What's His Is Mine (9 page)

S
ometimes I still couldn't believe I was living in LA. I got up some mornings and was still amazed by how beautiful the sun and palm trees were. LA was the most beautiful place in the world, but it was also the ugliest. People here were so different than back home, especially the women. The women were so very materialistic and only cared about trying to stay skinny and look young. Most of them had everything and yet they still weren't happy. Out here if you didn't have money, then you basically were a nobody. That's all people talked about was money, money, money. If the conversation was not about money, it was about becoming an actress, model, or stuntman, or knowing someone who was one. But all in all, it was still a great place to live.

However, I couldn't live with my aunt Vicky and Jade forever. I'm getting a job and my own place. I went with Jade to her job and while she was at work I filled out applications all throughout the mall. Hopefully someone will hire me, because my aunt and cousin are some moody-ass people. I'm convinced that there is something wrong with all the women in my family. Like this morning, my aunt Vicky just got up and started yelling and carrying on about the neighbor's dog barking, and how she couldn't get any sleep. She went in Jade's room and began fussing at her, telling her to clean up the damn house. Jade ignored her and told her to close her door. I think she was just upset about her boyfriend, Martin, not coming over like he said he was. And by the way, I think he is either married or has another woman, because he never spends the night and they don't really seem like a real couple. But whatever the case, I didn't want to ever give her a reason to fuss at me, so I just began cleaning when she left. I wanted to make sure the house was nice and clean when she came home. I did the dishes, washed and folded their clothes, vacuumed, and cooked dinner.

 

 

It took me a couple of weeks, but I got a job at a dress boutique in the mall. The store wasn't a really big store, but it was full to capacity with evening gowns, pants suits, hats, and purses. Everything was big, bold, and very tacky. The woman, Raquel, who owned the boutique was Portuguese and spoke broken English. Sometimes I would understand her; sometimes I would not. The only employees in the store were myself, Raquel, and another girl, Elena. She was a pretty Mexican-American girl with dark brown hair and light brown eyes. She was always nice and smiling at customers even when they were rude. Raquel mostly stayed behind the register and rang people up and supervised while Elena and I waited on and greeted the customers.

It was easy to sell to people who came in the store because they already had money. All you had to do was tell them how good something looked on them and they would buy it, even though everything in the store was overpriced by thousands of dollars. Most of our customers were retired or older housewives with fake boobs and a lot of bad plastic surgery, who had money for days.

Today Elena and I had to do markdowns in the store. Any item that wasn't sold after ninety days was reduced. I had to read the SKU number to her and she had to tell me how much to retag the dress for.

She looked at the list and said, “Those maroon sequin-and-feather dresses over there for two thousands dollars—they need to be marked down to fifteen hundred.”

I laughed and said, “Oh, only fifteen hundred. Why do these people waste money on these ugly dresses? Do you know what I can buy with fifteen hundred dollars?”

“A lot. I say the same thing all the time. She is crazy for selling this ugly stuff.”

“No, the people who buy this mess are crazy.” I laughed.

“Where are you from with that accent?” Elena asked.

“Philly. Are you from here?”

“No, I'm from Texas.”

“How long you been out here?”

“A year. I go to school and my brother works for the airlines. I live with him, his wife, and their four kids.”

 

 

Because the buses didn't run fast or often, Elena gave me rides home after work and in exchange I would fill her tank up. Me and Elena became fast friends. She was silly like me and she showed me the city. She was a year older than me and she was down-to-earth. It was nice to have someone normal around. Jade wasn't anything but normal but was always too busy with her boyfriend to be bothered with little old me. I think she didn't like the way her mother kept saying,
Why can't you be more like Zakiya? Do you see how hard she works? Look how clean she keeps her room. She is filling out college applications; where are yours? She did more here in one month than you've done in a year.
Everything Aunt Vicky said was true, but I didn't have a choice. I knew I couldn't be all the way out here and fail.

T
he first few weeks of being a sports reporter weren't so bad. The e-mails and viewer feedback were mixed. I was forwarded some of the e-mails. Some of them were downright racist and others laughable. One man wrote he didn't want Kisha and her sistah-girl attitude covering his sports. Another asked for my phone number and asked if he could propose to me on air. One critiqued that what I wore each day in detail, saying my colors were off and I needed to enunciate more. But overall, Paul said I was doing well, but that I should be less pink on camera. He said for me to remember I was covering sports and not pageants. All I could do was my best, and that had got me this far.

I wanted to do the story on Tim Hughes, the football player I had met at TL Zone. I did a little research on him and he was a decent player, but off the field he was known for having a lot of issues. He'd been arrested three times for drunk driving in a six-month period two years ago. And a few months later he was charged with driving with a suspended license and received a firearms charge that he was later cleared of. In the past the interviews he did always made him look like a bad, ungrateful rich guy. So he stopped giving interviews altogether and just focused on his game. From what I read and could see he seemed like a good guy who was misunderstood. On his organization's Web site I read that he was paying for ten students to go to college and was employing a staff of five to run his various programs.

