Red Light Wives (40 page)

I
really don't know what's going to happen now. To Lula I mean. Me and Manny put our money together, and then Rockelle gave us some. We paid the bail money for Lula to get out of jail until they take her to court and shit. We talked to a bunch of lawyers. If they are as smart as lawyers are supposed to be, Lula ain't got nothing to worry about. She didn't mean to shoot Clyde. I know she didn't because I seen the whole thing. To be honest, nobody knows whose finger was the one that actually pulled the trigger. Clyde and Lula was both holding that damn gun when it went off.

Right now Lula is staying with me and Manny at his place, sleeping on the couch I hate so much. Her big lesbian sister, her stepsister I mean, she and that girlfriend of hers, they're coming out here soon. They said they would not leave here without Lula. But Lula told me she wasn't going no place.

“You are so lucky to have family who cares about you,” I told Lula.

“Verna and Odessa have always been there for me. I can always count on them,” Lula said to me, still with that sad look on her face that had been there since she shot Clyde.

“Don't forget you got a lot more than me. You got a daddy back there in Mississippi, them twin brothers, you got that man Richard, too.” As soon as the words
man
and
Richard
bounced off my lips, Lula rolled her eyes and looked at me like I grew horns on the top of my head. She didn't think that Richard was going to hang with her, until she straightened out the mess she was in.

“I don't want to involve Richard,” Lula told me. Finally she gave me a smile. “I've shared enough with him. He don't need this, too.”

“Don't you think you should let him decide that? At least give him that chance. You need all the friends you can get right now. You got too much on your mind.”

One of the things on Lula's mind was Clyde's daughter, Keisha. My mind, too, for that matter. I'd known Clyde's daughter and her problems a lot longer than Lula. Old Lady Effie had to be a hundred and three years old. Even if Clyde was still alive, that old crone couldn't go on helping him take care of Keisha. Even if she had ten nurses coming to the house to help her out.

Last Friday when I went to visit Effie, the White woman Clyde had Keisha by was there. Megan. I don't know what Clyde seen in her, other than money and a piece of tail. But I ain't seen a man yet who didn't act a fool over a blonde.

“Do you think that White woman will help take good care of Keisha?” I asked Lula. I handed Lula a beer and poured some milk for myself.

“She will, Ester,” Lula said. She gave me a real thoughtful look, and a sad smile. “I know she will.”

I
t had been six months since I left California. I missed the warm sunshine that used to stream in through my bedroom window and wake me up every morning. I missed the palm trees and the orange trees that stood in front of my old apartment building like security guards. I wasn't happy being back in Detroit. But I knew I'd made the right decision.

I liked my apartment. Even as lonely and gloomy as it was. It fit the way I felt most of the time. And though it was clean and cheap, had free cable, and to my surprise, was ignored by the local burglars, it was nothing to write home about. There were cracks and dents in the hardwood floors and the walls were so thin I could hear the Japanese man next door farting up a storm. I could also hear the landlord's gay son and his lover fucking the hell out each other every night. My kitchen faucet dripped all the time, and I had to turn the shower on and off with a bent fork. The elderly landlord was a nice enough man, until I needed something, then he would make himself scarce. When I had a problem in my place that he didn't take care of right away, I didn't pay rent until he did. And, being a man, the landlord flirted with me until I told him I was gay, too.

I lived near public transportation, a mini-mall, a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the furniture store where I worked five days a week as a receptionist. I made less money there in a week than I used to make in a day when I worked for Clyde.

I had a few new female friends, so I did have a social life. But I had not even been out for a cup of coffee with a man, even though I got asked out all the time. Mr. Bob, the funny old trick we'd had so much fun with, was the last man with whom I'd slept.

I hadn't planned on ever calling or writing to Lula or any of the other girls to see how they were doing. I wanted to put all of that behind me. So I don't know what made me want to call them. I guess it was because I had been thinking about old Mr. Bob.

The number for Lula and Ester had been disconnected. I got the same response when I called their cellular phone numbers. I didn't have the nerve to call Clyde. He was the last person in the world I ever wanted to talk to again.

