Confessions

by Sasha Campbell

  “How was everyone’s weekend?” Maureen asked as she lowered herself into the chair behind her desk. She had been out of the office all week.

  “Relaxing,” I replied.

  “Drama,” Patricia said, then raised her brow. She had already given me all the details of her drama-filled weekend with that wannabe thug she was dating. Her life reminded me too much of the ghetto life I left behind.

  Maureen fanned her fingers in front of her. “Well, I had a fabulous weekend. Michael and I put a contract on a new house.”

  Patricia rolled her chair closer. “Oooh! A new house? Where at?”

  “In Webster Grove.” Maureen reached inside her purse and pulled out not one but two flyers, enough for the both of us. “It’s more than three thousand square feet, five bedrooms, and even has a sunroom,” she announced proudly.

  I stared down at the paper in my hand and the $400k price tag. “Daaayum, girl! What you need this much house for?”

  “I like space.”

  I looked in envy and found myself wishing for a home like that. I used to have one just like that if not better. Now I’m back living in the same three-bedroom condo Leon and I bought the first year we got married. My place didn’t even have enough closet space for all my clothes. Leon had traveled so much, we never stayed in either of the other homes we had bought long enough for me to fully enjoy them. And the second he was transferred due to a merger, we sold it and bought another. The only place we ever kept and used as rental property was the condo. When he was promoted to CFO and announced he would be moving to Richmond, I had returned to St. Louis during the entire transition. But I had long since grown tired of the small condo. I wanted a jetted tub like the one I saw in the picture. I wanted to sit out on a sunporch and watch the sun rise. And dammit, I was going to have it!

  “I sure hope the sellers accept our offer. Michael and I are so excited.”

  My eyes traveled over to the ten-by-thirteen photograph Maureen kept on her desk of her darling Michael. The first time I saw him, I found myself licking my lips. He was a pork chop waiting to be sucked. Michael Morgan was a former NFL player who now owned a large car dealership. I had spotted him Monday while at happy hour with Nikki and would have gotten his attention if Nikki hadn’t been with me. I love my girl, but she doesn’t understand the power of the pussy. That’s why her ass ain’t had none in months, which didn’t make sense to me. She’s a sexy size 10 with a small waist and the prettiest mahogany skin. Her breasts are too small, but she has enough ass to make up for what she’s lacking. Her best feature is her large brown eyes and her locks that are honey blond, long, and gorgeous. Nikki’s pretty, which she’d have to be to hang with me. I’m thick, caramel, and luscious, and she’s slim and sexy. Together we’re a force to be reckoned. Yet instead of hanging with me, Nikki wanted to sit at home, waiting for her husband to call. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love me some Donovan, but he was away, and instead of twiddling her thumbs, Nikki could have been finding another way to pass the time. While he was serving our country overseas, she could have been servicing the needs of some rich men in St. Louis.

  The phones started ringing, and it was time to get to work. Even while I helped my first client, my eyes kept traveling down to that flyer. By the end of the morning, I was calling a realtor and made an appointment to discuss putting my place on the market. All I had to do was convince Leon. And I knew just how to persuade him. As soon as I hung up the phone, my private line rang.

  “DFS, Trinette speaking.”

  “Good morning, boo.”

  Ugh! No, Cory was not calling me. “Didn’t I tell you not to call me no more?” Hell, I’d been telling his ass all that week.

  “I know, but I wanted a chance to show you I’ve changed. I went out and got a new car to prove it.”

  Did he really think getting rid of that gay-ass car was going to make a difference? “I don’t care if you got a chauffeured limousine! There is no more us, and if your cheap ass calls my job again, I’m calling your mama.”

  There was a long pause. The last thing Cory wanted was for me to call Mommy Dearest and tell on him.

  “You don’t mean that,” he finally said.

  “Oh, don’t try me. I’ll even come over and show her those doo-doo-stain draws you left under my bed!” The phone went dead. I looked over at Patricia, who was trying her damnedest not to laugh. “Stanky ass,” I mumbled under my breath.

  She busted out laughing and I joined her. Cory had a lot of nerve calling me after what I found under my bed. I guess his mama had never taught him how to wipe his ass properly. Just thinking about sex with him made my stomach cringe. The things I do for money.

  My nine o’clock appointment arrived. I moved into the conference room, which is separated by partitions, and down to workstation three where a chick was sitting. She could have been cute if it wasn’t for the hoop earring dangling from the corner of her nose.

  “Cimon Clark.”

  A pair of hazel eyes met mine. “Yep,” she mumbled, chewing her gum like it was going out of style. “Where’s Casey?” she asked. The frown on her face indicated she wasn’t too happy to see me. That’s just too damn bad. It was time she learned you can’t always have what you want.

  I gave her a saccharine smile. “Casey transferred to Iowa, so I’m your new worker.”

  Cimon rolled her eyes and put a crumpled piece of paper on the counter. “I got this letter saying I need to renew my food stamps.”

  I nodded. “Yep. You’re required to do so every six months. You bring a copy of your lease and utility bills?”

  “Uh-huh.” She passed the documents to me.

