Cover Girls (4 page)

“No, your mother didn’t do what she should have. I’ll grant you that. And by the time she got around to doing something right, it was a little late in the day . . . a lot late in the day.”

Michelle could hear his voice. It was almost as though she were a child again. She was sitting in the office, but inside she was a child and Gary, her mother’s boyfriend, was so close his hot breath burned her ear. She could almost taste the smell of stale alcohol on his breath. She felt his hand in her hair and the other around her waist, forcing her closer. She could feel him pushing against her. Michelle could still feel the pain, then the dirty, confused feelings that followed. And she could hear him whispering, insisting that she better not tell . . .

Tears burned her eyes, and she shook her head. She reminded herself that Gary was gone . . . finally. It was worth the price she had had to pay. Never again. Never again. Neither one of them would ever get the chance to hurt her again.

“Miz Ida, when I see her, when I hear her voice, when I think of her, I think of him—and I can feel it all over again.” She forced herself to whisper and fought to keep anger from choking off her words. “His dirty hands on me. His funky breath. His . . . voice . . . What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Michelle, no child should ever be used the way you were used. That man raped you. It’s bad enough to rape a woman, but a child . . .” Miz Ida’s sigh was full of weariness. “When we’ve been through hard things, the worst part is facing up to the pain, finding the courage to walk back through the door where we were hurt and overcome the hurt that we find there. We just want to cover it up and pretend it never happened, but that’s not the answer. We want to walk around and fool people, make them think that we’re perfect and that we’ve never been hurt. It’s like we believe that being hurt and having feelings makes us weak. Michelle, baby, I know it’s hard. But you know nothing’s ever going to go right until you make some peace with who you are and where you come from.”

“Miz Ida, I know you mean well, and I don’t mean any disrespect, but that’s the past. When I look back, all I can see is hurt. All I can see is the same people, people who were supposed to love me, but who used me instead.”

“Michelle, no doubt about it. They were both wrong. Dead wrong. And you got every human right to be hurt and angry. And you got every right to take all the time you need. I’m not going to pressure you.”

There was that word, again—
pressure.
Of course, Miz Ida was pressuring her. Todd was pressuring her. Tonya was pressuring her. They were all pressuring her.

“I just want you to consider one thing. Don’t answer me now, just think on it. All right?”

Michelle nodded as though Miz Ida could see her over the phone.

“Michelle, do you want anger to be the end of your story? Is that where you want it to end?”

She stopped stapling and lifted her hand to cover her eyes. “I have to go, Miz Ida.” She laid the receiver in the cradle as though it were as fragile as she was feeling. She reached into her desk drawer for a tissue and quickly wiped away the tears. Swiveling in her chair, she turned her back to the office and reached for her purse. Looking in her compact mirror, she powdered her face to cover the tracks the tears had made in her foundation. She reapplied her lipstick.

Do you want anger to be the end of your story?

That was Miz Ida’s question. But the question that nagged Michelle every waking moment, even in her dreams, was “How?” How was it that her mother chose a man who yelled at her, cursed at her, beat on her, over her own daughter?

Michelle put her things away, then turned back to face the pit. Wasn’t blood supposed to be thicker than water? Didn’t people say that no one loved you like your own momma? Well, if that was true—she laughed a short, hard laugh—a laugh that was more like a cackle. There was no way anyone was ever going to be able to convince her to trust love.

No, if you didn’t want tears, you couldn’t trust love.

Chapter Four

T
he day seemed like it was never going to end. Michelle looked around the office and things were just like she thought they would be. Tonya’s eyes were boring a hole in her. Forget Tonya. If she signed up her whole life to be on the Jesus plan and to work this stupid job, then goody for her. But Miss Telephone Police shouldn’t try to get other people to sign up for the same stupid long distance service.

Bringgg! Bringgg!

Michelle looked at the caller I.D. and kidded herself, for an instant, that she was not going to answer. Before the third ring could end she answered, though she tried not to sound excited. It was him.

“Hey, baby.”

It was Trench. Arthur Trench, but no one called him
Arthur.

“How’s my girl?” Even over the phone, he had a way of wrapping himself around her like dark, sweet, strong molasses.

