“Alright. Look, you don’t know me. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck about what you think about me. This is none of your business. What you need to do is get your nose out of my shit and worry about when your fucking welfare check is coming. I don’t know what Sherise told you, but you must have me fucked up. If you’re not going to give me the number, then fine. But I would advise you to keep your simple assed opinions to yourself.” Marc angrily said to the irate receptionist.
“Just who the fuck do you think you talkin’ to? Sell out motherfucka! Sherise might let you talk to her like that, but me, I aint no little girl. And you aint’ gonna come in here huffin’ and puffin thinking somebody’s gonna jump. You betta’ get yo’ yellow ass the fuck out of my face before some shit gets ugly.” The receptionist returned as she rose from her seat revealing her full figure and challenging Marc’s will.
Just as Marc was about to reply, an middle aged woman with almond colored skin and slanted eyes approached Marc and reached for him.
Instinctively, Marc snatched his arm back in protection of himself from the stranger that approached him.
“Hi Marc, my name is Elisha. I own the shop. I apologize for Brenda, but I can’t have you disrupting my clients. Come and take a breather with me so you can calm down.” The stranger said to Marc as she reached for him again.
Brenda the receptionist was agitated by Elisha’s comment and fired back one of her own. “Don’t apologize for me Elisha. He came in here disrespecting me. I don’t appreciate that and I don’t have to tolerate that. He owes me an apology.” Brenda said as she stood with her hands on her hips.
Marc was taken aback by the statement and bit his bottom lip to avoid cursing the receptionist for making such an asinine statement.
Noting this, Elisha quickly interceded and asked Brenda to answer the ringing phone lines. Begrudgingly, Brenda sat and began to answer the phone lines, all while rolling her eyes at Marc.
Elisha seized the opportunity to whisk Marc out of the line of fire.
“So, you’re the one Sherise’s been talking about.” Elisha said to Marc after they were safely outside of the shop.
Marc was hesitant about being guarded with Elisha. He didn’t think it was necessary. She seemed to show semblance of intelligence, and probably was not about to assail him.
“Yes, I am the big bad wolf, if you let her tell it.” Marc said was exaggerated exasperation in his voice.
“No, no, no. Nobody said that. I know that there are two sides to every story, so I can’t say that. And anyway, it’s really not our business. It’s between you and Sherise. We’re just a littlprotective of her. She still has a lot to learn.” Elisha said in a calm, mellow voice.
It put Marc at ease and made him feel comfortable about talking to her. She had the deepness in her voice that made her words sound sexy and alluring. Marc appreciated her demure demeanor and secretly had sex with her in his mind as she spoke.
“Thanks for having an open mind. I wish all sisters could be like that.” Marc added emphasis on the later sentence and nodding in the direction that the receptionist was seated.
“It was really not my intention for things to end up like this with Sherise. I told her I didn’t want a relationship, and I definitely didn’t want a kid. Now, she’s somewhere scheming and I am supposed to sit around and deal with it? I don’t think so. I’m not calling your girl a gold digger, but this shit is a little too ironic. I mean, we meet in the club, have sex within the first four hours of knowing each other, and then she’s magically pregnant? How many times has she done this shit before? Your girl aint as innocent as you think.” Marc said.
Elisha decided not to get angry with Marc. Instead she would force him to take a look at himself as harshly as he viewed Sherise. “Oh, no, nobody’s saying that Sherise is innocent. But you strike me as an intelligent brother, so the thought of you getting with someone you met in the club, uhm…unprotected, seems a little dumb. I mean, not using a condom? Everybody knows that DC has one of the highest rates of reported cases of AIDS. Real talk. That’s just stupid, and from the looks of you, I don’t think she held you down and forced your ding-a-ling inside of her. Was she scheming? Probably…Did you get caught slippin’? Absolutely. But the blame is not all hers. How much of this could have been avoided if you didn’t take her home with you?” Elisha said and waited for Marc to respond.
