My screen tells me it isn’t Keena, but Momma, her beautiful face gracing the screen. Why can’t all women be as good hearted and honest, as Priscilla Morgan?
“Hey, Momma.”
Hearing her voice may just be the salve I need to mend the anger I feel inside. Quench the thirst I have for answers to questions, about just how women work.
“Austin, honey, are you at home?”
I didn’t like the tone of her voice. Priscilla Morgan is a strong, vibrant southern woman, who can charm the pants off a priest in the middle of Mardi Gras.
“No, Ma’am. I’m at work already.”
Maybe I’m wrong, and everything is fine. She has never had a set time for calling me, never needed one either. I’d move heaven and earth for my momma. No woman, in this life or the next, is more important than she is.
“Listen, I need you to do me a favor, Son.”
Something is very wrong, she never approaches me like this. She always butters me up like a hot biscuit in July, before she asks what she wants.
“Momma, what’s wrong?”
The line is silent; silence and Priscilla Morgan are not friends. I rise from my chair, grabbing my keys and jacket, preparing to hunt down the person responsible for making this woman’s voice quiver. “Puddin’, it’s your Granddaddy…” I don’t want to hear the rest of the sentence, and by the sounds of tears in her voice, she doesn’t want to tell it either. “He passed away this mornin’.”
When I was little, Priscilla Morgan saved me from a life of revolving foster homes. She took me in her arms, and swore to me everything would be fine. Even as a young boy, seeing everything I had, I didn’t trust women. Granddaddy Van Buren took me by the hand, and walked with me nearly every day for a solid month, assuring me this family could be trusted. He showed me how to fish and skip rocks along the top of the water. He pointed out to me how by taking me from the home, she had chosen me and my brothers, out of all the other kids who lived there. Slowly, I had come around and was able to talk with her, kiss her cheek, and hug her at night. He became just as important to me as Dean, my daddy, did. Now he’s gone. Who will tell me how to get past the betrayal of yet another woman?
Foregoing a trip to my penthouse, knowing the bitch would still be there, and I was not emotionally ready for conversation. Instead, I boarded a plane bound for Charleston with the clothes I wore to work, and sadness in my heart. The man I respected the most in the world was gone.
Sisters are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings are having trouble remembering how to fly.
~ Unknown
Being so new in my position, I couldn’t even consider saying anything but yes when my boss asked me to go to San Diego. Our company was currently in negotiations to purchase a competitor. When she informed me which company she was after, I had to suppress a laugh. All the trash talking Kennedy Fraser did during college, only made him look like an idiot. As his father was recently arrested for alleged fraud. When the board learned of the allegations, they called for an audit. The results uncovered, were the reasons for the sale.
Once my plans were set, I called my sister, and asked her to come out and visit with me for a few days. I expected her to say no. To make up some excuse as to why it was a bad idea. She sounded so excited when she agreed. She said she would have to take a bus because George never let her have very much money. I offered to fly her here, and she accepted.
As I watched her walk down the hall to the baggage claim area where we agreed to meet, I had a rush of memories from the last time I had laid eyes on her. Nearly five years had passed since she’d graduated high school, and married George. Heidi had always been a pretty girl, taking after our mother in her pure beauty. Now, she appeared much older. Her once bouncy, golden hair, now laid slicked back into a low, messy ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her cheeks were sunken in, as if she hadn’t eaten for weeks, and dark circles competed with the pallor of her skin.
Momma had always dressed us the best she could, with ribbons and bows, and matching sweaters in vibrant, pastel colors. Now, Heidi looked more like a nun, with her gray skirt and black sweater, both several sizes too big. Most of all, her sunken eyes made her look exhausted.
No words were exchanged, as we held one another tightly. The sounds of arriving flights echoing overhead, as we rocked back and forth. Love could erase the time we’d spent apart, and regrets we would never admit. She smelled off, like mothballs, and arthritis medication. Pulling back, I looked into her eyes; the sadness there chilled me to the bone.
“Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
The concierge at my hotel recommended an Asian restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. My company had given me a small allowance for a rental car, but I chose to use my own money, and got a convertible. I hadn’t even made it past the first turn in the parking garage, when Heidi pulled the elastic from her hair, letting it fly free around her. She raised her arms into the air, after reaching over, and turning the stereo up as loud as she could.
Gone was the woman who stepped off the nonstop flight from Tucson. Replace with the young, vibrant girl, who never left the house without her lip gloss. As we traveled down the highway, the wind whipped her hair behind her, and Heidi danced in her seat. The words to the song forgotten, as she whooped and hollered, waving and blowing kisses, to cars we passed.
Growing up, we didn’t have much of anything; except being poor, and each other. Sometimes, near the end of the month, before the food stamps came, we would dream of how good a package of Ramen noodles would taste. We would eat the last few crackers, even though they were stale or damp. When the powdered milk would get mixed with the last of the real stuff, it was just enough to make macaroni and cheese. I remembered how excited we would get when the government cheese was passed out at the local VFW.