I was going to bring the story idea to Paul today. I tapped on his halfway-open door and asked if I could have a moment of his time.

He acknowledged me and said, “Come in, Cherise. Please have a seat and close the door.” I closed the door. He had his legs on the desk, hands propped behind his head like he was stretched out on a recliner in his living room.

“Paul, do you know Tim Hughes of the Falcons?”

“Yeah, the asshole who stays in trouble but doesn't do interviews.”

“Yeah, him. Well, he is trying to be more open now, and he has a real good organization that he wants to discuss. He wants to rebuild his relationship with the media.”

“What kind of organization does he have?”

“It's called Brothers Helping Themselves. It's like a neighborhood resource center slash community center. He is doing job readiness training and he is even paying for ten students presently to attend college. He is just doing everything right now on his own dime, and wants to get donations and sponsors to help out with his organization.”

“Really? Sounds interesting, the bad guy trying to do good. I like it, Cherise. I like it a lot,” he said as he stood up and looked out the window.

“So, is it a go?”

“Yeah, just make sure it is an exclusive interview, though.”

“Okay, I will.”

I thanked Paul and walked out of his office. On my way out I saw Richard Hall. He winked at me. Great, let the rumors continue. I couldn't imagine what rumor Uncle Tom was going to come up with next.

Once I was back at my desk I called Tim and his publicist. We scheduled the interview. I was thrilled. It was my first exclusive and interview that I got on my own.

 

 

On the day of the interview, I was so excited to help out the organization and to do a news story with a sports twist. I met Tim and his friend DeCarious at the Brothers Helping Themselves house. Tim shared that all the young men who came to the program were at-risk youth between the ages of fourteen and twenty-three. He gave me a tour of the big building. There was a computer lab, full-size music studio, small boxing gym, basketball court, tennis court, and weight room. It was a nice place and a lot was going on.

After the tour, Gary went around to take extra shots. A few young men were working out in the weight room. I told them to act natural and do what they would be doing on a normal day.

When it was time to do the one-on-one interview, I could tell Tim was a little nervous. I told him to relax and just talk to me about the passion he has for seeing the young men succeed. And how he needed more mentors, donations, and what it would take for his organization to be a success.

In all I got a lot of good footage and the interview went very well. After we completed everything, they thanked me and I told them I would contact them once everything was ready and let them know when it would air. Tim thanked me as Gary packed all his cameras and lighting up.

The guy DeCarious came up to me. “Thank you for coming out.”

“You're welcome.”

“So where does your driver take you to next?” DeCarious asked.

“That's not my driver. He is a photographer, and I'm headed back to the station and then I'm done for the day.”

“Oh, okay, I was wondering if maybe I can take you to lunch, maybe get a quick bite. I just wanted to thank you for doing the interview. It means a lot to Tim. He gets a bad rep from the media and this interview will show what kind of guy he really is.”

“When?” I asked.

“How about now?”

“Now? Um, okay.”

 

 

I agreed to meet DeCarious at a Cuban restaurant not far from my office. It wasn't very fancy, but it had a lot of ambience. It was family owned and the food was amazing.

“I just wanted to thank you again for the story and wanted to see if you needed any other information.”

“So you asked me to lunch to thank me again?”

“Yeah, and to ask you, where is Mr. Long?”

I laughed. “There is not a Mr. Long.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Okay, I'm going to leave that one alone. Do you have any children?”

“No, of course not. Without a Mr. Long that is not possible. How about you?”

“Yes, a daughter. She is a year and a half and lives in Philly with her mom.”

“Baby mama drama?”

“No, not really. We got our kinks out of the way for the most part. I love my daughter.”

“That was a very politically correct answer.”

He laughed and then said, “But my family seems to think my daughter's mom got pregnant on purpose.”

“Why? To keep you?”

“Yeah, and to get money from me for eighteen years. You know, gold-digger stuff. I don't know. I don't think so, but what you going to do? I'm going to take care of my daughter regardless. And like I said, we don't have any problems.”

The waitress brought our food over. DeCarious had black bean soup, fried tamales, and rotisserie chicken. I just had a Cuban sandwich.

“So how do you like covering sports? There's not too many lady sports newscasters. You must be a really big sports fan.”

“No, not really. I kind of just fell into the job. Eventually, I'm going back to news.”

“Oh, did you always want to be on television?”

“Yeah, since I was kid.”

“That's how I was with football. Me and my dad used to watch the game every Sunday.”

“So how do you like Atlanta? Where are you originally from?”

“Charlotte. But I've lived in a few cities since college.”

