The Retreat. Dijorn Moss
Karen, Quincy would occasionally make an appearance at Greater Anointing. He did not attend last Sunday, and, as far as remembering what Karen had on, Quincy could not remember what he had for breakfast. He checked her inbox to find more messages from A-MOG. This one was dated two weeks prior:
Last night was off the chain. I know you couldn’t spend the night, but it was still good to see you. The sheets still carry your scent. See you Sunday.
—A-MOG
Quincy sat down in disbelief. He stared at the wall, confused. Karen was having an affair. He scrolled through the text messages, and anger arose as he discovered that Karen was involved in an affair with someone from the church.
I know sex in the car was not comfortable, but you looked so hot last night during choir rehearsal that I had to pull the car over and have you right then and there.
—A-MOG
Karen was not an unattractive woman. But this A-MOG guy talked about her like she was Beyoncé or Vivica Fox or someone! It disgusted Quincy that a so-called man of God could leave her such perverse messages. Quincy dialed the phone number associated with the text message and got an answer.
“What up, ma? Did you find the cuff link?” a male voice asked.
“Ma can’t come to the phone right now, but pa is available,” Quincy replied, struck by the youthfulness in the guy’s voice. He was also now aware that the intense scent of coconut was to cover up, and not to freshen up, their bedroom.
“Ma?” The man let out an expletive word before he hung up.
Quincy did not even bother to call back. He didn’t want to get answers from this individual. He wanted answers from his wife, so he would have to go to the source. Quincy could not wrap his head around the fact that his wife and her lover had been here as early as today. In his home, in his bed. This was all playing out like a bad movie.
Quincy ignored the call from his business partner, who kept trying to get in contact with him. Karen had played him and made herself seem like the perfect wife. If there was one thing Quincy did not appreciate, it was being made a fool; so now it was time for him to act a fool.
His brain ran through numerous scenarios. If he were a woman, he would set all of Karen’s clothes on fire like in the movie Waiting to Exhale. Better yet, he would do what Mary Woodson did to Al Green and throw some hot grits at her, or just pull a Mrs. Lionel Richie on her tail and administer a beat down. Worst yet, he would pull a Bobbitt. But he was not a woman.
He was Quincy Page, and Quincy Page was too cool to lose control. So the game was definitely on, but it had nothing to do with a golf ball. Quincy slid both the cell phone and the cuff link into his pocket, and he stormed out of his closet and house with his sights set on his wife’s job.
With a 9 iron in his hands, Quincy parted through Karen’s coworkers like the Red Sea, ignoring the greetings and the chatter. He started to shake as he got close to Karen’s office. He wanted to kick down the door, but settled for a more civilized approach, and knocked.
“Yes,” Karen said from inside her office.
Quincy opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.
“What’s wrong with you?” Karen stood up and took off her glasses.
Quincy reached into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone. The look of shock on his wife’s face gave him all the confirmation he needed. Quincy threw it at Karen. She ducked, and the phone just missed her head as it ricocheted off of her glass window.
He then pulled out the cuff link and chucked it toward Karen; the cuff link landed square on Karen’s shoulder.
“Baby, I can explain,” Karen said.
“You had him in my house, Karen! My house! You’ve been creeping on me behind my back.”
Quincy watched her whole being crumble, and he knew she could not even search the rubble to find an explanation that would suffice. For once, Quincy needed her to find an explanation. He needed her to say something that would make sense.
He needed her to win. Instead, what he found was a diminutive will that could not even go on to fight.
“I’ve forwarded the messages to my phone. Tomorrow I’m going to see a lawyer,” he told her.
“Baby, we just need to talk. Let’s not let our emotions get the better of us,” Karen said with tears in her eyes.
“I left my emotions at home. Now all I have is my resolve to send you to Wal-Mart to shop from here on out.”
“I’m so sorry.” Karen’s voice quivered.
“You know I wasn’t particularly happy in this marriage. I haven’t been happy for a long time, but I know that I promised to be faithful and loyal to you. I’ve kept my vows despite countless opportunities to break them.” Quincy took a moment to catch his breath and grip his 9 iron.
“What are you going to do with that?” Karen looked at the golf club her husband gripped in his hand.
“I haven’t decided. Is he someone I know?”
Karen’s silence admitted her guilt.
“He is, isn’t he? It has to be someone from that church.” This time, Karen’s tears admitted her guilt. “Who is it?”
“Listen, baby, we can work this out.”
The levees that held back Quincy’s anger broke. He swung the golf club down on her glass table like an axe, and shattered a piece of glass.
“Have you lost your mind?” Karen yelled.
“Who is it?” Quincy voice had a demonic rage to it.
He turned toward her picture display case. He hated to have to destroy their wedding pictures. Quincy looked real good in his black tux with the buttercream-colored tie, but that picture represented the sham that had become his life, so it had to go. With one swing, he started to destroy the pictures on Karen’s shelf, including the high school graduation picture of their daughter, Sasha, who was now a student at UC Berkeley.
He knew he would regret his actions, but he was too caught up in the sounds of broken glass and Karen’s screams. The two entities sounded like thunder. Two men wearing navy blue blazers entered the office.
“Sir, you have to leave right now!” one security guard said while pointing toward the door.
“What you going to do with your flashlight, your clip-on tie, and a jacket that’s two sizes too small?” Quincy now raised his bent 9 iron like a samurai sword.
The second security guard emerged from behind the first. He was almost a foot taller than the other security guard.
“I guess you choose to do this the hard way,” the second security guard stated.
With that said, both security guards rushed Quincy before he could get a good swing, and wrestled him to the ground. They lifted Quincy off the ground, and he kicked his feet up to try to get loose.
“Get your hands off me!” Quincy yelled, but to no avail. The men escorted him out and he endured the dropped jaws of his wife’s coworkers.
The elevator doors opened, and then sealed in Quincy and the two behemoth security guards.
The compacted space and elevator music did nothing to loosen the guards’ grips around Quincy’s arms. This would be the part in the movie when the hero disables the guards and walks out of the elevator, with the guards left unconscious on the floor. This would not be the case for Quincy, because these guys were pretty strong.
The elevator reached the bottom floor and the doors slid opened. The two men carried Quincy out on the tips of his toes.
“We could let you go if you were going to go in peace,” one of the security guards said.
“No, I still want to do things the hard way,” Quincy