When my curiosity got the best of me, I dialed Rockelle's number. It had been disconnected, too, but the recorded message gave out her new telephone number. She answered right away.

“Rockelle, it's Rosalee.”

Rockelle let out a scream. I held my breath until she composed herself. “My God, girl! Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I'm fine. I'm back in Detroit,” I said with caution and a stiff tone. At this point, I didn't care if she told Clyde. Rockelle and I had never been that close. Other than to discuss business, I had rarely called her up or visited her house, and she had never encouraged anything else from me.

“What about you? You doin' okay?” I asked, sincerely hoping that she was.

“Yes, I'm fine, too. This is such a nice surprise. I never thought I'd hear from you again, Rosalee.”

“Well, I never thought I'd be callin' out there. I tried to call Lula and Ester. Did they move?”

“Yes, they did. Oh, girl. A lot has happened since you left.” Rockelle sounded tired and old, just like I felt.

“Are you all still workin' for Clyde?”

“Uh, hold on. Let me run close my door. The kids don't need to hear any of this.” Rockelle returned within seconds, out of breath. “Clyde's dead,” she announced in a flat voice.

“What?” I gasped and had to sit on my bed to keep from falling. “What did you say?”

Rockelle started talking in a slow, low voice. “He got in Lula's face one night, waving that gun of his, and it went off. It was an accident, though.” Rockelle let out a hollow breath. “The D.A. was real nice. Ester was Lula's witness, and she backed up her story. She got off.”

“Is Lula still out there? What about Ester?”

“Lula's still out here, but she's out of the business. So is Ester. Ester's living with some Mexican dude, and they just had a little baby girl. How is your mother?”

I rolled my eyes and let out a sharp cackle. “That grumpy old sister is doin' a hell of a lot better than I expected. Oh, she put up a big fuss when I talked about movin' back here, but I got her on that plane anyway. She's sharin' a nice little apartment with another senior citizen. She even had the nerve to get her a man.”

“I don't know what this world is coming to. Your mama had me convinced that she had one foot in the grave and the other foot on a banana peel. You have got to be kidding! Now she's got a man.”

“Uh-huh. And he's one smooth-talkin' old brother. He gets a pension check
and
a monthly check from Uncle Sam for some army accident, and he owns a nice house. The only reason Mama won't marry him—he's asked her umpteen times—is she don't want to give up her freedom. So she says.” I laughed. It hurt my throat, my chest, and my head when I laughed, but that didn't stop me. I laughed some more.

It was hard to believe that Mama was the same person she'd been a few years earlier. She hadn't mentioned Miss Pearl and that so-called curse since we'd left California. When she wasn't running back and forth to church or to some bingo game with her hot new companion, she took trips over to the casinos in Canada. The month before she'd visited her cousins in Georgia.

“What about you, girl? How's your love life?”

“Don't ask.” I sighed, rolling my eyes.

“Oh. I guess things didn't work out with your husband, huh?”

It took me a moment to respond. “No,” I said, unable to hide my sadness. “Things didn't work out the way I hoped they would. I love that man with all my heart, and I always will. I'd do anything to have Sammy back. But…he's got a woman, and I ain't tryin' to go there. He said he ain't even comin' in my apartment because he knows if he did, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off me.”

“I'm sorry, Rosalee. I really am.”

“He's a good man. He got this apartment for me, and we are still friends. I
made
him take a key, and I told him that if he ever changes his mind, he can walk right on in and I'll be ready for him.”

“You go, girl!” Rockelle squealed.

A few moments of silence passed before we spoke again.

“So Clyde is dead,” I muttered. “What about his daughter? Who's takin' care of her? His grandmother was lookin' like she was ready to go meet her Maker the last time I saw her.”

“And she did,” Rockelle said with a heavy voice.

“Oh?”

“Old Miss Effie died a month after Clyde was buried. She had a massive heart attack
and
a stroke while she was sitting up in church. Everybody said it was Clyde's death that really killed her. That White woman Clyde had Keisha by, she packed up Keisha and moved her into her house that same day.”