He flinched when she mentioned AIDS, but quickly shut the thoughts out of his mind. He wondered how much of the story Sherise revealed to these strangers. He felt violated that they had such intimate knowledge of him and he barely recalled their names.
“You’re right. I could have said no, but I went into this knowing damned well that it was just one night. I told her that and she said she was cool with that. Then she started trying to be with me, and that was not what I wanted. She is not my type. I mean, she’s cool and everything, but for someone else. I know that she’s trying to have this baby to keep me, but that’s only going to make things worse.” Marc said in a pleading tone.
As if she had disregarded everything else Marc said, Elisha asked, “What do you mean she’s not your type?”
“I mean, she’s just not …, I can’t see her…., we’re just too different. Like I said, for somebody else, she might be perfect. For me, she’s just not…”
“Good enough?” Elisha asked as she raised her eyebrow. Marc’s face grew red as the commented flustered him.
“No, I never said anything like that…” Marc began.
“But that’s how you’re acting. You didn’t even want her to call you at work. That’s more fucked up than a little bit. Don’t you think?” Elisha asked as she folded her arms.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I told her not to call because she kept getting into arguments with my assistant. But you know what, none of that is important. Sherise is playing a game. I just need to know where she is. If she’s keeping the baby, which is the dumbest thing she could do, then that’s what it is. But, she is not going drag me all over the courts trying to get my money because she opened her legs. I don’t owe her anything. Not now, not ever. So do you know where she is or not?” Marc asked as he grew agitated.
Elisha remained even-tempered despite what she perceived as Marc’s elitist attitude. She then shifted her weight to one leg and began to speak to Marc with a renewed resolve to put him in his place.
“You know as well as I do tht I have her number, she works for me. That’s not the issue. She asked me, specifically, not to give it to you. While you may think that she is scandalous for what she’s doing, that’s your own thing. I think that maybe you need to take a long look at yourself before you judge her so harshly. She didn’t get pregnant by herself.” She paused to adjust her hair that was now being blown wildly by the wind.
“I will tell you that she will be back in about a week, so maybe you should try her back then. If I were you, I wouldn’t come at her the way you were talking today. Things might end up bad for you if you do.”
“So what? Now you’re trying to threaten me too?” Marc quizzed angrily.
“Brother, nobody’s threatening you. All I am saying is that Sherise is young with nothing to loose. Pissing on her won’t end up good for you. Believe me, I have seen it before, and you don’t want that. She always gets what she wants, no matter what…You take that how you want to.” Elisha said as she turned and begin to walk into the hair salon.
Marc grabbed her arm to attempt to stop her entrance into the hair salon.
“Man, what the hell is that supposed to mean? You telling me I should be afraid of this broad? Please! You better let your little friend know that I am not some okey doke niggah she can pull this shit on. She picked the wrong one.” Marc said as Elisha forcefully snatched her arm free from his grip.
“Whatever you say, just don’t bring that drama back to my shop. And you would like to keep your hands to yourself. You don’t know me like that.” Elisha commented, rolled her eyes, and entered the hair salon.
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Marc stood outside bewildered and feeling out of control. He was angry that he hadn’t received the answer that he wanted. He was angry that he was trapped by a woman far below the standards he subconsciously set for the mother of his children. He was angry because he should have known better.
Marc pulled himself together and decided to leave the dank area that seemed to mock his misfortune. It seemed so appropriate that he would find the worst news of his life in such an environment of defeated goals and broken dreams. He walked for six blocks, not a taxi in sight. He was watched closely by area thugs who stalked his every move. Struggling to conceal the fear that crippled him, he assumed an exaggerated swagger and hoped that it would help him to bluff his way out of the neighborhood that was ethnically his, but socially and philosophically, completely foreign to him.
The guys crouched close to the ground rose from their craps game to acknowledge his presence. He gave his best rendition of a self assured nod and kept walking. The men, aware of Marc’s awkwardness, laughed at the gesture and returned to their game.
