C.A.K.E

Chapter 12: Somebody's Sleeping in My Bed

Casper retrieves his keys from the valet and sits in his vehicle's leather interior for a moment. He stares

at the entrance to Arden's building, tempted to rush back inside. To put his arms around her, and

reclaim his kiss that was interrupted by the twins' arrival.

Humph, reclaim.

As if he has any right to Ardi. But when has that ever stopped a man from having what he wanted? And

damn, if he doesn't want her.

He scratches at the neat hairs outlining his chiseled chin. There's another itch that's begging to be

scratched. But that's the thing with scratching. The itch spreads, calling out to be scratched harder and

deeper.

Once you start, you can't stop. No matter what lies he tells himself, he knows that one kiss won't be

enough for him. Not with her.

His frenzied thoughts are interrupted by a pale knuckle rapping on his passenger window. He hits a

button and the window slides down so that a young man with brunette curls can speak to him.

“Are you all right, sir?” The valet eyes him with concern.

Most people tend to drive away once their car is returned to them. But Casper has been sitting in his

Bentley, engine running, for almost five minutes. And since he is one of the rare visitors who offered a

tip, which the man had to refuse due to building policy, he's a bit invested in Casper's current state of

mind. Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

He considers the gentleman's question. “As a matter of fact, I'm not ...” He glances up at the top two

floors of the high rise and shakes his head. "Not at all."

“Can I get you something?”

“What I need, not even God could bring me,” Casper says with a dreamy gleam in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, sir?”

Casper smiles and waves at the valet. “Nothing, thanks. I'm fine.”

“Okay. Have a good day, sir.” The man tips his cap to Casper.

He wishes the gentleman the same, before pulling away from the curb. Casper sails through the

network of one-way streets and congested intersections on autopilot. His mind is still with Arden.

Casper's route back to the office leads him through the University of Alabama at Birmingham. The

university is not cut from the traditional college cloth. The campus is situated in the middle of the city,

with the main artery of Birmingham's Southside running through it.

University Boulevard, formerly known as Eighth Avenue, is hazardous to navigate when one is

coherent. But someone in a distracted state like Casper's could plow through a sea of students

crossing the busy street without even noticing.

Casper is a skilled multi-tasker, but she's demanding all of his attention. He gets caught by a red light

across the street from Heritage Hall. Classes must have just ended because young men and women

are flooding out of the building and onto the sidewalk.

Casper's imagining Arden's lips on his when something captures his attention in the crowd of students.

He does a double-take, and blinks his eyes over and over. His mind must be playing tricks on him.

But he swears he sees Arden crossing the street right in front of his car, her hair blowing in the humid

breeze.

Then he sees her standing on the concrete steps of the building, glowing and magnificent in that fitted

white skirt. Then she's standing on the corner, her nose in a book, headphones on, completely

absorbed in whatever melody is issuing from her iPod.

When he glances over at the passenger seat, there she is. She's staring out the window at the traffic

whipping by his car.

She turns to smile at him. Everything starts to move in slow motion around him. Nothing exists outside

this space.

An agitated orchestra of car horns sounds behind him. Of course, he doesn't hear the cacophony of

irritated drivers that surrounds him.

Who could think about anything else, when a vision of beauty manifests before one's eyes?

Arden shakes her head and glances up at the green light that just made its transition to red. He follows

her gaze and groans. Her laugh fills the car, making him smile. Then she's gone.

Casper tunes back into reality and gives a weak wave to the perturbed drivers stuck behind his vehicle.

He smooths his hands over his goatee. This is a sickness.

Knowing he won't be able to concentrate on anything at work, Casper decides to head home. It's the

middle of the day, and he's looking forward to sitting alone in his five-bedroom house and daydreaming

about Arden.

When he pulls into the circular drive of his home, he's surprised to find Karma's car parked out front.

Cain's Jaguar is parked alongside it. He's been trying to get these two to hang out with him since last

week. And here they are together.

Karma is supposed to be so damn busy preparing her closing argument for the Pollard trial. And Cain

should be at the Young & Dunn ad agency, dreaming up new ways to con people out of their hard-

earned disposable income. Neither one of them should be here, putting a wrench in Casper's plans.

