Déjà Vu (12 page)

J
efferson watched Margo as she went about her day, stuffed in her blue jeans and pink linen shirt. Three days had passed since he arrived home, and he and Margo had yet to make love to each other. Margo had said all the right things, even looked into his eyes when she said she wanted him and their marriage, but each time Jefferson attempted to reach out to her, to hold her, she would pull away. Jefferson had hurt her terribly and he probably didn’t deserve this second chance. However, he was grateful to the Almighty for intervening on his behalf, and he was going to do whatever it took to gain Margo’s trust so that they could resume their life together.

Margo moved effortlessly through the house, picking up pieces of paper and straightening pillows. Jefferson caught her smile when she looked in his direction, he offering one in return. Something hit him as he watched the graceful movement of Margo’s body, still lean and hourglass perfect after four kids and a thirty-year marriage. He recalled Malik’s demeanor when they were at lunch and he talked about Margo in an affectionate way—it ate at him.

“Why don’t you stop and sit next to me for a while?” Jefferson asked sweetly. “You’ve been at it all morning.”

“I guess I’m at a point where I can stop. I want to get this done before I have to show a house this afternoon.”

Jefferson patted the place on the couch next to him. “Take a break, Margo. The house looks nice. Whatever you don’t get done, I’ll take care of it.”

Margo walked slowly to the couch and sat down. She turned sideways until her thigh was completely on the couch, bending her knee and sitting on her lower leg. Jefferson placed his arm along the back of the couch, resisting the urge to embrace his wife.

“What is it, Margo? What is it you’re afraid of?”

“Afraid of? What do you mean?”

“You seemed to look forward to my coming home, but now that I’m here, you are as far away from me as we were when I was in prison.”

Margo reached and tugged at the edge of Jefferson’s sweater, knotting the end of a thread that was threatening to unravel. She moved her hand from the sweater to the back of his hand, brushing it with her own and finally squeezing his fingers tight. Jefferson looked deep into Margo’s eyes, searching for the answer he sought and praying that rejection wasn’t on the way.

“It’s going to take some time. Five years has taken a toll on me, but I waited because I wanted to.”

“Do you love me, Margo?”

She continued to hold his fingers and hesitated before answering. “Yes,” came the lone word.

Jefferson swallowed hard. “I’ll take whatever you can give me now.”

“Just give me time,” Margo repeated. “I thought it would be easy…that we could go on with our lives, pick up where we left off. Not so.”

“I had lunch with Malik yesterday,” Jefferson said.

Margo flinched, and Jefferson noticed. “How did you get there?” Margo asked.

“I drove the Mercedes while you were out showing houses. My legs are getting better all the time.”

Margo withdrew her hand. “That’s good, Jefferson. God is so good.”

“Malik told me that Angelica is out of prison. He said that you forgave her.”

“I did, but something is not right with that woman. I want to trust her, but she gives me every reason not to. I was willing to help her get a job and be her friend again, but she up and disappeared to God knows where without even a thank you.”

“Angelica is not worth wasting your time on.”

“Why do you say that?” Margo searched Jefferson’s eyes. “She seemed resourceful when things weren’t…”

“No, Margo. Let’s not rehash this. I’m sorry I brought Angelica into our conversation. She is no longer part of our lives, and I want it to stay that way.”

Margo reached over and kissed Jefferson on the lips. The kiss lingered longer than she had planned, but it seemed to please Jefferson.

“I hope I can expect to receive more of those kisses.” Jefferson began to tremble. “Your lips felt good, Margo, and if you let me, I’d like to make love to you.”

“I can’t do it right now, Jefferson.” Margo jumped up from her seat. She turned and looked back at Jefferson sitting on the couch, a boyish innocence radiating from him. “I want to, but not now.”

“Will you hold me?” Jefferson begged. “I need you, Margo. I need you.”

Margo looked at him. He wasn’t the strong tower she was used
to. Jefferson seemed weak, almost timid, and she hated a begging man, but he was her husband and she did love him.

Margo sat back down on the couch and wrapped her arms around Jefferson. She held him to her bosom and gave him a big hug. Holding Jefferson made her think about Malik.
What is this sudden feeling I’m having for him? My covenant is with Jefferson and God.

