Until the End of Time

by Schuster, Melanie

  The real Pearlie Mae reared up for a moment. “And why would I not be in favor of marriage? Do you think I want my children living in sin?” she said indignantly.

  Renee narrowed her eyes at her mother and widened them just as quickly. “Well, Mama, you said that very thing on many occasions after Daddy left. You said that a woman who tied herself to a man was a fool and that it was better to live in sin than be shackled to a jackass and that is a direct quote,” Renee reminded her.

  Like most mothers, Pearlie Mae hated it when her children used her own words against her, but she at least acknowledged that she might have said such a thing. “Oh, I was just out of sorts. I was going through the change and I wasn’t terribly rational. And for your information, missy, your father didn’t leave me. He asked me to go with him and I refused.” She looked sideways at Renee whose delicate jaw had dropped. “Close your mouth before something flies in it. I’ve told your girls how unladylike that is,” she sniffed.

  Finally she relented and told all. A General Motors plant that moved its operations to Doraville, Georgia employed Renee’s father. Rather than take a forced retirement on a partial pension, her father was transferred to Georgia to finish his working years so that his retirement package would be intact.

  “He wanted me to move down there and I wouldn’t go. I told him when I came to Ohio that I was never living down South again and he didn’t believe me. But I meant it from the bottom of my heart. I tried to get him to take an early retirement, but he was determined to work those last ten years so we’d have more money for our golden years. I told him if he did that, he would do it alone. And he did,” she said defiantly.

  Renee jumped from the loveseat and stared at her mother with huge, angry eyes. “Mama! You told us that Daddy had left you for no good reason and we’ve been treating him like a stranger ever since! You had us all traumatized and upset and made us think the worst of our own father! How could you do that? You…I…Mama, this is unbelievable!” she ranted.

  Her mother was just this side of contrite. “I was an awful, selfish woman, I know,” she admitted. Thoughtfully she added, “I think it was the menopause. I had such a hard time with it; made me really crazy at times.”

  Renee had to leave the room to keep from throwing something at her mother. Lord today. That woman is the very limit. Talk about more nerve than a brass monkey…She stuck her head back into the living room to ask her mother if her sisters knew about the situation. “Well…they will pretty soon, I guess. You father’s retirement has come at last and he’s moving back up here. With me.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Although it was unsettling in the extreme, the bizarre conversation with Pearlie Mae made it easier for Renee to reveal her dark secret, the fact that she’d been a victim of rape some years before. Finding out that her mother had been sitting on a timebomb of her own helped Renee find the words to tell her about Donovan Bailey and his recent reappearance in her life. Pearlie had wept and raged and sympathized and when she had calmed down, she agreed with Andrew that the truth had to come out now. She also wanted a few of Donovan Bailey’s body parts to be detached in the most painful way possible. She went so far as to dig out a pistol that she kept in the linen closet behind the guestroom sheets.

  “Ma! Where did you get that thing? Get it away from me, you know how scared I am of guns!” Renee protested.

  Her mother squinted an eye as she pointed the gun out the back door in a position that was a dead-on Cleopatra Jones stance. “Well, I’m not scared of guns or of low-down raping dogs. It’s probably a good thing you never told me, Renee. I’d probably be just coming up for parole,” she said in all seriousness.

  She lowered the pistol and looked at Renee sadly. “To think that you couldn’t even come to me, your own mother. All these years you’ve been carrying this around inside you like a big sack of poison. It shouldn’t have been like that, baby. I’ve been a terrible mother to you,” she sniffled.

  Renee hugged Pearlie Mae tightly, which was rather awkward as Pearlie was still holding the dreaded pistol. “Mama, you were and are a wonderful mother. Scary, yes. Unorthodox, certainly. But I wouldn’t trade you for anyone. Now could you please put that thing away?”

  Pearlie looked at the offending piece of weaponry with reverence. “Okay, I’ll put it up. Just remember, it’s not too late for some down home justice. What is Andrew going to do about this sorry ass bastard?”

