No one like Onika had ever crossed Graham’s path. She was a lightning strike, a rare phenomenon. Graham had to stop thinking about Onika. He had to put her out of his mind. Rare phenomenon that she was, chances were she wouldn’t strike again in the same place.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Charmayne watched Nikki move around the kitchen, silently fixing her breakfast. The foods she put on her plate—eggs, a slice of avocado, and fruit—were probably the reason she had such a nice body. But Charmayne went ahead and enjoyed her shrimp and grits while she silently prayed.
Charmayne knew that God had sent Nikki to her for a reason, just like he’d placed a crack addict named Letha in her recovery room at the psychiatric ward so many years ago. She’d been able to help Letha not just see Jesus, but get clean and free from drugs. Letha was a testimony now. A cashier at a grocery store, and a mother.
Nikki was different. Stubborn. She was unwilling to admit that she needed anything except a roof over her head. There were some wounded places there, but Nikki wasn’t letting anyone near enough to help fix them.
Charmayne kept praying for the right words as Nikki sat down at the table.
“Those grits look good,” Nikki said.
“Have some.”
Nikki raised an eyebrow and smiled. “That food will stick to me and have me out here looking like a video vixen.”
“I don’t see a problem,” Charmayne said with a laugh.
“Well, that’s how it starts, and then I’m on high blood pressure medication and diabetic like my grandmother.”
“Is your grandmother still alive?”
Nikki sighed but did not respond. So the grandmother was a sore subject.
“You don’t talk about your family much.”
“I don’t have any family,” Nikki snapped.
“Oh. I have my mom and my sister, and they are crazy. We have our good times and bad times.”
Silence again from Nikki. She chewed her food and stared, like she didn’t care how much talking Charmayne did. She wasn’t biting.
“So your guy was your family, then. He was everything to you.”
“Charmayne.”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing? Is this another one-on-one? Are you trying to fix me again?”
“I’m trying to get to know you. You’re living in my home for a while. Can’t we be friends? This is what friends do. They ask questions about each other.”
“Okay. You’re right. Friends do get to ask each other questions, but you don’t get to give any advice. I don’t want advice.”
Charmayne inhaled sharply. This would be a challenge. Giving advice was in her DNA. It was her nature. It had made her a shrewd businesswoman in her life before Safe Harbor, and it made her an anchor for all of her friends. Not giving advice would be like not drinking water.
“I will try my best not to give you any advice. I get that you don’t want it.”
“The times you do slip up and give me advice, just know that I probably won’t follow it. Or if I do, I won’t let you know that I did.”
So, not just issues with her family. Issues with control and autonomy. Did that come from her childhood or from what happened with the boyfriend? Charmayne couldn’t tell which and, of course, she couldn’t ask. Nikki couldn’t stop Charmayne from analyzing her for the sake of prayer.
“Do you mind if I pray for you?”
“You mean like put oil on my head, hold, and squeeze my hands until I get a breakthrough? Yeah, I mind.”
Charmayne laughed. So, some sort of Pentecostal upbringing then. This was important. Nothing wrong with being Pentecostal, but maybe she needed a different take on Jesus to get through this time in her life.
“No, I meant pray for you in private. Not with you. About you.”
“I can’t stop you from doing that, can I? That’s between you and God.”
Charmayne nodded. “It is. I guess I just wanted you to know I was doing it.”
“Why? So that when everything turns out all right, I can give God the glory?”
This might be harder than Charmayne thought. “You do believe in God, right?”
“I do, but I don’t think He cares what happens to me or to you. He’s got plans, and He’s a creator, but as far as my little life, He doesn’t care. Life is about what you get out there and do for yourself.”
Charmayne had absolutely nothing to offer. She’d never been so far removed from God that she thought He didn’t care about her. And what was worse, Nikki seemed to really mean this and not be troubled by it.
“So, you’re just going to work harder? Hustle harder?”
“I haven’t been working at all these past five years. This is where I’ve made a mistake. I trusted a man to take care of me, like an idiot. He was already rich. I should’ve gotten mine first and then spent his.”
“You’re going to get rich being a teacher?” Charmayne asked.
“Of course not. But right now, I need money, and teaching is what I can do. I will figure the rest of it out later.”
“Well, I guess you have a plan then.”
“You keep making me have these sneak one-on-ones.”
Charmayne chuckled.
“Let me ask you some questions now,” Nikki said as she popped a bite of avocado in her mouth.
“Okay. Ask me anything.”
“Why do you do this? The shelter thing? I was expecting this to be run by a church, or maybe a social worker, but it’s just you, letting women live in your town house. Why?”
A simple question with a complex answer. “Because we all make bad choices sometimes. I just want to be a help.”
“So go work at a shelter. Go volunteer somewhere. You don’t have to open up where you live to a bunch of strangers. What if one of these women has mental illness? What if they’re criminals?”
“I’ve had both. I told you, all of the women who come through my door are by referral. You’re the first to show up, and no one sent you.”
“The homeless woman who was on the train with me—she sent me.”
“Right.”
