Present Day: Early Morning (5:00 am) before Jasper’s Arrest
After a night with Jasper at the Regency Palace Hotel, Tracey entered her condominium apartment in the early hours, Friday morning. She planned to visit Jasper’s office later that morning to further discuss the sustainability of their relationship. Two years had passed, and the indiscreet lifestyle had run its course. Furthermore, partaking in adulterous behavior was contrary to her upbringing.
Tracey’s family was Caribbean immigrants from a remote island in the south named St. Tilly. The people of the island were humble with only fishing trades and minor agricultural opportunities for those wealthy enough to establish exporting relationships. Her parents died when she was seventeen years old, and her granduncle Harold and his wife, Carly, migrated Tracey to the United States shortly thereafter.
Tracey’s Childhood
Uncle Harold was committed to his trade as a shoemaker and Aunt Carly was a seamstress. Uncle Harold owned a twenty-by-eighteen-foot shop five miles outside of Atlanta, Georgia. He was fifty-eight years old when Tracey came to live them. He and Carly never had children, so although they were older, Tracey was the child they never had. They were an honest couple that maintained solid values and believed in payoff from hard work.
One autumn day in 1988, Uncle Harold was working at his shoemaking business when an out-of-town Georgian farmer in denim overalls with blond head and facial hair entered Uncle Harold’s shop. The farmer was accompanied by his eleven-year-old granddaughter.
“Boy, how much you charge to repair the soles on my work boots?” questioned the farmer.
Uncle Harold was never surprised by the arrogance and crudeness of many of the passersby in the South. Although he had not experienced such racial prejudices in his Caribbean hometown, it was commonplace in the Deep South. He had become relatively immune for he knew whether or not this ignorant farmer was challenged; there would be yet another and another with similar attitudes. When he first came to the United States, Uncle Harold believed he could change one mind at a time. But he lost the steam and willpower after so many years of repeated rudeness.
“That will be $4.50,” answered Uncle Harold.
“OK, boy. Repair them up nice for me.” The farmer stepped outside and rolled a tobacco cigarette while his granddaughter Cindy watched Uncle Harold work. Uncle Harold pulled out his repair tools and placed the farmer’s boots on the shoe cutter. Cindy was intrigued by the size and sounds of the machinery.
The telephone rang, and Uncle Harold turned his back to answer it. It was Tracey calling to say Aunt Carly unexpectedly had a stroke, and they could not revive her. She suffered a heart attack and died almost instantaneously.
“No . . . no . . . not my Carly?” shrieked Uncle Harold. “Oh my god, no . . . how . . . when?”
Responding to Uncle Harold’s screams, Cindy became frightened and lost her balance on the shoeshine step stool and fell grasping onto the blade of the shoe cutter that Uncle Harold prepared to use on Cindy’s grandfather’s boots slicing three of her fingers off. Cindy screamed and landed on the floor of the small shop bleeding. Her grandfather, who was outside smoking his tobacco cigarette, heard both Uncle Harold’s and Cindy’s screams and burst into the shop.
“What is all of this shouting and screaming?” He noticed his granddaughter on the floor bleeding and shouted, “CINDAAAYYYYY! Boy, what have you done to my sweet grandbaby?”
Still in disbelief regarding Aunt Carly, Uncle Harold was unable to focus on the tragic accident. He grabbed his keys to lock up to get home when it occurred to him what had happened to Cindy. He looked at Cindy’s grandfather whose face was accusatory, and Uncle Harold said, “Oh no . . . it was an accident.”
“Accident? You son of a bitch. You cut my grandbaby’s fingers clean off her pretty little hand!” Uncle Harold continued to snatch his things in a confused state.
“Where are you running off to? No, you are going to face the law for this.”
The farmer grabbed Uncle Harold’s right arm and punched him in the face knocking him to the floor and ran out the shop to hail the sheriff and call an ambulance.
