“I should be at your place around ten-thirty. See you then.” She told him good-bye, hung up, and opened her mail. She gazed at a subpoena requiring her to witness for the prosecution against the man who stalked her with the intention, in her opinion, of influencing her recording of his testimony.
“Why is that case on the docket so early?” she asked the court clerk.
“It has to be decided whether he’s guilty of jury tampering and of stalking you before the other case can go forward.”
The following Monday morning, Petra—the happy mother of a Howard University freshman—took the stand as the prosecution’s second witness against Marvin Powell. She let her gaze travel over the members of the jury, more out of daily habit than purpose, but it locked on one juror, a woman who she would have recognized anywhere. She had to do something, so she began to cough and continued coughing until the judge ordered a recess until after lunch.
When the clerk brought her a glass of water, she told him, “Tell the DA he has to get Gail Norris off that jury. She’s going to vote against whoever my testimony supports.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “All right, I’ll tell him, but if the judge finds out you faked that coughing fit—”
“I didn’t fake it; I always react that way when I’m alarmed.”
A few minutes later, the clerk returned. “The DA wants to see you in the judge’s chambers.”
“What is this about? It had better be good,” the DA said.
She told them that she had previously worked at a real estate agency owned by Jack Watkins. “He appeared to have a crush on one of his employees, Gail Norris. Not remembering that he was excessively homophobic, I told him he was wasting his time chasing Gail because she was Sally Kendall’s bird. He went berserk, fired Gail, and demoted Sally, who hates me. She didn’t make enough money on her lowered salary to support Gail, and Gail left her.”
A frown beclouded the judge’s face. “I see. Since you’re a key witness, this may affect the trial.”
“I’d like to see her replaced,” the DA said.
After lunch, the jury returned to the courtroom, and Petra breathed more deeply for she saw that a man had replaced Gail. She completed her testimony for the day, locked her office, and started down the carpeted corridor. A second later, she lay sprawled on the floor, a pain in her head, and the sound of familiar giggles ringing in her ears. She managed to sit up, but saw no one until, after a few seconds, a woman and a small boy emerged from the ladies’ room facing her.
“You all right?” the woman asked her.
Petra nodded. “Did you see a woman wearing a red jacket and dark pants in the ladies’ room?” Petra asked the woman.
“Yes, ma’am,” the little boy said. “I saw her.”
Petra thanked the boy, pulled herself up, and reached for the door as Gail was coming out of it. She blocked Gail’s exit. “If you plan to be a criminal, Gail, you’ll have to change that giggle of yours. I knew it was you who tripped me up, because I heard you laugh. I should report you to the court, but you’re off the jury, and that’s what counts. Mess with me again, and it will be my pleasure to have you prosecuted for it.” She had the satisfaction of seeing Gail’s bottom lip tremble and her gaze dart from place to place like someone cornered. “Have a nice day, Gail.”
Petra closed Krista’s piano and opened the windows to let the rain-refreshed air blow through the house. Goodman had warned her that dampness affected a piano’s tone. Yellow, purple, and golden leaves covered her front lawn and her backyard, giving her the first inkling of what her life would be like without Krista, who enjoyed raking the autumn leaves.
“I need to get on with my life,” she said to herself.
That laboratory’s error, Barnes’s bad judgment, and what happened during those long months when I thought I could die at any minute are still circumscribing my life, impacting practically all my thoughts and nearly everything I do. I can’t wallow in that forever. A lot of good came out of it. I did have a tumor, and a doctor removed it. I had the most wonderful experiences out West, met a wonderful man and, for the first time in my life, I knew real love. To top it off, I’m a hundred thousand dollars richer, my daughter’s father loves her and is paying for her university education, and she knows and loves her brothers. I said I was going to college, and I’m going to do exactly that.
Petra remembered Goodman’s advice about getting a car, so she phoned a car rental agency and asked about cars for sale. “If you can wait about ten days,” a man told her, “we’ll be selling this year’s models. They’ll all be in top condition.”
