"You remember Harry from way back when." The man beside her looked familiar to me but I couldn't place him. He squinted his eyes at me. Then a big smile spread across his face.
"Sarah? Yeah, I remember now. Didn't you use to go with Willie Joe?"
"We was married," I said, a thick lump gathering in my throat.
Sadie held out her hand to show me a small diamond ring.
"Harry and me's married." Her arm linked through his, she batted her eyes at him. "You should come over and visit with us sometime. We can catch up on old times."
"I just remembered. Willie Joe left some money for me to give to you," I said. I don't know where that came from. It just popped into my head.
"Money?" Sadie frowned. "Willie Joe didn't owe me no money. But I can always use some. Not that my baby don't keep me well supplied." She pulled him closer and gave him a peck on the cheek. He squeezed her shoulders. "Here, let me give you my address." She opened her purse, pulled out a scrap of paper, wrote her number on it and handed it to me. "We gotta go. It sure is good seeing you."
We made a date for me to visit her on Sunday. I watched them walk away. Then I rushed home.
Reaching into the closet, I felt for the small box I'd put there. I carried it over to the table. Taking five one-dollar bills, almost a week's wages, from my purse, I spread them out on newspaper. For the first time, I lifted the lid from the box. In it was a tiny amount of white powder, about a tablespoon full. After putting on the rubber gloves I use when I'm working, I sprinkled the powder over the bills, shook off the extra onto the newspaper. Then I placed the bills into an envelope, sealed it shut and placed it on the mantle until Sunday. Next I tossed the gloves into the trashcan, took the newspaper over to the stove and burned it along with the small box. Sunday was three days away.
Momma got ready for school. As she ran out the door, she cautioned us, as usual, about not opening the door to strangers and making sure we looked after Ma'dear. It had been a while since she went to her classes at the University and since she had only a few more weeks before school was over, she hoped to finish up and not have to drop out. It had also been several weeks since that trouble with Donald and whatever he was involved in. Things seemed to have calmed down.
Graduation was only a month away. If I wanted to graduate, I knew I needed to buckle down, so I put my singing engagements on hold; not that there were many. Actually I hadn't heard from anybody since that gig with Big Jim. I talked to Gracie a couple of times but then she went South to see about her little boy. Kanisha had dropped out of sight. So everything was cool.
Ma'dear was making steady progress. She was able to sit up and watch TV. Still she couldn't talk without a lot of effort. I was beginning to like having her live here with us even if I did have to babysit her when I came in from school. Is that the right word, babysit? Do you babysit a grown up? Shanell liked to go in and watch TV with her. The other day, I heard her talking to Ma'dear. I couldn't tell if she was listening. She seemed to be asleep, but Shanell was babbling on and on about boyfriends. I admitted I felt jealous that she could talk to Ma'dear and not to me and I was her big sister. Then I shrugged it off. At least with Shanell talking to Ma'dear, she spent less time arguing with me.
One time I was standing outside the room. I heard Shanell asking Ma'dear about having babies. I mean, she came right out and asked Ma'dear how do you know if you're going to have a baby? I don't think Ma'dear was even awake. When I walked in, she changed the subject.
But I was curious. My sister had been acting funny lately. Sometimes I'd hear her in the bathroom throwing up and when I asked her about it, she'd say it was something she ate. So when I heard her talking to Ma'dear about babies, it suddenly hit me; Shanell must be pregnant!
As soon as we were alone, I asked her. She glanced at me with her mouth open, looking like I hit her. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Why you ask me that?" All of a sudden, she was busy picking up her clothes and things in the room and putting them away. I waited until she stopped. Finally she lay down on the bed, her face hidden in the pillow. "I don't know," she muttered. "I think so."
"Who's the father? Was it that boy I caught you with a few months ago?"
She didn't answer. I sat down beside her on her bed and stroked her back. As if we didn't have enough trouble, I thought, now this. Suddenly she looked like a little girl. I wanted to hug her like I use to do when she was younger and got hurt.
"Are you sure? When was the last time you had your period?"
"I can't remember. Maybe over a month ago. What am I gonna do?" she asked.
Every month Momma questioned us about our period. We had to tell her when it started, because she was afraid we'd get pregnant. She cautioned us over and over again. I remembered Shanell told her just last week that she was menstruating.
"Tricia, you gotta help me!"
I wanted to say, 'serves you right' but I didn't. This was news Momma didn't need to hear. Since this is the first time Shanell had asked me for help since she became a teenager, I couldn't let her down. My mind raced. Shanell was only fourteen, too young to care for a child. She could hardly take care of herself. Her future would be messed up. Putting a child up for adoption would be hard. Then I thought of Gracie. If anybody would know what to do in a situation like this, she would. I looked up her aunt's number in South Carolina and called her. Luckily I reached her.
After she filled me in on how things were going with her and her family, she said, "Child, this place is so boring. I can't wait to get back to civilization. Sometimes I wonder if these white people know slavery ended long ago." When she finished complaining, I told her why I called.
"Gracie, do you know any place where they give abortions without a parent's consent?"
"Girl, don't tell me you and Darien finally did it?"
"No, it's not for me. It's for my sister Shanell."
"You're kiddin." she said, "Isn't she only fourteen? Girls these days are too fast, though I had my son when I was fifteen." I heard a crash in the distance. "Hold on a minute," Gracie said. She dropped the phone. "I told you not to climb on that chair! And stop pulling on that cord or I'm gonna smack your behind." She came back on. "Sorry about that. Offhand I can't think of the name of the place I went to once. Maybe it'll come to me. How far along is she?"
"I don't know. She's not showing or anything."
"That don't mean much."
I'll probably catch hell from Momma about the phone bill, but once Gracie got talking, it was hard to get her to stop. Right in the middle of telling me about a man she met, she remembered the name of the clinic. I grabbed a pencil and wrote down the name. After I hung up, I looked up the name in the yellow pages. It was way across town, in the neighborhood where we use to live.
"I'll meet you right after school and we'll go over there together," I told Shanell.
"But what about Ma'dear? The nurse leaves at 3:30 and we can't leave her alone."
"I'll have to think of something," I said.
The look Shanell gave me made tears come to my eyes. She didn't say anything as she hugged me.
*****
After school the next day, I hurried over to Shanell's school which wasn't far from mine. She was waiting for me by the front gate.
"The clinic closes at 5:00. We won't have time to go home to see about Ma'dear and make it there before it closes."
This morning I told nurse we'd be a little late getting home. I asked her if she'd stay and she said we'd better be home by 4:00 because she had other things to do.
We caught the bus to south Central. It let us off in front of a raggedy looking building. I could tell Shanell was scared. I was, too. The clinic was on the first floor; the room was crowded mostly with women who stared at us. The receptionist behind a glass panel asked us what we wanted. She didn't look very friendly. Handing me a form to fill out, she asked what medical insurance we had.
"We don't have medical insurance. How much does it cost for an exam?"
When she told me, I knew we couldn't afford it. I felt like I had let Shanell down.
"Maybe if find a gig that'll pay enough money..." I said
"That's alright, Tricia. I appreciate your help. I guess I'll have to tell Momma."
It was 4:45 when we got home. The nurse was fit to be tied. She said she was gonna tell Momma and she was charging us overtime. "You young people have no sense of responsibility! Don't think about nobody but yourselves." She slammed the door behind her. I looked in on Ma'dear and saw she was sound asleep.
I couldn't understand why the nurse was so upset. Ma'dear doesn't cause any trouble. And we weren't all that late.
Shanell was sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. She wiped tears from her eyes and looked up at me when I came in.
"I'm gonna tell Momma tonight, Tricia."
"Wait, give me a few days and I'll come up with something. Momma's got enough to worry about without adding this to it." What about the money Donald left? I could take what we needed and get it back when I could. It was a thought.
Shanell agreed to wait until Thursday.
That evening when everyone was asleep, I sneaked into the kitchen, pulled the stool over to the cabinet and climbed up on it. I reached into the envelope where Momma had put the money and drew out $300.00. That should be enough.
The next day, instead of going to school, I took Shanell back over to the clinic. This time she got to see the doctor. He examined her, gave her a test, and said he'd call us in a few days. I told him I'd call him.
As we rode home, a thought suddenly struck me. Shanell was only fourteen and no longer a virgin. She was still a kid. I was almost eighteen. What was I saving myself for?
The phone rang waking her from a sound sleep. Without thought, Hazel reached for the lamp and switched it on. Glancing groggily at the clock she saw that it was 3 AM.
"Baby, you got to help me. That black book... I need it." It was Donald. Anger surged through Hazel. She sat up.
"You got some kind of nerve. First of all, I drive all the way out to Santa Monica and you don't show. Then you wake me up at this ungodly hour!"
He feebly apologized. "Something came up. I really need that book, it's insurance."
"Insurance, insurance for what?"
"I don't want you involved in this. I just need that book."
"What about the money, Donald. $10,000. Where did you get it?"
"Fuck the money. The book is worth ten times that," he said.
Hazel told him all that had happened. "You can have the money and the book. I'll never forgive you for involving us in your mess."
"Yeah, Baby. I'm real sorry. I'll take everything off your hands. But the cops aren't the only ones watching your apartment. Can you meet me..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Hazel shouted, "I'm not going to meet you anywhere. You're putting our lives in danger!"
"Right, I said I was sorry. Okay. Take down this number." She reached for a pad and pencil and wrote down the address he gave her. "Tomorrow, around lunchtime, go to that address. Ask for a man named Foster. Tell him I sent you and hand him the book. I swear I won't ask you for nothing else. You can keep the money."
After he had hung up, Hazel couldn't get back to sleep. What kind of game was Donald playing? She got up, went into the kitchen, and made a cup of hot chocolate. Retrieving the black book from its hiding place in the cabinet, she opened it and began trying to decipher the entries. Beside each number were two or three letters. The numbers were random. She couldn't figure out the pattern. It must be some sort of code. Shaking her head, she concluded this was some scheme Donald was mixed up in.
Tomorrow she would follow his instructions and turn everything over to some man named Foster. At least it wasn't too far from where she worked and it was during the day, unlike that late-night excursion. She'd be happy to put it all behind her. Tomorrow. What could happen during the day?
*****
Hazel glanced up at the clock. Almost noon. She reached into her desk drawer and checked her purse. Inside was an envelope containing the black book.
"Where are you going for lunch?" Monica asked. "I know this neat little Indian restaurant over on 12th. The food is delicious and the service is quick."
Hazel apologized. "I got some errands to do, but I'll catch you tomorrow."
"There's an important meeting after lunch so don't be late," Monica said as she dashed off to the ladies' room.
"What are you doing for lunch?" Diane sat down on the edge of Hazel's desk. Hazel told her the same thing she told Monica. Diane's strong perfume quickly engulfed Hazel's space. Swinging her legs back and forth, she leaned over and whispered; "I heard the boss is going to be handing out more pink slips this afternoon."
"Do you know who's going to be cut?" Hazel asked, her stomach muscles tightened.
"I know who it's not going to be." Diane tossed her long red hair and hopped to the floor. "Don't worry, darling. It probably won't be anybody in this department."
Hips swinging from side to side, she strode off down the aisle. "Have a nice lunch."
Hazel hastily gathered the papers she was working on and stacked them neatly in a pile on the side of her desk. Then she took a quick glance in her compact mirror, she applied a thin layer of makeup and rouge, reapplied her lipstick, and grabbing her purse, she headed for the elevator.
It was a warm day; spring was everywhere. Trees and shrubs were in bloom, people were seated in various spots outside the buildings, on low retaining walls, on concrete steps, and on the few benches scattered around the complex. A few people even sat on the neatly mowed grass.
Hazel walked quickly to her car, jumped in and drove over to Olympic and Broadway. She had an hour for lunch and she figured all she had to do was to find the place, give the black book to a man named Foster. At least that part would be over. Donald hadn't said what to do with the money. One thing at a time, she thought.
It was 12:15 by the time she found the building, parked and went inside. An old structure, it inhabited the lower floors next to garment factories and discount dress shops. There were probably sweat shops in the rear, she thought as she maneuvered passed the workers taking their break outside, some lined up in front of the street vendors selling hot dogs, chips, and sandwiches.
The elevator looked decrepit and dangerous with its sliding gate and slow, squeaky movements. Hazel hesitated, thought about taking the stairs but decided time was of the essence. Foster's office was on the top floor.
It wasn't difficult to find his office as there was only one other door and it was a fire exit. Turning the knob, she walked in. The receptionist, an elderly lady with a gray, unkempt look, dressed in a brown cotton dress peered at her over her bifocals. Her thick fingers were poised above the computer keyboard. Noticing the food stains on the bodice of the woman's dress, Hazel's eyes shifted to the wall behind the woman. A poster of a racehorse hung in the center of the wooden panel.
"I'm here to see Mr. Foster."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Well, no. I was told to deliver something to him."
"I'm afraid Mr. Foster is out at the moment," she said in a slight southern drawl. "I should hear from him soon. Take a seat if you wanna wait."
She gestured to the chair behind Hazel; dark brown like the woman's dress, stained, worn and uncomfortable looking. Hazel sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion and watched the woman type. From
time to time, the receptionist peered over her glasses at Hazel. After a few minutes of silence, she offered Hazel a cup of coffee.
"I just made a fresh pot," she said.
"Thanks, I've already had my quota for today," Hazel responded. What kind of place is this, she wondered looking around the tiny space. Nothing indicated what type of business Mr. Foster was in. The clock was approaching 12:45.
"Will Mr. Foster be much longer?" Hazel asked with growing anxiety.
"Oh, he should have called by now."
"Called. Isn't he coming in?" Hazel asked.
The woman laughed. "Here? Mr. Foster coming here?" She looked curiously at Hazel. "Mr. Foster never comes here. This is an answering service. We just take messages. Didn't you see the sign on the door?"
Hazel didn't remember seeing any sign on the door.
"Probably not," the woman laughed again. "Probably couldn't read it anyway. I've been here so long, I never noticed whether it's legible or not." She wrote something on a pad. "Next time I see Max, I better remember to tell him to redo the sign."
Exasperated, Hazel almost exploded. "I thought you said he'd be here soon."
"No, I said I'd probably hear from him momentarily."
"Well, where can I reach Mr. Foster? I have a package for him."
"I can send it to him. We're not allowed to give out his address, sorry." She turned back to her typing. The phone rang. She answered it.
Hazel waited until she hung up. "Can you tell me Mr. Foster's first name?"
The woman looked thoughtfully, "Don't you know it?"
"My boss gave me this address and told me to deliver a package to Mr. Foster and only to Mr. Foster. He didn't tell me anything else." She glanced down at her watch. She had to be back at her desk in five minutes. She knew she'd never make it.
"His name's Leonard," the woman said peering more intently at Hazel.
"One more question. What kind of business is Mr. Foster in?"
"How should I know? Maybe you should ask your boss. Now, if Mr. Foster calls, who should I say was asking about him?"
Sensing the woman becoming more hostile by the minute, Hazel let out a long sigh and turned towards the door. "Tell him Donald Porter sent me and he can reach me at this number." She wrote her work number down on the back of a receipt she found in her purse. Then she added her home number should he call after five.
As she rode the rickety elevator to the first floor, she resolved to find Foster and give him this book. "Better yet, I'm gonna find Donald and wring his neck!"
Hunger pangs reminded Hazel she hadn't eaten since breakfast. The line in front of the vendor's stand was almost empty, but she had no time. She hopped into her car, lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and stepped on the gas. It was 1:15 by the time she pulled into the parking lot of her office building.
Sunday morning. I woke up before dawn. It was hard to sleep knowing what I had to do. Suddenly I felt so old, much older than my twenty-three years. I got up, took a quick bath, made some coffee and a piece of toast and waited. I wasn't expected at Sadie's until 3 PM. I thought about going to that little church up the street. I hadn't set foot in a church since before I left Virginia. If there was anything I wasn't, it was a hypocrite. I couldn't go to church and turn around and hurt somebody.
All night long I tossed and turned, my mind chattering about Willie Joe, Sadie, and whether I was doing the right thing. "'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord." That kept going round in my head. Then I remembered what Madame LaFontaine said. The spell couldn't be taken off even though Willie Joe was dead. I didn't care about me, but what if the spell hurt my little son Melvin? What if it was passed on down through the generations to all the males in the family? No. I had to put an end to it. It would serve Sadie right. Nobody should mess with roots. You never know what it'll do.
Time passed slow that morning. Finally it was nearing time to go to Sadie's. I put on my best outfit-the dress I wore to my wedding to Willie Joe. I smiled at his picture on my dresser.
"This is for you, honey."
Even though Sadie lived about ten blocks from me, I could've took the bus. Instead, I decided to walk. By the time I got there I was so nervous, I didn't feel tired after the long walk. I climbed the stairs to their fourth-floor apartment and knocked on the door. Sadie opened it right away.
"Girl, you right on time as usual. You ain't changed a bit." She hugged me and took my coat. I followed her into the living room. "Now, you just make yourself at home."
I sat down on the couch. It was a small room, with beige colored walls; two comfortable looking chairs with crocheted doilies each on the arm, and one larger doily in the center of their coffee table. A couple of wedding photographs of the happy couple hung on one wall, a poster of President Harry Truman on another wall and over the mantle, a picture of Jesus Christ on the cross. Sitting in one of the chairs was her husband Harry. He was listening to the radio, a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He looked at me with a grin on his face. He must've had quite a few, I thought. I started to feel uncomfortable, him looking at me in a unhealthy way.
"So, how's Willie Joe? Ain't seen him in a long time," he said, after Sadie had gone to the kitchen.
"Willie Joe's been dead over two years now."
"No," he said leaning forward in his chair, almost tipping over the glass he was holding. A few drops of liquor dripped onto his pants. "What'd he die from?"
"The doctor's said something about heart failure?" I looked toward the kitchen hoping Sadie would come back.
"Sorry to hear. You sure are looking good." He puffed on his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke my way. "Would you like a drink?" He yelled to Sadie to bring in another glass.
She came hurrying in with a tray and a glass filled with ice. Harry poured almost a full glass of scotch whiskey and handed it to me though I'd already told him I didn't want nothing. Something about the way his hand touched mine made me shiver. I didn't like it one bit.
"I gotta run to the store for a minute," Sadie said, pulling on her coat and grabbing her purse. "See if I can scare up a loaf of bread. Thought I had everything, but I forgot the bread. It won't take me long. You make yourself comfortable. Harry, be a good host and entertain Sarah." I offered to come along with her but she waved me off.
She stood in front of Harry, her hand out. Without saying a word, he reached into his pocket and drew out a hand full of bills. That reminded me. I opened my purse and carefully pulled out the envelope with the tainted money. "Here's the money Willie Joe left for you." I tried to hand it to her. She pushed my hand away.
