Bad Girls Finish First

by Shelia Dansby Harvey

  “What do you see?” Michael asked. No one whose opinion he valued had congratulated Michael on his union with Raven or had anything good to say about her. He was hungry for validation, for someone he respected to assure him he wasn’t an utter fool for tossing Grace aside and marrying Raven.

  “Lots of things,” David said. “She’s beautiful, keenly intelligent, direct, and confident.” He loved intelligent women, and he liked them direct, as long as direct meant honest. David grinned at Michael. “And when you add her sexy charm? To me, that’s a very cool combination.”

  “Reverend Capps, you’re not allowed to call another man’s wife sexy,” Michael said, but he had a wide smile on his face.

  “Just calling it like I see it. When God called me to the ministry He took away some of my vices, but He left my hormones intact,” David quipped. He wanted Michael to feel good about his marriage—might as well since it was a done deal—so he didn’t mention that Raven’s comment about Grace showed she had a bitchy side as well. He added another compliment. “The thing about Raven that’s going to help you right off the bat is that she knows a lot about politics. That’s impressive considering this is her first go-round.”

  “I appreciate the good word, David. I wish other people would give her a chance the way you have,” Michael said. “And you know what? The more you get to know her, the more you’re going to like her.” He stood. “Going back and forth over whether I should run for governor was a good way to flesh out the issues, but it’s what you said just now about Raven that’s been the most help. I’ll be right back,” he said and headed toward the kitchen.

  Raven was busy rinsing the dishes. Michael walked up behind her and put his arms around her. He kissed Raven’s cheek. “I wanted you to be the first to know, I’ve decided to run for governor. With you by my side, there’s nothing I can’t accomplish.”

  She turned to face him. “There’s nothing we can’t accomplish, Michael. We’re going to the governor’s mansion, and from there straight to the top.” Raven burrowed into Michael and kissed him full on the lips.

  After Michael returned to the great room to discuss his decision with David, Raven forgot about the dishes and sat down at the kitchen table. She thought about what David had asked her. Is there anything from your past that can hurt Michael? Images from Raven’s life before she married Michael—her kissing a woman who wore a lab coat, a man doubled up in pain on her apartment floor—flitted through her mind. The memory of the man, whose normally alive, gold-flecked eyes, stared unseeingly at her during his ordeal, caused a tiny knot to take hold in Raven’s stomach. She sighed and said softly to herself, “I guess it all depends on whether anyone finds out about Omar Faxton.”

  2

  Christopher Joseph beat a rat-a-tat-tat on his steering wheel, grooving to a mixed neo-soul CD. He was stuck in traffic just outside Austin, moving about a mile every five minutes, but he wasn’t blaring his horn like the drivers around him. He knew the ride from Austin to Dallas like the back of his hand—just two more miles and the bottleneck would open up; he’d be at the front of the pack in no time. Life was good for Michael and Grace’s oldest son. He’d recently graduated from the University of Texas in Austin where he earned dual degrees in history and economics while working as a special assistant to his father. He had a nice apartment, loyal friends, and an extraordinarily promising future.

  When Christopher’s cell phone rang, he turned down the music and pressed his speaker button.

  “Genie, what’s up?” Regina ‘Genie’ Dupree was Raven’s appointment secretary. One look at her and Christopher had broken his rule about not dating his colleagues. “You’re rockin’ an East Coast attitude, West Coast looks, and a Southern heart. I can’t resist that,” he’d kidded her the first time he asked her out. Genie was almost two years older than Christopher, so she brushed him off in the beginning. But she watched him and quickly discovered that his peers, most of whom were over thirty, treated him with respect, not because he was Michael’s son, but because he was good at what he did. They’d been an item for six months.

  “Hey, baby. I’m just checking to see what time you want me to come over,” Genie asked.

  “Come over?”

  “Don’t try to squirm out of it now, Christopher,” she teased him. “You promised me a home-cooked meal tonight, so don’t act like we agreed to go out to eat.”

