by Carl Weber
Bettie wouldn’t give him an answer immediately but discussed the issue very seriously with both her fiancé and her eleven-year-old daughter. The decision was not an easy one for any of them. Donna wanted to stay with her mother because they had been together for so long, she couldn’t imagine living apart. But she was, after all, still a child, and very enticed by the idea of a pool in her backyard and her younger sister under the same roof. After much heartbreaking discussion they decided that Donna would try it for a year, visiting New York during each of her school vacations.
Now the group was happily standing outside the airport terminal, watching a driver pile their luggage into the trunk of a limousine. As soon as they had claimed their bags, Tyrone was prepared to hail a cab to take them all to the hotel where he had reserved two adjoining rooms. To their surprise, a chauffeur stood near the baggage carousel with a sign that announced he was waiting for the Jefferson party from New York.
As they climbed into the luxurious limo, the girls immediately opened the miniature refrigerator and pulled out two sodas. Tyrone stretched his legs out and smiled.
“We’re going to the Los Angeles Hilton,” he told the driver.
They planned to stay there for a week or two until they could find a house. Lynn had already rented an apartment, so after dinner Tyrone would put her in a cab and send her to her new home.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the driver told him, “but Mr. Black has asked me to bring you to him before you go to the hotel. He has some details he’d like to work out with you.”
Tyrone gave Sylvia a quizzical look, but she just winked at him. She had overseen most of the contracts for Tyrone’s employment with Walter Black. For the most part, he just signed whatever she put in front of him. Now he had no idea what other details Walter could need to discuss with him. He smiled nervously at Sylvia, then leaned back on the headrest, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the first limo ride he would take in Los Angeles.
Tyrone fell asleep during their ride to the beautiful Hollywood Hills section of Los Angeles and had to be awake ened by Sylvia when the limousine pulled into the driveway of a large white stucco house. The house, a beautiful contemporary that was landscaped with colorful flowers, shrubs, and fruit trees, was situated on top of a hill overlooking the city.
“Man, look at this view.” Tyrone whistled as he stepped out of the limo. “That Walter Black sure knows how to live.” Sylvia just smiled at him.
“Mr. Black will see you inside the house.”
The chauffeur walked around to the trunk. He opened it and removed the suitcases, which he took over and placed next to the entrance.
“Hold on, man,” Tyrone told the chauffeur. “You might as well leave that in the trunk if we’re going to the hotel.”
“Just following Mr. Black’s instructions, sir.”
“Well, my dear, I guess it’s time I meet the mysterious Mr. Walter Black. So far he’s been full of surprises, wouldn’t you say?” Tyrone squeezed Sylvia’s hand. She placed her head on his shoulder as they happily walked to the front door.
Walter Black, a tall, well-groomed man, opened the door and gave his guests the smile that had won him so many loyal patrons over the years. He reached out his large, powerful hand to shake Tyrone’s, then welcomed the group into the house.
Inside the foyer, sunlight poured in from the skylights in the cathedral ceilings. The girls gasped at the size of the entryway and the spacious living room to the left. This part of the house alone was bigger than any apartment either girl had ever lived in. They raced into the living room, where there was a white grand piano, without waiting for an invitation.
Tyrone was about to reprimand them, but Walter Black stopped him with his hearty laugh. The adults stood in the foyer and engaged in small talk about the flight and the beautiful scenery they had enjoyed on their drive to the home. The girls, meanwhile, tested every overstuffed seat in the living room, then continued their exploration into the kitchen. After a few minutes they raced back to their father, bursting with news.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” shouted Donna. “You have to come see this kitchen. Everything is just sparkling, and it’s so big, there are two refrigerators! Can you believe it?”
Everyone laughed as Kim continued the narrative where her sister had left off.
“If we lived in a house like this, we could use one whole refrigerator just for ice cream,” she fantasized. “Are we going to live in a house like this, Daddy?”
“Well, girls,” Sylvia answered for Tyrone, “as a matter of fact, we are going to live in this house. Your rooms are right up those stairs.” She pointed, and both girls tore up the staircase, squealing with delight.
Tyrone’s jaw was hanging open as he looked at Sylvia, trying to understand what had just happened.
“What are you talking about, Syl? I know Walter gave me a generous advance, but don’t you think we should start smaller than this?”
“Tyrone, darling,” she said sweetly. “You seem to forget that we’re a team now, and you’re not the only one with money, you know. I have had my eye on this house for years, ever since I first started visiting Los Angeles. When I started negotiating your contract with Walter he let me know that this place was available.”
“Are you sure we can afford this?” He was unable to believe any of this was truly happening.
“I guess you really don’t know what she’s worth, do you?” Walter laughed. “Besides, I expect that with the art studio I had built in the back for you, you’re going to be one productive artist for Walter Black Enterprises. Money is not going to be a concern for you, I’d say.”
“Uh, art studio?” Tyrone stammered.
“Sylvia, you saw the plans. Why don’t you take him back there and show him? I’m going to head back to the office and let you all get settled,” Walter told them. “I’ll see you in my office tomorrow morning to introduce you to my staff, Tyrone.”