  I looked through the papers, then went through a list of standard questions. “Do you have a phone?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Can’t afford it.”

  “Anyone else living in your house?”

  “Nope, just me and my three kids. Y’all need to increase my food stamps ’cause three fifty ain’t enough to feed four people.” Cimon sounded disgusted.

  That chick was tripping, because that sounded like enough food to me. I was typing notes in her case file when I heard Ciara’s new song playing. Don’t you know that hoochie reached inside her purse and pulled out a cell phone, then had the nerve to start talking.

  “Whassup? Giiirrrl, I saw that! Yep. I’m running to the mall in a few.”

  No, she didn’t. I stopped typing and stared her ass down. “Excuse me, but are you here to handle business or not?”

  Cimon had the nerve to suck her teeth and roll her eyes. “Velveeta, girl…I’ma have to holla back.” She hung up, then leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. Velveeta? What was her mama thinking naming her after processed cheese?

  I cleared my throat. “I thought you didn’t have a phone?”

  She had the nerve to try to look dumb. “You said a house phone.”

  “I said a phone. I didn’t say what kind. If you don’t have a job, how you pay your cell phone bill?”

  “Why you all up in my business?” She rolled her neck as she spoke.

  Did this bitch not know I had the upper hand? “I’m your caseworker, so you best believe I’m gonna be all in your business.”

  She looked like she had an attitude for a second, but she had sense enough to shut up. I was already sick of her ghetto ass.

  “Do you have a car?” I asked.

  “Uh…yeah.”

  I tore my eyes away from the screen long enough to look at her. “Okay. What kind of car do you have?”

  She hesitated. “I’m driving a 2000 Honda Civic. It’s paid for.”

  I entered the information in the computer. “Let me go make copies of your documents. I’ll be back.” I rose and went to the copy machine, then came back to find Cimon sending a text message. That girl was really pushing her luck with me. As soon as she spotted me, she put the phone away. She better have. “All right. According to the information you provided me, we’ll be increasing your stamps to four twenty.
They’ll be available in two weeks.”

  “Thanks.” Cimon grinned like she suddenly thought of something funny.

  “Is something wrong?” I couldn’t keep the attitude from my voice.

  She gave it right back to me. “Nope. Nothing at all.” She stuffed her documents back in her purse, then rose.

  Oh, I wasn’t done with her. “While you’re here, I need you to go to the career center next door and apply for some jobs.”

  Cimon looked at me as if I told her ass to rob a bank. “Why I need to do that?”

  “Don’t you wanna do something with your life other than receiving food stamps and living on Section 8?”

  “Fo’ what? It cost me more to get a job and pay for a babysitter.” Another chick trying to get over on the system. Women like her made me sick.

  “You got three kids, which means you are entitled to full education benefits. You can get a free ride. I wish I could have gotten a degree for free. Did you know you are eligible for child care?”

  “Fo’ real?” She gave me a greedy look.

  “Yeah, as long as you’re working or going to school.”

  Cimon sucked her teeth and quickly lost interest. Ha! She really thought we were going to pay for daycare while her lazy ass lay around at home with some thug.

  I pointed down at the sheet of paper on the counter. “I need you to sign here and here.”

  I stared at her pinch braids while she signed. They looked like she had just gotten them done. It would have cost her at least one fifty, but she didn’t have money to feed her kids. Did I tell you women like her made me sick?

  After she left, I went and took a bathroom break and checked my makeup on the way out, making sure I was still looking good. I was. Before going into the office, I went outside to get a newspaper from the rack out front. It was the week before the Martin Luther King holiday and cold as hell. I dug a quarter out of my pocket and was shivering as I reached for my paper. I was moving back into the building when I spotted Cimon climbing into a bad-ass midnight blue Lincoln Navigator. Before she could pull out of the parking lot, I memorized the license plate, which was easy. CIMON. That bitch thought she was slick. Just wait until she tries to swipe her EBT card and comes up short. You got to get up very early in the morning to fool me.

  5

  Nikki

  I removed the last magazine from the rack and took a seat on the floor. Running a bookstore was hard work. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Book Ends was open seven days a week with a different event scheduled almost every evening. That night was open mic night, which meant I wouldn’t close the store until after nine. Not that I was complaining.

  I looked across the store at Karen, my assistant, as she rang up another customer’s order. It was buy two, get one free day, and as usual the store had been busy. I was grateful business had been good. As much as I wanted a black bookstore, the only thing black about it is the owner. I learned that catering to just my people was not a smart business move. No offense, but you know good and well we like to borrow each other’s books instead of trying to support black bookstores, which is why so many have gone out of business. I’ll admit, I can’t compete with the prices at Walmart and some of the other online stores, but that’s why I offer specials. I also make sure I have books for everyone. White, black, Chinese, religious, you name it, I try to have it in my store.

  “Nikki, the mail’s here,” Karen cried from the front counter. As soon as the last customers left, I rose from the floor and grabbed the mail from behind the counter.

  “I’m running to Popeyes. You want me to get you something?”

