Can You Keep a Secret?

by Mary Monroe

  “Some of us have more serious problems than other people. I wish I had your problems. There will always be a bunch of family members around for you if you need them, blood relatives at that. When Daddy died, I couldn’t go to any of the few blood relatives I have left. If it hadn’t been for Bertha, they’d have put me in a foster home or I would have ended up living on the street. You know the pimps are lying in wait for girls like me.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  “So I’m going to keep on telling you.”

  “Please let’s not even go there. You didn’t end up in a foster home or on the street selling pussy for some pimp. All of that has nothing to do with what we’re talking about now. I’m trying to tell you something.”

  “What are you trying to tell me then?”

  “You know what I’m trying to tell you. Every single time you blow our plans it’s on account of your stepmother. You’ll never have any fun if you keep catering to that woman. And I’m not going to keep catering to you unless you start catering to me the way you used to.”

  “How many times do I have to remind you that ‘that woman’ helped raise me and she helped take care of my mother when she got sick and Daddy too when he got sick. I owe her.”

  “Wake up and get a grip on reality, Lola! You’ve paid your debt to Bertha a dozen times over if you ask me. Why did you ask me to hook you up with some dudes in the first place?”

  “I’ve told you before, you know how to talk to boys better than I do. I really appreciate the way you look out for me. You have everything I want; healthy, loving parents, a bunch of brothers and sisters, and all kinds of other relatives. I wish you could understand why it’s so important for me to be nice to Bertha. I need her. If I piss her off, or if she up and dies, where would that leave me? If I don’t go to a foster home or the streets, do you think Libby or Marshall would be willing to take me in? Hell no! And, I would rather go to a foster home or the street than with them anyway. You think you have problems? Well, let me tell you something I never wanted to tell you.” Lola paused. I couldn’t decide if she was crying or just clearing her throat on her end. But something was going on with her.

  I got tired of waiting for her to continue so I jumped in and asked, “Exactly what is it you never wanted to tell me?”

  “Joan, I’d give anything in the world if I could trade places with you.”

  Lola’s confession really touched me. I had to blink hard to hold back my tears. She had said similar things before but she, nor anybody else, had ever said anything as endearing to me as what she’d just said. “You would?” I croaked. It was hard to speak with the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat.

  “Uh-huh. I hope you’re not too mad at me about tonight. If you ever stop being my friend . . . well, just thinking about that is too painful. I don’t even want to talk about it. You go on out with Frankie and don’t worry about me. Take the bus to the movies. You can even borrow my bus pass.”

  Blinking didn’t stop a tear from rolling down the side of my face. I had to sniff real hard to keep snot from oozing out of my nose and cough to clear my throat. After I’d taken a few deep breaths, I let out a sharp cackle. Then I said in the warmest voice I could manage, “Fuck Frankie. I’d rather come over and watch a couple of movies with you.” I didn’t have the nerve to tell Lola that Frankie had dumped me a few minutes ago. But because of what she’d just said, I decided I would continue to go out of my way to make life easier for a girl whose life was so miserable that she wanted to trade places with me.

  Chapter 17

  Lola

  I WAS NOT SURPRISED WHEN JOAN TOLD ME SHE’D LOST HER VIRGINITY to Walter Terrill in his bedroom last year the week before Christmas. The way she ran around with this and that boy, I was surprised it had not happened much sooner. She made me promise not to blab because a lot of people still thought she was Miss Goody Two-Shoes.

  “Girl, we’ve been keeping secrets between us all our lives. You know you can tell me anything and I’ll keep my mouth shut,” I reminded her during one of our frequent telephone conversations.

  “Good! And keep it that way!” Joan yelled. “Because I’m going to cook up a way for us to make some serious money so we can afford to buy stuff that’ll help us attract the hottest boys. And my scheme will be a secret we’ll have to take to our graves.”

  I had no idea that a few months later Joan would “cook up” a plan for us to join a lonely hearts club so we could scam a bunch of elderly men out of money by pretending to be her sexy older sister, Elaine. And I had no idea that years later she would drag me into an Internet dating fiasco (another secret to take to our graves . . . ) that would change my life forever. In the meantime, I was more interested in losing my virginity first.

  When she offered to introduce me to Michael Crockett; Walter’s best friend, I jumped at the chance. I was seventeen now and tired of being one of the oldest virgins I knew. One thing I realized about boys was, a girl giving up her cherry to them didn’t mean much. The day after I’d given mine up to Michael, he told everybody he knew that I was a lousy piece of tail. That was probably true but that didn’t stop a lot of other boys from trying to get a piece of my tail.

  I turned down a lot of dates, and not just because the boys only wanted to have sex with me. One of the main reasons was because Bertha had gotten even worse about me leaving her alone at night. About three weeks after my date with big mouth Michael, Stevie Watson invited me out one Friday night. He’d already had a clumsy experience with Bertha when he’d come to the house the first time a few days ago. This time he didn’t come in. He blew the horn in his old Firebird and I ran out and jumped in.

  Ten minutes after we had slid into a booth at Dino’s Pizza Parlor, Bertha walked in with a glazed look on her face. I wanted to crawl under the table but she had already seen me and was walking in our direction. I was used to her doing or saying something peculiar, but this surprised me. I was so stunned, I couldn’t move. My head felt like somebody had hit it with a sledgehammer.

  “Ain’t that your weird stepmother coming this way?” Stevie asked with an amused look on his sharp-featured face. “I wonder what she’s doing here.”

