by Mary Monroe
Lying to Clyde about how great a lover he was, was something I knew I was going to have to get used to. So much for the myth about all Black men being such great lovers. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even excite me as much as my dead husband, Bo. Poor Bo. He had approached lovemaking in the most unromantic way, spreading my legs and probing and staring at my most sensitive areas like a gynecologist.
I was glad when Clyde leaned over and lit up a joint. I just didn’t like the conversation he’d started about me living with Rosalee.
“I don’t want to live by myself,” I told him. “Payin’ that high-ass rent, not havin’ anybody to talk to would depress me.” My head was back on his firm, smooth chest. His heart was beating even harder. I could even hear it thumping like a drum. I liked the way Clyde smelled and tasted tonight. There was butterscotch residue on his lips from a mysterious drink he’d had earlier. I didn’t like to think about it often, but if things had been different, I would have wanted Clyde to be more to me than what he was. I felt safe when I was with him.
Clyde waved his hand. The room was dark, except for a dim lamp on the nightstand and the moonlight coming in through the window. “Hold on now. Let me finish what I started.” Clyde cleared his throat and started talking in a loud, anxious voice that could have also been described as angry. “Shit, girl. You ain’t got to live by yourself. I done fixed it up with Ester. She would love to have you share her place with her.”
I didn’t like where this conversation was going, but I knew it was useless to try to change the subject. “I don’t know about livin’ with Ester. That girl’s got too much energy. I get tired just listenin’ to her talk. It’d be like livin’ with a talkin’ head. Anyway, I don’t think she likes me that much. She makes these pig faces every time I tell her about somethin’ you did for me.” My breath caught in my throat, my chest got tight. The rest of my body got stiff. I felt like a slab of stone. My head felt so heavy, I couldn’t lift it to look at Clyde’s face to see his reaction.
“Well, like I said, I done fixed it with her. She’ll be expectin’ you to move your shit in this weekend. You’ll be doin’ me a favor, anyway. I want you to keep an eye on her. I don’t trust her.”
I was finally able to lift my head, even though it still felt as heavy as a brick. I turned to face Clyde. In the glow of what little light was available, all I could see was the outline of his head, the whites of his eyes, and his teeth. For a moment, it looked like his head was floating in midair.
“Ester? You don’t trust Ester? I thought she was your main wife.”
“Main my ass,” he said, laughing. “I don’t trust that woman.”
“But you trust me?” I asked, my mouth struggling to get the words out. “Why me?”
He laughed again, but then his voice took on a serious tone. “Me and you, we come from the same tribe, same part of the country. If I can’t trust you, I can’t trust no woman. Besides, if a brother can’t trust a sister, he can’t trust nobody.”
After Larry, a brother, I wasn’t so sure of much anymore. Especially when it came to trust. But I was learning a lot about the games men played. Clyde had his own agenda. He wanted to keep his women on guard with one another, hoping it would benefit him in some way. I felt it would benefit me if I kept Clyde happy. I hauled off and kissed him.
“I appreciate you feelin’ the way you do about me, Clyde. But I’m curious. Rosalee’s a sister, and she’s from the south, too. You don’t trust her?”
Clyde groaned. “Like I said, Rosalee got too many issues. She don’t trust nobody, includin’ herself. A woman like that is dangerous and leanin’ toward bein’ downright evil. She superstitious, too. She goes to fortune-tellers, burns candles, and she calls them psychic hot lines.”
I wondered what Clyde would say if I told him I went to fortune-tellers, burned candles, and called the psychic hot line, too. But I didn’t admit it because I didn’t want to know how Clyde would react. Especially since I had him where I wanted him for now.
That weekend, I moved in with Ester. I didn’t spend too much time thinking about it because I didn’t plan to associate with her, Clyde, or any of the others for too long anyway. Just long enough to get myself straightened out financially. Just like Rosalee and Rockelle were always saying.