  “Ma, they’re going to get him where he lives, in his pocket. It’s going to be very hard for this man to make a living anywhere when he gets dropped by Cochran/Deveraux,” she said confidently. Her mother did not look impressed in the least.

  “Back in the day when a man messed with somebody’s woman, he paid in blood. Money? You can’t buy back nobody’s honor with money,” she spat.

  Renee sighed deeply. “I’m going to get some wine. Would you like some wine? I think you need some,” she said firmly. She turned to go to the kitchen to get the libations, looking back at her mother for some parting words. “My honor is totally intact, Mama. Andrew loves me, respects me and treats me like an adult. He communicates with me and honors me in every way possible. Nothing Donovan Bailey can do or say can change that in any way. This isn’t like the Wild West where men had to have showdowns for the virtue of their womenfolk,” she added. “He honors me by letting me handle things in my own way.”

  She didn’t hear Pearlie Mae snort and mutter that a pistol whipping was still a wonderful idea for the slimy pig who molested her daughter.

  ***

  On Wednesday morning, there was yet another meeting in the WWCC boardroom but this time there was a slightly different group of attendees. Present were Clay Deveraux, CEO and President of The Deveraux Group, accompanied by his brother Martin Deveraux, chief counsel of the corporation. They had flown in from Atlanta the night before for this special gathering. Adonis Cochran as CEO of Cochran Communications was of course present, as were the firm’s attorneys, Andre and Alan Cochran. Donovan Bailey was pleased to see all these key players in one room. It made the plans that had been discussed at length seem that much closer to reality; the dream job of a lifetime was about to be his, as soon as he signed on the dotted line.

  A man of less confidence would have felt intimidated by this group; they were towering men, all inches taller than his own 6’0”. Being the shortest man in a room full of tall, impeccably clad men, all of whom had enough personal wealth to buy him and sell him six times over would have made most people feel a bit out of their depth, but Donovan Bailey was not most people. He was relaxed, convivial and in actuality felt like he was in his true element with the movers and shakers; the men of power who could make things happen in the world. He was home, as far as he was concerned. He glanced around at what he felt was his new universe, pausing a bit only when his eyes fell on Martin Deveraux.

  The eye patch and the long ponytail were just a bit much for Donovan, especially with that—ugh—big, ugly scar running down his face. It’s called plastic surgery, look into it, he thought. But Martin was just counsel. It wasn’t like he would have to deal with the dude personally. He would be dealing with Adonis Cochran and Clay Deveraux for the most part. And he already had the young Adonis eating out of the palm of his hand. God, I love it when things come together, he gloated silently. This is going to be the biggest money I will ever make in my life. And the easiest. These people think I’m God.

  Just then the young, impressionable Donnie Cochran called the meeting to order. The slight clink of coffee cups being returned to saucers was the only noise in the room, other than Donnie’s voice.

  “Clay and Martin, I’m glad you were able to make it up here on such short notice. I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible so that we can all enjoy the approaching holidays,” he began. Looking directly at Donovan Bailey, he spoke quietly and confidently. “Donovan, the purpose of this meeting is to tell you that we have decided to go in a slightly different direction with the news network.
We appreciate your time and input, but we have decided at this point to keep our options open before making permanent staffing decisions. We’re sure that a man of your stature and reputation will have no trouble finding the right niche within the industry and we wish you the best with that.”

  Astonishingly, that’s all he had to say. Donovan Bailey blinked his eyes a couple of times and tilted his head slightly to the side, as if to allow the words to flow more easily into his thick skull. He started to speak and instead opened and closed his mouth a few times before anything would come out. When he was able to verbalize again, his first words indicated that he had not quite grasped the situation.

  “New direction? We’re changing the format, changing the production time-line, what? I’m sure that I can accommodate any changes that you deem necessary to the success of the project, Donnie. My background lets you know what I am capable of in these matters,” he said in what he hoped was a suave and unshaken manner.

