P. G. County

by Connie Briscoe

  She dashed off into the bushes at the end of the driveway as Mookie drove off. She wove her way through a wooded area surrounding the house until she came to the rear. A few people were mingling on the patio, holding drinks and talking. Lee walked out of the bushes and straight toward the house.

  A white woman looked at her and smiled. The woman opened her mouth to say something, but Lee dashed toward the house. She reached the French doors and tried one. It opened and she stepped in.

  Whoa. Talk about fancy. This pad was the bomb. The room she was in was bigger than any apartment she’d ever lived in. The ceiling must be two floors high. She looked up, craning her neck to see to the top. For a second she thought it must be the wrong house. No way black folks could live here. Then she realized that most of the people in the room were black, and that there must be two hundred of them.

  Sweet Jesus. Every black person on the face of the earth who didn’t live in the hood was here. Light ones, dark ones, fat and skinny ones. They were tall and short and everything in between. And they were all dressed in the finest clothes. There were a few whites, and they looked good, too.

  Lee was so taken with the place that she forgot why she was there. She wandered around from room to room, admiring the pretty surroundings with her mouth hanging open. There were chandeliers and sconces, arches and columns, and lots of big gold-framed paintings on the walls. It felt like she was visiting a museum.

  She strolled up the stairs and saw closets bigger than most bedrooms, a bathroom with two sinks, two toilets and two showers, and a bathtub big enough for two sitting up high on a pedestal. So rich folks got to have two of everything. It figured. Why share when you didn’t have to?

  She walked back down the stairs. She wanted to see the kitchen. They probably had two stoves and two sinks. Hell, maybe even two refrigerators. She was making her way back through the big room with all the people when she noticed a long table piled high with enough food to fill a grocery store. She stopped and stared. There was beef and ham, shrimp and chicken. And all kinds of salads and desserts. Lee hadn’t seen this much food in months.

  She grabbed a plate and filled it with some of everything, then stood off in a corner away from most of the guests. She realized that she had forgotten to get a fork but never mind. She was hungry as hell.

  She stuck a piece of shrimp in her mouth with her fingers and closed her eyes. Man. It had been so long since she’d tasted anything this good. She was shoving a handful of carved beef into her mouth when she noticed a woman wearing mules approaching her. Shit. Lee chewed quickly and stuffed another handful of beef between her lips while she could.

  “Young lady,” the woman called.

  Lee swallowed and looked up. Who the hell was this?

  “Who are you here with?” the woman asked, eyeing Lee suspiciously.

  Lee set the plate down on a nearby table. What had gotten into her? She was walking around like she belonged here. She didn’t come to party or sightsee. Or even to eat. She came to find her daddy. “Um, no one in particular.”

  The woman’s lips tightened. “Do you live in Silver Lake?”

  Lee wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glanced around, trying to decide what to do. Should she run toward the front door or the back patio? No. She wasn’t going to leave before she found her daddy. Not after all she had been through to get here. She looked at the lady in the mules and reached down and touched her purse until she felt the hardness of the gun. “No ma’am.”

  “Then I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “Um, yes ma’am.” Lee started to walk back toward the patio door.

  “This way,” the woman snapped, pointing toward the front door and the snooty butler.

  Lee went that way, with the lady following close behind, and now others had noticed. They stopped talking and drinking and stared as she passed by with her hand clutching her purse.

  This wasn’t going at all as she had hoped. Her daddy could be in here, and she was being marched back out. And back to what? The police were looking for her ass in P.G. County, and Tony was probably all over Baltimore asking for her. Sweat broke out on her forehead.

  As she approached a young white woman standing alone in the foyer, she slipped her hand inside her purse and sized the young woman up quickly. She looked to be about twenty and was not much bigger than Lee herself. Lee knew what she had to do.

  She grabbed the young woman and pulled the gun out of her purse all in one smooth motion. She wrapped her arm around the woman tightly and held the gun to her head. The woman screamed, and a gasp ran through the crowd. The woman in the animal-print mules dropped her flute on the marble floor of the foyer. It shattered. Then all went silent.