Sleeping with strange men for money was something of which I was not proud. But other than for money, I had every excuse in the world. My own mama and how she’d supported us was one of my reasons. And I could not ignore the fact that my own grandmother had predicted my future. Besides, trick money was the easiest money I’d ever made. The way we operated was a lot healthier, safer, and respectable than the girls working the streets. Some nights Ester, Rockelle, and I cruised up and down San Francisco’s red-light streets in Ester’s Jetta commenting on the pathetic women strolling the streets. A lot of them had serious drug problems so they looked like hell. That’s why the easiest, richest tricks came to clean, healthy-looking women like us.
“Holy moly, some of these girls make these blocks look like Jurassic Park,” Ester said, a pitying tone in her voice. We all stared as an Asian woman in her sixties strutted her stuff in a pair of white hot pants. She was too pitiful for words.
Most people thought that all tricks were just as slimy and crude as some of the women who worked the streets. That was not true. Not only had I been with some of the classiest men in the country, I’d even had fun a few times. And so far, every trick I’d been with had been nice to me.
I was learning a lot about men and sex. That tired belief that all Black men were great in bed was not the only myth I’d found to be untrue. Latin men were not the lovers they were made out to be, either. That was a lie Ester said Latin men had probably started themselves, which was probably true of Black men, too.
I had a regular Mexican trick who lived in a big pink mansion in Pacific Heights. Ramon Suarez was divorced and owned a popular restaurant near Union Square. Judging from his size, he must have sampled everything on the menu. The tight undershirts he wore kept his titties in place, but when he got naked, he scared me. My biggest fear was that he would have a stroke or a heart attack while he was in bed with me. There was more sweaty hair on his chest and arms than on his head. He weighed too much for me to allow him to get on top of me. There was so much fat around his crotch, it wasn’t easy finding his short, thick, foul-smelling dick. I had to straddle him and squat like I did when I went to the toilet.
And that was exactly what it felt like.
Ramon never stopped talking. Not even when we were having sex. He bragged about his money, his good family back in Argentina, his five sons in private schools, his way with women. “My little puta this, my little puta that.” I didn’t mind Ramon calling me a puta, until Ester told me that it was Spanish for slut or something just as filthy. Just knowing that he thought of me that way was bad enough. But the fact that it was true made it seem even worse. I knew that Bo was probably rolling over in his grave.
I felt even worse about dating Ramon when he made me promise I wouldn’t speak to him if I ever ran into him in public when he was with his friends.
Ramon’s insensitive request made me even more determined to get my shit together and get up out of the business before it was too late. I didn’t want to end up like Rockelle. That uppity, high-yellow battle-ax was so dependent on the fast easy money, she was going behind Clyde’s back and freelancing on the streets, too.
Ester and Rosalee also occasionally worked the streets behind Clyde’s back. They took overflow tricks to the motel where I’d met Ester, and they kept all the money for themselves. However, they didn’t make it a habit the way Rockelle did.
For Rockelle to be on such a high horse, she associated with people I wouldn’t want to know where I lived. Ester and I had rescued her twice when two Latina girls got in her face for working their territory.
I smelled trouble. I just hoped that I was long gone by the time it happened, so that I wouldn’t get caught up in that, too.
Chapter 15
ROCKELLE HARPER
I didn’t like it when my wives-in-law made me angry. It made me have feelings toward them that I later regretted. But I couldn’t help myself tonight. I wanted to kill Ester and Lula. It was just like those nosy bitches to follow me over to Capp Street in the Mission District. That’s where a lot of the street girls worked. They took care of business behind or between parked cars, doing two tricks for the price of one, or for free if the motherfucker was packing a weapon.
I didn’t make half the amount of money on the streets that I made working for Clyde, but in my case, every dollar counted. Besides, what I made on the streets was all mine.
Ester and Lula knew more about my business than they needed to know, and I didn’t like that one bit. So what if I needed a little extra money every now and then. Let those heifers try to raise three kids on the few dates that Clyde set up for me.