“Then why are you selling them?” she asked.
“Because we only rent current models. If you want a car that’s been leased, that’s a different proposition. We don’t lease cars.”
“I was told to go to a rental agency.”
“Great. If you come to the office, I’ll get a good one for you, but I can’t promise a specific color.”
“Just so it isn’t red.”
The man laughed. “We don’t have red cars. That’s the first thing a state trooper looks for.”
She took his name and made an appointment to see him that afternoon. Then, she went to the local library and got half a dozen catalogs of schools offering degree programs for part-time students, and began examining them. With her notebook crammed with information on special degree programs, Petra headed to the car rental agency. When she left there, she had committed herself to the purchase of a comparatively new Ford Taurus.
So buoyed was she that she sat on the agency steps and telephoned Lurlene. “I know you’re busy at work right now, but you and Twylah come over tonight, and let’s play a few games of pinochle. I could use some relaxation. Mama’s barbecuing some spareribs and that, with some rice, sweet potatoes, and turnip greens ought to do it.”
“Works for me. I got half a caramel cake I made day before yesterday, and I’ll bring that for dessert.”
“You ate half a cake in two days?” Petra asked her.
Lurlene treated her to a lusty laugh. “I don’t want poor Twylah to feel bad about that blubber she carries around, so I decided to gain a little weight.”
“Lurlene, you shouldn’t say such things about Twylah.”
“She weighs almost three times as much as I do, and it never seems to bother her. I’m not only going to jab her till she loses some of that blubber, but I’m going to turn the knife.”
“You expect her to pass up that caramel cake?”
“If she doesn’t, it won’t be no skin off my teeth. I only weigh a hundred and twenty-seven.”
So much for consistency, Petra thought. After she hung up, she remembered the last time she’d played pinochle with her two friends and how dissatisfied she’d been with them and their attitudes and outlook. They hadn’t been too happy with her, either. Lord, I hope I haven’t just made a mistake.
She headed home, her spirits high in spite of her dread of the evening. “How are you, Mama?” she called when she smelled the pork roasting in the oven. “Lurlene and Twylah are coming over tonight, and Lurlene’s bringing what’s left of her caramel cake.”
“Yeah? Well, you call her right now and tell her I said don’t gobble up half of what’s left and come here with a sliver. She knows I love that cake.”
“She said she had half a cake.”
“If she come here with less, she’s getting none of this barbecue.”
Petra laughed. Her mama was in a good mood, and at such times, Petra enjoyed being with Lena. “Mama, would you believe that after all this time, I finally signed my name on the dotted line for a car? It’s a used one, but it’ll be in great condition.”
Lena whirled around with the wooden kitchen spoon shaking like an admonishing finger in front of her. “You go ’way from here, child. Well, if we ain’t finally gon’ be big shots! Wonder what old miss Laura’ll say about that? Sure, she’ll swear a man gave it to one of us.
“That old woman’s been a jackass
for years. When I got pregnant with you, she went to my father’s house and asked him if I was ‘in the family way’ as she put it. My poor father ran her out of the house. Mama had to stop him from nearly jumping out the second-floor window.” Lena sighed at the memory. “At least I wasn’t the one who told him. She did me a favor though; two days later, your father and I got married.”
She’d just given Petra a chance to ask a question that had puzzled her for years. “Since you went through that, why were you so hard on me?”
Lena put the spoon in the sink and sat down at the little kitchen table. “After your daddy ran off with Myrtle, I had a hard life raising you, with no help from anybody. I worked, paid a sitter, went to school, did all my cleaning, laundry, shopping, you name it. Sometimes I was so tired, I thought I’d fall apart. And we hardly ever had enough. I could see you going through the same thing, and the thought nearly killed me.”
“Didn’t Grandma help you?”