“You still haven’t answered the question,” Nikki pressed. “Why not volunteer? Why do you do this extra part?”
Charmayne cleared her throat. “You’re going to think this is stupid, because you don’t think God cares about what we do.”
“Try me.”
“I opened Safe Harbor because God told me to.”
Nikki rolled her eyes. “Oh my goodness. I was hoping for a real answer. God opened up his mouth and told you to open a shelter and let anybody come live in your house?”
“Yes, He did. It came to me in a dream. Even the part about moving to Washington, DC.”
“So you had a dream about it, and you up and did it? Are you kidding me?”
“No. I wasn’t doing anything else really. I was running a little job-placement program that was doing some good, but all of my clients were placed, and I was just a ball of energy with no one to help. When God told me to move, I sold my house in Ohio and bought this town house.”
“You bought a four-bedroom town house in DC? This place must’ve cost you a grip.”
“No, it didn’t. A woman who attended my church owned it, and she died. Her family was happy to sell it to me. I only paid two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Nikki’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be lying. You should sell it right now. You could get a million dollars for it. That would be a come up for real.”
“I don’t want to sell it. God blessed me with it so I can help people.”
Nikki scarfed down the rest of her food. “I don’t understand you right now, Charmayne. You are a different kind of person. Never met anyone so crazy, but I’m glad I met you. Maybe some of your good luck will rub off on me when I get ready to go apartment hunting.”
“Not luck. God. He can rub off on you and Ty too. Go to church with me on Sunday, and you’ll see.”
Nikki jumped up from the table and rinse
d her plate in the sink. “No thank you, but if you hear of any more old ladies selling town houses, let me know.”
“I sure will.”
Charmayne was worried that she had her work cut out for her with Nikki, and that she’d have very little time to accomplish anything. Then Charmayne corrected her thinking.
Nikki wasn’t her work at all. She was God’s work. And He had all the time in the universe to accomplish exactly what he wanted.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“So do you want to go out or not?”
Ty had been pestering Onika about going to a bar, and Onika had successfully avoided giving a response until now. It was Friday evening, and both of them were in their shared bedroom that Onika hated. Onika had almost asked Charmayne to give her a room by herself since, at the time, she and Ty were the only girls living in the house.
“Go out where?” Onika asked, knowing it would be somewhere she didn’t want to go.
“We could bar hop on U Street. I just need to get out of here and let my hair down.”
“U Street isn’t really my cup of tea. Too much walking, and the crowd is sketchy at times. No thanks.”
“Well, where do you like to go?”
Onika couldn’t reply without sounding like a snob, but where she liked to go were places Ty had probably never been. She liked to go to yacht parties in Annapolis and private parties in hotel penthouse suites. Bars and clubs were for people trying to be seen. Onika preferred parties where people didn’t need to be seen. They were already known or had been properly introduced to the circle.
“Why do you like bars?” Onika asked, instead of responding to Ty’s question. “Hot, sweaty, bodies all grinding on one another. Weak drinks and men who pretend to like you all night so they can dance up on you and then don’t ask for your number? What’s so good about that?”
“I like dancing. I like having a few drinks and flirting. I don’t want to give anyone my number anyway.”
Onika considered going. She was sure she wouldn’t see any of the social climbers she’d known for the past few years at any bar on U Street, and getting out of the house would be better than staring at the walls and whispering affirmations to herself.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” Onika said, remembering that she’d just gotten work clothes from Charmayne’s leftover treasure chest. She’d bought a few pairs of sweats. Nothing she’d ever wear in public.
“Maybe I have something you can wear,” Ty said, which made Onika burst into laughter. Nothing that fit on Ty’s dangerous curves would fit on Onika’s slim ones.
Ty went into the closet and emerged with some jean leggings—they didn’t even look like Ty could fit one of her thighs into them—and a cut-off baby-T that said “juicy.” Neither were items that Onika would ever be seen in public wearing.
“This is cute,” Ty said when she noticed Onika’s apprehension.
“I’m not saying it’s not cute. I’m saying it’s not me. It’s not my style.”
“And we aren’t going to any of your bougie hangouts either. This works perfectly for where we’re going.”
Onika took the clothes from Ty and looked at them again. “I can’t wear this. Let me look and see what you have for myself.”
Ty stepped out of the way so that Onika could look into the closet. “You sure have a lot of clothes for a homeless girl.”
“I wasn’t really homeless when I came here. I was in trouble. Needed to hide.”
“But you want to go out to a bar?”
Ty closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. “I am going crazy. I’ve been inside for six months, hiding from my pimp. Well, he used to be my pimp. He’s not anymore.”
Onika could tell that Ty had had a rough life, but she didn’t look like a prostitute. She looked like she should be attending a community college or auditioning for a play on Broadway. She had an edgy, grungy look, but not the same desperation that Onika had seen in her mother.
“How did you end up with a pimp?” Onika asked, still feeling a bit of disbelief.
“Started out stripping. I was eighteen and making a few hundred dollars a night. Up to a thousand on a good night. D’Angelo promised me at least five thousand a week. He delivered on that promise.”