“Your girl?” He was an M-A-N, but she was a W-O-M-A-N, and she was time enough for him. “You must have confused me with whoever you’ve been with for the past three days.”

“Meow!” Trench laughed as though what she said was rolling off of him like water off of a duck’s back. “Oh, baby. You know I got work to do.” He said it as though that should be adequate explanation for why she hadn’t seen or heard from him, for why he felt he could come in and out of her life and her apartment like a revolving door. He sighed into the phone like he was wrapping his arms around her and nibbling on her ear. “A man’s got to handle his business.” Trench knew his business, all right, and he knew how to play the game. “Besides, baby, you know it’s not like that between us. You my girl. Nobody makes Trench feel like you do.” His laugh was low and gravelly. Then he spoke, again, even more softly. “But you said it yourself, right? No papers, no pressure. We just take each other to the moon.” He breathed into her ear. “You know Trench takes his baby to the moon, right?”

Michelle slid forward in her seat and put one hand over her face to shield her eyes, as though Trench were standing in front of her and she didn’t want him to see how she was feeling, to see the effect he was having on her. He was good. He was like some kind of funky drug. A small taste, the smell, even the memory of him made you forget why you had ever sworn off, why you had ever said that you were never going to do it again.

“Whatever, Trench.” It was the best she could do. This sister was going to have to regroup.

“Come on, baby. Don’t be that way.” He sounded so earnest; he was such a good liar. “Trench got a little something for you. Something I know you’re going to like. Don’t you want it, baby?” He almost purred into the phone.

Michelle could feel herself giving in. She could feel herself getting ready to be played. And there was no way she was going out like that—no matter what bells Trench was trying to ring. “Look,
Arthur.
” That ought to bite him. He hated being called Arthur. “I am not some hoochie that you can dial up when the mood hits you. I know the words
Holiday Inn
are not stamped on my forehead or on my back.”

Trench whistled. “Wow! It sounds like I called just in time, like you need a little trip to the wild side.”

She was on a roll and she was not going to let Trench sidetrack her. “And I sure ain’t your momma. You can’t keep coming to me when you need a place to sleep, or when you’ve got no place else to go.” Trench was quiet, so she might as well sink the knife to the hilt and twist it. “And you’re right. We both know the deal. And my deal is that I’m a married woman. So, you’re right—you and I are casual. Way too casual for you to think I’m open twenty-four hours, or that you can come in and out like I’m a swinging door.”

Trench laughed out loud. “Married?” He laughed again. “This is Michelle, right? Married?”

Michelle’s face stung and she sat straight up in her seat.

“Look, baby, tell that married stuff to somebody else.”

Michelle could imagine the smirk on his face as he talked. She had seen it before when his voice had this kind of mean edge.

“Married . . . Todd must have called you today with his dull self. But don’t play yourself, sugar. I know how you like your bread buttered, where, and how often.” It sounded as though he was sneering into the phone. “Married? Were you married last Saturday?” He paused. “Bump all this. You know what? I’m not going through all this. I don’t have to explain to you where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing. And I sure don’t have to play any little schoolyard games with you. I tell you what, baby girl.” It sounded like Trench was licking his lips. “I’ll talk back at you when you’re grown enough to talk with your head on straight. When you’re ready to talk like a woman.”

Click.
The phone went dead. Michelle’s cheeks burned. She felt uncovered and naked. She hung up the phone and then looked around the office—it felt like each person was staring at her, as though all of them had heard how he spoke to her. Of course they didn’t know. But, reality didn’t matter; it was how
she
felt.

Ashamed.

Trench could read right through her. He could get past all the makeup, past the suit, the hair, and punch her right in the gut. That was part of the thing with Trench. Why that was attractive to her, Michelle wasn’t sure, but something about it felt genuine and familiar. For all of the turmoil he took her through, she knew Trench was real.

Michelle smoothed her hair, then reached into her purse for a mirror and lipstick. She touched up her lips, then restored the items to her purse and adjusted her jacket.