  “What are you doing?” the young woman yelled. “Let me go.” She struggled, but Lee held on. Her heart was racing, but she couldn’t let these people know she was scared.

  “Shut up, bitch,” Lee screamed. She tightened her grip on the woman and pulled her back toward the wall. She didn’t want anybody sneaking up behind her. She would have pulled the woman back further, but the bitch was wiggling so much and dragging her feet.

  “Who are you?” the woman in the mules asked. “What do you want with her?”

  A crowd of people gathered behind the woman in the mules. Lee knew she had to keep anyone from coming any closer.

  “Don’t anybody move,” Lee demanded. “Or … or I’ll shoot her. I swear.”

  Everyone froze except a woman in a long flower-print dress. She broke through the crowd, followed by a young man wearing dreadlocks.

  Lee pointed the gun at the woman in the flowered dress, then back at the young woman’s head. “Stop, dammit, or I’ll shoot her.”

  The woman stopped and held up her hands. “I’m her mother. Please. Don’t hurt her.”

  “I won’t hurt nobody if you just stay the hell away from us.”

  “All right,” a man said with practiced calm. He made his way to the front and held his hands out. “Everybody stay back.” He looked at Lee. “What is it you want?”

  “Please,” the woman Lee was holding said softly. “Let me go.”

  “Shut up, white bitch. And keep still. Don’t make me have to shoot you.”

  “Ashley, stay calm,” the mother said. “Do as she says.”

  “For God’s sake, Patrick, do something,” the woman in the mules pleaded. “Don’t just stand there.”

  “Jolene, please,” Patrick said. “Listen, young lady, we don’t want anybody to get hurt here. Just tell us what you want. Is it money? Let her go and we’ll get it for you.”

  “I don’t want your damn money,” Lee spat. “I’m looking for somebody.”

  “Who?” Patrick asked.

  “My daddy.”

  Patrick frowned. “And you think he’s here?”

  Lee nodded. “His name is Smokey and he lives here in Silver Lake.”

  “There’s no one here by that name,” Jolene said.

  “He’s here,” Lee shouted. “I know it. Find him or I’ll shoot her.”

  “OK, OK,” the mother said. “We’ll do our best. Just don’t hurt her.”

  “Smokey sounds like a nickname,” the young man wearing dreads said. “What’s his real name?”

  Lee hesitated. “I … I don’t know. I mean, I ain’t never seen him. I just know his name is Smokey.”

  “Well, he’s not here,” Jolene insisted.

  “Look,” the young man said. “Don’t hurt her. She doesn’t know anything about your daddy. Let her go. You can take me instead. My name is Kenyatta.”

  “Oh my God,” a plump woman shouted from the rear. She made her way to the front and stood next to Kenyatta. “Please, let the girl go,” she pleaded with Lee. “And we’ll help you find your daddy. But we can’t do it with you holding a gun to her head. Nobody can think—”

  “Shut up, bitch,” Lee shouted. “And everybody, y’all just … just keep still. Or I’ll shoot her. I ain’t kidding.”

  Ashl
ey suddenly bit Lee on the arm.

  “Ouch!” Lee smacked the gun upside Ashley’s head and grabbed her tighter.

  “Oh God,” the mother whined. “Ashley, please. Stay still.”

  Ashley whimpered and rubbed her head.

  Lee stuck the gun in Ashley’s ear. “Stupid-ass white bitch,” she shquted. “Shit. I ought to waste your ass just for the hell of it.”

  “Please, no,” the mother cried. The woman was in tears. “She’s not … she’s not white. Her great-greatgrandfather was a slave.”

  The room fell silent. Everyone turned and stared at Candice.

  Chapter 40

  “Yeah, right,” Lee said. “And my great-great-granddaddy was the king of England.

  Good God, Jolene thought. Her party was completely ruined. Fights. Hostages and guns. And now Candice was declaring herself black. What was next? People would talk about this party for years to come but for all the wrong reasons. And why the hell didn’t that lame husband of hers do something instead of standing there looking like he’d just seen a ghost?