Those days were long behind me. I haven’t worried about a meal since the day I left for college. From the looks of her, it seems I can’t say the same for Heidi. Once we sat in the restaurant, she pulled off the black sweater, revealing nearly skin and bone hidden underneath. She looked with a worried face at the menu. So placing my hand on hers, I assured her she could have anything she wanted, my treat.
It’s nice to not only see my baby sister, but see her enjoying herself. Living as we did, survival was the only business of the day. Being able to sit and enjoy a meal, not worrying about saving half for a later meal, or if this was the only meal for the day, was something to treasure.
I allowed her to have her fill, enjoying everything she ordered, and a good portion of mine. Seeing her consume this much food and the condition of her frail frame, I questioned just how well her husband was taking care of her. During our phone conversation, she admitted they had closed the soup kitchen. George had wanted to devote more time to the ministry he was trying to build.
“So, tell me more about this new church?”
Heidi had ordered two desserts, a piece chocolate cake and a slice of cheesecake. Her fork was pressed against her tongue, the hot fudge too good for her to leave behind on the utensil.
“It’s actually an established congregation, mostly older worshipers, and single mothers. A few youth, but not enough to start a group for them.” Her eyes twinkled, and I knew there was something more there, something which excited her. “We have been blessed with a young musician who is excited about the choir.” She lifted her eyebrows as she said the word musician. A classic move she learned from our momma. She believed you should always have a man on deck, one waiting in the wings, as you got rid of the one who warmed your bed. Each time we were about to be introduced to a new “uncle”, she had the same look.
“I take it you’re fucking him?” My words meant to bite. She had learned nothing from watching Momma run herself into the ground. Although it was her life, it bothered me Heidi was following in Momma’s footsteps.
“Who, George?” She cast questioning eyes in my direction. The area between her brows puckered, and wrinkled.
“No, idi
ot. Why would I care if you’re fucking your own husband? I’m talking about the musician.”
Heidi never could lie for shit, neither could Momma. Where Heidi would curl her hair around her finger, momma would pick at her fingernail polish, then lie through her damn teeth. Right now, Heidi’s fingers were headed straight for the windblown mess she was sporting. “It’s not really fucking.” With the fingers still hair free, I knew she was telling the truth. How long that lasted was yet to be determined.
“Then what is it? ‘Cause oral sex is still fucking.” I pointed my empty fork in her direction. I had gone with fresh fruit, instead of the sugar coma inducing mess across the table from me.
Heidi continued to cut her cake into bites, mixing each piece with a portion of cheesecake. Her eyes fixed on the movements of her fork; avoidance was a skill Candy Perry had mastered as well.
“Nothing has really happened.” She shrugged, as she continued to build the perfect bite. My sister could justify just about anything. I could almost feel the excuse formulating in her mind. How she just fell on his hard dick, or she tripped and his tongue broke her fall by impaling her pussy.
“Might as well just tell me the truth,” I leaned over the edge of the table, my arms crossed in defiance. “It’s not like I’m going to talk with George anytime soon.”
Heidi’s eyes flashed to mine, her face remaining stoic, and pensive. “Let me ask you something,” she leaned back in her chair, her dessert abandoned for the conversation. “How would you feel if the man who promised you the world, suddenly wouldn’t touch you anymore?” Her eyes flicked between mine. The hurt she felt peeking out, overshadowing the exhaustion, which was covering her entire body. “You don’t know what it’s like to be taken to your marital bed, only to have your husband tell you sex is for procreation, not pleasure. And since you can’t get pregnant, there’s really no point in fucking you anymore.”
Her voice told me this had been building; the pain wrapped around every word, said it all. The dreams she had of happily ever after, were now tainted with the harsh words of what sounded like a bitter, and possibly impotent, old man. Forcing her to seek the comfort and shelter, of a much younger, and perhaps more satisfying, man.
“Every Saturday he comes to the church, and has the choir in the palm of his hands. He inspires and lifts the members of the church up into the rafters, when he sings or plays the piano.” The glistening of an approaching tear enters the corner of her eye. I can’t sit in judgment of my baby sister, ignoring the pain, which seems to have consumed her. Reaching across the table, I extend her my unconditional love, with the warmth of my hand.
“He hugs me, Lainie,” her voice cracks with her admission, and I can’t fight the tears, which transfer to me. “He smells so good, like a man, and not a bottle of menthol. I know it’s wrong.” The tears are flowing freely. Releasing the pain from the guilt of either the actual sin she has committed, or the thoughts she has kept secret. “How long does God want to punish me for being a whore?”
As much as I hated Frances Greyson for hurting me, causing the irrational fear of I have of my own fucking shadow, I hated George Garvin for bringing even one tear to his wife’s face.
“Heidi, honey, you’re not a whore.”
“But I can’t get pregnant.” Her voice cracked, revealing the true culprit behind the pain. Salty tears confessed what her heart feared, soulful regret for what she cannot have.
“Heidi, did a doctor tell you that or did George pull it out of his ass?” I was so sick of the pollution that man spread with his vile words, and outdated thinking. Backwater wisdom, full of invented forecasts in a world they could not explain. Heidi didn’t have to answer. I knew he had convinced her of the price she had to pay for giving herself to another man. Even if she, and not his old ass, owned the loss of her virginity.