There was something exciting about the way Trench could embarrass her and make her feel like a young girl, like a child. Michelle turned to her computer screen and watched the minutes clicking by on the digital clock on the tool bar at the bottom of her computer screen.

Maybe he would call back. Maybe he wouldn’t. But what was sure was that she was not going to spend the rest of her forty-five minutes at work worrying about him. She leafed through some papers next to her hand. She sighed. Might as well do some work for the man.

Chapter Five

S
he walked with her shoes in her hand. Good thing no one was in the hall; Michelle was prepared to beat the snot out of the first person who said something to her about walking barefoot. It was hot outside, she was sweating, her dogs were barking—and it was too far to walk even the twenty feet from the elevator to her apartment door with her shoes on and her dogs hurting.

What she needed more than anything was a shower. She needed to wash it all away—nine boring hours at a job that took more out of her than it gave Tonya, Mrs. Judson, Todd, Trench, and even Miz Ida. Michelle imagined herself walking straight to her bedroom, peeling out of her clothes, and padding directly to the shower. The hot water always soothed her. She would just stand under the water until she felt clean again. Mary J. was right: what Michelle needed in her life was no more drama.

The minute she opened the front door, she knew he was inside. She continued to her bedroom, to her bathroom and shower, anyway. When she had finished, she wrapped her thick, green, terry-cloth robe around herself and tied the belt.

What was on his mind? He didn’t pay rent here. She didn’t ask him to; it was less complicated—fewer questions and much less attitude—that way. He had way too much nerve as it was. Way too much nerve.

He was lying on his back on the couch. His mouth was open and his chest moved up and down. There was no slobber. That was one thing she liked about him—no slobber.

Something about the position of his body reminded her of a rag doll. One of his knees was bent, his bare foot flat on floor. The other leg pointed east, the foot hanging over the back of the sofa—the brocade sofa she had worked hard to pay for. She had spent a lot of weeks sitting on boxes before she was able to get it out of layaway. Michelle put down the house slippers she held in her hand, moved closer, and sat on the coffee table across from him.

Trench might be lying like a rag doll, but he didn’t smell like one. Rag dolls didn’t smoke reefer. Rag dolls didn’t have tight, defined muscles. Trench did, though, because with no job he had lots of time to work out.

She stared at his face. It looked peaceful. His jaw was soft and relaxed. His long eyelashes looked like those they painted on babies in advertisements. This was the Trench you only got to see when his guard was down—and that might as well be never. It might be cool to be tender with this Trench—this babylike, sweet-looking Trench. But to deal with the real Trench, she had to give him back what he dished out.

“Trench . . . Trench . . .” She made her voice stern.
“Trench.”

He bolted upright. His eyes and the expression on his face said he was trying to remember where he was, trying to get himself together. First frightened, then off-balance, then cool and cruel when he came back to himself.

“Trench, what are you doing here?”

“I thought we needed to finish our conversation.” He reached his hand forward and touched the damp hair at the nape of her neck. “Enjoy your shower?” He used his index finger to wipe beads of water off of her forearm.

“Trench, I didn’t give you permission to come in here.”

He smiled that I-know-this-will-work-when-nothing-else-does smile of his. “Do I need permission to come in, Michelle?” He stroked her cheek. “I hope it’s not like that between us.” He turned on his innocent, wide-eyed, little-boy smile. He rubbed his forefinger over her chin. “Have I messed up that bad that I’m back to square one? I got to give up my key and ask permission before I come.” He pouted almost like a little cherub in one of those church pictures.

Michelle was going to hold her ground no matter how he was making her feel. “Trench, we didn’t end our conversation on a note where you could just come over here and make yourself at home.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He pushed his lips into even more of a pout as he ran his finger over the ridge of her ear. He leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose. His eyes, focused on hers, were doe-like and gentle. “I’m sorry, okay?” He nodded as though he were trying to get her to agree. “It was my fault. You mentioned your ex—and I just lost it, baby. You know how I feel about you.” He turned to face her. “You know that you push my buttons. You know that, right? I shouldn’t let you get to me.” He edged himself closer to her. “But you know you do, Michelle.” He tilted his head. “You know you do.” He moved to kiss her.