SINFUL
C
handelle stood in the kitchen of her small apartment, wrapping flatware in old newspaper. She was so excited when their mortgage loan for the house on Brass Spoon was approved two weeks before. Marvin had been sulking, been uncharacteristically unemotional, and been lacking what Chandelle needed in the bedroom. Although she tried to overlookit, his increasingly long hours at his job had only intensifiedan issue, and so did the anemic paychecks he'd been bringing home despite pulling double shifts. After being married for three years, she thought she knew her husband. In short order, Chandelle had to learn the hard way how littleshe knew herself.
“Marvin, do we have any more old papers?” she yelled, standing over a stack of china plates yet to be wrapped. “Marvin!” she shouted when he didn't answer.
“Yeah, I'm watching the game. Cowboys about to get that touchdown,” he answered finally.
Chandelle rolled her eyes, then pretended she wasn't bothered that he didn't jump into action the way he used to when they first married three years ago. Then, he was all about her, and she missed that. To make matters worse, lately it seemed he'd been all about him, and that was unacceptable.“Marvin! I need you to get some more newspaper. I'm out already, and I haven't even done the china from our wedding yet. Marvin!” When Chandelle stepped around the corner into the tiny den, Marvin's eyes were fastened to the expensive flat screen as if he were sitting in the stadium on the fifty-yard line. “Ah-hmm,” Chandelle uttered, clearing her throat. “Forget it, I'll run to the corner store myself,” she said, pretending to collect her purse and coat.
“Good, now I can finish watching the boys put it on them rusty-butt Redskins,” Marvin said, louder than he should have.
Chandelle cocked her head to the side, smirked her displeasure,and began to fume over the way her husband had blown her off for a stupid football game. “So, you really are gonna let me go out into the cold while you sit on your behindwatching those scrubs lose another game?”
“What? Chandelle, don't trip,” Marvin barked, dismissingher.
“Don't trip?”
“Hey, didn't you say you were going? Who am I to stop you?” Marvin answered. “Wait 'til halftime, and then I'll go. Otherwise, pick me up some pork skins, and I'll see you when you get back.”
Yes, something had definitely changed. There was a time, not so long ago, when Marvin wouldn't have thought of sending his wife out into the elements. Chandelle didn't understandhow it happened or when exactly, but she felt compelledto get at the root of the problem without waiting another minute. “Marvin, I want to talk,” she announced, while standing directly in front of the television. “So you need to turn that off.”
“Move, Chandelle,” he fussed, trying to shoo her away. “Move girl, quit playing now.”
Defiantly, she refused to relinquish her position. Instead, she crossed her arms and flashed Marvin a hardened stare. She said, “I'm not moving, so you can either watch the TV through me or you can talk to me. It's up to you. He leapt off the sofa, gently scooped her up, and moved her from blockingthe tube. “Oh, it's like that now, huh?” Chandelle ranted, “You just gon' resort to putting your hands on me. Uh-huh, that's the way it always starts, with playful nonaggressive manhandling but before long the pushing, shoving, and slappingstarts! Is that what you want to do, Marvin? You want to beat me?” Although Chandelle wasn't serious about Marvin hurting her, she was willing to say just about anything to get a rise out of him, since it had been awhile since he'd orchestratedone in the sack.
Marvin frowned at her, vehemently objecting to her unwarrantedoutburst. “Whutever, Chandelle. If that's what you call me putting my hands on you, you're slippin'.” When her bothered expression didn't change in the least, Marvin huffed and marched past her. He snatched up a thin jacket off the wooden coatrack near the door. He wrestled it on quickly and felt in his pants pocket for the car keys. “Okay, since you want to put on a show, I'ma go watch the rest of the game at Chubby's where ain't nobody gonna be silly enough to jump up in front of the TV.”
