by T. L. Hart
The section farthest to my right was a colorfully painted and brightly lit expanse filled with game tables and sports equipment. A jungle gym, a tent with mesh sides filled with multicolored plastic balls, a couple of pool tables, an air hockey table and one lonely old Foosball table. Along one side was a row of slightly out of vogue arcade games. Ms. Pacman! Centipede! Okay, I’ll admit it; I think I could live here.
The showpiece of the whole place was in the far back corner—a full-court basketball gym with high gloss wooden floors! And in midair doing a layup was Aggie Burke. My heart lurched so hard it hurt. Aggie my God. Aggie.
Pride of the Texas Tech Lady Red Raiders. Six feet of brawny, black woman, built like you carved her out of ebony wood and strong as four cups of espresso. And—may I mention it again? —that fabulous layup.
“Sister shoots—sister scores!” I shouted.
The words were out before I knew I was going to yell them. Aggie Burke spun around, sending the ball banging off the rim. Her eyes scanned the room, paused briefly on me, then moved on, looking for someone else, someone who always yelled those words, looking but not finding. Then back at me. Her black eyes weren’t friendly as she covered the distance between us in impossibly long strides.
“Who are you calling sister?” she growled.
I knew there was no way I should say it, but I couldn’t stop myself. The answer came of its own volition.
“Did I say ‘sister?’ I meant sissy.” That was the drill between us—between Cotton and Aggie. I knew better than to say it, but it was automatic. “Or something like that.” No backing out of it; she made a noise in the back of her throat that had me taking a backward step.
“Wrong answer.” Aggie towered above me, her face a mixture of emotions. Shock. Disbelief. A touch of fear. Dismissal of possibility. “Where did you hear that? Why are you here? And who the hell are you?”
“A basketball game a long time ago. Molly Rayner sent me.” I took a deep breath and stuck out my hand. “And my name is J.C. Winters.”
She glared at me, ignoring my outstretched hand.
“Never heard of you. What are you doing here?”
“Volunteering. Reporting to you.”
“Volunteering for what?”
“Whatever you need me for.”
“You might want to rephrase that.” She stepped back and circled around me, checking me from all angles. “I might want something not on the menu.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, this isn’t a pickup joint. I’m here to work.” I rolled my eyes at her and shook my head. “Besides, I’m not your type. I have you more pegged as liking something a little more voluptuous and a lot more kinky.”
“And how do you know my type any better than you knew that sister-sissy shit?” She was nervous again; her eyes went all narrow and suspicious. “There is some very spooky stuff going down here. Have we met before?”
“Possibly. A long time ago.”
“Nah. I’d remember anyone as mouthy as you.” She shook her head, puzzling the connection over in her mind. “I don’t know what it is, but I can almost swear I know you.”
“Déjà vu maybe.”
“Too much like voodoo for my liking,” she said. “Still…”
“Yes still.” I smiled and held out my hand again. “You might as well shake it and get used to it. Aggie, you and I are going to be good friends and there is nothing on earth you can do about it.”
“That so?” she asked. “I lost a friend a while ago who told me the same thing when we first met. You ain’t a bug on her ass, but there’s something about you makes me think you might be right.” She took my hand in hers, enveloping it. “So you’re here to work?”
“I am.”
“Can you type?”
“Only if speed and accuracy aren’t important.”
“File?”
“I know the alphabet.”
“So what’s your specialty? You cook?”
“No. Not if you want people to actually eat it.”
“You clean?”
“If that’s my only choice.”
“Lord woman. What are you trained to do?”
“My degree says art history.” I grinned. “And if you need someone to shop, I have very good references.”
“I’ll check and see if we have an opening in that department.” She scoffed, but she was thawing out a little. “Okay. I’ll give you a tour and then we’ll talk hours and pay.”
“Just about any hours. No pay.”
“What’s with that? Are you one of those rich uptown white chicks down here to do good?”