  Damn. “I’m on I-35 headed to Dallas. I forgot to call you; I’m sorry babe.”

  “What’s going on? I checked the newswires just before I left the office, and everything was fine. Did something happen?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then why’re you going?” Already Christopher could hear the challenge in Genie’s voice.

  “To see my mother.”

  “Christopher, you’ve got to be kidding! This is the first halfway-free weekend we’ve had in weeks. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Genie, you’re a grown woman. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Christopher snapped. He’d rather be headed across town to Genie’s apartment than to Dallas, and it irritated him to think about what he was missing.

  “Have a good time with your mama,” Genie snapped back. “Like you said, I’m a big girl. Trust me, I’ll find something to do.” Click.

  Christopher turned up his music and tried to recapture his flow but couldn’t. He shut off the CD and gripped the wheel like he was in driver’s ed.

  Christopher had lost a few girlfriends while he was in college. The young women he dated were either hard-core cynics or just keeping it real, depending upon your point of view—they believed any man who claimed to spend so much time with his mother had to be cheating. Parents were to be checked on by telephone once a week (or biweekly, if one could get away with it). Christopher didn’t want his relationship with Genie to end up like the rest; he didn’t know where they were headed, but he knew he didn’t want to cut short the journey.

  An hour later Christopher decided to call Genie back. He got her voicemail and left the message. “You know you’re my main girl, but Mom’s been vulnerable these past few months. She can’t turn anywhere without seeing images of Dad and his new wife on TV and in the newspapers. She needs me.”

  When she lost her spot as “Senator Joseph’s wife,” Grace Joseph became a forgotten woman. She loved her sons, Chris-topher and Evan, and even though depression descended on the house when Michael walked out, Grace did the best she could. Christopher was in college by then, and since Michael was also in Austin most of the time, he spent more time with his father than with his mother.

  That left Grace and Evan, the younger son, at home, alone. After a couple of months, the cloud that covered Grace started to dissipate, and on occasion, the sun shone through. Then Raven realized Michael would be easier to control with Evan nearby. She paid Grace a visit, and by week’s end Evan had moved from the spacious Dallas home into the two-bedroom Austin apartment Michael lived in at the time.

  Right after Evan moved out, Christopher would drive from Austin to Dallas every weekend just so Grace wouldn’t be alone. Christopher developed a routine—he’d arrive at Grace’s condo as late as possible Friday night and work all day Saturday at his father’s Dallas office, then hang out with friends that night. Sunday morning he’d take Grace to church and to brunch afterward. He’d be back on the road to Austin by two.

  This weekend he had cajoled Grace into going to dinner. “My birthday is Wednesday, Mom, and I won’t be here. You’ve got to go out with me,” he told her.

  As Christopher sat across from Grace at a chic Dallas restaurant, he tried to ignore her lifeless eyes and concentrate on the rest of her. Grace had all the features of an attractive woman in her forties. Her smooth copper-colored skin and almond eyes were accentuated by a stylish haircut. Grace had a curvaceous figure, including breasts that men tended to look at a half-beat too long. Her smile, the one she let out when she was really happy, was blindingly beautiful; however, Christopher hadn’t seen
it in a while. With her inner light dimmed, Grace reminded her son of a once-beautiful woman stricken by a life-draining disease.

  Grace examined her son as closely as he examined her. “Sitting across from you is like sitting across from your father twenty years ago. You’ve got the same curly hair, tan skin, muscular build.”

  “But I’m taller, like your side of the family. Thank God for that,” he quipped, hoping to be rewarded with at least a slight smile. Grace’s expression stayed the same.

  When the waiter came, Christopher said, “My mother will have the seafood gumbo.” He leaned toward Grace, “Mom, you still like gumbo, don’t you?” Getting no response, he added, “I hope this is the right place. I remember you always ordering the gumbo.”

