In Sheep's Clothing

by Mary Monroe

  “Oh, I got Wendy’s number the day I met her, and a blind man could see what a hound dog Daryl is,” I said, seeing no need to elaborate further.

  Ann smiled in a way that I’d never seen before. There was something warm in her smile. Even with the bruises on her face she was absolutely beautiful. Her eyes contained some sadness, but they still sparkled like black diamonds. For the first time, I noticed a slight dimple on her left cheek. I was more than a little flattered to resemble her so strongly that some people thought we were related.

  “Good-bye, Trudy.” Ann gave me a pensive look. She quickly looked away, focusing her attention on the door.

  I couldn’t believe myself; I wanted to stay longer. I had just seen a side of Ann that I’d never seen before and probably would never again. I suddenly got mistyeyed, wondering what I could do to cultivate a real friendship with her. If only she would let me. I believed that it would enhance my life in tremendously positive ways if I had two sister-girl friends as diverse as Ann and Freddie.

  Then, like Godzilla coming out of hibernation, she reared back on her legs and stared at me in a way that made me feel like I’d come close to crossing the thin line that separated women like her from women like me. It was a look of contempt if ever there was one. Even in my new Ann Taylor dress, that look made me feel like a pickaninny from the cotton field on a visit to the head nigger in the big house.

  I was confused but I attempted to hug her anyway. She turned her head and moved away. I was horrified, but I didn’t show it. I just smiled and walked away.

  One thing was for sure: we were in the same book, like she’d just said, but on different pages. And she wanted to keep it that way. She would never accept me on her level and that thought brought me back down to earth.

  That was why I didn’t bother to wait for a bus to take me home. I took a cab all the way to South Bay City.

  I charged the outrageous fare and twenty percent tip to Ann’s credit card.

  CHAPTER 28

  Bon Voyage was a much more pleasant place when Ann was not around. At least it was for me. Her absence allowed me to be more relaxed around the clients and the rest of my coworkers. Dennis Klein was the only one who noticed a difference in my demeanor when Ann was not around. “Trudy, I’ve noticed that you seem a lot more animated and confident when Ann’s not here. She can be intimidating, but you get used to it. I eventually did.” Dennis’s revelation in the break room a few days after Ann’s attack enhanced my ability to tolerate Ann’s foolishness, as well as other coworkers’. Especially Wendy Barker.

  But the next day after my joyride with Wendy and Daryl to Ann’s place, Wendy parked her tired body in front of my desk and started to brag about her man with so much vigor that she gave me a pounding headache. “Daryl’s father owns a limo service. His mother is a nurse.” Weeping with delight, dabbing away her tears of joy with a paper towel, Wendy went on to brag about how crazy Daryl’s parents were about the two children she had by Daryl. She didn’t stop bragging until she had described his dick in detail.

  By the time Wendy had finished with me, my head felt like somebody had filled it with rocks. I swallowed some Tylenol and when that wore off, I took some more. The only reason I didn’t deaden my pain with alcohol was because Wendy had already drained the bottle. Pam, smarter than I’d given her credit for, had slapped on a pair of headphones as soon as Wendy lost control of her tongue.

  Wendy sighed so hard she almost fell across my desk. “Oh, Trudy, Daryl’s family is so good to me. Because of me, Daryl’s the first one to give them some lightskinned grandkids.”

  If Mr. Rydell and Joy Banning hadn’t entered the reception area with a client and immediately started to fiddle around with the brochures on that overloaded rack, Wendy’s last comment would have pushed me over the edge. It reminded me that my mother’s family had rejected my father, and they had shown no interest whatsoever in me.

  One of the many things that never ceased to amaze me was how easy it was for some Black folks to accept members of other races, White especially, into their families. The way Wendy made it sound, Daryl’s family was at the top of the list.

  As much despair as Black people already had to endure, it saddened me to know that some still placed so much importance on light skin when so many other things in their lives were so bleak. I had a very dark-skinned relative in Lubbock, Texas, who had told my daddy, right in front of me on the day that I graduated from high school, that nature had played a cruel joke on him by letting him have a daughter with a White woman who had come into the world looking so black. It was the only time I ever saw my daddy punch somebody in the nose.

