She Had It Coming

by Mary Monroe

  It was April. Even though there was plenty of sun that afternoon, the weather was cool enough for a light jacket. But I had removed my light blue Windbreaker and laid it across my lap. My body temperature always rose when I got nervous, upset, or scared. I was all three. In the hour since we had arrived, I had already soaked up four napkins wiping sweat off my face. This annoyed Valerie.

  “Your makeup is beginning to look like a mud pie. Your wig is on sideways, and it looks like a baboon’s armpit,” Valerie informed me with a smirk. She reached into her straw purse and fished out a small mirror. She held it up to my face, but I waved it away. The way I looked was the least of my concerns.

  “So what? Why should I care?” I snarled. I ducked when she leaned forward and tried to straighten the wig on my head.

  “Because this is Beverly Hills, not South Central,” Valerie snapped. “You can’t roam around this neighborhood looking like Aunt Esther from Sanford and Son and get away with it.”

  I ignored Valerie’s comment because this was one time that I didn’t care what I looked like. “Valerie, I know how hard it is for you to keep secrets. So before I tell you this, I have to know if I can trust you to keep it to yourself.”

  “Will you stop beating around the damn bush? Now either you shit or get off the toilet. Don’t keep me in suspense. Spill the wine, girl! And it better be as sweet as this,” Valerie teased, waving her wineglass in my face. She peered into her mirror and patted her hair, securing a few strands back into place with a long bobby pin. “What’s the worse thing that could happen . . . if . . .” She stopped and stared at me. She sniffed and returned the mirror to her purse, her eyes still on my face.

  “If you blab?” I had to take another sip of my wine before I could continue. Then I said something that really got her attention. “If you blab, they could put me up under the jailhouse. I could even get physically hurt, real bad. If this information gets to the wrong person, my life is over.”

  I knew that the mention of jail would peak Valerie’s interest. She let out a loud gasp and then looked at me as if I were about to reveal the secrets of the universe.

  “Jail? Did you kill somebody, too?” she whispered, blinking so fast and hard that her left contact slid to the corner of her eye.

  Any reference to killing usually made Valerie nervous. And since jail was one subject that she avoided, I was surprised that she was the one who had brought it up. “No,” I mumbled. “I could never do something like that.” My answer seemed to relieve her. She exhaled a loud sigh of relief.

  “Yeah, I know.” Valerie cleared her throat and gave me a pensive look. “So what did you do, Miss Muffet? Uh, are you fucking some other woman’s man?” She paused and swooned with anticipation. “You nasty ho! No, that’s not it! That’s not like you. I know! I know! I bet you stole some money from your job!” she hollered, shaking a finger in my hot face. I didn’t like the fact that Valerie was not taking a more serious position, and I gave her the kind of look that let her know that. It made her give me an apologetic look. Then she rubbed her contact back into place and continued, talking in a slow, controlled voice. At least she was truly serious now, and that made me feel somewhat more at ease. “Girl, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” I whimpered.

  Valerie swallowed hard and shook her head. “I won’t tell anybody. Honest to God,” she said, glancing around, then leaning over the table. I could see that she was getting impatient.

  “I got married a few months ago,” I said, spitting the words out like vomit.

  Valerie reared sideways in her chair and gave me an incredulous look. “Is that all? Is that what you dragged me over here to tell me? You got married. So what?” she shrieked. “A lot of people renew their vows. How come you are just now telling me this? How come you didn’t tell me about this when you did it? Was it Paul’s idea?”

  “This doesn’t involve Paul,” I muttered. “Well, in a way it does . . .” I said with a sheepish grin.

  “Look, Lo, I don’t know about you, but there are a lot of things on my agenda for today,” Valerie said, looking at her watch, and then back at me with her eyes narrowed. “One thing I don’t have time for is playing games. What you have said so far doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. At least not to me. You married Paul umpteen years ago. I was there when it happened. Now did you get a divorce and not tell me? Did you marry somebody else—and not tell me that either?”