“Mr. Black, I can’t thank you enough for everything. I look forward to a long, prosperous relationship with your company,” Tyrone told him as the men shook hands.
After Walter had gone, Lynn headed upstairs to check on the girls. Tyrone whooped and hollered, then ran through every room in the house. In each room he would look at Sylvia with a child’s awe in his eyes. Ending his run back in the foyer, he grabbed Sylvia and swung her around in an ecstatic embrace.
“I can’t even believe I’m here, Syl. I can’t believe we’re here! I owe this all to you,” he told her exuberantly.
“Oh, Tyrone.” She kissed him. “I love you. I love you so much.”
Antoine sat behind the large desk in the office that once belonged to Maurice Johnson. After being arrested for statutory rape, Maurice had been fired and the school board scrambled to put an interim principal in place until interviews could be conducted. Antoine’s reputation was stellar, and it was well known that it was his leadership ability that had turned the English Department into the highest performing group in the school. His contributions had been noted in his record many times, and since he was well respected among the faculty and staff of the school, the board decided he was the natural choice to fill the spot. Of course, they informed him that he would need to apply officially and go through the same interview process as all other candidates if in fact he were interested in becoming the school’s next principal.
As he sat behind the desk, he was attempting to fill out part of the application, but his mind wandered. He thought about his friend Tyrone and wondered how his new fairy-tale life was unfolding in California. He picked up the phone and dialed the first few digits before he realized it was only five-thirty in the morning in L.A. Placing the phone back on the receiver, he smiled.
Life was really taking off for him and his friend. Antoine had a strong feeling about the possibilities of getting the principalship. This would be the ideal situation for him, since he was now dedicated to staying in New York to help Keisha raise their child. Their relationship had been strengthening every day, and
he no longer doubted his potential to be a father. After the two had gone to Keisha’s first sonogram appointment, Antoine saw his baby’s heart beating on the monitor, and suddenly he knew what his purpose in life would be. That same night he had taken her to dinner and said the words “I love you” for the first time.
Antoine’s mind then settled on thoughts of Kevin. With the recent good fortune that he and Tyrone had found, he wished his friend could find the same kind of happiness. Kevin might still have been immature in some ways, but Antoine knew his friend had a big heart and deserved some satisfaction in his life. He vowed to do whatever he could to help his friend find his way to happiness.
40
MAURICE
Maurice was terrified as he stared at the cold gray cement walls of the central booking jail. He’d been waiting three days to be arraigned, but because he was arrested on a Friday afternoon he had to wait until Monday to see the judge.
What the hell am I doing here? he asked himself. He stepped on the foot of the huge white corrections officer when the heavy steel doors slammed behind him.
“What’s wrong with you—Johnson?” the office screamed, looking down at his clipboard to find Maurice’s name before pushing him away. “You really must not wanna see the judged.”
“I’m sorry, officer. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
Officer Kirkland gestured to the rest of the inmates waiting for arraignment to follow him. Kirkland was one of those men who needed his job to make him feel important. Outside of work he was a nobody. Inside he wielded his status as a corrections officer as if it made him president of the United States.
The group followed Kirkland down the long corridor for what seemed like forever before they reached another steel gate. Kirkland shouted to the officer in the security booth.
“I’ve got twelve going to see the judge!”
“No problem,” the officer shouted, opening the gate.
Kirkland proceeded with the group down the corridor toward the courthouse. Before they reached their destination, he barked his final orders to them.
“Listen up, ’cause I’m only gonna say this once. When I call your name, I want you to follow me into the courtroom and stand in front of the judge. I don’t want any of you to say a word unless the judge or your lawyer speaks to you. Got it?” Everyone nodded. “Now go in there and have a seat till you’re called.” Kirkland pointed to a ten-by-ten cage, and the inmates walked in. They sat on the floor, since there were no available seats. After an hour on the cold floor Maurice heard someone announce his name.
“Johnson!”
“Yes?” He sprung to his feet.
“Time to see the judge.” Kirkland opened the gate, and Maurice followed him through a door into the courtroom.
He was relieved when his lawyer, Greg Thomas, joined him in front of the judge.
“You okay, Maurice?” Greg whispered as the judge reviewed some paperwork.
“Yes,” Maurice lied as he felt his stomach begin to ache.
“Get yourself together. If we’re lucky, you may be home tonight.” Greg turned his attention to the judge.
Maurice tried his best to straighten himself out. He was still wearing the same suit he had on when he was arrested, minus the tie and belt the corrections officers had taken. It was dirty, but he looked more presentable than most of the other defendants he had been confined with.
“Your honor, the next case is Johnson versus the People of New York, second degree rape and endangering the welfare of a minor,” the clerk said loudly.
“Well, Mr. Abraham, what do we have here?” the judge asked the district attorney.
“Your honor, we’ve got a high school principal having sex with a sixteen-year-old. The evidence is pretty overwhelming. Not only does the defendant admit to having sex with the victim, he videotaped it.” The D.A. picked up the tape. “The people are asking for one million dollars bail.”
“Well, Mr. Thomas, do you have anything to say for your client?” The judge addressed Maurice’s lawyer.
“I’d like to enter a motion to dismiss, your honor.” He handed both the judge and the D.A. his motions.
