by Joseph Souza
“Yeah, I know what Cordell claimed to hear.”
“Then you must also know that everyone was out looking for you and that they even held a candlelight vigil on campus. Why didn’t you go to the cops?”
“Let me break it down for you,” she says. “I couldn’t just go to the cops or I would have ended up like Cordell.”
“Who would have killed you?”
“Russell.”
“Russell Gaines, my neighbor?”
“Lady, if he’s your neighbor, I’d seriously consider moving to another neighborhood.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s been a professor at Chadwick for about three years now. All the students know what a hound he is. I tried to stay clear of his classes, but on such a small campus, that’s damn near impossible to do, especially if your major is in the African-American Studies Department.”
“So you ended up taking a class with him?”
“And his useless wife. She’s the director of diversity on campus, but she also teaches a class there every semester.” She stood, her robe flitting open and affording me a brief view of her stomach and cleavage. “Want something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a tall glass filled with a dark liquid.
“Captain and Coke helps chill me out. You should try one.”
“You were saying?”
“Right. The first course I took with him was Sociology of the Urban Black American. Hell, I grew up in that lifestyle. But it was a requirement, and he was the only prof teaching the course that semester, so I had no other choice.”
“Did he come on to you?”
“Not at first. He was intimidating and hard to engage. All the students feared him, knowing his reputation as a tough grader. I did everything in my power to get to know him, never having met my own father. I volunteered answers in class. I turned my assignments in on time and showed up during his office hours to discuss the material. Was I flirting with him? Hell yeah, I don’t deny it. He was smart and amazing, and with incredible charisma. But it was nothing serious. The harder I tried to be friends with him, the more standoffish he became.”
“He didn’t make a pass at you?”
“Not right away. I aced his class, which made me eager to take another one with him.”
“And that’s when it happened?”
“What happened?”
“When he came on to you?”
“Chill, girl, and let me tell the story.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I took his wife’s course next: Race, Class, and Gender. Now, that woman was a total bitch. Terrible teacher too.”
“What did she do to make you feel that way?”
“She played favorites. If you disagreed with any of her opinions, she held it against you. The hell with free speech. She wanted us to parrot back her lectures on the exam, and if you didn’t toe the line, she’d grade you down.”
“I remember having professors like that. For me it was just a matter of giving them back what they wanted to hear.”
“Not me. I got this far on my own terms and I wasn’t about to become someone else’s bitch. We often butted heads in class. She would say one thing and I would refute it from my experiences growing up in the hood. It sounded to me like she’d never lived in the ghetto or knew what it was like to be a black woman and experience racism and real poverty.”
“So she treated you different?”
“Yeah. She would call me out in class and try to humiliate me in front of everyone, but I never backed down. Up until that time, she gave me the only B I’ve ever received at Chadwick.”
“You didn’t appeal it?”
“Hell no. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of groveling for a higher grade. But I got the last laugh.”
“How so?”
“As part of our final exam, we were required to submit an essay to a national contest on the poem ‘Dream Deferred,’ by Langston Hughes. She used her essay as the teaching model and gave mine a B minus.”
“So how did you get the last laugh?”
“My essay went on to win the contest.” She breaks out into laughter. “Best part about it, I won fifteen hundred bucks and a free trip to DC.”
“She must have been shocked.”
“I went back and showed her the check, and all she did was shake her head in disgust. It felt good to shove it in her face.” She takes a gulp of her drink. “I felt sorry for her husband, knowing he had to live with such a spiteful bitch.”
“So you took another class with him?”
“Prejudice and Racism in Modern Society.”
“What happened?”
“I threw myself into the work and continued to visit him during his office hours. Midway through the semester, he noticed that I was serious about his class, and he began to engage me in discussions after hours. I loved it, and I think he loved talking to me too. It was only when we ran into each other one night that he took it to the next level.” She lights a cigarette.
“Go on?”
“He invited me to sit and have a drink with him. Yeah, it was flattering. He treated me like a total equal. The time flew by and we ended up having a few more drinks. I was pretty drunk by the time the night ended. Russell was wasted too, and in no condition to drive. So we ended up having a nightcap at a hotel down the street. One thing led to another.”
“So it was by consent?”
“If you define consent as sleeping with your drunk student and then treating her as if she never existed when she shows up to your class the following day. He gave me a B on my next paper and it pissed me off.”
“He probably felt guilty for cheating on his wife.”
“Then why did he hold me after class? Or ask me to go out with him the following night? I didn’t realize at the time that he was grooming me. Breaking me down only to build me back up. Dude made me feel special despite the fact that we could never be seen together on campus.”
“Because it’s against the college’s rules?”
“He said something about a code of conduct and that he could get fired for sleeping with one of his students.”
“Did you love him?”
“I’m not sure it was love, but I fell hard for him. He even changed that B into an A.”
“Then it got worse, I assume.”