Uncle Harold was arrested for first-degree assault. Bail was set at $50,000 beyond his financial reach, barring Uncle Harold from gaining his freedom to attend Aunt Carly’s funeral. Since Cindy was a child, particularly a white child in the ultraconservative South, he was sentenced to thirty-five years in a Georgia prison. Tracey was all alone at seventeen years old.
Present Day: Later Morning (7:00 am) Day of the Arrest. Night after Meeting Jasper
Tracey brewed a pot of French Roast coffee and turned on the morning show. She pulled out a skirt suit and blouse to wear to work as she listened to the television news. There was a story about a divorced woman whose husband was killed the day after she was awarded their $15 million mansion in Santa Monica. Tracey sat on a stool in her kitchen, sipped her cup of coffee, and reflected on the night she and her ex-husband Matheson Bodden ended their marriage.
The Year 2002
Tracey married Matheson Bodden, a man she met during graduate school at Duke University in North Carolina. They were in two different academic disciplines; Tracey majored in finance and Matheson in political science. Despite her studies, Tracey was greatly committed to the tenets of the law and democratic government. Matheson and Tracey were members of the democratic debate club and continuously challenged each other, academically and personally. They were enamored and relished in the intellectual stimulation. Matheson and Tracey married in 1996 and moved to Greensboro, North Carolina.
In the spring of 2002, Matheson and Craig Cambridge pulled into the parking garage at the condominium complex of Tracey and Matheson in Greensboro. The two men were arguing for over forty-five minutes in the car. Matheson slammed the door of his silver Jaguar frustrated. Craig paused but followed behind him.
“Listen, I had a long day,” began Matheson. “The school board has been on my back to increase funding for the computer programs, the sanitation workers may picket against what might be a poisonous site outside of Greensboro, and Tracey is pressuring me to start a family.”
Craig who has a Boston accent asked, “Is she still in Georgia?”
“Yes,” replied Matheson. “She spends more time there than here in North Carolina,” he complained. “But I’ll give her credit though. She remains committed to fighting to free her uncle from prison. He’s been there about ten years now. She’s due back home in a few days.”
Craig and Matheson, both well dressed in Armani suits, walked through the building lobby. Matheson waved at the doorman, and he and Craig proceeded onto the elevator pressing the fourth-floor button. Matheson put the key in his apartment door, held the door open, and Craig walked past Matheson clearly comfortable with his surroundings. Matheson unsuccessfully grabbed Craig’s arm in an attempt to stop him. They continued the disagreement that began in the car.
“Oh, so you’re still upset with me?” Matheson followed Craig into the apartment. Craig walked over to the bar and poured two straight scotches. He swallowed a mouthful of his drink and handed the other drink to Matheson.
“You don’t know who you are,” Craig sharply spouted. “You are a misguided man with nothing left but a woman who does not know you and a conscience that has damaged your judgment.”
Matheson shouted, “How dare you! How DARE you! I have given you nothing but SELF, my trust, my time, my spirit, and, most of all, my heart. How dare you attempt to bring me down with that guilt mess?”
“You’re ashamed of me, of us . . . of yourself. You think your Greensboro, North Carolina, deputy mayor position will be lost if you lived in truth? If city hall revealed who you really are?” Craig removed his suit jacket.
“I am a man! And I do a damn good job at running this city’s public affairs,” Matheson firmly stated. “Don’t be naïve. Although this is the third largest city in North Carolina, this is still the South. They’re still trying to understand how a black man was elected to this position. I have to think through the public’s eyes.”
“Then let’s leave YOUR South,” Craig sternly suggested.
“This is my life. My career. These people . . . my constituents—” Craig shook his head in dismay. Matheson saw and replied, “You won’t understand.”
Craig cautiously approached Matheson. “I know who you are. I have been there . . . years ago, but I’ve been there. I love who you are. You are so concerned about your public image . . . but what about your personal life?”
“I’m a politician, Craig. The public is my life.”
