by Angela Henry
I was happy and relieved to wake up in an empty bed the next morning. Sam was highly pissed off when he left the night before after I’d invited him over so we could get busy and then changed my mind after he was all hot, naked and standing at attention. In my defense, I had every intention of going through with it. But I kept fantasizing about Carl whose face kept morphing into Mason’s. It made for one freaky ménage a quatre and made me feel sleazy and slightly sick to my stomach. And the fact that I’d almost had a one-night stand at Mama’s house, in the same bed I slept in as a child—with the same faded cornflower blue comforter—made it even worse. He’d called me a cock-teasing bitch, among other things, as I rushed him out of the house in the dead of night. I didn’t care. I just hoped he wouldn’t call me again.
My sheets still smelled like Sam’s cologne, so I got up and stripped the bed, hoping to erase every trace of my date gone wrong. I’m not sure who I was fooling. I’ve never been a casual sex kind of girl. Waking up alone after a night of passion would have made me feel even more sad and empty then if I’d kept my ass home last night.
After showering and putting on sweats, I took the bedding and headed down the stairs, stopping to let Queenie out into the backyard along the way. I tossed the bundle down the basement steps where it landed on top of the rest of my dirty laundry. By the time I got the paper from the front porch, pulled a box of cereal from the cabinet and a carton of milk from the fridge, Queenie was scratching at the back door. I was busy scanning the front page of the Willow-News Gazette as I flung the screen door open to let the dog back in.
I didn’t notice when the screen door didn’t slam shut right away. In fact, I was so engrossed in the paper, I didn’t notice that the beagle had brought something in with her besides her rawhide bone until I heard heavy footsteps echoing behind the click of Queenie’s claws on the linoleum. Startled, I dropped the newspaper and stumbled back against the counter and stared at the stranger standing in Mama’s kitchen. He was a tall, heavyset, dark-skinned man over six feet tall, with sunken eyes and grey stubble dotting his cheeks. He wore a blue warm-up suit underneath a bulky green parka, a white baseball cap, and black trainers. I couldn’t tell how old he was. But if I had to guess would put him somewhere between late fifties to mid-sixties.
“Sorry,” he said, giving me a sheepish look. He held up his hands and took a step backwards. “I knocked and when you flung the door open I assumed you were inviting me in.” As he spoke, I saw the glint of a gold tooth.
“Who are you?” I asked when I finally found my voice.
“Name’s Delbert Bentley. But folks just call me Dibb.” He took a step forward and held out a meaty hand for me to shake. I eyed his hand dubiously before reaching out and giving it a quick shake vaguely wondering if I’d just shaken the hand that was about to strangle me.
“Okay. Can I help you?”
“I was just lookin’ for a buddy of mine and someone told me you was his lady and might know where he is. You’re Kelly, right?” He didn’t wait for my answer and started looking around like this so-called friend might pop out of one of the cabinets.
Was he talking about Carl? I guess he could be a friend of Carl’s but somehow I doubted it. I’d meet most of Carl’s friends and this man wasn’t one of them. Maybe he was someone Carl had represented in court or gave legal advice to when he was doing pro bono work for Holy Cross Ministries.
“Actually, it's Kendra, and if you’re looking for Carl, he moved to Atlanta and I don't have his number. But I can give you his work address.” Somehow admitting that I didn’t have my ex’s phone number and address embarrassed me. But it was true. The one and only letter I’d gotten from Carl since he’d moved to Atlanta was from his work address. I had no other way to get in contact with him.
“Who’s Carl?” asked my visitor, looking very confused, which made me confused.
“Carl Brumfield? My ex? Didn’t you say you were looking for him?”
“Don’t know no one named Carl.”
“Well, are you looking for Leonard Duncan?” I asked when it occurred to me he might be looking for Mama’s new husband.
“Nope. I’m talking about Lewis Watts. You’re his woman, right?”
