Pandora's Box

by Allison Hobbs

  But throwing caution to the wind, Victoria offered her lips and clung to him. Her hands, with a will of their own, traveled Kareem’s wide, muscular back—caressing, kneading, massaging, and all the while soothing her own aching heart.

  The sexual encounter was intense, yet tender. And when it was over, instead of jumping up and darting out the door, Victoria nuzzled next to Kareem. Like lovers, with their bodies entwined, they lay together in the dark. She listened to his even breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall. And for this intimacy, shared with a stranger, Victoria would be eternally grateful.

  There were three thumps on the door.

  Kareem stirred. Victoria jumped.

  “Time’s up,” Dominique said gruffly.

  Victoria felt embarrassed. As if she’d done something wrong.

  Feeling unsure of what had transpired between them, she smiled weakly at Kareem. She hoped she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself.

  Victoria noticed that Kareem no longer had the self-assured look he had earlier. There was no way to exit gracefully, so she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her naked body and began gathering her belongings.

  “Thank you, Kareem. I hope you’ll come again.” Her normal closing spiel sounded awkward and inappropriate.

  “Yeah, I’m definitely coming back to see you again.” Kareem nodded his head as he spoke, as if to reassure her.

  Victoria detected tension when she returned to the lounge. Dominique and Reds mumbled under their breath, and Jonee wore a stony expression that suggested she too, was in a foul mood.

  “What’s up, girl?” Victoria asked Jonee, playfully speaking in street vernacular, but enunciating clearly.

  “We got some mad hoes up in here tonight,” Jonee announced.

  “Angry at me?”

  “Yeah, and I don’t blame them. You can’t be in there for a whole hour, with the room on lock-down. You wouldn’t believe how many customers walked out because all the rooms were tied up.”

  “Was I supposed to kick my customer out to accommodate someone else?” Victoria snapped, rolling her eyes.

  Jonee had not been introduced to the feisty side of Victoria and was visibly taken aback.

  “And furthermore,” Victoria raised her voice, turned and glared at Reds and Dominique, “if a customer is paying, I can spend the entire night in the room if I so desire and I don’t need permission from any of you.”

  The women fell silent. Reds looked shocked as if she’d just been falsely accused.

  Kareem appeared in the doorway of the lounge and beckoned Victoria. The lounge was strictly off-limits to customers, but with her eyes, and wearing one of her Nana’s stern expressions, Victoria defied any of the women to say a word.

  “Is it possible to see you outside?” Kareem asked as Victoria walked him to the lobby. “Can we go out sometime?”

  She wanted to shout an emphatic yes, but realized that an involvement with Kareem could only add more confusion to her already complicated life. Victoria smiled sadly and shook her head no.

  “I can respect that,” he said. “I understand. So, uh, I guess the only way I’m gonna get to see you is if I come back here?”

  Victoria nodded.

  “When are you working again? Will you be here tomorrow?”

  “No. This isn’t my regular shift. I’ll be here Monday night after five,” Victoria said, while thinking: Damn, Kareem must have money to burn.

  “Okay. I’m gonna get back on Monday.” He brushed his hand across her face. “So tomorrow is your day off?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Just wondering.” Kareem touched her chin with his finger. “Wanted to know, just in case you change your mind about going out with me.”

  “Yo, Kareem,” his friend called from the lobby. “Come on, man. Let’s roll! I’ve been out here freezin’ my ass off while you in there tryin’ to fall in love.”

  Kareem kissed Victoria on the cheek. She watched as he and his friend disappeared out the door.

  Victoria made careful steps as she returned to the lounge. Trying to stay grounded wasn’t easy for someone who was walking on air.

  CHAPTER 11

  Victoria taught Jordan their telephone number, now it seemed every time she picked up the phone, he was on the other end. He’d call from the sitter’s house immediately after being dropped off, then he’d call again early the next morning, awakening her long before she was ready to start the day. The endless phone calls were driving her crazy and Victoria could only pray that the novelty would soon wear off.

