God Don't Play
Authors: Mary Monroe
GOD DON’T PLAY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Karen Thomas for being such a super editor.
Thanks to Andrew Stuart for being the best agent in the world.
Thanks to L. Peggy Hicks, Roxann Taylor, Gerry Martin, and Jennifer Dyer at Tri-Com Publicity and Maureen Cuddy at Kensington Books for arranging my book tours and setting up my radio, magazine, newspaper, and television interviews.
Thanks to everyone at Kensington Books for making me feel so special (especially Jessica McLean!).
Joan Schulhafer, publicity director at Kensington, I can’t thank you enough for taking time away from your busy schedule to accompany me for the first two weeks of my 2005
In Sheep’s Clothing
homecoming book tour. Let’s do it again!
Please enjoy
God Don’t Play
, and visit my Web site at
www.marymonroe.org
Peace and blessings!
Contents
CHAPTER 1
M
y worst nightmare began with a blacksnake and a cute envelope. I had no way of knowing that my life was about to fall apart on the most beautiful day that we’d had all year.
The bold morning sun was shining down on my freshly painted house like a lighthouse. I had just had some of the best sex that I had had in years, and there had been no one else in the same room with me.
“You give good phone sex. You should call me up more often,” I teased my husband, Pee Wee, as I’d struggled to catch my breath before hanging up the telephone on the wall next to the refrigerator in the kitchen. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed sex standing up, and nibbling on a Pop-Tart at the same time.
“Well, it is the next best thing to me bein’ there,” Pee Wee told me, whispering so that his cousins in the next room at his cousin’s house couldn’t hear him. “Did you get naked like I told you?”
“Uh-huh. Naked as a jaybird,” I lied, smoothing down the sides of my muumuu. There was no way I was going to shed my clothes in the middle of my kitchen floor. It was hard enough for me to get naked in my own bedroom. But I did remove my shoes.
“Did you stick your fingers where I told you to stick ’em?” Pee Wee asked with a moan.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, lying again. The only thing that I’d stuck my fingers in was in that Pop-Tarts box. However, I had massaged a few other spots on my body like Pee Wee had instructed, and that had been enough for me.
I had enjoyed my passionate telephone tryst with my husband, but I was glad when it was over. Not only did I feel downright ridiculous doing some of the things to myself that he’d ordered me to do, but I had started getting cramps in my legs. And I wanted to clean myself up and put on some fresh underwear.
With a satisfied smile on my face, I stepped out on my front porch to retrieve the mail. A large butterfly that had wings every color in the rainbow landed on my hand.
The sun felt good on my face as I clutched my mail and shook the butterfly off my hand. I waved to the friendly, good-looking White couple from down the street as they walked by, pushing their homely toddler in a creaky stroller. Everybody on our block, except for the husband, knew that the homely toddler’s daddy was the homely insurance man who made house calls.
A large, light-skinned man that I didn’t recognize, with his black hair in large pink foam rollers, waved to me from a shiny black Lincoln that was cruising down the street. I yelled at a stray dog who had decided to lift his crooked leg and water the prizewinning rosebush in my front yard.
My biggest concern that day was trying to decide what to do first: get my nails done, go shopping, do the laundry, or treat myself to lunch at one of my favorite restaurants. I was in a frivolous mood so I didn’t want to do anything that was too serious, like go pay bills or visit my fussy parents. But the bizarre uproar that I was about to face would cancel everything else that I had planned to do on that beautiful Saturday. From that point on, my life would never be the same again. What happened to me on this day would haunt me for the rest of my life, because it was the beginning of the end for me in some ways. And it all had to do with a blacksnake and a cute envelope.
There was nothing that unusual about the cute envelope that had arrived in the mail that morning in late August. I had almost missed it among the usual stack of bills and other unwanted junk—like the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalogue with the picture of a beautiful young blonde woman in a white negligee on the cover.
I laughed when I saw the catalogue, wondering what the world was coming to for
my
name to end up on the Frederick’s of Hollywood mailing list. I had to give them credit for advertising muumuus, waist clinchers, capes, bras with cups large enough to hold forty ounces of beer, long flowing nightgowns that looked more like parachutes, and other inducements every now and then to appease us full-figured gals. But almost everything else that the mysterious Mr. Frederick—who probably looked like Buddha or worse himself—sold was for women half my size and even smaller. On the first page inside the catalogue were some “one size fits all” panty hose. Yeah, right. The see-through gowns and low-cut blouses were outrageous enough, and I had absolutely no use for crotchless panties. I’d probably be wearing diapers again before I broke down and put on a pair of crotchless panties.
I was not surprised when I flipped the catalogue over and saw that it was addressed to Jade O’Toole, my best friend’s sneaky teenage daughter. Some of the clothes that the girl wore every day showed just as much skin as the frocks she ordered from Frederick’s that she hid from her parents, so I didn’t know what the big deal was. But I didn’t have a teenager yet, so I couldn’t really judge the behavior of the “in your face” music-video generation. They had their own culture and Jade kept it in my face. I had allowed her to take too many liberties with me so it was too late for me to revise my position in her life. I was no more of an authority figure to her than a cat was. She had started using my address without my knowledge or permission. I shuddered when I thought about what that girl might do next.
CHAPTER 2
T
he catalogue that had just come in my mail for Jade was not nearly as shocking as the foot-long vibrator that she had had delivered to my address a few weeks ago. It had also arrived on a Saturday morning but in a plain brown envelope and by registered mail, delivered by one of the nosiest brothers in town. My mailman and I socialized with some of the same people, so he took the liberty of greeting me with a sly grin on his face when I opened my front door.