“That’s my story.” I was smiling as I followed her out of the gym. “You have something against rich uptown white chicks?”
“Don’t go messing with me, Ms. J.C. Winters,” she warned. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“I think I do, for a change, Aggie.” My heart was banging inside my chest. “It may be a one-time thing, but I think I do.”
Chapter Fourteen
My first week at the Outreach was like coming home late at night and finding someone has moved your furniture around and unscrewed all the lightbulbs. You know it’s your place, but you keep knocking things over and running face first into walls.
I no longer wondered if I was Cotton Claymore. I just wasn’t sure how it happened that I now lived in Jennifer Strickland’s body. Not that all my memories were back—far from it. Details were a blur of maybe and maybe not, and the big picture was so out of focus I sometimes doubted my sanity.
My sanity! What a joke. Most people in my shape were in locked wards or had so many happy pills on board, they might as well be locked up. My therapists would be kicked out of the club if their colleagues had any idea they were going along with my delusions.
And yet, all that said, I’m a happy camper. Every day I wake up in my happy space—surrounded by color and a closet full of blue jeans. Yesterday, I walked into a tiny hair salon and came out with outsides that matched my insides. After two grueling hours of burning peroxide hell and flying shears, my hair is as blond as Cotton Annie’s was at six years of age, cut in a short tousled mop that requires several different types of what my stylist kept calling “product.”
“I bet I can’t get it to look like this tomorrow.”
“Sure you can, sweetie. Just layer in enough product and it will practically do itself.”
And it almost does. I like it. And I got my ears pierced—twice. No metal bars or skull and crossbones, just a little row of silver rings above my North Dallas diamond studs. Aggie says nothing and shakes her head at me, but she grins. Of course, Aggie grins a lot anyway.
I have to fight the urge to follow her like a homeless baby duck. I can’t help it if she’s the first thing I imprinted on. She makes me feel safe. And tired. I am her personal gofer. She took me to heart when I told her what a great shopper I am. She had no way of knowing I was totally bluffing. Nor is she ever going to know.
I’ve put more miles on the Beamer in a week than since I got it new three months ago. I’m thinking of trading it in on something more practical. And I’ve decided to buy a couple of pickups or vans for the Outreach if I can figure out a way to do it without leaving any of my fingerprints on the deal. It’s bad enough being seen as a rich dilettante. It would be worse if I actually started throwing money around.
The navigation system in my car is so simple that even with my battered brain I can find my way around. Trust me, Aggie has sent me all the way to and from anywhere and back. I’ve picked up donations and delivered mystery bags to some areas of town I never knew existed. Well, maybe I used to know, but that’s part of the blurry stuff.
I’ve been asked to pick up people a couple of times. Once it was a terrified middle-aged woman who met me on a street corner with only her purse and the clothes on her back. That and an angry welt darkening her cheekbone. I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t talk much either, but I felt good when we got back to the Outreach and she had a s
afe bed to sleep in for a while.
The second floor of the Outreach is residential, small and clean bedrooms and bathrooms like a big nice health club. Not the Ritz, but no one has to feel like they are in a flophouse or smelly charity ward. Security is unobtrusive, but omnipresent. Aggie isn’t the only strong-arm in the place, and not to my surprise, martial arts classes are always cram-packed full.
I go home most nights so tired I actually hurt. This is the kind of exercise Marybeth pays a personal trainer to inflict. I’ve found a great little Thai restaurant off Lemmon Avenue that I get takeout from half the week. Luckily there’s an equally good Mexican food place across the street for the other nights. As far as I can figure, neither of my alter egos can cook worth a damn.
Neither can Jennifer’s cousin. At least that was his excuse for meeting me in a restaurant, if the little diner we ended up in qualified for the title. Red plastic booths, paper napkins—sounds a lot more charming than it turned out to be.
