Smoke and Mirrors: The Secret Life of a Cheater

By Ketima Whitehall

Michael and Maia Henderson are a dynamic duo; he, a prominent criminal defense attorney and she, a renowned CPA. Having been married for fifteen years, they've weathered their share of storms. So when Maia's best friend Diane accuses Michael of cheating, for the second time in less than a year, Maia flatly rejects the idea. After all, Diane is a bitter divorcee who hasn't gotten along with Michael from day 1. But as the weeks roll by, and more evidence presents itself, Maia can't deny that Diane may have been telling the truth.
Determined to confront Michael with irrefutable evidence of his cheating, Maia sets a plan in motion. Though she stumbles along the way, Maia finds enough evidence to rattle Michael's cage; and in the process, she realizes that she doesn't know her husband as well as she thought she did. Eager to reclaim his attention, Maia grants Michael his sexual fantasy; but she gets more than she bargained for. Now tangled in a web of sex and lies, neither she nor Michael is prepared for the moment their double lives collide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493189243

Book preview

Prologue

The proverbial shit has hit the fan! Why I didn’t see it coming is the question on everybody’s mind. Honestly, there were signs. There always are. I just didn’t see them; or didn’t want to see them. A classic case of denial. Looking back, I would have to say it all started about four months ago… .

Having arrived early for my weekly lunch date with my friend Diane, I sat looking out the window of Ruby Tuesday’s watching the lunch hour rush. Rain fell steadily from the darkened sky like an omen on the coming days. It had been storming for more than two hours already, and sticky, hot ribbons of steam rose from the slick black pavement. A testament to the sweltering September heat. People darted in doorways and dashed across busy streets without regard for oncoming traffic; all trying to escape the oppressive humidity.

My hair, usually curled and full of body, now hung straight around my shoulders. It, too, had fallen victim to the tropical rainforest-like conditions the DC area was enduring. The little bit of powder and cheek color I’d applied that morning had long since melted away. Only a faint reminder of my rapturous raspberry lip color and the waterproof mascara remained.

I heard Diane before I saw her sashaying toward me. The clickety-clack of her heels tapped in perfect rhythm with the swish of her linen skirt. Head held high, back and neck straight, feet pointing straight ahead. Poised. At 5'10", 150 pounds, she looked runway model perfect, except for the bulky set of keys in her right hand that jangled like a jail warden’s. Her brow was creased and her usual ‘all is right with my world’ smile was notably nonexistent. I braced myself for the upcoming tirade when she brushed my cheek with a kiss and slid into the seat across from me.

A young, sandy-haired waiter with fat, ruddy cheeks and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, slowly made his way toward our table. His lackadaisical attitude was out of place in the restaurant’s fast-paced environment.

Afternoon, ladies. Welcome to Ruby Tuesday’s he drawled, his thick southern accent unmistakable. My name’s Robert and I’ll be y’all’s waiter today. Can I start you gals off with a drink?

I’ll have iced tea with lemon— I began, only to be interrupted by Diane.

Make that a Long Island iced tea with plenty of Long Island, she emphasized, and I’ll have a top shelf margarita. She patted my hand lightly as it rested on the table.

Something had to be up for her to change my drink order like that. I raised my eyebrows quizzically, but she looked away.

Will y’all be wantin’ any appetizers? Robert asked.

No I answered quickly, anxious for him to leave.

All-righty then, drinks coming up.

I pounced on Diane the moment he left the table. What’s the deal?

With the waiter? Yeah, I know. I haven’t heard a southern twang like that since I was living in North Cack-a-lacky she giggled, doing her best to copy the boy’s accent. She picked up a napkin and wiped her face, removing the dampness that had settled upon her peanut-brown skin; and twisted her hair up into a bun to let the cool air reach her neck and shoulders.

Well, yeah, the waiter, I agreed, somewhat confused, but what’s with the drinks?

Just thought you might want a drink. She waved her freshly manicured hand dismissively and quickly changed the subject, pretending not to understand the point of my question. So how’s your day goin’?

Great. Yours? I answered, figuring I’d play along for a while.

Goin’ okay, I guess. Julissa’s at it again. Diane launched into a story about one of her coworkers that made my eyes glaze over, stopping only to give Robert her food order when he returned with the drinks. I leaned back in my seat, folded my arms, and listened disinterestedly. I even yawned a couple of times and gave her a look that said ‘hurry up with this boring-ass, epic tale before I gag myself with a rock’. She didn’t take the hint. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.

