Soulful Strut (28 page)

“I don’t know what to do, what to say.
Nothing seems to help.” Lenore twisted her hands again.

“Honey, I know you’ve heard this before, but
he’s not going to change. Nothing you do will ever be good enough.
That’s because his anger is not about something you’ve done or
haven’t done.” Monette put a hand on her arm for emphasis. “It will
get worse.”

“I’m all he’s got Ramone can’t count on his
family.” “And what have you got to count on from him besides
anger?” Monette said. “Carrying around your weight and his must
wear you down. Think about your dreams.”

“My salon.” Lenore smiled weakly.

“Love and support should go both ways.”

“I know. I’m gonna think about what you
said.” Lenore stared down at her hands and forced them to keep
still. “I’ll be fine.”

Monette wanted to say much more. She wanted
to tell Lenore to dump Ramone before he hurt her again. Monette
wanted to lecture her about no-good men who thought only about
themselves. Such a diatribe would only alienate Lenore. She would
be pushed further into her us- against-the-world relationship with
Ramone. Maybe something Monette said had planted a seed.

“I sure hope so. I’m counting on you to hook
a sistah up with some free pedicures,” Monette teased.

“I got the colors all picked out for my shop,
too. I’m goin’ with a tropical theme, but nothing too gaudy.”
Lenore sniffed and smiled again.

“Good. Cause, chile, if it’s one thing I
can’t stand, it’s gaudy.” Monette waved her flashy bright pink
fingernails.

Lenore laughed out loud. ‘Thanks,
Monette.”

“Ah, girl. I didn’t do anything.” Monette was
about to say more when a horn blast stopped her.

‘That’s Ramone.” Lenore sprang to her feet.
Gone was the relaxed smile. Tension pulled the muscles tight in her
neck.

“You don’t have to go anywhere. Miss Inelle
could tell him you can’t leave. That will solve the problem for
tonight at least.” Monette talked fast to stop Lenore from
leaving.

“I can’t. Look, I appreciate all you’re
tryin’ to do for me. Okay? But I have to talk this out with him.”
Lenore gave Monette a quick, fierce hug before she rushed off.

Monette followed her. “But wait a
minute.”

“Please. We’ll talk later,” Lenore whispered.
She waved to a dark figure in a battered gray Ford Taurus with
splotches of blue paint on the doors.

“Yeah, okay.” Monette almost bumped into
Jayson before she saw him standing on the porch.

“Hi, baby.” Jayson followed her gaze. They
both watched Lenore get into the car. “Problem?”

“Same old story, a good woman trying to save
a no-good man.” Monette suddenly felt sad.

Jayson rubbed her shoulders with both hands.
“And you gave her advice, which she ignored.”

“I feel like I should have done a better job
of convincing Lenore not to go.” Monette took comfort from his
touch.

‘That’s all you can do. The ultimate decision
is hers alone.” Jayson tugged her until they left the porch
together. He opened the passenger door and helped Monette climb
into his truck.

Once he shut the door, Monette settled into
the leather seat. When Jayson got in, Monette gazed at him in
appreciation. His light green cotton shirt was neatly tucked into
faded light blue jeans. The scent of his expensive men’s soap came
from his dark, tanned skin. Monette inhaled to take in more of him.
She exhaled to let go of lingering melancholy. Jayson turned the
key in the ignition, tuned the radio to smooth jazz, and took
Monette away from her world. Despite a prick of guilt, Monette felt
happy to leave Lenore and her troubles behind.

After a relaxing dinner at the Great Wall
they headed to a poetry reading at Southern University. Monette
enjoyed the energy of the performance poets, who could have easily
been her kids. Jayson bought chapbooks beautifully bound by
students from the Fine Arts Department. Later they walked to The
Bluffs, a panoramic view of the Mississippi on campus. A small park
with stone benches looked out across the wide, muddy water. Young
couples sat with their heads together, talking low. Monette and
Jayson found an empty seat and sat down. A breeze heavy with
moisture and heat provided little relief; still no one wanted to
leave the site.

“Those kids were great. Reminds me what young
people can do if they have the chance.” Monette flipped the pages
of her book of poetry. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” Jayson smoothed a stray
strand of Monette’s hair behind one ear.