"There's plenty of time for that. Now, I'll be right back. You make yourself at home."
No sooner did the door close when Harry came over and sat down next to me.
"You look good enough to eat," he said, his hand reaching for mine. I got up and moved to the chair. He followed. Sitting down on the arm once again, he tried to put his arms around my shoulders. "Look here, Harry. If you don't stop, I'm gonna have to leave." I pushed him away.
"I'm just trying to be friendly." He reached for me again.
"It ain't right for you to be chasing me around like this. Sadie wouldn't like it."
I moved back to the sofa. He came after me. "Just one little kiss. Between you and me. Any friend of Sadie's is a friend of mine."
"You leave me alone, please!"
He grabbed me and pushed me down, pulling at my clothes. I reached for the nearest thing, which happened to be a bottle of J&B, and swung at him. It hit him on the chin. It stunned him long enough for me to get away. I stood up and was just straightening my clothes when the door opened and Sadie walked in.
"Sorry I took so long. There wasn't many stores opened on Sunday. How you two been getting along?"
Harry jumped up and grabbed her package. He kissed her on the cheek. "I'll take this into the kitchen for you."
"Ain't he the sweetest thing," Sadie said. "He's so good to me."
I looked around for my coat. "I just remembered. I got to get home. I promised my mother I'd call her at 4 PM." I lied. "She's expecting my call."
"When did she get a phone?" Sadie eyed me suspiciously.
"She don't have one. She's waiting for my call at Sam's grocery store. That's why I gotta go."
"What about dinner? Girl, I slaved all morning long on it."
"I'm sorry. I just remembered." I edged towards the door.
"Sarah, that's just like you. I shouldn't be surprised. You always had your head on backwards. Well, at least let me fix you a plate to carry with you."
I just wanted to get out of there. She fixed me a plate and walked me to the door.
"I'll let you go this time, but next time, I expect you to stay."
She called for Harry to say goodbye, but he had disappeared. I didn't remember the envelope until I was on the bus. It'll just have to wait until another time, I thought. Looking down at the paper bag with the food in it, I wondered if I should eat it. As soon as I got home, I dumped the food in the garbage and washed out the dish.
Shanell felt a wave of relief spread over her. Tricia had called the doctor and he told her Shanell wasn't pregnant, that she should see her regular doctor because her adrenal gland wasn't secreting enough hormones. Shanell didn't understand the rest of what Tricia said; she was too happy. Hugging her big sister, she couldn't think of anything to say other than, "I didn't want to be a mother yet. I wish I hadn't done it at all."
Tricia smiled at her. "How about going to see a movie with me tonight. There's a new Spike Lee picture playing at the Baldwin Theater."
"What about Ma'dear? Who's gonna look after her?"
"Momma said she'll be home early, after finals. Ma'dear'll be all right till then."
They peeked in on their grandmother and saw she was asleep.
"Are you sure?" Shanell hesitated. "You know Momma said not to leave Ma'dear alone."
"Don't worry. I called her at work and told her we were going to the movies. She said it would be okay. She should be home in a half hour."
They caught the bus over to the Baldwin Hills Plaza and got to the theater just in time for the 5:00 PM show. When the movie was over, it was still light outside. Tricia called home to tell Hazel where they were. "The mall will be open until 9 PM. There's a new dress shop I want to check out."
"Make sure you're home by 8 PM," Hazel said.
Shanell felt happy walking along with her big sister. It had been years since they spent any time together. And after her recent experience, she felt close to Tricia. They went from one dress shop to another, trying on dresses and modeling for each other. It was fun. Before they realized it, stores were closing, heavy metal blinds were being drawn down and lights were being turned out. Tricia looked at her watch. It was 8:45
"We'd better hurry before we get locked in." They hurried toward the main entrance. The security guard nodded to them as they rushed past.
"He sure is cute," Shanell grinned, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Sure is," Tricia agreed. "But right now, we'd better catch the bus and get home. I didn't realize how late it was."
The bus was just pulling away from the curb as they approached the stop. They yelled and waved, but it was too late. At the now empty bus stop, they sat down to wait for the next bus. "May as well get comfortable. The next bus won't be here for another hour." She looked around for a phone booth. Seeing none, she hoped their mother wouldn't be too upset and worried. They forgot the time, she reasoned in her head. She'd take the blame.
"I had fun tonight," Shanell said.
"I did too," Tricia nodded. They giggled at nothing in particular. Shanell looked up at the star-filled sky. It was a warm night yet few people were in the street as it was a week- night.
A car drove by slowly. Shanell barely noticed it. Tricia chatted away about her career and about what she wanted to do after graduation. When the car passed again, it caught Shanell's eye. It was a late model black Chrysler with gold rims.
"Did you see that car?" She asked.
"What car?"
"That shiny black car with the gold rims that just went by."
Tricia looked, but by that time, it was gone.
Suddenly Shanell felt cold. "I wish the bus would come."
"It'll be here soon." Tricia said.
About 10 minutes later, Shanell looked up and saw the Chrysler parked across the street from them and the man inside staring at them. This time Tricia saw the car and the man. She didn't know why she felt uneasy.
"Come on, Shanell. Let's walk to the next bus stop." Tricia rose and started walking.
"Can we make it before the bus comes?" Shanell followed.
"I think so." They began to walk quickly to the next bus stop, two blocks away. However, before they reached it, the Chrysler pulled up alongside them.
"You girls want a lift?" The white man inside asked.
"No," Tricia said, grabbing Shanell's hand and pulling her along faster.
"Hop in. I'm going your way," he said.
"How do you know where we're going?" Shanell asked.
"Don't say anything to him," Tricia scolded.
"You're the Porter girls, aren't you? I'm a friend of your father."
This time Shanell stopped. "Our last name's not Porter. It's Johnson."
He stopped the car and stepped out. Despite the faint yellow haze cast by the street lamp, she was able to take a long look at this man who was dressed in a beige jacket with large strips, dark pants and fisherman's cap. He had a cigar gripped between his teeth, ashes trailed along his lapel. He was of medium height and his stomach protruded between the opening of his jacket. Beneath his cap, his long gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
Shanell caught a whiff of sweat and strong cologne. Stepping in front of them, he blocked their way. "I understand how you can't be too careful. Sorry if I scared you." He apologized. "You are Donald's children, aren't you?" His voice sounded husky as if he'd smoked a hundred packs of cigarettes.
"We don't know anybody by that name," Tricia said. "Now if you'll please step out of our way." She attempted to go around him.
"Who are you and why are you following us?" Shanell asked.
"My name's Foster. Leonard Foster." He reached out to shake hands with both girls; however, neither extended theirs, so he withdrew his. "Your mother has some property of mine, a black book. She was supposed to deliver it to me. Somehow we missed each other."
He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a card and wrote down an address on it.
"Give your mother this and tell her to bring the property to me tonight around midnight. I'll be waiting. Tell her to come alone." He got back into his car and drove off.
"How did he know who we were?" Shanell asked. Tricia didn't answer. She turned the card over and read the address on the back.
"There's our bus," Shanell shouted as she took off running.
They ran the half block to the bus stop and made it just in time. It was almost 10:30 when they reached home. Their mother was waiting at the door; however, before she could scold them about coming back so late, Tricia told her what happened and gave her the card. Shanell described the man.
"I was so scared," she said.
"Momma, what's this all about? Is Donald in some kind of trouble?" Tricia asked.
Hazel took both their hands. "Donald's always in trouble."
"But are you gonna do what that man asked? Are you gonna give him back the black book tonight?" Shanell asked.
Hazel grunted. "I don't know. Don't worry. Go to bed. You've got school tomorrow."
Feeling very tired, Shanell ambled to her room. Peering intently into the mirror, she sighed. It had been an emotional day. First she found out she wasn't pregnant. Thank goodness, she thought. Next, she felt happy to have a big sister. Tricia had stood by her and she was grateful. She hadn't thrown "I told you so," in her face. And they saw a movie, tried on clothes together, and had a fun time. But when she thought of the man, Mr. Foster, she shuddered. After putting on her pajamas, she climbed into bed leaving the light on for Tricia who stayed up with Hazel. Before long, she drifted off to sleep.
"But Momma, You can't go there by yourself. I'm going with you!"
"No, Tricia. I don't want you to be involved in this. Besides, you've got school tomorrow."
Momma put the black book into her purse, slipped on her jacket, and started for the door. I grabbed my sweater and followed her. She didn't try to stop me as I jumped into the passenger seat. I could see she was grateful though she didn't say anything until we were on the freeway heading across town.
"Where're we going?" I asked as she got off the freeway on Hoover.
"It's the same building I went to earlier, where the answering service was," she said as she made a left turn into a small street, stopped in front this ugly old building and parked. The whole block was empty, no people, no other cars, and the streetlight hardly made a difference. My stomach was doing flip-flops. It was after midnight. I stood behind Momma as she tried the front door. It was locked
"Look," I said looking up at the windows on the top floor. "There's a light."
"Maybe there's a back entrance." Momma said, walking around to the alley. I followed close behind. I didn't want to be left by myself in the dark.
"Don't you think we should come back tomorrow during the day?" My voice sounded weak.
"Scared? I am, too. But if he said tonight, it's tonight. Besides I want to get this thing over with as soon as possible."
The back door to the building was unlocked. We went in. The hallway was deserted and looked gloomy. I followed Momma over to the elevator.
"The elevator's locked," she said when the gate wouldn't move. We searched for the stairs. "I'm glad you came with me."
We climbed up to the fourth floor. There was only one door at the end of the hall. Momma called out for Mr. Foster as she knocked. No answer. I remembered the time I went for the audition at that building downtown and how scared I was when I got to the office and nobody was there. I laughed nervously as I told Momma.
"He'd better be here. Getting me to come way down here at this time of night." She called out again as she turned the knob.
"Are you sure we should do this?" I touched Momma's arm.
We spotted a light on in the inner office. Momma went over to it and knocked on the door. When nobody answered, she opened the door. The next few minutes were a blur. All I remembered was seeing a man slumped over his desk. He looked like he was asleep. It took me a few minutes to recognize the red mat his head rested on was a pool of blood soaking the papers beneath his head. I started to scream. Momma put her hand over my mouth. She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the office.
As we ran down the stairs, I heard voices. We kept running and didn't stop until we reached the car. Momma pushed me in and started the engine. I sank into the corner of the door trembling all over. Momma reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and passed it to me.
"Take a drag," she ordered. "It'll calm you."
I'd never smoked a cigarette before, but I took it and inhaled deeply. Immediately it felt like my lungs were on fire. I coughed.
"Yuk! How can you stand those things?" I handed it back to her. She took a long pull and blew the smoke out the window.
"Hope you never start," she said. We were speeding towards the freeway entrance, heading for home. As I grew calm, I felt my shoulders relax. I glanced down at my hands. They were shaking.
"Was he dead?" I asked Momma.
She nodded. "Was that the man who spoke to you earlier, who told you to give me the message?"
"I think so. It's hard to tell. All I saw was the blood. Momma, somebody murdered him!" I said, panic rising again. "Do you think it had anything to do with the book?
"I don't know."
"Maybe we should go to the police."
"And tell them what? That Donald gave us a black book and some money and told us to give the book to his partner? And what do you think they'll do about it? Assuming they believed me, they’d probably pick Donald up and arrest him. We don't know if he killed his partner. We don't know anything for that matter."
As we neared our block, Momma pulled over before we reached the building and killed the engine. "Look, don't say anything about this to Shanell or your grandmother. I don't want to upset them. Don't you worry either. I'll sort this thing out. And Tricia, thanks again for coming with me though I'm sorry you had to get involved." She hugged me. She started the engine, drove up to our building and parked. "Now you go upstairs. I'll be up in a minute."
I didn't want to leave her, but I did as she said. I climbed the stairs; opened the door quietly, so as not to wake anyone. After slipping into my pajamas, I went to the front window and looked out. Momma was still sitting in the car.
Hazel awoke before her alarm went off. Outside her window, the early morning gray sky greeted her. She sat up, lit a cigarette, coughed, and leaned back against the headboard. Thoughts of last night seeped into her consciousness; a tremor ran through her body; her shoulders slumped, and her back ached. Wearily she got up and ambled to the bathroom. She didn't feel like going to work, but she knew she had to. She needed every penny knowing her days at the firm were numbered. Already they were cutting back on sick days and making it difficult to get any time off without being docked.
Standing in the shower, she wondered if she should call Kevin and tell him about her problem. Then she remembered, he was out of town and wouldn't be back for another week. When she told him about Donald, the money and the black book, he seemed annoyed. He told her to keep the money, get rid of Donald, and dump the book; a simple solution to a complex problem. When she told him about the break-in, he said she was being melodramatic. "Some kid looking for money to buy drugs." Another simple explanation. What would be his explanation for the dead body? That her imagination ran wild? No, she didn't need simple explanations. She needed solutions.
She toweled off, dressed, and went into the kitchen for her morning coffee. It was still early. She'd let the girls sleep a little longer especially after last night. One bright spot was that Tricia and Shanell had made up. She was grateful for that. And her mother seemed to be calmer though the improvements were just slight.
Seemingly unaware of her actions, Hazel reached up into the cupboard, retrieved the little book from the envelope, and began leafing through it. Could these be telephone numbers? They were written in such a way that they could be anything. She reached for the telephone, picked a number at random, and dialed. "I'm sorry, but your call cannot be completed as dialed." The mechanical voice of the operator got on her nerves. She opened the book again and picking another number at random, she dialed. The same message. Could they be license numbers? Social security numbers? bank account numbers? Who would list page after page of bank account numbers or license numbers? What does it mean?
"Hi Momma, Did you get any sleep last night?" Still in her pajamas, Tricia sat down opposite her. "I didn't get much. I'm too tired to go to school, but I suppose I'd better seeing as how we're near the end of the term." Tricia noticed the black book in her mother's hand.
"I'm trying to figure out what these numbers are?" Hazel said. Tricia took the book from her and studied the figures.
"Telephone numbers?"
"No, I've tried a couple of them."
"Maybe they're in other states," said Tricia.
"The area codes would have been written down too don't you think?"
"Could be post office box numbers."
"That's a possibility." Hazel responded. "But how would I find out?"
"What about Mr. Frazier? He used to work for the post office. He might know," Tricia suggested.
"I hate to bring Mr. Frazier into this. He'll tell Mrs. Frazier and before you know it, our business would be spread all over the neighborhood."
"But Momma, you don't have to tell him what it's for."
Hazel sighed, "I suppose I could try. Lord knows we need all the help we can get."
Both sat silent for a while, not realizing they were thinking the same thing until Tricia gave voice to it.
"Do you think we're in danger? From the police or from whoever killed that man?"
Hazel laughed nervously. "We didn't do anything and we don't know anything. Why would anybody want to bother with us?" She glanced down at the black book. "Except for this damn book!" She tossed it across the table.
"And the money," Tricia said. "Don't forget about the money."
"We'll worry about that later. Right now you'd better get ready for school. I'll stop by the Frazier's tonight." She got up quickly and started to her bedroom. "Wake Shanell and look in on Ma'dear, will you. I'm running behind."
The doorbell rang. Tricia let the nurse in. Nurse greeted her with a scowl, went in to Ma'dear's room. Tricia heard her greet her grandmother with in her usual booming voice, "AND HOW ARE WE TODAY?" as if her grandmother were hard of hearing. She shook her head and hurried to her room to wake Shanell.
*****
It was almost 8 PM that evening when Hazel knocked on her neighbor's door. Mrs. Frazier let her in, a look of mild surprise on her face. Ready to gossip, Mrs. Frazier offered her a glass of lemonade, which Hazel refused, and sat down in her favorite chair. She picked up her knitting needles, and began telling Hazel about the latest neighborhood gossip. Hazel listened politely and then, before Mrs. Frazier could go on, told her that she'd come to see Mr. Frazier.
A look of suspicion crept across her neighbor's face.
"Mr. Frazier use to work for the post office, didn't he?" Hazel went on quickly. Mrs. Frazier smiled and leaned back in her chair.
"Yes, he retired two years ago. It hasn't been easy having him under foot all day. He tries to keep himself busy doing odd jobs. Is that what you want to see him for? Do you need help moving things around or fixing something? I'll call him for you." She rose from her chair and shambled to the door, her corpulent figure almost filling the doorframe.
"Jack," she yelled. "Mrs. Porter is here to see you." She ambled back to her chair and flopped back into it. "He'll be just a moment. He's in the bathroom." She peered over her glasses at Hazel. "You done something to your hair?"
"No, I just haven't had time to go to the beauty parlor." Hazel touched her hair self-consciously.
"Well, if I had hair like yours..." Mrs. Frazier patted her wig. Before she could continue, Mr. Frazier walked in. Laying down his newspaper, he plopped down in the recliner. "You wanted to see me? No more break-ins I hope. This neighborhood is getting to be something terrible. Too many young people with nothing better to do other than steal other folks' stuff."
Hazel looked first at Mrs. Frazier who had resumed her knitting, and then at Mr. Frazier. She wanted to speak to him alone. But there was no way she could avoid his wife hearing their conversation. She handed him a paper on which she'd copied the numbers from the book. "I thought you might have some idea as to whether these are post office box numbers."
"Where'd you get them?" Mrs. Frazier asked, looking over her husband's shoulder.
"She didn't come here to see you, Gertrude. She came to see me. Now mind your own business," he said peering down at the numbers and scratching his head. "Could be."
"Is there any way I can find out where the boxes are located?"
Stroking his chin, he thought for a while, "Tell you what I'll do. I still got some friends down at the station. I'll check around and let you know. How's that?"
Hazel smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate that." She rose and moved towards the door. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you. Don't get up. I'll see myself out." She left quickly before they could ask any further questions and hurried up to her apartment.
About a week after my visit to Sadie's, who should show up at my door but her. It was after midnight. She had a black eye that she said she got when she bumped into a door, Harry, the door. She was a little drunk and I almost felt sorry for her. Then she asked if she could have that money Willie Joe left for her. I told her it was only $5.00. She said every little bit helps. Harry had accused her of stealing his money.
"That asshole hauled off and hit me." She laughed. "I picked up a bottle and smashed him across the head. When I left, he was laying on the floor moaning and trying to figure out what hit him. Child, you shoulda seen it. I laughed so hard I almost pee'd in my pants."
I made her a sandwich and a cup of coffee and let her sleep on my sofa. I told her I had to get up early for work in the morning. During the night, I decided that I really didn't have the heart for revenge. At first light I would take that tainted money and as dear as money is to me, I'd burn it up. To hell with spells. Then I went back to sleep.