Huh? Who in the hell would have told this man that I was short ass, processed hair having, pimp suit wearing, old enough to be my father Lewis Watts’s woman? This had to be some kind of sick joke.
“Look Mr. Dubb…” I began.
“It’s Dibb,” he corrected.
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information from or what kind of game you’re trying to play, but I am most certainly not Lewis Watts’s woman.”
“My bad, little sister,” he said, chuckling softly at my outraged expression. “But you kinda looked like you was his woman in this picture.” He pulled a snapshot from the pocket of his coat and handed it to me. I stared at it suspiciously before taking it from him. Then I took a look at it and felt my face flush with embarrassment that it even existed in the first place, especially when I didn’t even remember posing for it. Actually, that's not exactly true. I remembered the pose. It was the camera I was a little foggy on since I’d been half drunk off fuzzy navels at the time.
In the picture I was dressed in a blue halter dress with a pimp hat complete with a pink feather sticking out of the brim, broken down over my left eye. I was sitting astride a Ducati motorcycle with Lewis standing next to me with his arm draped around my shoulders, while I wore a goofy grin on my face. It was the one and only piece of evidence that I had actually gone out on a date with Lewis Watts. But I’d had good reason, or so I thought at the time. Lewis had information that I needed and going out with him was the price I had to pay to get it. But I’d ended up paying a much higher price in the end. Carl had seen me getting into Lewis’s car that night and got the wrong idea. He thought I was cheating on him, dumped me, and moved away. There was, of course, more to the story but you get the gist. Impulsively, I turned the picture over and saw the words Lewis and Kelly, 1999 Distinguished Gents Annual Pimp & Ho Ball. I winced.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the Distinguished Gents Club House over in Dayton. It was tacked up on the bulletin board.”
“Well, this is just one picture from one night. I’m not, nor have I ever been, his woman,” I replied through tight lips. I started to stuff the photo in my pocket so I could burn it later. But my unwanted guest reached out and snatched it back.
“Makes no difference to me whether you his woman or not. I just need to track him down.”
“He’s a custodian at Springmont High. Have you…”
“Already done checked there,” he said, cutting me off. “They said he quit right before Christmas. He don’t live over on Foreman Street no more and the high school won’t give me his address. So, do you know where he lives or not?” He asked impatiently with a slight sneer. Despite his initial pretense at politeness, I could tell this was not a nice man. I wanted him out of Mama’s house, now.
“Not,” I said, then walked over to the back door and pushed it open. The cold January air nipped at my cheeks. And to my great relief, he walked past me out onto the back porch.
“Well, if you happen to see him would you give him a message for me?” I hadn’t seen Lewis since our date back in the fall. But if it would hurry my unwanted visitor along, I’d happily comply.
“Yeah, sure. What is it?”
“You tell him Dibb Bentley’s back and I need that thing I left at his place the night Otis Redding died.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he was talking about. But when I looked up into his hard, flat, cold eyes, I realized I didn't want to know. Thankfully, he didn’t wait for a reply and left. I stepped back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind me, and closed and locked the back door for good measure. The noise got Queenie’s attention and she pulled her head out of her food bowl and ran to the door and started barking like
crazy.
“Some guard dog you are,” I told her before heading into the basement to do my laundry.
By Monday morning I’d forgotten all about my strange Saturday visitor, but not about what happened with Sam or seeing Mason with that woman. I wondered who she was and how serious she and Mason were. Then I got angry with myself because it really wasn’t any of my business. Mason was a very good-looking guy and I was certain he got a lot of female attention. But I did realize one thing. I was tired of being alone and wondering about other people’s love lives. I wanted a love life of my own.
So, before I headed out to work, I booted up the new laptop I’d bought myself for Christmas to check my Web of Love account. Hopefully, my Prince Charming had found me and shot me a thread, which is WOL’s equivalent to a wink. Unfortunately, the only message I had was from someone named FuckDaddy365 who saw my profile pic and thought I looked mean and offered to put a smile on my face. His own profile pic was a single, hairy middle finger pointed straight up. Lovely. I deleted the message and headed off to work.