Cut the crap, Diane I blurted.

What are you talkin’ about? she asked, shifting in her seat and fidgeting with her drink. She always fidgets when she gets nervous. A telltale sign that something is up.

You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. You’re plyin’ me with liquor in the middle of the afternoon, on a weekday no less, and ramblin’ on about somebody you know I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about. Somethin’s goin’ on and I want to know what it is.

There’s nothin’ goin’ on, Maia, damn, she retorted, eyes rolling and mouth cocked to the side. And don’t act like you don’t drink during the week.

Yeah, sometimes I do, Diane, although usually not at lunch. And anyway, that’s beside the point. I can tell somethin’s up. You’re as jumpy as kid on Christmas Eve.

Diane sucked her teeth and stirred her Margarita. I sat, arms folded, not saying a word.

Well, Maia, it’s bad this time she finally said, taking a long sip of her drink and eyeing me over the rim.

I knew it! You’re tryin’ to soften me up so you can tell me somethin’ I don’t want to hear. Whatever it is probably isn’t as bad as you think, so just say it.

Why don’t you have somethin’ to drink first? She pushed my drink closer to me. Stalling.

Just say it I demanded, frustrated by the cat and mouse game.

Alright fine, but I wanted to break it to you gently. She polished off the margarita in one last gulp and took a deep breath. You were right. Michael’s cheatin’ on you.

Tension gripped my body like a steel vise. I was looking forward to some juicy gossip, but I had no idea my husband would be the subject of it.

I just sat there. Stupefied.

What are you talkin’ about, Diane? I asked finally, attempting to compose myself from the shock. He’s not cheatin’. Why would you even bring that up again?

I had confided in Diane a while back that I thought Michael might be cheating. She mentioned seeing him a couple of times with a strange woman and suggested that I confront him about it. I followed him for two weeks, taking pictures of him at places we never go, with a woman I had never met. Fortified with my evidence, I confronted him one night and gave him an ultimatum—leave the bitch alone or get the hell out! He summarily whipped out a file containing her resume, school transcripts and request for internship, among other things. Yes, she was his new intern. He had mentioned that he was getting an intern, but I had forgotten all about it. I felt like such a fool. Luckily, he forgave me for that stunt, and I never want to revisit it.

Maia, I’m not talkin’ about that young girl. This might be worse.

Spit it out, Diane! I snapped. The suspense was making me crazy.

I found his profile on Blackconnections.net.

What the heck is blackconnections.net? It obviously had something to do with the internet, but beyond that I was clueless.

It’s a dating site, Mai, for black people she said with an exasperated sigh. Guess I was blowing her drama high.

She’d piqued my interest, but I needed more info. Okay, so what makes you think it was Michael?

Because I chatted with him on IM and he gave me his phone number. Its Michael’s number. He wants to meet me tonight.

The words hung in the air like the stench of a hundred rotten fish. I sat there, dumbfounded, with sweat bleeding from my pores; a hemorrhage of salty water, soaking my blouse and making it cling to my body like a second skin.

Calm down, Maia, I thought to myself. Don’t panic. This is Diane. You know she thrives on drama.

I reached for my drink again. Drank almost half of it. Now let me get this straight—you’re sayin’ my husband is on some skanky dating site, passin’ out his number, and propositionin’ people for sex?

Well, yeah, but it doesn’t really work like that, Mai.

How the hell does it work, then, D?

You go on there and look through the profiles to see if there are any potential matches. Y’know, people that meet your dating requirements. If you find an acceptable match, you can chat with ’em to see if there’s any chemistry or whatever, before you actually meet ’em. Kinda like try before you buy. Not everybody is on there for random sex. Some people are really tryin’ to make a love connection.

Alright, so you’re trollin’ some random dating site and somehow come upon my husband. You chat with him for a while, and he propositions you for a date. Is that more like it?

Pretty much.

Well what did he say, Diane? I mean how or when did you realize it was Michael? When he gave you his number?

We were just chattin’ on IM, nothin’ heavy. Y’know, askin’ questions like what do you do for a living, and what do you do in your spare time. Very innocent.

Umm hmm. I leaned back and again, folded my arms across my chest. If I knew Diane, and I did, there was nothing innocent about what she was saying to these men. Go on.

The way he described himself and just the overall conversation was real nice. Nothin’ like Michael in real life.

Excuse me?

She paused for a moment and reached for her drink which, unfortunately, she had already polished off. We both knew she had better tread carefully here, regardless of how long we’d been friends. When it comes to my family, I’m not scared to swing on a bitch!