She was snoring when I left for work. It wasn't until I was on my way home in the evening that I remembered what I'd planned to do. To my surprise the apartment was empty. Sadie had gone. Not only that but on the table was the envelope I had put the money in. It was torn open and empty. That wasn't the only thing that was gone. I discovered later that she had taken a necklace and earrings Willie Joe had given me. They was a birthday present he'd bought for me shortly after we was married. They weren't worth a lot, but they were from him and meant the world to me. At first I was angry. Then I remembered the money and I laughed out loud. Serves her right whatever happens. The more I thought about it, though, the more scared I got. What if something does happen to her? What if the spell worked and she died.
I tried calling her on the phone but didn't get no answer. The next day I took the bus over to her and Harry's place. The super said they had moved. "Snuck out during the night like rats. Stuck me for the rent."
It was six months before I heard any more about Sadie and Harry. One day I happened to be in the grocery store when I ran into my old friend Esther. When she saw me, a strange look crossed her face. I caught it before she smiled and hugged me. She asked me had I heard what happened to Sadie. I told her about the last time I saw her. I didn't tell her about the money.
"I ran into her a few months back. She looked like a ghost, must not of weight more than 90 pounds," Esther said.
My stomach turned over. "What do you mean?"
"Your friend Sadie Brown is dead. Didn't you know?"
I felt tightness in my chest. "Sadie...dead? When? How?"
"How you think? You know how Sadie loved to eat. Well, I heard she stopped eating and lost so much weight she died of starvation. She starved herself to death. Ain't that something?"
I didn't want to hear no more. I made some excuse to leave and went straight home. That night I couldn't eat. I tossed and turned and didn't get a bit of sleep. I kept seeing Sadie like she was the last time. And I cursed myself for not getting rid of the money. The next day I couldn't get out of bed. I didn't call in to work for a week. I wasn't surprised that I lost my job. Then I came close to losing my apartment. I couldn't think about anything else but that I had caused the death of another human being. If it wasn't for my mama and my son, I mighta taken my life. I was so miserable.
It took a while before I could pull myself together and scrape up enough money to go back home. I sold everything I could and when I had enough for a ticket, I hopped on the first bus going south.
"Tricia, phone," Momma called. As I took it from her, she gave me a dark look. "It's some man." She stood by with her hands on her hips. I covered the receiver and gave her a pleading look. After glaring at me, she went back into the kitchen, .
"Hello," I said, hoping it was Darien. I hadn't heard from him in a long while.
"Was that your mother? Is she as pretty as you?"
The last person I expected to hear from again was Hi C. His deep voice sent shivers up and down my spine.
"I was thinking about you. Have you been thinking about me? What are you doing this evening?"
I hated to tell him I was doing my homework. It sounded so juvenile. "Oh nothing. Just watching TV."
"I got somebody I want you to meet. I'd like him to hear you sing. Can you be ready in a half hour?"
"No problem," I said and gave him my address. I was so excited I didn't even think of Momma having any objections.
"Not on a week night, you're not. And not with a grown man I've never met," Momma said, putting her foot down firmly.
"Please. Just this once. It may be my one and only chance."
"When I say no, I mean no! Tricia, school comes first. Or it should. Now I don't want to hear any more about this. When this Mr. Hi C. comes to the door, I'll talk to him."
I went into my room and slammed the door. I couldn't believe it. She never stopped me before. Momma had always encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Now, all of a sudden, she pulls this! I was mad. "I'm going anyway," I told myself. "I'm almost eighteen. I can handle myself."
I dressed, slipped out the door and ran down the stairs. When Hi C pulled up in a beat-up T-Bird, I hopped in.
He let out a low whistle. "Whatachu know, Miss Jailbait?" he reached over and closed the door. Without saying another word, a lighted cigarette dangling between his lips, he pressed on the gas and we took off, racing across town to the 10 Freeway. I kept my eyes focused on the road, my right hand gripping the seat. In my mind's eye I could just see the headlines, "Teenager killed in a car crash. The driver must have been doing 90 when the car hit the center divider."
We got off on Central Ave in front of a club on 54th. I wondered if my legs would hold me as I reached for the door.
"Wait, lemme get that." Hi C jumped out and ran over to my side. "You can't open the door from inside."
Somehow I managed to stand up without falling. My knees were shaking as I walked beside him into the club. From behind a curtain separating the entrance from the main room, I heard music. I hesitated. "Will they let me in?"
He put an arm around my waist and gently pulled me along with him. "Don't worry. It's okay."
"I don't know. I'll have to think about it," I told Hi C as he drove me back home. It had been an unbelievable two hours. I had a chance to sing solo and be backed up by Hi C and his new band. I knew all the words to the songs they played. We started out with "Saving All My Love for You," my favorite by Whitney Houston. Then I sang Chaka Khan's, 'I'm Every Woman." With each song, my confidence grew so that by the time I sang Donna Summers, "Last Dance," the people got up and grooved to the music. The crowd was great. I mean, it was like my dreams had come true. I felt like I was on my way. I could see doors opening.
"We got a gig in San Diego next week. Can you get away?" Hi C asked.
I thought about graduation. I was so close. Next month I'd walk down that aisle, get that piece of paper, and be done with it.
"Yes. I will. I'll go with you."
"Good. I'll call you with the details," he said. He stopped the car in front of my building and came around to let me out. "If only you were a little older," he whispered in my ear. Squeezing me to him, he pecked me on the cheek, jumped back into his car and was gone before I could catch my breath.
"Tricia, is that you?" I turned around and standing a few feet away was Darien. I felt weak.
"What are you doing here?" I jumped. He moved closer.
"I was just walking by. On my way to see a friend who lives near here. What are you doing out this late? And who was that guy. You're dating older guys now?"
I started to tell him about my evening with Hi C. Then, I hesitated. It wasn't none of his business. "It's late and I gotta go in."
"Look, Tricia. It's been a long time. Can I call you?"
"If you want." I started up the steps. Unlocking the outer door, I glanced back and saw him halfway down the block. He turned to wave.
I couldn't believe it. What a night! I thought. I skipped up the stairs, almost reaching our apartment when I remembered. Momma will probably ground me for this. Then again, maybe she'll be happy for me when she hears the news. Yeah right, I opened the door as quietly as I could. Luckily the apartment was dark. Everybody was asleep, I hoped. I breathed a deep sigh and rushed to my room. I started to undress in the dark when suddenly the light came on.
"Where've you been? We've been looking all over for you." Shanell said, rubbing her eyes and stretching. "You're in trouble. Momma's ‘bout to have a fit."
"You'll never believe it. Hi C took me over to a club across town and I sang. He wants me to go with them to San Diego. This could be the break I've been waiting for." I got into my pajamas and jumped into bed.
"San Diego? How you gonna get there? And what about school? Momma's not gonna let you go. You know that."
I didn't want to think about that. I was so filled up; I still hadn't come down. "Is Momma asleep?" I asked turning out the light.
"No. She got a call from Donald. He told her to meet him somewhere and she rushed out."
I bolted up. "From Donald? And she rushed out?" I felt my stomach turn over. "You shouldn't have let her go. This is bad. I leaped out of bed and started to put on my jeans and tee shirt. "What time did she leave? And where did she say she as going?"
"I don't know. She didn't say. There's nothing you can do. She told me to stay here and watch Ma'dear."
As I tied my sneakers, I suddenly realized I had no idea where Momma went.
"You're scaring me," said Shanell. "She don't have nothing to be afraid of from Donald, does she?"
"I don't know. I hope not." I sat back down on the bed, a helpless feeling washed over me.
Neon lights from The Blue Flame were the only illumination on the otherwise dark street. Hazel hurried toward the bar on the corner. The closest parking space was half a block away. A man and woman stood outside the door arguing. As Hazel approached she heard snatches of their conversation. "But Baby, I didn't know she was your sister..." "Like hell you didn't. If I ever catch you even so much as looking her way..."
The smoke hit Hazel in the face, thick and suffocating; the smell of stale alcohol assaulted her nostrils. She peered through the haze at her surroundings, searching for Donald. The bar had quite a few patrons considering it was a weeknight. Over in the corner Bobby Blue Bland sobbed from the jukebox muting the conversations.
"Oh Baby, Won't you come back home...."
At the end of the bar sat two men, their heads together in an animated exchange. Perched on a bar stool at the other end, a woman dressed in a tight fitting short dress gazed indifferently at Hazel as she blew a long stream of smoke into the air. Hazel drifted toward the back table where she saw a man hunched over his drink, his head bobbing to the music, his shoulders moving to the rhythm. He wore a hat pulled low over his brow. As she neared him, his head went up and he smiled at her, his mouth spreading into a gold toothy grin. She stopped midway.
"Hazel." she heard a voice near her whisper. "Over here." She turned and there, standing in the shadows beside a door marked "exit," stood Donald. Hazel could barely make him out, his head, a silhouette outlined by the red neon exit sign. He clutched her elbow and steered her to a small table beside the jukebox.
"Beer okay with you?" he asked. "Be right back."
She pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped the table where someone had spilled liquid and pushed aside the empty glasses. Taking out her cigarettes, she lit one and blew the smoke into the already smoke-filled air. The tightness in her stomach began to ease as she waited for Donald to return. He came back with two frosted tall glasses and two bottles of Guinness. He set them down and cleared the other empty glasses and bottles from the table, moving them to a vacant nearby one.
Hazel observed her ex-husband, noticing how much thinner he looked than when she had seen him last. His jacket looked worn. She saw a stain on his shirt collar. His fingers were no longer encircled with flashy rings. His shoes were scuffed, and his face, usually smooth shaven, was covered with stubble. When he looked over at her, she noticed nervousness in his manner.
As he sat down beside her, an unwashed smell permeating his clothes made Hazel instinctively move back a fraction of an inch. She hoped he didn't notice.
"Did you bring the book?" He asked in a low voice.
"Yes," she patted her purse. "Listen Donald, I don't appreciate you involving me and the girls in whatever business you got going." She glanced around to see if anyone was near. "Did you have anything to do with your partner's murder?" she whispered.
"No. Believe me, I didn't."
"Well, what's this all about? If you don't tell me, I'm going to the police." As if she would. With disgust she thought about the article she'd seen in the newspaper. The article on the back page of the Times reported on the discovery of a body, "Leonard Foster, found stabbed to death in his office. Two black females seen fleeing the building are being sought in connection with the murder."
"Believe me, Baby. I'm more sorry than you'll ever know about getting you involved in this. When this thing straightens out, I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you and the girls."
"When this thing is over, I hope I never see you again."
"I can't say as I blame you," he said. Suddenly he smiled at her and reached for her hand. For a minute, Hazel saw the old Donald emerging in his smooth, easy-going manner. She pulled her hand away.
"Tell me what's going on? Why are the cops after you? Where'd you get all that money? And what is this little black book?"
"Okay, I'll tell you. First, would you like another beer?"
She pushed over her empty glass. He looked around for the waitress and when he couldn't spot her, he picked up both bottles and rose. She watched him maneuver through the crowd to the bar and quickly return with two fresh bottles.
"I can't tell you the whole thing," he said sitting down. "It has to do with this business venture that Leonard and I had going. It didn't pan out. That's all."
"What didn't pan out? What was the business venture?"
He shrugged. "It's not important. It just didn't work out. I'm sorry about Leonard."
"Look, Donald. You haven't told me anything. You'd better start talking or I'm leaving." Hazel started to rise.
"Okay. I'll tell you."
He and Leonard had set up an escort service.' "It was going good for a while. But then, something happened. One of our clients was being investigated by the IRS, and we didn't know until they came sniffing around us. We closed down the business fast. I thought that was the end of it. What I didn't know was that Leonard got greedy and decided to blackmail the dude. You see, a little black book came into our possession. The book belonged to our client. One of our 'ladies' lifted it."
"There's nothing in the book but a lot of numbers."
"Yeah, I know. If the book falls in the hands of the IRS, this client would be in a lot of trouble."
"So why don't you just give the book back to the client?"
"It's not that simple. The problem is I know of the existence of the book, and that makes me a liability."
"Are you saying whether or not you give the book back, we're still in trouble? That our lives are in danger?"
"My life," he said. "I don't think they know about you. That's why I need the book, for leverage. I'm sure I can work out a deal."
"Yeah, and end up like Foster."
"No, Foster was stupid." He glanced at his watch and at the door, suddenly agitated again. "I gotta go. Give me the book."
This time Hazel reached across the table to touch his hand. "Donald, you don't look good. Where have you been staying?"
He reached into her pack of cigarettes and withdrew one. He lit it and inhaled deeply, not looking at her. "Here and there. I manage. Hey, I'm a survivor." He laughed. "You can't keep a good man down for long."
He gazed at her for a long moment. "Did I ever tell you, you were the best thing that ever walked into my life?"
Tearing her eyes from his face, Hazel felt her heart quicken. She reached into her shoulder bag for the book. "It's gone!" she said, frantically emptying the contents out on the table. "It's not here!"
"What do you mean, it's gone?" Donald leaned over the table to inspect her now empty bag. "Did you have it when you left home?"
"I thought I put it in here?"
His voice began to rise, "Well, did you or didn't you?"
"It must have fallen out."
"Dammit!" He stood up quickly knocking over the chair. "I stayed too long. Look, I'll call you."
Hazel saw him moving quickly to the door. He disappeared before she could rise. She glanced around the room at the bar patrons. No one even looked her way. Slowly she put her things back into her shoulder bag and started for the door.
"Miss," she heard the bartender call her. "You forgot to pay your bill." A beefy man with a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth handed Hazel a slip of paper. "The dude you were with said you'd take care of it."
She peered down at the tab, took out her walled and handed him a $10.00 bill. He gave her the change.
"Leave it to Donald to stick me with the tab," she muttered to herself. Then, shaking her head, she went out into the night.
I had been living in Farmville for a little over six months and I was bored out of my mind. My only comfort was my little son, Melvin. He was growing so fast, it was all I could do to keep up with him. I had a piece of a job that I hated, working at the canning factory.
One Friday evening as we were getting off work, my friend Sug asked, "You ain't going straight home are you?"
Sug and me had become fast friends when I started working at the factory. A small woman who couldn't've weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, Sug was tough. I'd seen her pick up a ten-gallon can of tomatoes and throw it at the foreman because he complained about her being too slow. Luckily it missed his head or she woulda got arrested for assault. But I liked her. I couldn't tell her age but I figured she was a little older than me. We took to each other as soon as I started working there. I guess I looked completely lost and she felt sorry for me. Sug gave me advice, and cheered me up with her songs.
I was feeling particularly down that day as we walked towards the gate. She had a knack for reading people.
"What you need is a man," she said. "A man can stir up your juices, make you feel alive. A woman ain't meant to be alone."
I told her about Willie Joe and about my son Melvin. I didn't tell her about Sadie.
"I got just the man for you. He's my cousin once removed. 'come down from Detroit to visit for a while. I want you to come on over to my house this evening. We'll have dinner and I'll introduce you to Fred. You and him got something in common. Both of you can sit and talk about city life.
I tried to protest. I needed to take care of my son.
"What'chu got a mama for? One night out ain't gonna hurt."
That night I told Mama I was going to a friend's house.
"You need to get out once in a while," Mama said. "Don't worry about Melvin, I'll put him to bed."
I didn't really want to go, but once I got dressed and started on my way, I began to feel pretty good. That was the evening that changed my life and I don't mean for the better.
Fred was a big man, I mean big and husky, 250 lbs. and about 6'2. He was solid muscle. Said he worked on the docks from New York to Mississippi. He had a dark complexion with skin as smooth as velvet. He shaved his head but I could see that if he hadn't he woulda been bald anyway. He wasn't particularly good looking except when he smiled. He reminded me of Paul Robeson. His smile could light up the moon; and he liked to talk. He told me about his life, the jobs he'd worked, the fights he'd been in, the women he'd been with and what he liked in a woman. I was glad he didn't ask me about my life. Before the evening was over, I'd fallen hard for him.
Fred met me every day after work and carried me over to his room where we'd stay for hours. I wouldn't get home until well after 10 o'clock. Mama started complaining about how I wasn't spending any time with Melvin. I felt bad but there wasn't anything I could do. Fred had captured my heart and soul. Gone was my thoughts about Willie Joe and my nightmares about Sadie. I moved into Fred's little room and for three months all I did was work and come home to him.
Then I discovered I was pregnant. When I told him, he laughed. How could I let myself get pregnant? he asked. He didn't want to be a father. I thought in time, he'd change his mind. I thought he'd ask me to marry him.
"Marry you!" he laughed. "I can't marry you. I'm already married. You wouldn't want me to be a bigamist, would you?"
To say I was shocked would be mild. I almost went out of my mind. I started throwing things at him, pots, pans, the lamp, anything I could get my hands on. He just laughed and ducked out of the way. Then I collapsed on the floor in a heap of tears.
"Nobody told you to get yourself pregnant. We was having fun, but I guess it's over."
After throwing my clothes into a shopping bag, I dragged myself back to my mama's. I didn't tell her I was carrying another baby. I knew she would put me out for sure. Mama was a churchgoing hardworking woman who minded her own business, took in laundry, raised her grandchild like he was her own, and now, here I come with another baby. I must have been out of my mind.
It didn't take long before she discovered my condition. She raised sand, but it wasn't her who put me out. It was my stepfather. Isaac Johnson was a deacon in the local church. He also ran the only grocery store in a community of busybodies. He and I never got along. I did my best to stay out of his way.
When Mama told him I was going to have a baby, he said that was the last straw. He called me a whore. Said in their small community, their reputation would be ruined. It wasn't enough that they were raising my son; now I come back carrying another man's child. No. He wouldn't allow me to stay there any longer. I could see Mama was hurt, and I understood. I gathered Melvin's things and my own and started for the door. Mama stopped me.
"Sarah, you a grown woman, and I know we ain't got no right to tell you what to do. I apologize for the way Isaac talked to you, but you got to understand. He's a proud man. Leave Melvin with us. You gonna have enough trouble providing for that baby inside of you."
"As soon as things straighten out, I'll come back for him. I promise. And Mama, I'm so sorry."
I hated to leave my son, but I knew Mama was right. It would be hard for me with one child, let alone two. So, four months pregnant and alone, I kissed my son goodbye. He didn't understand what was going on. It broke my heart. I went quickly out the door, walked to the Greyhound station and I caught the first bus to Philadelphia.
