Single Husbands by HoneyB Page A

Anthony?”
    Herschel held his breath.
    “Um-huh. That’s right. I called you on your shit,” Nikki continued. “There is no way I’d gain over twenty-five pounds, getting
     stretch marks on this body, waiting for you to come home late at night, trying to stick your dick in me—to prove what? That
     you love me? Yeah, right. I was foolish to believe you’d ever keep the wedding vows you made at the altar.”
    “Baby, I did keep my—”
    “Herschel! No, you have not! You have a fucking boyfriend, a mistress, and a son. Do you know how embarrassing it would be
     for me if my clients and family found out your ass is bisexual? Get out! Just get out of my face! Out of my house and go live
     with them! I’m not about to change my lifestyle to give you a damn baby you won’t take care of.” Pausing for a moment, forcing
     back her tears, Nikki said, “Fuck you, Herschel. Stand in front of the blender all damn day if you want to. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    “How’d the show go? Who were your guests this week?” Herschel asked, stepping aside.
    Forget the smoothie. The hunger bubbling in her stomach boiled with disgust. Rolling her eyes at her husband, Nikki replied,
     “The taping was two days ago.”
    She knew her husband knew the answers to both of his questions. Her tapings always went well. Why wouldn’t they? If he was
     indirectly inquiring about her bruises, the artist applied makeup to Nikki’s neck to camouflage the remaining discoloration.
     Nikki hadn’t bothered explaining how she’d gotten the marks. Her private life was nobody’s damn business, and Nikki—like Brian,
     Michelle, and Lexington—had done a great job of maintaining a positive media image. If protecting her reputation meant quietly
     staying married to her bisexual husband, then that was exactly what Nikki Henderson would do.
    “I know. But I’ve barely seen you over the last two months,” Herschel said, narrowing his eyes at her.
    “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you whenever,” Nikki said, leaving the fruit and the yogurt on the counter. She went into her spacious
     walk-in closet and tossed a red bikini into her oversized purse. Scanning for something to wear, she reached for her lavender
     halter-top dress.
    Standing directly behind her, Herschel’s hands covered hers. “Whenever? You come in here after five this morning, sleep all
     day, and now you’re leaving until whenever? I thought you had to cater a party tonight.” Snatching the dress from the rack,
     he said, “You are not wearing this dress out of this house.”
    “Haaa!” Nikki exhaled, clenching her purse. She didn’t feel like arguing with Herschel again. What was she thinking? That
     dress didn’t match her swimsuit anyway. She quietly excused herself from the closet, exited the bedroom, left the house, hopped
     in her car, then sped out of the driveway. The loose-fitting mint-green cotton shorts and tank-top T-shirt she’d slept in
     last night were fine. She could stroll South Beach topless if she wanted and she’d be among the majority of the women getting
     perfect line-free titty tans.
    Why—oh, why—didn’t she stay single? Nikki didn’t enjoy disrespecting her husband; it was her way of maintaining her power.
     During her marriage, Nikki had grown her own set of balls. No more pretending with Herschel, catering to Herschel, being inconvenienced
     for Herschel, or lying around her house with him when she didn’t want to be there with him. Herschel was lucky Nikki hadn’t
     told him about her affair with Lexington. The only reason she hadn’t told him was that it would destroy her friendship with
     Donna.
    She’d known Donna before they moved one mansion away from her and Herschel. Nikki had prepared appetizers for Donna’s girls’
     birthday parties in the last few years. Lexington talked about wanting to spend time with his kids. Nikki agreed, but if that
     meant time away from her, she’d support—not encourage—his planning.