But Margo felt like King David in the Bible who coveted the wife of one of his finest soldiers, after which he put the soldier on the front line of battle to be killed. But Jefferson put himself on the front line of battle with no thought that Central Prison would be his address. His absence made Margo long for another man, although she had never realized it. She hugged Jefferson tight, even though it was Malik who claimed her thoughts.

A
ngelica was unable to sleep. Images of Donna Barnes Reardon invaded her dreams. Donna’s hand with its twisted pointer finger was stretched to the limit, narrowly missing Angelica’s nose by a centimeter.
Get out! Get out!
Angelica heard Donna say.
Get out, you miserable freeloader.

Angelica tossed and turned all through the night. Her sheets were pulled from the mattress as if a savage beast had been in the room. She rolled to one side and then the other. Unable to will herself to sleep, she sat up in the bed and waited for her eyes to focus.

Birds chirped outside her window, but the noise was irritating. Angelica ran to the window to try and scare them away.

Slowly, night gave way to day. Angelica lay down on the crumpled up sheets, balling up her pillow to form what looked like a bird’s nest, and laid her head on it. Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

She bolted upright, not sure where time had gone. The sun was bright as it forced its way into her bedroom. She got up and tiptoed, listening for signs of life. Hearing none, she ventured outside the room on her tippy toes, her back hunched over and her eyes darting in different directions like a predator hunting its prey. When she was sure that she was alone, she let her shoulders relax and then air escaped through her lips.

Quiet was sometimes a lonely feeling, but this morning it was a welcome relief. Ari was gone to work, and she didn’t have to face his accusing stares and unspoken accusations, although she had nothing to worry about.

Sunlight flooded the dining room. As Angelica started to cross the length of it, there it was in bold black letters, D
ONNA
B
ARNES
R
EARDON
, P
HOTOGRAPHER TO THE
S
TARS
, F
OUND
D
EAD IN HER
M
ANHATTAN
A
PARTMENT
, on the front page of the
New York Times
. Angelica gasped and reached for a corner of the table and held onto it, looking at the newspaper once more, bringing herself face to face with a blaring press photo of Donna. It was real because the papers didn’t lie about the demise of the city’s elite—or at least Donna thought she was. Angelica couldn’t move and continued to brace herself on the table as Ari’s conversation in the wee hours of the morning came rushing back to her.

Finally able to move, Angelica sat down in one of the dining room chairs. Donna was dead, but how did she die? Angelica inched her hand to where the paper lay, hesitating a moment before picking it up. At first she couldn’t see anything for the blaring headline, but right there in paragraph one was the answer, stark and to the point.

Manhattan’s own Queen of Photography was found murdered yesterday in her Manhattan apartment. A close friend, who asked to remain anonymous, found her in her studio with her neck slashed and called the police immediately.

Angelica trembled and raised her hand to her throat as she read the words again,
with her neck slashed.
She wondered which one of Donna’s three companions found her: Jazz, Coco or Madeline? The paper shook violently in Angelica’s hand until she finally set it on the table, unable to read anymore. But her curios
ity got the better of her, and she grabbed the paper and forced herself to read more.

There was an apparent struggle between the victim and her assailant. Camera equipment was strewn throughout the room, and one of Ms. Reardon’s award-winning photos that hung in her studio was slashed. This appeared to be the work of a cold-blooded killer.

The doorman, Ari Parrias, said that Ms. Reardon entertained lots of guests. They came and they went. He did recognize a female friend of Ms. Reardon who entered the apartment at approximately four in the afternoon.

Angelica put the paper down. “Thank you, Ari, for not mentioning my name.” The last time she spoke with him, he was visibly upset and throwing accusations her way.
Why would she want to hurt Donna? Why would anyone else want to hurt her?

The cab drove up and she was on her way to her second night on the job. Angelica enjoyed the applause of the crowd—and the men that threw tens and twenties her way. There was an air of freedom in dancing before the gawking men and making the pole a slave to her gyrating body.

The cab driver stared at her in his rear view-mirror. Angelica hurled him a makeshift kiss and turned her head and watched Queens roll by. New York was not as intoxicating as she once felt. She had not even been in the city long enough to give it a failing grade, but something about it made her uncomfortable, like she didn’t belong.

