A Marriage of Convenience

by Jewel Daniel

  A few minutes later, she returned to the table. "I don't have a ride home," she admitted.

  "You done blowing off steam?" he asked as she settled again. He knew her well enough to give her time and space when she was angry. Her boiling point sometimes came quickly but never lasted more than a few minutes.

  She smiled briefly, took her seat at the table and resumed eating her dinner.

  "I guess I said it wrong. This is not a marriage as much as it's a business deal. He needs the green card, and you need the money."

  She looked at Jordan from the corner of her eye.

  "You didn't mention money before."

  "You didn't let me finish."

  "How much are we talking about here?" she asked, surprised at the desperation in her voice.

  "Fifteen grand."

  "Fifteen thousand dollars?" That was enough to pay her mortgage, car payments and credit cards for at least a few months. It could buy her some time until she got a job. But still, she wasn't going to marry a stranger for money. She had principles.

  Jordan continued. "The deal is, you have a court marriage, file the papers and go your separate ways until the INS interview. A few months later when he gets his green card, you file for divorce and it's over. You get five grand when you file the papers, five grand when he receives the green card and the final five grand when you file for divorce."

  Tamara was quietwhile contemplating it. The money was tempting, and she desperately needed to pay her credit cards. She didn't even know how she would survive next month. But still, some things were just not right.

  She looked atJordan. "This is crazy and you are crazy to think that I would even consider that."

  "Ok, it might not be right, but it worked for my grandmother. She came on vacation, married an American citizen, got her green card, then filed for divorce. It was strictly business, nothing more."

  "The answer is still no."

  "At least think about it."

  The next morning, Tamara awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. This time, there were two collection agencies and the credit card companies. She definitely hated her life... but not enough to marry a stranger. However, the more she thought about it, the more she warmed to the idea. Yet she couldn't see herself marrying for money.

  Over coffee she rifled through her mail from the previous day. This was her moment alone before Kayla and Katanya returned from their sleepover at Becky's. She was certain Devon would be with them; he had a crush on Katanya.

  The mail was the usual: letters from creditors and potential employers turning her down. One letter was from her gynecologist reminding her to schedule her annual checkup. She didn't have insurance coverage anymore and she sure as hell couldn't pay out of pocket. She was down to her last packet of birth control pills, but who cared, wasn't like she needed them anyway. She must be the only celibate person on the pill.

  Another letter was from IRS, saying she owed taxes from last year. Maybe I should just go work at McDonald's, sell this house and move back home. But this is home. The more she thought about it, the more attractive the marriage proposal looked.

  Just then the phone rang. It was Jordan. He was on his way over with the kids and, "By the way, have you thought about it?"

  Before Tamara could back out, she heard herself say, "Yes, I'll do it. When?"

  "Next week."

  "Next week!"

  "There is a time factor involved. Otherwise he may face deportation."

  Tamara took a deep breath. It was ridiculous, even bordering on insane, but she needed the money. "Ok."

  Tamara was driving on the rain-slicked road when her mother called. She did not have a hands-free device. Katanya had broken her earpiece a few weeks ago, and she never replaced it.

  Cradling the receiver between her shoulder and her ear, she answered the phone. This was one time she didn't want to talk to her mother. Not today, when she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life. She was on her way to sell her soul for a meager fifteen thousand dollars.

  "Where have you been? I haven't heard from you in two weeks," her mother accused. Tamara rolled her eyes. Though she hadn't lived with her mother since she was twelve, Leyoca still kept a stranglehold on her life. Tamara understood that her mother was overcompensating for not physically raising her and was trying to protect her from repeating her own mistakes. Leyoca, like her sister, Leticia, had been a teenage mother and high school dropout collecting welfare. But she went back to school, got her GED and attended college part time. Always an overachiever, she had worked her way up the corporate ladder, until her job took her to San Diego, California. Eventually, she'd left her firm to form her own advertising company. Since then, she'd written two books: By the Bootstraps, which detailed her struggles as a teenage mother on welfare, and Out on a Limb, which discussed the risk she took leaving a Fortune 500 company to form her own business.