“Damn. There sure has been a lot goin' on since I left. Well, I'm glad I was able to catch up with you. It is so good to hear your voice. And your kids? How are they doin'? Is that retarded girl babysittin' for you again?”

Rockelle let out a deep groan. “No. I gave up the house on Joost Street and moved back to Hunter's Point.”

I felt truly sorry for Rockelle. To think that she had tried so hard to live an upscale lifestyle, only to end up right back where she started. It had to be a nightmare for her. “Well, I'm happy to hear that you're doin' all right.”

“I don't know about all that. I have a nightmare every now and then about Clyde getting killed. I always thought that something crazy was going to happen sooner or later.” Rockelle sniffed and lowered her voice. “Rosalee, I know it's too late, but I apologize for not being better friends with you. I know there were times I acted like such a snob, but I'd like to think that I've grown since then. And I don't mean my hips.” Rockelle laughed. “Which, by the way, are still growing.”

“Don't feel bad about what you didn't do on my account. I didn't try that hard to be closer friends with you, either. But I did like you. And, we all did have some good times every now and then. Remember all the money we blew in Vegas and Reno, and shopping in Beverly Hills?”

“Uh-huh. In spite of what we did to get that money. Listen, I'd love to talk more, but I was getting ready for a date when you called.”

“You still
datin'
? I thought you said…”

“Not the kind of date you're thinking about,” Rockelle said, laughing. “I met this guy at work. I work at the post office now. Anyway, Leon is a mail carrier.”

“That's nice, Rocky. I'm glad to hear you and Ester got somebody,” I said, not even trying to hide my gloom. “Maybe there's hope for Lula and me.”

“Oh, didn't I tell you? Lula did hook up with somebody. A bus driver. Things are shaky between them right now, though. She keeps trying to push him away, but he wants to be there for her.”

My sadness felt like it had doubled. “That's nice, Rocky. Can I call you again sometime? Just to say hello.”

“I'd like that, Rosalee. I'd like that a lot. Bye now.”

As sad as I was, I was glad I had called. Though I felt terrible about Clyde being dead and Lula having to live with what she did for the rest of her life, I was glad to hear that the girls were doing so well. I just couldn't imagine Ester raising a baby and Rockelle seeming so humble. But then again, there were a lot of things about myself that I couldn't imagine either. So what did I know?

I was already tired and sleepy, even before I'd called Rockelle. But after all the heavy shit she'd dumped on me like a load of rocks, I felt twice as tired and sleepy. I didn't feel like wrestling with that fork to turn on my shower, so I took a bird bath in my stained bathroom sink. After a glass of wine, I fell asleep on my couch, a used but comfortable piece of junk I'd picked up at a flea market.

I didn't sleep long, though. I almost rolled to the floor when I felt my hair being tugged. Before I turned over and opened my eyes, I expected to see the ghost of Annie Mae, my playmate back in Georgia who used to pull my hair, before and after her death. But this time I was wrong.

It was my husband.

R
ichard said he didn't mind me keeping Bo's name, too.

“You can hold on to whatever part of your past you wanna hold on to, Lula. You my wife now, and all I care about is our future.”

The day after we got married in Reno in the same tacky little chapel where I'd married Bo, we returned to San Francisco. A week later I started a new job at the California Department of Motor Vehicles. I was assigned the same boring job I'd done at the Department of Motor Vehicles in Mississippi! The pay wasn't that great, but with me and Richard both working, we were able to move into a nice two-bedroom apartment out near the beach.

I had used all the money that I had left from the hundreds of tricks I'd performed on new furniture, a new car for us to get around in, and baby clothes. My son was due any day.

After I'd been cleared of all charges for shooting Clyde, I went to visit my daddy, and we had a nice reunion. My pathetic stepmother, Etta, had been nicer to me than she'd ever been before in my life. That alone made the trip worthwhile. I even visited my mother's parents. I hadn't seen them since my mother's death, and even though they'd changed, I would have known them anywhere.