My job at the Clark Literacy Center was the only thing in my life that I was actually happy with. The economy may have been crap, and the weather was hovering in the single digits, but our enrollment had tripled. There wasn’t an empty seat in the place. And as long as I was busy, I wasn't thinking about my sorry state of singlehood. But as fate would have it, even my working life was about to get complicated.
“What do you think she wants to see us about?” asked my coworker, Rhonda Hammond. We’d been called into our boss Dorothy Burgess’s office for an impromptu meeting between the morning and afternoon class sessions. My mouth had been watering for a tuna melt from Denny’s for lunch, but now it would have to wait.
“I have no idea. I’ve hardly seen Dorothy lately. You don’t think it’s about her mom, do you?”
“I don’t think so. Last I heard her mom was doing fine.”
“I hope they’re not cutting our hours,” said Rhonda, looking worried, though I had no idea why since he was married to a doctor and wasn’t hurting for money.
She’d told us it would only take a couple of minutes, but we’d been waiting in her office for almost twenty when she finally came bustling in wearing a vulgarly tight fuchsia sweater dress that hugged her large belly and clashed with her red hair. Dorothy cared little for the size she was supposed to be, which was a 14. Instead, she stuffed herself into size 12 clothing.
“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” she said, settling herself behind her big wooden desk.
“No problem, Dorothy. What’s up?” I asked, noticing Rhonda leaning forward anxiously in her seat. Was she really that worried about our hours getting cut?
“Well, no reason to beat around the bush. I’m retiring at the end of the school year.” Rhonda and I were both stunned. Neither of us knew what to say for a few seconds. “Okay, don’t congratulate me all at once,” she said dryly as we continued to gape at her. Dorothy was a workaholic who not only ran the Clark Literacy Center but also taught at the local community college. She was a widow whose children and grandchildren lived out of state. And while she was retirement age, I could hardly see her playing bingo and country line dancing at the Willow Senior Center with the other retirees.
“We’re just surprised,” said Rhonda finally finding her voice.
“Yeah, weren’t you the one who always said they’d have to pry the keys to this place from your cold dead hands?” I said. Dorothy laughed.
“Yes, I did say that,” she admitted. “But that was before my mother got old and sick. She was a career woman like me, a high school home economics teacher and guidance counselor dedicated to her school and her students. She was the first one to show up in the morning and the last one to leave. And in the summer when the other teachers were on vacation, she worked another job. I got my workaholic ways from her. There were so many things she’d wanted to do and places she’d wanted to go, but she kept putting them off telling herself she’d get to it one day. And one day never came. Now, she’s an old woman and in no shape physically to do much of anything except sit in a chair on the porch. While she was busy working, she let life pass her by and now it’s too late. But it’s not too late for me. There’s still some life left in me yet, and I plan on enjoying what’s left of it while I can.”
“You go, girl!” I said. Rhonda and I got up and went around the desk to give her a big hug. Just then a buzzing sound emanated from Rhonda’s purse. She pulled her cell phone out and flipped it open. “Sorry,” she mouthed. “I have to take this.” She left the room leaving Dorothy and me alone.
“I’m not going to lie, the place isn’t going to be the same without you, lady.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Dorothy and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but she’d been a wonderful and supportive boss. I was really going to miss this woman.
“Well, yes, I will be a hard act to follow,” she deadpanned. “But no one is irreplaceable. I’m sure the center’s next boss will be wonderful. And speaking of which,” she said in a low voice, looking over at the door. We could hear Rhonda out in the hall still talking. “I think you should apply for my job, Kendra.”
“What? Me? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I think you’d do a great job of running this place. I love your energy and dedication to our students. I’d be happy to put my full support behind you.”