The cab finally arrived at the club, and Angelica paid her fare and walked in. Tonight she wore a black, form-fitting dress that
hit four inches above the knee and showed enough cleavage to get someone’s interest. A one-inch, patent-leather belt circled her waist.

A look of surprise enveloped Angelica’s face. The music was jumping, and it was not even time to start the show. She took a peek beyond the curtain that led into the main entrance of the club where all the entertainment was held, and a couple dozen men were sitting at round tables engaged in heavy talk. A rather well-built man offered a toast. “Aw, a celebration,” Angelica said to no one, backed away from the curtain and headed toward the dressing room.

As Angelica entered the room, the reception was lukewarm. “Hey, Angel,” said several of the girls as Angelica walked toward her locker.

“Hey, yourself,” Angelica said, throwing an appreciative smile their way. These girls didn’t judge, at least not openly, and it kept things in perspective because Angelica was only there to make a paycheck like the rest of them.

“We’ve got ourselves a nice crowd tonight, Angel,” Desiree said. “The money is going to be gooooooood. And the way I heard you were working your thang last night, you might have a down payment on a nice automobile when you’re through.”

Angelica laughed and patted Desiree on the arm. “I’m going to put it on them, girlfriend.”

The others turned to look at Angelica and Desiree as they filled the room with laughter.

“Can’t be that funny,” Kiki said, rolling her eyes.

“It was to us,” Angelica said, looking back at Desiree, who started laughing again and slapped Angelica five.

“Get this, you too old to suck a momma’s tit, wanna-be stripper.
Those men,” Kiki pointed toward the club, “want a fine, young tenderoni such as myself. Day-old bread won’t do. You might as well leave now because the only thing you’ll be counting tonight is change.” Kiki dropped a penny on the floor for emphasis.

There was no breathing or moving in the room. The air was thick, and the music that played in the other room seemed louder than ever. Angelica put her hands on her hips and twisted her lips into a scowl.

“Normally, I wouldn’t stoop this low to an uneducated, brainless bitch like you. You wished you knew what I know. I can turn tables around your sorry ass, and I’ve made men faint at the sound of my name. I’m the last of the real diva pole queens. Sweetie, I bet you’ve never picked up five Gs from one person on a single dance. You need to watch me work.”

Kiki sneered at her, but Angelica had turned and walked away. Kiki was livid.

“What are you heifers looking at?” Kiki shouted at the group.

The others dismissed Kiki with a swing of their hands. She walked off in a huff, eyeing Angel with a carnivorous stare. “We’ll see about that,” Kiki said under her breath.

“Show time in thirty minutes,” Desiree shouted. “Tonight’s lineup: Michelle, Foxy, Toya, Lovey, Misty, Arnell, Kiki, and Angel.”

“Oh, no!” Kiki shouted. “I’m not going in front of the old bag.”

“’Fraid I’ll clean up what you couldn’t get?” Angelica said.

“I ain’t afraid of an ole goat like you,” Kiki roared back. “I’m not going on before a has-been. You have heard of saving the best for last.” Kiki pointed her finger at Angelica.

“You stupid, simple-minded, little bitch. You can go last because no one is going to be interested in a newborn infant, especially after I give them what they came for. Savor the flavor because
you’ll be the one counting the change tonight, honey. Not another word from you.”

Kiki tried to speak but Angelica threw her hand up and everyone else ignored her.

Michelle, Foxy, Toya, Lovey, Misty, and Arnell had completed their sets and were gleaming with sweat and dollar bills.

“There’s enough Benjamins to go around. This crowd is in the giving mood,” Misty said.

That was great,
Angelica thought. She suddenly remembered Ari’s words about being out of his house by the end of the week. It frightened her, but payday was around the corner.

“Angel, you’re on,” Desiree called out. “Shake what your momma gave you, girl.”

“I’m already shaking it, Desi,” Angelica said. They laughed.

Angelica felt the energy. She looked out into the crowd, and the room was filled to capacity—men in business suits, casual players in polo shirts, and men off the street looking for a good time and a couple of beers. They came in a variety of colors and ethnicities—white, black, Hispanic, Italian, Puerto Rican, you name it. They were there to have a good time and fantasize about how hot it would be to roll with the beautiful women who danced on stage.