  "I don't have long distance on my phone," Tamara responded calmly.

  "You do have a cell phone."

  "I'm over the monthly limit. I have a very basic plan."

  They talked while Tamara navigated the road, waiting for her mother to get to the point. She knew this was about her house. Finally Leyoca got around to the topic that Tamara knew was number one on the agenda.

  "Maybe you should look into selling your house. You might make enough to pay off your debts and you can always move back home."

  "Mommy, I already looked into it. I don't have enough equity in my house to break even on the mortgage if you consider the interest I'm paying. Besides, I like my house. It is the only thing of value that I own. I don't want to sell it."

  "Tamara, you're not being practical!"

  Tamara sucked in her breath and looked through her rearview and her side mirrors. She needed to get in the left lane.

  "If things come to a point where my back is against the wall, I'll sell. Right now, I'll do whatever I have to do to keep my house. Even if it means working at McDonald's." Or marrying a stranger

  "If you'd stayed in college and gotten your degree, you wouldn't be in the predicament you're in now."

  "Jordan has his degree and a master's, and he is in the same predicament... Oh no!"

  Tamara heard the horn behind her as she swerved into the left lane. She tried swinging back into the middle, but by then another car was alongside her. It was too late. She heard screeching brakes and felt the impact as the car rear-ended her.

  "Mommy, let me call you back I just got into an accident."

  "Are you alright?"

  "Yes. Some idiot just rear-ended me. I'll talk to you later."

  Tamara hung up the phone and took a deep breath. She sat for another minute in her vehicle, trying to calm her frayed nerves. Just what I need-a damaged car to fix.

  "Time to face the music," she whispered to herself and reached for the door handle. Before she could open the door, a very dark stocky man with thick bushy eyebrows pounded angrily on her window. She rolled her window down, suddenly fearful of leaving the safety of her SUV.

  "Woman, are you crazy?" the man shouted in a thick African accent.

  "Excuse me?" Tamara said softly, her voice shaky.

  "You cut me off and now look what you've done to my car. You will pay for this," he yelled, waving his arms around melodramatically.

  Tamara slowly got out of the vehicle. "Look, mister," she said, suddenly getting angry when she saw the beatup old 1989 Chevy Celebrity he was driving. To fix a dent on her Lexus would cost a whole lot more than the value of that junk pile. "You were the one who rearended me."

  The man put his hand on his head and huffing and puffing said something in a foreign language. In En glish he added, "Woman, you dense or what? You pulled into my lane without looking. If I didn't slam on my brakes, the damage would be worse. If you weren't talking on that damned cell phone, you would have seen me in the lane beside you."

  "I'm not wrong here," Tamara argued. She walked around the car to assess the damage. There was just a lit
tle scratched paint on her rear bumper. If her vehicle wasn't as high as it was, the impact would have been worse.

  "What do you mean, you're not wrong? You should have made sure it was clear before you changed lanes. Aye! You bought your license or something?"

  Tamara looked at him and was totally disgusted. From his big rubbery nose flaring with anger to his bulbous red eyes and his thick sweaty neck. How dare he shout at her and accuse her of buying her license. "Well, why don't we just call the police and let them settle it?"

  While they were talking, the passenger side of the old car rattled opened and out stepped the man's companion. He was tall and slim with a nice, chiseled physique. Tamara casually noticed his smooth coffee-cream complexion, his high cheekbones, his sensual lips and piercing, almond-shaped dark brown eyes. However, she was too preoccupied with the idiot arguing in front of her to pay much attention to the man with the confident swagger in his step.

  Slowly the tall man walked around the vehicles, carefully examining them for damage, while Tamara and his friend stood arguing loudly about who was at fault. Calmly he said something to his friend in a foreign language Tamara assumed originated somewhere in Africa. His friend replied heatedly in English, "If she wasn't chatting on the cell phone, none of this would happen."