Monette laughed. “That one kid from New
Orleans talking about the projects, damn. All those little bourgie
kids were acting like they can relate. Kinda cute.”

“Maybe they can. Feeling left out is a
universal adolescent sorrow.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I don’t think so,” Monette
tossed back. “I grew up during the eighties, when hip-hop and crack
hit the streets big. Ain’t nothing glamorous or sexy about that
life. Why do you think all these rappers are trying to get out of
them streets?”

“Good point, baby.” Jayson pulled Monette to
him until her shoulder was in the crook of his large arm.

“But that one kid told the truth. Notice how
they got quiet. She’s for real.” Monette could still hear the young
woman’s strong voice. Tall and thin, she wore her hair in short
kinky twists. She spoke of a dark, ugly side, devoid of bling and
bravado.

“Her name is Shani Reese. Bet she’s got the
most depressing poem in that book, too. Too bleak an outlook for
somebody so young. She needs to lighten up.” Jayson nuzzled
Monette’s cheek. “Life is what you make it.”

“No, life is what you’re born into. Somehow
Shani made it to college, but you can’t just leave that stuff
behind,” Monette said.

“At some point it’s time to move on. Speaking
of which, why don’t we go to this arcade at the mall? They have
cool video games.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m talking
about life and you’re into escaping reality?” Monette looked at him
as though he’d suggested they jump into the river.

“Okay, we can play one of those violent
gangster games if that will make you feel any better.” Jayson
laughed. When Monette’s eyes narrowed to slits, he stopped. “Oh,
come on. Is there something in your parole rules that says we can’t
have fun tonight?”

Monette pushed him hard, and Jayson pretended
to almost fall off the bench. Still, she ended up laughing as well.
“No, you didn’t just make fun of my parole.”

“Just keepin’ it real. I ain’t hatin’ the
playa or the game.” Jayson imitated the hand gestures of
rappers.

“Don’t plan on auditioning for Def Jam
anytime soon. Okay?” Monette pushed him again. “You’re still way
too bourgie.”

“Then give me some tips.” Jayson pinched
Monette’s cheek.

“Uh-uh. I’m glad to be free of those scrubs I
used to date.” Monette shook her head. “You being Jayson is plenty
good enough for me.”

“Now that was a sweet way of putting it.”
Jayson kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose and then her
mouth.

They had a lovely view. An early summer
breeze blew across her skin. A fine man held her in his arms, and
she smelled desire in the warm spicy scent of him. Monette wondered
if she was dreaming. Bass booming from the sound system of a
passing car woke them both. A yellow Mustang loaded with young men
rolled by, rap lyrics crackling through the air.

“So much for romance in the sunset Guess they
just reminded us old folks we’re on their turf.” Jayson grinned as
the other kids around them dipped and swayed to the music.

“I think the-name of that tune is ‘It’s Time
to Go.’ ” Monette laughed with him.

They strolled hand in hand across campus to
the parking lot In spite of their words, neither rushed to leave.
The truth was they enjoyed the atmosphere of the campus. Monette
felt at home even though she’d never been to college.

“Now this is what I want to give the people
who participate in Opportunity Knocking.” Monette slid beneath the
wheel onto the passenger side of the truck’s leather seat.

Jayson got in after her and closed the door.
He started the engine. “What?”

“This campus.” Monette gestured with both
hands. ‘The feeling of having good possibilities ahead.”

“Let’s hope they take advantage of it. Not
like that lady you tried to help tonight.” Jayson threw out the
remark in an offhand manner. He turned the truck down Harding
Boulevard.

“Lenore, you mean? She’s just clinging to the
one kinda world she knows. A lot of us do that.” Monette shrugged.
“You don’t understand.”

“Excuse me, but I think I do,” Jayson said
with confidence.

Monette leaned back with an arm stretched
behind him along the seat. “Oh, you do, huh? Please lay it out for
me, wise man.”

“Look, all I’m saying is a lot of folks make
excuses for not changing their lives. Take these kids in the
projects. School is free, but they don’t go. Their parents don’t
make ’em either. And when the teachers say anything, Mama shows up
wanting to beat her down.” Jayson made it through a red light by
racing through the intersection. Then he eased the truck ten miles
over the speed limit.

