44
Naomi and Get Out
They sat in the back seat of their electric Toyota, the car driving them on the two-lane road through upstate New York. Dark trees crowded the roadsides, with the bright moon and their headlights providing the only illumination.
Vernon: I’ll miss you this weekend.
Naomi: Me too. I’m still thinking about yesterday.
Vernon: There’s more where that came from.
Naomi: I hope so. Next week at the Mandarin?
Vernon: Definitely.
Naomi: I can’t wait.
“Who are you texting?” Alan asked.
Naomi looked across the back seat to her husband. “Vernon.”
“What about?”
Naomi mock frowned. “Aren’t you a nosy Newman. Campaign planning, if you must know.”
Alan smiled back. “I have to keep you out of trouble.”
“I’m black, female, and a socialist. I’m the definition of trouble.”
He laughed. “You’re right about that.” Alan let out a sigh as his laughter dissipated. “I’ve been looking forward to this weekend. I really need a break from the city, and I think we need some quality time. I feel like I’ve barely seen you over the past few months.”
“A presidential campaign is a grind. Expect it to get worse before it gets better.”
“All the more reason for a break from the DC swamp.”
The car turned onto their driveway. Their ten-acre property was mostly wooded, creating a buffer of privacy. As they approached their stone cottage, Naomi’s blood began to boil. A dozen vehicles were parked haphazardly in front, many of them on the lawn. Lights were on in every room.
Naomi turned to her husband and said, “I might kill him.”
“This is my fault,” Alan replied. “I forgot to tell Blake we were coming.”
“That doesn’t matter. I told him specifically no parties.”
The autonomous car stopped, unsure where to park. Naomi parked the car on the edge of the driveway. She marched inside their house with Alan in tow. The music was loud, bass pumping. Twentysomethings and even a few teens smoked e-cigarettes loaded with marijuana. Couples groped each other, making out on the furniture. A few were in various stages of undress.
Beer bottles and Naomi’s crystal wine glasses littered coffee tables and end tables and even the floor. Footprints and red wine soiled the white carpet. The partygoers didn’t acknowledge Naomi or Alan.
Naomi approached a fully clothed couple in conversation. She tapped the young woman on the shoulder.
She turned to Naomi with a scowl and a full glass of red wine. “I didn’t give you consent to touch me.”
Naomi scowled right back. “I didn’t give you consent to come into my house and drink my wine.”
“I don’t need your consent. Blake invited me.”
Naomi clenched her fists, the urge to take a swing overpowering. She took a deep cleansing breath and said, “You have five minutes to get the hell out of my house.”
Alan mouthed Sorry to the young woman.
Naomi glared at Alan, then marched to the control panel on the wall. She turned off the music, everyone suddenly aware of the quiet. Naomi stepped to the middle of the now-quiet living room and announced, “I’m calling the police. If I were you, I wouldn’t be here when they show up.”
Someone said, “Fuckin’ bitch,” under their breath, but the unwanted party guests began to leave.
“Where’s Blake?” Naomi asked one apparently sober man on his way out.
“I think he’s upstairs,” the man said.
As they climbed the stairs, Naomi said, “If anyone’s in our room, I might lose it.”
“Calm down,” Alan said. “You don’t want to be videoed acting unhinged.”
“At this point, I don’t give a shit.”
Four partygoers loitered in the upstairs hall outside the bathroom.
Naomi announced, “Party’s over.”
The group looked at her, perplexed.
“The police are on their way,” she added.
That lit a fire under their asses. The four inebriated “guests” hurried downstairs.
Moans and grunts and box spring squeaks could be heard behind the guest room door. Naomi knocked.
A man responded, “Go away.”
Alan said, “We should give them some time to …”
“To what? To finish having sex?”
Alan blushed.
“No. We’re not doing that.”
Naomi tried the handle, but it was locked. She removed a hairpin, inserted it into the tiny hole on the knob, popped the lock, and opened the door. On the bed, a curvy woman was on all fours, naked, a thin man behind her, thrusting.
Naomi stood just inside the room. She pointed at the open door and said, “Get the hell out. Now!”
The couple scrambled for their clothes, the man still sporting an erection. They left, red-faced and half-dressed.
Naomi turned her ire on Alan. “Do you plan on doing anything? Or do I have to be the bad guy as usual?”
Alan looked down, like a scolded child. “What do you want me to do?”
“Do what you always do, which is nothing.”
“Because you have to be in control.”
Naomi blew out an exasperated breath and stomped to Blake’s room. She knocked, and a man said, “Come in.” Naomi entered the room. No Blake, just five people doing drugs. They were gone as soon as Naomi mentioned the police.
Naomi didn’t bother knocking on her bedroom door. She popped the lock with her hairpin and entered her room, with Alan skulking behind. Blake sat up in the bed, glowering, ready to punish the intruder. Two girls were in bed with him, the covers concealing their bodies but not their faces. The girls looked very young, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
“Get up,” Naomi said.
Alan stood, his mouth an O, and his eyebrows arched high.
“You shoulda told me that you were comin’,” Blake said, not moving a muscle.
“I’m sorry. I forgot to call,” Alan said to Blake.
Naomi turned to her husband with a look that could kill. “Go downstairs and make sure nobody steals anything.”
Alan left.
The girls fumbled for their clothes. Half-dressed, they hurried from the room. Blake still didn’t budge. He leaned against the headboard with a shit-eating grin.
Naomi approached the bed. The room smelled like weed and sweat and sex. “The age of consent in New York is seventeen. Did you know that? If you’re not careful, you might find yourself in prison.”
Blake grinned and threw the covers off his naked body. His keg-size gut jiggled as he climbed from the bed. Blake stood, his chin up, and his fists on his hips like an obese Superman.
Naomi raised one side of her mouth in disgust. “For God’s sake, put on some pants.”
Blake took his time locating and grabbing his sweatpants from the floor. He slipped on the pants without any underwear.
“I’ve had it with you,” Naomi said. “I’m done. I want you out of my house right now.”
His mask of arrogance broke with the crease of his forehead. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“Dad wouldn’t let you kick me out.”
Naomi smirked. “Who do you think makes the decisions?”
“Fine. I’ll go to the press and tell them how you let me and my friends have drug parties at your house. A scandal would ruin your campaign.”
Naomi chuckled. “Oh, now you’re trying to blackmail me? You do know where I work, don’t you? Go right ahead and call the press. I’ll call the police and tell them about the drugs and those young girls. How old were they, Blake?”