  "Calm down, Edebe," he said in English. Then he turned to Tamara. "I'm sorry about all this. However, looking at both cars, I don't see enough damage to merit calling the cops or even getting insurances involved. Maybe we should just exchange numbers and if any further damage turns up, we'll take care of it."

  Tamara looked at him through narrow eyes. "Aha! I see the trick. You think I don't know about these scams. You draw somebody into an accident, you don't get the insurances involved, and then milk them for money the rest of their lives."

  "See, I told you the woman is a stupid American," the shorter, garrulous man exclaimed. "It makes no sense even talking to her."

  "Why the hell don't you return to the rock you crawled from? We don't need you in America," Tamara responded heatedly. She took out her cell phone and began to dial for the police.

  "Wait," the taller one said calmly. "Never mind Edebe. He has a short fuse. There's no scam here, but we are short on time. Yes, we can wait for the cops to get here, and we can go through the insurance company and pay the deductible for a scratch that a little ten-dollar paint job could take care of. And we can risk increasing our insurance rates for something as insignificant as this. But right now, ma'am, we're running late, and all I ask is your understanding."

  Tamara looked at him. Her anger was slowly dissipating. Plus, he made sense. Why risk increasing her insurance premium when she was already so broke?

  "Ok," she reluctantly agreed, and they exchanged information.

  As she turned to enter her car, the taller one turned and fixed his gaze on her. Tamara couldn't help noticing his impressive height or how handsome he was. He said evenly with a relatively light accent, "For the record, you were wrong. It's your obligation to check that the lane is clear, before changing lanes." With that he strode calmly to the car and entered the passenger side.

  "Hmmph!" Tamara huffed and walked to her vehicle. Some nerve!

  Tammy entered city hall and sat in the waiting room.

  Where in the world isJordan?

  Her best friend was late as usual. He always claimed his tardiness was a Caribbean thing, but he'd been in this country long enough to get that out of his system.

  To pass the time, Tamara looked around the room to see who might have been her potential husband. She knew he couldn't be too good looking. A handsome guy wouldn't have to pay for a green-card marriage.

  A heavyset Hispanic man came into the room and sat down. He was nervously cracking his knuckles. He wriggled his tie in an effort to fix it, but his hands were shaking so much it made it more crooked. He gave up and just loosened the tie altogether. That must be him, Tamara thought.

  A minute later, a petite Hispanic woman entered. His face lit up in a smile as they embraced and kissed each other on the lips. She fixed his tie affectionately, and he gave her the bouquet of flowers sitting on the bench next to him. Both made their way into the other room.

  I stand corrected, Tamara thought and trained her eyes on the door. Just then Jordan walked in and made a beeline for Tamara. She was so glad to see a familiar face in this room full of strangers that she gave him a big bear hug.

  "Save some of it for your new hubby, baby," he teased.

  Tamara laughed nervously "Where is he?"

  "On his way. He had a little car trouble on the way here, so he's running a bit late. Are you nervous?"

  "Oh no, I'm as cool as a cucumber," Tamara answered sarcastically. "Of course I'm nervous. I'm marrying somebody I've never even seen before. Suppose he's a serial killer."

  Jordan laughed. "Keep your voice down before somebody hears you and has you committed. I know him personally, and he's a very nice guy. Plus, after you sign the papers today, you don't have to see him again until you prepare for the INS interview."

  "You won't believe what happened on my way here," Tamara said, changing the topic since her nerves were getting the best of her. "I got rear-ended by some idiot who..."

  Before she could finish the sentence, the two Africans who'd rear-ended her SUV stepped into the room. Tamara stared in shocked silence as the men crossed the room and each shookJordan's hand. Jordan turned to Tamara, "Meet your fiance...

  Tamara looked from Jordan to the two men and back. "The wedding is off," she said before anyone could speak. "I am not marrying this idiot. He is the one who rear-ended me."

