Chapter Eleven

 

April leafed through a copy of Outdoor Life, dog-eared and out of season, as she sat in the waiting area of the real estate office. The choice had been between an ancient Outdoor Life and an impressive stack of Reader’s Digest. April avoided Reader’s Digest, They represented too many memories of too many waiting rooms, with every type of unpleasant experience on the other side of too many innocuous doors—dentists, doctors, counselors. April had long thought “waiting room” a misnomer. More like “anxiety room.” Today was no exception. This could be a traumatic interview.

Alfred Jones knew she was there. She saw recognition in the man’s eyes as soon as she entered the building. Cubicle offices for the firm’s three agents surrounded the waiting area, but she hadn’t needed to ask the secretary which one was Mr. Jones. As April entered the building, he looked through the picture window that separated his office from the waiting area. When they made eye contact, April felt the intensity of his gaze, a strange mixture of embarrassment and determination. In that brief moment, April identified Alfred Jones as a man determined to do the right thing. He nodded in recognition, not interrupting his session with the young couple sitting in front of his desk. April didn’t even have time to finish the article on rock climbing, before she saw the young couple rise, while Alfred sent them on their way with a smile and a stack of freshly signed documents.

Mr. Jones smile lost a touch of its intensity as the couple exited through the front door, and he turned to face his next visitor. He stood inside his office doorway, visibly collecting his composure, as he repeatedly straightened the lapels of his jacket. April also noticed his nervous glance outside the plate glass window overlooking the parking lot. In that instant, she realized the risk this man dared.

“Are you April Sims?” he asked.

“Yes.”

As a reflex, Jones reached for a handshake before his hand retreated to his suit pocket. April could see his hand fiddle nervously beneath the material. The movement was subtle, but it made April wonder if Alfred Jones had ever before knowingly conversed with a lesbian. He seemed to fear her, as though she carried a dreaded disease.

“I appreciate your coming to my office.”

“Sounded important,” April responded.

The man straightened his lapels and looked directly into April’s eyes. “It is.” Mr. Jones waved toward his office. “Won’t you come in?”

April stepped inside and took a seat as Jones closed the door. He sat at his desk and played absently with an inexpensive pen blazoned with the name of his firm. The repeated click, click irritated April. She sat patiently, waiting for the man to initiate the conversation.

“I…I wanted to apologize,” Jones said.

“For what?” April asked.

Three quick clicks on the pen reinforced April’s awareness of the gentleman’s difficulty with continuing the conversation. “Not all of us at New Life Ministries agree with Brother Thomas’s views.”

“I appreciate your courage in calling me. I don’t imagine Ralph Thomas is very receptive to disagreement.”

Jones’s face reddened. “I supported Brother Thomas when we voted to call him as pastor. I’m growing to believe it was a serious mistake.” The man cleared his throat. “Don’t misunderstand. I don’t agree with your…that is, I believe it’s wrong to be a…”

“Homosexual,” April said.

“Yes.”

April shrugged. “I’d never deny anyone the right to their beliefs.”

“Yet you continue to live a life that’s evil,” the man said, in a flash of anger.

A sad smile teased at April’s eyes and lips. “Mr. Jones, I respect what you believe, but I don’t believe as you do.” She leaned forward, emphasizing her words. “Most gays have had to go through some pretty awful self-hate, because people like you tell us we’re evil. I grew past that a long time ago. I’m at peace with myself and my God, and I don’t need you to tell me what God thinks of me and my lifestyle.”

“But the Bible says…”

“The Bible says, ‘Judgement is mine, sayeth the Lord.’ I have no problem at all waiting for God to pass judgement on my life.” April pushed her hair away from her face in an irritated motion. “I wonder if Reverend Ralph Thomas could say the same.”

A rapid percussion of clicks from the ballpoint pen indicated the depth of Alfred Jones’s troubled thoughts. “I don’t know,” he responded softly. “I’m sorry, Miss Sims. What Brother Thomas and his followers did to your friend and her business was wrong.”

“We agree on that.”

“I will do what I can to persuade them not to resort to violence.”

“Will you tell the police what you know?”

The pen started a rapid rendition of “Wipeout.”

“No, I cannot condone what they did, but I understand their persecution of your lifestyle.”

“Mr. Jones, they didn’t break my lifestyle’s arm or send my lifestyle to the hospital. That was Tandy Johnson, one of the finest women I’ve ever known.”

Alfred Jones’s face grew pale, and the click of the pen ceased. April had hit home.

“You’re right,” he said, so soft she could barely hear. “And I’m sorry. I feel responsible that I didn’t stop them.”

April sat in silence, studying the face of the man opposite her. His eyes were clear and deep. They were honest eyes. If I ever buy a house, it will be from this man, April thought.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Mr. Jones. I didn’t see you wielding an ax.”

“Even so, I’m an elder in the church and past chairman of the board. I should have stopped it.”