“Good morning, Moshay,” I said, my face burning with shame as I read the return address on the package that he held in front of his wide chest like a bib. One of his sausage-like fingers tapped the return address. There was only one adult toy store in town and most people knew the address by heart. Even me. But only because it was next door to the dry cleaners I used.
“Same to you, Annette. Um…” Moshay paused and nodded at the package, the same grin still on his face, which was covered in beads of sweat. Almost everything on his face was too big: his eyes, his nose, his chin. His short, stout body resembled a barrel. But he had a lot of confidence for such an ugly man. He flirted with me every time I saw him. “You lookin’ mighty nice today. I ain’t seen you in church lately. I guess you been keepin’ yourself busy takin’ care of that husband of yours, huh?”
“I guess I have, Moshay,” I said, reaching for the package. I tapped my bare foot and glanced at my watch so that he would know I was getting impatient.
It didn’t take much to encourage Moshay Dixon. He tried to get too friendly with too many females. Back in high school, he used to crawl around on the floor in the lunchroom to peek up under girls’ skirts. He had a wife and a mistress now, and all the local hookers loved him to death.
Moshay glanced around and even over my shoulder before he spoke again. “You need to sign for this first,” he whispered.
I didn’t know why those companies still bothered trying to hide adult products in plain brown wrappers. When it came to sex, there were very few secrets left anymore. But even though I was a married woman, and what my man and I did in our bedroom stayed in our bedroom, I didn’t want anybody making assumptions about my private life. Especially my mailman!
I snatched the package out of Moshay’s hand and gave him a stern look. It was hard enough to keep secrets in a small town like Richland, Ohio. Before Moshay finished delivering mail for the day, I knew that everybody on the block would probably be wondering what I’d ordered from the sex shop.
Ten minutes after I’d signed for the package, Jade called me up.
“Auntie,” she said, panting like she had just finished running a footrace, or, knowing Jade, fucking her young brains out. She let out a deep breath before continuing. “I’m expecting an important package today,” she informed me, speaking in a low voice. “From that, uh, specialty shop on Sawburg Avenue,” she added, now whispering so low I could barely hear her.
“You mean that dark little place that sells all that
nasty
shit?” I snapped. If I had told Jade once I’d told her a thousand times, I didn’t feel comfortable discussing sex with her. But Jade paid me no more mind than she did anybody else.
“They’re having a big sale, in case you’re interested,” Jade told me.
“I’m not!” I yelled, forcing myself to sound disgusted. The truth of the matter was, I wanted to laugh. If nothing else, Jade was very entertaining. There were times when she was the only one who could amuse me. “Your order arrived a little while ago.” I glanced at the package on the end of the coffee table in my living room where I’d dropped it. “And what would you be ordering from a store that sells only adult products?” I teased, wrapping the telephone cord around my fingers. I frowned when I realized my nails were screaming for a manicure. I released the telephone cord and balled my hand into a fist so I would not have to look at my tacky nails.
“Huh?”
“Never mind, you nasty little thing, you,” I laughed.
“Oh, Auntie, get yourself on the ball. This is the nineties. Kids grow up a lot faster than they did when you were young.”
Jade’s comments made my thoughts wander but not in a pleasant direction. It seemed like I’d never been “young.” I had spent my childhood dealing with things that a lot of adults wouldn’t have been able to handle. I pursed my lips and shook my head as Jade continued.
“Sex is not what it used to be, Auntie.” She had a way of representing herself that made me feel like I was the child and she was the adult. “You ought to know that by now.”
“Sex is no different now than it was a hundred years ago. As far as I know, people are still doing it the same way,” I said, swallowing hard. I wondered what Jade would say if I told her I’d had my first sexual encounter at the age of seven. Even though it had been rape, sex was still sex. “There is just a lot more of it going on,” I scoffed.
“Well, everybody is doing it,” Jade insisted, with a moan that made me blush.
“Not everybody, Jade,” I said sadly. “There are people my age who still have a hard time dealing with sex.” And I was one of them. I tolerated sex, even when it was good. If I had not married such a patient and passionate man, I’d have kept my legs closed for the rest of my life. “And for the record, a lot of men don’t care if we enjoy it or not. As long as they get what they want out of it…”
“Boo hoo,” Jade sneered. She paused and let out a giggle. “That’s why they make vibrators,” she practically sang.
I let out a disgusted sigh, making sure it was loud enough for her to hear. “Where are you?” I asked, hoping she could tell how impatient and exasperated I was. I didn’t even like to discuss sex with my doctor, my husband, or my adult female friends—let alone a youngster like Jade.
There was a lot of noise in the background on Jade’s end. Car horns blasting, people yelling, dogs barking. The train tracks that divided Richland into almost two equal parts were just a mile from my house. I could hear the train whistle blowing from my end and from Jade’s. It gave me an eerie feeling because I didn’t like trains. Every time I saw or heard one, it reminded me of the segregated train that my mother and I had been forced to ride on when we moved from the South to Ohio. If I couldn’t travel by plane when I had to go out of town, I either drove my car or I took the bus.
“I’m at a pay phone right outside the train station. Listen, I’ll be there in a few minutes to pick up my package. If my mom happens to drop by, don’t let her see it! And please don’t open it!”