Hazel walked quickly down the dark deserted street towards her car. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was 2 AM. Hearing footsteps behind her and thinking it was Donald, she turned. Two men hastened toward her. In a panic, she began to run, but they caught up with her before she could reach her car. The darkness hid their features; they seemed like apparitions in the night, yet they were real. One pushed her up against her car and held her there. The other grabbed her bag and rummaged through it. She tried to scream but the one holding her had a gloved hand over her mouth. He smelled of tobacco, stale beer, and sweat. She struggled to free herself, kicking out and connecting with her assailant's knee. He cried out, "Ow!" momentarily releasing his grip. "Bitch," he whispered, grabbing her around the waist. "Hurry up," he said to his partner.
"Nothing here," the other man said, tossing her bag and its contents to the ground.
"Please, if this is a robbery, take my money. It's not much," she pleaded. The shorter of the two laughed. Hazel could see his mustache and goatee in the shadows. He was fat and held an unlit cigarette between his fingers. The taller one who held her had broad shoulders and a thick neck. He looked like a bouncer.
"We ain't looking for money. We want the book. Where is it? Did you give it to Porter?" His voice sounded hoarse like sandpaper.
"What book?" Hazel's mind raced, her breath short as if she had run a marathon. "I don't know anything about a book."
"Does Porter have it?" The short one repeated.
"I told you I don't know anything about a book."
"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of this," the tall one said pointing a thick finger in her face.
Released from a tight grip, Hazel watched as the men hopped into a blue Cadillac that was double parked beside hers and pulled away with screeching tires. As they drove off, Hazel noticed the license plate, "LADELUK." She grabbed hold to the side of her car to keep from sinking to the ground.
It took several minutes before she could steady herself, to slow down her racing heart. Her breathing having returned to normal, she stooped to pick up her purse and its contents. She hadn't realized how scared she was until she reached for her lipstick, wallet and coins. Her hands were trembling so much she could hardly grasp her belongings. Managing to recover as much as she could see in the dim light, she scrambled to her car. Once inside, she locked the door, started the motor and drove as quickly as she could to Kevin's house.
She had to ring his buzzer several times before she heard his voice, heavy with sleep. He wore only a pajama bottoms, his chest and feet bare. Once in his apartment, all she could do was to lean against him. His arms held her tightly as he stroked her back.
"I've never seen you so glad to see me. I'm flattered," he said. "Maybe I need to leave town more often."
When she had calmed a bit, she recounted the evening, the meeting with Donald, and the subsequent encounter with the two men. She followed him into the kitchen where he brewed a pot of coffee. As she sat at the counter watching him, she felt completely drained.
"I told you not to get involved in this. It's Donald's mess. Let him handle it," he scolded.
"But I am involved. The girls are, too."
"How are the girls mixed up in this?"
She explained how Foster had accosted Tricia and Shanell in the street and the break-in. Kevin's jaw tightened as he listened. "Damn," he said. "First thing you gotta do is to make sure your kids and your mother are safe. Then you'd better go to the police."
"I can't go to the police. What am I gonna tell them? They're already looking for Donald, and they're looking for two women in connection with Foster's murder. I don't want to go to jail." Her voice rose in desperation. Tears began to flow. Kevin held her until she grew calm. He guided her toward his bedroom. Kicking off her shoes, she stretched out on his unmade bed. He lay down beside her, cradling her into his arms. Soon she was asleep, her breathing slowed, steady and deep.
When the darkness disappeared and the sky began to lighten, Hazel awoke suddenly. She glanced over at Kevin who was snoring soundly. The clock on his nightstand announced 5:30 AM. Throwing off the covers, she saw that she was wearing only her slip, bra, and panties. Realizing he must have removed her clothes, she saw them folded neatly on the chair. She dressed hurriedly trying not to wake him.
After scribbling a note, she placed it on the pillow, and then slipped quickly out the door. Once in her car, she drove home, barely noticing the night retreating hastily as dawn made her flashy entrance in orange, pale blue, and golden yellow, forecasting a warm day ahead.
Hoping the girls were asleep, Hazel turned the key and entered the apartment. There on the couch lay Tricia. Beside her, on the floor, wrapped in a comforter, lay Shanell. Deciding not to wake them, Hazel kissed them gently on the forehead, went to her room, put on her nightgown and slipped between the sheets for a few hours of sleep. However, sleep wouldn't come. In her mind she relived the encounter with Donald and the two men.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do," she said to herself. "But I know I gotta do something."
*****
A few hours of sleep behind her, Hazel dodged the girls' questions about the previous evening as she gulped down her breakfast and set off to work.
"I'll explain it to you when I get home this evening."
"But Momma..." they protested. She hurried out the door and as she passed the Frazier's door, it opened. Mr. Frazier stuck his head out.
"I know you in a hurry, but what I been meaning to tell you," Mr. Frazier, dressed in his bathrobe and morning stubble, spoke slowly. Scratching his belly and removing the stocking cap covering his gray hair, he took a sip from his cup of coffee. "I got some information on that number you gave me."
Hazel's heart jumped. "Thank you, Mr. Frazier, but I gotta go. I mean, I'm late. I'll stop by on my way home this evening."
"Well, I thought you was in a hurry for the information." He turned to go back inside, disappointment written on his face.
"I'm sorry. Yes, I've got time. Go ahead. What did you find out?" If she was going to be late, she reasoned, did it matter whether it was a few minutes or thirty minutes. She followed him into his apartment.
"I had a friend check the numbers you give me against the post office boxes. Only one number matched." Mr. Frazier went over to his desk and started rummaging through the drawers.
Hazel sat on the edge of the sofa waiting.
Mrs. Frazier entered the room pulling her robe tightly around her stocky frame. "Good morning Mrs. Porter. My, isn't this a beautiful morning?" She walked over to the window and peered up at the sky; then over at Hazel. "I see you're on your way to work. How are the girls? Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Before Hazel could respond, Mr. Frazier broke in, his voice laced with vexation. "Can't you see we're talking business! Just wait a minute."
"Thank you but I've already had breakfast," Hazel said feeling responsible for causing any animosity between the couple. Mrs. Frazier went back into the kitchen.
"Like I said, only one number matched. It's a post office box belonging to one of them big corporations located downtown," her neighbor said over his shoulder.
"Do you have a name?" asked Hazel.
"Let me see. I wrote it down on a piece of paper." Mr. Frazier searched the end table drawer. "I thought I put it in this drawer. Now, where's my glasses? Gertrude!" he called. "Have you seen my glasses?"
Mrs. Frazier came shuffling back, her house slippers making a flip flopping sound on the hardwood floor. "What are you looking for?" her tone matched his earlier harsh tone. She scolded him for making a mess. "Is this what you're looking for?" She strode over to the mantle where she picked up a tiny scrape of paper. Then she retrieved his glasses from on top of the newspaper where he'd laid it. "You wouldn't be able to find your head if it wasn't screwed on!"
"Titus Corporation." He read the address and handed the paper to Hazel. Taking off his glasses, he smiled a smile of satisfaction.
"Thank you for your help," Hazel said rising and moving toward the door.
"If there's anything else you need, you know where we live," Mr. Frazier joked. Mrs. Frazier laughed.
Fifteen minutes late, Hazel thought as she glanced at her watch. What would be her excuse? The car wouldn't start? One of the girls was sick? No, she never liked to use that one in case one of them did get sick. Starting up the car, she reached for her purse and pulled out a cigarette. With one hand on the steering wheel, she used the other to search her pocketbook for her lighter. It wasn't there.
"Damn!" she thought. "I hope it isn't lost," she muttered aloud.
Kevin had given it to her, an expensive lighter with her name engraved on it. Giving up, she tossed the cigarette out the window as she swung into traffic and headed toward the Santa Monica Freeway. Pulling into the parking lot, she decided to make one more effort to find the lighter. Reaching her hand under the passenger seat, she felt something. A book. She pulled it out and saw that it was the black book! 'How did it get there?' she wondered. It probably fell out of her jacket pocket when she went down to meet Donald. She hesitated before thrusting it deep into her bag. Remembering the incident with the men the night before, she shuddered. She shoved the book back under the car seat. It'd be safer there unless someone stole her car, she reasoned. Getting out, she locked the car door and hurried into the building.
When I got out of school today, who should be waiting at the curb but Darien. I was so surprised it took me almost a minute to get myself together. There he was leaning against the car looking fine. He wore a long sleeve gray shirt open to show a black tee underneath. The sleeves were rolled up to his strong forearms. He had on black jeans and black Nikes. His intoxicating smile lit up his whole face and almost made my heart stop. I caught my breath. Patrice, my girlfriend, flashed a flirtatious smile up at him; he gazed at me.
"Hi there, good looking. My name's Patrice. What's yours?"
"Patrice, this is Darien." I cut her off. Hoping she'd get the hint, I said, "I'll see you tomorrow."
She took her eyes off Darien and threw a grin at me. "See ya later, girl. See you Mr. Fine looking." She walked away switching her skinny behind like she had something to switch. Darien watched her go. When she reached the corner, she turned around and blew a kiss at him. He looked down at his feet, shoving his hands in his pocket.
"So, Darien," I asked. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"
"Naw. I got the day off so I thought I'd give you a ride home."
"All the time I been knowing you, you never did this before."
"There's always a first time. Get in." He opened the passenger side.
I climbed in and he headed across town. I wondered what he was thinking but I didn't say anything. When we got almost to my block, he turned off at the park and cut the engine.
"I got to be getting home. The nurse leaves and I got to tend to my grandmother," I said.
"I just want to talk to you. It won't take long." He turned towards me and took my hand. "Listen, Tricia. Let's forget about the past. I miss you. I want to see you again."
I didn't know what to say. On the one hand I missed him, too. But on the other hand, I had too much on my mind to want to add Darien to it. There was Hi C. He'd asked me to go to San Diego with him to introduce me to some important people who could help my career. Then there was the upcoming final exams. If I went to San Diego, I'd miss an important biology test and maybe not graduate. I couldn't let that happen. Mostly, though, was the trouble with Donald. I didn't want Momma to go through this thing alone. She was playing detective and I didn't like that. It was too dangerous. Now here comes Darien and with him I knew the question of sex would come up again. I wasn't ready for any more emotional trips.
Darien was watching me, waiting for my answer.
"Let me think about it," I said.
"What's there to think about? Either you want to get back together or you don't. Is it that old guy I saw you with the other night?"
I couldn't believe it! Darien was jealous. It's funny how guys never get jealous until they think they've lost you. I wasn't ready to play any games so I told him no. Then I told him I had to go.
He let go of my hand, started the engine, and drove me to my door. As I was getting out he said, "I'm not going to let you get away this time. I'll call you."
I stood on the steps watching his car until it disappeared around the corner, my heart doing flip-flops. I'm not getting involved again, I told myself. I don't need no complications! I turned and went upstairs.
Miss Nurse was waiting when I opened the door. "Bout time," she said as she got her things and left. I peeked in on Ma’dear. She was awake and watching TV. Beside her sat the tray of food the nurse had fixed for her - broth, toast, Jell-O, and apple juice. I sat down on the chair next to the bed and watched her eat. She seemed to be getting stronger each day. It had been almost three months since she came to live with us and I was starting to feel comfortable around her. Though I wished I could talk to her like I'd seen Shanell doing. I hadn't gotten to that point. I wanted to ask her advice about Darien, HiC, and my career. But I couldn't. I felt too uncomfortable. How can you talk to somebody who can't answer back? I could see she understood what people were saying by the look in her eyes.
After she had eaten, I took the tray into the kitchen; then I went into my room and began to study for my biology test on Monday, the same day I was supposed to be in San Diego to sing. I didn't have much time to think before the door opened and Shanell came banging into the room. She dropped her backpack on the floor, switched on the radio, and began to change her clothes. That put an end to my studying. I closed my book and went to the kitchen to start dinner.
Momma came home later that evening. She looked tired and worried. It seemed that some people at work were given pink slips and it was just a matter of time before she'd get hers.
"What's a pink slip?" Shanell asked.
"It means you're about to be let go," I said. I'd learned about it in my current events class. Shanell and I tried to cheer her up.
"Look Momma, you can get a job anywhere. You got plenty of skills. It shouldn't take long to find something else," Shanell said.
We fixed a special dinner for her and to celebrate my 18th birthday. "One day, when everything settles down, I'll take you on a shopping spree." Momma said, as she cut slices of cake for each of us. Shanell handed me a cute pair of earrings she said she'd been saving up for from her allowance. This was the first time we all ate together in Ma’dear's room.
That evening, as I lay in bed, I knew what I had to do. Hi C said if everything clicked, I could make big bucks. He said I had a lot of talent and that once things got started, there'd be no stopping me. Maybe if I went to San Diego and became a hit, I could make enough money to give to Momma so that she could open her own business like she always wanted. I would go with Hi C and be back in time to make the statewide exams. After all, exams were going on the whole week. I'd just miss one day. I decided I wouldn't tell Momma or Shanell. When I came back, I'd have a big surprise for them. That was my plan.
Monday morning, instead of going to school, I threw some things in Momma's overnight bag, a black tee strap dress I'd bought on layaway with the money I got from the gig with Big Jim Thornton, Momma's sequined pumps, (I knew she would probably have a fit but it was for a good cause); and makeup. I wrote a note explaining I would probably be late getting home, that I was studying at my friend Patrice's house, but at the last minute, I tore it up. Then I walked over to the park, sat down and waited.
Hi C told me to meet him in front of Fred's bar and Grill around noon. At eleven o'clock, I hopped on the bus that would take me across town. The bar wasn't open. It wouldn't matter. I wouldn't have gone inside anyway. I stood in the alcove and waited. A half hour passed, some people walking by didn't pay me no mind, but others stared at me and then at my overnight bag. I felt real uncomfortable like I was a streetwalker. One man even came over and asked me how much I charged. I moved away from the door when I saw a cop car drive by slowly as the cop took a long look at me.
Where was Hi C? I wondered. I made up my mind that if he didn't come in the next fifteen minutes, I'd go home. Just as I was about to leave, I saw his raggedy-ass yellow T-Bird. He swooped into an empty parking space nearby.
"I see you're ready to fly." He grabbed my bag and threw it onto the back seat, came around and kissed me on the cheek. His breath smelled like whisky and cigarette smoke. Usually he looked cool, together, like the world would just have to wait for him, but today he seemed up, I mean, like he had extra energy. I figured it must be the excitement of the gig. I was excited too. So much was riding on this trip.
As he drove the 405 to San Diego, weaving in and out of lanes, he searched the radio for a jazz station. Then he pulled out a cassette and stuck it into the slot. Every once in a while he glanced over at me and smiled, his cigarette dangling from his lips. Even though traffic was heavy, the car kept moving along wherever there was an open spot. He chattered away, something about the artist and the song; but I was so busy watching the road and holding on, I couldn't repeat what he was talking about to save my life. Then the traffic was behind us and I began to relax. Sinking back into the seat cushion, I got into the music.
The ocean looked so calm, the ride so smooth, the music hypnotic; I drifted off to sleep. Suddenly I was aware that the car had stopped. I opened my eyes and looking around I could see we were in the parking lot of Motel 8.
Hi C was coming out of the office.
"Why're we stopping here?" I asked. I knew San Diego wasn't that far away though I'd only been there once when we were kids and Momma took Shanell and me to the San Diego Zoo.
"I need to catch a few winks," Hi C said, opening my door. "I been up all night and if I'm gonna be at my best, I gotta take a nap. There's a diner across the street. We can go and get something to eat first."
That was fine with me. We left the car in the parking lot and walked over to the diner. I was so hungry. I hadn't realized that I hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast. I ordered spaghetti. Hi C ordered steak and potatoes. He joked as we ate about how once I got famous, I probably wouldn't know him.
"It's a shame you're underage. There're a lot of people I could introduce you to. I'd be your agent and we'd go places."
I told him my birthday was last week. "I'm eighteen. You can wish me happy birthday now. I don't usually make a big thing about my birthday. My mother said as soon as things calm down, we would have a big celebration." I told him about the problem with Donald, not telling him everything, just about some people looking for him. I don't think Hi C was even listening. He looked around for the waitress and when she came over, he asked for the check. I followed him back across the street to the motel.
"You can sit in the car if you want. I'll be out in about an hour or you can come in and watch TV while I sleep," he said.
I thought about it and decided time would pass quicker watching TV than sitting in his car in the parking lot of a seedy motel. Taking my overnight bag from the back seat thinking if I changed into what I'd planned to wear and put on my makeup, I'd save time. I followed him to his room.
It was a small ugly room with a full size bed taking up most of the space, a little oval table sitting up against the wall, a dresser with a nineteen inch TV set sitting on top of it. I flipped it on and sat down at the table. Hi C went into the bathroom. I made myself comfortable, put my feet up in the other chair, and settled down to wait, with a bag of Doritos and a can of Pepsi I bought from the vending machine in the hall. The only drawback was the TV had no remote. I'd have to get up to change the channels. Oh well, I thought, just for an hour.
Hi C came out of the bathroom wearing only his boxer shorts. That should've been my first clue. If he was just going to nap an hour, why did he need to take off his clothes? He pulled back the covers and hopped in.
"Why don't you join me? We gonna be up late tonight and you wanna be at your best."
"I'm fine," I said. "I got some sleep in the car so I'm not tired."
"How about a drink to relax you." He offered me a sip from the flask he carried and placed on the nightstand beside the bed.
"No, thank you. I don't drink."
"Com'on, baby. Loosen up. How you gonna perform tonight if you're so uptight.?
"Hi C, I thought you stopped here to take a nap."
"I did, but I want you to join me."
"Maybe I'd better wait for you in the car." I picked up my bag and started for the door.
Before I could get it open, he grabbed me around my waist and pulled me toward the bed.
"Don't!" I told him when he started pulling down my pants. He tried to pin my arms behind my back and started to kiss me as he pushed me down. When I bit his lip, he smacked me across face. I screamed. I kicked him in the balls and scratched his face.
"Bitch," he yelled, holding his groin. "Shut up, you stupid..."
He grabbed my arms and tried to pin them over my head as he reached down to pull off his shorts. Jerking my body to one side, I must have caught him off guard because he slid to the floor. This gave me just enough time to scramble off the bed. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. He pounded on it a couple of times; then he stopped. I peeked through the keyhole and I saw him putting his pants on. Then I heard the outside door open and slam behind him. Even when I heard the car engine start, I couldn't move and I couldn't stop crying. I must've lay there a good hour or more. Outside it was growing dark, the only noise in the room was from the TV. Flickering light cast shadows against the wall.