  I shook my head. “You remember Floyd?” I asked in a stiff voice. I had a hard time getting the words out of my mouth. “He was the brother who was going to take me to the prom . . . that night.”

  Valerie gulped so hard she shuddered. Then she cleared her throat and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. Her eyes darkened, and her jaw twitched. She blinked and lifted her chin until she was looking at me with the lids of her eyes half closed. “Does this have anything to do with what happened on . . . prom night?” she whispered, leaning over the table so far her titties touched the lettuce on her plate.

  I shook my head again. “Valerie, we are not supposed to talk about that,” I reminded, still shaking my head. “I know you don’t want to, and I don’t want to either. Never,” I said. She looked even more relieved. “This has to do with Floyd.”

  “Floyd Watson that used to live on Baylor Street?” Valerie gave me a confused look and a tentative nod. She coughed to clear her throat, and then she blinked hard a few times. “That Floyd?”

  I nodded. “That Floyd. The one that went to . . .”

  It took a lot to make Valerie uncomfortable, and it bothered me to know that when that happened, I was usually the one responsible. She sucked in a loud breath and finished my sentence. “Jail.” It was one thing for me to mention jail. That was painful enough for Valerie. But when she mentioned the word herself, her face looked like it wanted to crack. “He’s in jail for life.”

  I shook my head. “Not anymore. He was innocent. Just like he said he was, and just like I tried to tell everybody. He didn’t rape and kill that girl, because he was with me when it happened. DNA got him off, and he will be getting paid big time by the state for all those years he spent locked up. It was all over the news. He will be getting out of prison soon; maybe even tomorrow.” I didn’t know why I was whispering. Other than our waiter, nobody else seemed interested in Valerie and me, anyway.

  “What about Floyd? Why are you bringing him up after all these years?” Valerie sighed and looked around. With her head tilted to the side, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. Even when she was angry, with a scowl on her face that could scare the devil, Valerie was one of the prettiest black women I knew. And L.A. was full of pretty black women. A stunning up-and-coming model and two glamorous actresses from a popular television show occupied a table just a few feet from ours. But neither one of them was as attractive as Valerie. The thick black hair that she usually kept in a ponytail like her favorite singer, Sade, was all hers. But she had purchased the green eyes from Bausch & Lomb and her tall, sculptured body from three different Beverly Hills plastic surgeons. With her sparkling white, capped teeth and a face that any model or actress would have died to have, she still was not satisfied with the way she looked. She had recently started threatening to get her nose done. I didn’t tell her but she already looked more like Tyra Banks than Tyra Banks. People told her that all the time. But she was still the most insecure female I knew.

  I didn’t look like a famous model or any one of the beautiful Hollywood actresses we had to compete with, but I was happy with the way I looked. I watched what I ate and I ran five times a week, so my body was in pretty good shape. I had no need for plastic surgery, but I did own several Wonderbras. My hair was a little too thin and unruly, so I owned several wigs and hairpieces. My paper-bag brown face was average without makeup, but I knew how to work with what I had. Despite my shortcomings, I had enough confidence for myself and Valerie. She never had a bad time when she was with me. Which was
one of the many reasons we had been best friends for more than twenty-five years.

  I poked my fork around in my salad. My lips were pressed together so hard it felt like they’d been glued shut. My hesitance was causing Valerie even more aggravation.

  “Look, woman, I love you to death and you are my girl, but you are working my last nerve up in here today. You better hurry up and tell me the whole story.” Valerie paused and looked at her watch again. “In about forty-five minutes I’m going to give up and go on back to my own bar where I can get me some real drinks.” She frowned and took a sip from her wineglass.

  “I married Floyd,” I said sharply.

  Valerie’s mouth dropped open and her eyes got wide. She suddenly looked so stiff, it looked as if everything on her had turned to stone. Even her eyes. She didn’t even blink as she stared at me for several moments before she spoke again. “The same man who went to prison for life for rape and murder?”