  Around 10:30 Sunday morning, Victoria arrived home to a dark, silent apartment. The closed blinds did not allow any sunlight to filter in, making the apartment tomb-like, for which Victoria, suffering from sleep deprivation, was grateful.

  Though creaky and badly in need of a new mattress, Victoria’s bed beckoned her. She couldn’t wait to throw back the covers, slide in, and hopefully sleep uninterrupted for at least three hours. She’d have to call Charmaine and ask her to keep Jordan for another hour or two. She’d offer to pay extra, of course.

  Peeling off layers of outerwear: hat, coat, scarf, and gloves, Victoria headed for the hall closet. As she passed her bedroom, she noticed that the red light of the answering machine blinked ominously. She was tempted to ignore it; she didn’t want to hear anything from anyone. But she couldn’t. There may have been an emergency; suppose something had happened to Jordan.

  In a sudden panic, she pushed down the button to review the messages. There were three—all from Jordan. “Hi, Mommy. Do you know who this is? It’s me!”

  While listening to the second message, Victoria could hear Jordan’s friend, Stevie giggling in the background. “Hey, Mom, when are you coming to get me?” And finally, the third: “Mommmmy! Hurry up! What’s taking you so looong?”

  Victoria erased the messages. She was annoyed and felt harassed; she held her babysitter responsible. Char-maine knew that she wasn’t scheduled to pick Jordan up until noon, so why did she allow him to call incessantly?

  There was no emergency; her son was okay, so Victoria forced thoughts of Jordan from her mind. She was in no mood to venture back out into the cold, nor was she in any condition for Jordan’s high-spirited shenanigans.

  Victoria pulled off her boots, then her socks and, as the tension gradually left her feet, her entire body began to relax. She slipped out of her jeans, but when she pulled her sweater over her head, she was overcome by the strong stench of cigarette smoke and other odors she associated with Pandora’s Box. Aiming for the clothes hamper, she slung the offensive sweater out into the hallway. It reached its mark.

  Victoria couldn’t get into bed fast enough, but as tired as she was, she knew she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if she tried to crawl into bed without taking a shower.

  Musing mindlessly she ran the water in the bathroom, she found herself thinking of Jordan, and tried to steer her thoughts in a different direction, but couldn’t. She thought about the urgency in his voice, and his desire to be in his own home bothered her.

  Abruptly, Victoria shut off the water, redressed, (substituting the befouled sweater for a clean one), threw her coat on and, feeling like a martyr, she trudged back out into cold, gray morning.

  Mercifully, she didn’t have to climb the stairs to Charmaine’s third-floor apartment. Soon after ringing the doorbell, like magic, she heard Charmaine’s door creak open and a few seconds later, Jordan and Stevie were bounding down the stairs. Dressed in a robe and slippers, Charmaine plodded slowly behind the rambunctious boys.

  “Good morning,” Charmaine said cheerfully as she swung the door open wide. “Good Lordy, it’s cold out here. Hurry up, Jordan. I can’t be holding this door open and letting all the heat out.” She shivered dramatically and laughed.

  Victoria grunted in response. It was as close as she could come to laughter. Barely keeping her eyes open, she was too exhausted to find anything funny.

  “He ate a big breakfast: juice, pancakes, bac
on and eggs,” Charmaine said.

  “Thanks, Charmaine.” Victoria said flatly, hoping her eyes reflected the depth of her gratitude. In her current state, there was no way that she could possibly throw together anything remotely resembling a well-balanced meal. Charmaine was a lifesaver and a saint.

  The twenty-degree temperature did not affect Jordan. In fact, he seemed invigorated by the blustery weather. On the walk home, Jordan took long running slides on the sheets of ice that covered the pavement.

  “Look at me, Mommy! I’m ice skating.”

  Victoria tiptoed around the slippery pavement with her shoulders hunched against the cold, and her face buried in the scarf around her neck.

  “Be careful, Jordan,” she called out in a muffled voice.

  Jordan’s high level of energy continued at home. He zipped from room to room, yelling Mommy this and Mommy that.