At last, he arrived at the Amoco station on South Dakota Avenue and was able to hail a reluctant cab driver to stop. Marc didn’t bother to berate the driver for taking so long to acknowledge him. He did not question when the driver demanded to be paid up front. He ignored the driver’s attempts at small talk. Instead, he gave his address and sat back in the cab with closed eyes.
He was shutting out the stench of the streets that he had just walked. He was shutting out the anger that surged each time he thought of Sherise. Nothing would disturb him for the rest of the night. He needed to sleep. Thinking seemed like a task far too difficult for him to conquer.
When he arrived at his home, he went right to bed, fully clothed. He scoffed at the blinking message light on his answering machine. He chose not to take out the trash that exuded a stench of day old Chinese food. He did not want to exist in his chaotic life. He longed for the peace that sleep offered, even if only for a few hours.
Chapter 13 Natalie
The past couple of weeks had been eventful for Natalie. She worked with her usual ambitious fervor, save the moments that she found herself locked into the abyss of her deiorating mental condition.
She regularly visited Dr. Reade who thought it was a good idea for her to increase her dosage of anti-depressants after her “episode” with Rodney at the service station. All of her attempts to ignore the plunge of her mental illness were futile.
The voices that Natalie heard in her childhood became louder and more violent. They were menacing and often cursed her and told her that she was dirty. She avoided mirrors, for fear that she would continue to see the filth her voices so loudly proclaimed. In an attempt to qualm the voices, Natalie submitted to hour long showers where she scrubbed her skin mercilessly with household cleansers. The abrasive cleansers began to take a toll on her skin, forcing her to find another way to wipe away the dirt that the old man with oily hands left when she was a little girl. The pH in the caused puss filled lesions on her skin that Natalie regularly scraped raw in her more cathartic moments. She secretly began to cut herself and found a peculiar joy in watching the “dirty” blood flow down the drain and away from her body.
She had developed a cynical view about her sickness, choosing to accept it as a part of her existence, rather than the diabolical mental anomaly that was invading her life. She reasoned that everyone probably heard voices, they simply masked it better than she was able to.
Her appointments with Dr. Reade went from once a week, to three times a week, and at her most vulnerable period, right after the “episode”, she was required to check in once a day.
The “episode” that launched Natalie into psychological turmoil started in earnest. She awoke one unassuming Tuesday morning and prepared for her day at work.
She laid out her grey Jones New York pantsuit and Manolo Blahnik pumps to prepare for her final meeting with Smith-Line pharmaceuticals. Careful not to wear anything that brought too much attention to herself, Natalie readied herself with her version of a power suit.
She prepared three nights in a row for her presentation to the company’s management body. She had been battling her pending depression by delving deep into her work. She had gathered four years of research and public sensitivity polling into a twenty page report that detailed the public resiliency trends and how this would impact their campaign. Natalie related in her report how to best exploit the trends in their favor. Work was what she needed to feel normal.
She was determined to prove to the doubting white men that hired her that she was worth every dime. Though she would adamantly argue otherwise, Natalie was still very affected by the way others perceived her worth.
The morning of the meeting was overcast, but Natalie refused to allow herself to call the clouds ominous. As Natalie smoothed the stray hairs in her shoulder length mane, she rechecked her perfectly applied MAC powder foundation and headed towards the door to her garage.
Her cell phone rang as she locked the door to her tri-level townhouse. Without looking at the Caller ID display, she answered the ring that sounded more urgent than usual. It was Sherry, the timid assistant to Thomas Paxton. She nervously asked if she was speaking to Natalie Logan and waited for confirmation. She then managed to collect her nerves and informed Natalie that Mr. Paxton and the management board thought it would be a good idea if she didn’t attend the meeting.
Smith-Line was going in another direction with the campaign, and severed the contract they had with Natalie and the company that employed her, effective immediately. The company decided that they were going to go with a larger firm to outsource their human resource and public relations issues.
