“You’re just saying that. You don’t really know.”
“Oh, honey, I can tell you stories that would fry your brain. Believe you me, I can testify to all that I’ve done and all that’s been done to me. I can tell you what’s going to happen to you even before it happens. I guarantee you, it won’t be pretty. And I’ll tell you something else, I know exactly how you feel.”
Trena’s sobs did not let up.
“You feel dirty, don’t you, Trena? You feel used and mostly, you feel ashamed.”
The deep down in the belly crying that erupted from Trena, Arnell had done so many times in the early years; she felt like she was transported back to her own teen years. She could feel herself cringe from the touch of strange men three times her age entering her body and claiming for themselves what God had given her at birth. So many, including Esther, had tried to make her believe that her vagina belonged to them and not to her. She had never wanted any part of that life and was angry at herself for letting herself be manipulated into being used like that. That’s where she was different from Trena, who had thought that she could handle that sordid world—Arnell never thought such a thing and was, certainly, never that curious about sex.
“Trena, I know that you were with Woodruff Parker. He’s not a very nice man, is he?”
“I hate him!”
“I do, too. He did the same thing to me that he did to you.”
Trena’s crying got louder.
“Trena, if you open the door, you’ll see that you’re not alone. I will help you. I promise.”
The door suddenly opened and Trena threw herself into Arnell’s arms, crying hard, her body shaking. Arnell gathered Trena in her arms and walked her over to the sofa and sat her down. She noticed immediately the ugly bruise on Trena’s right cheek. She’d ask about that when Trena was ready to talk, because if Woodruff Parker was hitting—then. . . Arnell went back to the bathroom. She got a washcloth, which she rinsed in cold water. Mindful of being careful of Trena’s bruised cheek, Arnell wiped her face with the washcloth even while Trena continued to cry. Twice more she rinsed the washcloth in cold water. She kept wiping Trena’s face until the coolness of the damp cloth calmed her and got her to stop crying.
“Trena, tell me what it is that you want.”
“I wanna go home. I wanna go home to my mother. I don’t wanna be here. I don’t wanna do this no more. I don’t like men doing it to me. I don’t like it . . . I don’t like it . . . I don’t like it.” Trena again fell into Arnell’s arms, crying.
Arnell liked the words that were coming from this frightened, contrite Trena better than the words that came from the sassy Trena she had first met. Arnell gently pushed Trena off her and again dried her face. “Did Mr. Parker hurt you?”
Trena gingerly touched her sore cheek. “That old bastard smashed my face up against the wall and rammed his nasty dick up in me.”
“I should have stopped that rapist weeks ago.” Arnell knew for sure she had the ammunition to stop Woodruff Parker from visiting The Honey Well. “Trena, I think you do need to go home. Where does your mother live?”
“On Pilling Street in Bushwick.”
“Did you run away from home?”
Trena dropped her eyes ashamedly.
“How long ago?”
“Three weeks ago,” Trena said softly.
“Have you spoken to anyone in your family since then?”
Trena shook her head. “Just my friends, Alyson and Bebe.”
Arnell pushed Trena’s hair back off her face. She really was a pretty girl. “Trena, I’m thinking it might be a good idea to call your mother and let her know you’re all right and that you wanna come home.”
The tears emptied again. “But what if my mother and my sister find out what I’ve been doing; they’ll never let me come back.”
“Trena, if your sister and mother love you, and I believe they do, they will be ecstatic to have you back home. I’m sure they’ve been looking for you.”
“But my mother was so mad at me when I left, and my sister . . . my sister,” Trena cried, “oh man, I treated my sister so bad. I know she hates me. She’ll never forgive me, and she’s the one that said that I was acting like a hoe and now . . . and now I am one.”
“Trena . . . Trena,” Arnell said, patting her on the back, trying to quiet her. “You’re a whore only if you believe that you are. Do you believe that you are a whore?”
Trena looked tearfully up at the ceiling. “I didn’t use to think so, but I think I am now. Andrew Peebles said so.”
