Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do

by Pearl Cleage

  “Of course, of course,” he said. “I just didn't want to jump the gun since we hadn't talked about her involvement at this level and I know Ms. Davis can be—” He stopped, embarrassed, searching for a polite way to say “a real bitch.”

  I put him out of his misery. “Demanding,” I said. “Really demanding.”

  He grinned at me and gave his face one more pass with that big white handkerchief. “That's it exactly.”

  I opened the door of the conference room and Beth was sitting there watching the monitor in the semidarkness. On the screen was a clip of Son delivering the commencement address at Morehouse last year. He was exhorting them, in the time-honored tradition of graduation speakers, to be all they could be, but in Son's mouth, it sounded like a call to arms, an invitation to excellence and the most exciting adventure possible. That was the last of the edited footage, and, as the screen turned to snow, Freeney clicked on the light.

  When Beth turned toward us, her face was wet with tears. “It's lovely,” she said softly, pulling a tissue from her purse and blowing her nose. “Absolutely perfect.”

  Freeney and I were speechless. For a test screening, tears and testimonials were high praise.

  “I'm glad you—” I started to say, but she waved her hand to stop me. “No, I mean it's perfect,” she said urgently, her eyes imploring me to understand.

  I turned to Freeney. “Can you leave us alone for a few minutes?”

  “Of course, of course,” he said, backing out the door, eyes wide with sympathy and surprise.

  I sat down next to Beth and pulled my chair close. “You okay?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Tears were still streaming down her face. I took her hand and waited. In all the rush to finish the tasks at hand and figure out what was really going on, I had almost forgotten that Beth had lost her only child when Son died. She had handled the public requirements of her grieving with class and restraint, but in the privacy of her own heart, she had never stopped missing him.

  She mopped her eyes and managed a shaky smile. “I remember that day so well. He'd never been better. The students just crowded around him afterward, Gina.” She shook her head sadly and dabbed her eyes again, then she looked at me. “I owe you an apology.”

  “You don't owe me anything.”

  “No, I do. I know I blamed you for some of the problems between Son and me before you left, but it wasn't your fault. He had his own ideas. He wanted his own life, his own family.”

  I looked at her closely. Did she know about the kid?

  “But I didn't know how to let go.” Her voice trembled. “I was selfish. I wanted to keep him tied to the life I had created for him, for us, and I did that. I surely did that, but how he must have suffered trying to please me instead of being himself.” Her voice was filled with regret.

  “Don't blame yourself,” I said. “Son loved you very much. You know that.”

  She smiled and patted my hand gently. “Yes, I know that. I also know that you think my running for governor is a really bad idea.”

  “We don't have to talk about that now,” I said.

  “I want to. I think … I think Son probably would have agreed with you.” She smiled again. “I know he would have agreed with you, but … I think part of why running appeals to me is that it will take everything I've got, and I've got some big spaces to fill in my life, Gina, that weren't there before. It's hard to admit it, even to myself, but watching Son on that video …”

  Her voice trailed off for a minute and her eyes filled up again, but she didn't break down. “I just wouldn't want to make a move like this without really thinking it through the way he would want me to.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. There was still a chance that she'd tell the draft committee to go to hell and throw her support behind Precious!

  “That's all I was trying to say the other day,” I said. “I just don't want you to rush into anything that isn't in your best interests.”

  “I've decided to put off any decision until after the dedication. That will be Son's day, and I don't want to mix it up with a lot of politics.”

  “I think that's very wise.”

  She nodded. “Good. Then that's what we'll do.”

  Things were going so well, I didn't want to bring up my conversation with Precious, but I didn't have to worry. Beth had that covered. She tucked her tissue back into her pocket and sighed.

  “Well, I certainly didn't mean to come in with so much drama,” she said. “I was just hoping I could catch up with you and get a report on your meeting with Senator Hargrove.”

  She made me sound like a double agent or something. “It wasn't really a meeting. We had tea. She said she'd been trying to get in touch with you, but she hadn't gotten a response.” I reached into my briefcase for the envelope and handed it to her. “She asked me to give you this.”

  Beth took the envelope and looked at the front. “It's addressed to Precious. Why would I want to read mail that isn't addressed to me?”

  “It's about you.” “What about me?” Her voice was indignant.

  I looked at her.

  “All right, all right,” she said, withdrawing the note and the photograph. She looked at the picture, and I knew she saw exactly what I saw: her grandchild.

  I couldn't tell what she was feeling, but she looked at the picture for a long time, then she read the note.

  “What does it mean?” she asked, her eyes flashing angrily.

  “Precious thinks someone wants her to use it to get you out of the race.”

  “I'm not in the race.”

  “They don't want you to get in.”

  She looked at the picture again. “This is not Son's child. You know this is not Son's child.”

  “I don't know anything about it,” I said. “But if you do have a grandson, wouldn't you want to know?”

  “I would know!” she snapped. “Son never would have kept this from me.”

  “That's the same woman who was in the other picture with him,” I reminded her gently.