“Oh, I'm silly!” she sassed. “So how long have you had that opinion of me? You didn't used to think I was so silly when you begged me to marry you. Chandelle, I love you, I need you,” she mocked. “Now look at you. All I wanted to do was talk, but you'd rather send me out into the cold so you can watch some stupid team who ain't worth a bent nickel anyway.”
“Everybody's entitled to their own opinion,” Marvin said casually as he searched around in the den for his keys. When Chandelle spotted them first, she dashed over to the end table and grabbed them. He said, “Cool, give 'em to me and I'll head back after the game.”
“Ain't giving you nothing until you tell me what's wrong with you. Lately, you been hanging out with the boys, and that's not like you, Marvin. We hardly say two words to each other when you do come home, and that's not like us.”
“Chandelle, we can talk about this when I get back from Chubby's. Now give me the keys,” he demanded, getting more annoyed by his overdramatic wife.
“Uh-uh, not until you tell me what's so important out there that you can't seem to stay away from it. What's at the club that you don't have here? Drink, we got that. Music?” Chandelle asked, turning up the stereo system louder than she meant to. “What? Sounds like music to me. Oh, is it sex you're out there hunting for? Nah, I know it can't be that, becauseyou don't even want the good stuff going to waste up in here.” Chandelle was exasperated. She'd used everything she knew to make Marvin argue with her, but still he refused.He simply stood there with an annoyed look on his face that made her want to fight even more.
“Are you through now?” he asked finally. “Can I go, or are you not finished with the theatrics?”
“Why not, it's obvious that you don't care about us anymore.I don't know why we're moving on Friday. What we have now isn't much of a home. Three thousand square feet won't change that,” Chandelle concluded loudly.
“Now you're talking,” said Marvin, with a noticeably more excited demeanor. “I'm still not sold on buying that big of a house to begin with.”
“Negro, please! The way you were running behind that real estate agent, you'd have said yes to every house she showed us if I wasn't there to stop you.”
“Well, she was a hard worker, and I appreciate that,” he answered and not too convincingly. “It's hard dealing with people who don't know what they want. I ought to know. Down at Appliance World, I spend most of my time breaking down my extensive product knowledge, per the salesman handbook, and explaining the differences between products. Then the customers either go with the cheapest appliance or the one that matches what they already have. I'm just saying Bernie was a hard worker, is all.”
“Yeah, I see she did a job on you. Since when did you start calling her Bernie, Marvin? Have you been talking to her when I'm not around? Y'all got a little thing going on?” Chandelle interrogated.
“Now I know I need to bounce. Give me the keys, Chandelle,”he asked, sticking out his hand to receive them. “Chandelle, quit playing now and give 'em to me!” Instead of complying, she grabbed her sweatpants at the waist and dropped the keys down inside them.
“How bad do you want them?” she goaded. “Bad enough to take them from me?” As soon as she smarted off, Marvin lunged toward her. Chandelle shrieked at the top of her lungs, laughing as she ran around the small room to avoid capture. Marvin chased and Chandelle shrieked until he'd caught up to her. Unfortunately, Marvin stumbled over the sofa ottoman and came crashing down on the coatrack, knocking Chandelle against his prized flat screen. She tried to brace herself but couldn't. Chandelle and the television slammed hard against the floor. Both she and Marvin watched as a big puff of smoke rose from the expensive TV.
“It's ruined!” he shouted. “Twenty-five hundred dollars gone because you wanted some attention! I'm tired of how you act when you don't get your way. Now look at what you made me do!” Marvin was hot. Admittedly, he hadn't been as thoughtful as when they initially married, nor did he fully understand why. He still loved Chandelle, but she always demandedmore than he had to give. He sometimes wondered if she should have married one of the ballplayers she'd dated before meeting him. Maybe then, she'd be happy now. And then too, maybe so would Marvin. After brooding over the television, smashed beyond repair, he went over to check on Chandelle when it appears she was actually injured. “You okay baby?” he asked, sincerely concerned.
“No, I'm not okay, and why did you check on that stupid thing before coming to see about me?” she replied, more salty than hurt. “Maybe now we can talk like I wanted to in the beginning.”