“Hmm.” Monette watched him. Her temperature
ticked up a few degrees at his smug middle-class view.

“My sister-in-law is on the frontlines in the
public school system. She’s got some wild war stories.”

Jayson turned onto the interstate going south
to his neighborhood. The elevated highway skimmed over rough areas
of town, including the area where Candi’s cousin Faye lived.

“Oh, okay.” Monette felt more kinship with
the people living below than she did with prim schoolteachers.
Still, she held her tongue.

“Another thing, everybody is talking about
how horrible it is that black men fill up the prisons. Saying the
criminal justice system doesn’t treat them fairly. How about they
don’t commit any crimes? That way you don’t have to worry about
being in the system in the first place.” Jayson spotted a police
cruiser coming up behind them. He tapped the brakes and slowed to
the posted speed limit.

“Uh-huh. Hi, Mr. Police Officer. We’re
law-abiding citizens as long as we see you first.” Monette waved at
the cop as he went by. She glanced at Jayson with an eyebrow
raised.

“Going over the speed limit is not like
selling crack on a street comer. Or spraying a neighborhood with an
automatic weapon without caring who gets shot,” Jayson protested.
The truck picked up speed again.

“Yeah, baby. It’s all relative. Not a black
and white issue, I guess. Pun intended.” Monette took her arm down
and moved away from him.

“You know what I’m saying is true.”

“I’m glad we had this little talk. Now I know
what you really think of me.” Monette stared out into the dusky
evening. Finally the last vestiges of sunlight faded. Smoky
twilight began to meld into night.

“This isn’t about you.” Jayson put a hand on
her thigh. He gave a grunt of surprise when she knocked it
away.

‘Things look all neat and tidy on your side
of the street, Mr. Black Republican.”

“My family has helped make the party
responsive to the needs of African-Americans for at least fifty
years,” Jayson said without anger. “Expecting people to take
personal responsibility for their actions doesn’t make me some kind
of traitor.”

“Humph.”

Monette tapped a foot as she stared straight
ahead. He sounded like all of the self-righteous do-gooders who had
looked down on her instead of helping. She crossed her arms and
leaned away from him.

“I shouldn’t have shot my mouth off. A lot of
people are born into rough situations with everything against
them.” Jayson stopped at a red light. “Some of us have harder
choices and more obstacles. But that’s not an excuse.” “Hmm.”
Monette inhaled and exhaled slowly. She tried not to let go with a
barrage of street language to describe where he could go and what
he could do once he got there. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

“I heard you. By the way, liberals believe in
personal responsibility, too.”

“Maybe I should listen more to your side and
talk less,” Jayson offered. He shot a sideways glance at her. When
Monette didn’t answer, he sighed. “Let’s not have another right
versus left debate.”

“This isn’t just politics, Jayson. You were
talking about my life, about folks who make mistakes and fight with
everything they’ve got to do better. Instead of kicking us down,
folks like you should be picking us up.” Monette shook her head.
“You can’t understand.”

“I really want to try.”

“I don’t know. You and me are like oil and
water sometimes.” Monette stared out into the night at passing
street signs. The homes became more expensive. Every few feet they
passed a Lexus or BMW. This had never been her part of town.

Jayson drove on when the light blinked to
green. He finally turned onto his quiet street of neat lawns and
attractive condos. After he parked in his space, Jayson glanced at
her. When Monette did not look back at him, he said, “Okay. 1
sounded like a judgmental jerk. You can hit me if it makes you feel
any better.”

“Hit a Black Republican. Very tempting for a
hip-hop nation, Al Sharpton fan like me.” Monette puckered her lips
to keep from smiling when he hissed at the name.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Jayson
clasped a hand to his heart as though feeling chest pains.

Monette laughed. “Serious as can be. By the
way, I throw a mean punch, too.”

“Scratch that last offer. Let’s kiss and make
up instead,” Jayson said softly. He reached for her hand.
“Please.”Monette let his long fingers curl through hers. Still,
something inside told her she was kidding herself. “Don’t the
differences bother you?”

“I’m behind you one hundred percent All I see
is how much we have in common and how good you feel to me,” Jayson
replied. His grip on her hand tightened.