  “Your father routinely ordered it for me, so I ate it,” Grace said glumly. “I think one of his girlfriends told him this place had the best gumbo in town.” Grace’s response was typical—she rarely said anything that didn’t invoke the bitter memory of Michael Joseph.

  A young couple and two small children were sitting at the table next to them. The children were restless; one was on a mission to touch every item on the table while the other crawled underneath it and refused to budge. The wife tried, but she could not handle more than one child at a time.

  “You see why I don’t like to take you and the kids anywhere? I let you be a stay-at-home mom, and they’re still little animals,” barked the husband. “Jerry’s wife works and does a great job with their kids.” He cut his wife a nasty look. “And she still looks like she did when they were dating.”

  Grace stiffened, and Christopher immediately picked up on the warning signs.

  “Mom, he probably doesn’t really mean—”

  “Sure he does,” she said. Her eyes were not dead anymore.

  Grace turned, looked directly at the man, and asked, “What if they were gone?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your wife and your babies, what if they got killed in a car wreck?”

  “Lady, please—”

  “My husband used to be an asshole, just like you, until my son and I almost died.” She gestured toward Christopher. “We were in a wreck. A bad one, and I almost died.” Grace’s voice was soft, yet filled with missionary zeal. “It took almost losing me for my husband to realize that I’m the light of his life. Don’t let that happen to you.”

  “Mom, why do you say things like that, tell people lies about you and Dad?” Christopher whispered to her. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “So? What’s a little embarrassment compared to saving a family?” She shook her finger at Christopher. “A little lie never hurt anyone. That man needed a wake-up call, Chris, treating the mother of his children like trash. How dare he?” Grace eyed the family over her shoulder. The husband, having finished his meal while his wife wrestled with the children, held the smallest child in his lap and talked the other one through getting peas from her plate, onto her spoon, and into her mouth. The wife was able to eat her meal in peace.

  Grace said, “What did I tell you? A little lie never hurt anyone.”

  Before Christopher could reply, a tall, hearty-looking man in his sixties came over to their table. He said, “Little Chris, I’ve heard you sneak in and out of town without calling on your old uncle, but I never believed it!”

  Christopher stood and embraced the man. “Uncle John, it’s good seeing you.”

  “You too, son.” The man turned to Grace. “My Grace,” he said. Grace stood and her eyes welled with tears.

  John Reese and Grace held each other for a long moment. Her whole body relaxed, but not for long. “I’m glad we ran into each other. Be sure to tell Maggie I said hello,” Grace said as she took her seat. She cast her eyes downward, focusing on her gumbo.

  “She’d like it better coming from you,” John said. “Mind if I sit?”

  Grace looked up at him and quickly asked, “Weren’t you on your way out?”

  “Yes, but when I saw you, I told the guys to go on without me.” John said as he pulled out a chair.

  John Reese wasn’t Christopher’s uncle; he and his wife, Maggie, were his godparents. Although there was no blood between them, the Reeses and Josephs were family in the truest sense of the word. When Michael and Grace were married, they’d gone over to the Reeses at least once a month for Sunday dinner. Every other year they took a family vacation together.

  John was like an older brother to Michael, not just any older brother, but the type who raised their younger siblings because the parents ran off or died. John had been his touchstone, his advisor and protector. They stood by each other, come what may, and told one another the truth, even when it hurt.

  Since the divorce, John seldom saw Christopher. Now they caught up on everything—John asked Christopher about work and about Evan, but he was careful not to mention Michael.

  “Grace, what about you, keeping yourself busy?” John asked.

  “Sure,” she answered, her eyes still downcast.

  “Doing what?”

  “Oh, you know, different things,” she said in a small voice.

  John gave Christopher a look that asked, “Is she any better?” Christopher shook his head. As far as he knew, Grace spent most of her time watching TV.

  “I’ve got a lot going on, myself,” John said. “Too much, in fact.” He caught Grace’s eye and said, “I feel like I’m drowning.”