“So you just decided one day to become a stripper? How’d that happen?”
“You’re super nosy for someone who doesn’t share anything about herself.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You tell me something, and I’ll tell you the rest.”
Onika shook her head. “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me your secrets. I was out of line for even asking.”
“Come on. The rest is the most interesting part.”
Onika turned to face Ty, holding a red miniskirt and black blouse. It was the most conservative outfit she could assemble from Ty’s wardrobe, and still it was risqué. The blouse had a deep V in the front that would show every inch of Onika’s cleavage.
“I’ll tell you something,” Onika said. “I had an abortion behind my boyfriend’s back.”
Ty stared at Onika for a long, silent moment.
“That’s it?” Ty said, breaking the silence.
Onika frowned deeply. She’d never admitted that to anyone, not even Aaron when he had proof.
“Yeah, that’s it. Sorry, I don’t have anything more shocking.”
Nothing that she’d tell Ty or Charmayne, anyway, no matter how hard she pressed her for the information.
“Well, I guess if that’s all you have, it’s a big thing for you.”
Onika nodded. “It is. Never told another soul about it, but somehow my boyfriend found out.”
“Your boyfriend or your ex?” Ty asked.
Onika shuddered. Had she said boyfriend when referring to Aaron? Of course, it was a habit. They’d only been broken up a few weeks.
“My ex-boyfriend. He’s definitely moved on.”
“Well, I started stripping because I was a runaway. Left home at fourteen.”
“Really? Where’s home?” Onika didn’t want to imagine why Ty ran away, and she wasn’t about to ask. Onika wasn’t going to share any more of her story to hear about it, and she was sure that it was depressing anyway.
“Cleveland. That’s how I got connected with Charmayne. My auntie knows her from way back. They used to go to the same church.”
“Well, no wonder Charmayne thinks you’re going to visit her church.”
“I don’t have a problem with going to church. I just don’t want to go right now. I’m not ready.”
“I’m never going,” Onika said. “When I get my life together, it’s not going to have anything to do with God. It’s going to be because I handled my business.”
God had never answered any of Onika’s prayers. He hadn’t dropped any spiritual guidance down on Judy, and she’d never gotten off drugs. No matter how many prayers they’d sent up, nothing had happened.
“Well, I’m not like you. I need help getting my stuff together,” Ty said.
Onika clutched the borrowed clothing to her chest and sighed. She didn’t even have an outfit to wear on a night out, but she was bragging about how she handled her business.
“Are we going out or not?” Ty asked. “Stop looking all crazy and sad. Go get dressed!”
“We’re going. Let me get dressed.”
Onika wasn’t feeling much like partying, but she hoped she’d be good company. It wouldn’t hurt to see some new faces. And maybe she could help Ty forget her troubles even if she couldn’t forget her own.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Graham didn’t know what he was thinking, letting Lorne talk him into going out, especially to the bars on U Street, which were frequented more by college students than by career-minded folk. The bar Lorne had picked out felt like a basement. It was a basement, complete with big pipes in the ceiling and in the middle of the dance floor.
The music was all over the place. When they first walked in, eighties rap was playing, but
then it quickly switched to nineties pop and some light rock from an unidentified decade. No matter what the DJ played, the dance floor stayed packed, making Graham think that these partiers probably had had some pills dropped in their weak cocktails.
“It’s jumping, right?” Lorne asked as he sipped his third vodka and cranberry juice in less than an hour.
“It’s something,” Graham replied. “I don’t see any women I’d talk to, though.”
“Man, you’re crazy. There are plenty of women here for me.”
“Enjoy. I’ll be over here. At the bar.”
Lorne downed the rest of his drink and slid back out to the dance floor, where a group of three barely legal girls pulled him into their circle. Graham laughed at his homeboy, but wished that he’d stayed home.
Until he looked up and saw Onika. Her hair was different. In a little bun on top of her head. But the glasses were the same. The curves were the same.
He nearly dropped his drink. Was she real or a mirage? The tall tattooed girl with her was real. He couldn’t imagine Onika being friends with a girl who looked like her. Then he realized he had no idea what kind of friends she might have, because he didn’t know anything about Onika, outside of the fact that he was inexplicably drawn to her. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t called. He wasn’t her type. She was probably into guys with tattoos, ballplayers, and rappers. Not a square government employee.
Graham tried not to stare at her. He kept looking away, but then couldn’t help but look again. She laughed at something her friend had said. He wanted to make her laugh.
Should he send her a drink from the bar? Guys always did that in movies. Old guys or rich guys, and it always worked. The girl was impressed. Would it be creepy in real life? Probably.
Graham was about to just chalk it and convert his fantasies about Onika into fables. Tall tales. Fairy tales.
But then Lorne swooped in like the villain that he was. He was holding another drink, and his damn pinky was in the air. Graham growled under his breath. She couldn’t fall prey to the Lorne Ranger.
Graham slammed his now empty cocktail glass onto the bar. He moved quickly, closing the space between himself and Onika. He focused. Forgot about Lorne and the tall tattooed friend.
Her Secret Life Page 12