“Lula, don't you be a stranger. You keep in touch, and remember you always got a home to come back to,” my elderly grandfather told me. “This new husband of yours, Richard
Rice
—he any relation to Jerry Rice, the ballplayer? I smell money!”

“I don't think so, Grandpa,” I said, laughing.

If I didn't have Richard to go back to in California, I probably would have stayed in Mississippi. I didn't realize how important family was until then. But Richard was my family. He came first in my life. I had learned that from Rosalee's foolishness. If she hadn't left her husband to run off with her manipulative mother, she would have avoided a lot of pain and suffering.

I spent the rest of that day enjoying my grandparents' company and laughing about some of the stupid shit my mother used to do. Some of the same things I'd done, but I didn't go there with that. Not with my grandparents. I would only discuss my sordid activities in San Francisco with the people who'd shared it with me, and I didn't plan to do it that much. I wanted to get over it as soon as I could. But that wasn't going to be easy. Clyde was a hard person to forget. I prayed that he was resting in peace. He had suffered a lot, too. He'd grown up without a mother and had to raise a severely handicapped child. Those were things I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I prayed for Keisha every night. I planned to visit her one day so I could tell her just how sorry I was for taking her daddy away from her. I prayed she would forgive me.

I spent the last few nights of my visit to Mississippi with Verna and Odessa.

“You ever think about Larry?” Verna asked.

“Larry who?” I laughed because now that's all Larry Holmes meant to me. Something to laugh about.

Sex had a whole new meaning in my life, too. It wasn't something to laugh about like Larry, but it no longer caused trouble in my life. And that was a good thing because Richard couldn't keep his hands off me.

Ester and Manny, and their daughter Lulita (Little Lula), had moved to Mexico City the month before. I missed her, but she called me all the time. I planned to visit her after I had my baby. She was pregnant again and happier than she'd ever been. She'd landed a job working for an organization that located homes for abandoned kids. That didn't mean she was “living happily every after.” None of us probably ever would. Ester and Manny didn't have enough money to afford a place of their own yet. They lived in a cramped house with ten of his relatives and had to sleep on a dirt floor. And Manny was having some problems with his health because of a bullet lodged in his back from a street fight during his reckless years.

And even though I had Richard and a new baby on the way, my life was not a bowl of cherries, either. But it could have been a lot worse. We could have all been arrested or killed by deranged tricks. And I could have gone to jail for a very long time for killing Clyde.

I'd had lunch with Rockelle the day before at a little sidewalk café in North Beach. Her relationship with the mailman didn't work out, but she'd hooked up with a clever detective who had been investigating a murder in her building. He helped her track down her dead-beat husband. With all the back child support she got from that fool, she was able to move into a better neighborhood. I was real happy to hear that she had moved her mother in with her.

“I heard from Rosalee again last Monday,” Rockelle told me, munching on some lettuce. I was real happy to see that she'd lost forty pounds. “She and Sammy just had a little boy.”

I got so misty-eyed I couldn't even finish my lunch. I hadn't spoken to Rosalee since she left California.

“Do you think she'd mind if you gave me her telephone number? I'd like to chat with her again, too,” I said, stirring my bowl of clam chowder with my spoon.

“And I'm sure she'd like to chat with you again, too,” Rockelle told me. “But if I were you, I wouldn't bring up…you know.”

“The tricks?” I asked.

Rockelle dropped her eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” she muttered.

“Uh, do you still read a lot of books?”

“Every day,” Rockelle said cheerfully, giving me a thoughtful look. I'd never seen her looking as relaxed as she did at that moment. “You know, somebody ought to write a book about us. Me, you, Ester, Rosalee. And even Helen and Megan. Maybe if other stupid females read about all the dumb shit we did, they'd learn something.”

“It would take somebody like Stephen King to tell our strange story,” I said, laughing.

Just thinking about Clyde, Mr. Bob, Fat Freddie, and all the other
hundreds
of men we'd slept with for money made a sharp pain shoot through my stomach. And it didn't stop there.

My son was born later that night. I named him Richard.