Déjà Vu

by Suzetta Perkins

  An old-gray bus approached and stopped directly in front of her. S-c-r-e-e-c-h. The door flew open and a portly middle-aged man dressed in a blue uniform flagged Angelica in.

  “Going to Fayetteville?”

  “Yes,” Angelica half whispered.

  “Well, get on. I have another stop to make and we’ll be on our way.”

  Angelica stepped onto the bus and ignored the bus driver’s stare. The bus was nearly empty save for two other gentlemen who were asleep in the front of the bus. Angelica moved to the back and didn’t respond to the bus driver’s attempt at conversation.

  Sleep tried to overtake Angelica, but the noonday sun, familiar streets, and the roads she once traveled beckoned her to stay awake. It was a perfect March day, although she was certain that March winds had visited earlier in the week, with all the broken branches scattered across lawns. The bus stopped outside of Central Prison. A lone black male with braids got on the bus. He noticed Angelica sitting in the back, but when it was obvious that Angelica wasn’t interested in sharing prison stories, the gentleman took a seat near the front, looking out the window as the bus started to take off.

  A sigh escaped from Angelica’s mouth. Her heart began to palpitate. Thoughts of the forbidden were choking her mind. She was back in the car with Jefferson as the bullets rained down on them and she had left him to die. Angelica wondered what Jefferson was doing behind the walls of Central Prison and if he thought of her at all. She knew it would be suicide to try and contact him, but she couldn’t release the feeling that gripped her heart.

  What was it with her and Jefferson? Did she have feelings for him or was it the high she got whenever she and Jefferson came together in the heat of a moment? Margo would never trust her again. After all, Angelica had betrayed Margo—the one person who loved her unconditionally and treated her with decency and respect. Why couldn’t she leave alone the one thing Margo loved dearly—Jefferson? It made no difference that she and Jefferson were never in a real relationship. Angelica was lost in her thoughts.

  She jumped. She must have dozed off. She sat up straight and stared up at the man who had moved into her space. His braids were natty and his face unshaven. He wore an old Army field jacket that was two sizes too big.

  “Hey, Miss, you going to Fayetteville?” the man with the braids asked.

  “Ain’t none of your business, and I don’t feel like talking.”

  “You ain’t got to be like that. Look, you don’t have to say a word; I’ll do the talking,” he said.

  “Suit yourself.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Angelica got up in the man’s face. She wrinkled her nose and moved back quickly. His breath was stale. “I said, I don’t feel like talking.” Angelica closed her eyes.

  “All right then. My name is Walter Hopkins. I did time for armed robbery and attempted murder.”

  One eye flew open, and Angelica took a good look at the man who wouldn’t shut up.

  “Yeah, I killed a man once, but never was convicted of the crime. I was a hired gun—got paid real good, too. Tried to get me to kill a cop.”

  Angelica sat up straight, measuring every word her seatmate uttered. Walter had taken the liberty of sitting in the seat in front of her while he entertained her with sordid details of his destructive life.

  “Bad cop. Killed a sistah because he claimed she saw some mess he was involved in. Killed a white man too. He was tough on the outside, but that fine brotha ain’t nothin’ up against the real hoods in Central.”

  “Wha…what is the cop’s name?”

  “Oh, you want to talk now?”

  “No, I remember a cop in Fayetteville who was put away about four or five years ago for murder and accessory to an arms deal scheme.” Angelica leaned back in her seat.

  “Yep, that’s him. Hamilton Barnes. That pretty boy got it hard. The boys are spanking that behind. Bee-sides, nobody like a cop that ain’t got no respect for anutha brother. So, pretty thang, did you say you were going to Fayetteville?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  “What were you in for?”

  “Walter, I don’t feel very hospitable right now. I should be happy, but I’m not. And I don’t feel like talking.”

  “I was thinking that maybe you and me could hook up.”

  “When I get off of this bus, Walter, it’s just me and me—no you.”

  “Umm, had you pegged wrong. Ain’t you one of Macy’s girls from the women’s prison?”