Cautiously, I unlocked the bathroom door, crept back into the room and slid the dead bolt praying he wouldn't come back. Then I climbed into the shower, turned on the hot water full blast and let it wash away the shame I felt. I don't know how much time went by before the water turned cold. I picked up my clothes; my blouse was ripped. Glancing into the mirror, I saw that one side of my face was swollen. How could I go home looking like this? What would Momma say? In the back of my mind I knew I should report what HiC tried to do to me; but I knew I couldn't prove I hadn't come with him willingly. I was eighteen years old, no longer jailbait. I was in a motel room in or near San Diego. So many thoughts went round in my mind. Then it hit me. I was stranded. How was I gonna get home?
Swallowing my pride and humiliation, I walked up to the front desk and asked the manager if I could make a call. The manager, a chubby woman with short gray hair and bifocals, looked up from her plate, on which sat a half-eaten pork chop. Dabbing her lips and wiping her hands on a napkin, she frowned. Then something in my face must've told her how desperate I was; she softened.
"It's against our policy, but there's a telephone on the corner, next to the diner. You got any money?"
I shook my head. I only had a dime. She handed me a dollar in change. "You young girls always getting yourselves in trouble. How old are you?"
Before I could answer, she went on. "I got a daughter your age. I hope if she gets into trouble, somebody'll help her out."
The clock on the wall behind the desk said 9 PM. Had I been there that long? As I walked to the corner telephone, I wondered who I could call. I didn't want to call Momma. I was so ashamed and I knew she'd be mad as hell. Besides, I'd rather deal with that when I felt better. Grace? Kanisha? No, Gracie had her number changed and I didn't have her new number since she got back from down south. The only other person I could think of was Darien. I dialed his number. After a few rings, he answered. I told him I was stranded and asked him if he could come and get me. He didn't ask no questions. Said he'd be here in about an hour. I went back to the room and waited. While I waited, I cried some more.
He was as good as his word. In exactly an hour, Darien came. I got into his car and we drove all the way back to L.A. in silence. It was only when we parked in front of my apartment that he asked if there was anything he could do. I told him how grateful I was that he'd come to my rescue.
"I can't explain anything to you now. But I will." I climbed out of the car and went upstairs.
Momma and Shanell met me at the door. Momma started yelling at me for being out late and not telling anybody where I was.
"Just because you're eighteen, and still living under my roof, you will obey my rules!"
Then she noticed my swollen face. "What happened? Who did this to you?" she asked. I broke down and cried. She put her arms around my shoulders. "Don't worry. You'll tell me when you want to."
"Damn! What happened to you?" Shanell asked. Momma threw her a look that shut her up.
I didn't say anything. I only wanted to go to bed. Shanell followed me to our room. Looking at me with eyes filled with sympathy. "How did the gig go?" I hadn't realized that she knew where I'd gone.
"How did you know?" I didn't remember telling her. "I didn't make it," I smiled weakly. "I'll tell you all about it someday." I undressed and hopped into bed. She hugged me.
When I got to Philadelphia, I called my aunt. Mama had told her I was coming. I sat in the bus station for what seemed like hours until she came to pick me up. Then there was the long drive to her home. Her house was in a middle-class, respectable part of the city, a large Victorian-style house with plenty of small dark rooms filled with dark, oversized furniture that instantly made me depressed. Aunt Phoebe was a large woman. A few years older than Mama, she was as unlike her sister as night is to day. Where Mama was gentle and quiet, Aunt Phoebe was bold and had a lot of opinions that she didn't mind expressing. She was married to an undertaker. They had two grown children that didn't live at home. Mr. Booker, as she called him, ran the only Negro undertaking parlor in the city. You could say they didn't hurt for money.
Aunt Phoebe showed me to my room on the third floor. I was so tired from the long bus ride, I just fell on the bed and went to sleep. I must have slept a long time because when I woke up, it was dark outside. I heard Aunt Phoebe knocking at the door.
"Supper will be on the table in ten minutes. Get yourself washed up and come on down."
The bathroom was located on the second floor. I washed up, changed clothes and went downstairs to eat. The table was loaded with food, pork chops, green beans, mashed potatoes and cornbread. The smells made my stomach queasy. It was all I could do to keep from throwing up.
"I'm not very hungry," I said weakly. I just wanted to go back upstairs, be alone with my problems.
"Nonsense, you need to eat something," Aunt Phoebe said, dishing food into my plate and setting it down in front of me. My smile was thin as I looked down at the steaming food. After she finished filling up the plates, she asked Mr. Booker to say grace. He nodded.
"Let's bow our heads," he said in a deep voice. We did. As he said a long prayer, I peeked at the others. Besides Mr. Booker and Aunt Phoebe there was another man whom I hadn't met. When Mr. Booker finished, Aunt Phoebe introduced me to him.
"Sarah, this is Mr. Livingston. He rooms here with us." He nodded. "This is my niece Sarah. She'll be staying here for a while."
Mr. Livingston was a pleasant looking man, medium build, light complexion, high yellow, as we use to call people in them days. His face was covered with freckles. He grinned a toothy grin at me. That's about all I noticed about him except that he looked like my mother's age, his bald head glistened in the light from the chandelier as if he'd polished it up for the meal.
We ate in silence the only sounds were chewing and swallowing, and an occasional loud belch from Mr. Booker. I managed to eat a bit, enough to keep from insulting Aunt Phoebe. I made it through most of the meal and as soon as I felt it was the right time, I asked her if I could be excused.
"Don't you want dessert? I made apple pie especially for you," said Aunt Phoebe, clearing away the plates. She went into the kitchen and brought back a freshly baked pie and some dessert plates.
"Thank you, but I'm not feeling well. I'd like to go to my room and lie down."
She had a frown of disapproval on her face but she nodded. "You go right ahead. You're excused. Tomorrow, though, I expect you to help around the house."
"You're part of the family now," Mr. Booker said. "No free rides here." He laughed.
Though I was expecting in a few months, Aunt Phoebe managed to get me a job washing clothes for the white families across town. It was that or helping Mr. Booker at the mortuary. I'm not squeamish but I don't like being around dead bodies.
Both my aunt and Mr. Booker were active in their local church, United Methodist. Every evening or so they went to meetings at the church and occasionally I went with them to Bible Study. Mr. Livingston accompanied us on Sundays. He turned out to be a very nice man, one I could talk to easily. He told me about himself, his wife died five years ago from cancer. They had no children. When I told him about Willie Joe and my life in New York, he was genuinely sympathetic. He didn't ask about the father of the baby I was carrying. In time I found myself dependent upon his company and on our talks. He took it upon himself to look after me.
One evening after everybody had gone to bed, I crept down to the kitchen for a glass of milk. Milk helps me sleep. Mr. Livingston was at the kitchen table eating a piece of leftover chicken. He said he couldn't sleep either.
"Sarah, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. I know we haven't known each other but a few months, but I've grown real fond of you," he said reaching across the table for my hand. When he asked me to marry him, I was a little surprised. I told him I didn't love him. He reasoned that we should get married if only so that my child would be born legitimately, not with the stigma of being born out of wedlock. He said he would make a good home for me and would raise the child like his own.
I didn't answer him right away. I told him I had to sleep on it. He said he understood. I finished my glass of milk and hurried back upstairs to bed before he could get up. My head was spinning. The next day when I told Aunt Phoebe, she said it was a good idea.
"Mr. Livingston is a good man. I'm happy for the both of you."
Mr. John Livingston and me were married a week before Hazel was born. We went before the Justice of the Peace. As soon as I agreed to marry him, John, who worked as a porter on the railroad, went out and found us a little house across town. We moved into that place and for the next ten years that was our home. I was able to get Melvin from Mama, and with the four of us together, I felt blessed. John was a good father to my children up until the day he died. We had ten wonderful years together, and then he was gone.
When Hazel was eleven I took her and Melvin back to Farmville to visit Mama. She was ill and not expected to live much longer. I hadn't been back but once since going down to pick up Melvin long ago. Every year, though, I sent him down to spend summer with her.
The house where I grew up looked the same except a little more run down. The garden Mama had planted was nothing but weeds. A few chickens wandered around the yard scratching at the ground for whatever food they could find among the weeds. A rusted tractor stood beside the weather-beaten barn that looked like it was about to fall down.
My stepfather, Isaac, was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was a woman, who looked younger than me, traipsing around the house, dusting the furniture, straightening up, and fixing food for my mother. \
She looked familiar though I couldn't place her. A short busty woman, she wore a faded gingham housedress, and worn man's shoes with the backs folded under. Her hair was wrapped in a scarf, and she had a small mole above her lip. After greeting me she shooed Melvin and Hazel outside.
"Yall go play in the yard while your Mama visits your grandma." She offered to bring me some lemonade, and before I could say yes, she disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen. I went into the parlor.
Mama sat in her rocker looking so thin and frail. She couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds and when she tried to speak, she coughed. I kissed her forehead, pulled up a chair close to her and held her hand.
I couldn't hide the shock on my face at how sick she looked. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a hanky and blew my nose, wiping away a tear that threatened to fall. I told her about my life, adding things to make her laugh, staying away from serious topics. We reminisced about when we all were together, Mama, Daddy, my sister and brothers.
The young woman came in bringing a tray on which sat a pitcher of lemonade, a glass filled with ice and a plate of cookies.
"She's already had her lunch," she said when I asked about a glass for Mama. When she left, I asked Mama, "Who's that?" My gaze followed the woman back down the hall.
"That's Edna Mae. Don't you remember her? She was your best friend Sadie's little sister. She came to help me out when Isaac left."
"Where is Isaac?"
"Old fool done run off with the pastor's wife. All I can say is good riddance." She laughed than started to cough. I was just about to give her my glass of lemonade when Edna Mae came running in.
"She can't have that! She got sugar. Let me get her medicine." She rushed back into the kitchen and returned carrying a glass of water and a bottle of pills. She helped Mama with the pills and water. "There," she said. "She'll be alright."
I sat with Mama a while until she drifted off to sleep; then I took the tray back into the kitchen. Edna Mae was cutting up vegetables and putting them in a pot of boiling water.
"You don't remember me, do you?" she smiled. "You and Sadie ran off together when I was just a little girl. Couldn't have been much younger than your daughter.
A strange feeling came over me as I stood there listening to her talk about Sadie and how much her big sister had taught her. "I miss her so much."
She asked me about what Sadie and me did after we left.
"Sadie didn't write much. One letter she wrote she said she'd met a man and planned to get married. Willie Joe, I think she said his name was. She was so in love with that man."
My heart almost stopped. "Willie Joe?" I said.
"Yeah, Did you ever meet him? Anyways, later she wrote and said he'd gotten married. Next thing I heard was that he was dead. How you like that?"
"Did Sadie tell you how he died?" I could hardly get the words out. I sat down at the table to keep from falling.
"No Ma'am. She didn't say nothing about that. She was always promising to bring me up to New York to live with her. But that's Sadie. Always promising but never following through. Then I woulda got a chance to leave this old backwater town. Sure do miss her," she said again with a long sigh. She pulled a big cloth from her bosom, wiped the sweat from her face and stuck it back.
"Is it all folks say it is? You know, wall-to-wall people, bright lights, no body sleeps? Tell me what life is like in New York?"
"I don't live there no more," I said. I wanted to hear more about Sadie but I was afraid to ask. I watched her cut up some meat and toss it into the pot. After a while I asked, "Did you hear anymore from her?"
"Who? Oh, my sister? Yeah, last time she called, she said she believed somebody put a spell on her."
I gasped. "A spell?"
"Yeah, you know, hoo doo. Sadie was always into something. I don't believe in none of that stuff, but she did. She said she'd hadn't been able to eat, her appetite was gone."
"What made her think somebody put a spell on her?"
"I don't know, a feeling, I guess. I use to be into that stuff, but not any more."
She went on and on, but I wasn't listening. All those dreadful memories came flooding back, Willie Joe and Sadie. Just then I heard Melvin and Hazel hollering at each other. Hazel came running into the kitchen. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Melvin hit me!"
I held her in my arms and wiped away her tears with my handkerchief. Then I went outside. "Melvin," I called looking around the dusty yard. I found him sitting behind the barn.
"Why'd you hit your sister? You too old for that and she's just a baby."
"She ain't no baby," he pouted. "I hit her because she was taunting me, calling me names and saying she was gonna turn me into a goat."
"Turn you into a goat? Where did that come from?"
"Tyreshia told her to do it."
"Tyreshia," I said. "Who's she?"
I looked around for Hazel and spotted her standing beside another girl I hadn't noticed before. About the same age as Hazel, but she was much thinner than my daughter, her complexion darker. She wore a faded yellow dress that looked too small and came up to the top of her thighs. She didn't have no shoes on and her hair looked like it hadn't been combed in quite a while. Both of them standing there reminded me of Sadie and myself when we were that age. As I drew closer to them, I stopped. Something about Tyreshia struck me, something in her eyes made me step back.
"Mama, this is Tyreshia, Miss Edna Mae's daughter," Hazel said.
I nodded to her, then turning my attention to Hazel, I stood between them. "Why were you taunting your brother? What's this about turning him into a goat?"
"We was only playing. He's so serious. He didn't have to hit me." She stuck her tongue out at Melvin.
"Sorry, Ma'am," Tyreshia said. "We was only playing. We won't do it again."
I barely glanced at her. I went back into the house and soon forgot all about what happened.
I didn't have to get back to work for another week and school was out for the summer, so me and the children stayed with Mama. Edna Mae was glad to get a vacation. I cooked, cleaned, and took care of Mama. Since Edna had shopped and the pantry was stocked with fruits and vegetables that Mama had canned before she got sick, I didn't need to go into town. Except for one day towards the end of our stay, I decided to take the children to the carnival. Melvin begged me so hard I had to give in. One of Mama's church members came over to look after her while we were gone.
It was a hot summer evening when we walked over to the carnival. Melvin and Hazel were getting along for a change. As we got closer to town, some friends Melvin knew joined us. Hazel walked beside me.
The carnival, in the field across from the canning factory, had transformed the place into a festive atmosphere. The Ferris wheel lit up the evening sky with its bright lights. There was bumper cars, a small roller coaster, all sorts of sideshows and stalls where you could eat your fill of hot dogs, cotton candy and Pepsi or lemonade. Melvin and his friends disappeared. Hazel's eyes were wide with amazement. They didn't have carnivals like this back in Philadelphia. This was her first carnival and I could feel her excitement. She wanted me to get on the Ferris wheel with her. Having a fear of heights, I wasn't too sure about that.
"I'll just sit here and watch you. Now you go on. I'll be right here when you get back." Disappointment showed on her face.
Suddenly, it seemed like out of nowhere, Tyreshia appeared. We hadn't seen her since the day Hazel and Melvin got into that argument. I assumed her mother had taken her with her on vacation. Hazel's face brightened as she ran over to her.
Grabbing her by the hand, Hazel pulled her over to where I sat.
"Tyreshia wants to go on the rides with me, but she don't have no money."
For a moment I didn't know what to say. I peered up at the girl who had on the same dirty dress she wore a week ago, hair uncombed, her skinny legs covered with dried mud and she was barefoot. I still couldn't believe she was Edna Mae's daughter and that her mother would let her go running around looking like that.
"Please," Hazel begged. "We won't go far."
"Well, go ahead." Feeling sorry for her, I gave them both a dime and off they ran. I watched them run over to the ticket booth, get tickets and head towards the Ferris wheel.
"Why it can't be. Is that you Sarah?" I turned around and there was Sug, looking just the same as when I saw her those many years ago at the factory, a little older and she'd put on some weight, otherwise she looked the same. I stood up and we hugged.
"Whatchu doing here, girl? I heard you was in town. Why haven't you come around to see me?"
I told her about my marriage and John's passing. "I'm just here to look after my mother. We're leaving on Monday."
I wanted to ask her about Fred, Hazel's father. But I didn't. She told me she was still working at the factory. She said the only thing changed was that some Civil Rights workers had come into town and were trying to get the Negroes to register and vote.
"This done stirred up the Klan. Some of them crackers been trying to scare us, riding through our neighborhood at night with their white sheets and burning crosses on people's lawns. But we fixed them. We showed them we wasn't scared. This is a new day."
Before she could finish, Hazel and Tyreshia came running back. I introduced my daughter to Sug.
"Nice to meet you, Ma'am" Hazel said politely, like I taught her. I gave her and Tyreshia another dime to ride the bumper cars. They took off skipping, holding hands and giggling.
"She sure is cute," Sug said after they'd gone. "Looks just like you. Got your nose and such a pretty smile. Her eyes, though, reminds me of somebody. I just can't think. And was that Tyreshia, Edna Mae's daughter with her? Girl, whatchu letting your baby hang around with her for? Don't you know?"
"Don't I know what?" I felt my stomach tighten.
"That girl's trouble. Takes after her aunt. The one that's dead, Sadie."
"What do you mean, takes after?'"
"You know… into all that strange stuff. The whole family's into it."
"Not Edna Mae?"
"No, I think she's the only sane one in the family. The rest of them is crazy. I wouldn't let my children around them."
Over Sug's shoulder, I watched Hazel and Tyreshia on the bumper cars. They were two eleven -year olds having fun as they rode around the rink slamming into each other and others. Come Monday, we'll be gone, thank goodness, I thought.
I found myself watching Hazel closely after that. Watching to see what, I don't know. The weekend passed quickly and before long, it was time to go home. Mama had rallied a little. Edna Mae had come back and I had to be back at work on Tuesday. While I hated to leave Mama, especially knowing it might be the last time I'd see her alive, I was glad to be getting out of Farmville, away from painful memories, and most grateful to get Hazel away from Tyreshia and all that hoo doo nonsense.
Hazel sat at her desk shuffling through her papers but her mind was on the book and all she'd been through and what she'd learned. Mr. Frazier had told her that one of the numbers on the paper she'd given him was indeed a post office box number and that it belonged to the Titus Corporation. And she'd gotten the license plate number of the men who'd attacked her the night before. From a friend of Kevin's who worked for DMV, she found out the LADELUK belonged to a Manfield Jones who lived in Compton.
She reached for the telephone book to look up the address for the Titus Corporation. It was located in Century City, too far for her to go on her lunch hour. She'd have to wait until she got off. Hazel copied down the address and phone number and stuffed the paper into her purse. What she planned to do with the information, she didn't know.
"Hazel, Do you have that Strickland file ready?" Mr. Levine peered down at her. Startled, she almost jumped.
"Yes, it's nearly finished," she answered, glancing down at the pile of papers on her desk.
"Bring it into my office as soon as it's complete." He turned away.
She sighed as she searched through the disorganized pile for the Strickland account. When she found it, she began leafing through the file for the accounts payable page. As she tallied the figures, she was suddenly aware of Diane standing over her.
"You look like you could use some help. I could have one of the new temps take some of the load off your shoulders."