“She wanted to, but Papa wouldn’t let her. He said I made my bed hard, and I should lie in it. That’s why I did what I could to make your life easier than mine was. In those days, I’d never heard of a father paying child support. But it didn’t matter, your daddy was woman and motorcycle mad. He loved that Harley more than he loved me—or Myrtle—and one day, after he left here with that strumpet, an eighteen-wheeler knocked him off it. You were barely a year old.”
Petra went over to her mother and hugged her, something she rarely did, for Lena was not demonstrative. To her astonishment, Lena put both arms around her and held her close.
“I don’t often say so,” Lena whispered, “but you’ve always been precious to me. You…You remind me so much of him that even now sometimes, I can hardly bear it. He was everything to me. I still miss him.”
Petra fought back the tears. Would she still love Winston Fleet thirty-six years from now, and would memories of him hurt her so much that she could hardly bear the pain? She patted Lena’s shoulder and went out into the garden, but seeing Ethel’s solitary figure in the ghostly twilight exacerbated her loneliness. If only she could see him, touch him…. She whirled around and went back inside. If only! A lot of good wishful thinking did.
Chapter Fourteen
Petra enjoyed dinner with Lurlene, Twylah, and her mother because there’d been no incident that might have marred it. If she hadn’t been anxious throughout the meal that Lurlene would either comment about Twylah’s weight and eating habits or make a caustic remark about Petra’s five weeks’ “vacation,” she would have been able to pay proper homage to her mama’s barbecued pork loin. She breathed deeply and let herself relax. She needed her friends, and the way in which their relationship had cooled almost to nonexistence following her return from vacation distressed her. Lurlene had displayed a viciousness of which she wouldn’t have thought her friend capable, and only because Petra had refused to turn her guts inside out for Lurlene’s perusal. She attempted to bring back some of the old, natural camaraderie.
“Imagine me, a nobody, with a daughter in Howard University,” she said and lifted a card table to begin unfolding it. “Not even in my day dreams did I conjure up that scenario.”
“You must be doing something right, girl,” Twylah said. “People always say Howard is ‘the capstone of Negro education.’ Not bad for a working mom.”
“Miss Lena, let’s you and me clean the kitchen while Petra and Twylah set up the game,” Lurlene said.
Lurlene’s cynicism had on more than one occasion brought a vile epithet from Petra’s lips. She could understand only a word or two of what the younger of the two women said in the kitchen, and when her mother didn’t answer, but began humming instead, Petra’s antenna shot up. Lena did that to express annoyance.
When the two women returned to the dining room, Lena treated Petra to a withering look. “I would have thought that you had explained to your two best friends”—she emphasized the word “best”—“why you took a vacation, what you did while you were gone, and who you did it with. Good night, y’all.”
Twylah looked at Lurlene. “Looks like you tore it real good.”
Petra didn’t try to stifle the gasp that escaped her. So Lurlene volunteered to help in the kitchen hoping for a chance to pick Mama’s brain. I should have known better. “If you want to know my business, Lurlene,” Petra said. “Ask me. I don’t share my private affairs with my mother.” She ground her teeth, squeezed, opened, and squeezed her fists again. “Look. I don’t really feel like playing cards tonight.” Petra knew that if she didn’t play with them, she was in effect ending the friendship, and that didn’t appeal to her. She looked at Twylah, her favorite of the two. “Are you going to forgive me, if I don’t play tonight?”
Twylah tempered the effect of her shrug with a wink. “You know me, girl. I’m with you sink or swim.”
“I…uh…I’m sorry, Petra,” Lurlene said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m real sorry about it. Miss Lena’s totally ticked off, and you’re so mad you’re sizzling. I don’t have to know everything.”
“You definitely don’t,” Twylah said. “Half the people we know are speculating about where Petra went and why, and you want to know so you can gossip. That’s why I don’t tell you my business.”
“All right. We’re not going to have a fight,” Petra said. “Lurlene, deal the cards.”
Later that night, alone in her room, she admitted that they’d lost their confidence that each was important to the others and that each bore the other’s sisterly love. Who would have thought there could be so many drastic changes in my life in so short a time?