“Sissy, if whores couldn’t get pregnant, then you and I wouldn’t be here.”
From early ages, Heidi and I knew the truth about our momma. The whispers, which flew around us from the other children, and hateful words spoken by adults when young sponges were present. The women of the town we grew up in would smile to her face, compliment her on her hair, or the way she dressed us girls. Then, when the church groups met, and the doors were closed, the evil witches would spread rumors like a virus.
“She did the best she could, Lainie. She had no formal education, just the face God gave her.” This sounded more like my sister, defending Momma, no matter what the fight.
“You’re right, she did. But she failed when she did what she did with all those men.” I hated what I heard night after night. When she wasn’t fucking the current guy, she was fighting with him. She’d provided nothing solid to form a healthy relationship on. Thus the reason, I had stayed away from anything long term. When I finally gave my heart away, I wanted to see it grow, not be repeatedly broken. I still had hope of finding my forever, of meeting the one we all dreamt about.
“I hate him, Lainie. I hate how he eats with his mouth open, and how he clears his throat before he takes a drink. He ignores me, and then talks about me in his prayers at church. He tells God that I am his cross to bear. But, he can’t figure out what he is supposed to do with me.”
I hated seeing one more woman in my family torn apart by the man they trusted, loved, and gave their bodies to.
“He won’t touch me since we can’t have a baby. Yet, he tells me that masturbation is a sin against God.”
I can’t help but snicker. Imagining George standing at the pulpit, screaming that God will make you go blind, if you touch yourself.
“Well, I don’t know about it being sinful, but I do know I call out His name every time I do it.” It was the needed words to lift the weight off the subject, bringing an end to the tears, and putting a smile on her face. “Heidi,” I whispered, as I took her hand in mine. “What do you want to do?” Her brow furrowed, as she examined my question.
“Nobody has ever asked me.” She admitted, her face lighting up with possibility. “I’ve always wanted to teach or work with little children. To be a voice for them, when they can’t speak.” Her honesty made me smile. I could picture her standing before a class room, molding young minds, on how things are made or work.
“But…”
There was always a ‘but’ when it came to my sister. A roadblock she created for herself. “George would never let me teach little children. He said he didn’t want me putting ideas into their heads. I’ve always had to work in the church office, counting the offering, and answering the phone.”
I shook my head, ready to give her ten reasons why George was a fuck-nut, and not worthy of anyone’s time. “Lainie, can I ask you something?” Her voice stronger now, her eyes determined. I nodded, giving her the go ahead.
“You know I’ve tried things the way Momma told us to. Giving my man everything I had to keep him, right?”
“Yes, you more than me.”
“Well I was thinking. What if I tried things your way, putting myself first for a change?”
I wanted to reach over the table, bring her closer to me, and hug the shit out of her. “I’d say, I’d be happy to show you how to live for you, and not everyone around you. I would love to introduce you to my best friend, Claire, who is the most giving, and wonderful woman I know. Together, we can teach you to be happy with yourself.”
Her face filled with excitement. Her cheeks pinking from the rays of the sun she got on the drive over here. “Can I ask you another question?” Her voice pitched like a schoolgirl. The way she should sound, not like the decrepit woman she was dressed like.
“Of course.”
“Do you know any good attorneys?”
Laughing, I stood from my chair, and then wrapped her in a hug, “Yes, an entire family of them. Even a District Attorney, with a killer smile.”
You’ll only regret the chances you didn’t take, relationships you were afraid to have, and decisions you waited too long to make.
~ Unknown
New York was no longer my home, not that it ever really had been. It was just an escape from the chains I’d created for myself. A wild idea created by a fresh faced boy, with big dreams, and an even bigger ego. Being back in Charleston had reminded me of what being a good and decent man was all about. It also shed some light on a dark corner I didn’t know existed, or perhaps it was just a very well kept secret, even from me.
I watched Dylan taking a girl into the bathroom, and marveled at his ability to fuck her among the filth left behind from nameless patrons before them. Using her to scratch the itch he had at the moment. He made no promises of anything. Both parties agreeing to get what they needed from one another, and then carry on with their lives.
Clearly, I was too young to settle into a long-term relationship, and give my all when so little was returned. Perhaps I was jaded after the death of Granddaddy, and the betrayal of Keena, or maybe I was just finally seeing the light. The more I considered it, the more I knew the decisions I’d made on the plane ride back to New York, were the right ones for me.
Once I was in the back of a taxi, I called a co-worker, whose wife was a realtor. She had helped me get my condo, and I knew she would get me the best deal in selling it. Next, I phoned Scott. He constantly harassed me to hang out with him, and the rest of my team. I figured since I was handing in my resignation, this would be the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
After tossing the driver some cash, I stepped onto the sidewalk, and glanced up at the grey building that no longer appealed to me. Gone was the sweet smell of fresh cut grass, supper cooking, and laughter, shared between my brothers and myself. In its place was the dull hum of the city, car horns, and whistles. Was it that long ago I closed my eyes, and absorbed the sounds of this city? Relishing in the adventure it brought?
Absolute Corruption: Southern Justice Trilogy Page 3