“Me too. I went to school in Florida and I played in Seattle when I first got drafted, then I just traded to the Falcons. Most people hate trades, but when I heard the Falcons were interested in me, I was happy. I couldn't wait to play for my home team.”

We had a nice conversation and I agreed to have dinner with him later in the week. He seemed nice. He was only twenty-four, but he was very mature. I couldn't see anything serious happening, but he could be a friend.

E
ver since they informed me that I was not a killer, the scene at the park keeps replaying in my head. I've imagined that I was back in that moment and time, and I did the right thing. I helped the woman to safety and then I called the police and came home. I was ecstatic about not being a murderer. All of that burden of guilt had been lifted off of me—but I did shoot Dionne Matthews, and I could still be charged. With what, we weren't sure yet.

I wasted a year of my life. All of that hiding out and being on the run for nothing. All I had to do was stay, and everything would have been okay. I could have called the police and they would have handled everything. I really wish I could go back and do it all over again.

Kevin was still very distant, but he was being so helpful. I purposely had not spent one moment alone with him. I already knew the minute he had me all to himself he might go off on me, and he had every right to.

 

 

Tyrone and I met Kevin at his attorney's huge downtown office. The entire floor belonged to the law firm Saul, Hippell, and Ballard. The office was located in the Comcast Center on 17th and JFK. It was a stunning high-rise. There was a majestic, panoramic view of the entire city skyline.

We were greeted by a receptionist and led to a conference room. Two attorneys came in and introduced themselves and took a seat. One was young and favored the actor George Clooney, and the other was older and plump with glasses and gray hair. We all took a seat and the older attorney began speaking. His name was Mr. Ballard.

“Now, we are familiar with the case, Ms. Butler, but we need you to start from the beginning and tell us what happened.” Once again I repeated what happened in detail. Both attorneys took notes and asked questions throughout my explanation.

“More than likely they are going to charge you with attempted murder.”

“But she tried to kill me!” I screamed.

“Yes, we understand that, but you left the scene of a crime, and by leaving that automatically implies guilt.”

“But I was protecting myself.” I was so confused. I fell onto Tyrone's shoulder.

“We understand that, and we are going to assist you as much as we can, but we are going to need more information.” I gathered my thoughts and they began asking me more questions.

“So you say the victim came to the hospital where you worked and then was writing you letters. Where are the letters?”

“I threw them in the trash.”

“Why did you throw them in the trash?”

“I don't know. At the time I thought they were groupie letters.”

“The letters said they were going to kill you and Kevin, and you dismissed them as groupie letters. Is that correct?” he said as he jotted a note on his yellow notepad.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I just thought it was a groupie.”

“So let's talk about the part when you got to the park and she attacked you.”

“She pulled out a gun and told me she was going to kill me.”

“She specifically said ‘I'm going to kill you'?”

“Not exactly. She said ‘You're not going to make it' or something, or I wasn't going to live, something along those lines,” I said as my eyes began tearing up. Tyrone handed me a napkin and I wiped away my tears.

“So you scuffled for the gun, a shot goes off, you think you killed her, and leave town?”

“I told myself no one would believe me.”

“How did you get to the station?”

“I caught the trolley after I left my car over at my girlfriend's.” I lied because I didn't want to get Adrienne involved in this. I continued to tell him how I spent the last year in Detroit and why I decided to come back. Tyrone just kept his face down as he listened to the hard details about what I had to endure.

The George Clooney look-alike and the older attorney said they would take the case, but it was going to be very expensive.

“How expensive?”

“Just to start, you are looking at eighty thousand.”

“Just to represent me on something I'm not really guilty of?”

“Yes.”

I told Kevin about the money I had saved. Tyrone said he would take out a second mortgage on the house and Kevin said he would put up the rest.

Mr. Ballard explained what was going to happen next. I was going to go to the police and surrender and they would process me. I would be arraigned and formally charged and bail would be set, then from there we would go to trial. He also said there may be media attention, because of the coverage the shooting received before. Plus, I was the mother of Kevin's child and his former girlfriend.

 

 

Two days later when I turned myself in at the Central Division of the Philadelphia Police Department, there were swarms of reporters waiting. As soon as we got out of the car, the bright camera lights started flicking and flashing. Kevin, Mr. Ballard, and Tyrone pushed me past the media frenzy. I heard different voices shouting out, “Why did you run?” “Where were you?” “Why did you come back now?”

Once inside the building, I felt tears begin to roll down my face. I hugged Tyrone and said good-bye to Kevin. I walked toward the officer, turned around, and they placed handcuffs on my wrists and walked me through an open door into the jail.