Tonight was a bad one for me. Mainly because I was still pissed off with Ester and Lula for spying on me. I couldn’t get rid of the scowl on my face. And it probably had something to do with my trick canceling a date after he saw me. Clyde had set me up with this Jewish doctor from San Jose, in San Francisco to attend a medical convention.
“Mr. Goldstein is a good time, baby. He’s into spankin’ so he needs a big, strong, strappin’ honey like you. But don’t worry, you’ll get to spank the shit out of him, too. Don’t you hurt him now. He’s one of the biggest cash cows I know.”
“I’ve never spanked a man before.” I sighed, picturing some freak in a mask greeting me at the door with a paddle in his hand. “I’ve only spanked my kids,” I admitted.
“Just close your eyes and pretend you spankin’ one of your kids,” Clyde said impatiently. “Anyway, he’s a cool dude. I used to play cards with him when he lived in ’Frisco. You’ll love him to death,” Clyde assured me.
I hadn’t met a single one of Clyde’s customers whom I “loved to death,” even though he said that every time he sent one of us on a date for the first time with a regular customer. It was just a job and there was no love in it for me. Except for the money.
Mr. Goldstein had a suite at the Hyatt Regency, the same hotel Liz Taylor stayed at when she came to San Francisco. As soon as that motherfucker saw me, he decided he wasn’t so horny after all and practically chased me back out the door! I called Clyde from my cell phone as soon as I got in the elevator and told him what happened. But that goddamn Jew had already called Clyde and told him God knows what about me! All Clyde told me was, “Dude asked for a stout Black woman. He said he didn’t like your attitude, girl. What’s your problem?”
“Nothing. I just had some things on my mind,” I said, whimpering.
“Well, you better get them things off your mind if you want to get paid,” Clyde snapped.
“What about Mr. Bob? He hasn’t asked for me in a long time,” I whined, so mad and offended I was trembling. I could tell that Clyde was getting impatient by the way he kept letting out his loud breath and snorting.
“Listen, baby, Mr. Bob ain’t never called for you on his own. I only set you up with him when there wasn’t nobody else to send. Now you sit tight. This is the Christmas week and things is slow. You ought to be at home with your babies anyway.”
“That’s just it, Clyde. It’s Christmas and I want it to be a nice one for my kids. You know how greedy my oldest daughter is. Please, hook me up.” I didn’t like to beg, but then I did a lot of things I didn’t like to do. Like put up with my daughter, Juliet’s smart mouth. Juliet was only ten, but she was grown enough to criticize everything about me, from my weight to the way I dressed. I had to do everything I could to please that child. I couldn’t stand the thought of her feeling about me the way I had felt about my mother. Well, it had already come to that, but there was still time for me to keep it from getting any worse. My kids were all I had left in the world. I had to keep them happy.
“Oh, I got beaucoup goodies for your three babies. Keisha’s at my place wrappin’ gifts for ’em now. But I can’t help you with no other date tonight, sister. Now you have a Merry Christmas. I’ll call you Sunday after I get home from church.”
Clyde hung up before I could say another word. I was so angry, I was gritting my teeth like a mad dog. It was still early and I had just enough money on me for a cab to take me over to Capp Street.
It was just my luck to get a cabdriver who was too paranoid to take me all the way there. Cabdrivers got robbed there all the time. A few had even been killed. He dropped me off on Market Street, in the middle of downtown where he felt “safe.” I had to take two buses to get to my destination.
Things started to look up once I got to Capp Street. None of the regular girls were on the corner. Just a scowling, homeless old White woman pushing a stolen grocery store cart filled to the top with her grungy possessions. She didn’t waste any time getting on my case.
“Hey!” she yelled, waving a gnarled hand at me. She had on enough dusty, ill-fitting clothes for three people—dirty rags she had no doubt fished out of a trash can. A knitted cap covered her head and the top half of her face. I could barely see her bloodshot, beady eyes. But there was no mistaking the extreme look of contempt on her face. “I’m talkin’ to you, you low-down piece of shit. The mayor’s goin’ to run all of you sleazy tramps off these streets. You fat horny pig!”