“Hell yeah, it got worse. He became obsessed with me. Kept trying to convince me to break it off with Cordell and be exclusive with him. Cordell and I had an arrangement. We could see other people. We were both young and free-spirited. We made a great power couple on campus and didn’t want to limit ourselves, especially seeing how Cordell was on the down low.”
“Down low?”
“He liked guys too. Maybe even more than he liked girls.”
“Cordell?”
“No big deal. I was totally fine with him being bi. We had no sexual hang-ups.”
“So Russell wouldn’t take no for an answer?”
“Precisely. He followed me and sometimes waited in his car outside my apartment. Promised that he’d help advance my career. He also said that if I reported him to the administration, he would run me out of Chadwick and ruin my good name. What choice did I have? It was his word against mine, like that black woman we studied who testified against the Supreme Court judge.”
“Anita Hill?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“I was in middle school when that happened and always believed Anita Hill’s version of events. Look at the damage Thomas has done to the Supreme Court.”
“Right-wing asshole. Reminds me of Russell.”
“In what way?”
“In the way some powerful black men are no different than whitey,” she says.
I don’t feel compelled to respond to her comment, but I understand the gist of her complaint. It reminds me of the privilege I carry around by the mere virtue of my skin color.
“I wanted to break it off with hi
m for good, but I was scared. After all I accomplished just to get into Chadwick, I didn’t want to jeopardize everything. My academic scholarship was on the line. In the back of my mind, I figured I could wait him out and that maybe he’d move on to another undergraduate. Besides, it wasn’t all that bad between us. There were some good times too. He took me on some nice trips and we dined at fancy restaurants. Once in a while he even gave me money.”
“But then something changed.”
“I pleaded with him one night just to leave me the hell alone and to stop checking up on me like I was his slave. I was drunk and sobbing hysterically and swinging fists at him. The asshole surprised me with a backhand. I fell back on the hotel bed in shock. He’d never hit me before, and it stung coming from someone you respect. Seriously, that abusive shit doesn’t sit well with me. My lip was bleeding all over the place. He warned me in a low voice to never again threaten him or he’d kill me, and I believed him.”
My phone goes off. I look at the caller ID and see that it’s the kids’ school. I answer and am informed that Zack has been in another confrontation. What sort of confrontation? I ask, but they won’t tell me until I get there. The timing of his behavior pisses me off and so I call Clay to see if he can go down to the school and talk to the teacher, but he isn’t answering. Once again the burden falls on my shoulders. I’m the old standby in the family who must drop everything for someone else. It’s never about me. My needs always seem to go unmet.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Everything cool?” she asks, looking genuinely concerned.
“It’s my son.” It suddenly occurs to me that I forgot to ask about her pregnancy.
Mycah walks over and grabs my hands. “Are you going to call the cops on me?”
“You can’t expect me to look the other way while Russell walks around a free man.”
Tears form in her eyes. “I’m the victim here. Do you know what the police will do to me if they find out I’ve been hiding out in this dump? They’ll blame me for all this and then his lawyers will dig up my past and ruin me. Please don’t turn me in just yet.”
“I need to think it over.”
“Just give me some time. Swing by tomorrow and we can talk again. Come up with a plan.”
“You’ll stay right here?”
“Where else am I going to go? The cops would pick me up in a heartbeat if I ever left.”
I gather my bag and slip out the door. Once behind the wheel, I think about all that I’ve uncovered. Although it’s scary and dangerous, I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. This could open doors for me. With my creative writing degree, I’ve always dreamed of finishing one of the many novels I’ve started. Maybe one day I might even write a true crime book about this case. But then I wonder about my culpability in the matter. Does my relative silence make me an accessory to these crimes?
Russell had both the motive and the means to kill Cordell, and Clarissa’s diary is concrete evidence of his violent nature. If only I can convince Clarissa to speak with me, to get her to talk about what she has penned.
My mind-set totally changes as soon as I park in the school lot. I sit in my car for a few minutes, not wanting to face Susan with her withering gaze and impatient stare. Although I’ve never laid a hand on my children, I’m almost tempted to give Zack a good spanking once he gets home. Maybe that’s what he needs. God knows I’ve tried everything else and have read every book on the subject. Maybe it’s Clay’s turn to step up to the plate. Why am I always the one to take the blame for Zack’s erratic behavior?
I walk inside the office and immediately see Susan, arms folded and gazing at me as if I’m the villain.
“Where’s Zack?” I blurt out. Heads in the office turn and look up at me. “What did he do this time.” “Follow me, Mrs. Daniels,” Susan says.
CLAY
Thursday, October 22, 2:47 p.m.
I REMEMBER THAT STICKY DAY IN EARLY AUGUST WHEN MYCAH CALLED out of the blue and said she needed to see me. It had been weeks since we’d gotten together at that redneck bar, and I knew I should have turned her down. But like an idiot being led to his own slaughter, I agreed to meet her. She showed up later that evening after Ben had gone home, an hour later than we agreed upon. I’d been drinking quite a bit while waiting for her to arrive. The tasting room was closed for the night and my only companion was the foam-webbed jar of the Information in front of me. I was well into my fourth beer when I heard her come in through the back door.