C’mon Maia, you know what I mean. He pointed out all his good traits—

Like what exactly?

Well, he said he’s tall, muscular build, light brown complexion with brown eyes and black hair, has a good sense of humor, a healthy libido and believes in romance. He also mentioned that he earned good money and didn’t mind spendin’ it to have fun.

How did you describe yourself?

I described myself physically, said I like to go to the theatre, sporting events, romantic get-a-ways. Stuff like that.

And after this very innocent conversation, he decided that there was enough chemistry between the two of you for him to want to meet you tonight?

Yeah.

So when did he get around to givin’ you his number?

We arranged to meet at that fondue place out in Gaithersburg at 7 o’clock. He gave me his number to call in case somethin’ happened and I couldn’t make it. She shook her head sorrowfully. Oh, Maia, I’m so sorry this is happenin’ to you.

I barely heard her now, because I was still focused on what she’d said before. They had chemistry. He wanted to meet her tonight.

He and Diane had chemistry? They’re total opposites! How many other women has he chatted with? Did any of them have good chemistry? Has he hooked up with any of them?

My mind was spinning out of control with visions of Michael and other women. Every woman I had ever seen him smile at now became suspect.

Just then Robert brought our entrees and Diane dug in immediately. I wasn’t hungry anymore. The smell of my food was almost enough to make me vomit. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the seat, hoping to calm my frazzled nerves.

You okay, Mai? Diane asked.

No, I’m not okay, my mind screamed, I want to throw up! Outwardly I said weakly I’ll be okay. We sat quietly for a few moments, each lost in our own thoughts, and then I asked so you didn’t share your number with him?

Hell no! As soon as I realized it was Michael, I told him I didn’t feel comfortable givin’ him my number just yet, but I probably would after we met tonight.

So now what are you gonna do?

What do you mean what am I gonna do? she asked, frowning. I’m not gonna meet with him, if that’s what you mean. Then, almost as an afterthought, unless you want me to.

I nearly leapt out of my seat. Why would I want you to meet my husband for a date? Are you for real? It came out a little louder than I’d intended and a few heads turned in our direction.

Calm down, sweetie. Again she patted my hand and I recoiled like a snake. I just thought maybe that way everything would be out in the open. Michael would have to confess and you guys could work things out.

Maybe, but I think we’ve tried that strategy before I said sarcastically. I racked my brain for an answer, but coherent thoughts escaped me. Massaging my temples which had now begun to throb, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. Blew the air out slowly between my slightly parted lips. A calming technique I’d learned when I was pregnant.

Well, what do you want me to do?

I don’t know, Diane. I don’t want this whole thing to blow up in my face. I mean, he really hasn’t done anything but talk. That excuse sounded lame, even to my ears. No, on second thought, write him back and tell him tonight won’t work for you. That will give me some time to come up with a plan.

1

Michael

I jab my finger at the elevator’s UP button—once, twice, three times. Pressing it much harder than necessary. Impatience breeding force. The lobby of the office building is empty except for me. At 8:30 on a Friday night, even the cleaning people have been here and left.

Ginger-colored marble floors glisten with a just-polished sheen; the smell of fresh flowers is in the air; and the sound of the waterfall in the center of the lobby is soothing to the soul.

The stainless steel elevators clearly reflect my likeness, as I shift impatiently from my left foot to my right. At 6'2" 240 pounds, I’ve barely changed since my college football days. My hairline is beginning to recede and I’ve got a few strands of gray, but to hear the ladies tell it, they add to my swagger.

I glance at my Movado watch and curse out loud Damn! I need to get this over with quick and get home. I don’t want to hear Maia’s nagging about me getting home late again. The ‘DMV Nine’ drug case has given me an excuse on many a night recently, but I don’t want to over-use it.

The elevator opens and I rush in. As the doors close, I press number eight and begin loosening my tie. In a matter of seconds, I reach my destination. Keys in hand, I quickly unlock the door and enter the huge office, unbuttoning my shirt as I walk. I head straight for my private bathroom without bothering to turn on the main lights. Fluorescent light floods the small room as I enter, due to the sensors on the door. I turn on the shower and hang my Kenneth Cole suit and shirt on the back of the door. Steam rises, clouding the air as I remove my socks and boxers, and step into the shower.