  Angelica sat bolt upright and looked straight into Walter’s eyes. She bore a hole deep into his soul.

  “Who are you, and what do you know about Ms. Macy?”

  “Sgt. Macy, ahhh, she comes by the prison on occasion.”

  “To do what?”

  “How do you expect me to know? I was locked up like you.”

  “Funny, you were offering her up like you were handing out government cheese.”

  Angelica looked at the braid-wearing brotha in the wrinkled T-shirt, Army field jacket, and tattered blue jeans with renewed interest. He knew something that he failed to share—something that had to do with Ms. Macy, Central Prison, perhaps her ex-husband or maybe Jefferson. Angelica wasn’t sure, but there was one thing she was sure of—Walter struck a nerve with her. She would have to extract as much information as she could before the bus arrived in Fayetteville because entertaining the likes of Walter Whatever-his-last-name was strictly out of the question whether she had a place to stay or not.

  Angelica sat back and crossed her legs as Walter fidgeted and searched for what he was going to say next.

  “Look, ahh…I never caught your name.”

  “Don’t have one. My number is 656933.”

  “Cute. Well, I think I’ll go back up front and sit.”

  “No need to go. I’m interested in talking about Ms. Macy.”

  A frown crossed Walter’s face. Angelica watched as Walter sized her up, his eyes lingering too long on her breasts that filled out the pink cotton stretch blouse she wore. He didn’t look half bad. A good washing and scrubbing would probably make him presentable.

  “Look, I figured a good-looking woman like yourself had to be one of Sgt. Macy’s girls. See, Sgt. Macy is well known in these parts. It’s no secret that she likes the little girls and the grown ones, too. No big deal. That’s prison life.”

  “Walter, what are you trying to tell me? I was never good at riddle games.”

  “Ain’t trying to tell you nothin’, sugar. Just makin’ conversation to pass the time.” Walter stood up and bowed. “Excuse me if I interrupted your…sleep. I’ll let you get back to it.”

  Angelica sat staring at Walter as he walked to the front of the bus. The last twenty minutes were bizarre, and no further information would be forthcoming. She wracked her brain for the meaning, but nothing came and she fell asleep.

  “FAYETTEVILLE,” shouted the bus driver an hour later.

  Angelica wiped her mouth and collected herself. She stood up and looked toward the front of the bus, but the man in braids had disappeared into the brightness of the day. She got off the bus and looked around at the few patrons who waited for buses to take them as far away as New York. Angelica hugged her few belongings and sat on a bench, wondering how far the money she had in her pocket would take her and who the man in braids was.

  3

  Angelica collected her thoughts and decided to call a cab to take her to one of the motels that dotted Eastern Boulevard. She was disappointed that her brothers weren’t around for her release. She realized the importance of their jobs—her brother Edward, the attorney, and brother Michael, the doctor, but thought they should have been there for her, although she suspected they were putting distance between her and their prominent images.

  Several cars passed by and the occupants tooted their horns. Angelica frowned and turned her back, hoping the cab would get there soon. The blast of the horn made her curse, but she was happy when she looked up and saw the cab sign on top of the car. />
  The ride took less than fifteen minutes as the cab hurried down Eastern Boulevard. Angelica paid her fare and entered the motel.

  Angelica tossed her belongings on a chair and fell down on the double bed. She looked up at the ceiling as her mind went into overdrive. This place was a far cry from her fabulous home outside of Fayetteville, and this certainly wasn’t the welcome she had hoped to receive.

  Images of Margo bombarded her head—the adoring friend, the angry friend, and the forgiving friend. Without notice, an image of Ms. Macy replaced Margo. Ms. Macy was watching her with eagle eyes, like Angelica was a prize Ms. Macy was trying to win. Angelica felt Ms. Macy’s breath on her, whispering in her ear about what she’d like to do to her. Angelica shook the vision from her mind, but before Ms. Macy disappeared the man in braids appeared, looking between her and Ms. Macy. And then Ms. Macy was gone, and the man in braids stood over her with a sawed-off shotgun.

