“Surprise you haven’t heard, and called me,” I barely uttered. “I need to talk to someone.”
“What! What’s going on?”
I told her what happened to Malibu and its effect on me.
“I’m on my way,” she said and ended the call.
I would describe Tory Woods as bourgeois, but still probably my best friend, or more like the only person I considered a friend. About the same age, we had a lot in common. She and I went way back to when I worked at the Gold Club.
We first met in college while waiting in line to register for classes. At a private, predominantly white university, we both stood out like two sore thumbs. In more ways than one, though, she blended in better than me. She could almost “pass,” but her curly hair revealed the African ancestry running through her blood. I remember feeling a bit annoyed when she struck up a conversation with me that day.
“What’s your major?” she had asked.
I hadn’t decided on one yet. She, on the other hand, had already chosen Economics.
Still fairly new to Atlanta, only knowing strippers and tricks, I let my guard down. And, by the time we reached the registrar’s window, I learned we shared taste in everything from makeup to men. We decided to take a math class together. She ended up tutoring me.
While eating lunch one day, we realized our lowest common denominator – marijuana. It turned out to be all either one of us needed to tighten our bond. I had just moved into a Park Towers condo in Dunwoody, so I invited her over. I thought a little company and smoking weed with a “square” would be nice.
I didn’t think it would hurt to make friends with someone from the upper crust.
Seeing my place, and never hearing me speak of employment, she automatically assumed me to be a “trust fund baby.” I had never heard the term. She, on the other hand, patiently awaited hers. Surprisingly, she didn’t shy away from me once I told her what I did for a living. At the time, I had no shame in my profession. From then on, Tory spent a lot of time at my house. We became kindred spirits, like long lost sisters We studied, smoked, and started confiding in one another.
Neither of us knew our biological fathers. Apparently, hers were as traveling musician. He completely denied her, leaving her mom crushed. However, her mother met a doctor at the hospital where she worked. He fell in love and proposed despite his father’s disapproval to wed a woman from the “lower class” and threat to disown him. According to Tory, he kept his word.
Completely forfeiting his healthy inheritance, Dr. Winston Woods II married her mother anyway. And, upon birth, he gave Tory his name and presented her as his child. His family had nothing to do with them. She never met them.
As a cardiologist, Dr. Woods became successful in his own rights. He made sure Tory and her younger brother attended the best schools and engaged in civic and social organizations. But, just as Tory became a teenager, he died in a car accident. Tory’s mother, who used drugs recreationally before meeting him, relapsed and squandered everything. After losing their posh suburban home, she ended up in the projects.
Tory hated her new life. And to make matters worst, her grandmother told her the truth about her biological father. With that, Tory’s feelings toward her mother grew dark and cold. She vowed to leave Chicago and never look back. Knowing Dr. Woods established several trusts, including an education fund for her, she left Chicago for Emory University, his alma mater, as soon as she walked across that stage with a high school diploma in hand. She had nothing but the clothes on her back, tuition, room and board, and a monthly social security check when she arrived in Atlanta. She also possessed a strong determination to be successful and marry well.
A really sophisticated girl, it’s safe to say Tory schooled me. She helped me navigate the campus and the city as well as aspects of black culture I never knew existed. She introduced me to stores, designers, events, organizations, and influential people I’d never heard of in my life. She even suggested books for me to read. I developed some class hanging around her.
I came from the hood, graduated from Glenville High School in the inner city of Cleveland. I knew “ghetto-fabulous black,” but what she had been exposed to something different. Dr. Woods had a pedigree. I always associated the term with dogs.
I peeked through the living room window, anticipating her arrival, glad to see my sister. I hoped talking to someone would help me get out of my funk.
I opened the back door to release the trapped, stale air and cleaned up a little bit. Just as I finished, the house phone rang. I looked at it and saw the gatekeeper’s number on the screen. Most of the guards knew her and let her in without calling.
Must be a new guy down there today, I thought.
Once she arrived, we plopped down on the couch. She looked into my face.
“You changed your hair.” I didn’t know if she stated the obvious or asked a question. I nodded “yes” and filled her in on the situation.
“Ain’t no telling what that girl did to somebody out here,” Tory said in a visceral tone. “For them to do all of that. Where she from?”
“New York.”
“Girl, you know them New Yorker’s be on some BS. Who would break somebody’s neck and put rusty nails in her armpits?”
I didn’t have an answer for that one. But it didn’t matter, she answered for me.
“Somebody who wants you dead. That’s who.” Tory threw her hand in the air. “Sounds personal to me. Let it go. Move on.”
“I know,” I said and let out a long sigh. “But I can’t. I just feel like I need to know who did this to her-”
“Really Chyne?” Tory shifted her body and looked directly into my face. “Why? Why do you feel like you need to know?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I just can’t help it.” I fell back on the couch and closed my eyes. “I’m telling you this is really bothering me.”
“Don’t consume yourself with it. Sounds like a waste of time.” I opened up my eyes and I saw the frown on her face. “Do you think the killer is still hanging around Jokers?” she asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know,” I said and folded my arms across my stomach. “It’s a scary thought.”
