Ladies Night

by Christian Keyes

  Brad, Melvin, and two other housemates were sitting at the kitchen table engaged in a game of spades.

  “It was busy, but good,” Amp replied, twisting the cap off of the bottle of water and drinking some. Amp took a seat at the only vacant chair at the kitchen table. “I did twice as much work for thirty cents a day when I was inside. I can definitely handle this.” He took another swig of water.

  “Really? I can’t tell by the way you guzzling down that water. Looks like the store owner worked you half to death.”

  Melvin chuckled under his breath.

  Paul snapped his finger. “Oh, yeah. I wanted to tell you that your parole officer will be here tomorrow morning.”

  Amp figured that must have been what Paul wanted to talk to him about earlier. “Okay. I work from noon to nine tomorrow, so as long as he doesn’t make me late . . .” Amp stood up, drank the last of the water, and threw the empty bottle into the trash can.

  “Recycle bin,” Paul reminded him.

  Amp picked up the bottle and put it in the correct bin. “Any leftovers from dinner?” he asked, his grumbling stomach reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the morning’s plums.

  Brad looked up from his hand of cards. “Yeah, but Melvin cooked, so you better bless your food.”

  “Shut up, man. I can cook,” Melvin said, twisting up his face.

  “We’ll see,” Amp said as he fixed himself a plate.

  He gobbled the baked chicken, rice, and corn on the cob. It didn’t taste half bad, though Amp barely noticed because he ate it so fast. He was starving, plus he just wanted to hurry up and finish so he could go lay down. He was so intent on making a good first impression with Mr. Lam that he hadn’t even taken a lunch break. After a hard workout and a long day’s work, his body needed the rest. Maybe the visions that sometimes disrupted his sleep wouldn’t tonight.

  The next morning, Amp had breakfast duty, so he prepared some grits, toast, turkey bacon, and scrambled eggs. Well rested, he could actually take time and eat at a normal pace. He enjoyed every bite of his meal, especially the tasty buttered grits, seasoned with salt and pepper, which reminded him of how his mom used to make it. He really missed her. In addition to being an amazing cook who could even make broccoli taste good, she was an amazing caregiver. She had the best hugs that made Amp feel safe and protected.

  Amp’s mother was another reason he was going to have to keep his nose clean. He thought that if he got out and got his life together, he might be able to reopen those lines of communication and eventually rebuild the relationship.

  As Amp was finishing up the last of the breakfast dishes he’d washed, he heard a knock at the door. The apple-shaped kitchen clock that hung over the entry doorway told him it was almost ten o’clock, so he hoped it was his parole officer at the door. That would give him plenty of time to holler at him and then get to work on time, possibly getting in a workout beforehand—although yesterday’s aches and pains had him reconsidering the whole exercise idea.

  Amp folded the dish towel, laid it on the counter, and then went to answer the door. Through the screen he saw a forty-year-old, uptight-looking white guy. On second thought, maybe it would be better if this dude wasn’t his parole officer. There was just something about him that made Amp think dealing with him wasn’t going to be pleasurable; but the same way everybody was prejudging him on his job search, he didn’t want to be a hypocrite and do it to someone else, so he brushed away any preconceived notions about the man.

  “Yeah,” Amp said, opening the screen door and stepping out onto the porch.

  “I’m here to see Amp Anthony,” the guest announced.

  “Morning. I’m Amp.”

  Not extending his hand or even acknowledging Amp’s greeting, the gentleman got right down to business. “I’m Arthur Barrett. I’m your parole officer. How are you adjusting?”

  “Fine,” Amp replied.

  “Good. The less I hear about you, the better.” Mr. Barrett looked Amp over.

  Amp was dressed as if he had someplace to be, which was a little unusual. It was pretty typical for a parole officer to show up to meet with a client at this time of morning and find him still in boxer shorts, wiping sleep out of his eyes.

  “What do you have planned for today?” Mr. Barrett asked.

  “I’m debating about going to run to the park to get my workout in. Then I’m headed to the market I work at for the rest of the day.”

