Backroom Confessions

by Rose Jackson-Beavers

  “Did you mail your resume?” asked Cynthia.

  “Hell yeah, I mailed that baby three weeks ago and I know she will call me because I probably have more experience than any of the people who are applying. I know that she will call eventually, but I have more things to do than to sit here waiting on some woman with an ugly name like Jerickca to call me.”

  “Girl, you know you ain’t got no sense. Why you want to make fun of that woman’s name? I think it’s a strong name. It’s cool.” Cynthia laughed.

  “You would think some shit like that. That heifer probably looks like a dude. Where you get a name like Jerickca from anyway? Some dude named Jeri?”

  “You’d better not let her hear you say that,” Cynthia stated.

  “Why? What the bitch gone do? She ain’t all that. You must know her or something?”

  Cynthia wanted to get off the phone. This was a person she didn’t like anyway. Why was she allowing this woman to invade her space and mess with her Christianity? Cynthia decided to get off the phone as quickly as she could. “Girl, I met her once. She seemed nice.”

  “What was she wearing? Did she have on designer clothes or what?”

  “I don’t remember, but she was attractive.”

  “How you know? That last dude you went out with look like a bulldog in the face.”

  “Somebody’s ringing my doorbell. I’ll get with you later.” Cynthia slammed the phone down. That woman really irked her and she would have to get her a caller identification box because she was not going to allow her to talk to her like that ever again. It was over with Megan. She meant it this time. That girl didn’t respect anybody.

  Out of all the staff that Ms. Parker would hire, Megan would become the leader of the pack. Tall and slim with long straight hair, she was beautiful and she knew it. Her hair was the color of copper with thin blond streaks. It looked so natural, as if the sun had changed her hair while she basked in it to give her skin a dark bronze tone. She was a medium caramel color before the powerful sunrays that tanned her skin to a bronze brown tone touched her. She had light hazel eyes and she walked with a strut. Everyone knew when she entered a room. Always the one dressed for success, she adorned herself in the most beautiful jewelry, each piece matching her designer garments carefully from necklace to earrings.

  Megan was meticulous about fashions and was quick to criticize those who didn’t meet her standards. Even though she was bitchy and talked too much, everyone who knew her was impressed with her stylish clothes. Whenever anyone met her, they would be in awe of her beauty, but especially her clothing. Thinking she was the boss, they would greet her as if she was Princess Diana and they were her loyal servants. Widowed without children, she looked as young as thirty but was all of forty-four years old. Her only wish in life was to be with a man who loved her and wasn’t afraid to show it.

  Megan did not have a Bachelor’s degree in Social Work, but she had over twenty years of experience working as a social worker with other state agencies. Her main theme in life was to save her clients, because they simply needed her help to save them from their pitiful lives. She had to help them to become someone of importance, because if she didn’t, who would? After all, she felt that she was the best social worker in a five hundred-mile radius. It would only be a small gesture to help someone else change his or her pitiful life to become better. Always the one to exaggerate her relationship with her clients, she made it seem as if they couldn’t live without her daily intervention. She was the only one who could guide them through their problems and stop them from merely existing, because she would give them hope. In a way, her clients acted as though they couldn’t live without her constant guidance. They wanted Megan’s looks, money, and cars. Megan sported around in a cold black 2000 Jaguar. When she tired of that, she simply backed out of her garage in her white Range Rover, kindly given to her by her late husband, Richard, who had been a trial judge.

  Richard lacked the ability to verbally tell Megan he loved her, because he never had a role model to teach him to express his feelings. His father and mother both died when he was a toddler. A mean aunt who never showed emotions raised him. He promised himself that his family would always know his love through his kind deeds. He tried to show his wife how much he loved her by purchasing her anything that money could buy. Before he died, he made sure that she was well cared for, by leaving her several large insurance policies.

  Although she could easily have stayed home rather than go to some dreary job, she preferred to work. Otherwise, who would see all the fine things that she had purchased? She needed to hear people say, on a daily basis, how pretty she was and to compliment on her coordinated and beautiful clothes. Megan couldn’t get enough accolades throughout the day because she never felt special at home. She had given Richard almost twenty-two years, all without a hint of heated passion. Sure, he had bought her everything, but all she’d wanted was her husband to whisper words of love to her.

  For love, she would be willing to give up her Chanel suits and her 300 pairs of designer shoes by Gucci, Coach, Kenneth Cole, and others. With love, Megan wouldn’t have time to embarrass or malign others; she would be too busy with her lover, if she had one. Megan’s lifetime goal was to represent. She had to be the best dresser, worker, and lover. She would do anything to be the top dog—then sabotage her-co-workers.

  Chapter 3

  Phoenix was sitting around the table talking to her mom. “Mom, when I graduate from college, my life is going to be totally different from the way it is now. You have worked so hard, and what did it get you? Nothing but tired feet and gray hair. Not me! I want to see the world and go places I have never been and buy things without worrying about the cost.”