  Angelica sat up quickly. She held her chest as she tried to catch her breath. Sweat poured from her face as she tried to shake the image that was so real to her. The man in braids scared her, and suddenly the thought of being in the room by herself made her feel unsafe.

  The phone nearly fell as Angelica reached out to grab it. Her hand shook violently, and she clasped the other one over it to calm the shakes. She dialed her brother’s law office and was about to hang up on the fourth ring when she heard a voice say, “Thompson, Smart and Fisher.”

  “Yes, is Edward Thompson in? This is his sister, Angelica Barnes.”

  “Ohh, ahh, yes, Ms. Barnes. Just a minute.”

  Angelica hated waiting, but she had no choice. Before long, she heard a familiar voice at the other end.

  “Hey, Sis. You out?”

  “Thank you for nothing, Edward.”

  “Don’t be that way, Sis.”

  “You act as if I murdered someone, chopped their body to pieces, and stuffed it in a refrigerator in someone’s basement.”

  “I know it’s not as grim as that but, Angelica, you’ve done some awful things. I get tired of carrying you. You are this great big burden on my shoulder that I need to lighten.”

  “Where’s my money? I won’t need you, Edward, once you give me my money. Consider your burden gone…forever!!”

  “Look, the money is locked up in trusts.”

  “Then write me a check…a cashier’s check. You knew I would be getting out today and would need a place to stay and a little something to get on my feet. But I guess you and Michael call yourselves fixing my behind. I got news for you; Little Sister ain’t playing no games. Give me what is due me, and you two don’t have to worry about me ruining your images that nobody cares about.”

  “Come on, Angelica. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I love you, Sis, and I want what’s best for you.”

  “What does that mean, Edward?”

  “Look, why don’t you come to D.C. for a while—find yourself?”

  “A minute ago, you said I was some kind of burden.”

  “That was tactless of me. You still mad because I lost your case?”

  “Edward, I did the crime and I served the time. It is water under the bridge now. I’m ready to start fresh—a new beginning. The sins of the past are behind me. I try so hard to be this person everyone would love, but somehow I screw things up. Why couldn’t I have been like you and Michael?”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself. Everything’s going to work out fine. I’ll drive down there day after tomorrow, and we’ll get you situated. How’s that sound?”

  “Much better than before. I heard you sold my house.”

  “It was for the best, Sis. Your money is collecting interest. Your furniture and clothes are in storage. Used some of the money for your court costs.”

  “And attorney fees, I’m sure.”

  “Pro bono, Little Sis.”

  “Yeah, right.” Angelica and Edward laughed. “Thanks, Edward. I love you, too. I was hurt that you and Michael weren’t here, but I feel better now. I’ll be looking for you on Saturday. And tell Michael he can call me.”

  “I will. Take care, Sis.”

  “You too.”

  Angelica placed the phone in the cradle and fell back onto the bed. Things were going to get better. She needed a job and a place to stay. The money that Edward had put away for her from the sale of her house would probably keep her for a year or more, but she wanted to do more with her life, and she wanted respectability. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  4

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Angelica peeked from under the comforter at the alarm clock. She stretched her arms and saw the sun beaming through the window. She smiled and sniffed at the freshness of her brand-new condo. Edward had come to town as promised and helped Angelica settle into her own place.

  Edward was accommodating. He made sure Angelica’s utilities were turned on, and she had food in the fridge, and later helped place the furniture where she wanted it. Edward did not leave town until he found a suitable car for Angelica to drive—nice, but nothing that would draw attention.

  Today was Sunday. Angelica wasn’t sure what she would do. She promised herself that she was going to turn over a new leaf, and she couldn’t think of a better way to start than to go to God’s house. There were so many churches in Fayetteville, but it struck her as what she should do. It was eight o’clock—plenty of time to make it to an eleven o’clock service.