He intended to stroll inside, kick back with a fifth of scotch and a cigar, and contemplate what voodoo

he needs to work for Arden to become more than just a vivid hallucination.

Then he wanted to take a break from plotting a coup against the sanctity of the institution of marriage to

make some progress on his screenplay. He doesn't often get the occasion to do so at home, without

Karma preaching to him about writing being a flagrant misuse of his time.

“While you're wasting your time with this pointless hobby, someone else is moving in on that vice

president position. You need to stay focused. No one is ever going to read your little story anyway.”

It always astounds him how she can dash his dreams with such ease, without even batting a false

eyelash. He can't understand what more she wants from him. Every step he takes up the corporate

ladder, she wants another rung.

She can congratulate him on his achievements. But lurking behind that brief stint of satisfaction with his

efforts is an even loftier expectation.

A person like that, who's always so concerned with the greener side of the fence, can't ever be happy.

There's a better-looking patch of grass on the other side of every fertile pasture. Casper doesn't have

the stamina to continue bounding over fences for the rest of his life in search of something better.

He wants to laugh now, and laugh some more later. He wants to experience the feeling of having

nowhere to be except in the present moment. To just be content. And that's something entirely foreign

to Karma.

Casper takes his time heading into the house. He walks to the end of the drive and pulls a stack of

letters from the mailbox. He makes polite conversation with an elderly neighbor, Mrs. Reynolds, who is

out walking her dog.

He pets the black french bulldog with the white patch of fur on his belly. The robust little dog's coat

makes him look like he's wearing a tuxedo.

This might explain why Mrs. Reynolds calls him Mr. French and likes to dress him in a top hat and prop

a smoking pipe in his mouth. Her Christmas cards are always hilarious.

Mr. French doesn't seem to mind being treated like her canine clotheshorse. He poses for every picture

and doesn't try to scramble out of whatever outfit she places on him.

Casper wouldn't mind having a pup like Mr. French, but Karma detests anything that can't clean up

after itself. So she and young children often don't mix. It's a wonder she can tolerate Cain's two kids.

“Casper, how are you dear?” Mrs. Reynolds asks.

He gives Mr. French a final rub, then rises to tower over the petite woman. "I'm doing alright. How

about yourself?"

“Well, you know me and this rheumatoid arthritis.” She twists the wrist of the hand that isn't holding

onto the dog leash. “Sometimes I can barely get out of bed.”

“Maybe it's time to consider taking your son up on that offer for you and Mr. Reynolds to come live with

him.”

“Not a chance.” She scoffs. “Junior's in bed before ten every night. Moving in with him would seriously

cramp my style.” She does a quick cha-cha. “I like to cut a rug every once in a while.”

Casper chuckles. “I'm scared of you. Don't hurt nobody with those moves, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“You oughta join me sometime.” She winks at him. “Might teach you a thing or two.”

“Oh, I'm sure I couldn't begin to keep up with you.”

She pinches his cheek and he grins. “Well, I'm sure you got better things to do than standing out here,

entertaining an old lady.”

He looks around and shrugs. “I don't see any old lady here. Just a woman in the prime of her life, with

the understated elegance and beauty of a queen.”

“You're such a sweet boy, Casper.” Mrs. Reynolds smiles at him and glances behind him toward his

house. Her smile subsides into a deep sigh. “You deserve every bit of happiness there is.”

Casper glances down at his shoes. “Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds.”

She takes one more look at the brick home behind him, then she and Mr. French say their goodbyes.

Casper waves as he watches their slow gait up the street toward her house.

He turns to head inside, then stops to glance at Mrs. Reynolds again. She's always been nice to him.

But today there was a hint of something else there. It felt a lot like pity.

Casper thought he had escaped that look of empathy a long time ago when he moved here from

London.

He never could get used to seeing the uneasy expression on the face of anyone who knew about his

past. People couldn't say hello to him without bringing up his sob story.

His childhood hadn't been the greatest, living on the income of a single parent. But his father made

their barely middle-class existence a comfortable one. He doted on his son while managing to instill all

the qualities a respectable young man should possess.

Frederick Buhari was the kind of man who worked his fingers to the bone in order to forget. He

operated under the belief that, if he kept moving, his mind wouldn't have time to question why he could

no longer sleep in his bed. Why he preferred the couch, to sleeping on a king-sized mattress without

his wife. Why she had run away from life—their life.