She walked through the darkened brewery and sat down at the bar next to me. I was almost too afraid to turn and face her, fearful of how I might react. As much as I tried to forget her, she’d been all I could think about since our last meeting.
“I’m sorry for treating you that way, baby,” she whispered.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“I know.”
“My wife and kids will be arriving soon.”
“Never wanted to take you away from your family.”
“I could lose everything. You, on the other hand, have nothing to lose.”
“Losing you is hard enough. Why do you think I broke it off with you?”
“Then why did you treat me like that?” I said, swiveling on my stool to face her. “Why’d you make me spend six thousand bucks on those Knicks tickets?”
“I was confused. I didn’t know what to do.”
“And to think I was considering leaving my wife for you.”
“Don’t be mean to me. I came here to apologize.”
I sipped my beer, trying not to succumb to her charms.
“I realized how bad I’d missed you, Clay. It was torture not being with you.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“No one makes me feel the way you do. We were amazing together.”
“And now we’re done.”
“I need you one last time before we call it quits.”
“I can’t do it.”
“One last time, baby. Give me something to remember you by. Then I promise you’ll never see me again.”
“One last time and we’re done?”
“Swear to God.”
We agreed to meet at a rural hotel ten miles away. I practically broke the sound barrier in my attempt to get there. I saw her car parked in the lot and so I rushed up to the room. She was waiting under the covers, and she made it clear that she wanted to make this last experience memorable, as if the previous encounters were not. It took me seconds to undress. Despite consuming many beers throughout the day, the alcohol had little effect on my libido. I slipped into bed with her, swearing this would be the very last time we ever made love. My hands roamed her smooth, smoky skin and over her breasts and rounded ass. So different than Leah, who was all skin and sharp angles—the body of a runway model.
“Please, I need you to do me like you did before,” she said.
I bit my lip. I could barely control myself, kissing her neck and her ears as she pushed herself away from me.
“Make me pay for being such a bad girl.”
I continued to kiss her neck and down to her nipples.
“One last time, please. To remember you by.”
She grabbed my hands and placed them around her neck. She wanted me to choke her while we made love, and to slap her and call her all sorts of despicable names. Role playing. I agreed, as it had long ago ceased to offend my sensibilities. It helped that I was pissed off at her, and this time I went above and beyond the call of duty.
Hours later, I collapsed in exhaustion. She looked up at me, her face bruised and red welts spread over her upper arms and body. Her lip was split and bleeding. Fingerprints encircled her throat like a necklace. I apologized profusely for what I’d done, but she merely smiled at me as she snuggled against my body.
I awoke the next morning and she was gone. The curtains were open and the sun’s rays poured into the room. I felt as if a considerable weight had lifted from my shoulders. The sex last night had been crazy good, but at le
ast I was free of her. Free at last.
I took a hot shower, soaping away the powerful odor of sex from my body. I promised myself to never cheat on Leah again. From then on I would be the best husband I could be and the best father to my kids. Nothing would ever come between us again. My turbulent midlife crisis was finally over.
I truly believed I had closure on Mycah.
LEAH
Thursday, October 22, 3:30 p.m.
ZACK GOES STRAIGHT UP TO HIS ROOM ONCE WE ARRIVE HOME, AND this is fine by me. We drove home in silence after all my questions about the incident went unanswered. I kept looking back in the rearview mirror and staring at the shiner given to Zack by the other boy. As much as I abhor violence, maybe a fist to the face will finally put a stop to all his crazy behavior.
The black boy claimed that Zack called him a bad name. Do I believe it? I don’t know what to believe at this point. Zack had been teased pretty badly by some of the black boys in his previous school. Susan recommended he see a counselor, giving me a few names to call in case it hadn’t already occurred to me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Zack was already seeing a counselor and that it appeared not to be helping. Maybe I’ll call one of the other therapists on the list.
I momentarily put Zack out of mind. He’ll be all right in his room, alone with his books. It’s where he feels safe from all the craziness in his life. All the change and turmoil must be hard for him to deal with: his dad working at the brewery all day, moving cross country, a new school, and making new friends (not that he had many friends in Seattle). It’s been hard on me too. I can’t imagine what must be going through his young, formidable mind.
My head is still buzzing from my rendezvous with Mycah. I know I should go straight to the police and tell them everything I know, but I can’t. Not just yet. They’ll take all the information I gathered and then forget about me, and then I’ll be back in the same miserable place where I started. Besides, there’s more to learn from her. If I don’t get to the bottom of this matter, Russell could walk away scot-free, leaving Clarissa and the kids in harm’s way. Violence only begets more violence, and I’m afraid he might soon explode with rage.