby is crying!” I swear if I hear him call my name one more time, I’ll end up on an episode of Snapped. He blames his lack of help around the house on his job. Don’t get me wrong; he does work a lot. But so do plenty of other fathers who still help around the house. Sheldon is just lazy. He leaves his socks and dirty briefs on the floor, won’t put the toilet seat down, and won’t even bother to change the baby now and then. His view of being a father is to provide for and play with them. The day-to-day care is all on me, and all I want is a little help. I want him to pick up after himself, wash a dish, or feed the baby sometimes.
Our marriage is in the dumps. We don’t communicate, are barely affectionate, and haven’t made love in months. The fire that once burned between us is gone. I sometimes hear him masturbating when he thinks I’m asleep, which disgusts me. I know he has needs, but I’m here to satisfy them even if I’m not in the mood. I also suspect that he’s sleeping with somebody else. He’s been cold toward me lately and always on his phone. He’s also working more than usual, which leads me to believe he could be sneaking around with one of his coworkers. He works with a staff of women, and I’ve seen how they look at my husband. Sheldon has a high sex drive and is into all kinds of things—things I’m sure every woman in that ER would be willing to do for and with him. I used to be that woman. Ready to do everything in my power to please him. But I’m a saved woman now. The church has taught me that a woman doesn’t have sex to enjoy it. We have sex to procreate and to please our husbands. My job is to allow him to take me until he’s satisfied, and that’s what I do. All that other stuff he wants to do is unnecessary and very sinful.
The t. . .
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