April leaned toward the man. “Mr. Jones, if you had seen it coming, I have no doubt that you would have done everything in your power to make sure your Brother Thomas and his crew never carried their persecution to the point of violence.”

The man raised his head and looked directly into April’s eyes. “I swear to you, I would have done my best, and I’ll do my best to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

There was no amusement in April’s smile, but it was a sincere smile all the same. She stood and reached across the desk.

“Mr. Jones, I know you don’t approve of lesbians, but, if you can bring yourself to do it, I’d be proud to shake your hand.”

The man stood and accepted her offered hand. In the strength of their handshake, a bond was formed, a mutual respect. The tickle along the hairs at the back of her neck made April wonder if this bond wouldn’t prove important.

 

aaAA

 

Slider sat on the hood of his battered Chevy, sipping on a soda from the nearby convenience store. He had that blankly studied expression April knew so well from assignments when Slider waited hours to get that one photo that would make the story. It was his, I’ll-wait-in-this-other-universe-until-I’m-needed look. April walked toward him, as she left Alfred Jones’s office.

“Thanks for the patience. That’s what you get for thinking I need an escort,” April said to her friend.

“I’ve heard your messages, honey. I’d like to see you stay alive through this deal,” Slider answered. “You’re not still set on going home, are you?”

“I’ve got to get some clothes, at least,” April answered. A slow grin crossed her face. “Can’t say that I object to a few days staying with Sophia. Nearly’s already made himself at home in her backyard.”

Slider laughed. “I won’t be surprised if this becomes permanent.”

They climbed into the Chevy, and Slider started the drive to April’s. “How’d it go with Jones?” he asked.

“He’s a decent man. I don’t agree with him, but I like and trust him.”

“Nice to know the religious right has some pockets of decency.”

They rode in companionable silence, each comfortable with their own thoughts. They’d learned the habitual rapport in the long hours of working together.

As they rounded the last corner to April’s home, Slider’s gasp jerked her gaze toward her duplex. Two-foot letters in red spray paint sprawled “Death to all abominations!!” across the front of her home.

“Jeez, Louise!!” Slider moaned.

“My landlord is really going to be pissed.” April said.

They pulled to the curb and sat in shock. April rolled down her window as her neighbor walked out his front door and approached the Chevy. She waved absently at a man who had been her neighbor for three years. Hank and Sarah Smithson were good neighbors. The retired couple helped watch her house when she was out of town, and Sarah always made sure April got her share of pumpkin bread at Christmas and homemade apricot jelly in the summer. April was glad Hank was there to give support.

“So, where you been Ms. Abomination?”

“I stayed with a friend last night,” April answered. “Looks like I missed all the fun.”

“They weren’t a noisy bunch, but Sarah did get up in the night to go to the bathroom and noticed a dark van parked across the street. We’ve already called the police. They looked around to see if your place had been burglarized, but said it still looked secure. They want you to call them.” Hank rummaged in his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. “You’re supposed to call a Sergeant Folkers.” He offered the card to April.

“Keep the card. I know Frank. His might be a handy number for you to keep around the house.”

“We were worried about Nearly,” Hank said.

“He’s still over at my friend’s house.”

Hank’s face showed visible relief. He looked back toward the house and the message scrawled across the front. “Neighbor, looks like you’ve had quite an initiation to editorial writing.”

“Guess you think I should have stuck with news and feature,” April responded.

A slow smile teased at the edge of her neighbor’s lips. “Read like a pretty good piece to me.”

April licked dry lips. “Hank, did you and Sarah…? Did you know that…?”

Hank laughed. “April, you’re the best neighbor on the block. Your personal life is your own business.”

The old car door screeched, as April pushed it open so she could step out and give her neighbor a hug. “Thanks for everything, Hank.”

“Just being neighborly,” the man answered, his face colored with a pleased blush. He motioned toward the graffiti. “You know, it’d probably be a good idea for you just to stay with that friend for a few days.”

“That’s what I’m planning. Slider brought me over to pick up clothes and stuff.”

The man scratched at his beard. “We’ll call the police if we see anyone around your place.”

“You and Sarah are the best, Hank.”

A twinkle lightened the man’s eyes. “And don’t you forget it. I’m just glad you and Nearly are safe.”

Slider insisted on entering the house first, his hand under his jean jacket, placed conveniently on the five-shot .38 he insisted on carrying while serving as April’s self-appointed bodyguard. April teased him for his dramatics, but was secretly relieved. She checked the house and called Frank Folkers to let him know that no one had meddled inside the house. Their conversation was short since he already had the background. She started to tell him where she’d be staying, but he interrupted and told her to call him later. It was then that April realized just how serious the sergeant was about the case. He didn’t want to risk any form of illegal phone tap. A quick phone call to her landlord advised the woman of the vandalism. It didn’t take long for April to pack a bag and her briefcase. In less than an hour, April was locking the door behind her while Slider loaded her bags into the trunk of his car.