  She didn’t say anything, so Christopher chimed in. “If anybody can juggle ten things at once, it’s you. What’s got you so busy?”

  John leaned back and sighed. He rubbed a hand across his close-cropped gray hair. “I’m trying to set up a literacy program at the junior high school around the corner from the bookstore.”

  “For who, adults in the neighborhood?” Christopher asked.

  “Nah, for the kids at the school. You’d be surprised at how many twelve-year-olds read like they’re in the second grade.”

  Grace looked up from her gumbo. Christopher, who watched his mother intently whenever they were together, saw interest flicker across her face.

  “The kids are eager to get started,” John said. “So is the principal of the school, but finding volunteers . . .” John threw his hands up. “It’s impossible.”

  “I guess everybody’s at work during the day,” Christopher commented.

  “Lack of time isn’t the problem, it’s lack of interest. My retired friends would rather spend their time in the casinos. And college kids aren’t like they were back in your day, Grace,” John said. “These youngsters would rather zone out on videos than spend a few hours helping a child.” He nodded toward Christopher. “Present company excepted.”

  John stroked his mustache, and stared toward the ceiling. “I need somebody who connects well with children, someone patient and loving.”

  Grace was listening so intently that it startled her when John said, “What about you, Grace? I realize you’re probably quite busy, but if there’s any way you can find a little time to help me I’d be grateful.”

  “I couldn’t,” Grace said.

  “Mom, you’d be great. Evan and I both love to read, and it’s all because of you,” Christopher said.

  John placed his hand over Grace’s and said, “These children need somebody, Grace. Can you imagine what it must be like, being locked in your own narrow world, needing help but not having anybody to reach out to? After a while a person starts to feel hopeless, resigned to being left behind. That’s how it’s going to go for these boys if they don’t learn how to read.”

  Grace looked squarely at John. Her expression was serious, but Christopher could see a glimmer of the beauty she usually hid. “Yes John, I can imagine it,” Grace said. “I’ll do what I can.”

  3

  Christopher wandered around the war room of his father’s campaign office while he waited for Michael to complete a phone call. Michael’s main campaign headquarters was on the eleventh floor of the nicest office building in Austin. The room was a high-energy
mess. Phone bank volunteers plugged one ear with a finger while they called voters; others stuffed mailers. Christopher’s practiced eye assured him that beneath the hectic surface, things were being accomplished like clockwork. He stopped in front of a new poster, which read, “Committed To Lead” beneath a photo of Michael.

  “He looks like a winner, like a man who knows what he wants and will not be denied,” Christopher said to the campaign staffer who was preparing to ship the posters around the state. “I like it.”

  “It’s a good thing you do. You’re looking at yourself in another twenty years, you know.” She winked at Christopher, picked up a stack of posters, and walked away.

  Christopher scanned the room, taking in banners, yard signs, and bumper stickers written in Spanish and Vietnamese. A huge corkboard was filled with “the dailies,” which were the day’s newspaper clippings from papers all over the nation. The New York Times ran an in-depth profile of Michael titled: TEXAS POISED FOR FIRST BLACK GOVERNOR.

  The Wall Street Journal included an op-ed opinion with the caption: TEXAS PERILOUSLY CLOSE TO FALLING INTO INEXPERIENCED HANDS.

  “Chris.” Michael stuck his head in the door. “Come on in, son.”

  Michael’s private portion of the headquarters was orderly and tastefully decorated with beautiful African artifacts. The space bespoke power, just like his home and Senate offices did. The only things on display besides art were pictures of Michael at different stages of his career. There was one of him with both Bush presidents at a formal dinner, one with Bill Clinton, and another of him being presented with a humanitarian award by Nelson Mandela. His bookshelves were dotted with plaques and pictures from past campaign victories. The best snapshots from Michael’s past Senate races weren’t on display because Grace was in them. They’d been replaced by an eight by ten of Michael and Raven, both beaming as Michael gave his victory speech after the Democratic primary.