Chapter 2 #2
Dennis lingered over his wife’s head before going to the hot plate and picking up a pot of freshly brewed coffee. He poured steaming black coffee into a cup. “Good morning to you, too. You were magnificent last night.”
A hint of a smile reached Precious’s eyes. “So were you. I wouldn’t be surprised if we made a baby last night.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I was thinking the same thing.” Dennis walked over to the table and sat opposite his wife. A dark eyebrow, in an equally dark face, lifted. “I don’t know what it was, but your pussy felt different. It was tighter.”
Precious didn’t want to tell her husband it hadn’t been her, but another woman he’d slept with.
She knew she wouldn’t have been able to trick him into believing he’d slept with his wife if she hadn’t filled a highball glass with a couple of ounces of bourbon, laced with a small amount of sleep medication.
It was enough to dull his senses where he hadn’t known whom he was making love to.
“You know I hate it when you refer to my vagina as a pussy,” she chastised softly.
Dennis glared at his wife over the rim of the delicate porcelain cup. “A vagina by another name is still a pussy,” he said angrily. “And you have to know the reason I married you is because your pussy is the best that I’ve ever had.”
Precious lowered her eyes, knowing Dennis would be turned on by the demure gesture.
She’d learned to gauge her husband’s moods and had come to know him better than he would ever know the real Precious Crawford.
“I never get tired of you telling me that. If my vagina—my pussy—felt different, it was because I douched with alum. I overheard some women talking about adding a small amount of alum in their douche bags, and I decided to use it to see if it worked.”
She’d lied to her husband, but she wasn’t about to reveal he had slept with a seventeen-year-old virgin.
The only time she’d used alum was on her wedding night.
She’d had to convince Dennis that he was marrying a virgin.
Not only had she fooled her new husband, but the blood on the sheet from a small cut above her pubic hair served to verify her claim that she’d never slept with another man.
And she had her mother to thank for telling her what she had to do to win over Dennis Boone.
Lillian Crawford had stepped in again—this time, to save her marriage—and Precious hoped beyond hope that Dennis would get Justine Russell pregnant and give him a son.
She didn’t want to think of the possibility that Justine could have a girl, because she knew it would be impossible to blackmail Justine again after she delivered the baby if Dennis decided to try again for a boy.
Dennis smiled, his large, straight white teeth a startling contrast against his sable-brown complexion.
Precious didn’t think her husband handsome in the traditional sense, but still attractive with his strong masculine features and beautifully modulated, deep voice.
He was always immaculately dressed, whether in formal or casual attire.
Dennis had a standing appointment for a weekly haircut, professional shave, and manicure.
There were rumors that her husband, when he’d owned a small grocery store, had been involved in illegal numbers and prostitution before he decided to focus on real estate.
He’d begun purchasing foreclosed properties, renovating and selling them for a profit.
Now, at thirty-seven, he had acquired the persona of a successful businessman who’d married well.
Precious Crawford Boone had the right pedigree to elevate her husband where he’d been accepted and respected among a group of elite New York City Negroes.
“Is it dangerous?” Dennis asked, then took a sip of the steaming brew.
Precious shook her head. “No. I only used a small amount.”
“I don’t like you putting things into your body that could eventually prove harmful and prevent my getting you pregnant.”
“That’s not going to happen, darling. I douche with vinegar and water at the end of my menstrual cycle and—”
“Stop with the fucking douching, Precious!” Dennis interrupted.
“Why are you messing with nature? It could be the reason why you’re not getting pregnant.
And don’t look at me like that, because you know I can make a baby.
I told you about the girl I knocked up before I married you.
I told her I would support the child, but she wanted marriage, so she decided to get rid of it. ”
Precious didn’t need Dennis to remind her that he wasn’t sterile. She was. And all because a lapse in what had been preached to her as a young girl was forgotten when she opened her legs to a boy because alcohol had dulled her senses where she hadn’t insisted that he wear a rubber.
If she had decided to have the baby, then give it up for adoption, she wouldn’t have found herself in a predicament where the complications from an illegal abortion had left her sterile.
But Lillian wouldn’t hear of it. She had no intention of sending her away to have a baby, and then have to explain her daughter’s absence.
No matter how good her explanation was, there were others who would speculate why Precious Crawford had gone to upstate New York to live with relatives.
So having an abortion became the ultimate solution to a problem women had faced from the beginning of time.
“Okay, Dennis. I’ll stop douching.”
He smiled. “Thank you,” he said. And, after a comfortable pause, “I was thinking about us going away for a few weeks.”
Precious struggled not to panic. She didn’t want to believe her husband was talking about going away when she’d made plans for Justine to sleep with him. “When and where?” she said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.
“I was thinking about going back to Mackinac Island for a second honeymoon.”
Precious loved the island on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where she and Dennis had checked into a cabin and spent more time in bed making love than touring the island that had been populated by Africans when Michigan was still governed by France.
“When do you want to leave?”
Dennis exhaled an audible breath. “I’m thinking we could leave sometime the first week in October and stay for a couple of weeks.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, Dennis. I’ll be ready to leave whenever you are.” Precious estimated she had almost three weeks for Justine to sleep with Dennis, barring her menstruating, before they left New York for Michigan. “Do you want me to make breakfast for you, or do you want to wait for Miss Flora to get up?”
Dennis waved a hand. “Let Miss Flora sleep. Why don’t we get dressed and go out to that diner you like?”
Precious couldn’t stop smiling. It was as if she and Dennis were courting again.
He would always ask her what she liked and where she wanted to go, and invariably, he would make it happen.
It was what she had come to love about her husband.
However, there was one thing she didn’t like, and that was his using foul language.
Inasmuch as she’d tried to correct him, he would revert to the language he’d learned growing up on the streets in Harlem.
It was only after he’d made enough money from bookmaking that Dennis decided it was time to sell the grocery store, rent out the brownstone, and move to Westchester County.
Precious always suspected her husband had ties to men who were involved in organized crime, but she hadn’t been able to prove it. However, she knew for certain that the company he’d hired to renovate his properties had links to mob activity.
Dennis had reinvented himself as a real estate entrepreneur who lived in a fine house with an educated wife and professional in-laws.
The only thing left was the possibility of his running for an elected office.
When Precious had mentioned this to him, Dennis rejected the idea, because he had no interest in politics; however, it was something he’d want for the next generation of Boones.
Rising to stand, Precious circled the table and dropped a kiss on her husband’s hair.
“I’d love that. I’m going upstairs to get dressed.
” She walked out of the kitchen, silently congratulating herself that she’d fooled her husband into believing he’d made love to his wife.
She did not want to think of how many more times Dennis would sleep with Justine before she’d come to her with the news that she was pregnant. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long.