  I gave her a sheepish look and a nervous nod.

  “Uh, I don’t think I heard right,” Valerie said, slapping the side of her head with the palm of her hand. “Can you say that again?”

  I folded my arms and tilted my head to the side as if preparing myself for a verbal showdown. “I married Floyd,” I repeated. This time I made the statement with a little more conviction. “The same man who went to prison for life for rape and murder.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “I did hear you right the first time?” Valerie tossed her napkin onto the table and stared at me in slack-jawed amazement. “Girl, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me,” I insisted, giving her the most defiant look I could manage. “I married a man I love.”

  “When?”

  I dipped my head and hesitated. Then I blinked hard and looked up at Valerie, forcing myself to smile. “I’d been visiting him in the prison almost every month since he went in. Uh, he was that ‘sick friend’ in that mental clinic you and everybody else thought I was visiting. There was no sick friend in a mental clinic,” I admitted with a heavy sigh. “A few years ago he hooked up with a new lawyer and he set it up for us to get married in the, um, prison chapel. At the time I thought it was the least I could do for Floyd to make his situation a little better. It was what he wanted . . .”

  “Shit!” Valerie shook her head and slapped the side of it. Mumbling gibberish, she dipped her napkin into her water glass then used it to dab at her forehead. “Girl, you’ve got me sweating like an ox up in this place!” she exclaimed.

  “Well, I can’t help that,” I mumbled, tapping the tips of my fingers on the table. I had to take a few deep breaths to restore my composure. I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. I rearranged my numb ass in my seat and crossed my legs. Next thing I knew, I was itching and sweating just about everywhere. I wiped my face with my napkin.

  Valerie continued to stare at me with her mouth hanging open and her eyes stretched open so wide, I thought her contacts were going to pop out. “You married Floyd Watson. What I want to know is why?”

  “You know how it was before he went to . . . uh, got in that trouble. He was the only man I’d ever been with at the time, and the only one I ever wanted to be with for the rest of my life. We were going to get married.”

  “What about Paul? How did he take it? And when did you get a divorce? How come you are just now telling me?” Valerie asked, speaking so fast her sentences ran together.

  “Paul doesn’t know about this! I still love him and I don’t want to lose him. . . .”

  “How in the fuck did you think you could pull this off, girl?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t think that Floyd would ever get out of prison!” I wailed. “And . . . and other prisoners were getting married left and right. Even that Richard Ramirez—the Night Stalker! He really did kill somebody—tons of people! And was happy to admit it! I thought that if a devil like Ramirez could hook up a marriage, why couldn’t an innocent man like Floyd enjoy the same privilege?”

  Valerie looked at me with such a horrified expression on her face, you would have thought that I’d just sprouted a beard. “I can’t believe my ears. You are married to two men at the same time!” Valerie hollered. The people at the tables on both sides of us turned to listen. “That’s bigamy, girl. You could . . . Do you know what could happen to you if you get caught?”

  “I know,” I said with my head bowed and throbbing. “But I won’t get caught. Not if I watch my step and you watch my back. I just had to tell you because, uh, things are getting kind of messy. It looks like I am going to need you to help me pull this off.”

  “What . . . what do you want me to . . . to do?” Valerie stuttered. She hunched her shoulders and gave me a hopeless look. She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “How can I help you pull off this mess?”

  “Don’t worry. I am not asking you to do that much, yet. Right now, all I need is for you to help me make it look like I’ve moved back into your house. That’s all. I need a decoy place to hide in case Paul surprises me with one of his visits, like he did last month.”

  “You need a what?”

  “A fake residence.”

  “What the fuck is a fake residence?”

  “A place that looks like I live there. Look,” I said, holding up my hand. “If you don’t want to get involved in this, that’s fine. I understand.”

  “You stop right there,” Valerie ordered, holding her hand up like she wanted me to talk to it. “I’m already involved.” I was surprised, but happy when she flashed me a smile. “You are still my girl, for better or worse,” she told me, shaking a finger in my face.

