I knew Clyde well enough to know that something was bothering him big time. He hadn’t been to the apartment in a week for a quick romp in the bed with either me, Ester, or both of us at the same time. And that was something he rarely failed to do at least twice a week. Especially since we had him thinking he was so good in bed, which still was not the case. But it made our lives easier for him to think he was.
Clyde not coming by to flop around in bed with us was one thing, but him not coming around to collect his trick money was another. When he was out of town, it was my responsibility to collect from the girls. And even then, he would call several times a day to make sure I was on my job.
Rockelle claimed that she had spoken to Clyde a day earlier, so we knew he wasn’t out of town, in jail, in the hospital, or dead. “He was acting and sounding strange. Even for him,” Rockelle reported, sounding more than a little concerned.
It was a sad subject to bring up, but my guess was that Clyde was having more trouble with his daughter. He never complained about how hard it was to take care of her. But he was always dropping hints about how much he depended on the extra money he got from us, and how he wouldn’t know what to do with Keisha if he didn’t have us “helping him out.” Since I had lost my only child, and it didn’t look like I would have another one anytime soon, parenthood was a depressing subject for me.
As much as I adored Clyde’s daughter, I avoided being around her. Mainly because it broke my heart to see a man like Clyde having to deal with such a heavy load as taking care of a severely handicapped adult child. But if my son had lived, it wouldn’t have mattered to me if he had horns and hoofed feet. I would have moved mountains if I had to, to make his life worth living. Clyde was not perfect, but his devotion to his daughter was almost saintly. But as it turned out, Clyde’s odd behavior had nothing to do with his daughter.
“I called up his grandmother and asked her if everything was all right with Keisha,” Rosalee said. “She handed the telephone to Keisha and she told me herself that she was fine. I asked if she knew what was botherin’ her daddy and she said she didn’t notice anything different about him.”
Then another week went by. Clyde still hadn’t called or come by the apartment or communicated with me or any of the other girls. One of the things that Clyde hated was for us to cancel or turn down a date with a regular. That Friday night, Ester and I both turned down dates with regulars. For the first time, Clyde didn’t cuss us out like he usually did when we did that. Then the situation got even more mysterious. Not only was Clyde acting odd, but Ester was looking and acting downright crazy, too. I didn’t want to say it to her face, or share my thoughts with Rosalee or Rockelle, but I began to think that Ester and Clyde were in some kind of ca-hoots. Like maybe she and Clyde were planning a major scam that would involve the rest of us, but not benefit us.
Lately, Ester had a glassy-eyed look on her face. She wasn’t running her mouth like a motor the way she usually did. And, she wasn’t even eating or drinking as much. That little woman gnawed on tortilla chips and guzzled tequila like it was water. When I finally got up enough nerve to talk to Ester about her strange attitude, she surprised me with a bombshell of a response.
I’d entered her bedroom and found her standing in front of the window, hands on her hips, staring out, looking at the sky. Her long dark hair was in a single braid, hanging across her shoulder like a rope.
“So what if I been acting and looking crazy. I can say the same thing about you,” Ester told me as I shuffled across her bedroom floor, careful not to disturb the expensive, thick throw rugs covering most of her shaggy beige carpet. I never could figure out why Ester covered a carpeted floor with throw rugs. Especially when there were no little kids around to make a mess on it by spilling Kool-Aid and other kid-friendly shit. “You got me worried as much as Clyde,” she added. “You ain’t been eatin’, you been lookin’ weird, and you ain’t been talkin’ much. Wassup with you, girlfriend?”
Ester was right. I had been acting unlike myself, too. I sighed and plopped down on Ester’s bed, which reminded me of her floor. Short thick blankets and about half a dozen pillows hid her beautiful blue goose-down comforter.
“There’s this man I met. A bus driver, would you believe,” I laughed, looking upside the wall on the opposite side of the room. “I can’t believe I’m sittin’ here tellin’ you this,” I admitted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ester’s head snap around to face me.
“That’s why you acting so strange? Because you met a man? Me, too!” she gasped.
I marched over to Ester with my arms dangling. “You, you met somebody, too?” Then my heart almost stopped. “I hope you ain’t gettin’ all excited over a trick,” I hollered.
Ester didn’t waste any time shaking her head. “What you take me for? I ain’t desperate like that Carlene. I would never get serious with a trick.” Carlene Thompson, the woman who had steered Rockelle and Rosalee in Clyde’s direction, had recently run off to Las Vegas with one of her regular tricks and married him. They had moved to Richland, Ohio, so that Carlene could help take care of her former madam, Scary Mary, who was in her nineties and raising all kinds of hell.