  “Job already?” Mr. Barrett opened the case folder he’d had tucked under his armpit.

  “Yep.” While Mr. Barrett jotted down notes in the file, Amp continued. He wanted to get down to business, too, so that he could go on about his day. “Paul said I was going to be taking a drug test today?” Amp was anxious to get the test over with. He knew he was clean; he just needed everybody else to know as well.

  “You will take one,” Mr. Barrett said without even looking up from the file he was still scribbling in. “But not today. That’s why it’s called a random drug test.”

  Sarcastic ass, Amp thought, but of course that wasn’t something he’d ever voice. He wasn’t trying to get on this guy’s bad side. “Okay. Either way it’s cool. I don’t mess with nothing anyway.”

  “Keep it that way.” Mr. Barrett closed up the file and tucked it back underneath his armpit. He looked up at his client like it was the first time he was even acknowledging that a human being had been standing in front of him. Everything just seemed so robotic with him. Different day, another black felon. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Yeah. See you soon,” Amp replied as Mr. Barrett turned and walked off the porch.

  His encounter with Mr. Barrett had made him a little uptight. He didn’t want to go to work on edge, so blowing off some steam by exercising would be a good idea after all.

  Amp stepped into the yard and stretched for a few seconds. As he watched Mr. Barrett get inside his car and pull off, he couldn’t get the parole officer’s last words to him out of his head. “I’ll see you soon.” It was a simple phrase, but somehow, coming from Barrett, it felt like there was a hint of a threat behind it.

  Chapter 6

  After finishing up his stretches, Amp headed to the park to repeat the same workout as the day before. He’d not only felt good after yesterday’s workout, but he’d ended up landing a job. Surely the actual workout itself hadn’t brought Amp any type of magic luck, but feeling good afterward helped him maintain a confident attitude that had him speak up at the opportune moment. Who knew what today would bring?

  “Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt your workout.”

  Amp was in the middle of his push-ups when he looked up to see a set of long, roasted almond brown legs in a set of sexy heels. He knew nothing about the latest fashion when it came to women’s shoes, but those five-inch shiny nude pumps with red bottoms that he was looking at had to be something a lot of women would sacrifice a month’s salary for.

  Amp ceased his workout and stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands as he gave his attention to the well-dressed woman in front of him. She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties and very attractive. “No problem,” Amp said. “How can I help you?”

  “I was wondering . . .” she started and then paused. “Wait. I’m being rude. My name is Mary Fox. My friends call me Madam.” Madam extended her hand with freshly manicured nails, her middle finger donning a diamond ring that had more than likely been custom made. This woman, with her shoulder-length brown hair with golden highlights, not one hair out of place, looked like the type who preferred one-of-a-kinds.

  Amp shook her hand. Soft. Figures. Madam definitely didn’t look like she enjoyed getting her hands dirty; yet she had that edge about her that said if she had to, she would in a heartbeat.

  “Nice to meet you, Madam. I’m Amp.”

  “Well, Amp, I usually eat my lunch here.” She looked around, quickly taking in the still atmosphere. “It’s peaceful.”

  Amp looked around and nodded in agreement. He
was almost surprised to meet someone who seemed to appreciate the natural surroundings just as much as he did as a newly released prisoner. Then again, women were more apt to be one with nature anyway, thanks to Oprah.

  “I’ve seen you working out here a couple times now.” Madam was not discreet in giving Amp the once over. He noticed. It was less like she was checking him out, though, and more like she was inspecting him. Like he was a piece of meat in the butcher shop and she was the inspector hired to make sure all meat being sold was grade A. “What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Nothing major. I work at a convenience store,” Amp admitted without hesitation. He wasn’t one of those brothers who tried to be something that he wasn’t in order to impress a female. Some dudes might have gone as far as to tell her that they were the manager, or even owned the store, but Amp wasn’t that type of guy. He didn’t need to be. As a six foot three inch black male with a killer smile and a gladiator physique, he knew the mass appeal that he had amongst women. Besides, Madam looked as though neither of those exaggerations would have impressed her any more or any less. She also wasn’t giving off that kind of vibe toward Amp anyway. She appeared to be genuinely interested in just the question she’d asked him.

