In Sheep's Clothing

by Mary Monroe

  I was all Daddy had left and he took full advantage of that. I’d had a lot of friends growing up, but I had not had a normal life as a teenager. Instead of parties and football games, I’d spent the best part of my youth sitting in the house listening to Daddy complain about his declining health. He had been a sergeant in the army so he knew how to manipulate people. Most of the time I felt like a puppet and Daddy was the one pulling the strings.

  I’d had a few boyfriends along the way but the only one Daddy had accepted was James Young.

  James was an only child, and when his meddlesome, bossy old mother, Mavis, wasn’t running his life, he was running mine. He told me how to dress, how to act, how to behave, and even how to fuck sometimes. It would be more accurate to say that he tried to tell me what to do, because no matter what he suggested, I usually did what I wanted to do anyway. But James was a good man. He worked hard as a department store manager at the South Bay City Mall. He didn’t smoke or do drugs, but he had a passion for beer. He was Daddy’s first and most frequent customer after Daddy quit his job as a mechanic for United Airlines and opened the liquor store.

  “James asked to take you to the movies this comin’ Saturday night,” Daddy informed me, six months after I’d graduated from high school. In addition to business college three days a week and an occasional clerical temp job, I worked behind the counter at the liquor store. My social life consisted of an occasional night out at the local clubs with a few of my girlfriends left over from high school.

  “James who?” I asked.

  “Mavis Young’s boy,” Daddy snapped.

  “That James?” I yelled. “James is not my type,” I said casually.

  “Well, he more your type than some of them other scoundrels you done dragged to this house. He clean. He got a good job and he ain’t never been in jail.”

  “And he’s homely,” I added with a smirk, which was not really that true. James was no Denzel, but he was fairly attractive. Even with a nose too big for his narrow face and thick black hair so knotty that he had to tame it with strong pomade.

  “You ain’t no glamour girl yourself,” Daddy decided. “You’d do good to reel in a catch like James.”

  True. I was not in line to be the next Miss Black America, but I could be considered more than a little attractive with the right makeup and hairdo. But Daddy didn’t like me wearing makeup and elaborate hairdos. He insisted that it attracted the wrong kind of attention. My plain face, limp ponytail, and tame clothes kept him off my back. However, that didn’t stop men from asking me out. Even Mr. Clarke, the retired cook who worked part-time at Daddy’s liquor store, made passes at me between his frequent trips to the local massage parlors.

  I went to the movies with James that Saturday night and before I knew it, he was the only man I went out with. And since nobody else seemed interested enough in me to consider me wife material, I accepted James’s unexpected marriage proposal five years into our relationship.

  When it dawned on me that I was about to give up my freedom before really experiencing it, I took control of my own life so to speak: I signed up with an employment agency and I was willing to take any job I could get.

  I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

  CHAPTER 5

  With James and Daddy being such good friends, James didn’t have a problem with me working for Daddy. He encouraged it. He didn’t have to say it, but I knew James well enough to know that he saw it as a way to keep me out of trouble and under his control. As a matter of fact, he considered it more of a “pastime” than a family obligation or a real job. He laughed and made jokes every time I complained about the long hours I put in at the liquor store, telling me I was lucky because I’d never had to do a real job. He sang a different tune whenever I mentioned working elsewhere.

  “Most women would give anything in the world not to have to work,” James told me when I shared my intentions with him. “My mama has never had to work a day in her life.”

  “Things have changed, baby. And your mama never wanted to work,” I reminded him. James’s mother and I got along all right. Especially since she was the only one who supported my desire to work for a few months before James and I got married. However, she had her own agenda: money. No matter how much James gave her it was never enough, so she was always asking him for “mo’ money.” With my own money, I wouldn’t have to depend on James and that meant more for Mavis. With James’s help and her widow’s pension she lived well. But she was a small-minded, small-town woman who wore her greed like one of the many expensive hats she wore. I knew that with Mavis on my side, I’d be able to do what I wanted to do as long as I was bringing in some money.