  Barbara looked at her daughter and feared for her. Phoenix had always wanted more than she could afford to obtain for her on her meager salary as a nurse’s aide. She was the type of girl whose taste was far more sophisticated than Ms. Manners (the national expert on etiquette) and way out of reach for her fantasizing daughter. She would get her little butt in trouble if she didn’t change her ways.

  “Honey, Mama has told you about letting your eyes get you in trouble. You shouldn’t think of life in terms of material things. Life has so much more to offer like friendship and spiritual relationships, love of family and a true love of your own. Wanting to have the best in life is fine, but you don’t have to sacrifice your values and beliefs.”

  “Mama you act like I’m going to steal something,” Phoenix said as if she was agitated.

  “Phoenix, don’t think I’m stupid. I know that you have been seeing that bigheaded, no-good boy, Quincy. I know that he slings dope.”

  “I’ve never seen it. He’s never done that stuff around me. What I don’t know can’t hurt me.”

  Barbara shook her head slowly and said, “You can’t play with fire and don’t get burned. Everybody on this block knows that your boyfriend sells drugs. That stuff is breaking up families and causing people to die because of territorial issues. They are fighting over drugs and trying to stop each other from getting paid. If you are taking his money he will definitely want something in return.”

  “Mama, I’m not accepting anything from Quincy.”

  “Stop lying. Don’t you think I see the expensive things that you are wearing? Who bought them? I didn’t, and you certainly did not. So stop playing games and give that stuff back to that boy. I mean it girl. Don’t let me see anything else come into this house that I didn’t buy.”

  Phoenix sat at her country oak-styled kitchen table remembering that particular conversation with her mom. That’s how conversations always went in the house between Phoenix and her mom. But Phoenix always had other plans. She wanted things by any means necessary. This was her first rule of prevention from being broke to dating a drug dealer. She would just figure out a way to sneak her new clothes into the house.

  Phoenix was short and petite. She had a very large and toothy smile. Her teeth were perfectly even and very white. Her ha
ir was of a medium length and worn in a mushroom or flip. Most people would say that the texture of her hair was good, meaning it did not need a permanent or chemical to straighten it. She never used chemicals to get her bouncy and controlled look. She, too, was professional and wore the latest designer styles. She and Megan were the tightest of the four. Each of their attire balanced the others, and if Phoenix wore the wrong shirt with a suit, Megan was sure to scold her.

  Phoenix was married and she had an infant daughter. Always the one who wanted to be seen with the richest and smartest, she was known as a “wannabe.” This was a person who only associated with those who had made it or who everyone knew would achieve success eventually. These individuals had one noticeable asset: money. They either were born with money or had new money from investments. It didn’t really matter so much how they got the money as long as they had it.

  She felt that old money was better than new money because it came from an inheritance or from a trust fund. New money meant the person had lucked up on a good investment or made money by being a benefactor from someone’s insurance policy. One main difference between the two types of money was how the owners acted. People who had old money were used to the lifestyle they had and would not run and spend the money unwisely, but folks who caught a break in getting money usually blew it quickly.

  Although Phoenix was sweet and approachable, she had two major downfalls. One was the way she whined and kissed up to the supervisor to get ahead, and the other was that she was unhappy with her life and current financial status but unwilling to improve her situations through personal growth and development.

  She was willing to kiss ass to move to the top. No butt was too bitter to pucker up to. If she couldn’t make it on her looks and ability, she would get to the top the best way she could. She was sure of one thing, and that was that she would definitely reach the highest peak of any and all mountains and valleys that she pursued, one peak at a time.

  Phoenix had a wild past. A product of a broken home, she had lived with her mother and three brothers in the Pruitt-Igo Housing Projects located in St. Louis, Missouri. Although the area she lived in was considered one of the worst places a person could ever live, it was not too far from the beautiful riverfront that not only housed quaint restaurants and other shops, but also the colossal Arch. When tourists visited St. Louis, they had to visit the Arch, one of the most impressive structures in the country.

  Where Phoenix came from was nothing compared to the riverfront, which showcased so much beauty unlike her area. Her only view was of tall high-rises, with alive and dead rats and trash flung all through the halls, as well as human urine and feces. It was the lowest of the low in public housing. Living in some of the apartments was as bad as living on the streets under an abandoned, broken-down, wet, and rat-infested terminal. The murder rate in this area was higher than in all of St. Louis. There were only three ways out of this hellhole: making good money (legally or illegally), dying or seeing the place blown to pieces by the city, and being relocated to another complex.

  Although the later avenue was taken, it couldn’t have been soon enough. So when the city decided to blow up the dilapidated building and relocate its residents, it couldn’t have happened soon enough for Phoenix. She decided she wanted better for herself and she wanted to show all the naysayers in her life that she could be anything she wanted.

  Money had been tight for Phoenix and her family. Her mother Barbara worked as a nurse’s aide in a local hospital. Barely able to make ends meet, oftentimes she and Phoenix would have to go to the food pantry so that the family could eat throughout the month. This only made Phoenix more determined to be someone who had made it in life. To be able to successfully “represent,” her only hope would be education. After applying to several colleges, she was accepted at Clark Atlanta University. After completing many applications to get financial aid, she finally received two grants for minorities with special needs. Phoenix never dreamed that she would attend college, because she had found high school too difficult. No one believed that she was capable of going to college, and whenever she mentioned it, her so-called friends and relatives would laugh at her. They spent so much time putting her down because she came from the projects. She wanted to prove to the world that she was capable of being somebody. To accomplish her goals of obtaining a higher education, she did what she had to do to make good grades.