I grab the unscented soap and work up a good lather while flaming beads of water rain down upon my skin, obliterating any physical evidence of a day that has been both strenuous and satisfying. Finished, I shut off the water and step out of the shower, as the soapy residue slides toward the waiting drain.

I hurriedly dry off and put my clothes back on; brush my coarse black hair; then check myself in the mirror.

The ladies may love Cool James, but the drawers drop for Big Mike Da Lova!

I take a swig from the bottle of Scope in the cabinet and swish it around in my mouth. It’s cool, minty flavor makes my mouth tingle and leaves my breath fresh. Finally, I snag my keys from the sink and turn to leave.

As I start for the door, I hear the message waiting signal from my cell phone. I retrieve it from my pocket and check the screen. Maia called. I don’t bother listening to the message, just figure I’ll call her back.

Good thing I haven’t left yet. I’ll call her from the office phone and that will be proof that I’ve been here working late.

I hit number two on my speed dial and wait.

Where the heck are you? she demands, without even saying hello.

Obviously I’m at work, as you can tell from the caller ID, and you need to calm down I snap back.

I’m not in the mood for this shit tonight.

She checks herself and adjusts her tone to a more acceptable level. Well you know I’ve been waitin’ for you to get home, baby. You could’ve called to say you were gonna to be late.

Guess I got so caught up with this case, I didn’t realize what time it was I lie. I’m gettin’ ready to leave now.

Okay. I have somethin’ for you, so I’ll be waitin’ she says in that sing-song voice she uses when she wants to sound sexy.

I know what she has waiting. Same as always. She’s probably laid up in the bed right now with one of those Victoria’s Secret-type outfits on, posing like something she’s seen in a magazine. She’s so predictable.

I hang up the phone and head for the elevators. This time the door opens right away and I am downstairs almost instantly. The warm night air washes over me when I push the door open, and I drink in the good feeling as I walk to my ride.

I unlock the door and slide into the buttery, glove-soft leather seat of my jet black Lincoln Navigator. With the touch of a button, the engine comes to life; royal blue lights illuminate the dashboard, and the sweet voice of Jill Scott flows from the 14 speaker sound system. It is unusually warm for September, so I press the button to open the moon roof, and ease into traffic on Wisconsin Avenue.

The law office of Michael Henderson, Esq. is just off Wisconsin Avenue in Bethesda, Maryland; an affluent suburb of Washington, DC. It usually takes me about an hour to get home to Bowie, but since rush hour is over, traffic is light. I hop on I495 and hit 80 mph in no time.

As I cruise along the highway, my mind wanders back to earlier this afternoon. I’d gone to lunch with my boy, Tony, who I hadn’t seen in a while. We decided to hit this Cajun spot called Louisiana Express Company, where they have the best jambalaya and calas I’ve tasted since I left Mississippi.

While we were waiting for our food, I scanned the room to see if there were any nice-looking ladies in the place. Nothing caught my eye at first, but then, way in the back corner I spotted this honey reading a book while she ate. A dead giveaway that she was alone. I figured I’d rap to her a minute and see where her head was at.

Her name was Nina. She was born and raised in New Orleans, but had been displaced by the hurricane Katrina catastrophe. She was looking for a decent hustle, and was working at the Louisiana Express Company until she found something better. I told her a little about myself and then, from the corner of my eye, I could see Tony approaching. I gave her my business card and told her to give me a call, and I’d see if I could hook her up with something. By the time I got back to my office, she had already called and said she really needed a job and would do anything to get one.

Two hours later we were at her crib, and while I should have been checking out her office skills, it quickly became evident that her bedroom skills were what she wanted to show me.

She had changed from the jeans and tee shirt she had been wearing earlier, to a pair of shorts that barely covered her large ass; and a wife beater that exposed her unrestrained bosom. Water dripped from her hair, causing the flimsy shirt to become even more transparent.

You’ll have to excuse the way I’m dressed she said, rubbing her wavy hair with a towel. You got here a little sooner than I expected and I just stepped out of the shower.

No problem. I can wait for you to change into something else.

I’d rather not waste your time. You already did me a huge favor by coming here, since I couldn’t get to your office this afternoon. I really want to show you what I can do for you.

Okay. You know your timing is great, because I’m looking for someone to replace my intern that recently left. Just haven’t had a chance to place an ad yet. I unbuttoned my jacket and took a seat on the couch. Do you know your way around a law office?

I haven’t actually worked in a law office, but I can do just about anything if given the opportunity.

I like your attitude. Let’s talk about your background.

It’s been my experience that talk is cheap when it comes to getting the job done.