“Then he’s a civilian like my bus driver?”
“Somethin’ like that. But I didn’t just meet him. I been knowin’ him since I was a kid. His name is Manuel Vasquez. Manny. I seen him on my birthday when I was hangin’ out in the Mission.” Ester paused. A look appeared on her face that I had never seen before. She smiled, but just a little, and her eyes started blinking real fast, like she was trying to hold back some tears.
“Was he your boyfriend? Or just your man?” I wanted to know.
“My man? What you mean by that?” she snapped, a stunned look on her face.
“Is he, uh, like Clyde?”
“Look, Clyde is the only man in this crazy world that I ever sold my little pussy for. I ain’t like them other girls out there, you know that. Shit. Manny would never let me do somethin’ like that for him.”
“I didn’t mean anything. It’s just that…”
Ester held up her hands and gave me a sharp look. Her lips were quivering. “I can’t change what I already done in the past, just the future.” Ester moved to the bed and plopped down, her palms flat against her knees. “Manny’s a good man, a strong man. He would be good for me.”
“What does he do for a livin’ then?” I asked, my heart beating a mile a minute.
As much as I liked Ester, she was one of the crudest women I’d ever known. From what I knew about her, in my opinion, Clyde was probably the best she could do as far as getting a man who wasn’t just a trick. I felt bad about feeling the way I did, but I couldn’t help it. Unlike Rockelle, who still thought her shit didn’t stink, I usually kept certain thoughts to myself. I knew I was not going to be sleeping with men for money until I got so worn out they wouldn’t want me. But since Ester had been in the business so much longer than me and never really talked about retiring any time soon, I assumed she’d end up staying in it as long as Carlene did.
I liked Ester and hoped that she was stashing away enough tax-free money in a safe-deposit box like the rest of us, so that she could live comfortably in her old age. “Ester, is Manny dealin’ drugs?” My breath caught in my throat when I saw the hurt look on Ester’s face. “Uh…or does he have some other hustle goin’ on?” The more I talked, the more it seemed like I was putting both my feet deeper and deeper into my mouth.
“He cooks in a restaurant. Happy?” she snapped abruptly, giving me one of the dirtiest looks she could come up with.
“Oh, so he’s a chef.” I smiled, hoping it would soften her.
“I ain’t said nothin’ about no chef. Chefs is what they have in them fancy places downtown. Manny cooks greasy burritos, oxtails, tongue sandwiches, you know all that shit we crazy Mexicans eat.” Ester gave me a dry look. “You think all I can get is a thug, don’t you? You think I can’t get me a bus driver like you?”
“Don’t be gettin’ all crazy on me. What else could I think? Whatever he is, I’m happy for you. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ a cook,” I said.
Ester shook her head, and an embarrassed look appeared on her face. “That’s what he does now, but he used to do all kinds of other shit, he shouldn’t have been doin’. Stealin’ shit, sellin’ that shit out of his car. Dealin’ drugs when he couldn’t find nothin’ to steal. But he’s hella straight-up now. I would be very proud to call him my boo. It’s just that, bein’ with another man, like that, while I’m still with Clyde…well, I don’t want to think about tryin’ to please them both.” Ester paused and let out a weak laugh. “You know how deep my people get caught up in that passion shit. When we love somebody, they stay loved.” She let out a loud sigh and shrugged. “But…I don’t think I can be with Manny as long as I’m workin’ for Clyde. It wouldn’t be fair to Clyde, or to Manny, or me.”
Ester’s words made the insides of my stomach shift. I joined her on the bed and put my arm around her shoulder. Unless we were in bed, at the same time, with the same man, I rarely got this close to Ester or any of the other women I dealt with.
I nodded and gave her a thoughtful look. Ester’s comment about developing a relationship with another man while she was still part of Clyde’s crew was ringing in my ears. It was sad but true, but at the moment, I needed Clyde more than I needed a bus driver in my bed. I suddenly found myself wishing that I’d never laid eyes on Richard Rice, or that he had at least been an obnoxious asshole. Then I could have cussed him out that day in Tad’s Steakhouse and gone about my business. Love had to be the most painful emotion in the world. It was love that had caused me to make a fool of myself with Larry.
“So, what about the man you met?” Ester asked, turning to face me.
“You know, I must be losin’ my mind,” I said with a heavy voice. “Now that I think about him, I realize a broke-ass bus driver ain’t nobody I’d want to get involved with. Especially a man with a cheesy name like Richard Rice.”
Telling such a bald-faced lie was so painful the inside of my mouth felt like I’d slid a burning match into it.