  One thing I had learned early in my life was that stupidity was an equal opportunity condition. But I had much more important things in my life to deal with. Like keeping in focus the things and people who meant something to me. Daddy, James, and Freddie were always going to be on my list of priorities. But after I’d addressed my own needs.

  It had become a habit for me to treat myself to something nice whenever I got bored, anxious, angry, or restless. Sometimes I experienced all four at the same time. Like the following Tuesday when Ann returned to work.

  “Trudy, my files are a disaster. I can’t find a damn thing. I’d like for you to get me a new file cabinet and set up a color coding system,” she told me, standing in front of my desk decked out in a pink silk dress with a bandage covering one of the spots on her head where she’d been hit. Despite her injuries, she still looked like a fashion plate. She had on more makeup than usual. Her hair, glossy and blacker than usual, which meant she’d had it dyed, was in braids. That was a surprise to me because I had assumed that she considered braids too ethnic. “Do you know where Office Depot is?” she asked, her face showing no emotion whatsoever.

  “Yes. I’ve been there several times,” I said with a mild smirk, rolling my eyes up at the ceiling. I had to wonder how she could have forgotten all the times she’d already sent me to Office Depot to pick up a this or a that because she had been too antsy to wait for us to order from our regular supplier. “That’s where you sent me to get that new hands-free mouse last week,” I reminded her. “Don’t you remember? You requested a yellow one to match your yellow mouse pad. You sent me to Office Depot to get that the week before last.” Ann’s whole body seemed to stiffen right before my eyes. Even her face. I didn’t think that I was being a smart-ass. But from Pam’s muffled snicker and Ann’s glare, that’s what I must have sounded like.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pam give me a thumbs-up sign and a vigorous nod. Even though I couldn’t see what Wendy was doing behind me, I could hear her squeaky chair moving around so I knew that she was peeping from her cubicle.

  After Ann had almost stared a hole in my face she cleared her throat. “I’d like this taken care of by noon tomorrow,” she said, giving me another look I’d come to hate. Her lips were swollen. I hadn’t noticed until now. She pressed her lips into a thin line and narrowed her eyes as she started to tap her foot. It took me a few moments to realize she was waiting for a confirmation from me.

  “Uh, yes. I’ll take care of it as soon as I can.”

  Ann rubbed her eyes and gave me what passed for a weak nod before she whirled around and returned to the elevator.

  As soon as it was safe Wendy jumped in front of my desk. “Too bad that mugger didn’t bop her in the mouth,” Wendy said with a smirk.

  “From the looks of her lips I think he did,” I suggested. I don’t know why, but for some reason I suspected that the mugger had done more to Ann than she’d admitted. I found it hard to believe that a maniac wielding a baseball bat would do so little damage to his victim.

  “You wouldn’t be saying that if it had happened to you,” Pam said, giving Wendy a mean look.

  “Go get fucked, Pam,” Wendy snarled. “It’d probably do you some good.” It was rarely discussed, but Pam hadn’t been with a man in over a year.

  With all the gossip and catty remarks that they dish
ed out on other people, I witnessed Pam and Wendy lock horns from time to time. Even though Wendy was a lot more malicious than Pam, Pam could be pretty vicious herself. She stood up and slapped her hands on her hips. “Ann’s the one who recommended you for your promotion and you might remember that sometime. She could have been really hurt or killed.” Something told me that it was Wendy’s offhand remark about Pam’s sex life that was really bothering Pam.

  Wendy and Pam were still at one another’s throat when I left to go to Office Depot, but by the time I returned they were acting like best friends and were even discussing a double date with Daryl and one of his friends. They didn’t even notice the terror on my face.

  The purchase that I had attempted to make at the office supplies store had been declined and it was my fault.