Casper's mother, Ophelia, leaped from London's Tower Bridge to her death on his seventh birthday.

Witnesses said one moment she was smiling down at the water and the next ... The murky waters of

the River Thames owned the sweet personality of the Sierra Leonean beauty.

She had promised to buy him a chocolate cake from the bakery they visited every Sunday afternoon.

He waited on the front steps of their home for her to come walking up the street, with that serene smile

of hers, humming that ridiculous little tune.

Then two officers drove up to his house and told him that the woman, who had made him toast and

eggs that very morning, wouldn't be rounding the corner with a three-tier birthday cake in her hands.

She wouldn't be confiscating his comic books at bedtime, before kissing his forehead and tucking him

into his Superman sheets.

His first love was no more.

The memories she left behind unraveled like a braid that had come undone at the end, evaporating into

oblivion. Casper's days after her death was consumed with possessed cataloging of each moment that

he had ever spent with her. He tried to capture every birthday, Christmas, and mundane afternoon

down to the most minute detail before they slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

He wanted to remember his time with her, and at the same time, he was struggling to understand her.

He examined the words and actions of the past, in search of some explanation as to why she had left

him.

What was going through her mind, that she could forget there were two people who worshipped the

ground she walked on. And why had she chosen her only child's birthday to say goodbye to the world?

She had her pick of three hundred sixty-five days, and she picked that one. She had to be sending him

a message.

With no suicide note or any other obvious indicators of her mental state, Casper was left with only one

person to blame ... himself.

He had no way of knowing that she got tired of trying to outrun the demons of a tortured past that she

narrowly escaped. He had no way of knowing that her selfish choice had nothing to do with her

precious boy. She would have given anything to continue being his mother.

But Casper deserved more than a broken woman, masquerading as a well-adjusted adult. Years of

unspoken abuse at the hands of her father had left her hollow inside. The bitter seed that had taken

root in her heart and soul, left little room for the unending affection every child needs.

The night before her baby's birthday, she sat thinking of what she could give him. After hours of

contemplation, she knew the greatest gift she could ever offer him was her absence.

So on the day that marked seven years since a bundle of joy she named Casper came into this world,

she walked to the middle of one of the most iconic bridges on earth. She wished her brilliant boy a

happy birthday and fastened a big red bow to her head. With one last declaration of her love for him,

she put an end to her suffering and the pain she believed she would have caused her child in the long

run.

But Casper and Frederick didn't know any of that. She had left them floundering in an ocean of grief

without a life raft. Seven years later, Frederick still hadn't managed to free himself from the choppy

undertow. A massive stroke ended his constant fight just to keep his head above water.

Casper became an orphan at fourteen. A time in a young man's life when his parents' guidance is

needed the most, especially that of his father. He was facing the possibility of four years in a boys'

home. There wasn't a line forming at the door to adopt a teenager.

Lucky for Casper his mother's sister, Leonora, intervened. She and her family had left the UK years

before when her husband got an opportunity to start his own practice in Alabama. As a result, Casper

had a rare occasion to see his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Distance and time had made them a little better

than strangers.

The week after his father's body was laid to rest next to his beloved wife, Casper hopped across the

pond to another life. Thanks to his aunt's nurturing, it didn't take long for him to adjust to his new home.

Leonora and Charles adopted Casper and raised him as their own. He and his younger cousin, Cain,

were brothers from that day forward.

Though the question of Casper's pronounced accent and Cain's clear lack of one did surface on a

regular basis. Those closest to the family knew the truth of their relation. For others, Casper would put

on his best southern gentleman accent. After he entertained them with his quick wit and impressions,

no further mention was made of any differences between him and Cain.

Casper shrugs off his thoughts of the past and continues his walk to the front door. He steps inside his

home and calls out to his wife.

Muffled sounds are coming from the master bedroom down the hall. His feet follow the noises, as he

shuffles through a few bills and junk mail. He calls Karma's name again. Still no answer.

A loud thump and a long scratching noise make him hasten his steps. He's about to open his bedroom

door when it swings open.