Arnell grabbed Trena’s chin and pulled her face to her, but Trena averted her eyes. “Trena, look at me. Look at me.”
As hard as it was, Trena forced herself to look into Arnell’s eyes.
“What I’m about to tell you, Trena, is what I’ve taught myself in an effort to hold onto a good part of my self-esteem.
“Trena, do not ever listen to a man who barely knows your name, who screws you, empties the fluids from his body into your body that may either cause life to grow inside you or death to your life, and then calls you a whore either because he has nothing better to say, or maybe because he doesn’t feel good about himself for what he’s done. If anything, that man is the whore who does not have respect for you, himself, or his own mama. But don’t get me wrong, Trena, you will be a whore if you stay in this house of your own free will when you know better, and keep allowing yourself to be used and abused. Do you understand me, Trena?”
Trena blinked tearfully in response.
“Okay, then. Why don’t we do this? Why don’t I call your mother and tell her that you’re all right?”
Trena suddenly dried her face. She asked hopefully, “Would you call her for me?”
“Yes.”
But then Trena thought about it. “Arnell, suppose. . . suppose my mother wants to know where I am? What will you tell her? Will you tell her what I’ve been doing?”
“Of course not,” Arnell said, meaning it. “I plan on telling her that you’re staying with me and that you’re all right. Is that all right with you?”
Uncertain, Trena nodded slowly. “Will you ask her if I can come home? Tell her I’ll be good. Tell her I promise I’ll be good.”
“I’ll tell her.” Arnell glanced at her watch. It was definitely too late, or rather too early in the morning to call anyone respectable. “Trena, it’s pretty late. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll get rid of Andrew Peebles. You get a good night’s sleep and I’ll come up and see you tomorrow afternoon.”
“But what if—”
“You’ll be fine. There are no clients allowed in the house on Sunday, remember? It’s rest day. I don’t know what time I’ll see you because my mother isn’t feeling well, but I will see you. We’ll call your mother then.”
“You won’t forget, will you?” Trena asked anxiously. “You’ll come back?”
“You have my word.” Arnell gently touched Trena’s cheek. “Trena, there is a big bad world out here—even for us adults. Take your time growing into it. You’re a teenager, be one. You’ll never know such innocence or freedom again.”
Trena gave Arnell a cynical look. “Innocence?”
“Yes, Trena, innocence. You’re still innocent, believe it or not. You may have lost your sexual innocence, but that’s only a scratch on the surface of life,” Arnell explained. “There’s a lot more to the ugliness of this world that you haven’t even begun to experience. Like I said, take your time growing up, don’t go searching for trouble, trouble will find you. That’s trouble’s job.”
Trena thought about that. She was the one that had gone looking for trouble, and, boy, was trouble waiting to kick her ass.
“Arnell, what if I got HIV from somebody?”
“I hope not, Trena, but I’ll take you to get tested. Try not to worry.” Arnell knew that it was an easy thing to say, “don’t worry,” but she had shared similar fears herself over the years. Hopefully, the only concern Trena would have, if any, would be
a mild case of chlamydia.
Saying, “Good night,” Arnell left after Trena had gotten into bed. Poor kid. Maybe there was a chance she could help Trena reclaim her dignity, something they both had to do.
Twenty-Six
Tony was going to be buried in four hours. Esther had been screaming at Peter on the telephone about Sal since six in the morning.
“First that son of a bitch kept me from viewing Tony’s body, now he’s trying to keep me from attending his funeral. That vicious bastard can’t do this to me, Peter. I’m telling you, you better do something about that fool. He’s not God, and he doesn’t own the damn funeral home or the cemetery. They are both public places. I’m going to Tony’s funeral and if Sal comes within spitting distance of me, I’m gonna shove a goddamn rusty butcher knife through his black heart! Do you hear me, Peter! You better buy that stupid ass nephew of yours a fucking clue. He’s playing with the wrong woman. I’ll fuck him up so bad, he’ll wish he had driven up to my door and picked me up in a goddamn stretch limousine!”