A white, felt cowboy hat sat on Angelica’s head. She wore an off-white midriff bolero and an ultra-short matching skirt that consisted of one-inch strips that were attached at the waist. Underneath the cowboy costume, rhinestones trimmed Angelica’s skimpy, shimmery gold top that circled the outermost parts of her breasts, while a G-string wrapped her bottom like gold ribbon on a Christmas package. Her four-inch, gold pointed-toe stilettos made her feel like the queen diva she knew she was.

As the music played, Angelica sashayed to the center of the stage, enunciating her hips as she did so, her body glistening under the glare of the stage lights. Whistles from the men teased her on, and she made up her mind that she was going to give them the thrill of their lives.

The intro finished playing, and Angelica reached for the pole as the drummer’s cymbal crashed. The beat was sultry and pulsating, and Angelica’s hips made quick jabs in and out, eventually taking the pole between her legs and sliding down the length of it. Her body gyrated until she was on the floor, and then pulling up swiftly, she let go of the pole and rubbed her hands seductively against the length of her body. At the urging of the crowd, Angelica made seductive movements with her body and dropped her shoulders back, letting the bolero slide off her shoulders and down her arms. In one swift move, she snatched at the side of her skirt that was held together with Velcro. She pulled it from her body and threw it out into the crowd. She turned and looked at the pole, bending her body at the waist, shaking her heart-shaped buttocks in the air. The applause and the roar of the crowd pushed Angelica to the edge.

Standing upright, Angelica’s body rippled and screamed at the crowd that begged her to do more or take it all off. Angelica sensually licked her lips and wiggled her tongue, then jumped on the pole midway, extending one leg upward with the other wrapped around it. She brought one arm out to the side and spun around the pole, finally pulling herself upright. She danced with the pole like it was her lover, making grown men howl for more.

Finally releasing the pole, Angelica switched her way to center stage and let her body rip.

“Take it off, Angel,” someone screamed. “Take it off.”

“I love you, Angel,” said another.

“Shake it, baby. Shake it for meeeeeee!”

Angelica moved closer to the edge of the stage, her body still gyrating in the faces of her adoring fans. Money seemed to fall from the sky as bills in all denominations were either placed in her G-string or dropped to the floor. Then, in one swift move, Angelica removed her top and mayhem broke loose.

Men scrambled over each other, trying to get up on the stage to touch the golden-bronze goddess. Dollar bills continued to rain as Angelica continued to dance. Alarm showed on Angelica’s face as the crowd continued to advance, and she looked at Gerald Lloyd to see if it was time to cut it off. Getting no sign from Gerald, Angelica looked back into the crowd and saw the money that was being flung her way. She needed a place to live and she only had three days left at Ari’s. This was the payday that might make it happen, so all thoughts of abandoning her out of control admirers were set aside. Angelica moved to the edge and stooped down to scoop up the paper bills. She stopped short when five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills were placed under her chin.

“You’re beautiful. How about a private dance?”

The voice was familiar and so was the face, although it had been a long time since she had seen or heard from him. Angelica tried to cover her breasts with the handful of paper money she held in one hand, but the five one-hundred-dollar bills distracted her from her sudden embarrassment.

“Robert Santiago,” Angelica said slowly.

“Oh my angel, you remembered. I’m flattered. So it’s Angel now?”

“It’s my stage name.”

“Dinner afterward? I would love to catch up for old time’s sake.”

“I’m not sure it would be a good idea.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” Santiago placed the money in her hand. “I’ll be waiting.”

Angelica stared after Santiago as he disappeared into the crowd. She picked up the few bills that remained on the floor and blew the crowd a kiss. The set was complete, and the crowd was calling Angel’s name.

Angelica nearly ran to the dressing room, passing a smirking Kiki. Flustered, she placed her night’s take on the table and caught her breath, leaning her head on her open palms with elbows planted squarely on the table. She jumped when she felt cold hands on her back.

“Girl, you rocked the house,” Desiree said. “They’re still screaming your name. Kiki went out there and they were shouting,
‘We want Angel. We want Angel.’”

Angelica turned to face Desiree.

“Are you all right, Angel?”