Matheson spent his entire life denying his sexuality. As a teenager, he partook in various sports, far too many with only the objective of affirming his masculinity. He attended Christian Academy All-Boys School as a young adult in Rhode Island. During those maturing years, he slowly understood his bisexuality; however, in recent years, his need and love for Craig had escalated, and his desire for a life with his wife had waned. Tracey was unaware of Matheson’s bisexuality. Matheson’s feelings caused him frustration and confusion leading to anger and resentment for everything Craig represented. But he loved Craig and was in a period of emotional denial.
Over the past two years, Matheson and Craig had connected on many levels. Craig was openly gay yet well received by his friends, family, and colleagues. He was a successful lawyer at his corporate law firm. Matheson found Craig’s honesty and openness enviable. Craig was intelligent with a sharp legal mind, representing well-known wealthy defendants in high-profile criminal cases.
“Stop denying who you are. You have deprived yourself of true happiness for far too long,” Craig stressed.
“Do you have any idea what this would do to my career? Goddammit, what about Tracey? I loved her once.”
“And now WE love each other,” said Craig. “It’s not very different from when you fell in love with her.” Craig realized that he was not persuading Matheson and became angry.
“Stop being a stereotypical faggot!” shouted Craig.
Unlike previous discussions, Matheson became physical violent. He threw his glass of scotch across the room smashing into a Romare Bearden original painting. Matheson angrily grabbed Craig, and they began to wrestle. Matheson pushed Craig to the wall, but Craig was only defensive and refused to hit Matheson. Craig understood the turmoil going on inside Matheson’s mind and chose to remain passive as Matheson sought out a desperate cry for truth. Matheson resented his love for Craig and despised his bisexuality. Matheson pushed Craig around the room some more and became even angrier because Craig would not fight back. Matheson heaved Craig onto the living room sofa and unintentionally broke a fine glass vase on the coffee table. Matheson flipped Craig around and pulled off his own suit jacket. Matheson intended to release his anger by having sex with Craig.
“Is this how you want me? To take out your pain and anger?” asked Craig. Matheson ignored Craig and yanked Craig’s pants to unfasten his belt.
Craig continued, “Is this what our relationship has boiled down to? Meaningless sexual encounters? Be the man you say you are and accept yourself. Accept me. Accept the meaningful lifetime we can build together. Be fair to yourself and to Tracey.”
Craig was disgusted with Matheson’s disregard and simply surrendered. Matheson pulled off his pants, pushed Craig around and grabbed Craig’s buttocks, and held the couch for leverage as he forcefully penetrated Craig. Matheson continued to pump into Craig harshly. They both moaned in ecstasy from the emotional pain and physical pleasure. Matheson released his anger and held Craig tightly with a dire passion. Craig stood up and looked at Matheson who was clearly emotionally frayed.
“I love you, and I know you are in love with me,” Craig began. “Our time on earth should be filled with flourishing this love together! Openly!”
Craig lovingly held the back of Matheson’s neck and kissed his lips as the door to the condominium opened. Tracey, Matheson’s wife of four years, walked into the room and saw the partially dressed men kissing. She dropped her keys and handbag on the floor as she watched in disbelief. Matheson was startled. He slowly stepped away from Craig, pulled up, and zipped his pants. He walked over to Tracey while he tucked in his shirt. Tracey stood frozen at the door aghast.
“What are you doing back from Georgia so soon?” asked Matheson.
Tracey could not hear his words as she walked farther into her apartment past Matheson. She watched Craig pull up his pants and dress by the couch where he and Matheson had just had sex. Tracey stared at the couch recalling she and Matheson had made love in that same place two nights earlier.
Tracey’s back was toward Matheson as he raised his voice and asked again, “Tracey, you said you were coming home on Saturday. What happened?”
Tracey slowly turned around to face Matheson still in disbelief. Tears fell from her eyes. Matheson saw her disappointment and hurt. They silently looked at each other. Her eyes asked, How could you do this to me? Feeling sympathetic, Matheson took a step toward Tracey and stretched his arms in an attempt to console her, but she took two steps backward outside of his reach. She was repulsed by his gesture.