“Casper, what are you doing home?” Karma asks.

She pulls the door closed behind her, keeping her hand on the doorknob and her back pressed to the

doorframe. A smile that carries the same authenticity as a knock-off handbag from the swapmeet

spreads across her face.

“Took a half-day.” He regards her with a raised brow and critical eye.

“You can't just blow off work, Casper. That's not the kind of attitude that will get you promoted.”

She's the one who is supposed to be so damn swamped with work, that she couldn't take an afternoon

to spend with her husband. And here she stands, disheveled and out of breath, outside their bedroom

door in the middle of the day.

“I'm not blowing off work. All of my stuff was handled. So I left.” He takes a step back and shakes his

head.

“You think men who want to move up in the world, just do the bare minimum and go home? It's a

wonder you've gotten as far as you have.”

Casper studies Karma as she continues to run down the itemized list of his faults.

The neat chignon she left the house with this morning is now a rat's nest of ebony strands. The side

zipper of her navy sleeveless dress is half undone. Her makeup is smudged.

And he's almost certain that she was wearing a pair of stockings earlier. Nope, she was wearing a pair

of sheer, black nylons with a back seam. He remembers because he commented on how great they

made her legs look.

“Casper.” She snaps her fingers in his face.

That crap irritates him to no end. But he's learned to resist the urge to knock her hands away from his

face. He tries to remain as docile as possible, so as not to discharge the loose cannon that is Karma's

personality. But he has a few questions for her.

“I thought you and Frome were working on your closing argument?”

Her easy flowing words transform into a sputtering stream of syllables.

“I um ... uh ... spilled some coffee on my dress. Had to come home and change.” She hooks her arm

around his and leads him away from the door back toward the front of the house. “In fact, I'm on my

way out again.”

He makes her stop in the middle of the hallway, while he zips up her dress. “You look like you're in the

middle of undressing.”

She glances down at herself. “I was just changing when you came in.”

“You said you were on your way out, though.”

“I am, as soon as I step into my shoes.” She shoots him an uneasy smile.

“What's Cain doing here?”

Karma glances down at her feet and runs a hand over her hair. She stares at him like she just forgot

how to speak. Footsteps in the hallway behind them save her from the conspicuous lull in their

conversation.

“I was in the neighborhood and saw Karma's car out front. So I decided to stop by for a minute.” Cain

appears from the opposite end of the hallway.

If Casper didn't know any better, he'd say his brother just came out of the master bedroom.

He smiles at Cain. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long. Few minutes, if that.” He shrugs. “But I should get back to the office.”

Cain gives Casper a pat on the back. He hugs Karma, and they wrap their arms around each other.

Then he gives her a kiss on the cheek, his lips within close proximity to hers. The embrace lasts about

three seconds too long.

Casper places his hand on Cain's shoulder. “Ease up, little brother. You trying to push up on my wife?”

Cain releases Karma, but not before letting his hands stray a bit on her modest frame. He turns around

to meet Casper's unsuspecting grin with a sly one of his own.

“Don't worry, Casper.” Cain glances back at her. “Karma screams every time I come near her.”

“That's because you're so good ...” She licks her lips and smirks at Cain. “At being annoying.”

Cain chuckles and winks at her. “I aim to please.”

He tells Casper that he will call him later, and heads for the front door. Casper follows him outside.

“Cain, wait up.”

“What is it?” Cain turns on his heels to face Casper.

Casper takes a quick breath before broaching a subject that's been bothering him for the last few

months. “Have you noticed anything different about Karma lately?”

Cain shrugs. “Nope. Why?”

Casper glances back at the house. Then he places an arm across Cain's shoulders and walks him

farther away from the front door that's been left ajar.

“I think she might be ... seeing someone else.”

Cain clears his throat, and moves a couple of steps to his right, away from Casper. He looks back in

the direction of the house, then back at his brother.

He scratches at the back of his neck and coughs. “What makes you say that?”

Casper kicks at a stray pebble on the driveway.

“She's lying about stupid shit. Saying she's one place when she's really somewhere else. Taking phone

calls at crazy hours, and disappearing for hours at a time.” He stares at his brother, faint moisture

glistening in his eyes. “What else could she be doing?”

“There has to be some other explanation. Karma wouldn't betray you like that.”