  Barbara drained her glass of champagne. This was too much. Where on earth did that comment about Candice’s ancestors being slaves come from? And where the hell was Bradford? She hadn’t seen him since this wild child pulled the gun.

  An awful thought crossed Barbara’s mind. Could Bradford be this girl’s father? He had never used the name Smokey to her knowledge. But she didn’t put anything past that horny man.

  Pearl blinked. Uh-huh. She knew it. She knew there was something strange about that Jones family. Candice, Ashley, Caitlin—all of them were weird. Poor Ashley.

  But as bad as Pearl felt for Ashley, she didn’t want her son exchanging himself for anybody. He didn’t need to be anybody’s hero. What good would that do? What he needed to do was stay calm. Everybody had to stay calm. The young girl talked tough, but Pearl would bet her last dollar that she was more frightened than anyone in this room.

  Candice felt all eyes on her, and tears flowed down her cheeks. “It’s … it’s true. I recently found that out. So please, stop calling her a white bitch.”

  “OK, then,” Lee said. She pressed the gun into Ashley’s temple. “Black bitch, shut up.”

  “Look, we’re not getting anywhere this way,” Patrick said gently. “What’s your name?”

  “What’s it to you?” Lee retorted. “You think I’m stupid?”

  “No, not at all,” Patrick replied calmly. “But if we knew your name, maybe it would help find your daddy.”

  Lee hesitated. “The name’s Lee.”

  “How old are you, Lee?” Patrick asked.

  “Sixteen. And that’s all you need to know.”

  “Fine,” Patrick said. “Lee, why don’t you give me the gun? And we’ll talk about finding your daddy.”

  “You really do think I’m stupid, don’t you? You’ll just haul my ass off to jail if I do that. Hell, you going to do that any damn way, so I’m not giving up this gun or the girl until somebody tells me where my daddy is first. I got myself into some real bad trouble and … and … he’s the only one that can help me.”

  “Trouble?” Patrick asked. “What kind of trouble?”

  Lee stomped her foot. If only they knew. This stuff she was doing now was nothing compared with what she’d done to Uncle Clive. Why didn’t these people find her daddy? She was so scared, she wasn’t even mad at him anymore. All she wanted was to find him.

  “It’s pretty bad,” Lee said softly. “Please, just help me find him. I don’t want to have to hurt nobody.”

  “I’ll … I’ll help you,” Patrick said in almost a whisper. “Just give me the gun.”

  Lee whimpered. She wanted more than anything to get rid of this thing. It seemed to be causing more harm than good. But she couldn’t. “No,” she said stubbornly. “I … I can’t. Not before I find my daddy.”

  “I … I think I’m your daddy,” Patrick said softly.

  Everyone gasped.

  Lee blinked. “Huh?”

  Patrick nodded. “A long time ago, I used the nickname Smokey. And you’re about the right age.”

  Jolene’s mouth dropped open. She stared at Patrick. What the hell?

  Lee looked at Patrick with doubt. “You’re lying. You just trying to get me to give up the gun.”

  “Your mother’s name is Blanche,” Patrick said. “Am I right?”

  Now Lee was crying. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes with the hand holding the gun. She was tired of being so mean to the girl Ashley, so she pointed the gun at the floor instead. But she held on to Ashley.

  “How … how did you know my mama’s name?”

  “ ’Cause I met her about sixteen, seventeen years ago at a conference in D.C. She worked for the government. But I only knew her for a short while, and I didn’t know anything about you. She never told me she had a child.”

  “What’s she look like?” Lee spat out.

  “A lot like you, now that I think back,” Patrick said. “Only she was a little plump, at least back then. She was very pretty.”

  Lee swallowed hard. So it was really him. Now what should she do? She could run and hold the woman as a hostage until she got out of the house. But she was tired of all the running.

  She took a deep breath and let Ashley go. She was about to place the gun on the floor when a man grabbed her from behind and wrestled it from her. He was tall and had a bloody lip. She didn’t know how he had gotten back there without her seeing him, but she didn’t really care. Not anymore. She was tired. She sank down onto the floor.