  There had only been one color in the one suit that Angelica had worn the past five years—blue. Now she surveyed her closet with excitement. She probably had enough suits to go around for all the women in her prison quad two or three times. Angelica tugged at each suit, lifting each hanger to get a good look until she settled on the one she would wear to church. She decided on the white suit. It was first Sunday and, more than likely, all the women would be dressed in white. Looking through the two hundred pairs of shoes that were held captive in their boxes, Angelica decided on a three-inch white Italian leather pump to accompany the rest of her ensemble.

  Next, Angelica walked into the master bathroom. The room was painted a deep rich, mango orange that was soothing to the soul. It lacked in decorations, which she would attend to next week. Angelica was thankful that she wasn’t on the street or in some motel passing the time.

  Angelica let her robe slide down the length of her arms, stealing glances of herself in a large mirror. She smiled at her image, patted her buttocks, and cupped her breasts as if she was on display. Satisfied, Angelica eased into her bathwater that filled the tub to the brim with foaming bubbles, and then stopped to pick up a few and blow them into the air.

  With one leg raised, Angelica took her sponge and squeezed water over her legs and arms, admiring the legs most men thought were beautiful. She flexed her toes and then brought her leg down, only to repeat the sequence with the other. Tina Turner had a nice pair of legs, but Angelica’s were to die for—insured value easily one million dollars. Angelica relaxed in the water, letting the jets in the tub massage the lower part of her body.

  It would be nice to have a strong pair of hands to massage all the places I can’t get to, Angelica thought. Angelica and Hamilton had often taken baths together—him scrubbing her back while they relaxed and talked about what made their world revolve. The feel of a man’s hands would take away some of the tension and maybe chase her blues away. It had been too long since strong arms held her close, although Ms. Macy tried, but Angelica would have gone to death row before she allowed Ms. Macy to touch her the way she had touched the other women in Dorm L. Angelica was lonely, and she needed her best friend.

  Bath over, Angelica hurriedly dressed, checking herself once—no, twice—to make sure her hair was in place and that her make-up complemented her almond-shaped, hazel eyes and blended well into her caramel-colored skin. Angelica used warm, cool colors that made her look as if she was chiseled out of the earth. She looked radiant, and her medium-sized lips gave the mirror a parting smile.

  It was a gorgeous day.
Angelica slipped on her sunglasses and raced to her car, an apple-green Nissan Altima, and hopped in, excited about the prospect of seeing her friend Margo. What if Margo rejected her? Surely not in the House of the Lord. Bouts of doubt began to cloud Angelica’s mind, but she was determined to see her. No one could soothe a broken heart like Margo.

  She and Margo had shared many wonderful moments together. Quiet as it was kept, there were moments that Angelica kept hidden from her best friend, a time in history when Angelica’s self-loathing heart had cajoled her into seducing her best friend’s husband. And there were other moments that she was not proud of—moments that led her to where she was today. Angelica drove on.

  A medium-size white church hugged the corner. Angelica recognized it right away. She had accompanied Margo to this place of worship many times. The choir could sing! The music would be jamming and every now and then it would make Angelica stomp her feet, sway her shoulders from side to side, and get in with the groove. The atmosphere was one of love, and they had a preaching, teaching pastor who exuded it.

  Angelica found a place to park and turned off the ignition. She sat a moment hidden behind her shades, but the heat in the car caused her to get out before she was ready. Friendly faces smiled, and Angelica smiled too, her eyes darting back and forth searching for a glimpse of Margo.

  The sanctuary filled fast. The elder mothers of the church sat off to one side, and the deacons sat on the other. All were dressed in white, and Angelica smiled. She took a seat near the back—not quite on the last row, but far from the front.

  She scanned the sanctuary again. There was no sign of Margo or her children. Angelica sat on the edge of her seat the moment she saw him. Malik, “Mr. Hot Buttered Soul” they had called him. He was still handsome in a taupe-colored suit with a burnt-orange dress shirt and designer tie. Margo came in behind him. Strange, Angelica thought. Where was Malik’s fiancée, Antoinette?