“Maybe I am being paranoid.” Casper shakes his head and sighs. “But could you keep an ear out? Let

me know if you hear anything I should know about.”

“Yeah ... yeah, I will.”

“All right, don't let me take up any more of your time.” Casper hugs Cain. And it's not one of those

bullshit I'm-too-busy-trying-to-be-macho-to-show-affection quick embraces.

“Nothing's going on between Karma and some strange dude. Trust me.”

“I hope not.” Casper nods and shoves his hands into his pockets. “That shit won't end pretty.”

Cain says a quick goodbye. Then he gets into his Jag and speeds out of the drive, paying no heed to

the neighborhood's 20mph speed limit. Casper watches until the sleek car is out of sight, then goes

back inside.

“Karma, baby, what do you want for dinner tonight?”

“You and Bernard can decide.” She calls back from the bathroom. “I probably won't be home on time

anyway.”

Casper sinks onto their bed, resting his elbows on his knees. “For a couple with a personal chef, we

sure don't eat a lot of meals together.”

“What, honey?” She pokes her head around the doorframe.

Casper gives her a weak smile. “Nothing.”

“Oh, thought you said something.” She goes back to fixing her appearance. “So anyway, I was thinking

we should get together with Arden and Eli this weekend.”

“Really?” Casper's shoulders perk up at the mention of Ardi's name. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don't know, yet. You can think of something.” Karma emerges from their bathroom. Her hair is back in

its signature bun and her makeup is flawless once again. “Just as long as it gets me a step closer to

that senators' charity ball in September.”

Casper ignores the fact that Karma's ambition is showing. An excuse to see Arden is on the table.

“You sure you want to entrust that kind of responsibility to me?”

“I'm sure you know how important this is to me. You won't disappoint.” Karma reaches for her wedding

and engagement rings on the nightstand. He watches her slip them back on her ring finger.

Casper catches her hand, as she turns. “Think you can stay a few minutes?”

“No, baby. I gotta get back.” She extracts her hand from his. “I'm late as it is.”

He nods and tucks his hands between his knees. “Yeah, you gotta go.”

Karma looks over at his sunken posture and groans. She grabs her handbag from the dresser and

heads out of the bedroom. Then she pauses in the doorway and glances back at her husband. She

stands there a moment, tapping her heels on the hardwoods.

She makes a hesitant walk back to Casper's side and strokes his cheek. The gesture is rushed and

awkward. He recoils from the uncomfortable touch at first, then settles against her attempt at affection.

Karma bends to kiss his cheek. “I'll try to get home at a decent hour. Okay?”

Casper only offers her a smile in response. She stands there, staring at him like she's unsure of what to

do next. Then she whispers goodbye and leaves him alone in the deafening silence of their house.

He sits with his oxfords propped on the bed's oak frame for several minutes. His mind is working

through a couple of explanations as to why the comforter is a wrinkled mess, and the sheets have been

left tangled midway down the bed.

Casper knows he made the bed this morning. He remembers Karma critiquing his hospital corners as

he tucked the cotton sheets underneath the mattress.

She can't leave the house until the bed has been made with every decorative pillow placed just so.

Which in turn means, he can't leave the house until the master bedroom looks better than the Ethan

Allen showroom.

He pats the disheveled bedding. Casper examines the haphazard scene, shaking his head as he

questions his memory of his movements earlier. He definitely made up this bed. He pauses to do some

math in his head.

Messed up sheets Karma at home in the middle of the day = Somebody's sleeping in his bed ...

Somebody's taken his place ... Somebody's messing with Casper's head ...

As Dru Hill serenades the suspicions hurtling through his mind, he hops off the bed and begins ripping

the sheets from the mattress. The little devil on Casper's shoulder taunts him to drag the adulterous

sheets and comforter out to the backyard, and start a hateful bonfire. Then the angel on his other taps

his shoulder, and extends a lighter to him.

Casper can feel his heart beating in his ears, an angry drummer hell-bent on cozying up to a refreshing

glass of revenge. He gathers the rumpled bedding and deposits it in the laundry room.

“Not even worth the effort.” He tells the encouraging angels on his shoulders to take the night off. He

has some serious business to take care of, and conscience would just get in the way.