  Other than the movies, a few clubs, and the malls, the only other place that I went to on a regular basis was James’s apartment, which was only six blocks from Daddy’s liquor store. James had to drive past the store to get home, so it made sense for him to purchase his beer there, even though Daddy’s prices were a little higher than some of the chain liquor stores. James was one who believed in Black folks supporting Black businesses, even the numerous liquor stores that dominated the Black neighborhoods. With alcoholism being such a big problem in the Black community, it made me nervous to know that someday I would inherit a liquor store. But I’d already made plans to sell the business and open a coffee shop as soon as Daddy passed on. The same people who liked to drink alcohol also liked coffee, and it didn’t make sense for them to have to go all the way across town to the nearest Starbucks. James didn’t know about my long-range plans, and I didn’t plan to tell him until after we were married.

  Visiting James’s neat, inexpensive one-bedroom apartment next door to a car wash was something I still looked forward to. When we weren’t wallowing on his threelegged couch, an old telephone book in the place of the missing leg, we spent our time in his bed. We sat on metal folding chairs in front of his fifty-three-inch, high-definition TV. Because he watched so much television, the TV was the only “luxury” item he owned. James could have afforded a larger apartment, but in addition to helping support his mother, he was also saving to buy a house. His car, a dull blue Nissan Sentra, was six years old.

  What James didn’t know was that Daddy had stashed away ten thousand dollars to give to us toward a down payment on a house once we were married. It was part of the money that Daddy had collected on one of several life insurance policies my mother had had. I saw no reason to share this information with James until the time was right. Money did strange things to people.

  “Besides,” I told James, “I could use the money I make to help pay for the wedding. And working for a travel agency, I could probably get us a good deal for a cruise or something for our honeymoon,” I chirped. I was puzzled as to why James had such a bewildered look on his face that night as we sat on his couch watching television a week ago.

  James gritted his teeth and shook his head. “We don’t have to go on no honeymoon, and you know I make enough to pay for everything we’ll need.” He abruptly stopped talking and gave me a thoughtful look. “You do not have to work. Once we get married, the house, and the kids when they come, will be more than enough to keep you busy,” he said, bobbing his head.

  “Well, let me do this just for my own peace of mind. I don’t ask for much, James, and I don’t think that me working at a travel agency is asking for too much. It’s just for a few months, anyway.”

  “You can do whatever you want to do, Trudy. I’m just letting you know what I think about it.” James let out a heavy sigh and gave me a sharp look. “You are going to do whatever it is you want to anyway, right?”

  “That’s right,” I said defiantly, folding my arms.

  “Then why are we discussing this in the first place? Did you think you needed my permission?”

  “Look, I don’t need permission from you to do anything,” I snapped, holding my hand up to James’s surprised face. “My daddy’s name is Otto Bell. I just thought it made sense for me to tell you before I did it.”r />
  We argued a few minutes more, but I calmed James down the best way I knew how. While he was busy watching a Sanford and Son rerun and sipping from his sixth can of Miller Light, I was busy licking his naked crotch.

  CHAPTER 6

  My training at Heald’s Business College had prepared me well for my job interviews. In addition to the secretary’s position at the Bon Voyage Travel Agency in downtown San Jose, three other places had offered me jobs. I’d eagerly accepted the job at the travel agency and showed up for work the following Monday after I’d been robbed at the liquor store.

  Compared to Daddy’s liquor store and the few other places where I’d done clerical work, Bon Voyage was the height of glamour. A few years ago I’d temped as a receptionist for a sausage-making factory in nearby Santa Clara. I’d left after three days when I found out that a man’s finger got caught in one of the grinding devices and ended up in a package of link sausages. After that I worked for a halfway house and then an old folks’ home, one just as bad as the other. I had seen enough despair to last me a lifetime. Working for a glamorous travel agency in downtown San Jose was just what I needed after enduring all of that.