  “I don't care who she is!” Beth said. “And I am not going to take responsibility for a child who just happens to look a little bit like my son.”

  She was in deep denial, but there was no reason for me to press her. She had already agreed not to make any kind of political announcement at the dedication. That left Precious free to participate and me to write a speech that honored my friend and completed my obligation. This was a personal crisis for Beth that did not involve me beyond the passing of the photograph as requested. There was an address on the note. She could follow up on it or not. I was out of it.

  “Maybe you can have your investigator talk to the woman,” I said. “Then at least you'll know one way or the other.”

  She glared at me, obviously considering her options, then she folded the note and slid it back into the envelope with the picture. “You know what this is, don't you?” she said quietly. “This is nothing but political dirty tricks.”

  “I agree.”

  “I wouldn't have expected it from Precious, not this early anyway, but I'm not really surprised. She's already running scared.”

  “What are you talking about? She brought it to me to give to you.”

  “That's the whole point, don't you see? She's acting as if she's doing me a favor, and she's really trying to scare me out of the race with a threat like this.”

  I shook my head. “You're wrong. She said you were a formidable opponent and she'd rather you didn't get in the race at all, but she wasn't prepared to use dirty tricks to keep you out.”

  Beth smiled at me condescendingly, as if what I was saying was hopelessly naive. “What else is she going to say? ‘Here, Gina, take this blackmail threat to Beth and tell her there's more where that came from’?”

  She was picking up steam, working up into an outraged rant. “There's an unlimited pool of strippers in this town who will say anything they're paid to say!”

  “That's the second
time you've said she was a stripper.”

  She pulled up short, instantly wary. “Is it?”

  I nodded, remembering Precious's words: It's been a long time since anything surprised Beth Davis. Did she know this woman?

  Beth busied herselfall ofsudden with putting the enve lope in her purse like that was a task that required her complete attention. “Well, that's what we've had to deal with before, like I said. That's who keeps making these outrageous claims and offering to keep quiet for money.”

  She stopped herself, having said more than she had intended to say. I looked at her, and it was clear to me that she knew a lot more than she was telling. It was also clear that this conversation was over.

  Beth glanced at her watch and frowned. “Is it that late?”

  That was so lame I didn't even have to pretend to believe it. “It is what it is,” I said, watching her gather her things quickly.

  “I've got to run. Thanks for bringing me this,” she patted her purse protectively. “And pardon me for being guilty of cutting the head off the messenger. I'm used to the scams, but this one has gone too far, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Keep me posted,” I said, walking her to the door of the conference room.

  “Don't even worry about it,” she said. “I'll put somebody on this. You just keep doing the wonderful work you're doing. Son would be so proud.”

  I watched her walking down the long hallway and wondered what she knew about this woman and her child. She had thrown out dirty tricks, unscrupulous strippers, and con artists as possible reasons for the appearance of the photograph. What she hadn't dealt with at all was Son staring out at her from that child's face.

  42

  BLUE AND I WERE GOING OUT for dinner after we stopped by to say happy birthday to Lu. Aretha had managed to score front-row tickets to the Ashanti concert tonight as her gift, and Lu and ShaRonda had been counting the hours. I was looking forward to spending the evening with my favorite landlord, but when he knocked on my door, I knew immediately this was not a social call.

  “What's wrong?” I said as soon as I saw his expression.

  “I'm going to have to work on my poker face,” he said, kissing me lightly.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine,” he said, “and ordinarily I wouldn't involve you in this aspect of my business, but I think I have some information you need to be aware of before I act on it.”

  “Sit down,” I said, drawing him over to the couch. He was making me very nervous. “What is it?”

  “It's possible that Beth Davis has been involved in threatening a young woman who knew her son.”

  “What?”

  “Her cousin came to see me to ask for my help. She brought this with her.”

  He reached into his pocket and handed me a small photograph in a cheap, dime-store frame, but the frame didn't matter. The picture showed a man, a woman, and a small boy. It completed the trio that had begun in Freeney's dusty boxes, continued through Precious's letter, and was now revealing Son's other life in a moment that could not be denied.

  “Have you ever seen this picture before?”

  I shook my head. “Not this one, but I've seen others of this woman and one of the little boy. I found one in Son's papers, and somebody sent one to Precious with a note.”

  “What did the note say?”

  “It said whoever sent it wondered if Beth was going to put her grandson on her campaign brochure.”

  “Did Precious show it to her?”

  “I did,” I said, with a sickening feeling that I was somehow part of this whole mess in a way I didn't want to be.

  “And what did she say?”

  “She denied it. She said it was probably some kind of political blackmail or a scam for money and that she'd have her people check it out.”

  “Her people.” He spit the words out.

  “What happened?”

  “She sent some thugs to threaten the woman.”

  “Threaten her with what?”

  He looked at me, and his eyes were clear and cold as ice. “They told her they'd cut her face.”