Casper changes out of his suit, and into a pair of jeans with an old concert tee. Then he makes a call to

Bernard to inform him that Karma won't be home, and there's no need for him to come over just to cook

for one person. With that handled, he retires to the great room with his laptop.

As he sips a taste from one of his best bottles of scotch, he places several orders for floral

arrangements, chocolate-covered strawberries, and pieces of crystal jewelry. Whatever he can think of

that she might like, he has it overnighted to the bakery.

He's sure Arden isn't the kind of woman he can ply with expensive gifts. The Mitchell family is old

money. She won't bat an eyelash at him spending a few grand on her. But she will appreciate a grand

gesture. All he needs is a foot in the door. His charm will take care of the rest.

Day fades into the night in what seems like a matter of minutes. He's managed to almost finish the

bottle of scotch, spend a small fortune, and imagine touching every inch of Arden's body. Fantasizing is

getting annoying. The longer he's deprived of the real thing, the stronger the craving.

He wants to call her. Hear her voice. Coax her out of the house with a promise to have her back before

midnight, like he used to do with the shy girls in high school. Crack a couple of jokes. Make her laugh.

Bathe in the sunshine that is her smile.

Casper wrings his hands over and over. They're burning, angry at this idleness that's afflicting them. He

searches for his cell. His fingers move across the phone's touch screen, guided by an iron will.

He selects Arden's number from his recent calls list, and all of a sudden he feels like he's sitting across

from Laurence Fishburne in the Matrix. Blue pill ... or red pill? ... Should he hit that tiny green, glowing

phone next to her number, or settle into the blaring quiet and wait for Karma to acknowledge him.

Choices, choices.

Casper opts instead for the nearest thing to being around his obsession, without stirring up any drama

... yet. He calls SoHo Sugar, knowing he'll get the answering service. It's after nine at night. The

bakery's doors have long been closed.

The phone rings once, and the outgoing message picks up. Just as he'd hoped, Arden's alluring voice

traverses the airwaves and takes the edge off his solitude. He settles onto the sofa and listens as she

details the bakery's hours and catering information. After instructions to leave a name and number so

that she can get back to you, the message ends with a cheery, “Have a sweet day.”

A short tone sounds, prompting him to speak. He wants to leave Arden a message so that she can get

back to him. So that she can erase the bitterness forming in him, and he can alleviate the pain that's

distorting her brown eyes. He wants her to trust him with that burden. To let him save her.

Another louder tone shocks his ears. It feels to him that he just said so much to her, but the recording is

filled with nothing but his steady breathing. Tomorrow, she'll hear that nothingness. But it'll be so much

louder. Like white noise on a television. The intent behind his silence will be loud enough to make her

cover her ears. Arden will understand every word.

He hangs up and redials. Listening to her sultry speech, he imagines her lips kissing every word as it

leaves her mouth. Casper repeats this process too many times to count. He's lost track. A junkie never

knows how often he's chased that short-lived euphoria, just that he has to catch it again ... and again.

Casper stops torturing himself and makes one last go-round of SoHo Sugar's recorded greeting. This

time he leaves something more than his breath on the message. He whispers Arden's name, then ends

his love affair with the taped vibrations of her beautiful voice.

He stays awake until the wee hours of the morning, listening to every angry record he owns and

stewing over the state of his marriage. He drank his dinner. And that's done nothing, but fuel the

thoughts of his wife giving another man free rein of her body. That vulnerability should be reserved for

Casper alone. The more he thinks about it, the more restless he becomes.

Around three a.m., he hears a car pulling into the drive. Eyes bloodshot, and a little tipsy, he makes his

way to the front of the house. He drags a wingback chair from the living room and places it right in the

front door. The first thing she sees will be the expression of a disillusioned husband.

Karma tiptoes inside the house, pressing the door into its frame with a soft push. She turns and

screams loud enough to wake the neighborhood. She's just seen a ghost.

“What the fuck, Casper?” She clutches her chest, trying to trap fleeting gasps of air into her starved

lungs.

Her reaction doesn't shake him. There's one thing on his mind, and she's going to give him what he's

owed. So she'd better get herself together quick because Casper wants an answer.

“What's his fucking name?”