  Bon Voyage shared a huge beige building with several other businesses. There was a bank on one side and a deli on the other. The clerical employees worked on the ground floor where huge posters of exotic places covered every wall in the reception area. A rack with travel brochures stood a few feet to the side of my desk. Facing my desk was a desk occupied by a receptionist whose main job was to greet and announce customers. The other employees of Bon Voyage occupied offices on the second floor, which they shared with the employees from a small insurance agency.

  “We keep the front door locked at all times. We’ve had a few problems with the homeless people from the park down the street. Someone has to be in the reception area at all times to let customers and delivery people in. Even during the lunch hour. Now that you’re here you’ll share that responsibility with the receptionist.” Speaking to me was Wendy Barker, the woman who had been assigned to train me. Wendy was also the woman whom I was replacing. She had recently been promoted to bookkeeper. Her cluttered workstation was a cubicle a few feet behind my desk.

  Standing by the side of my desk, Wendy rambled off a short list of tame do’s and don’ts. Why she felt she had to frown at each one was a mystery to me. Helping keep the break room neat and calling in if I had to take the day off were nothing compared to what I’d already had to put up with at my other jobs. “This is not an easy place to work for. If the going gets too rough for you, I advise you to leave right away. Don’t hang around here wasting anybody’s time, even your own,” she said in a firm voice, shaking a finger in my face like I was five years old. That gesture alone let me know that I would have to feed Wendy with a long-handled spoon. There was nothing I hated more than people who patronized me, especially now that I was approaching thirty. “Do you think you can handle this job?”

  “I know I can,” I said, nodding my head. I smiled when it was appropriate, but I went out of my way to avoid giving Wendy the impression that I was someone she could dominate. “Is there anything else?” I asked, looking at my watch, then the telephone on my desk.

  Wendy let out a weak gasp. “Uh, no, I guess not. A lot of this stuff you will learn as you go along.”

  “Good. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to work,” I said in a firm voice but with a huge smile. Wendy stared at me with her mouth slightly open. “Thank you so much for taking the time to show me the ropes. And by the way, where did you get that blouse?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Uh, this old thing? It was a gift from me to me after I had my son,” Wendy said with a blink and an eager smile. I could tell that she enjoyed any attention she could get. And something told me that Wendy didn’t get many compliments.

  “It looks very nice on you,” I said.

  “Th . . . thanks. Maybe that’s why my son’s godmother tried to take it away from me.” Wendy let out a hesitant chuckle. Then she sucked in her breath, stood up straighter, smoothed the sides of her skirt, and patted her hair. This made me think she was fishing for another compliment.

  “I’m not surprised. You have nice taste. I bet you’ve had your colors done, too,” I chided.

  Wendy’s eyes widened and she stood up even straighter. “I sure have! You’re the first person to bring that up.” Wendy looked at me with admiration. “Here, let me hang up your jacket. There’s a coatrack in my cube.” I had Wendy figured out from day one, but I still planned to feed her with a long-handled spoon.

  So far everything was going the way I wanted it to. It was going to be a real challenge to act and speak properly on a regular basis after dealing with some of the ignorant people I’d dealt with at the liquor store for so many years. It was a good thing I could shift gears as well as the next woman from the ’hood.

  The Bon Voyage receptionist, Pamela Bennett, was a petite woman in her early thirties with a potbelly. She had chalky white skin, thick curly red hair, and a face full of freckles. Pam stared in silence from her desk as Wendy hovered over my desk with a clipboard in one hand and a tall Styrofoam cup of coffee in the other. Both Wendy and Pam wore stylish dresses, dangling earrings, too much makeup, and heels that made me cringe in pain from just looking at them.

