A Chapter

Charlotte contorted her face in horror. Her mind clicked into overdrive. What looked like pain on her face was actually disgust, mingled with relief. Facial expressions are often misconstrued. Charlotte, or Cherri as many called her, used this to her utmost advantage.

Sharise continued her rhythmic ride on top of Feensley’s large, jiggling body. Only her face turned toward the door. Charlotte’s reaction seemingly vacillated between anger, tragedy, and horror – all in the span of a few seconds.

“It’s not what it looks like,” said Feensley instinctively. Immediately, he rebuked himself. Stupid, disgraceful excuse, he thought. Somehow the words had jumped from his mouth, frothing out without warning from a brutal, dishonest place of denial within.

Sharise climbed down from Feensley’s corpulent, sweaty figure.

“I thought you were headed to…”

“You thought wrong,” interrupted Charlotte. “Change of plans for you as well, I presume?”

“Burger?” asked Sharise. She raised a greasy bag in the direction of Charlotte.

“You filthy little… I knew I should’ve…” Charlotte’s faced bubbled with incalculably fake rage. Her ego had been wounded, but the anger act was an “Emmy – Worthy” performance. She lunged at a fully nude Sharise. Sharise jumped back and Feensley thrust himself between the two women.

“Now…we’re all adults here,” said Feensley nervously. His mind began to race through scenarios and cost-benefit analyses.

He managed to muster as much dignity as a sweaty, naked man can and reached for his wallet. “Honey, I’m unbelievably sorry. Satan works in mysterious ways.”

He reached into his wallet and pulled out his platinum credit card. “But, the good Lord takes mercy on the downtrodden sinner. When Saul was on the way to Damascus…”

The look on her face let him know he was digging further into a hole. He held out the credit card to Charlotte. “Alas, our redeemer puts no limits on forgiveness. Neither should you, Cherri. This card is platinum: no spending limit.

He resembled a shiny, malformed walrus with a bloated and twisted puppy dogface.

Sharise’s eyes and ears took in the scene that unfolded before her. She catalogued this memory under “Feensley, Ph.D. — Weaknesses” somewhere within her vaulted, high-powered mind.

Charlotte snatched the card out of his hand. She closed her eyes and feigned prayer aloud. “Lord, give me the strength.”

She turned and walked slowly toward the door. Her face struck him as angry, but forlorn and damaged. Charlotte Feensley, card-in-hand, walked out of the house, down the block, and caught the 1:20 bus to the mall.