  “Why do you ask?” Amp inquired.

  “I own a couple of clubs, and I could use a man like you.” Once again, Madam scanned Amp’s body with her eyes, as if she had to be sure he had passed her initial inspection.

  “Thanks, but I already have a job, and I don’t wanna mess that up.” A bird in the hand was definitely worth two in the bush as far as Amp was concerned. Mr. Lam had been willing to give him a chance on the spot with no resume, interview, or anything like that. He wasn’t about to bail on him after only one day in order to go work for someone else, especially having a felony record to worry about.

  “I hear you.” Madam nodded. “Well, here.” She reached into her black leather tote and then handed him a business card. “If you change your mind, and I really hope you do, call me.”

  Amp put the card in his pocket and watched Madam sashay up the walking path toward the street. She took her key fob in hand and aimed it at a cream-colored Aston Martin customized convertible with hot red interior seating. Amp heard the car chirp as Madam stepped off the curb and opened the driver’s side door.

  She looked straight at Amp, as if she knew he’d be looking, and waved as she got in her car. Amp had been watching her indeed. Madam was a nice interruption from his workout. He wasn’t watching her because he was digging her, though. For Amp, beautiful women had been a dime a dozen before he entered the pen. Now he had decided that he would make better choices for his entire life, including choosing a woman, so he wasn’t going to be blown away by the first pretty face he saw. He was, however, taken in by the level of class she displayed, and the fact that she had her own was even more impressive. Business owner, nice ride, tight shoe game: this Madam looked like a force to be reckoned with.

  Amp didn’t wait for her to drive off before he went back to his workout. If she ate her lunch at the park on the regular like she had claimed, he was sure he’d see her again, and vice versa.

  Later on that afternoon, Amp was behind the counter at the store, with his back to the door, taking inventory of the cigarettes that were shelved behind the counter.

  Amp heard someone enter the store and say, “Yo, my man. I need a pack of blunts.”

  He grabbed a pack then turned around and threw the blunts on the counter to ring them up. “That will be three-oh-seven,” Amp said, looking up at the customer for the first time. “Jesse? Jesse McLain?” It had been a few years since he’d seen him, but Amp would know that face anywhere. It was one of his best childhood friends.

  The customer did a double take. “Amp! Aww, hell naw.” It was Jesse indeed.

  The two old friends gave each other some dap. Jesse was dressed a little more dapper than Amp remembered his style to be, with his expensive designer jeans and a fitted V-neck thermal shirt that showed off his muscular frame. Back in the day Jesse wore whatever his older brother had grown out of, even if it was still two sizes too big. Jesse certainly wasn’t in anybody’s hand-me-downs today. His outfit was complemented by a two-carat diamond earring in his left ear, a nice gold chain with a moderately-sized but clearly expensive medallion, and a matching watch on his wrist.

  “Man, when you get out?” Jesse asked.

  “A couple weeks ago.”

  “Oh, word? How’s the fam doing?”

  Amp took a pause, caught off guard by Jesse’s inquiry as well as the familiar sense of loss that rose in him whenever he thought of his family.

  He shook it off the best he could. “Your guess is as good as mine. I ain’t heard from them since I went in.” He changed the subject quickly. “So, what you been up to?”

  “You ain’t heard?” Jesse puffed out his chest with pride. “I’m killin’ ’em out here.” He looked around to make sure no one was listening. Mr. Lam was in the back office and there were no other customers in the store. It was just the two of them, so he continued. “Any party favor you can name, I sell it, a lot of it. And it’s paying off pretty well.” He nodded over his shoulder toward the outside.

  Amp looked out the window and saw Jesse’s black Next Generation Range Rover with 22-inch Redbourne Viceroy silver wheels rims. Jesse had not only stepped up his wardrobe game, but his ride was an improvement from the pair of sneakers that was his former means of transportation. Amp knew he’d sold a little back in the day, but obviously he’d come way up in the game.