I was processed. First I was fingerprinted, then I had to have my mug shot taken. I had to look directly into the camera and then turn to the side. It was so humiliating. Mr. Ballard said the entire process should not take more than twenty-four to forty-eight hours for my arraignment and bail hearing. It was my first hour, and already I was ready to go home. They took me to my cell. It held a small, moss green metal bed and a toilet. It smelled, and I noticed I would be sharing my cell with a big giant water bug.

I was only in the cell for a few minutes and already it felt like an eternity. I stood up and walked around and then tried to look down the hall. I knew I had to get all of this over with in order to move on, but already I wasn't sure if I had made the right decision.

Another half hour went by and they brought in a woman with a short haircut like a man.

She said, “What's up?” I gave her a faint
Hey
back.

“I'm Keisha,” she said, trying to shake my hand.

“Tanisha.”

“So what are you in here for?” she asked.

“Um, a gun charge and shooting.”

“Yo, for real. You don't look like you have gunplay. I'm in here for busting a bottle upside a stupid bitch's head. Stupid bitch works for me and came short with my money.” She laughed.

“Oh, so you are like a madam?”

“No, a pimp. They have women pimps. I have better hoes than most men. Someone is always hating. Like whoever called the cops. But they ain't got nothing on me. They couldn't find her or the bottle I hit her with, but still booked me.”

Keisha wasn't really that gangsta. After an hour or so she started telling me about how her mother left her and her father—and her father's mother—beat her, so she left home at thirteen. She shared a lot, so I opened up about what happened to me. She told me I had nothing to worry about and that it was self-defense and I would get off. She was real knowledgeable. I told her I already had an attorney, but she still wanted to recommend hers—an attorney named Stephanie Westcoat.

“If I put you down with this bitch, she is going to get you off. She is a bad bitch. You feel me? I mean, you could have had the gun right there, fingerprints on the gun, eyewitnesses see you pull the trigger, and she can still get you off. You should call her.” I took her information as if I would call. I continued to make small talk with her. She looked very scary, but after getting to know her I could tell she was just a product of her environment.

I lost track of time. I knew every time I fell asleep, I was startled awake and felt like I was going to fall. I would look down at my watch, thinking I had been sleeping forever, and had only been sleeping for forty-five minutes. Keisha was on the floor, back against the wall, sleeping soundly like she was home. I told her I saw a few roaches down there. She said it didn't bother her and the only time she got good rest was when she was in jail.

Roughly two days later, Keisha, me, and everyone else who was waiting to be arraigned were led into the courtroom. I saw Kevin and Tyrone. They both looked very concerned. Just seeing the judge I got a little nervous. Keisha turned into a gangsta boo when we got in the courtroom. Her attitude changed. Her case was the first to be heard. I was waiting to see her high-profile attorney, but she was not there. The only person there to represent her was a public defender.

Her charges were read by the court. “Keisha Hardison is being charged with aggravated assault and possession of an instrument of crime.”

“Your Honor, she has several priors. And she is a danger to society. She has two pending cases for aggravated assault. She should not be released on bail, Your Honor,” the district attorney said. Her public defender didn't object, and she didn't get bail. I looked over to her to see if she was upset. She just stood up straight and gave the courtroom a mean poker face. Then the next three ladies after her were denied bail. There was a real chance that I was going to be stuck in jail.

The DA began to read off all my charges. “Tanisha Butler is being charged with attempted murder, aggravated assault, simple assault, unlawful possession of a firearm, and leaving the scene of a crime.” He read off so many charges, like I was a really bad, horrible criminal.

“We are asking for bail, Your Honor,” Mr. Ballard said.

The district attorney interrupted and said, “We request that bail be denied because the defendant is a flight risk, Your Honor.”

“My client is not a flight risk. She willingly turned herself in.”

“I will grant bail. Bail is set at two hundred thousand dollars.”

As we were led out of the courtroom I began to tear up. I knew no one had two hundred thousand dollars readily available and I was going to be stuck in jail.

“What are you crying for? At least you made bail,” Keisha said.

“Who has two hundred thousand?”

“You only have to come up with ten percent of that. That's only twenty thousand. Just make sure that your people get down here before five, or you are going to have to spend the night in the county jail. And you are a nice person. I wouldn't want to see you up there. Not even for one night. You know I gotcha—wouldn't let anyone fuck with you.”

Keisha was scaring me, telling me how bad the jails were. I didn't want to go there at all. Luckily, I didn't have to. Kevin paid my bail in full and I was released.

It will be a month to wait before we go to preliminary trial to see if this case will stick. In the meantime I had to just sit and pray and hope that everything would work itself out. There was so much I wanted to do and start. Everyone was getting used to having me around again. I've been making dinner and spending time catching up with my children. The other day when Kierra came home from school and I wasn't there, she went screaming and hollering around the house. Tyrone didn't know what was wrong until I came through the door and she said, “I thought you left again. Mommy, please don't ever leave me again.” It was going to be hard to get everyone to forget that I was gone for a year.