  They had been home for less than five minutes, and already Jordan had started to get on Victoria’s nerves. The boy never walked calmly to get from point A to point B. He thumped, jumped, and ran everywhere.

  Suddenly Victoria remembered the video she’d bought from Rover that was stuffed in her workbag. Eureka! She could calm and distract Jordan with a movie while she got a few desperately needed hours of sleep.

  Rover didn’t have Disney movies or any other kiddy movies, but he persuaded Victoria to buy an old movie he claimed to be a classic called Robocop. Rover said the movie was a futuristic thriller about a cop turned robot who keeps the peace in Detroit. He assured Victoria that Jordan would enjoy it, but warned that there was some violence.

  Victoria had never seen the movie, and thought that it sounded incredibly stupid. But what did she know? It was action-packed and she’d be granted some uninterrupted sleep.

  There was a pang of guilt for exposing her son to a movie that had violent scenes. She had to push away the thought that she was condoning and perpetuating Jordan’s growing interest in guns.

  Victoria took a quick shower and fell into bed. Throughout her fitful sleep she heard over and over gunshots and screams accompanied by haunting music. When she awakened around one o’clock, she was horrified to find Jordan riveted in front of the TV. The policeman who would become a robotic officer of the law lay in a pool of blood, one limb blown away, his body riddled with bullets while a band of depraved criminals whooped and hollered in demonic glee.

  It was the kind of scene that could scar a child for life.

  “How many times have you watched this, Jordan?” Victoria grabbed the remote and pushed pause.

  “I don’t know.”

  Victoria recalled hearing the music in her dreams. “Did you rewind this part over and over?

  Jordan’s eyes twinkled as he nodded vigorously.

  “But this is horrible, Jordan. Do you like this?” She pointed to the frozen screen.

  “It’s okay, Mommy.” Jordan patted his mother’s arm reassuringly. “After they kill ’em, he gets to be Robocop.”

  “Did you watch anything else? Any cartoons?”

  “Just Robocop,” Jordan said with pride.

  Victoria stopped the VCR and pushed eject. He’d seen quite enough. She needed her head examined for allowing an innocent child to view something so evil. She shook her head, to rid herself of the terrible thoughts. She couldn’t allow herself to become introspective, for if she examined herself too closely, she’d come to realize that she’d brought the tape home as a sort of bribe. She was neglecting her son—again. At first it was her music career that drove her, that permitted her to give him only small portions of herself, only snatches of her time. She’d reasoned that she’d make up for it later, providing him with a privileged life would nullify the neglect. Since she’d accepted that there’d be no privileged life, no happy ending, no pot of gold—she should have spent more time with Jordan. But she didn’t. Most of her time was spent at that scandalous place where she did unspeakable things for enough money to pay some bills and keep them afloat.

  A few hours later, Victoria played Uno with her son and then a few rounds of Old Maid.

  “Okay, Jordan,” she said, putting the cards back in the pack. “Why don’t you go play in your room?”

  Jordan raced into his room but immediately returned with a board game. “Let’s play Sorry, Mommy.” Wearing an impish grin, he began setting up the game, as if the sight of the colorful board and pieces would compel his mother to play.

  “I’m blue. What color do you wanna be?”

  Victoria groaned; she hated playing Sorry. With a weak smile she chose red and listlessly rolled the dice and pushed the red piece around the board.

  When the game ended and Jordan squealed for more, Victoria put her foot down. Enough was enough, she was beginning to feel abused. How much quality time did she owe her son?

  “Why don’t you go in your room and play with your Legos?” Victoria suggested in a pleading tone.

  Jordan’s lips curled into a pout. “I don’t want to. Please, Mom. Can’t we play again?”

  “Jordan! Leave me alone! I don’t want to play any more games!” Her tone was sharper than she intended. Her eyes welled up and as she watched Jordan slink off to his bedroom, she was reminded of the troubled relationship she had with her own mother. Tears burned her eyes. She’d make it up to Jordan. Perhaps she’d order pizza or something later on.