What do you mean by that?

People claim to be able to move mountains in order to land a job, but when it gets to crunch time, they’re buried under the avalanche. I’m more of a show and tell type of girl.

Okay, show me what you’ve got.

A slow smile spread across her face, and before I knew what was happening, she stood naked before me.

Whoa, whoa, wait a minute! I think you’ve got the wrong idea. I tried to back away but there wasn’t anywhere for me to go.

Oh c’mon Michael, let’s not play games. What did you think you were comin’ here for, to give me a typing test?

"No, my intention was—IS—to see if you can be useful in my office."

That’s what I’m tryin’ to show you. She crossed the small area in three steps and stood so close to me I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. "Michael, the majority of working relationships are less about technical skills and more about people skills. They’re about how an individual fits in and gets along with the boss and the people they work with. If people like you well enough, they’ll make concessions for you and be willing to give you time to learn the ropes. If they don’t, regardless of how well you know your job, you’ll be out on your ass.

That may be true I said, standing to assert a dominant position, but if you present yourself as a cheap trick, it shows that you lack moral character, don’t have respect for yourself, and don’t expect to be taken seriously in the workplace.

Are you suggesting that I’m presenting myself as a cheap trick?

If it quacks like a duck…

I disagree. I am presenting myself as a woman who is confident and highly competent in her ability to bring pleasure to a man thru the use of my skills and physical assets. Let’s face it Michael, what I have, men want. Their pursuit of it has brought them to their knees, broken marriages, crumbled companies, even toppled governments. It’s been coveted since the beginning of time.

What you have is nothing special. I can get pussy anywhere.

Sure, plenty of people have the equipment, but they don’t know how to use it.

And you do, I suppose. I’d heard enough and started for the door.

You’re not here because you wanna see how well I can take notes and fetch coffee, she called out behind me. You’re here because you wanna fuck me.

I stopped dead in my tracks. She was right and she knew it. We both knew it. It had been stupid of me to come here in the first place. I knew better than to put myself in such a position, but I was thinking with my little head instead of my brain. Maybe, but this feels like a set-up I responded.

There’s no set-up. You have somethin’ I want and I have somethin’ you want. Fair exchange is no robbery.

Her argument had merit, and strangely, her combativeness excited me. Even if I chose not to use her in the office, there was no good reason to turn down the sex she was so eager to throw my way.

I gave in and she went to work. Not only did she go down on a brotha like a mad dog to a steak, the pussy was juicy and tight as a clam. She had sucked me in with the innocent face and virtuous behavior in the restaurant, but this girl was a pro. You don’t develop skills like hers from reading books and watching movies. That shit takes practice.

By the time I left, my nuts were aching and my dick was nearly raw, but it was worth it. In the back of my mind, I wondered if she was a porn star and had secretly made a video tape or something. Either way, she was definitely a freak and would probably take anything I could throw at her.

My mind comes back to the present as I turn the corner into my neighborhood. Directly in the center of the cul-de-sac is the house I share with Maia and our two kids, Andrea and Tre. It’s a five-bedroom, four-and-a-half bathroom, brick home with a full finished basement, theatre room, two-car garage, and a huge backyard.

I hit the button on the automatic garage opener and guide the Navigator into its usual spot. Nina hadn’t been in the truck, but I double-check to make sure nothing is in there that shouldn’t be.

I stride thru the door and the smell of catfish is in the air. I put my briefcase down in the foyer and call out for Maia.

I’m in the kitchen, she croons. I have somethin’ special for you. I enter the kitchen and find her in a French maid outfit, complete with garter belt, fishnet stockings and six inch heels. She’s got catfish frying in one pan and dirty rice cooking in another. Biscuits are in the oven and fried okra is draining on a bed of napkins.

I wanted to make you somethin’ special to show how much I love you she says as she turns and kisses me like she hasn’t in a while.

I let myself succumb to the pleasure of her succulent mouth, entangling my fingers in her soft brown hair, and pressing her hard up against the refrigerator. In my mind I picture her face on our wedding day; the radian skin, beautiful brown eyes, button nose and chipmunk cheeks. Remembering things the way they used to be.

What brought that on? I ask, backing up slightly from the refrigerator, but not letting her move away.

"I know we’ve had some issues

Reviews for Smoke and Mirrors

[Cindy Mahoney · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Would have rated it higher, but it ended with absolutely no conclusion. As a matter of fact,it felt like it stopped mid plotline,absolutely no resolution!!