“Then quit. It’s not like you have to do what you do.” She got up and walked over to the bar and poured herself a shot of Patron. “This proves what I’ve been telling you for years.” She gulped down her drink. “It’s a dangerous job.”
“But-”
“But what?” She cut me off. “You have property,” she said. She poured herself another shot and sat back next to me. “Money in the bank. You own your own web business. Walk away.” She shook her head. “You been stripping for ten years now. Take it as a sign. Be glad it wasn’t you.”
Yeah, that’s what worries me, if it was sicko it could have been me. Or any of the girls, I thought to myself.
“I make good money,” I said, just to be resistant.
“How did I know you would say that?” she said and chuckled. She leaned back on the couch and turned her face to mine.
“I thought you came to cheer me up, Apples.” I called Tory by her childhood nickname when I wanted to be sarcastic, and she knew it. She flashed a crooked smile.
Chapter Four
I turned on some music and we sat quietly for a while. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to try and share my feelings about Malibu’s death with Tory. I should’ve called Dakota, another good friend, instead. Dakota maintained a much more leveled head than Tory.
I made a good,easy living stripping. I wasn’t ashamed of what I did until I met my daughter’s father.
“I am your friend, but I’m not going to sugarcoat shit,” Tory said breaking the silence. “And, the truth is, if a million dollar settlement wasn’t reason to stop stripping, I don’t know what is.”
“Don’t go there.” I twisted my nose at her snide remark. I didn’t need to be reminded how Emerson Jones paid me six figures to deny paternity of his child. Me and my little girl, Markie, who lived in
Cleveland with my step-grandmother during the school year, was better off without him and his stuck up family.
I watched as Tory turned up her nose and drink, then let my eyes drift off across the room.
At times she put on her airs. True, she’d done very well for herself. Always on a grind, she started preparing taxes and selling Mary Kay after arriving on campus. That’s how she got her first car and maintained until her trust fund paid out.
By our junior year in college, she worked as a realtor and single-handedly built a small event planning and fundraising firm that catered to major civic organizations and politicians. She even obtained a law degree by twenty-five. At twenty-eight, she secured a cushy position in the state attorney general’s office and in short order parlayed opportunities to position herself as a major player in Atlanta’s social order.
Once she reached a state of financial independency, she bought a luxurious condo in Downtown Atlanta, and a brand new convertible Mercedes SL 55. She epitomized success. And, I always felt proud to call her a friend despite her sometimey ways.
“I’m just saying,” she said interrupting my thoughts. She finished off her drink and placed it on the coffee table.
I looked over at her. “We both know a million dollars ain’t shit,” I said and got up. I grabbed her glass and headed to the kitchen. “Look how fast I went through it,” I continued as I turned on the water. “Paying medical bills, caring for a newborn, buying this house, furniture, clothes, cars, and traveling. I would’ve eventually went broke.”
“You did make some smart decisions in terms of investments and securing your child’s future,” she said. “But, you never gave the real world a chance. You’re educated. Why you never really tested your skills to see what you’re really worth?” She looked at me. “You a smart girl. You run a profitable business.” She arched an eyebrow. “Not the most respectable, but profitable nonetheless. But, you still stripping. Seems like your education has just gone to waste.”
I dried the glass with a paper towel and put it away then leaned on the island that separated the two rooms.
“I got an undergrad degree in Anthropology because it seemed interesting. I never really intended to do the work. Remember, I only started going to school because I “dated” a dean.” I made air quotes with my fingers.
She just looked at me. I continued. “I didn’t have to pay for it, so why not?” I took in a deep breath. “And also remember, after I met Emerson, I did stop stripping. But, that meant nothing?”
For a few minutes, she remained silent. “You could do anything, be so much more than what you’ve settled for.” She looked at me and took in a breath. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“Yeah, I know.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “I mean, I get what you saying.”
“I’ve told you all of this before. This isn’t anything new, Chyne.”
“I said I hear you.”
“And, I don’t think you should let that girl’s murder worry you like it is. Let it go. Ain’t no telling what that was all about.”
“But she was so nice, Tory. A good girl, you know?”
“She was a stripper, Chyne.”
“Oh, here we go,” I said. “What are you trying to say? That because she was a stripper, that’s a reason to die?”
She raised her eyebrows and drew her lips into a tight line.
“Really, Tory?” I went and sat in a chair across from her. “That’s what you think?”
“Okay, so maybe that’s not such a nice thing to say, but what can you do about it?”
“I guess I would feel a little better if I did know what happened.” I lowered my head and bit my bottom lip. “This whole thing reminds me of the Cherica Adams.” I saw her reaction.
“What?” she said and scrunched her nose.
“Remember the Carolina Panther player Rae Carruth, hired that guy Van Watkins to murder his girlfriend murdered? Trial on TV and everything.”
“Yeah. I remember. But what does that have to do with this?”
“She was a stripper too?” Tory looked at me as if she tried to understand. “Not full-time,” I said. “She sold real estate.”
“And?”
“And she was pregnant.”