  Victoria’s own mother, whom she called by her first name, Zeline, had always kept Victoria at arm’s length. Victoria had been born when Zeline was just sixteen, and Zeline happily handed Victoria over to her own mother, who insisted that Zeline complete high school unencumbered by the responsibility of a child. There was college after high school, and Zeline, a bright student, had several choices. Wanting to put distance between herself and her unwanted child, Zeline chose UCLA and seldom came home to visit. Philly was too far, airfare too high.

  Victoria spent her childhood in a perpetual state of waiting for the mother she hardly knew, but loved to the point of worship. Each time Zeline disappointed her, Nana attempted to soften the blows by assuring Victoria that her mother was busy preparing a better life for the two of them. But Victoria often overheard Nana on the phone with Zeline. Her voice a low grumble, accusing Zeline of neglecting Victoria.

  Finally, when Victoria was eight, Zeline sent for her. But juggling a new teaching career, dating, and raising a small girl alone proved too troublesome for the inexperienced, unwilling young mother. Victoria was sent packing back to Philadelphia and back to her Nana, whose love, though abundant, could never fill the empty space, heal the hurt, or end the belief that she was flawed, defective, and unlovable.

  To this day, those feelings lingered.

  Nana had been the link between Victoria and Zeline. Zeline had called Victoria a few times since her Nana’s death, but their conversations were awkward and brief.

  Victoria held a passionate belief in reincarnation and wondered about the karmic ties that bound her and Zeline. She suspected that something awful must have occurred between them in a previous life; something still unresolved that would have to be confronted in the next.

  Victoria shuddered at the thought of another round with Zeline.

  Hours later, after having eaten too much pizza, Victoria felt bloated and guilty as sin. She surveyed her image in the mirror, checking to see how much damage the pizza had done and was relieved to find her body unchanged. If she planned to keep it that way, she knew she would have to get back into a regular exercise program and figure out a way to fit a low-fat diet into her crazy work schedule.

  Eating nutritiously was not a top priority at the massage parlor. Victoria had fallen into the habit, along with the other girls, of ordering greasy fast food from a twenty-four hour nearby restaurant that made around-the-clock deliveries.

  Victoria gave Jordan her undivided attention. She listened intently and responded appropriately to his incessant childish chatter. It was maddening, but she forced herself to interact with her son until bedtime.


  After Jordan had gone to sleep, Victoria was finally able to focus on the honey-coated feelings that had been flitting in and out of her mind all day. Pleasant sensations coursed through her body, prickling her skin and now softly tickled the corners of her mouth, curving it into a smile.

  Victoria clicked off the TV and curled up on the sofa. She closed her eyes and began reviewing the images from the previous night. There was no order to the succession of scenes that played in her mind: Kareem’s lips touching hers, her hands exploring his muscular body, the sound of his laughter.

  But Kareem was a customer, not a potential love interest, she sternly reminded herself. Still her thoughts made her feel good; it was harmless fun. Folly. Entertainment.

  Besides, thinking about Kareem was far more pleasant than contemplating her future. The eviction date loomed and though she had saved more than enough money to make a down payment on a new apartment, she needed a good credit rating to move into a decent place. Her credit was awful, and it would take a fortune to pay off her debts.

  CHAPTER 12

  Motivated by the encounter with Kareem, and the promise of seeing him again, Victoria spent eight torturous hours having her hair braided in an African braiding salon. The final hour was the worst. She sat with fists balled, toes curled and her face contorted, while the braider, unaware of the excruciating pain she inflicted, chatted annoyingly in her native tongue with another braider.

  During that final hour, Victoria fought the urge to scream, and bolt from the chair. But suffering, in one form or another, was often a requirement in the black woman’s quest for glamour, particularly when associated with hair, and so Victoria endured the pain.

  Sporting her new ’do, Victoria returned to work looking and feeling like the proverbial Nubian queen. However, her regal aura began to dissipate after an hour of sitting in the lounge, waiting.