Hazel looked up and smiled. "Thanks, but I've got it together." Her eyes lingered on Diane as she watched her saunter down the aisle to another desk, peering over shoulders and issuing orders. Diane had moved up to supervisor and everyone knew how she got that position. Monica who had been there longer and knew more about the job than any of them had gotten her pink slip.
Even though Diane had been hired the same time as Hazel, she had secured her position and gone one better. If you can't beat them, join them, she'd said many times. She knew how to get what she wanted and more importantly, she knew the bosses. Despite the tinge of envy Hazel felt whenever she observed Diane, she liked her because she hadn't lost any of her down-to-earth qualities.
A good sense of humor, generous and a willingness to help, she didn't act like she was better than her peers.
After leaving Mr. Levine's office, Hazel passed Diane's desk. She hesitated. Deciding to take a chance, she sat down and waited for Diane to get off the phone.
"Have you ever heard of the Titus Corporation?" she asked.
"No, can't say that I have. Why?" Diane said.
"I came across their name and was wondering about the company, that's all."
"Hazel, you know you don't have to worry about getting laid off. I told you I'd look out for you." Diane took out her compact, smoothed her hair and refreshed her makeup.
"No, it's not that. I was just curious since I'd never heard of them before."
"I haven't either so I can't help you. It's almost lunchtime. Want to go out to lunch?" she asked. "There's a new Greek restaurant on Grand that I've been dying to try but I don't want to go alone."
"Maybe next time," Hazel said. "I brought my lunch."
The phone rang and as Diane reached across to answer, Hazel returned to her desk.
The rest of the day went by as usual with no more thoughts of the Titus Corporation or the LADILUK license plate. Just as Hazel prepared to leave for the day, Diane came rushing over.
"I got so busy I almost forgot to give you this." She handed Hazel a stack of papers. "It's what I could find about the Titus Corporation. Hope it's what you're looking for. You missed a great meal. Next time you have nothing to do at lunch, I'll treat you. " She turned to go. "I got a hot date tonight with Joe McKinney. See you tomorrow."
"Joe McKinney. Isn't he the sales manager?"
Diane winked and headed for the door along with the first wave of departing employees. Hazel glanced through the material on the Titus Corporation her colleague had given her. Nothing unusual. But what did she know? She glanced at the names of the board members and their pictures. A collection of suits and smiles including a few women.
Hazel closed the report and gathered her things. Deciding to call it a day, she headed for the elevator. In the parking lot, as she sat in her car, she reached under the seat and withdrew the black book. She leafed through the pages of numbers that meant nothing to her. As she turned on the freeway to head home, she passed her exit and kept going. When she realized it, she was near Century City.Titus Corporation Building was on the corner of Washington Blvd. and Sutter, a huge imposing structure surrounded by glass. Curiously, she pulled into the parking lot, got out of her car, and went into the lobby suddenly feeling the urge to use the restroom. "I should have gone before I left work," she chided herself.
Most of the flow of human traffic in the lobby was heading for the exit door. It was after five. Glancing around the huge lobby, she saw a uniformed man sitting at a circular desk at the far end. As she hurried toward him, another man dressed in a business suit and carrying a briefcase stopped by the desk and said something to the security guard, which made him laugh. As Hazel approached them she heard them engaged in an animated conversation about baseball. "Bet you two tickets to the game if the Dodgers win tonight," the man in the suit said.
Hazel stood beside the desk and waited for them to notice her.
"You're on. And if they lose, what will I get?" the security guard responded.
Hazel could wait no longer. Interrupting their banter, she asked where the restrooms were. The security guard glanced at her and pointed to the elevators at the other end.
"Just beyond that bank of elevators, turn right and you can't miss it." He turned back to the man in the suit.
She walked quickly towards the elevators, following his directions; however, just as she located the doors marked "Women's Restroom," her eyes fell upon a man coming towards her. He was pushing a large trashcan. Every few feet, he stopped to empty the receptacles lining the hall. Instantly she recognized him. It was one of the men who attacked her. Though it had been dark, his bulky frame, thick neck and broad shoulders were imprinted on her memory. What confirmed it was the way he moved; slightly rocking from side to side on bowed legs. She was sure he'd recognize her if he saw her.
She dashed into the nearest door, which happened to be a small service closet. Cracking the door, she watched him pass. Despite her bursting bladder, she followed him. Fortunately, the flow of people in the lobby had ebbed somewhat yet it was still possible to tail him without being spotted. He stopped to speak to the security guard; then he went down another corridor and through a door marked "Employees Only."
Hazel hesitated. After counting to twenty-five she eased the door open and saw a flight of stairs. Cautiously making her way down the steps, she listened for sounds. Facing her were several doors. She listened at each one. Behind the door marked "Locker Room" she heard voices and laughter. She waited, her heart beating fast, her bladder nearly bursting.
"See you folks tomorrow," she heard someone say and then the sound of a time clock being punched.
"Don't come in with another hangover, Manny."
"Fuck you," she heard him reply.
The door opened and out walked the man Hazel was following. Quickly she ducked into a niche, hugging the wall and praying he didn't see her. Now dressed in street clothes, plaid shirt, brown pants, he took the steps two at a time, reaching the top before Hazel could pull herself together to follow.
By the time she got to the door, she saw him through the plate glass window, striding towards the parking lot.
"Can I help you, Miss? The building will be closing in fifteen minutes." She whirled around and saw the guard who had directed her to the restroom earlier. Unable to ignore her bladder any longer, she said, "Excuse me, I forgot something," and before he could reply, she dashed off to the restroom. Giving up on being able to continue her sleuthing for the day, she drove home. There's always tomorrow, she thought.
Mama didn't live more than a few weeks after we got home. I was able to get two days off from my job and leaving the children with a neighbor, I went down to the funeral. Life began to return to normal and for a while, my spirits picked up and I began to believe everything would be all right. No more thoughts of Sadie, Farmville, or the past. The year went by too quickly. Then one day, I got a call from Edna saying she was in Philly for a few days and wanted to drop by. I really didn't want her to but I couldn't say no. Still, when she showed up at my door a few hours later, I was happy to see her smiling face until I saw stepping out from behind her, Tyreshia, her daughter.
"Give your aunt a hug, Tyreshia," Edna said.
Seeing the surprised look on my face, she explained. "You don't mind if she calls you aunt?"
Tyreshia, looking a lot cleaner than the last time I saw her, hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. She'd grown a bit, her body filled out in the gingham dress she wore. Her hair parted down the center with two braids pinned to the top of her head. She looked almost innocent except when you looked into her eyes. There was something devilish there. I stepped back.
"How's the children?" Edna asked.
"Melvin went to the movies. Hazel's at her friend's house."
"I was hoping to see them while we was here."
When I heard Edna was coming, I sent Hazel to play at her friend's house hoping she'd be away until she left.
"Child, you got a nice looking place here," Edna said, walking around the room, peering into the kitchen. "You got an eye for decorating. I can tell." She settled down on the sofa. Tyreshia sat down near the window.
"I know you wondering why I'm here. I got a cousin who don't live too far from here and we had some time to kill before the bus leaves and I wanted to bring this to you. It's a letter from Sadie. Don't make no sense to me but since she mentions you, I thought you might understand it."
She handed me an envelope that looked like it had been stuffed somewhere for a long time. It was crumbled, stained, and tore open roughly. It was addressed to Edna and postmarked some fifteen years earlier. My hand shook as I opened it.
"My dear sister," it read in Sadie's neat scrawl. I had always admired how she wrote, how the letters slanted just right and she had a way of making her "g's" and "y's" stand out in a fancy way. As I read through the three pages, I was struck by the affection Sadie had for her little sister. Then I got to the part about me. I held my breath as I read,
"When you get to New York, look up my old friend Sarah. You remember I told you about her. 'bout how she and me ran away from home together. We both fell for the same man, but she got him. Willie Joe. I couldn't stay mad. Well, when Willie Joe died, I think Sarah blamed me. I don't know why, but she did. But you know what I always say, "no need to cry over spilt milk." Too much living to do. Look her up. She's good people."
I finished the letter and handed it back to her.
"So, here I am. Funny, one day she was living it up and the next, she's at death's door."
I spoke before I could think. "Do you know what she died of?"
Edna laughed, "Maybe somebody put the evil eye on her."
A chill passed through my body. I glanced over at Tyreshia. She was busy looking out the window. "I'm just kidding. I don't believe in that stuff. Last time I spoke with Sadie she'd been to the doctor and the doctor said she had cirrhosis of the liver. Everybody told her to lay off the booze. But you know Sadie. She always was a heavy drinker."
Just at that moment, I heard the door open. Hazel burst in. "Tyreshia!" she shouted. The girls ran toward each other and hugged.
"Hazel, didn't I teach you better than that. Say hello to Miss Edna."
Edna hugged her. "You're getting so pretty," she said.
"Come on, Tyreshia. Let me show you my room." Before I could say anything, the girls were gone.
"What I really came to ask you was could Tyreshia stay with you a few days?" Edna said, sitting back down on the sofa. "I'm looking for a job and a place to stay and seeing as how I don't know nobody else in the city. When I ran across Sadie's letter, I thought I'd just look up her old friend."
I held my breath as she went on. "I been wanting to get out of that hick town and make a fresh start with my little girl. You know how it is."
I started to ask about the cousin she said who lived nearby and about the bus she had to catch. Why tell me all that when what she really wanted was for Tyreshia to stay with me while she looked for a job? Was she really here to look for a job? I felt ashamed at my suspicions. Then I remembered all she'd done for my mother.
"She can stay until you get yourself straight," I said. "Hazel would enjoy the company."
"I knew I could count on you. Tyreshia," she called. She got to her feet as her daughter came back followed by Hazel. "Now I'm only gonna be gone a few days. You mind Aunt Sarah. No backtalk. You be good." She turned to me. "I'm going now. I'll be in touch in a few days."
She kissed Tyreshia and Hazel on the cheek. "God bless you," she squeezed my hand.
As she was leaving, she set down a small cardboard suitcase I hadn't noticed. It all happened so fast, I didn't have time to think. Hazel was so happy to have her friend with her, I soon forgot my misgivings about the girl, at least for a while.
*****
Tyreshia stayed with us a week. At times during the week, I would find myself watching her, searching for what? I couldn't say. She was a normal twelve-year-old as far as I could see. At the end of the week, Edna came back and they left. I don't know if she'd found a place, got a job or anything and I didn't ask. I gave her a bag of Hazel's old clothes and even though they were a little small, Tyreshia loved them.
A few months went by, then one day, as I was cleaning the apartment, I decided to sweep under Hazel's bed. Lord knows, even the cleanest child seldom sweeps under her bed and Hazel was not the neatest. I pushed the bed out so that I could clear out whatever was under it. That's when I saw the box. What's this? I said to myself. Curious, I picked it up and examined it. It was flat with a strange design on it. I tilted it and out dropped a playing board. It looked like a checker board only it wasn't. It had the word "OUIJA" in big letters on it and other symbols. It slipped right through my fingers and on to the bed. I tried to remember where I'd heard that word before. Then it came to me. One time, long ago when Willie Joe and me use to play cards with Esther and her husband Herman, she mentioned a board where you could receive messages from spirits. I think she called it a "Ouija" board. I put the board back in the box, sat down on the bed and waited until Hazel came home from school.
As soon as she hit the door, I lit into her. "I don't want no black magic in this house, you hear!" I yelled.
She looked startled. Then she saw the box in my hand.
"Whatchu doing in my room messing with my stuff?" She tried to grab it from me.
"Where'd you get this thing from? Who gave it to you?" I stood over her.
"A friend," she said.
"Who, Tyreshia?"
"What if she did!" She looked at me defiantly. I swore she had that same look I'd seen on Tyreshia's face long ago in the yard at Mama's. That did it. I slammed the board down so hard, it broke in two. Then I whipped Hazel's behind so hard my arm hurt and sent her to bed without supper. For months after that the only person she spoke to was Melvin.
From time to time, whenever I picked up the mail, if a letter came to her from Tyreshia, I'd tear it up without opening it and throw it in the trash. I didn't want no communication between that evil girl and my daughter. Eventually, though, as everything does, our relationship got better though we never got as close as we once was.
Just as Hazel was getting into her Toyota, she spotted Manfield standing beside his car smoking a cigarette and talking with another man. Having to use the restroom, she'd thought she'd lost him. But there he was; a few rows from where she'd parked. She slid behind the wheel, and glancing into her rear view mirror, she watched the two men in what seemed to be a friendly conversation. Jones threw back his head, laughing at something the other man said. Then he opened his car door, slid behind the wheel, and waved as he maneuvered the 1954 blue Cadillac down the aisle towards the exit. Hazel followed, not too close behind. With all the traffic, she could stay behind him and not be spotted. He made a right onto the 10 Freeway, joining the line of cars heading east. Driving 40 mph, he leaped frog from one lane to the other, wherever there was an opening. This made it difficult for Hazel to keep up; however, she managed to see his car just as he swung off at La Brea. She dived headlong into the far right lane to the consternation of the other drivers who sounded their horns in disgust. Manfield's car loomed in the distance, going north on La Brea to Olympic where he turned right. Praying she wouldn't be caught by a red light, Hazel increased her speed to keep him in sight. When she got to Olympic, she didn't see his car anywhere. It had disappeared. She glanced up and down the boulevard. Disappointed, she pulled into a strip mall and idled the engine.
Feeling defeated, she thought, this is crazy. What would I do if I caught up with him? He could kill me. Glancing down at her watch she saw that it was almost seven p.m.
'I'd better call the girls so they won't be worried.' She turned off the engine, stepped from the car and searched for a phone booth. Spotting one on the other side of the busy street, she cautiously crossed the boulevard against the light. Once in the graffiti ravaged booth, she picked up the sticky receiver only to discover the insides had been torn out. Frustrated, her shoulders slumped.
In the growing darkness, the neon lights from a Budweiser sign outlined in red and blue caught her eye. The bar sat between a mini-mart and a hardware store. The hardware store was closed. Through the window of the bar, Hazel saw a pay phone on the wall. She entered the almost empty bar and walked over to the phone and dialed her home.
"Where are you, are you all right?" Tricia's voice sounded anxious.
"I decided to stop off at a friend's house but I'll be along soon," Hazel said not wanting to increase their worry. "Don't wait on me for dinner, and be sure you and Shanell do your homework. Clean up the kitchen and look in on Ma’dear."
"Yes, mother," Tricia said patiently, and added something about knowing what to do before she hung up.
Hazel smiled. As she turned to leave, she noticed sitting at a booth in the back was Manfield Jones. Two middle-aged white men in dark suits walked in and sat down across from him. One was tall and had broad shoulders. The shorter one was built like a wrestler. Despite his expensive looking suit, his jacket barely contained his bulging muscles. Both wore hats pulled down so she couldn't make out their features.
Seeing the booth near them unoccupied, she slid in and hoping to make herself invisible, huddled in the corner, her back to the occupants in the next booth.
"What'll you have, Miss?" The waitress stood beside her notepad at the ready. A bored expression on her face, the woman patted her foot impatiently.
Startled, Hazel said quickly, "Wine, I'll have a glass of wine."
"White or red?"
"Red," she said, in almost a whisper.
The waitress sauntered off, wiping tables and straightening chairs as she went back to the bar. Hazel leaned her head against the vinyl upholstery. She lit a cigarette and tried to catch the conversation in the next booth.
"Well, you've been paid but you haven't delivered. What are you gonna do?" she heard one of the men ask. It didn't sound like Manfield Jones. It was harsh and grating as if the man's throat had been swabbed with sandpaper.
"Look fellows. I did my best. I didn't know what was involved. I can't think of nothing else to do." Hazel identified Manfield's voice.
"So, what do you want us to do? You said you could handle the job, you've been paid, now you'd better deliver," The other voice said. "Or else." His voice was soft but with a menacing quality that sent shivers up Hazel's spine.
"Lenny," said the first man. "Why are we wasting our time on this two-bit bum. I told you I didn't trust him."
"I'm sorry," Manfield said. "I'll try again."
"You better come up with something or you'll be wishing you'd never met us." the second man said as both men slid out of the booth. Hazel tried to get a look at them as they passed her on their way to the exit. All she noted was that their suits looked of high quality, their shoes were polished and one wore a brand of cologne Kevin used.
"Here's your wine. That'll be $5.00." The waitress set the glass on the table. Hazel dropped a $10 dollar bill on the tray. "I'll be back with your change," the waitress said as she moved on.
Before reaching the door, one of them glanced back at Manfield. Hazel shifted hoping they hadn't noticed her. Then they were gone.
The waitress returned shortly placing five singles on the table and stood for a moment until Hazel placed $1.00 on the tray. Hips swinging, gum cracking in her mouth, she strolled off to the next booth where Manfield Jones sat.
"You look down in the mouth, Manny? Want some company?" the waitress asked.
"Bring me another scotch and soda, Doll, and some matches."
Hazel sipped her glass of wine slowly wondering what to do next. Deep in thought, she was suddenly aware of someone leaning over her. "Excuse me, Miss. You got a light?" Manfield stood before her.
"Sure, here." She handed him her lighter.
"Thanks." he handed it back to her as he took a long drag on his cigarette. He returned to his seat.
"You mind if I join you?" Hazel said sliding into the seat next to him. "I hate drinking alone." Operating on autopilot, she didn't know where she was going. When opportunity knocks.... she thought. She took a chance that he wouldn't recognize her.
"Naw," he shook his head and drained his glass just as the waitress set another one before him.
"Here're your matches." She looked over at Hazel. "You work fast," she said, a frown on her face.
"Bring her whatever she's drinking and put it on my tab, and bring me another, make it a double." Manny drained his glass again.
"Whoa, slow down. You're putting it away too fast," Darlene, the waitress said.
"Just bring me another one. I know my limit."
Darlene shrugged and went over to the bar.
Manny stared at Hazel for a couple of minutes.
"Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" he said exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I never forget a face."
"Everybody's always telling me I look like somebody else," Hazel laughed as she picked up her glass. What do I do now? She wondered unnecessarily, because soon Manny had reached the talkative stage. Good thing he wasn't one of those ugly drunks, Hazel thought as his tongue began to loosen.
"I just came in for a drink after work, and I noticed you sitting with your friends. I'm glad they left because it gave me a chance to meet you," she said. She could see he was eating that up. He smiled. Then he stared down at his glass.
"What's the matter?" said Hazel. "You look like you've lost your best friend."
"Like them white boys scare me. Shit...I'll wipe up the floor with them." His words slurred.
"Your business partners?" she asked.
"Are you kidding? I don't do no business with them. Well, we got a business deal going." He spilled half his drink but managed to get the rest down. His head started toward the table. "Get me another drink. Hey," he shouted towards the bar. "Bring me another double."