Matheson knew their marriage had ended. For a moment, he unexpectedly felt relieved. The secret was out. Freedom. But then Matheson gradually became aware of the thorny situation he placed everyone. The ramifications of exposing his sexuality slowly started to become apparent in Matheson’s mind. By now, Craig was fully dressed. He too was pretty confident that this inadvertent tryst was the necessary exposure to move Matheson in the right direction and finally end his marriage.
Craig approached Matheson as he was about to leave the apartment and whispered in Matheson’s ear, “Call me when you are ready to talk.”
Matheson grabbed Craig’s arm to stop him from leaving. “No, I want you to stay.”
Pleasingly surprised by Matheson’s boldness, but wanting to do the right thing, Craig replied, “You have to handle this situation without me here.”
“This situation?” Tracey bitterly asked, finally speaking with a low tremor.
Matheson attempted to justify his adulterous behavior. “Tracey, you have not been able to make me happy for a while.”
Tracey softly uttered with venomous despise, “Don’t you dare hold me responsible.”
“This is not about you, Tracey. This is about us,” Matheson replied.
“Which ‘US’? You and I? Or you and your boyfriend?” she asked.
Craig looked at Tracey’s expression and then at Matheson and remarked, “Matheson, I’m going to leave now. I really shouldn’t be here.”
Matheson reached into his pocket and handed his car keys to Craig. “Wait in the car for me. I’ll be right down.” Craig left the apartment.
Matheson began to grind his teeth and clenched his lips. His anger visibly elevated as a result of Craig’s departure. He needed Craig there for support, but now he had to sever their relationship independently. Tracey’s discovery forced Matheson to act. He raced into their bedroom, and Tracey followed behind.
“You lied to me. How could you deceive me in this way?” Tracey shouted with contempt.
“I never lied to you!” Matheson opened his closet, pulled out a black Pullman suitcase and a garment bag, and placed them on the bed.
“Your cheating on me was not a lie?” she asked.
“We never discussed it. I never told you things that were untrue.”
Tracey stood at the bedroom door while Matheson reached into his bureau and pulled out a batch of underwear and socks. He placed them into his suitcase. He reached into his closet and grabbed several suits, shirts, and ties. Matheson remained calm as he packed his belongings.
“Don’t you see? Just because you did not tell me doesn’t make your behavior acceptable.”
“I always treated you well.”
“You were unfaithful to me!”
“This is not about you, Tracey.”
“You disrespected our marriage!”
“Our marriage ran its course.”
Tracey was hurt by Matheson’s disregard and his imminent departure. She started to cry.
“I was a good wife to you. You met me a virgin. I was a good woman to you. I never had any other man but you. I loved you.”
“And once upon a time, Tracey, I loved you too. Listen . . . Tracey . . . my feelings for Craig are not about you. I have to live my life now in the way I always should have done years ago.”
Tracey pleadingly requested, “If we start a family, things will change. You’ll see . . . they will . . . with a son or a daughter, we could have a new beginning. Children will bring the joy to our marriage that we felt in the beginning.”
“This can’t be saved with a child. Besides, Tracey, I am not interested in saving whatever is left of our marriage. As a matter of fact, there isn’t anything left. You are not the person I need in my life. He’s waiting downstairs for me.”
Tracey lost control. “I WON’T LET YOU LEAVE! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME!” She snatched his suitcase and emptied out the contents onto the floor. She reached for the garment bag to pull out his clothes when Matheson grabbed her arms firmly to stop her.
“Tracey, please, I don’t want this to get physical. I respect you. Don’t destroy the high opinion I have of you.”
Matheson picked up the clothes that were strewn across the floor. He repacked his things. Tracey stood at the bedroom door, blocking the exit. Matheson approached Tracey with his luggage in his arms attempting to exit the room.