  “Daaaaamn,” Amp said, admiring the vehicle.

  “You like that, huh?” Jesse rubbed his chin with his index finger and thumb. “I can put you on, bruh. Just say the word. You know you’re like family to me. We grew up on these blocks together. I got you. You don’t have to do this low-end shit.” He raised his arms, looking around the store. “ ’Cause working here definitely ain’t gon’ put you in one of those.” He nodded toward his vehicle again, and Amp’s eyes followed.

  That was one hell of a ride. Amp could see himself pushing something like that—but at what cost? Amp knew that he had promised himself and God that he would never be confined to those prison walls again, and he meant it. No possession in the world was worth his freedom. That was too great a price! He took in a deep breath and then exhaled.

  “I can’t, man. I got three months at this halfway house I’m staying at and then I’m free. I can’t take that chance, bruh. Good lookin’ out though.”

  “I feel you,” Jesse said. “Well, take my info. We gotta keep in touch at least.” Jesse started patting himself down in search of something to write on. He came up empty.

  Amp handed Jesse a piece of paper and a pen from behind the counter. Jesse wrote his number on it and handed it back to Amp.

  “For real, man, keep in touch,” Jesse said.

  “Of course, man.” Amp folded the paper and stuck it in his wallet. “We can grab lunch or something and catch up on my off day.”

  “Bet.”

  Jesse paid Amp for the blunts. They dapped each other, and Amp watched Jesse walk out of the store and climb into his SUV.

  A part of Amp wanted so badly to run and get in that truck with Jesse and do what he needed to do so that someday—hopefully soon—he could be driving his own ride. It wouldn’t have to be a tricked-out vehicle like Jesse’s, but it would beat walking. The other part of him knew that his freedom was a whole lot more important than a car. Anyway, Amp had never been big on material things, and the dope game had never been part of Amp’s life. He’d always made his money legit, although he’d witnessed firsthand how quickly one could come up slinging drugs. It wouldn’t take nearly as long as it would sweeping up a corner store, that’s for sure.

  He looked around the store as if contemplating doing just that, leaving this stocking shelves business behind for the next cat to tend to. Then, shaking his head, he walked from behind the counter and went back to work. He was
going to ride this journey out. No shortcuts. He’d met enough criminals in jail to know that sometimes shortcuts land a person nowhere—dead, or in jail, just that much faster.

  Chapter 7

  Later on that night, after finishing up at the store, Amp was walking back to the place he called home. His pace slowed when he noticed a police car, with its lights flashing, sitting in the driveway at the halfway house. He wondered whether the police were bringing someone or taking someone away. Either way, it probably wasn’t a good thing.

  The car was empty and there was no one in sight, but as he stepped into the front yard, he could hear voices coming from inside the house. The screen door flew open, knocking over one of the plastic chairs on the porch, and Amp stopped in his tracks.

  “This ain’t right!”

  Amp watched as two cops wrestled a handcuffed Melvin out of the house, past Mr. Barrett, who stood in the doorway observing the arrest, then toward the waiting cop car. Mr. Barrett followed the officers and Melvin down the steps. Paul stood on the porch watching everything go down from that viewpoint.

  “Come on, man. Just give me one more chance,” Melvin pleaded to Mr. Barrett as one of the cops opened the back door of the cruiser.

  Mr. Barrett didn’t say a word. The smug look on his face made it apparent that he had no intention of giving Melvin another chance. As a matter of fact, the way he looked, Amp suspected he was getting some sort of satisfaction out of seeing yet another black man being handcuffed and thrown into the back of a police car.

  Melvin must have sensed it too, because he turned his attention to Paul.

  “Mr. Harold! Mr. Harold! You can vouch for me,” Melvin said before the officers closed him up in the vehicle.

  Brad stuck his head out the front door. “This is some bullshit!” he said to no one in particular.

  With a raised eyebrow, Paul turned around and said to Brad, “You wanna go with him?”