"Naw, baby," Darlene rushed over. "You've had enough." She turned to Hazel. "Lookahere Lady. He can't have no more. You gotta get him outta here before Joe throws him out." She gestured over to the bar.
"Isn't he a friend of yours?" Hazel asked.
"He's a regular, if that's what you mean. Names Manny something or other. Nice guy when he don't drink too much."
"Do you know where he lives?" Hazel asked.
"Look in his wallet," Darlene said. "I gotta get back to work or I'd help you. Joe don't like drunks in here. He'd beat him up as look at him."
Hazel shook him enough to wake him; then as she guided him towards the door, the waitress stuck the bill in her hand. Hazel handed over her last twenty.
Now what am I gonna do with him? She whispered to herself as she maneuvered him to her car and shoved him in. His head dropped back against the car seat and in less than a minute, he was snoring. Gently she searched his pockets for his wallet. She found it in his pants pocket and opened it. On his license she noted his address, 43rd near Central Ave. "Damn," she said aloud. "That's all the way across town." Why couldn't she have shoved him into his Cadillac and left him?
Forty-five minutes later, she pulled up in front of the address, a small house surrounded by a chain-linked fence. The place had seen better days. The house was sorely in need of a paint job and the yard needed weeding, but other than that, it was cute from what Hazel could see. The porch light was on and few people were on the street. A thought hit Hazel. What if he's married? What would his wife think me bringing him home like this?
I'll just have to take my chances, she told herself.
Coming around to his side of the car, she shook him until he was half awake. Managing to get him on his feet, she helped him stumble to the door. Finding his key in his jacket pocket, she opened the door, switched on the light, and spying a couch nearby, she half pulled him over to it and let go. He sprawled across it. Turning over into a fetal position, he went back to sleep and within minutes began snoring.
Fortunately, the house was empty. Hazel went through the place quickly. A tiny kitchen, one bedroom, and a living room, all sparsely furnished. Paying close attention to the snores coming from the sofa, she returned to the bedroom and began examining his dresser but found nothing that told her much about him except a few photographs of him and different ladies, the kind of photos you take at a photo vending machine; bills, and racing forms. She had just about given up when she spotted a folded slip of paper in an ashtray on the nightstand near the telephone. She picked it up and read it. Along with her address, she saw Donald's name and another name and address she didn't recognize. Just as she slipped it into her pocket, she heard a loud cough and the sound of a toilet being flushed. She hurried back to the living room and sat down before Manny came out of the bathroom.
"Who are you?" he growled. "And what are you doing here?"
Her heart racing, she answered as casually as her voice would allow her, "Don't you remember? I brought you home from the Silver Spoon. You were too drunk to drive."
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Thanks. I need a beer. Everything's spinning."
He staggered past her to the kitchen and pulled out a can from his bare refrigerator, bare except for a six-pack of Coors.
"Could I make you some coffee?" she asked.
"If you can find some. I'll stick with the beer." He popped open the can and guzzled down the contents quickly. "What did you say your name was?" He eyed her as she peered into his cabinets for a jar of instant coffee.
"H..hu, Harriet. Harriet Emerson. You forgot that you invited me for a drink." Having found the coffee and whatever else she needed, she put water in the teakettle and set it on the stove.
He lit a cigarette and got another beer. "I don't remember much when I drink." He gazed at her through a haze of smoke. She turned her head away, glancing around his tiny kitchen. A roach crawled up the wall. Her eyes followed it as it meandered towards the cabinets and then down towards the sink.
He rose quickly and knocked it to the floor with his hand and crushed it beneath his feet.
"Hate them things! Hate this place! Hate L.A.!" He began to curse but quickly apologized. "Soon as I get enough money, I'm outta here. Going back home, buy me some land, and..."
The piercing whistle from the kettle drowned out his words. Hazel leaped up and shut off the stove. As she measured out the coffee and poured water into two cups, she responded, "I hate L.A. too. I'd love to live in the country," she lied. Manny went on about his dream house. After a while, she brought the conversation back to the present.
"Tonight, at the Silver Spoon, you seemed upset about something."
He lit another cigarette and stared at his cup. "Got mixed up in something I wish I hadn't." He shook his head. "But I can handle it." Changing the subject, he returned to his dream house. Hazel tried unsuccessfully to bring the conversation back to the Silver Spoon.
Suddenly he said, "I know you from somewhere." He stared at her like an artist preparing to paint her portrait.
"I do that sometimes myself. I see a face and think I know that person," she laughed nervously. "Turns out we all have doubles or so I've heard." She noticed he no longer looked drunk. And the longer he stared, the more uncomfortable she felt.
"I never forget a face." He seemed to be trying hard to place her. Time for me to go before he remembers, she thought.
After draining his cup, he rose. "I gotta take a leak. Be right back." He got up with a bit more energy than he had before. As soon as she heard him reliving himself, she made for the door, slipped out and hurried to her car. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was after 2 A.M. As she headed for the freeway she said aloud, "A wasted evening." She plunged her hand into her purse in search of her pack of cigarettes and instead, pulled out the slip of paper she'd taken from Manny's dresser. Maybe not completely wasted, she thought as she scanned it.
Momma got in real late. I heard the door open, but I didn't feel like getting up. She didn't turn on any lights, just went to bed. The next morning she told us about her evening.
"You coulda been killed," Shanell said.
"Momma, you're always telling us to be careful and you just followed this man and went to his house." I shook my head. I was mad. "If anything had happened to you..."
"Well, it didn't." Momma said. "I shouldn't have told you."
"So what do we do now?" Shanell asked.
"You two don't do anything except go to school and get your education. The term's almost over, Tricia's about to graduate. You let me worry about this. Now run along to school before you're late."
School, yeah. Only a two weeks to go and with luck, I'll be walking down the aisle to get my diploma. It didn't seem real yet that I'd be graduating soon. I'd managed to pull up my grades and with final exams coming, I needed to spend all my spare time studying. But I was worried about Momma and this thing with Donald.
Me and Shanell had dinner ready by the time Momma got home.
"How's Ma’dear?" she asked as soon as she settled down.
Each day Ma’dear seemed a little better. She was staying awake longer and even putting together a few words. The nurse says she's even got Ma’dear to take a few steps. Once school is out, Momma said we have to let the nurse go because she can't afford her much longer. I guess we'll have to take care of her during the summer until Momma can figure something else out.
I hadn't told anybody not even Shanell about that time with Hi C though I hadn't forgotten about it. At first it felt like everybody was looking at me. Then I realized nobody could tell that I'd almost been raped. I never got up enough nerve to tell Darien about that night, and he never asked. He'd call and we'd talk on the phone, but for some reason, every time he asked me out, I'd make up some excuse not to go. I'd tell him I had to study or Momma wanted me to do something, or I'd have to take care of Ma’dear. He said he understood and didn't press me. I wondered how long I could keep making excuses. One day I'd have to tell him.
As far as my singing career went, I'd put that in the back of my mind. Whenever I'd think about it, Hi C would pop into my head like a sour note.
"What's this?" Mama said, spreading the newspaper out on the table. "MAN FOUND DEAD IN THE PARKING LOT OF THE SILVER SPOON." She held her breath.
"They're always finding people dead somewhere," Shanell said. She reached over and tried to take the newspaper from Momma. "Can I read my horoscope?"
"Who?" I asked noticing the shocked look on Momma's face.
"Manfield Jones found dead in his car at the Silver Spoon, shot three times in the head..." Momma read.
"Did you know him?" Shanell asked.
"He's the man Momma told us about. I'm getting scared." I felt my heart pounding.
"Me, too," Shanell echoed.
"You all don't have anything to worry about." Momma tried to reassure us, but I could tell she wasn't feeling too comfortable about it either.
"The last thing he said was that he just wanted to go back South and buy some land."
"Shouldn't we go to the police?" I asked.
"It's not a "we" problem. You and Shanell are not involved. It's Donald's problem. He dragged us into it. Now I've got to get us out of it. Go to the police? What would I tell them? That Manfield Jones tried to steal my purse and then I drove him home after he'd had too much to drink? They'd think I'd lost my mind or worse; that I had something to do with his death. Don't forget, they're still looking for two women in connection with Foster's death. No, I can't go to the police."
"But Momma," I said. "Suppose one of those men in the Silver Spoon comes looking for you."
"You let me worry about that."
When I suggested she tell Kevin, she said she didn't want him involved. I could see she had her mind made up. There wasn't anything me and Shanell could do.
A week went by and one evening Momma came home from work and told us she'd been laid off.
"I'm glad it's finally happened. Having it hang over my head like a brick waiting to fall hasn't been easy. At least now I can get on with other things. Maybe I can finish school quicker and take the paralegal exam.
"I'll be out of school soon and I can look for a job and help with the bills," I said. She smiled and went in to see how Ma’dear was. We sat down that night and Momma discussed ways we could manage our finances. Along with a cut in our allowances, and no more buying lunch at school, the nurse would have to be let go sooner than she'd planned.
"Since I'm going to be home, until I can find another job, I'll take care of Ma’dear."
One thing we never talked about since Ma’dear came to live with us, but something I noticed and that was Momma's relationship with her mother. It seemed like even though she looked in on Ma’dear every evening when she came home, she never spent any time with her like Shanell and me. I asked her once why she never talked to Ma’dear like Shanell and I did. She said something like she had nothing to say. It'd all been said years ago. I suspect that whatever happened between them must have been heavy. So when she said she'd be taking care of Ma’dear, I was surprised.
*****
Staying home every day seemed to be wearing on Momma; actually, on all of us. At first it was great because every morning she'd have our lunch made to take to school and when we got home she'd cooked a fancy meal. We didn't have chores to do because Momma took care of them. The apartment was sparkling.
Every day she'd take Ma’dear to the park. And sometimes when I got in from school, Ma’dear would be sitting in the living room. Sometimes I'd even hear her and Momma having a conversation together. I didn't know what they were saying, but at least they were talking.
Soon though, Momma seemed to be getting restless. She said her unemployment check hadn't started yet, and her savings were getting low, she needed to start going out to look for a job. It had been a while since she mentioned Donald, Mr. Foster, or Manfield Jones. I was glad. I didn't want any distractions. Studying all the time was paying off for me. Final exams were next week.
"How could you do this to me, Mama!" Hazel waved a letter in my face. "How could you take my mail and rip it up. You got no right!"
"Don't you tell me what I can and can't do. Just who do you think you're talking to, Miss Sassy? Just because you're eighteen you think you're too grown to be slapped. Now just get out of my face."
I turned away and went back to frying chicken knowing full well she was right. I heard the door slam. Probably gone down to her friend Benita's house like she always do whenever she's mad. My thoughts went back to the letter. How could I have missed that one? I was the only one with the mailbox key. At first chance, I checked for it in my purse. It was still there on the key ring with all the other keys.
I went to Hazel's room and there was the letter on her dresser. I picked it up and knowing I was in the wrong, I read it. "It was so good hearing from you after all these years. I wondered why you never answered my letters." So, that was how Hazel knew. Then I remembered. The other day she asked if she could pick up the mail. I don't know where my mind was but I told her to get the keys from my purse.
After that day with the letter, Hazel became a different person. We were drifting even further apart. Not long after, when I came in from work, I found a note saying that she had run away. I called Melvin. He had joined the Air Force and was stationed in North Carolina.
"Well, Ma. She's eighteen, which means she's grown. There's nothing the police can do."
I didn't tell him the real reason she'd run away. I didn't tell him that it was because of the fight we had over Tyreshia. We had a terrible battle. She even accused me of being responsible for Sadie's death. She said Tyreshia found out that I had something to do with my best friend's death. Said she hated me and didn't care if she never saw me again. The next day, she was gone.
I had a dream one night about Willie Joe and Sadie. I dreamed about the good times in Harlem, the house rent parties, and the dances at Rockland Palace and the Savoy. I remember the times we went to the Apollo Theatre to see Buck and Bubbles and Moms Mabley. Those were happy times. When I woke up, I knew I had to find Hazel and explain.
The people I worked for, Dr. and Mrs. Winters, were going on vacation soon and I knew if I asked Mrs. Winters, she'd let me go for a few days. They'd be closing down the house anyway until they came back.
A few days later, I boarded the Greyhound bus to Baltimore and armed with an address Edna had given me, I took a taxi there. The taxi stopped in front of an old run down looking rooming house. I stood for a moment looking up at the three-story building. It seemed like every one of them large windows was open and people had their heads stuck out. It was the noisiest place I'd been to in a long while. Children playing out in the street, running every whichaway, cars honking and zipping up and down the street, music blaring.
I walked up the stairs and knocked on the first door I came to. I heard a baby crying. After a few minutes, somebody yelled, "Who is it!" A young girl about seven years old opened and peeked up at me, her face stained with dirt. I asked for Edna's room.
"Don't nobody named Edna live here." She slammed the door in my face. I knocked on another door and another until finally, an old lady in a wheel chair told me that a woman named Edna with a strange acting daughter use to live there but had moved.
"Don't know where."
I had run into a blank wall. Disappointed, not knowing where to turn, I took the bus back home. My baby was gone and I didn't know where to look. Yes, she was eighteen, but that didn't make no difference. She was still my child.
The feeling of hopelessness gradually went away. As they say, "Time heals all wounds," and even though I missed her, I had to go on with my life. Somehow I knew she was all right and that she'd come home when she needed me.
Little did I know how true that statement was. Eight months later, when I got home from work one evening, so tired I could hardly drag myself up the steps, who should be sitting outside my door but a very pregnant Hazel.
"Mama, I'm sorry," was all she said. She didn't have to say any more. I was so happy to see her; my tiredness seemed to disappear. I didn't ask her about her pregnancy or where she'd been. It wasn't important. We didn't say anything about Tyreshia either.
It didn't matter. My baby was back and she needed me. We needed each other. A month later, Tricia was born.
Shanell was feeling out of sorts. She'd stayed home from school on the pretense of being sick. Actually, she hadn't been able to sleep and had been awake most of the night. At first Hazel had insisted she go, with school ending soon. Then she relented especially since she had job-hunting to do and Shanell could watch Ma’dear while she was out.
The sun was bright, the weather mild, little smog, and generally a very pleasant day. Shanell got up around eleven o'clock and tiptoed into her grandmother's room. Hazel had made breakfast so there was little for Shanell to do except remove the dishes and tend to any needs Ma’dear might have.
Ma’dear was awake. She smiled at Shanell when she walked into the room and patted the bed for the girl to sit.
"How you doing this morning, Ma’dear?" She kissed her grandmother on the cheek, climbed on the bed and curled up beside her.
"What'chu doing home? Saturday?" Ma’dear said, her voice barely above a whisper. Each day she seemed to be getting stronger. The doctor was pleased with her progress. Though she hadn't fully regained her speech, she could get out enough words to be understood.
"Nobody's home but me. I didn't feel well. Would you like to go to the park?" Shanell asked. "It's a beautiful day? I'll get dressed; then I'll ask our neighbor, Mr. Frazier, to help me take you downstairs and we'll have a picnic in the park. Okay?"
Shanell took a quick shower, dressed, made sandwiches, packed them in a bag, and went in to help her grandmother. For a month now, Ma’dear had been able to move around by herself. She had regained enough strength to go to the bathroom by herself and with some difficulty, washed herself. However, because it took so much effort, she tired easily and therefore, seldom ventured far from the bedroom. On rare occasions, the girls and sometimes Hazel, would help her into the living room to sit and watch TV together.
This morning, sitting on the side of her bed, she tried to put on her dress but it was hung up around her neck. Shanell helped her get into the dress and into the wheel chair. She pushed her to the door and then went down to the Fraziers. Mr. Frazier followed her back up to her apartment and carried Ma’dear down to the street.
"She's looking much better. How's she feeling?" Mr. Frazier asked Shanell. Turning to Ma’dear, he shouted, "HOW ARE YOU FEELING, MRS. LIVINGSTON?" Shanell sighed. Why do people act like she can't hear, she thought. Ma’dear shook her head and smiled.
"YOU TAKING HER TO THE PARK? IT'S A NICE DAY FOR IT. I WISH I WAS GOING THERE MYSELF," He laughed as he caught himself. "Now when you come back, be sure to call me. I'm happy to be of service to a pretty little girl like yourself." He ambled back up the steps and went inside.
"Let's see if we can't find a good place for a picnic," said Shanell as she wheeled her grandmother down the block and across the street to the park entrance. She passed several cement tables. Though they were empty, they were dotted with pigeon waste. Some were covered with graffiti. Others had broken benches, while still others were heavily stained.
"Looks like we'll have to have our picnic over here." She stopped at a bench near the sandbox and swings. Unwrapping one peanut butter sandwich, she handed it to her grandmother. She ate the other one as they sat and watched the children play. Suddenly, she saw one child she recognized.
"Tommy, stop kicking sand on that girl!" she heard someone yell from some distance away. Then she saw the young woman coming over to the child. It was Gloria, the girl she had met several months ago. Shanell considered calling out to her. She stopped herself remembering how Gloria had left her with her two children at her apartment and didn't get back until late. Gloria grabbed Tommy around the waist, dangling him precariously on her hip, his head bumping against her, she hauled him over to the stroller where his sister Chemise sat howling. Shanell watched Gloria as she spanked Tommy on the behind and jammed a pacifier in Chemise's mouth. Holding Tommy securely by the arm, she propelled the stroller down the path towards Shanell. As they drew closer, Shanell stood up to say hello, but Gloria didn't glance her way. "Just wait until I get your ass home." She pulled Tommy along as they walked past.
"She didn't even remember me," Shanell mumbled once they were out of earshot. Another thing Shanell noticed with surprise - Gloria's swollen belly. She was expecting her third child!
"I knew her once," She explained to Ma’dear. "I babysat for her. She went out to the store and was supposed to come right back but she didn't. Not until late and I got in trouble with Momma.
I use to wonder why Momma was so strict with Tricia and me. Now I see. She didn't want us to end up like Gloria."
"Your Momma's strict on you both, because I was with her," Ma’dear said in a hoarse whisper.
"You mean you watched over her every move? Didn't want her to go out with boys until she was grown?"
Ma’dear smiled. "Mothers want best for children. Hard because don't wanta make same mistakes." Shanell had to lean close to Ma’dear. Her speech was slow and halting. It took a lot of effort.
"You didn't get into no trouble when you was growing up, did you? You grew up in the South. There wasn't no way you could get into trouble down on the farm. Not like now with drugs and gangs and teenagers having babies. Things are much worse now."
"Times changed but same. No drugs or gangs but girls having babies. Not accepted, sent away. Worse, no opportunity. Had to know your place."