  I looked up at her gold-toothed smile. At first glance, Karen wasn’t what one would consider front desk material with her blond weave and long fake nails. But she was fresh out of business school with exceptional customer service skills. After two bad seeds, especially a thieving bitch by the name of Tiara, who I fired in November after discovering she was stealing books and selling them to her friends for a third of the price, Karen was a godsend. Trust and believe, I have a business to run, and if and when I need Karen to tone down the hair and clothes, I’ll tell her. I know she’s a single parent with four kids, so I don’t have a problem paying for her to get her hair done if needed.

  I took a moment to consider Karen’s offer. I had planned to have a bag of popcorn and a diet drink, but I was sure by late afternoon I’d be hungry for some food. “Go ahead and take enough outta petty cash to cover both our lunches and grab me a two-piece white.”

  “Thanks, Nikki.”

  “No problem.” I waited until after Karen left before I headed to the back. I had a camera up front, and the bell over the door was so loud, it could be heard from the Dumpster in the alley. I popped a bag of butter popcorn, grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator, and when the timer went off, I carried my food back to my desk and took a seat. While I chewed on popcorn I thumbed through the mail, leaving greasy fingerprints. Bills and magazines, and then my heart practically stopped as I stared down at an envelope that was handwritten. Oh, my goodness! I knew that writing anywhere.

  Donovan.

  My hands were shaking as I reached for the letter opener. I ripped the seal, then I removed the sheet of notebook paper.

  I hope all is well with you. Nikki, you know I love you and would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, but I’ve got to be honest. Being here is giving me a lot of time to think and I feel it’s time for us to move on. It appears over the last four years we stopped growing as a couple. Talking hasn’t done us any good, neither has distance, and I can’t keep living like this. It’s time I start trying to figure out what is going on with my life. That does not mean I do not love you. I know you will continue to be successful, and I wish you all the luck in the world. Twelve years of marriage, you don’t just wipe away. I want you to know if you need something you can always contact me. Love, Donovan.

  My stomach dropped. I had waited months for a letter from him and finally it had come, only it wasn’t at all what I had expected. Donovan had just ripped my heart out. It’s time for us to move on. Those words floated around the store like a heavy cloud only seconds away from raining down on me. Damn him! The last thing I wanted to do was cry, because I’d known our marriage was in trouble long before Donovan left for Iraq. Yet that didn’t stop the tears. I couldn’t help it. I started bawling like a baby. Thank goodness Karen was gone and no one was in the store so I could sit there and feel sorry for myself. I failed at my marriage. Part of me thought, hoped, distance and time would bring us back together; instead it had done the exact opposite. What had gone wrong? As far as I was concerned, our life together should have been perfect.

  Donovan and I both grew up in Englewood Park housing projects, where crack was the drug of choice. A week wouldn’t go by without somebody trying to kill someone else. That was just the way of life for us.

  Mama struggled to raise my sister, Tamara, and me, and did everything she could working part-time as a cashier at the local drug store. Money was tight, but one thing about my mama, she knew how to make the dollar work. Clothes we got from the Salvation Army, but you’d be amazed at what she could find.

  I had always been good at school and knew I wanted to be a nurse or in some other field helping people. I had big plans to have a better life, and so did Donovan.

  Donovan and I didn’t start dating until junior high. He was a cutie then. Redbone, five ten, with a medium build, and the sexiest smile. Donovan grew up with an alcoholic father who kicked his ass on a regular basis. Whenever his father put him out, Donovan would come over and I would sneak him in through my bedroom window. We’d spend the night holding each other and planning a better life. I didn’t give him my virginity until our sophomore year, and I never regretted it. As soon as we graduated high school, we got married with my family’s blessing. Both of us attended college locally—he on a track scholarship, and me with the help of financial aid. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment that was no better than
the projects, but neither of us complained. We had each other, and that’s all that truly mattered. I worked as a manager at Walgreens during the day and an intern at the radio station at night while Donovan opened a barbershop. When I found out I was pregnant, neither of us thought life could get any better. We were so happy. We saved everything we had and bought our first home one month before Mimi, short for Tamika, was born. It was hard juggling work and motherhood, but Donovan didn’t want someone else raising our daughter, so we arranged our schedule to make sure Mimi was always with one of us.

  A sob rose to my throat and tears spilled and dampened my mail. I remember being so tired, so very tired. If only I hadn’t been so willing to please my husband and had insisted on a babysitter for help, maybe she…maybe things would have turned out differently.

  I stared down at the tear-stained letter. According to its contents, it was time for me to say good-bye not to one but to two of the most important people to ever become a part of my life. Part of me still wasn’t ready to let go, even though deep in my heart I knew I had lost them both years ago.

  6

  Trinette

  I arrived at my lovely two-bedroom condo. My maid, Consuela, had come through for her weekly cleaning, and the house smelled fabulous as usual.

  I stepped through the house on my beautiful mahogany wood floor. Last year Leon had a fit when I told him I planned to pull up all the carpet and replace it with wood flooring, but in the end I got my way and haven’t regretted my decision yet. One of Consuela’s responsibilities was cleaning the floor with Murphy Oil Soap once a month, and her hard work rang true.