Red Light Wives. Mary Monroe

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СКАЧАТЬ There was a foul taste in my mouth. I could feel the sour bile rising in my throat. I was not at that time, nor have I ever been a big woman. Even almost nine months pregnant, I weighed only a hundred and thirty pounds. The woman who had jumped me was about my size, maybe half a size larger. With the same hand that I had jacked off Larry with in the shower, I socked the side of my attacker’s face as hard as I could, knocking her to the ground. The palm of my hand stung like I’d been scalded. It was just like that scene in The Color Purple when Oprah knocked out the mayor with one punch.

      Popping up like a weed, my attacker brushed off her clothes and told me, “I’m goin’ to put somethin’ on you a doctor can’t take off.”

      Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the number of drooling spectators had doubled. I heard a few disembodied voices comment about some “dude’s wife” and “his whore” having a showdown.

      Then a heavy fist landed along the side of my face, making me see stars for sure. Since my hand was already in a fist, I did what I had to do. Larry’s wife seemed surprised when I punched her in the nose. Blood squirted, her eyes widened, and she started kicking at my legs. Within seconds, my calves and ankles felt like they’d been run through a wringer. Just as both women tried to pin my arms behind me, a hefty security guard came running out of nowhere and pulled us apart.

      I was too angry to feel any more pain. Even with all that was going on, I realized the truth. But I still needed to hear it. And I heard it loud and clear. “This bitch has been fuckin’ my man!” the pregnant woman hollered, spit flying out of her mouth like fireworks.

      “Look, I didn’t know the man was married,” I managed, my fist still balled and ready to strike again. “If you knew about him and me, his ass is the one you need to be kickin,” I snarled. I think I was more upset with Larry than I was with his wife because for the first time I realized what a pig in a poke he really was.

      “Oh, don’t you worry none about my husband, bitch. His butt is mine. You better worry about yourself and that bastard you carryin’!” Mrs. Holmes yelled. She rubbed the spot on her face where I had hit her.

      The way my baby was kicking, it seemed like he had joined the fight. But I was not interested in continuing something I’d already lost. All I wanted to do was get home, compose myself, and maybe pay an emergency visit to Dr. White’s office to make sure my son was still okay. But every time I tried to get in my car, both of the women blocked my way, still cussing at me and trying to hit me in my stomach again.

      The security guard was practically useless. He got scratched, punched, knocked down, and kicked by all three of us. The crowd roared with laughter. Some instigating teenagers chanted, “fight, fight, fight.” Then, while Mrs. Holmes and her ferocious friend stood there entertaining the crowd, cussing and calling me out of my name, a beefy-faced policeman showed up to sort out the mess.

      To add insult to injury, Larry’s vicious wife attempted to have me arrested for assault! But the nosy sister from the church I used to attend was the first of several people to speak up in my defense. They told the sweaty cop who had really started the fight.

      “Ma’am, do you want to press charges?” the cop asked me, wiping sweat off his face with his cap. The battered and bruised security guard was peeping from behind the cop.

      For a moment I considered this option. I would have been getting back at Larry’s wife and Larry, but after thinking about it for a minute, I decided it wasn’t worth it. I was better off just getting Larry out of my system for good. This was the last straw.

      I shook my head, limped back to my car, and drove like a bat out of hell. As soon as I got home, I started pacing my living room floor like a tiger, waiting to get my hands on Larry. I called his job; he was “unavailable.” I called his cell phone, he didn’t answer. And he didn’t call me or come to see me that day, or any other day.

      The next time I saw Larry was at the hospital when I gave birth to his son. When he came to see his wife in the room across the hall from mine, he glanced in my room with a blank stare, like I was a stranger. It was hard for me to accept the fact that he was the same man who had told me over and over that he loved me.

      Words could not describe the pain I was in. Physically, I felt fine. But my mind felt like it was on fire. I had never been so betrayed and used before in my life. The rage I felt was so severe, every man in that hospital looked like Larry to me. I glared at the husbands of all the other women sharing the room with me. Even old gray-haired Dr. White’s presence upset me. I almost bit his head off when he came to see how I was doing.

      “Lula, you seem awfully tense,” the kind old man said, backing away from my bed.

      “And I’ll be this way from now on,” I hissed.

      Chapter 2

      ROCKELLE HARPER

      I’d been on five job interviews in the last week. So far, not a single person had called me back. I could type, but I hadn’t passed any of the typing tests, and I didn’t know shit about all the new office software. Until I improved my skills, getting a job in an office didn’t seem like a possibility.

      The restaurants wanted waitresses with experience. And the pocket change that the department stores offered was not enough for me to support a cat, let alone me and three kids.

      Interview was a fancy word for what I was about to do. Thanks to Joe running out on me and the kids, I was about to involve myself with a man who made his money setting up dates for horny men with desperate women like me. At least three hundred dollars a date, I’d been promised. I told myself that nobody I knew would ever know. And I swore that I would only do it until I got on my feet, or until Joe came back.

      San Francisco is one of the most exciting and glamorous cities in the world. It is a haven for everyone from the rich and famous to the lost souls who wouldn’t fit in anywhere else. When you grow up the way I did, on welfare in a Section Eight apartment located in a neighborhood that the press calls a war zone, you miss out on a lot of things that this city has to offer.

      I was born and raised in San Francisco, but I’d never been to Fisherman’s Wharf until today.

      I’d been in a few fancy restaurants with Joe, so I knew how to behave. I had on my most expensive-looking outfit. I’d spent an hour putting on my makeup and fixing my hair. And the way the waiters and male patrons in the restaurant were smiling and blinking at me, I knew I was looking good. What man wouldn’t want to pay me a few hundred dollars for a date?

      “You must be Rockelle.” The voice didn’t fit the man. I turned around, expecting to see some slick-haired brother with a mouth full of gold teeth, a neck draped with gold chains, and a ring hanging off the side of his nose. He was older than I’d expected. On the telephone he’d sounded like a man in his late twenties. With the deep lines crisscrossing his high forehead and the crinkles around his small black eyes, he had to be at least forty. He was tall and trim. His thick short hair was coal-black, but I knew a dye job when I saw one. Even though he was smiling, there was a sad, tortured look about him. He was good-looking, but not what I would call handsome. I would not have noticed him in a crowd. In his expensive-looking black suit and maroon tie, with a smile dividing his caramel colored face, he could have passed for a banker or a funeral director, depending on how you wanted to interpret the situation.

      “And you must be Clyde Brooks.” I smiled as he helped me remove my cashmere sweater in the lobby of Alfredo’s. I held on to my sweater, draping it across my arm so it wouldn’t get wrinkled or soiled. The price tag was still pinned inside, and I planned to return it СКАЧАТЬ