This left Natalie in the line of fire, and she found herself among many of the unwitting victims of corporate downsizing. She knew that Thomas Paxton personally signed her walking papers, complete with his own chauvinist overtures that suggested that the campaign was unded moan she could handle alone.
Smith-Line cited a line in their contract that allowed them to severe her contract at will without penalty. They graciously paid her negotiated fee of retainer; however, they made it clear that her services were no longer needed. She was going to be visited by a messenger with some “standard” paper work that needed to be completed. She had to sign confidentiality agreements that prohibited her from discussing the information she collected about the company with anyone.
After the messenger left, Natalie called the office and cancelled her appointments for the day. The heaviness of her depression enveloped her before she had an opportunity to fight it. The nervous feelings and anxiety manifested themselves as a continuous trembling that debilitated her attempts to pour herself a glass of water. The shaking, growing more intense as each moment evolved, forced the glass out of Natalie’s hand and onto the ceramic tiled floors in the kitchen. The sound bounced off of the walls and ceiling and echoed loudly in her mind.
It’s sound awoke the voices in her head and they all screamed in agony at once. Instinctively, Natalie cowered to the floor and covered her ears, hoping to shut out the indelible screams of the people that existed in the dark corners of her mind. She did not want to go here. She had come so far…Natalie’s voices decided to remind her of their presence.
The little girl named Mary that feared everything and everyone told her to go into the closet and hide from the dirty man.
The nasty middle-aged woman screamed obscenities at such cowardice act and dared the old man to come near her. She proclaimed that she would “fuck that dirty nigger up” if he ever touched her again.
The little girl was far too bashful to ever confront Vera, her louder and more opinionated counter part. Vera was the prominent voice that often berated Natalie in her moments of weakness. She hated Natalie for being such a pretentious, scared, and powerless victim.
The two voices, though completely separate in their disposition, always thought Natalie’s actions inappropriate and spoke when they were bother
ed that she was trying to ignore them. For years, Natalie had been successful at listening to them without response. Today was different. She decided she would challenge them and force them away from her for good.
In her prior attempts at sanity, Natalie had cried and begged them to leave her alone. They never relented. She had swallowed mouthfuls of pills hoping to escape them. Others called it a suicide attempt. The anti-depressants only suppressed them temporarily, as they saw it as Natalie’s preemptive strike against them. Their presence was overpowering her existence and she declared war on them.
As Natalie trembled on the cold ceramic floor in her kitchen, she felt a stinging in her hands and noticed that the glass that was slammed to the floor had managed to splinter and slice a deep gash on her foot. The blood that flowed from it comforted her.
Vera would not allow even a moment of solace and verbally attacked Natalie. “You dirty little slut. Yep. I always knew that you liked it when he came into your room. You thought you were pretty, until the blood started coming…”
“No!” Natalie screamed in protest, covering her ears in an attempt to drown out Vera’s abuse. Mary’s whimpers grew into a loud screeching lament that sounded like lambs en route to a slaughter. They sounded more forlorn than the cry of a human being. The cries sounded more primal, as if one’s soul were pleading for itself at the threat of impending death. Vera continued.
“He stopped touching you when the blood came. He knew you were dirty. And guess what? You weren’t pretty anymore. How about that Ms. Bitch? No more pretty, just your dirty blood.” Vera menaced, reminding Natalie that her sexual abuse ended when she started her menstrual cycle.
Perhaps her abuser thought it was wise to avoid impregnating her. Natalie’s mental delusion forced her to hate and love her own blood. It was what caused him to not want her anymore. It made her dirty and ugly.
She still harbored animosity for the mechanic with greasy, oil stained hands for ending his abuse. It was the same grease and oil that she saw on Rodney’s hands at the service station. She would later admit to Dr. Reade that she returned that night to the station and set it ablaze to kill the hands that touched her. The very hands stopped touching her when she began to bleed like a woman.
A Price to Pay for Everything Page 10