  CHAPTER 29

  One thing that kept me going was the fact that I knew most smart people were usually still fairly clueless. Especially when it came to things they considered mundane and beneath them. I had a feeling that I could really pull some major wool over Ann’s eyes if I wanted to. With all her education and global savvy she didn’t even bat her long curly eyelashes when I told her that the items she’d wanted me to purchase were out of stock. “The clerk told me that they just sold the last set ten minutes before I got there,” I explained. Ann barely looked at me as she stood in front of a bookcase, dusting it with a cheesecloth that she held in a pinch between two fingers like it was contaminated.

  Even if the reps didn’t have nameplates on their office doors, and photographs of family members on their desks, it was easy to tell which office belonged to Ann. She had a huge bowl of potpourri on top of a file cabinet so her office always smelled like roses. Her shiny wooden desk was neatly organized and not cluttered with unnecessary knickknacks. The screensaver on her computer monitor contained flying doves clutching olive branches between their beaks. The other reps had offices that looked like train wrecks. Dennis Klein’s trash can was always filled to the brim with soiled tissue and leaves from his dying plants. So was the floor immediately around it. Crumbs and half eaten pastries covered Lupe’s desk throughout the day, every day. Joy Banning was somewhat neater, but she liked to walk around without her shoes, so her office always smelled like her feet. Mr. Rydell was as sloppy as he was oafish. One day when I delivered the mail to his office, I noticed a swarm of gnats buzzing around an apple core on his credenza. And every afternoon I could always tell if he’d had red wine with his lunch by the stains on his tie and shirt.

  As pleasant as Ann’s office looked, I never felt comfortable in it. There was something haunting about it. Even when she was gone. The knowledge that I’d have to set up and organize a new file system in her office made me shudder.

  “But I ordered a new set of files and a cabinet for you anyway.” I had done all of the talking so far since I’d entered Ann’s office. I decided to pause long enough to allow her to join the conversation. All I got from her was a long bewildered stare. “Uh, right . . . well, the order should arrive in about two weeks,” I stammered, praying she would not send me to another store. My stomach was in knots, my heart was thumping so hard and fast it felt like it was going to relocate.

  Finally, Ann cleared her throat and spoke, sounding tired, bored, and indifferent. “That’s fine. In the meantime, you can put in a service request for the guy to come out and take a look at my computer. It’s been slower than usual, and today it shut off by itself. I lost some very important data. Charge it to the credit card. ASAP.”

  “I’ll take care of that right away,” I said with a smile, tempted to give her a salute. Her attitude was often so rigid it had a military feel to it. I turned to leave her office so abruptly I ran into the wall. To play off that display of clumsiness, I turned back to Ann, grinning like an idiot. “Is there anything else?” I asked dumbly.

  “One more thing,” she said, with her eyes glistening as she snorted and looked around the room with a slight frown. “Pick up some more cheesecloth and desk wax. When you have the time, hit a few spots in here.” She slid a finger across the top of her desk. “Just look at this. I’m going to speak to Marty about getting rid of that lazy-ass cleaning woman. This place looks like a dust bowl. The first time my girl does such a lousy job cleaning my place I will tell her to start stepping . . . all the way to the unemployment line.” I felt sorry for the woman who cleaned the offices for Bon Voyage. And any other cleaning woman who had to cross Ann Oliver’s path. I didn’t see a speck of dust on Ann’s finger as she waved it at me like a wand.

  I nodded obediently, hating the fact that I’d allowed myself to be pushed into such a deep hole of servitude. “Is there anything else?” I asked, unable to hide the smirk in my voice.

  Ann gave me a blank stare. Without turning her head, she shifted her eyes toward the front window, which had a few light smudges. Then she cut her eyes back toward me. She must have read my mind, or the incredulous look on my face, because she didn’t ask me to do what I thought she would: clean her office windows. “That’s all for now,” she said. She gave me an uneasy look before she dismissed me by nodding toward the door.

  I added this encounter and its outcome to the list of indignities that I couldn’t share with Freddie. I didn’t want her, or anybody else for that matter, to know that I’d been reduced to a maid. But that was the least of my worries. I couldn’t charge anything else, and that included the cost to have Ann’s computer serviced, to her company credit card because it was up to the limit. For me, the walk from Ann’s office back to the reception area had to be almost as difficult as the walk on the green mile on death row. I could barely lift my feet.