It had come to this. Even a filthy, garbage-eating old homeless woman had no respect for me.
I surprised her when I said, “Merry Christmas to you, too.”
The woman grumbled and moved on. A few minutes later, a few anxious men slowed down their cars and waved dollar bills at me. After four hours and a lot of fumbling around in the backseats of cars that looked like low-riding boats, with men so gross I almost threw up in their laps, I called it a night.
Even though I was depressed, I was glad my kids would have a nice Christmas after all.
Chapter 16
HELEN DANIELS
I always kept the door to my room locked when I was in it, and even when I wasn’t in it. I didn’t want my mama to sneak up on me while I was playing around on the computer Daddy gave me for my birthday this year.
“Maybe this computer’ll keep you occupied enough so we won’t have to worry about you all the time,” Daddy had told me, his gray mustache looking like a fuzzy worm wiggling up over his lip. He looked like a schoolteacher sitting at the desk in my room, showing me how to use my new Dell computer.
“I won’t get in no more trouble, Daddy,” I chirped. My mind was spinning in so many different directions, I couldn’t even remember the last stupid thing I’d done to upset my mama and daddy. I smiled at Daddy before I asked him what else I was getting for my birthday. Like he did most of the time when I got on his nerves, he just waved his hand in the air and rolled his eyes back in his head. Then he trotted out of my room back to the den to do whatever it was he did in there. I didn’t care. I had me a Dell computer!
It seemed like every time I turned my Dell on, naked people popped up on my monitor, whether I wanted them to or not. I couldn’t figure out how all of those people out there found out about me to be sending me so much stuff! There were titties, butts, and peckers all over my screen!
And I liked it.
I had been looking at naked people and playing around in chat rooms for a week that day when Mama came knocking at my door. She was beating on it like the police.
“Helen, open this door!” For an old woman, my mama had a young voice, and she knew how to use it. I hit a button on my keyboard to make the pictures on my screen shrink to a little bitty space down at the bottom before I ran and opened my door. I cracked it just enough for Mama to see my face.
“Yes, Mommy?”
Before some more words even got out of Mama’s mouth, she let out a deep breath and looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. I could tell she was tired. Her eyes were puffy and red, her arm was up against the wall outside my room to help prop her up. She was a wre
ck.
“Helen, would you please not lock the door to your room? There is no reason for you to lock your door.” Mama’s voice did not match her face. She was sixty-six and looked and acted it. Ever since she retired from her job at a bank last year, she stopped dressing up and making up her face. Lines and wrinkles had taken over, making it look like she had on a mask made out of brown crepe paper. But she used to be a pretty woman. I knew that because of all the old pictures she had laying around of her when she was real young. She used to have thick black hair that touched her shoulders, big light brown eyes that slanted up, and because my daddy used to be a dentist, she still had perfect white teeth. I got my mama’s looks. Not the way she was now, but the way she looked when she was young. Back then, hella men whistled at her. Uh-huh. Now I was the one the men whistled at. Every time I walked down a street. People would be surprised if I told them how many construction workers rubbed on my butt when I stopped to talk to them on the days that Mama let me go walking by myself.
And I liked that, too. I had been thinking about that just before Mama came banging on my door.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Rockelle Harper wants you to come to her house in an hour to babysit. She said to bring your sleeping clothes on account of she’ll be out for the night. That old man she nurses has gotten sicker, and he will need her more. I hope you don’t mind helping her with those children.” Mama rubbed her nose and stared at me. She had a face that looked more like a mask. Her expression was always the same. It was hard to tell when she was mad, sad, or glad. The only way I ever knew how she was feeling was when she told me. “I’m so glad Rockelle has so much trust in you.” Mama patted her jaw and parted her lips like she wanted to smile, but I knew she couldn’t anymore.
I grinned and shifted most of my weight to one side. “Me, too,” I said, holding on to my grin.