  She made friends with Deborah Dennison, a future political science major with a minor in sociology and one of the smartest girls in the whole school. She was also boring and unpopular. Deborah needed Phoenix as much as Phoenix needed her to reach her goals, which was to be accepted by the cool crowd. Deborah wanted to be popular and liked by everyone.

  For Phoenix, enrolling in a good college was one sure fire way to meet a good college boy who was from parents who had old money, the very best kind one could have, because it would last. In the meantime, to dress the part of someone who had something, she dated Quincy because he had the money to buy her the kind of clothes that she could only dream of having as her own. To keep the expensive toys and trinkets coming, she became his love slave. Whatever it took to sexually satisfy him, she did it. Every time Quincy touched her, she felt nauseated. So many times, he did things that disgusted her and made her feel little. She could never confide to anyone about the time he took her from the behind forcing his penis in her anus. She fainted because the pain was atrocious.

  When she returned to consciousness, he was lovingly kissing her and apologizing. To make up for the brutal act towards her he took her shopping and bought her several Ralph Lauren suits and her first Chanel purse. This made her forget how cruel he had been to her. Quincy knew how to please her, because he understood where she had come from. She had long ago confided in him about her childhood and how poor her family was.

  She stayed with him for six long years because he could provide her with beautiful clothes, money, and a car, like the new Toyota Celica he had bought her. When she stepped into the high school or the college cafeteria in her new expensive clothes, she felt better than the others. She also drew friends to her side because they wanted to wear her clothes, and some just wanted to be in her presence. She learned early that if she wanted to get out of the low-income projects, she would have to meet someone with money. To date someone of that caliber and attract that kind of money, she needed to look like money.

  Phoenix was very lucky because “her girl,” Deborah, helped her all through high school by giving her answers to major tests that were critical for her to attend college. Deborah continued to help Phoenix even in college. Phoenix and Deborah attended the same college. Phoenix received much encouragement from the staff and support from her new friends, including the fine brothers who attended Moorehouse, whom she had met along the way. It took her five years of sweat and pain and manipulation to meet the graduation requirements for a degree in Social Work.

  It had been years since she talked to Deborah. She could vividly remember their last conversation. Phoenix asked Deborah to help her on a test that would determine whether she graduated one semester earlier. She called her at her dormitory, and when Deborah picked up the phone, she asked her to sit next to her so that she would have a clear view on her test paper.

  “Are you crazy?” There is absolutely no way that I’m risking being kicked out of school. If you need help, Phoenix, go over to the tutoring center and they will help you with your weak areas. I have already done all I can. You know I don’t mind helping you, but I will never allow you to cheat off my paper, risking our education.”

  “You know what? You ain’t shit. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have any friends. I’m the reason people tolerated your boring ass. All I asked you to do was help me, and you can’t even do that.” Phoenix screamed into the phone.

  “I have helped you throughout the past four years. I refuse to jeopardize my education. I have spent hours on hours with you, and if you haven’t learned it by now, it’s already too late. So if y
ou are the reason that I have friends, then I don’t need them, and I certainly don’t need you!” Deborah responded.

  She was hurt but knew that she would get through this problem. With that, Phoenix heard a loud dial tone. It was the wrong thing to do, because without Deborah, she ended up doing an extra year. She often felt she should call and apologize, but that was water under the bridge now.

  Phoenix knew that she needed to get a Master’s degree to get a better paying job in the field, but hell she could barely get the Bachelor’s, so there was no way she was going back to school. She would have to keep trying to move up on her present job to get to the top of her field. The only way to do this would be to lie and cheat, because she lacked the skills to move higher into management. To make sure she achieved her goals of being financially successful, she went as low as to entice a prominent man from his friends and business by trying to make him fall in love with her.

  Chapter 4

  “What the hell are the women staring at? I don’t have time for that shit now, Patches mumbled to himself.”

  Patches walked around the Edward Jones Dome with his hands in his pockets. He was excited because his football team at Hazelwood East was number one. Every game they played, they won hands down. Now they were at the finals, preparing to play for the championship. Everything was going just the way he had planned. His players continued to impress him, and he continued to impress the women. He saw the women staring and watching his every move. Usually, he liked the feeling he received when the ladies openly admired him. However, now he had a game to play, and their stares were a nuisance.

  Patches was nervous. He was biting his nails down to the stubs. He was trying to be cool about it, but on the outside he showed courage. Yet inside, right there in the center of his chest, his heart beat a slow tune, as if Freddy Kruger was waiting in the woods to tear out his soul. He was frightened, trying hard to be in control. Yet Patches walked around the football stadium as if he owned it. He had the sway when he walked. He wouldn’t let anyone see how nervous he was. Nobody could see him sweat.