“What’s this all about, Mr. Thomas?” the judge asked.
“Jurisdiction, your honor. The alleged crimes never took place in the state of New York. They all occurred in Vermont, where the age of consent is sixteen.”
“Is this true, Mr. Abraham?”
“One minute, please, your honor.” The D.A. turned and whispered to the arresting officers, who were standing behind him. When he turned back to the judge, he looked disgusted. “I’m afraid that is true, your honor.”
The judge looked down at the motion in front of him and frowned.
“You know, Mr. Johnson, men like you sicken me. We put you in charge of our children, and you take advantage of them.” The judge removed his glasses to rub his eyes.
Maurice nudged Greg Thomas. “She told me she was twenty-one,” he whispered. Greg raised his hand to silence Maurice so that the judge could continue.
“Mr. Johnson, I have a sixteen-year-old daughter, so you have no idea how much it pains me to do this. The motion to dismiss is granted, case dismissed. Mr. Thomas, I suggest you get your client some help.” The judge banged his gavel with finality.
Maurice was shocked. “Did he say case dismissed?”
“Yes, he did,” Greg answered, turning to the table behind them for his briefcase. The two men walked to the back of the courtroom and out the doors.
Outside the courtroom Maurice turned to Greg. “Thanks, Greg. This is another fine mess you’ve gotten me out of.”
“You heard the judge, Maurice. You need to get some help.” There was no warmth in Greg’s voice.
“Come on, Greg,” Maurice insisted arrogantly, “I told you the little whore said she was twenty-one. If you had seen her first, you woulda jumped on her too.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? I don’t care what she looked like, Maurice. The bottom line is that girl is only sixteen. Whether you’re free or not, can’t you see that’s wrong?”
“What am I supposed to do, ask everyone I screw for proper identification?”
“How about screwing people your own age? Maurice, you have a twenty-year-old daughter. What would you do if a forty-five-year-old man took advantage of her?” Maurice stood silently, staring at his friend and lawyer. “I thought that might get your attention.” Greg walked back in the courtroom, leaving Maurice to consider what he’d just said.
“You’re Maurice Johnson, aren’t you?” A very pretty brown-skinned woman approached him.
“Yeah, why?” Maurice was still thinking about Greg’s last comment and really didn’t appreciate the woman’s intrusion.
Smack! The woman slapped him hard enough for everyone in the courthouse lobby to hear. The blow had surprised him enough that he almost fell over.
“I’m Valerie Gordon’s mother, you son of a bitch! How dare you violate my daughter?” She tried to swing again, but a teenage girl held her back.
“Come on, Ma,” the girl pleaded.
A small crowd gather around and Maurice was still trying to steady himself from her blow.
“Let go of me, Valerie!” the girl’s mother commanded.
Maurice took a good look at the girl when he realized she was the one he had left in Vermont and spent three days in jail for. She didn’t look twenty-one now. She looked sixteen in her jeans and sweatshirt, but Maurice knew it was her, minus the sexy clothes and makeup. She’d worn a weave over the weekend, but now her hair was in cornrows, and she really did look like a child. What the hell did I do? he thought, for the first time feeling some true remorse.
“You think you gonna get away with rapin’ my baby and leavin’ her up in Vermont? Well, I’m here to tell you when my husband comes home on leave from the army next month, your ass belongs to us!” Maurice was about to offer a sincere apology, but she swung, landing another loud sma
ck against his face. Two sheriff’s deputies stopped her before she could land another blow.
“Let her go, officers. It wasn’t her fault, it was mine,” Maurice said through clenched teeth.
“Okay. But you get out of here,” one officer told him. Maurice nodded and walked toward the courthouse exit. In all his escapades he had never thought enough about the women he mistreated to care that they were someone’s daughters, someone’s sisters. But Greg’s words reminded him that if the same situation were reversed and it was his Jasmine who was left in Vermont, his heart would be broken. Greg’s words weighed heavy on his conscience, and Valerie’s mother’s slap burned on his face.
Maurice made sure he was the last one in, to give himself time to try to calm his nerves. As he entered the room and glanced around at the people waiting behind the Plexiglas partitions, he spotted the woman he had been so eager to see. He walked slowly to the partition and sat in front of her.
Three weeks before, Maurice had been arrested for statutory rape and endangering the welfare of a minor. Now, although he was a free man, things could not be worse for him. His wife left him for a school security guard and cleaned out his bank accounts. He lost his job even though he won the case against him. The New York City Board of Education did not care whether Maurice was in New York or Vermont. The fact that he had sex with a minor, especially one who was enrolled in their school system, was more than enough grounds for his dismissal.
Now, at the suggestion of his psychiatrist, he was sitting in front of the one person he believed could answer some questions and help him make some changes in his life. He picked up the phone nervously.
“Hi, Diane.” He smiled. He had not seen the woman since junior high school, and she was more beautiful than ever.
Diane was fifty-eight years old with a dark complexion that was smooth as silk. Her long black hair was streaked with gray and put up in a bun, and her dress was a prison-issue orange that brought out the red tints in her skin. She was a stunning woman, and the years had been very kind.