  I returned to my workstation rubbing my forehead. I fell into my chair wheezing like a woman three times my age.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Pam asked, an amused look on her face. “You’re sweating like a pig.”

  “I’m fine,” I managed. “I . . . I missed a step on the stairs and almost fell,” I claimed. “Uh,” I continued, turning to Wendy, behind me, with an inquisitive look on her face. “Ann wants me to call the guy to come look at her computer. She told me to charge it.”

  “You should use the card in Lupe’s name to pay for that,” Wendy said, startling me out of the black funk I had slid into. “It’s easier to keep track of repair charges that way. Besides, there’s a higher credit limit on Lupe’s card.”

  “Oh. OK,” I mumbled. Wendy had just saved my hide, so to speak. I knew I couldn’t use Ann’s credit card again until I paid the bill. And I was scared to death that I’d be put in another situation where I’d be asked to use it again before I could straighten out the mess I’d made.

  I did decide that the smart thing to do was to not use Ann’s company credit card again after I paid it off and to take my scheme one step farther. It was time to “diversify.” I would apply for another card in Ann’s name. It would be even more valuable to me than the first one, because it would not be connected to Bon Voyage.

  CHAPTER 30

  Staying a few steps ahead of the people who issued credit cards was so easy I could have done it in my sleep. It amazed me how they were able to stay in business. They had nobody to blame but themselves when they got scammed. Freddie agreed with me.

  “Trudy, you wouldn’t believe how easy it is for people to get credit and house loans and shit. Banks are getting ‘robbed’ left and right, and it’s their own fault because they make it so easy for the wrong people to get credit.” Freddie was right. Some stupid bank had sent a preapproved credit card, with a five-thousand-dollar credit line, to Freddie’s two-year-old daughter! Freddie was too afraid to use it, but she held onto it in case she did get up enough nerve.

  I gave Freddie one of my most serious looks. “So I shouldn’t have any trouble getting another credit card in Ann’s name?” I asked during our bus ride home a few days after I had done some light cleaning in Ann’s office. It was a struggle to keep my lips from curling up into a smile

  “Not if yo
u’re smart enough. Not if you use a different address,” Freddie said.

  “I rented one of those mail box things today,” I confessed. “And,” I continued with a flourish that impressed even me, “I also got a voice mail message number. I applied for two credit cards in Ann’s name.”

  For a moment, Freddie just stared at me like she was having a hard time absorbing what I’d just shared with her. “What about her job information?”

  “I said she’s self-employed,” I said with a shrug. Freddie raised both eyebrows and gave me a sideways glance. “They didn’t even call to verify her employment.” I gasped. “I mean, these banks are begging for it.”

  Freddie shook her head, a disgusted look on her face. “That’s the shit I am talking about. With the way things are in this world today, you would have to be a complete idiot to not verify that everything a person puts on a credit application checks out. Even if Ann’s credit is solid gold they should still at least verify her employment.”

  “Do you think a woman like Ann would have anything less than an A-one credit rating?” I scoffed. “That woman is on top of everything. Did I tell you she’s got the nerve to have a maid come clean her condo?”

  Freddie rolled her eyes and made another disgusted face. “That uppity heifer.”

  I had come up with my latest scheme even before discussing it with Freddie. Using the company credit card had gotten too risky. I knew I couldn’t get a credit card in my own name because I’d fucked up my credit last year. Uncle Pete, daddy’s brother, had talked me into taking out a ten thousand dollar loan for him to pay for some surgery.

  Uncle Pete had always been a shiftless alcoholic who couldn’t be trusted. He had not only stolen money from his own mother’s bosom while she’d slept, he busted his sons’ piggy banks when they were still toddlers to get money for more whiskey. For years Daddy had bailed my useless uncle out of one mess after another because nobody else would. When Uncle Pete went to Vegas to gamble with money that Daddy had loaned him to pay his rent, Daddy vowed that he would never give him another dime. And he’d kept his word.