Shanell knew what she meant. She'd studied about the Civil Rights Movement in school.
"I'm glad I didn't live back then."
"Left South when little older than you. Ran off New York."
"You did? I didn't know that. Did you go alone?"
Ma’dear's eyes misted. Her voice dropped even lower. "No, with friend Sadie." She laughed. "Sadie, more energy than wild horses. Talked loud always telling jokes."
In her halting way, Ma’dear told Shanell about coming North and having no skills, getting her first job working in service. Getting married.
"To Grandpa Livingston?"
No, first husband name Willie Joe Harris. Died suddenly, Melvin's father."
"What happened to your friend Sadie?"
Ma’dear coughed. "Thirsty." Shanell looked into the bag she'd packed with lunch. All that remained was a warm can of Ginger ale. She carefully opened it and held it up for Ma’dear to take a sip.
"Tired," Ma’dear whispered.
Shanell waited in silence for her grandmother to continue. They sat a little longer and she noticed Ma’dear had fallen asleep. The sun beat down on them. She felt a bead of sweat roll down her cheek.
"Guess we'd better be getting home." She tossed the empty paper bag, used napkins and empty soda can into the trash bin and started for home pushing Ma’dear slowly so as not to wake her.
Once she got her grandmother home, and in bed, Shanell turned to go, but Ma’dear held her hand. Once again she patted the space on the bed to indicate she wanted her granddaughter to sit beside her for a while. Shanell noticed tears in the corner of her grandmother's eyes as she tried to speak, slowly at first; as she went on, her voice grew stronger. She told Shanell about her life in New York with Willie Joe and Sadie. After Melvin was born, she sent him to live with her mother. She spoke about meeting and marrying Grandpa Livingston and Hazel's birth.
Shanell realized that Ma’dear wasn't talking to her; it was as if she needed to relieve herself of a weight she'd been carrying so long. Finally, when she stopped, after a long moment of silence, Shanell asked, "How did your first husband die? Was he killed in a car accident or lynched or something?"
"No, he just got sick and died."
"Tell me more about Sadie. What happened to her?"
Ma’dear didn't answer. She turned over on her side, away from her granddaughter. Shanell took that as a sign her grandmother wanted to sleep, so she turned off the TV and tiptoed from the room.
That evening as the family sat down to dinner, Shanell related her afternoon to her mother and sister. "Ma’dear and me was talking about the time when she was young. She told me about her first husband. I didn't know she'd been married before. Did you, Momma?"
Hazel seemed preoccupied. She'd been out all day, trying to find another job without much luck.
"Yes, I think I remember something about it. Melvin told me."
"She said her husband got sick and died. He wasn't that old, was he?" asked Shanell, as she sprinkled a generous amount of salt over everything on her plate.
Hazel frowned, "No, I don't think so." She picked up the saltshaker and moved it to the far side of the table out of her daughter's reach.
"Ma’dear told me about her friend Sadie, too. She didn't say much though."
"Why are you so curious? Sound like a detective or something," Tricia said. Hazel didn't respond.
"Did you know Sadie, Momma?" asked Tricia, reaching over for a slice of bread.
"I heard your grandmother speak of her at one time," said Hazel.
"Wasn't she your friend Tyreshia's aunt?" continued Tricia.
"Now who's being nosey?" Shanell said.
Looking up from her plate, she glared at Tricia. "How do you know about Tyreshia?" Hazel asked in a harsh voice.
"I remember when I was about ten, this woman came to the house," responded Tricia, seeming not to notice her mother's sudden tenseness.
"It's a long story and it's not important," Hazel answered hoping to close the matter. They ate in silence when suddenly the phone rang, startling everyone. Shanell jumped up to answer it.
"It's for you, Momma," she said handing the phone to her mother. "It's the police."
The old fear that had gripped them when they were involved with Donald and his troubles came back hovering over the family like a time bomb. Each had believed or hoped that the matter had been resolved, though Hazel knew better. As she spoke into the receiver, Shanell and Tricia strained to listen.
"They want me to come down to the station tonight," she said as she hung up the telephone.
"You're not going, are you?" Shanell asked. "Why do they want to see you? What for?"
Tricia jumped up. "I'm going with you."
Hazel tried to dissuade her but her daughter insisted.
"Can I come too?" Shanell asked.
"No, you stay home and look after Ma’dear." Hazel gathered her things as she and Tricia started for the door, "And clean up the kitchen," she called before going out.
Once they had gone, Shanell felt dissatisfied. So many unanswered questions. Ma’dear was asleep, the apartment was quiet, and TV was a wasteland. She didn't feel like calling her friend Babe, and after she finished washing and putting away the dishes, pots and pans, she felt restless. Reluctantly, she decided to finish the boring book she needed to write a report on for her English class.
Trying to remember where she'd laid it, she looked around the living room and the bedroom she and Tricia shared. Then she remembered. She'd left it in Ma’dear's room. Quietly slipping into the room, she looked around. Ma’dear's gentle snoring comforted her somewhat. Searching quickly for the book she spotted it on the floor beside Ma’dear's suitcase. The suitcase was open and an old notebook was sticking out. Curiosity got the best of Shanell. She slid the notebook from beneath her grandmother's winter clothes that Hazel had promised to pack away one day. Shanell recognized it as a journal written in her Ma'dear's distinct handwriting. She glanced over at her sleeping grandmother and then at the notebook.
Sliding silently to the floor, her back resting against the closet, she opened the notebook and started reading.
"I remember when I was a little girl..." Before long, Shanell sank deep into the yellowed pages. When she heard her grandmother's deep sigh, she jumped. Pushing off feelings of guilt, she stashed the notebook beneath her tee shirt and quietly made her way from the room. Once in her and Tricia's bedroom, she propped herself on the bed and continued to read.
Two hours later she heard the front door open and knew that her mother and Tricia were back. She greeted them, not even asking details about their adventure at the police station. Once her sister and mother had gone to sleep, she slipped backed into her grandmother's room and put the notebook back where she found it. Tomorrow she'd continue where she left off. In those hours of reading her grandmother's journal, what she'd learned about Willie Joe and Sadie whetted her appetite for more.
When Momma and I walked into the police station, I was more than a little nervous. This was the first time I'd been in a place like that. I had expected it to look like those places I'd seen in those old movies set in a big city, a grimy old building with a tall ceiling, dingy walls and huge wooden desks where a mean sergeant peered down on everybody, and sweaty cops hauled in suspects; noisy with a lot of shouting.
I was surprised to see how the place looked like a regular office with cubicles, like where Momma worked. It was neat, quiet and except for the men in uniforms, I wouldn't have believed this was a police station. Don't get me wrong, it didn't look all that innocent but it wasn't a bit like I had expected.
While Momma went up to speak to an officer at the desk, I sat down and waited. On the walls I saw photos of all the past police chiefs. There was only one other person who seemed to be waiting, a small man who looked like he'd seen better days. He smelled bad, like he needed a bath, his head kept dropping to his chest, as if he was trying not to fall asleep but couldn't help himself. I slid to the other end of the bench as far away from him as I could.
As I sat there waiting, a tune started playing in my head, not a complete song, just a melody that had been bugging me off and on. You know how you get a jingle in your head and can't let go. I started to put words to it. It'd been a good month since I'd even thought about singing. That time with Hi C just knocked the desire right out of me. When I think about that time, I start to shake. Now, all of a sudden, I was feeling the urge to write down the words. And it's strange because I never before thought about writing a song. I never even thought I could write. That was what Kanisha did. Gracie and I just sang. Maybe it was seeing Darien again. No, I wasn't ready to deal with that.
I looked around for something to write on. Somebody had left a stack of flyers on the table next to me. I glanced at the announcement telling people about scams. "Don't be a Victim!" I didn't think anybody would miss a few pieces of paper so I took a couple and started writing on the back. I wrote down the lines in my head. I got so caught up in writing, I didn't see Momma when she came out and stood in front of me.
"Let's get out of here," she said as she headed for the door.
I shoved the paper in my pocket. "What happened inside? What did they want?" I hurried to keep up with her.
Momma stopped to light a cigarette before unlocking the car door. "I'm so sick of this mess. I wish I'd never heard of Donald Porter." She seemed to be talking to herself.
"What did they want?" I asked again.
"They found my name and address in Manfield Jones's apartment and they wanted to know if I knew him."
"What did you tell them?"
"What could I tell them? That he and his friend assaulted me, and that I picked him up at a bar and drove him home? No, I told them I didn't. I said I don't know how he got my name and address. Then one of the detectives that came to the house remembered seeing me and asked if I'd heard from Donald. I think they know there's some connection, but they haven't figured it out yet. Another thing they asked me that almost scared the life out of me. They asked about Foster. I said I never heard of him. I don't think they believed me."
She was speeding down the freeway, clutching the steering wheel. I could see she was scared and it was scaring me. But by the time we reached home, she was calm.
She smiled and said, "You go on upstairs. I'm going to see Kevin for a little while. I'll be back soon. Look in on 'Nell and your grandmother. I'm sorry I laid this all on you."
"That's alright, Momma. We're a team, right? We'll get through this thing together." I tried to smile back. "Don't worry. Are you sure you're alright?"
She pulled me over and hugged me. "You're growing up to be a beautiful young lady. You and 'Nell make me proud." She kissed me on the cheek.
I got out of the car and started up the steps. I stopped halfway up and watched the car as it disappeared down the street. As I reached in my pocket for the door key, my hand touched a scrap of paper. I pulled it out. On it was written a telephone number. Then it came back to me.
Earlier that day I had run into Kanisha. I was coming out of the grocery store and who should be on her way in but Kanisha. I hadn't seen or spoken to her in months. I use to avoid her whenever I spotted her before she saw me. We didn't like each other, I suppose. It wasn't that I didn't like her. I was uncomfortable around her. When she was high, she seemed to be mad all the time, always yelling or cursing somebody out. This time, though she had a big smile on her face when she saw me.
"Tricia, what have you been up to, girl?" She hugged me.
"Nothing much. Just trying to finish school." Pulling away carefully, I tried to hide my surprise.
"I miss you. Never heard from Gracie again. Guess she's still down South or wherever the hell she went. I guess she's planning to stay. Anyway, I wrote some new songs, got me a new manager, and a guy I met down at the studio is looking for a lead vocalist. I thought about you. You've got a fantastic voice. You got a piece of paper? I'll give you his number."
She tore off a corner of the paper bag I was carrying and wrote down a name and number.
"Now, you be sure to call him."
I told her I would, though I wasn't sure I wanted to.
"Gotta go," she said. "Good seeing you." She grabbed a shopping cart and walked into the store.
I waited until she was out of sight. Then caught the bus home
Hazel was more shaken than she wished to admit. The police had questioned her and warned her about withholding evidence. She'd hoped that since she hadn't heard from Donald or anybody else, it had all blown over, leaving her to concentrate on finding another job. But no, the problem was still there, waiting. Damn! She thought. When will it end?
Glancing down at her watch, she debated whether to disturb Kevin. It was 1:30 AM and he was probably asleep. Yet she needed to talk to someone; she needed him. After ringing his bell several times with no answer, she remembered he was out of town on business and wouldn't be back until next week.
She sat down on his steps and let the tears that she'd been holding in flow. The frustration of having lost her job; the fear of her being arrested for something she had no control over; the danger she'd put her family in because she let Donald use her home as a mail drop. Feeling completely alone and overwhelmed, she cried until she felt weak and extremely tired. When they finally stopped, she pulled herself up from the steps and went back to her car and drove home.
The next morning, Hazel was awakened by the telephone ringing.
"Mrs. Porter?" the voice on the other end asked.
"Yes." Hazel's voice sounded hoarse to her ears. Covering the mouthpiece, she cleared her throat.
"You don't know me but I know you and you have something that belongs to me."
Hazel sat up, her heart beat rapidly.
"Are you still there?" A man's voice asked.
"Yes, I'm still here."
"As I was saying, you have something that belongs to me and I'd like to have it back." His voice was cold and detached, like someone planning a funeral. She felt shivers run down her spine.
"You know what I'm speaking of?" he continued.
She nodded then mumbled, "Yes."
"Would you prefer I sent someone to pick it up or will you bring it to me? I'd rather not disturb your mother and your daughters if I don't have to."
"I'll bring it to you," she said, holding the receiver with both hands, aware of the trembling fear she felt.
"Good. This is what I want you to do." He waited while she got a pencil and paper to write down the directions.
"One last thing, If I were you, I wouldn't tell anyone else about this. Don't you agree?"
She nodded, catching herself. "Yes."
It was 10:15 AM. He gave her an hour. Hazel leaped out of bed, hopped in the shower, dressed, and after looking in on her mother who was asleep, she picked up the tray holding the empty breakfast dishes, and quietly closed the door. Tricia must have given her breakfast before going to school. Grateful, Hazel made herself a cup of coffee, stuffed the black book into her purse and started on her way.
Traffic was heavy driving out to the Marina. Finding a place to park was not easy. By the time Hazel reached the restaurant where she was supposed to hand over the book, it was almost 11:20. Though lunchtime was forty minutes away, Fishermen's Haven was already crowded—Middle-aged men, a few dressed in suits, others dressed casually in polo shirts and slacks, women in floral sun dresses, skirts, and some in shorts, with expensive looking necklaces, earrings and bracelets.
Hazel stood for a moment in the foyer behind two couples waiting. Surveying the crowd she didn't know whom she was supposed to meet. The man on the phone had given her the address and only told her to be there in an hour.
Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm and being pulled roughly to the side. Stifling a scream, she slapped her hand over her mouth when she saw who it was.
"Donald! What are you doing here?"
"Quick, come with me. Don't look back!" He dragged her out to the parking lot and over to his car.
"Get in! Hurry!"
She scrambled in and closed the door.
He jumped behind the wheel, backed out and headed for the exit.
"What's this all about? What are you doing here?" she asked.
It was all she could do to get her seat belt fastened as he drove recklessly down the busy highway.
"Did you bring the book?" he glanced over at her.
"Who was it on the phone this morning?"
"I'll explain it all later. Did you bring the black book?"
She reached into her purse and pulled it out.
"What's going on? There's been two murders, I've been threatened, my family has been threatened, my house ransacked. I'm scared out of my wits, Donald. How could you do this to us?"
"I'm sorry I got you involved. Really I am. It's almost over."
"The restaurant. I was supposed to turn this book over to some man at Fishermen's Haven. Who is he?"
"He owns the book. If you'd given it back, you would be just as dead as Foster and Jones. You know too much."
"But I don't know anything, that's the problem. I haven't a clue about what's going on."
Just then, Donald glanced in the rearview mirror.
"A car is following us. Hold on!" He pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car shot forward doing almost 90 mph. The Mercedes behind kept up.
'Look, I'm not going to be able to outrun whoever's following. There's a place just up ahead. I'm going to pull in and let you out. Don't worry; it's always packed. You'll get lost in the crowd. Give me the book and take this." He handed her a thick envelope. "This will explain everything." He exited the freeway and made a right into the parking lot of the Malibu Colony Plaza.
"Hazel, I've always loved you. Wish I hadn't let you get away. What's that thing they say, 'you never miss the water..."
She scrambled out of his car and dashed into the nearest souvenir store. As she watched him pull out, she saw the silver Mercedes come up, maneuvering slowly between the hordes of people climbing down from a tour bus. Donald managed to put distance between him and the Mercedes, turning left and speeding back the way they had come.
Finally getting free from the mass of people, the Mercedes reached the exit, turned left and continued on its pursuit.
"May I help you?" A smiling young lady greeted Hazel.
"No, thank you," Hazel responded. "Where's the ladies room?"
Once safely in the stall, Hazel felt her heartbeat slow. She took a deep breath, pulled out the papers Donald had given her and began to read.
"So that's what this is all about," she muttered. With trembling hands, she tucked the papers back into her purse.
*****
That evening, as the family watched the news on TV, with all the usual disasters - police standoffs, kidnapping, freeway chases, - one story in particular caught Hazel's attention. It was about a car crash on PCH.
"Earlier today," the announcer read, "there was a horrendous accident on Pacific Coast Highway. A 1975 red Datsun tumbled down the cliff, hitting the rocks below and falling into the ocean. Witnesses say the car was traveling at over 100 mph when it hit the guardrail and plunged over the side, probably killing the driver instantly."
"Donald!" Hazel drew in her breath. She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach.
"What did you say, Momma?" Shanell asked.
"Nothing." It's over she whispered to herself as she said a silent prayer for him. Tomorrow, I'll take this envelope to the police and tell them everything I know.
Chapter 49 -Tricia - Graduation Day
I can't believe it! It's finally over. I mean over. This is the beginning and ending of something. What I mean to say is I'm done with high school - that's the ending. It's also the beginning. I called that number Kanisha gave me. I auditioned for a record producer and would you believe, I get to make a demo next week? I've decided that even if I do make it in the music business, I'm seriously thinking about going to college in the fall. Maybe I'll major in fashion design. It's just a thought. And Darien; He's out there sitting with Momma, her boyfriend Kevin, Shanell and Ma’dear. He wants to take me out after the program.
Ma’dear's gotten a lot better; well enough to come to my graduation. Uncle Melvin and his wife bought a house and want Ma’dear to come and stay with them. Momma told them Ma’dear's staying with us. Whatever the problem was between them, it was resolved. Would you believe Shanell had a hand in it? It seems that Nell read Ma’dear's diary and showed it to Momma. At first Momma was angry at her for reading Ma'dear's diary, but then she said she felt relieved and ashamed for all she'd put her mother through. When I asked her about it, she just said she'd tell me one day. I guess I'll never learn the details.
Oh yes, that business with Donald is over. We thought he'd been killed in a car crash, but about a week later, after Momma had gone to the police with the papers he'd given her, the senator was arrested for murder. Momma got this long distance collect call from Ghana and who should it be but Donald. He said he'd faked the crash to get the senator off his back. As far as everyone is concerned, he's dead and he wants it to stay that way. He's off on another hair brain scheme—this time in Africa. He told Momma she could keep the money. Thank goodness because she'll need it until she finds another job.
As far as that black book is concerned, Momma told us the book contained names of prominent business men and politicians, dates and phone numbers, and money paid to call girls. All in code. Sounds like a bad B movie. Anyway, Donald's partner Mr. Foster had set up an escort service and when it fell through, he started blackmailing some of the clients. Somehow the book disappeared along with $10,000. Donald stole it from his partner, of course. Before anyone could pay him off, Mr. Foster was murdered and Donald, the jerk, disappeared leaving Momma holding the bag. And then...
"Tricia, stop daydreaming, you're on."
"Now for a special treat. One of our most talented students, Tricia Porter, will sing a song she wrote for the graduating class."