Free Lying Lips by Mahaughani Fiyah Page A

insane! You didn’t wait , Asanti, what you did was call me repeatedly since ten o’clock last night. In fact you called me forty seven times altogether. You never gave me the chance to call you back. To make contact with you. You never gave me a moment to breathe or even dial your number. You called and called and called but you did not, in fact, wait !
    “And for your information, I’m not stupid. I know I’m married.” I went off on a wild tangent after I’d navigated my way through the restaurant and had finally made it outside. “I’m well aware of the fact that I’m married. But I’m also a big girl who can take care of herself. I’m sorry that I didn’t call you last night. Hell,” I said gesturing frantically with my hands, “I’m sorry that I didn’t call you the minute my eyes flickered open this morning. But I do have a life. A life that I had before you!” I practically screamed at him. “A busy life filled with work and friends among other things. A life that I plan on continuing to live if that’s okay with you, Daddy !” I spit out.
    People on the street looked at me as though I was a crazed maniac yelling into an earpiece. Had I not been in the heart of the French Quarter, where everyone was a little weird or crazed, I was sure someone would have come along and hauled me away in a strait jacket.
    “Now you wait just one damn minute!” He started in again. Quietly, but still filled with rage. “You will show me more respect than that. You will lower your voice when you’re speaking to me.” Asanti growled into my ear through his phone. “If I want to know if my wife is okay, then damnit I’m going to know. If I want to know her whereabouts twenty-four-seven there is nothing you can or will do to stop me. You are my wife . My wife is my business. Always will be! And damnit you’d better start dealing with that.”
    “Well in that case let me give you a full report right now, Sir .” I spoke smartly. Angrily. “I am currently standing outside of Greedy’s in the heart of the French Quarter in New Orleans Louisiana, where I just had lunch and a business meeting with my editor. I am also currently on the phone with my husband ,” I made extra sure to say the word with as much disdain as possible, “defending myself because he can’t handle being alone for a few hours,” I taunted relentlessly, I was furious.
    “In about five minutes I’ll be on my way back home where I will work like a maniac to get my story in before deadline. At around six p.m. I’ll have dinner after which I’ll wash dishes. About an hour later, I’ll probably have a nice bath followed by a good book and possibly a late night Tv movie. Immediately following that, I’ll be off to bed,” I spoke sarcastically. “But not before I call my husband and fill him in on every detail of every second of my day. A chore which I must do because he’s too insane to believe I can handle myself alone for a few—”
    “Shut up!” I heard a voice say angrily as I felt hands grab me from behind.
    My first instinct was to fight for my life as I felt myself being carried down Bourbon Street. But the touch, the—oh—so—angry touch, let me know that the man gripping me in such an agonizing manner was none other than Asanti. My husband.
    My other husband.
    How the hell did he get here? I was just on the phone arguing with him. What was he doing in New Orleans with me, tearing down the street with me in his arms? My heart thundered, then stopped. I felt dizzy. I thought I was going to pass out. The world around me spun out of control.
    Before I could get my bearings, Asanti made a sharp right between shops and rushed us through a gate. The entry took us into an alleyway that led to one of the famous French Quarter Gardens. The gate slammed angrily behind us as if it too was affected by Asanti’s rage. I jumped. Asanti grinned evilly. I was no more angry, but suddenly terrified.
    Who the hell was this man that I’d