  "Calm down, Tammy. Let's go into another room and discuss this." With that, he shepherded the small group into a vacant conference room across the hall.

  "I told you she was irrational. This whole thing is a bad idea. Let's go," Edebe said as soon as they got into the room.

  "You're right," Tamara responded. "It is a bad idea and no amount of money in the world is enough to make me marry you. Jordan, I'm leaving." She stepped toward the door. The taller one followed her out of the room.

  He extended a hand toward her. "I think we met under the wrong circumstances. Let me introduce myself. I'm Kwabena Opoku."

  Tamara accepted his extended hand. His hand was big and slightly rough. "Tamara Fontaine. And I am not marrying that idiot in there you call your friend."

  He smiled in response. "Good." Tamara looked at him, puzzled. "Because I believe you are to marry me."

  Tamara looked up at him, surprised. He was more handsome than she remembered. He exuded an aura of effortless virility and sensuality. And in spite of this stressful situation, he seemed calm and rational. He looked like the type of man women would fight over. Why would a man like him have to pay for a wife to get a green card? Was this some kind of scam?

  As if reading her mind he said, "It's a very long story, but this is the only way I can remain in this country legally at this time."

  "Why do you want to stay here? I thought Americans were dumb?"

  "Edebe said that, not me."

  She looked up at him warily. He towered over her. She didn't trust him or his friend one bit. She hoped she was not getting in over her head-again.

  "Your accent-" Tamara said hesitantly. "What is it?"

  "Ghanaian." Kwabena's voice was melodic yet strong.

  Shaking her head to rid soft thoughts, she said, "Let me see the money."

  He removed a check from his pocket. Only the payee's name was missing.

  "How do I know it won't bounce?" she asked. "I'd feel safer with a bank draft or cold hard cash."

  He smiled calmly. "If it bounces, then you don't have to go to the INS interview, which means I don't get my permanent residence. So you have the power. Just to make sure we have it straight here's the deal: you get five thousand when you file the papers, another five thousand when I get the green card, and the last five thousand when you sign the divorce papers. Do we have an agreement?"

&n
bsp; Tamara took a deep breath, and a minute passed before she answered. All kinds of things ran through her mind. Finally she exhaled and said, "Deal. And that's all it is: a business deal, a marriage of convenience."

  They shook hands and rejoined Jordan and Edebe in the conference room. A few minutes later, Tamara was signing papers before the justice of the peace joining her and Kwabena Opoku in marriage.

  Tamara sat out at the poolside in her one-piece bathing suit soaking up the sun. Hidden speakers around the pool belted out Bob Marley's "Buffalo Soldier," played from the stereo in the den. Having lived most of her teenage years next door to Jordan's folks and spending so much time at his place, she had come to appreciate reggae music. Jordan's uncle, a vegetarian Rastafarian with clumpy dread locks extending below his waist and a penchant for calling any meat "deaders," visited their home on a daily basis to experience his mother's "Yardie" cooking. He would play loud reggae music, usually by Bob Marley, Peter Tosh or Burning Spear, which he dubbed "conscious" or "roots reggae." He frowned on the more contemporary dancehall-style reggae that Jordan played.

  As the song ended, she heard her doorbell ring. She got up, wrapped a sarong around her and donned a T-shirt. Quickly she walked to the door. The postman was just getting into his van, leaving her house. I really should get that mailbox fixed, she thought. Strong winds in the spring had blown over her mailbox and she never replaced it.

  She picked up several letters left on the semicircular front porch. Among them was a legal-size brown envelope. It was addressed to Mr and Mrs. Kwabena Opoku.

  As she headed toward the den, she turned over the envelope and saw the Immigration and Naturalization Services return address. That's when it suddenly hit her. She was Mrs. Kwabena Opoku! At her insistence, she and Kwabena had used her address for filing the papers to ensure he didn't secretly receive the green card and stiff her the five thousand dollars. She had been scammed before, and she had no intention of being scammed again.