I was stunned. Not only because she was retiring but because she thought me, and not Rhonda, could fill her shoes. Rhonda had been around a lot longer than I had. Why me and not her?
“Promise me you’ll think about it,” she said when I continued to gape at her. And all I could do was nod.
“So how much do you think Dorothy earns a year?” asked Rhonda later as we ate lunch at Denny’s.
“I don’t know. She’s worked for the school system for forty plus years, so I’m guessing she’s at the top of her pay range, probably high five figures, why?”
“I’m going to apply for her job. And as long as I’ve been working there, I think I’ve got a pretty good shot at getting it. What do you think?” My heart sank into my stomach.
What did I think? I thought that the one warm bright spot in my life had suddenly gone cold and dim.
Two
“What are you going to do?” asked my best friend, Lynette, when I’d told her about it over the phone that evening.
“Hell, I don’t know,” I said, sighing. Rhonda talked non-stop during lunch about all the changes she was going to make once she was in charge of the center. Dorothy hadn’t even officially announced her retirement and Rhonda was already redecorating her office. I didn’t have the heart to tell Rhonda what Dorothy had told me.
“What do you mean you don’t know? You better be saying you’re gonna go for it because trust me, if that Rhonda chick was in your shoes, she wouldn't be giving your ass a second thought.”
I knew she was right, but I also knew what it was like working with someone you had a beef with. I suddenly thought back to a certain former kindergarten teacher and an involuntary shudder went through my body at the memory. I’d been working with Rhonda long enough to know no matter which of us was in charge of the center, our working relationship was about to change drastically and probably not for the better.
“I just can’t figure out why she wants it so bad. She’s always acted like working more than twenty hours a week was out of the question because of her kids. Her husband’s chief of staff now at Willow Memorial, and they’re always entertaining. Plus, she does fundraising for the hospital. I don’t see how she’ll have the time to do Dorothy’s job.”
“Did you ask her?”
“I didn’t get a chance to say much of anything because she kept going on and on about how she should be the one to replace Dorothy.”
“Doesn’t that tell you something, Kendra?”
“What?” I asked, not sure what she could be getting at. Lynette sighed.
“You may not have worked there as long as she h
as but you’re just as qualified. And she knows that. She’s trying to undermine you. Make you think you don’t have what it takes. You need to stop worrying about her feelings and apply for that job. Do you want to be working part-time forever?”
Lynette was making perfect sense. But all I could think about was my last argument with Carl when he’d accused me of having a small town mentality and threw my lack of a full-time job up in my face. “Don’t you want more than this?” he’d asked me. The answer was, yes. I did want more. The problem was that I didn’t want the same things he wanted.
“I’m going to do it,” I said softly, more to myself than to her.
“Do what?”
“Apply for the job.”
“What was that?”
“You heard me. I said I was going to apply for Dorothy’s job!” And suddenly I realized how much I really wanted it.
“Now that’s more like it. And I’m going to be bugging you every week about this, so be prepared.” I knew she’d be true to her word and wasn’t looking forward to being nagged. But I also knew I’d need the extra kick in the pants.
After we hung up, I took Queenie for her evening walk. It was freezing, but the beagle was really living up to her name by taking her sweet time finding the perfect spot to do her business. We’d already gone around the block twice. My nose was running, and even though I had gloves and boots on, my fingers and toes were stiff and cold. Halfway around the block for a third time, she finally found a spot under a tree and after I held my breath and scooped the fragrant crap into the plastic bag I’d stuffed into my coat pocket, we headed home.
A half a block from Mama’s, I noticed an old black Cadillac idling at the curb in front of her driveway. I didn’t recognize the car and was too far away to see the driver. But something told me I needed to stay where I was. Maybe it was the fact that Queenie had parked herself on the cold sidewalk and refused to move. She was hardy Lassie, but when an animal was acting wary, it was a good idea to pay attention.