  43

  THE WEST END NEWS WAS CLOSED, but Blue's back office was open for business. When we walked in, there was a young woman sitting miserably at the center table, clutching her purse and looking like she'd rather be almost anywhere but here. The old guy who was usually out front making cappuccino was sitting with her, but they didn't seem to have enough in common to make for much interesting conversation. When she saw Blue walk in, she visibly relaxed.

  “I thought you had forgot all about me,” she said, in a manner that was more flirtatious than the moment required.

  “I'm sorry I kept you waiting,” Blue said. “Can I get either of you ladies anything to drink?”

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  “I can't drink no more coffee,” she said. “I'm already too nervous.”

  “You don't have to be nervous,” Blue said, and nodded at the old guy, who went out quietly, leaving the three of us alone.

  The woman looked to be about twenty-two and was pretty, but she was wearing so much makeup it was hard to tell. It was like trying to guess a doll's age. She had on a pair of skintight silver pants, a red low-cut blouse that barely covered her breasts, and high-heeled boots with alarmingly pointed toes.

  “Who's she?” she asked, jerking her head in my direction and peering at me from under a cloud of curly ringlets.

  “Brandi Harris, this is Regina Burns. She's been working with Ms. Davis.”

  Brandi's brightly painted, carefully outlined lips curled in a sneer at the mention of Beth's name.

  “Some people will do anything for money,” she said bitterly.

  Blue fixed her with a gaze that drew her up short.

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Blue. This whole thing has got me crazy. I don't mean no disrespect,” she said quickly looking in my direction. “My bad.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I'm sorry for your trouble.”

  That seemed to mollify her. “Thanks.”

  “Can you tell Regina what you told me?” Blue said gently.

  “Okay.” Brandi sighed deeply, like she didn't know quite where to start. “Madonna, she ain't never tried to make no trouble.”

  “Madonna is the woman in the photograph?” I asked.

  She nodded. “That's her real name, too,” she added, sounding a little defensive. “A whole lot of us take stage names when we start strippin', like my real name is Sarah, after my Big Mama, but Sarah don't sound sexy, so I took Brandi. But her mom was a big Madonna fan. She didn't care that nobody else around here was feelin' no white girl enough to name their baby after her, so she did it anyway.”

  Linear storytelling was obviously not Brandi's strong point. I looked at Blue who remained silent, watching her face.

  “I gotta have that picture back, too,” she said. “She's really scared if any more of her stuff gets out, DooDoo and them will come back and hurt her.”

  “What did they say?”

  “They said they'd cut her face if she didn't take the money and get her ass out of town.”

  I swallowed hard. “What money?”

  “They had cash,” Brandi said. “Twenty grand in an envelope. We counted it when they left, even though Madonna didn't want to. She said she wasn't askin' for no money and she wasn't takin' no money.”

  That pretty much blew Beth's scheming stripper theory out of the water.

  “That's a lot of money to turn down,” Blue said. “Why do you think she wouldn't take it?”

  “Who you askin'? That's what I said! Plus, she could use that money. Everything a baby need cost more money than you think it will. She ain't strippin' no more, even though she always made big money and she still could 'cause she so pretty and 'cause she can really dance. Guys just liked to watch her move. She didn't even have to do no lap dances. They'd be tippin' her ten bucks just for shakin' her ass in their face! She had it like that.”

  I di
dn't know what to say to that, so I just listened.

  “But after she met Son Davis, she quit, just like that. He met her strippin', but as soon as they started spendin' time together, he told her he wished she'd stop, so she did. I don't blame her. He was prepared to take care ofher and once she got pregnant, he even bought her a house over on Larchmont. Somebody musta tol' his mama because that's where they found Madonna. At home not botherin' nobody, then here come DooDoo talkin' all that smack.”

  My heart sank. That was the street that had been on the note from Precious. Son had successfully hidden his family from Beth, and I had sent her right to their front door.

  “Is she there now?” I asked, wondering how far Beth was prepared to go and feeling responsible.

  Brandi shook her head. “I told Mr. Blue already, she gone to Macon to hide out at her mama's house, but she and her mama don't get along too good, so she can't stay there long, and she scared to come back here without some protection, so that's why I came to see Mr. Blue.” She fluttered her fake eyelashes at him and smiled.

  “You did the right thing,” he said simply.

  “I hope so,” she said, still sounding worried. “She my baby cousin, and I love her and Sonny Jr., the sweetest little boy you ever gonna see, but I work for King James dancin' over at the Gentleman's Club, and I can't afford to lose my job behind this. He own too many clubs for me to be on his shit list. Strippin' is hard, but it ain't as hard as turnin' tricks.”

  I felt sorry for Brandi. She was young and healthy, but stripping and prostitution were the only two career options she could imagine for herself. I wondered how many smart young women were choosing between those same dead ends. Heading for the hills obviously hadn't been the solution I had hoped it would be in that last life where I gathered my girls and left the men to fight among themselves. Here we were, all these lifetimes later, still taking off our clothes for money and running from the likes of Uncle DooDoo.

  “Does he know you came here?” Blue asked.

  Brandi shook her head. “Not if you didn't tell him.”

  “Good, then don't mention it to him. Are you working tonight?”