Esther slammed the cordless telephone down on the end table. “I got something for that bastard.” She then turned around and snatched the telephone up again and punched in a series of numbers.
“Mother, you need to calm—”
“Hell, no! I am not about to calm down to let that mouse-face son of a bitch tell me what I can and can’t do.”
“Mother—”
“Big Walt!”
“No, Mother,” Arnell said, grabbing Esther’s arm and pulling the telephone away from her ear. “Mother, don’t put Big Walt in the middle of this. This is his day off—let him have his day.”
Esther snatched her arm free. She ignored Arnell. “You there, Big Walt? It’s me, Queen Esther. I know it’s your day off, but I need you here right away.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here. Big Walt, don’t let me down. Please come. Oh, and Big Walt, bring a few of your friends, you might need backup.”
Esther quickly disconnected the call, not giving Big Walt the opportunity to balk or to question.
“Now you know that’s wrong.” Arnell sat and crossed her legs. “You shouldn’t be involving Big Walt or anyone else in this mess.”
“Arnell, that asshole has forced my hand. I’m doing what I have to to kick his ass. As for Big Walt, I pay him a fortune. He can give me one Sunday afternoon out of his damn life.”
“I see you’re about having your way, no matter what.”
“I’ll show that pie-face son of a bitch.” Esther went to her large closet and started rummaging through the many outfits that hung there. She was looking for the perfect black suit. She began snatching one outfit after another out of her closet.
“Mother, what do you expect Big Walt and his boys to do—slap Sal upside his head and tell him to behave and he’ll quietly oblige? Because if you do—”
“Arnell, if you don’t have anything constructive to say, leave me the hell alone.”
Feeling insulted, Arnell started out of the bedroom.
“Sweetie, wait a minute,” Esther said hurriedly. “I’m sorry.”
Arnell waited.
“Please try to understand how important this is to me. Tony was a very special person in my life, just like I was in his. He would never forgive me if I didn’t say good-bye to him. That’s why I have got to go to his funeral.”
“But, Mother, Tony’s wife, his children, his family, his friends, everyone he’s ever known will be at his funeral. You cannot disrespect his wife and his children like that. That’s unconscionable.”
Standing still for the first time since she opened her eyes at five A.M., Esther gave little thought to Tony’s family. She thought only about the last time she was with him. They had made love and Tony had promised to take her to Italy next Easter. They had gone many places and seen many things, but Italy was a place that Tony had not taken her because of his family. Esther understood that and never forced the issue. It was Tony who decided it was time she see the country he was born in and loved as much as he loved America. But now there would be no trip to Italy—Tony was gone and she wasn’t even permitted to pay her respects to him. Arnell might have been correct in what she said about respect, but Tony always said she was family to him also. Esther lifted the black dress her hand rested on out of the closet and inspected it. It was sleeveless and the hem fell just below her knees. This one would do just fine.
“Mother, please, don’t go to that funeral.”
With the dress draped across her arm, Esther slowly turned to Arnell. “Sweetie,” she said softly, “twelve years ago, Tony, himself, set the bar for the level of respect his wife and children were to receive from me. The ultimate level of respect for them was supposed to come from him, and Tony chose, not me, to not respect the sanctity of his marriage or his family. He came here, to my home, to my bed. I didn’t go to him.”
“No you didn’t, but—”
“There is no but, Arnell. It’s simple. For twelve years, Tony was my man. I was his woman. His wife knew and stayed in that marriage under those terms. Now, I am going to Tony’s funeral. His wife and his children will have to accept my presence as they have done for the past twelve years. And that’s all I have to say about it.”
Arnell watched as Esther walked off into the bathroom. What was there left to say? Nothing and nobody was going to stop Esther from doing what she had set her mind to. The question was, what was she prepared to do to make sure that Esther didn’t get killed on the day of Tony’s funeral?