The next morning, Sunday, Petra went to church with her mother. As they left the church, the Reverend Collins approached. “Good morning, ladies. It’s a blessing to see the two of you here together. Sister Petra, you never did tell me whether you’re still walking in the shadows, or whatever. You know the conditions for granting absolution.”
She decided not to upbraid him in her mother’s presence for violating a trust. “Reverend, I’m sure I’ll need absolution till the day I die. How’s the building fund coming along?”
“Slow but sure. People put their needs before the Lord’s needs.”
Petra handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Good day, Reverend. I’ll bet the building fund never sees that twenty dollars,” she said to her mother. Petra took Lena’s arm and headed home, a short, six-block walk.
“There you are. It wasn’t enough to get Gail fired from her job, you had her kicked off the jury. You’re lucky I don’t tar your pretty face.”
Petra looked at Sally Kendall’s twisted face, narrowed eyes, and rapidly drawn breaths. “Did Gail tell you what she did to me in court, Friday? And did she say I didn’t report her—yet?” Sally stared at Petra, obviously confused. “She tripped me up, and I fell flat on my face. I could have been seriously injured. I have a witness, too.”
Crestfallen, Sally said, “She didn’t tell me that.”
“Are the two of you back together?” Petra asked her, hoping she’d say yes.
“She came back to me, but with Gail, you never know what will happen next.”
“But at least she’s back for now. Sally, this is my mother, Lena Fields.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Ms. Fields,” Sally said, extending her hand.
“Likewise,” Lena said, and made the handshake a brief one.
“Someday, you’ll tell me what that was about,” Lena said as they walked home.
“Yes. I hope that’s the end of it. Jack fired Gail when I told him that she and Sally were lovers.”
“Why?” Lena wanted to know. “It wasn’t no skin off his teeth.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. He had the hots for Gail.”
“Enough said!”
The encounter with Sally should have made her feel better, but Petra couldn’t seem to lift herself out of the dumps.
Many of the problems that plagued Petra as recently as a few weeks earlier had been resolved or, for various re
asons, had become less important, but a restlessness, a troubling discontent continued to envelop her. At times, the wretchedness amounted to unremitting pain. She knew its true source, but she was also aware that only time could diminish it, for nothing and no one other than Winston Fleet could heal it, and he was lost to her.
She sat in court that morning recording the proceedings mechanically, without much interest in her surroundings, and in the back of her mind there formed the decision to register for college the following semester. Happier than she’d been in weeks, thanks to her decision, she stopped herself as laughter almost spilled out of her.
Two loud, popping sounds alerted her to her surroundings, and she looked up as three men dived toward another who stood in the aisle with his hands in front of him holding a gun. She heard another popping sound and dashed behind the waist-high wall in front of the witness stand. Two guards led the armed man out of the courtroom.
“The trial will continue after a fifteen minute recess,” the judge said, having first determined that the shots hadn’t hit anyone.
“Who was that guy?” Petra asked a court officer.
“He’s the brother of the man you testified against last week.”
“Then he was shooting at me?”
“Don’t get upset,” the clerk said, “I don’t think he was shooting at you. All the shots landed on the other side of the courtroom, near the judge.”
Perspiration beaded on her forehead. “Why doesn’t that make me feel more secure?”
“Don’t worry about it,” said the clerk, who resembled a heavyweight fighter in size and confidence. “That Joe will spend a long time either in an asylum or a jail.” She thanked him, but when she left the courthouse that day, she would look over her shoulder, nonetheless.
Her cell phone rang as she sat in her office later that day. “Petra Fields speaking. You have? I can? Oh, my goodness! I’ll be there about quarter past five. Thanks a million.” She hung up and looked at the clock. Eleven-twenty. In six hours, she’d have her car. When her workday finally ended, she all but ran from the courthouse and took a taxi to the car rental agency’s used car showplace.
A Different Kind of Blues Page 27