After at least ten messages left on my answering machine, I finally decided to agree to lunch, if only to keep him from turning up on my doorstep. Over a plate of rather nasty pasta, Dewayne got right to the point. I knew there had to be some reason for his persistence; there turned out to be about two hundred and fifty thousand reasons.
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars? Let me get this straight.” I wished he would stop staring at me although I didn’t expect my little makeover to go unnoticed. Other than a theatrical wolf whistle, he’d had no reaction other than the inability to stop looking at my hair every few minutes. “I promised to give you this money for what reason?”
“You just wanted to give me a little start-up capital. You’ve always been a very generous person, Jenny.” He was oilier and more obsequious than I remembered the other day, not so much oozing charm as leaving a slime trail. “Don’t you remember telling me since Uncle Jack and Aunt Belle died, you wanted to help me since I was your only family?”
“Sorry I don’t.”
“Yeah, you and I were hanging out and right out of the blue, you told me you’d decided to reach out to your family. You know—since you and Gregory didn’t have any kids or anything. You could have knocked me over with a feather. You always were so sweet to me, ever since we were kids, but this was too much. That’s what I said. And you said ‘I want you to have it, Dewayne. We’re family.’ I couldn’t believe it!”
“I know the feeling.” This guy was too much. “When exactly was this, Dewayne? I’m having trouble recalling—head injury, you know.”
He toyed with the paper napkin, rolling it into a cylinder then flattening it out again. Too nervous.
“Oh wait,” I said. “Was it last Christmas? At the club? I have a vague recollection…”
“That’s right, Jenny. Now that you mention it, I believe it was then.”
“And I just wanted to give you this money, no strings attached?” The bastard was a liar. I could have made up any time and he’d have agreed. I had a hard time believing Jennifer had been softheaded about this con of a cousin. Or that Gregory had agreed to it. For sure any cash giveaway over a buck had to go through him.
“Out of the kindness of my heart?” I knew Jennifer was loaded, but a quarter of a mill was a very generous gesture. “That was right before my accident. Gregory must have forgotten to take care of it with all the chaos.”
“Well, this was just between you and me. Gregory and I never exactly hit it off, you know. You said it was none of his business.”
“Strange, I don’t recall that part.” Because it never happened, I’d be willing to bet. My brain was banged up, but my instincts still caught a whiff of rat. “I’ll give him a call and see what the holdup is.”
“I thought you two had split,” he said quickly. “I heard you weren’t even living together anymore.”
“We’ve separated, but you know he’s still counting the pennies.” I didn’t know what his game was, but Cousin Dewayne was pulling Jennifer’s leg. “How did you know I’ve moved? Matter of fact, how did you get my new number? It’s unlisted.”
“Some woman at the old number gave it to me when I called there. I think it was the maid.”
The problem was, the maid couldn’t have given him my number. Even Gregory didn’t have it.
“Mmm.” I was ready to get away from here. They say we all have a funny uncle or two, but I was starting to think my cousin was more than a little bit on the shady side—he was a liar for sure. “I’ll check into things and get back to you. Where are you staying?”
“Here and there.”
“Excuse me?”
“Traveling,” he said. “I’m kinda on the move and in and out, you know. It’ll be easier if I call you. Or I can drop by for the check and you can show me your new place.”
You bet—when my friend Marybeth shops at Walmart. Jennifer may have truly loved Dewayne, but he was beginning to make the hairs on my neck prickle.
“I’m on the move and in and out a lot myself lately.” I slid out of the plastic-covered booth and edged my way toward the door before he could get up. “Just leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks for lunch.”
* * *
As a result of my horrible lunch, I was starving by the time I met Aggie at Uncle Julio’s for dinner. In the few minutes she took to wash up, I emptied half a basket of tortilla chips and most of the salsa. The waiter swooped by and refilled them with a smile. I was glad to look like less of a pig with the refill. I picked up a chip and nibbled on it delicately as I waited for Aggie.