  “Thank you, Bradford,” Candice said, still weeping as she held on to Ashley.

  “We’ve got to call the police,” Jolene said breathlessly.

  “I already called them on my cell phone,” Bradford said. “They’re on their way.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Patrick snapped. “I would have handled it. This is my house.”

  Bradford held his hands out in mock surrender. “Sorry. I was trying to be helpful.”

  “The last thing she needs now is the police,” Patrick said.

  “But Patrick!” Jolene protested. “She just broke into our home and held one of our guests hostage. It has to be reported.”

  “I know that, but I want to talk to a lawyer first and get her some protection.”

  Jolene folded her arms and glared at Patrick as he helped Lee up from the floor and pocketed the gun.

  “I’m going to take her to the den and calm her down,” Patrick said. “Then I’m going to call a lawyer.” He led Lee into another room and shut the door.

  Jolene stood near the front door and fumed in silence as the crowd dispersed. They barely looked at her as they rushed to get out before the police arrived.

  This had turned into the worst day of her life. Barbara had insulted her. Bradford was mad at her. Patrick had cheated on her and produced a child—a trashy thing who looked and sounded like she was from the hood. And worse, the little thug had the nerve to come into her brand-new house and hold a gun to the head of one of her neighbors.

  Now her guests were tripping over themselves in their rush to get out of her house. She would never live this down. She felt a lump in her throat and turned and fled up the stairs, ignoring the stares of the few guests still lingering in the foyer.

  Chapter 41

  Barbara didn’t say a word to Bradford. Not during the drive home from the party, not Sunday morning at breakfast. And he seemed to know better than to say anything to her.

  That evening she removed the tuna casserole that Phyllis had prepared the day before from the refrigerator and dumped a can of Alpo dog food in it. The family dog had died shortly before Rebecca’s wedding, and the food was almost a year old. This was as good a way to get rid of it as any, Barbara figured.

  She stirred it in carefully, reheated it at 350 degrees for twenty minutes and served it to Bradford on their best china. She fixed a small tuna salad for herself, then sat down to watch him eat his dinner.

&n
bsp; “What kind of casserole is this?” he asked, his brow furrowed in contemplation as he chewed slowly.

  “Oh, a little tuna, a little pasta, a lot of dog food.” Barbara smiled with exaggerated cheerfulness. “Do you like it, darling?”

  Bradford dropped his fork on the floor and spit his food out across the kitchen table. “What?” he yelled.

  “I said a little—”

  “I heard what you said,” he interrupted with indignation. “What the hell is wrong with you, serving me dog food for dinner?”

  Barbara stood and smiled. “If the shoe fits …” She shrugged. “And tomorrow you’ll have to get your own dinner. I start my real estate course and then I’m having dinner with Marilyn. I won’t be home until after eleven.” She strolled out of the kitchen, ignoring the string of obscenities that Bradford hurled at her.

  She entered the family room, marched to the bar and filled her arms with every bottle of liquor she could find. She carried them all into the laundry room and dumped the contents down the drain, one by one, then threw the bottles into the wastebasket. She grabbed her pack of cigarettes off the coffee table in the family room and cut it up with scissors.

  She knew it was going to take more than this to quit all of her vices. She’d had this drinking problem off and on for years. The cigarette habit, too. She had to get her head together if she was going to succeed.

  As soon as she got her real estate license, she was going to find herself a nice luxurious clinic where she could relax and dry out in private and in style. She was going to straighten herself up and get stronger. And then she was going to become the best damn real estate agent in Prince George’s County.

  She might not ever actually leave Bradford. A part of her still loved him and always would. But if she stayed, it would only be because she wanted to, not because she needed him to feel important.

  She entered the kitchen. Bradford had obviously left the room in haste. His uneaten plate of food still sat on the table, his fork on the floor. Barbara walked right past it and put on a strong pot of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. Then she went into the den and picked up one of the books about real estate that Marilyn had given her. Her first instinct was to reach out to the coffee table for her cigarettes. Then she remembered that she was trying to quit. She sat back, curled her feet up on the couch and opened the book to Chapter One.