Before Marvin had the time to process Chandelle's complaints,there were three hard knocks at the door. When they weren't answered quickly enough for someone's satisfaction, someone beat on it again.
“What?” Marvin yelled as he opened the door to find two police officers, one black and the other as white as a snowy day, and neither of them appeared too happy about being shouted at. “Well, what y'all want?” Marvin asked rudely. “Ain't nobody selling drugs here, so you might want to go and harass somebody else.”
They took one look inside the apartment, discovering a knocked-over television set, a hole in the wall caused by Marvin flying into the coatrack that stood next to it, and Chandellelimping over to rest on the sofa. Both cops stepped insidethe house then, and backed Marvin against the wall. “Miss, we're answering a public-disturbance call. One of your neighbors reported loud screaming and fighting,” the taller, white officer stated, as if asking for Chandelle's side of the story.
The black cop had positioned himself between Marvin and the very attractive woman who was adequately filling out those sweatpants in a way that he appreciated. “Sistah,” the black one called out to get her attention. “This your husband?”
Chandelle winced while rubbing her hip. “Yeah, we're married,” she said softly.
“That don't give him the right to get physical with you, though,” he told her, in a comforting voice that Marvin found offensive.
“Say, man! What do you think you're doing?” Marvin heaved, objecting to the officer using the situation to flirt with his wife.
“Shut up!” the black officer asserted. “I bet that's one of your problems, you don't want to listen.” Again, he eyed Chandelle for her approval. Again Marvin objected harshly.
“Man, this ain't even right,” he barked. “Y'all just can't run up in here like this and talk to me like I don't have any rights.”
“And you can't go slapping your wife around any time you feel like it,” replied the white cop.
“Sistah, did he hit you?” the black officer asked Chandelle.
“No, he didn't,” she answered. “It wasn't even like that. Besides, it was partially my fault.”
“Yeah, that's what all battered women say,” the black officecontended. “And I guess that flat screen just tossed itself on the ground 'cause it got tired of working?” His countenancehad quickly undergone a sudden shift when Chandelle seemed to be protecting Marvin.
“Look, officers, this is a misunderstandingâ” Marvin tried to explain before the black cop shut him up by placing his hand on his holstered department-issued revolver.
“Nah, I understand real good how this sorta thing goes,” he assumed incorrectly. “Miss, you say he didn't hit you but it's obvious you're shook up and mishandled. Now, how do you expect us to believe he didn't put his hands on you?”
“Well, yeah he did but it wasn't ...” Chandelle began to say before she realized those were the magic words the cops were waiting for. “Hey, hold on.”
“It's too late now, ma'am,” argued the white one as his partner took great pleasure in doing the honors.
“Homeboy, you picked the wrong day to jump on your girl, and as fine as she is, you deserve to go down,” the other whispered to Marvin, while tightening the cuffs behind his back. “You have the right to remain silent.”
“Ahhh, man. Y'all taking me to jail?” asked Marvin, as he dug his heels into the carpet. “This ain't right. Chandelle, please tell them I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“She already told us all we needed to hear to lock you up for spousal abuse. Anything you or your wife says can be used in the court of law,” he continued sarcastically as he gave Chandelle the evil eye like a jerk who had just been rejectedat a nightclub. “That means you oughtta shut up, and ole girl should have kept her trap closed too.” He shoved Marvin in the small of the back with his nightstick to prod him along when he saw that there might be a struggle in the making.
“Man, you ain't got to be pushing that thing in my back,” Marvin snapped, as he exited the apartment. “Y'all know this ain't right!”
Chandelle was mortified. It was all happening too fast for her to grasp. One minute they were horseplaying, and the next, he was in the midst of being hauled off. “I told y'all he wasn't trying to hurt me. I told you that. Hey! Where are you taking him?” She chased down the stairs behind them, barefootand beside herself. “Wait. Marvin, I didn't mean for this to happen.”