Diablerie by Walter Mosley

with passion for a man I hardly knew.
    I wondered why I wasn't aroused by the sexuality and why I wasn't angry at either of them. I hypothesized on whether or not Mona had used that kind of language with all men but me. And I thought about Harvard Rollins; had he been her lover long?
    "Oh yeah," Harvard said; it was almost a whisper. "Oh God, yeah. Here it comes." He doubled, then tripled, his already frenzied beat. Mona was singing a wordless song of praise. She got louder and louder while Harvard just kept hammering away. When he finally came, he emitted three hard grunts. Mona sat up, using her well—defined abs, and stared longingly into his eyes.
    They stayed in that position for some time, gazing at each other, tremors going through their bodies at odd moments.
    After maybe two more minutes he lifted her again and carried her to the bed.
    They lay side by side and she kissed him carelessly, something she had never done with me. With me her kisses were always short and accurate. With Harvard you had the feeling that she wanted to lick his face.
    I thought about Lana then, her licking me.
    "What are we going to do about Ben?" she asked Harvard.
    "I don't know yet," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "Tell ya the truth, I find it hard to believe."
    "But maybe he did. Maybe we never knew each other."
    A laugh deep inside me strained to get out. The idea that I was in their conversation and in the closet at the same time seemed too bizarre. I wanted to walk out casually as my wife held Harvard's now flaccid penis, to sit on the bed and make some wisecrack.
    "Do you think he has a lover?" Harvard asked.
    "He's not interested in sex," she said dismissively. "Never was, really. He never let go, not even in the beginning. You know how it is. Some men think because they can get it up that women love it."
    "But you said that you might not really know him."
    "Yeah," she said. She sat up and leaned over to kiss the head of his cock. "It's so beautiful."
    "Are you sure you want me to do this?"
    "Fuck me?"
    "Look into Ben's past."
    "Fuck me first," she said.
    I didn't watch the next two bouts of lovemaking. I sat back in the closet while Mona moaned and Harvard grunted, wondering why my wife would want to investigate me. She'd said that she didn't think I had lovers. She was wrong about that, but if that wasn't her worry, what was?
    I was beginning to feel fear in that closet. What was happening to me? Why was my past, a past that held nothing but a few drunken benders, coming back?
    There was nothing to worry about. I hadn't done anything but have an affair with a young Russian student.
    Still the threat of Harvard Rollins looking into my past made me wish I had a weapon. I thought about holding a pistol in my hand. This thought was so alien and yet so natural that I began to fear my own response. What was wrong with me?
    When the door to the bedroom closed, I realized that I had stopped paying attention to the lovers. A moment later the front door to the apartment opened and closed. I could have left then. I should have left before Mrs. Valeria returned, but I stayed in the dark wondering why my innocuous past had become so important.
    I felt safe in the darkness. From there I could watch and still remain hidden. Maria could have come home and never once looked behind that door. In the night, while she slept, I could sneak out and get water and food. I wondered semi-seriously how I could make a life like that—hidden.
    On the train ride up to Lana's place I was going over the past few days with Mona. She had been talking about divorce, had been thinking about the settlement. She believed I didn't have a lover and so she needed Harvard Rollins to help her prove her case against me. Of course that was it. It wasn't my past but her need to somehow incriminate me that made Mona turn to Rollins.
    Maybe when she had talked to Barbara Knowland, she came up with the idea to find out about my wild drunken days in Colorado. Now it was