  Wendy cleared her throat and lifted her chin as if to establish a level of authority. She was more attractive than Pam. Her blond hair was long and silky, but the dark roots and her slightly pockmarked skin worked against her. She looked to be about thirty, but one of the first things she had told me was that she had just celebrated her twenty-third birthday.

  After hanging up my jacket, Wendy darted back out of her cubicle to my workstation. “Do you have any kids?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet, but I plan to,” I said proudly.

  “Well, too bad you can’t use a child-care problem as an excuse when the real reason you need a day off is to get over a hangover, like me and Pam.” Wendy gave Pam a conspiratorial glance and they both laughed. I didn’t think her comment was funny but I chuckled anyway. Then she cleared her throat and leaned toward me, brushing the top of my head with her narrow chin. “And between you and me, don’t ever forget your place,” she whispered. She followed that with a smile. That’s when I noticed her slightly crooked yellow teeth.

  “Excuse me?” I leaned back to avoid Wendy’s breath, which smelled like stale weed and coffee.

  Wendy glanced at Pam again before she continued. “Well, you are just a secretary and to some people that’s just a glorified servant. Do not, I repeat, do not refer to the travel reps here as agents. Bon Voyage is a one-ofa-kind travel agency and the reps want to be called reps.” Wendy gave me an annoyed look. “These travel reps all think their shit don’t stink so they expect us clerical folks to keep our nose up against their butts. Dennis Klein and Joy Banning are pretty harmless. Lupe Gonzalez is the only one you can trust, and the one you’ll really have to keep your eye on is that Ann Oliver.”

  “Is she the owner?” I asked, glancing at Pam who had just snickered and clapped her hands together. I played with the top button on the jacket of one of the new suits I’d purchased. Even Daddy had commented on how good I looked in red before I’d left for work that morning. But he’d also criticized the length of my skirt and the nail tips I’d spent money on.

  “She acts like she is,” Pam volunteered. The tiny steps she took over to my desk and the grimace on her spotty face made it seem like she was in pain. She straightened the brochure rack as she watched and listened.

  Wendy gave Pam another conspiratorial look. “Ann wishes,” Wendy snapped. “The way she prances around this place you’d think she was the queen of the Nile. The way Mr. Rydell lets Ann behave around here she must be sucking his dick.” Wendy paused and looked at me for my reaction. I just blinked. “We’re pretty loose around here so I hope you don’t have virgin ears.” She dipped her head and looked at me with her eyes bugged out.
/>   “Hell, no,” I scoffed.

  “I didn’t think so. Now, Mr. Rydell, he’s the dude who interviewed you and hired you. He’s the owner. Despite the fact that he’s totally clueless, he’s as cool as they come. He’s into that affirmative action shit so he lets minorities get away with murder. But even as big a bitch as Lupe is, for a Mexican she’s pretty smart, so she knows her place. I’d rather deal with her than Ann. That heifer’s ass gets kissed more than the Pope’s ring. No wonder she walks around here like she owns the place.” Wendy gritted her teeth and gave me a critical look. “She’s Black, too, but you’d never know it with the snooty way she treats our Black clients.” Wendy lowered her voice and leaned across my desk. “No offense, but I am sure you know how some Black folks behave when you give them a little power . . .”

  I had led a sheltered life so far and had never been one to speak my mind, but Wendy’s attitude forced me into a defensive mode. “Power can be a dangerous thing in the wrong hands,” I said, grinding my teeth. My sarcasm went right over Wendy’s head. She didn’t bat an eye or change her direction. It took all of the strength I had to keep from saying something really harsh. But since Wendy had already shown me that she had such a narrow, opinionated view of minorities, the last thing I wanted to do was reinforce her beliefs. I was already wondering if I’d made a mistake accepting this job.

  “I have my own ways of dealing with people like Ann,” Wendy said smugly, giving Pam a smug glance and a nod.

  Racism was not new to me. I had dealt with it almost every day of my life. However, I decided that Wendy was more of an ignoramus than she was a racist.