The woman is definitely a player. Basketball? Bona fide champion. Pool? Did you ever see Paul Newman in The Hustler? Poker? Just go ahead and give her your paycheck. In every sense of the word, Aggie knew how to play. I watched her work the room, stopping to talk to half a dozen women as she made her way back from the bathroom. She left them all smiling. Player.
“You amaze me, Aggie.”
“How’s that?” She handed me a frosted mug filled with the house specialty—a frozen margarita swirled with sangria.
“How do you make it to work every morning when you play so hard every night? I can barely move after staying out so late.”
“That’s because you’ve been stuck playing housekeeper for some old dude and I’ve been in training escorting fine, feisty women to dinner.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m nobody’s housekeeper. Besides, I don’t play for that team anymore.”
“Ho-ho!” Aggie burst out laughing. “Since when? And how do you know anyway? What secrets are you holding out on me?”
Good grief, I didn’t want to have this conversation. There was no way I could begin to explain to Aggie how a person like Jennifer became J.C. No way I could explain I was her old friend Cotton stuck in the body of a known heterosexual. My only option was to change the subject.
“We all have our secrets, Aggie,” I said, arching a brow in faux intrigue. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had more to drink. A lot more.” I took the world’s tiniest sip. “How many of those women are you stringing along at the same time?”
“No strings J.C. I love them all a little. That’s the problem.” She laughed. “I just don’t love any of them a lot.”
“Oh, come on now. You aren’t nearly the hard-ass you want everyone to think you are. Haven’t you ever seen true love?”
“I’ve seen it, but not up close and personal.” She looked across the room and returned the wave of a red-haired admirer.
“Don’t you want to find true love someday?” I teased.
“No way.” Her face was still and all the laughter went away. “The last time I saw true love, it got my best friend murdered.”
Chapter Fifteen
Whoosh! My hearing vaporized. I could still see people in the room, moving their lips, smiles stretched silently over pearly white teeth. I could feel the planet spinning like my head was spinning. Aggie was looking into the past, so lost in memory that I don’t think she noticed the world pu
lse out of sync then jarringly slam back into balance. Whoosh! A chaotic din of noise and the sound was back on.
“Who was killed?” I reached across and grabbed her arm hard enough to make her flinch. “Who was killed and what does love have to do with it?” I started to laugh, a little hysteria kicking in. “Forget how I said that. I know that’s a Tina Turner song.”
“You’re white as a sheet.” Aggie pried my fingers off her arm and held them in hers. “Your hands are like ice. Don’t you go fainting on me.”
My laughter stopped in a strangled hiccup.
“I’m all right. Tell me. Who died?”
“We can talk about that later.” She got to her feet and threw a couple of large bills on the table. “Let me get you out of here.”
“I want you to tell me what you were talking about. I want to know—”
“Not until we get somewhere quiet and you settle down.” Aggie’s voice was implacable. “Come on.”
Aggie half-led, half-dragged me from the restaurant. From the looks we were getting, I’m sure everyone thought I had been overserved. I couldn’t have cared less what they thought.
It was like being smothered under a steamy, wet blanket when we stepped out of the cool central air conditioning into the Texas heat. A hundred degrees at midnight still. I was hardly able to catch my breath from shock, and the thick air wasn’t helping.
“Aggie please tell me.”
“This is hardly the place for a conversation like this,” Aggie muttered, glancing around to see if we had an audience.
“The short version,” I begged. “Please.”
“Short and simple then. My best friend Cotton met the love of her life. Jo was married to a man who wasn’t impressed by true love—”
“Jo? You know Jo?” Whoosh-whoosh. Reverberation. “You know who Jo is!” That’s when the lights went out.
I am enveloped in the blanket. Not hot and suffocating anymore. Glistening and glowing and safe. The fog is back…lovely, lovely mystery mist.
Here—in this nowhere place—I am safe, no echoing chaos, no confusion. I am home, and I think I’ll stay. Voices without words, without the need for words, whisper encouragement.