“Yeah?”
“Just like Malibu,” I said. “Maybe that’s what happened-”
“I thought Rae Carruth killed his girlfriend so he wouldn’t have to pay child support.”
I looked at her for a moment, then lowered my eyes and stared at the floor. I didn’t say anything for a long while. She’d never be able to understand. Understand that I could relate to this story considering what happened with me and Emerson. He’d rather pay me off than admit to fathering my child. Thank God he didn’t try and kill me.
“You know,” I finally said while standing. “Maybe I should just call her mother for funeral arrangements. Go. Then move on.” I hunched my shoulders. “Move on like you said, and get back to work.”
Tory looked at me as if I was crazy. “Did you know her like that?”
“We was cool,” I said. I walked back over to the kitchen island. “I really liked her. I’m thinking at least pay my last respects. Express my condolences to her family if nothing else.” I looked at her, a little grin coming on my face. “What’s wrong with that? Maybe that’ll give me the closure I need.”
“Closure.” She laughed. “You just nosy,” she said shaking her head. “But, if it’ll make you feel better, you should go. I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks.” I nodded. “Yeah. I think that’s what I need to do.” I reached for my cell phone on the counter. I scrolled through my contacts, searching for Malibu’s number. After finding it, I pushed the talk button. It rang several times and then the voicemail came on. I looked up at Tory who shook her head at me. The mother didn’t answer, so I left a message.
“Well, I do feel a little better,” I said. “Thanks for coming over.” I walked toward the door signaling it was time for her to go.
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” She grabbed her purse off the couch. “That’s what friends are for, right? Just let me get a shot before I get out of here.” She giggled as she walked over to the bar. She picked up the bottle, poured out another shot and downed it then she headed for the door.
“You seem fine to me,” she said turning the knob. “Just a little twisted. Go back to work, if that’s what you want.” She gave me a hug. “And take a shower.” She pushed away from me. “I’ll call you. Okay?”
“Alright,” I said.
Since I had been walking around and smelling like a polecat, as my stepfather would say, for much too long, I decided to shower and put on some clothes. It was truly about that time. Even Tory thought so. Besides, I wanted to go to the grocery store to get a Red Velvet cake and had to make myself presentable. No telling who I might run into while out. I lived and worked in the same neighborhood.
After a long shower, I grabbed my keys and started to walk out the door when my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw Malibu’s number.
“Hello,” I said.
“This Angie, Malibu’s mother. I’m returning yo’ call,” she stated.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said and sat on the leather bench in my foyer. “I worked with Malibu. I’m wondering about the funeral arrangements. I would like to pay my last respects.”
“No money for all that. I’m cremating her.”
My mouth opened my mouth so wide I could fit a whole apple in it. I didn’t know what to say. She had said it so nonchalantly. Cremate? How could a mother do such a thing? I swallowed hard and closed my mouth.
“You there?” she asked.
“Uhm. I’m sorry. Yes. I’m still here.” I put my palm on my forehead to hold up my head. “I’m just so outdone by her death and all, and I just wanted to show my condolences. Wow!” I said and became silent again. “Well,” I exhaled and stood up. “My heart goes out to you and your family.” I wanted to finish up this phone call. “Is there anything you ne
ed, can I help with something?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” she said without hesitation. “Since you asked. I don’t know how I’m going to pay my rent next month. This shit set me back. I don’t know where the hell I’ma get a thousand dollars from on such short notice. I’m all fucked up.”
“Umm, so you need some money?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Let me see what I can do, and call you back.” I didn’t know what else to say. I cleared my throat and said, “I might have a few extra dollars.”
“Yeah. Whatever,” she said then hung up the phone.
Chapter Five
For nearly a week, my mind wrestled with the idea of whether I should go to work or not. I contemplated Tory’s advice to just quit. But I’d grown tired of sitting around the house. During this time, I realized that my life had become mundane. I had no other place to go, except somewhere to spend some money, so I decided to go back to work on April 18th.
Jokers management swung back into action once police collected the last piece of evidence, assessed the crime scene, and ruled the murder a homicide. They made sure the public perceived it to be an “isolated incident” that could’ve happened anywhere, removing any fault that may lie at their doorstep.
With the two-way mirrors inside the VIP rooms and the hired security, they argued, measures were already in place to provide a safe work environment. They stressed that during their many years of being in business, nothing remotely close to this had ever occurred in any of their establishments. I knew they would be the last ones to care.
Me . . . I cared. I developed a longing to know who did it and why. The thought of someone pulling it off probably worried me the most. It could be a serial killer, considering the nails. So, even though I went back to work, I refused to go into a VIP room.
As I entered, Beyoncé’s voice blared from the sound system while an apple-shaped butt bounced about on the stage. I stood there and stared at it.
It belonged to Buttercup. I called her a young veteran, if there was such a thing. Only twenty- four, she didn’t mind doing whatever she had to do to make money. I guess she had to because she didn’t own a car and lived in hotels that rented rooms by the week or month with her leachy man. Like most, she always complained but never left him. I never could understand why.
Riddles Page 2