The Shelter for Buttered Women by J Clayton Rogers

Author:J Clayton Rogers
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

Richmond, Virginia

July, 2008

Visiting the Husband

Ari thought Tareq Sadiq must have been cast upon the shoals of poverty after losing his trucking business to his wife. But on reaching the address Nabihah Sadiq had given him he found himself in the middle of a luxury condo community. While there was a kind of grey blandness to the long clusters of attached houses, there was no question it must cost a small fortune to live here. Either Nabihah's father had kept the pipeline open to his son-in-law, or Tareq had stashed away some serious cash before being kicked out of O'Connor's. All of the parking spaces near Tareq's condo were taken. Ari had to tuck away his Scion next to a small Gingko tree embraced by a cold cement planter at the end of the lane.

Out of habit, he surveyed the cars ranked on either side of the lane. His neck hairs tickled his collar when he saw two men in a Lincoln Continental. They looked bored and inattentive, not at all like visitors. A man alone could be a chauffeur or Peeping Tom. Two? Bodyguards.

He turned up the sidewalk to Tareq's door and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a stranger, a tall, lean Arab in a business suit. His gaunt face put Ari in the mind of an ascetic, and his quiet "Yes?" had the hum of a contemplative philosophe.

"I'm sorry, I was looking for the home of Tareq Sadiq."

"You have found it," said the man.

"Ah…is he at home? Is he entertaining? I can come back at a more convenient time."

"I cannot send you away without knowing if that would offend him, so please…come in."

Ari stepped through the door and immediately saw why parking had been hard to come by. In the sitting room off the short hallway were over a dozen men seated on a long couch, a pair of leather-cushioned chairs and a scattering of fold-out chairs. From beyond them came the hushed voices of women, half-hidden by a wall separating the rooms. The men wore business suits, short-sleeved shirts or Middle Eastern clothing. A distinction of class or taste or simple convenience.

Ari started to back away, his intention to have a private chat with Tareq in tatters. But the man who had opened the door had closed it, as though trapping Ari with courtesy. His smile touched Ari with charm without brightness, like a pearl cultivated in a disgruntled oyster. His dark suit and tie seemed to indicate both the desire to be seen as a notable businessman while receding into bureaucratic anonymity. There was a hint of slackness in the cut, but this would only be noticed by someone of Ari's sartorial receptivity.

There must have been a buffet somewhere because the other men held small plates on their laps. Accustomed to sitting on the floor or at a table and scooping snacks out of shared bowls with their fingers, they found the delicacy of a formal Western-style party awkward and unenjoyable. They would have appeared comical to Ari, except there was also a gloominess that mere party plates could not account for.

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