April breathed the proverbial sigh of relief as Slider started the car and pulled from the curb. For the first few blocks, April watched closely for any sign of a following car. She finally shook her head and laughed.

“I’m getting downright paranoid.”

“Good, maybe you’ll stay alive that way,” Slider responded. “These are some sick folks we’re dealing with.”

“Maybe, and maybe their need to be right is just a little too strong.”

“To Sophia’s?” Slider asked.

“Wait a minute. Tandy got out of the hospital yesterday. I’ll bet money she’s at the bar. Let’s go check on her.”

As April predicted, Tandy’s car was parked in its usual spot beside the Pink Triangle. Tandy’s string of curses at the cast on her arm greeted April and Slider as they entered the bar. Tandy awkwardly struggled with polishing glasses as they walked inside.

“Nice to see that you’ve gotten back your cheerful disposition,” April said to her friend.

“I’d just as soon have full use of both arms.”

April hopped to a seat on the top of the bar and kissed her old friend on the top of the head. “I’m just glad to have you out of the hospital and home.”

“Ditto,” Slider added.

Tandy set a half-polished glass on the bar. “Me too.”

April and Slider looked around the room. “Not bad, considering how they trashed the place,” Slider commented. Concerned community members had worked together to repair or replace every broken chair or table. They’d cleaned up every sliver of glass and drop of liquor from broken bottles, and new bottles now filled the shelves behind the bar. All in all, the place looked cleaner than April had ever seen it.

“Looks like the gang really came through,” April said.

Tears teased at Tandy’s eyes. “Damn right, they did.”

Slider leaned across the bar and slapped Tandy playfully on the arm. “Say, is it too early in the day for a man to talk you out of a Coke?”

“Seeing as how you’re in good company, I guess I could manage,” Tandy answered.

Tandy poured sodas for both her friends, and Slider and April began telling the tale of April’s graffittied house, when a stranger appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in the sunlight. The three could see the darkened form of a woman.

“I’m sorry, but the bar’s not open yet,” Tandy called.

“I know,” a pleasant, husky voice responded. “I’m looking for April Sims.”

In reflex, Slider reached inside his jacket, just then remembering the empty holster. He’d left the pistol in the car before entering the bar.

“I’m April Sims,” April said.

The figure stepped into the bar. As she stepped out of the sunlight, April got a clear look at the woman. That’s really good drag, April thought. She watched the practiced, ultra-feminine step of the male-to-female transgendered woman cross the bar toward her. She was dressed in the sleek lines of a green business suit, accented by matching purse and pumps with four-inch heels that brought her height to well over six feet. April studied her immaculately coiffed hair and could see no signs of a wig. It was a sure sign of a serious transsexual. She grew, cut, and styled her own hair to be an attractive woman. April believed that here was a woman trapped in a man’s body. Watching her regal movements gave April a new appreciation for the term “queen.”

“Can we talk in private?” the stranger asked in the practiced, husky tones of a deep-voiced woman.

“Sure.”

April left the bar, and they walked to a corner table while Tandy and Slider watched their every step. The woman sat gracefully in a chair opposite April.

“How can I help you?” April asked.

“I read your editorial.”

“You and half the world.”

“I admire your courage, and I’d like to help,” she said.

“I appreciate any help I can get. What do you suggest?”

The woman took a deep breath. “My name is Adora, and I live in Dallas. I visit Amber regularly to work with a few…clients.” April listened, not wanting to know her profession. “Although he’s been a regular customer, there’s one gentleman that I’d really rather not serve.”

“Who is that?” April asked.

“Ralph Thomas.”

April felt a flash of hope, confirmation of her instincts concerning the good Reverend Thomas. “I guess I have to ask how you work with him.”

A deep laugh was accented by a gentle gesture as the individual flipped her hair back from her face. “I believe this will explain everything.” The queen reached into her purse and pulled out a brown envelope, handing it to April. As April pulled a nine-by-ten photo from the paper, she gasped. The photo showed a graphic scene of a naked Ralph Thomas having anal sex with the transsexual woman sitting opposite her. In the photo, the woman’s face was turned so that she would be difficult to identify. Embarrassed, April threw the envelope on top of the photo.

“That’s certainly…interesting. I’m sure Reverend Thomas’s congregation would be especially surprised.”

The woman leaned forward with a death grip on April’s forearm. “You’ve got to stop him,” she hissed.

“I’m trying.”

“Use this photo if you need, but stop him.”

April pulled her arm free, a little frightened by the intensity. “I don’t understand. Is this how you feel about most of your clients?”

“Not at all. Most of my men are truly wonderful. I love my work. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.”

The woman leaned forward again, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m just an occasional distraction for Ralph. I’m not what he really likes.”

“His congregation thinks he really goes for his wife.”

“His wife is a well-trained rag doll. He’s beaten her down to nothing, literally.”

“So what does he like?” April asked.

The woman leaned toward her again, fire in her eyes. “He likes boys, very young boys.”

April felt nauseated.