  Donnie looked at his brothers and then at Clay and Martin before answering. He took his time about it, too. He leaned back and examined his fingernails briefly and said in what was almost an aside, “Donovan, the only thing that we are changing is our choice of executive vice-president and anchor. That would be you. Everything else will remain the same, including the projected air date.” This time there was no mistaking the tone of voice or the dismissal.

  “You’re telling me that I’m out? I don’t understand! We’ve practically signed the contracts! You all but assured me that the position was mine. I can’t believe that this is the way that you people do business. My attorney will certainly have something to say about this...this…cavalier treatment.” Donovan’s face had turned pasty and damp with trickles of perspiration. His fury was evident in the scarlet patches that mottled his fine bone structure and his voice, which was rising with each word. “I’ll sue you, Cochran, for every penny you have. You people don’t know you you’re dealing with, apparently. You better ask somebody,” he ground out.

  Clay was beginning to tire of the spectacle. “We did ask somebody, Bailey, and they said you weren’t shit. We concur. You are out. Cochran/Deveraux does not require or desire your services in any capacity including that of janitor. You can threaten all the lawsuits you want, but the fact remains that you have no legal basis whatsoever to pursue it.” Clay leaned forward and growled, in the voice that was several octaves lower than Barry White, “In other words, you ain’t got nothin’ comin’ here.”

  The look on Donovan’s face went from rage to comprehension when Clay made his pronouncement. He got to his feet and looked at the assembled men incredulously. “It’s because of that woman, isn’t it? What did Renee tell you? She’s lying, whatever she said. Yes, we used to work together in Pittsburgh, but it wasn’t the way she said it at all,” he said hotly.

  He took out a silk pocket-handkerchief and wiped away the sweat that was still pouring off him. In his expensively tailored suit and his expensive haircut with the smell of his expensive cologne mixed with the stench of pure fear, he looked like a prize pig caught in a snare. He loosened his tie and was stammering something else out when Alan interrupted him. Or Andre, it was impossible to tell from the crisp legal tonality of the voice.

  “I have to ask, Bailey; if nothing of an untoward nature transpired between you and Ms Kemp, why would you even mention her name? My brother informs you that you are no longer a candidate for a position with Cochran/Deveraux and your first response is to deny that anything improper took place between you and Renee Kemp.”

  Donovan’s face became even more mottled with puce as rage overtook him completely. He stared at the Cochran retainers as if they were speaking some complicated Slavic language but he was managing to understand a word or two. “I GET IT! I understand now! That lyin’ wench told you I did something to her. Look, we may have kicked it, but we were both grown. What damned difference does it make? What is she to you?” he cried in the voice of a man who doesn’t know he’s designing his own doom. He was moving around anxiously in an adult version of the shuffle that little children demonstrate when they have to go to the bathroom in public. Then he said something irrevocably ignorant.

  “Look, you know and I know that I’m the best man for this job. You’re going to risk the success of this whole enterprise over that bitch? Come on now, those black bitches are a dime a dozen but there is only one Donovan Bailey.”

  “And it’s a good damned thing that there is only one,” a voice said behind him. “It makes you a lot easier to eliminate.”

  Donovan whirled around to see Andrew Cochran looking like the very wrath of God, accompanied by Adam Cochran who wore no expression at all on his face but looked more dangerous than any man in the room, including the scarred and silent Martin. Donnie and the twins were not particularly happy to see either man.

  “Andrew, you aren’t supposed to be here—this is nearly over with. Adam, get him out of here.” It had been agreed that these two would not be anywhere near WWCC when this meeting took place because Andrew’s stake in the matter was too high; he had reason to want to do bodily harm to Bailey. And Adam was wild enough to welcome a physical fight, something that was clear to every man in the room, despite his relaxed, almost casual posture. His brother may as well have not been speaking for all the attention Andrew paid him.

  “I may not be a lawyer, but I understand slander when I hear it. If you ever, in word or deed, malign my fiancée again, you will regret it,” he snarled, pushing Bailey in the shoulder. Adam, his face still impassive, grabbed his brother’s arm to prevent more of the same.