Twenty-Seven
No matter how many times Arnell asked herself, What the hell am I doing here? the answer was always the same—I don’t even know. It wasn’t lost on Arnell that, yet again, she was doing something that she didn’t want to do, but what Esther wanted her to do. Sure, she wanted to pay her respects to Tony just as much as Esther did, but they had no place at his funeral. It simply wasn’t right. Yet, Arnell found herself, mad as hell, sitting in the backseat of Esther’s Lincoln between two scowling, big ass, roughneck-looking men with cartoon character names—The Hammer and Ace—dressed in jeans and sports jackets that were bulging at the biceps, that Arnell would have been afraid of if she were walking down the street alone at night. Big Walt had introduced them as his boys, and she just looked at him when he said those stupid names.
Big Walt took Arnell aside. “Work with me, Arnell. If something goes down, we can’t use real names. We got to protect ourselves.”
Arnell walked away from Big Walt then because even that was really more than she needed to know. If something ugly did go down, she didn’t want to know a damn thing about anyone. Yet, again, she was in the car on her way into Bay Ridge because she had stupidly, and impulsively, jumped into the backseat, at the very last minute, when no amount of reasoning would stop Esther from going to Tony’s funeral. For some godforsaken reason, Arnell felt that she had to protect her mother, and that was so ironic—her mother hadn’t protected her.
Big Walt triple-parked the Lincoln around the corner from the Bay Ridge Funeral Home. There wasn’t a free parking space in sight. If the number of cars parked outside the funeral home was any indication of the size of Tony’s funeral, then the funeral home was packed. As Arnell started to climb out of the backseat, a rather large hand reached in to help her. That hand belonged to Ace. His manners surprised Arnell—she didn’t think of roughnecks as being gentlemen.
“Thank you,” she said graciously, but she couldn’t look Ace in the eye. He was a roughneck, after all.
Big Walt spoke in a hushed voice to Arnell. “Stick close to Ace. You’ll be fine.”
That’s when Ace took Arnell’s arm and walked alongside her as they rounded the corner onto Fourth Avenue on the heels of Esther, Big Walt, and The Hammer. Arnell’s eyes were immediately drawn to the two tall white men dressed in black suits standing guard outside the funeral home door. Their presence was ominous.
Arnell scampered to catch up to Esther. “Moth
er, this is really not a good idea.”
Esther didn’t acknowledge Arnell, she was focused only on the doors of the funeral home. Big Walt matched Esther’s stride as they marched the short distance to the funeral home. Arnell’s heart was fluttering as she climbed the few steps to the door. The two men in black stepped in front of the door. Big Walt, Ace, and The Hammer quickly stepped in front of Arnell and Esther. Arnell took Esther by the arm. What little she could see of one of the men, she saw in the narrow gap between the broad shoulders of Big Walt and The Hammer.
“This is a closed funeral,” one of the men in black said sternly.
Big Walt and The Hammer each got right up in the face of each of the men in black. Their height was equal but the men in black in no way matched the brawn of Big Walt and The Hammer.
“We can do this the hard way or the ass-kicking way,” Big Walt said menacingly. “Either way, you won’t be left standing.”
The two men in black opened their jackets and revealed their guns tucked in holsters under their arms. The one in front of Big Walt ordered, “Leave. Now.”
“Mother.” Arnell felt like she was about to pee on herself. “Mother, we can’t do this.”
Esther would not let Arnell pull her an inch away from where she was standing.
Big Walt, Ace, and The Hammer all opened up their jackets, exposing their guns.
Arnell couldn’t see the guns or where they were tucked, but she looked down and saw The Hammer’s fingers on his left hand fluttering anxiously. “Mother, please.”
The two men in black were determined to stand their ground. They didn’t budge.
“Move!” Big Walt growled.
It was a warm day, but Arnell felt like it was a swelteringly sweaty August night. The air was heavy and still. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead. Arnell could feel her knees about to give way. She slipped her arm through Esther’s and held onto her. Esther took Arnell’s hand and steadied her.
“I say we fuck them up right now,” The Hammer said. “I got people waiting on me.”
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