Tracey grabbed his garment bag. She pleaded, “Let’s talk this through. I’ve been a good woman to you. I am all you really need.”
“Tracey . . . don’t you see? I’m not leaving you for a woman! You can’t offer me what I yearn for in a relationship.”
Recognizing looming defeat, Tracey dropped Matheson’s bag on the floor and fell to her knees and grabbed his arm.
“I won’t let you go. You can’t leave me!” Tracey cried uncontrollably.
“We owe it to ourselves . . . to our marriage . . . to work on finding happiness. This is not happiness!” he responded.
Matheson walked toward the apartment door. Tracey got up but continued pulling his arm, causing the garment bag to hang from his shoulder.
Tracey cried her words. “We can make this work. It was only an affair. Marriage has its ups and downs. This is just a downtime. I’ll change. I’ll do as you ask. I can be a better wife to you.”
Matheson ignored her appeal. Tracey continued with one last desperate attempt to change his mind. She walked in front of Matheson and looked him directly in the eyes.
“Matheson . . . please. I love you. You are the only man I have ever known. The only husband I could ever want. I have no one. My parents are dead. My only living relative imprisoned. Please . . . please don’t leave me alone.”
Matheson pondered for a moment. Tracey would be all alone. Her only family was Uncle Harold who would likely spend the rest of his life in jail. Matheson rested his luggage down and stared in Tracey’s eyes. He still loved her and wanted the best for her. She was the ideal wife for any man. The time had finally come to make his choice in life.
“I’ll make arrangements to get the rest of my things next week. Good-bye, Tracey.” Matheson knew a future failed marriage would be inevitable. He picked up his luggage and exited the apartment.
Tracey was despondent. She closed the door behind him, fell to the floor, and bawled expressing pain from deep within. She banged the floor with her fist crying, “No . . . you can’t do this to me! I hate you! I hate you!”
Matheson went downstairs to the parking garage to meet Craig who was waiting in the car sitting in the driver’s seat.
Matheson uttered in a low tone, “It was devastating up there. I hurt her. I hurt her terribly.”
Craig grabbed Matheson’s arm misinterpreting Matheson’s words. “What the hell is wrong with you? Did you hit her?”
“No . . . of course, I didn’t touch her! What kind of man do you think I am? I just don’t know how she will emerge from this. I just . . . I don’t know.”
“You had to make a decision, Matt. There are no more lies and deception. People would have continued to get hurt. Tracey obviously is already emotionally destroyed.”
Matheson felt miserable. “Let’s get out of here.”
Craig continued as he drove off, “Everything will work out for the best. Believe me, we will be better off. Living openly . . . proudly . . . without shame. You wanted to love her, but you have nothing for her. She too will meet someone and have a much happier life.”
“She didn’t deserve this. I hope she will forgive me one day,” Matheson whispered as he looked out the car window as they drove away.
Two weeks later, Tracey moved to the upper east side of New York City to launch the career she had always desired. At thirty-three years old, Tracey became a highly aggressive, spirited businesswoman who shattered the glass ceiling at Dale, Walton & Pierce Investment Bank to become partner within two years. Tracey’s fair skin, shoulder-length dark brown hair, and hazel eyes, coupled with her Wharton Business School MBA in finance, helped sway middle-age white male CEOs into purchasing complex financial products for their companies. Tracey lived in the world of Dale, Walton & Pierce day and night. Although Tracey greatly richened her personal wealth with a $750,000 annual salary plus million dollar bonus, her spirit was low and in need of enrichment.
Quite expectedly, it was difficult for Tracey to trust anyone; and as a result, she limited her dating to vodka martinis in Manhattan soirées and eventually bimonthly sessions with Jasper. She lived alone in her York Avenue condominium overlooking the East River and rarely entertained in her apartment. Although Jasper had a key to her apartment, she preferred to meet him at neutral locations. Tracey was lonely but hopeful she and Jasper would soon begin the life she dreamt she could have had with Matheson.