  “That works both ways you know,” I said with a quick nod.

  “What about your place on Manchester? The one you share with your, uh, other husband, Paul.”

  I let out a deep sigh and a groan. “I’ll keep some of my shit there and some at your place.”

  “And you will keep some of your shit up there in the Bay Area condo that you share with Paul, too?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Look, I don’t know if you are clowning me or what. But if you are telling me the truth, I’d like to know how long you think you can get away with this?” Valerie let out a sharp laugh, then she gave me one of the most serious looks I’d ever seen on her face. “You are telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

  This time I looked at my watch. “Like I just said, if you don’t want to get involved, just say so. I’ll figure out something. But I have to know now. Paul and Floyd are both getting a little too nosy. They want to know all my business about what I do when I’m not with them. I’ve had a few close calls. If I don’t watch my step, and get you to watch my back, things are going to get real messy.”

  Valerie reared back so far this time, the chair almost tipped over. Then she clucked her tongue like a setting hen and looked at me in such a peculiar way, it seemed like she could see straight through me. “I got news for you, Dolores Reese, or whatever the hell your last name is these days.” She paused and gave me a hot look. “From what you’ve told me so far, it sounds like things are already messy,” Valerie informed me with a nod.

  CHAPTER 5

  I had been acquainted with Valerie Proctor longer than any of my other friends. She was the first one to welcome me to the neighborhood when Viola and Luther Mason took me into their lovely home on Baylor Street in one of L.A.’s nicest mixed, lower middle-class neighborhoods. I was seven at the time. Valerie was just a couple of months older than me. But she seemed a lot older. She had a mature quality about her that my foster mother called “disturbing.” She even went so far as to predict that Valerie would be my downfall some day, if I didn’t “feed her with a long-handled spoon.” But my foster mother’s words went in one ear and out the other. Valerie was my best friend forever, my BFF, as they say in the tabloids that she was so fond of. As for her leading me to my downfall, well, as far as I was concerned, my birth had been my downfall. The only direction I could go was up. Before
Valerie entered my life, all of my friends had been foster kids with issues only other foster kids could relate to, like me. It was refreshing to have a friend who was part of a “real” family.

  I never knew exactly what Valerie’s mother did for a living other than the fact that she worked in a bar in West Hollywood called Paw Paw’s that Valerie’s grandfather owned. But everybody knew what her stepfather did. Mr. Zeke was a policeman, and he was one of the scariest men alive—the boogie man in living color. His head was big and round. It seemed like the perfect place for his homely moonface and jowls so plump it looked like he had a permanent case of the mumps. On top of all that, he had the nerve to wear a goatee sometimes—which didn’t make him look any better, or worse. His mother was a humongous black woman from the hills of Mississippi. She’d met Zeke’s father, a Samoan man who was even bigger than she was, when she was working for the Peace Corps and stationed in the South Pacific. According to Mr. Zeke, his father had come from one of the most warlike tribes in Samoa. I had decided that this information vaguely explained his violent nature.

  After Mr. Zeke’s daddy died, his mama returned to the States with Zeke and raised him on her own. Being the son of parents who were one step from Bigfoot, it was no wonder Zeke was so humongous. The man was so tall he had to lean forward every time he walked through a door, and when he sat down, his legs looked like logs. His hands looked like little shovels. He had skin that was so rough and weather-beaten that it was hard to tell his original shade. But I realized that at one time he’d been very light skinned. One day when I was being nosy, I peeped through our bathroom keyhole when he was visiting my foster parents and I saw him standing over the commode holding a dick that was so fair in color it looked like it belonged on a white man. His shiny black eyes were so tight I used to wonder how he could see out of them. They looked like slits.

  “Whatever you do, don’t make Zeke mad, or he’ll get crazy,” Valerie warned me. It was a few days after she’d come to my new home to introduce herself and invite me to splash around with her in the paddling pool that Mr. Zeke had put in the backyard. She lived two doors down from where I lived with the Masons.