  “Hands, Bunchy. You’re a surgeon and you need them,” he noted. His tone suggested that he would be more than happy to use his own fists.

  Donovan finally grasped the danger that he was in. He looked around frantically at the imposing figures facing him down and he knew true fear for the first time. He tried to make his way to the door, bluffing as he went.

  “It’s my word against hers,” he insisted. “You can’t prove anything, so it’s all just hearsay. Just a frustrated woman who couldn’t have me, so she tried to bring me down, that’s all it was…”

  Andrew’s hands around his throat cut off his words. The men who weren’t already standing came to their feet to pull Andrew off the idiot, but once again Adam prevailed. Using all his strength, he jerked his brother’s hands away from the hapless fool and let him collapse to the floor.

  “Bunchy, it’s not worth it. Leave it! Come on, man, it’s not worth it,” he urged as he led him away from Bailey who was giving every appearance of knocking on death’s door. Adam walked over to the man and actually helped him stand. He helped him straighten his jacket and handed him the handkerchief that had fallen to the floor. Speaking in a deceptively calm voice, he suggested that Bailey leave the building while he was able.

  “You know, these men are all reasonable, respectable members of the community, which is why they’re so civilized. But I,” he grinned and looked truly dangerous for the first time, “am not a respected, world renowned surgeon, or the head of a corporation, or an officer of the court. I’m self-employed and answer to no one and I would take great personal pleasure in rearranging that pasty face of yours,” he offered quietly.

  Donovan had backed up to the door of the conference room by then and was frantically grabbing for the knob. When he felt it in his hand, he turned it as quickly as his sweaty palm would allow and jerked it open.

  “You people are crazy! You’re all crazy. You can’t threaten me! I’ll sue—I’ll sue every single one of you crazy bastards! You think you can threaten to do harm to me and get away with it? I warned that bitch—I told her what would happen if she messed with me! Now she’s gonna pay and you’re gonna pay,” he swore.

  That was enough to get Andrew into action. When he heard the word ‘bitch’ he pushed his way through the assorted Cochrans and Deverauxes. His fist connected with Bailey’s jaw as soon as he stopped speaking. Bailey hit the floor and Andrew sto
od over him flexing his hand.

  “Go near her again and I’ll kill you,” he said murderously. Heedless of the crowd of employees that had responded to the noise from the conference room, Andrew left with Adam close on his heels. The fact that Adam’s booted foot connected with Bailey’s leg as he struggled to a sitting position was in all likelihood an accident.

  ***

  The reception that Renee had planned for Andrew that night was no accident, however. She returned to Detroit on Wednesday. Arriving in the early afternoon, she had just enough time to put her plan into action. She was filled with a sense of purpose and renewal; the power was hers again. Yolanda was right, and Andrew had been right, also. There was nothing to be gained by continuing to hide behind the past. Telling the truth, no matter how painful, was curiously liberating. Telling the truth would indeed shame the devil and that was precisely what she was going to do. She took the girls out for a brief constitutional and truly enjoyed their antics for the first time in a long time. After racing home with the eager little dogs, she got her bag from the car and unpacked rapidly. Tonight would be a night of relaxation, conversation and passion for Andrew, she had decided, and it was long overdue. Along with a few other things, she mused as she looked around the house. Here it was, the second week of December and she didn’t have one bit of holiday decoration anywhere. Well, that could be remedied rather quickly.

  There was a huge artificial tree in the basement that she and Bennie had used for several years. There were also boxes of ornaments and other trimmings at the ready. Glancing at the clock, she realized that she didn’t have time to pull a ‘Martha Stewart’ and create the perfect evening for Andrew, but she could get some flowers and a couple of wreaths and at least get some kind of holiday feeling going. And she could have a casual tree-trimming party that weekend with Andrew’s nephews and niece. They’d love it and it had been far too long since she’d hosted his family. With that settled, at least in her mind, she went into overdrive. Throwing on her coat, she bade goodbye to her startled doggies and dashed to the car. In two hours she was back, laden with packages and feeling like Queen of the World.