  Bertha stopped in front of Stevie, but her eyes were on me. “Lola, I called your cell telephone but you didn’t answer,” she whined, massaging her forehead. “I don’t feel good. I was afraid I’d fall again and hit my head on something. What time will you be coming home?”

  Instead of answering Bertha, I gave Stevie an apologetic look and asked, “Do you mind if we leave now?”

  He gave me an incredulous look. “You want to leave before we get our pizza? What . . . why?” he protested.

  “Let’s get it to go. I really need to go home with my stepmother,” I insisted.

  No matter how calm Stevie sounded, I could tell from the way his jaw was twitching that he was angry. “Cool,” he said, looking extremely exasperated. “I feel you. Uh, listen; our order should be ready in a couple of minutes. You get it and take it home. I’ll catch you later.” He and I rose and he quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a few dollars and dropped them onto the table. “This’ll cover the pizza and cab fare.”

  “Cab fare? Can’t you give us a ride home?” I asked.

  Stevie looked at Bertha again then back at me and shook his head. Then he looked at his watch. “I just remembered I told my uncle I’d help him move some stuff out of his garage.” Just like that, another boy had dumped me in the same month. And this time it wasn’t because I was a “lousy piece of tail” because Stevie and I had not had the chance to have sex. This time it was because of Bertha. When I saw him in school a few days later, he ignored me. A week later he had a new girlfriend.

  I didn’t go out with a boy again for two months. During that time, I was so bored I didn’t know what to do. Joan was one of the most popular girls I knew so she went on a lot of dates. I had a hard time catching up with her outside of school. I had made a few new friends, but none of the
m were as much fun as Joan. The Walker twins, Lynette and Lynda, were so timid they didn’t want to do anything fun, especially if it involved boys. Heather Strong was dating two boys at the same time so I could rarely catch up with her.

  Not much had changed at home with Bertha and me. If anything; the situation had become even more bizarre. She constantly complained about her health, but she usually looked fine to me. It seemed like she felt down and out mainly on the nights I had dates. But when she really was sick, like now with shingles, she actually seemed happy about it. For one thing, when it was obvious that she had a health crisis, she didn’t have to work too hard to get my sympathy and help.

  “Oh my Lord. These shingles are going to have me out of commission for a long time. You might even have to take some time off from school!” she told me with a twinkle in her eye I couldn’t ignore.

  “I hope not. We’re in the middle of our March finals. Maybe Libby can come over and look after you during the day,” I said.

  “She’s got her hands full taking care of her needy, helpless husband. That man can’t even boil water or fry an egg right! He’d starve to death if it wasn’t for Libby.”

  Other than “taking care of” Jeffrey, Libby spent her time watching soap operas and game shows, shopping and visiting the casinos, hanging out with her friends, and getting her nails and hair done. Bertha was as aware of what her daughter was up to as I was, so I saw no reason to mention any of those things. It annoyed me when she defended and made excuses for her children. Whenever I said something against them, she always responded by saying something like, “My babies inherited their bad habits from their daddy so they can’t help the way they are.” How could I argue with a woman who believed some shit like that? I wondered how her “babies” would have turned out if she had not spoiled and catered to them so much. In addition to everything else I had to keep my wits about, I was making all kinds of mental notes that would help me develop a better life for myself once I got out on my own. One thing for sure, I was not going to spoil my children. And there was no way in the world I’d let a child of mine sass or disrespect me the way Libby and Marshall did Bertha. Had she raised her children the way I planned to raise mine, she would be a much happier person. That was one thing that I was sure of.

  I arranged to take off at least two whole weeks of school that month so I could stay home and take care of Bertha because shingles was pretty serious. I recalled how Mama had suffered with it so I really felt sorry for Bertha. Especially since her case was way more severe than Mama’s. She had an itchy red rash and blisters filled with pus from her face on down. Not only did a few neighbors and people from church come by to visit her and drop off chicken soup, Libby and Marshall came by every other day, but they didn’t do much or stay long. They always made a beeline to the kitchen before they even looked in on Bertha propped up on the couch. After they raided the refrigerator and left a mess in the kitchen for me to clean up, they shuffled into the living room and complained about how nasty Bertha’s gown was and how bad she looked. When Jeffrey came with them yesterday, he checked on Bertha immediately. “Lola, my aunt Eileen does home care nursing. I can arrange for her to come over and help out,” he told me.

  “Mama can’t afford a home care nurse,” Libby hollered, walking into the living room with a glass of wine in one hand and a Pop Tart in the other. “Lola ought to be glad to help. After all, had it not been for Mama, she would have ended up in a foster home.”

  Marshall’s wife had recently kicked him out of the house and he had checked into a motel. He was so depressed and helpless when he came to visit I ended up tending to him too. I had to fix him highballs, prepare snacks for him, and help him do his laundry. I was glad when his wife let him come back home ten days after she’d kicked him out.

  Two days after Marshall’s last visit, Jeffrey came by after work that Friday around six p.m. As soon as he entered the house and saw the weary look on my face, he gave me a long hug. “Lola, you are too young to be tied down like this,” he said, glancing over my shoulder to where Bertha lay on the couch snoring like a moose.

  “I know, but what else can I do? I miss my friends at school and I’m getting bored being cooped up in this house,” I said with a pout. “I haven’t even been over to visit with Joan since last week. I only see her when she drops off my school assignments.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you call and see if Joan’s at home now. If she is, invite her over,” Jeffrey suggested. “We can have some Chinese take-out delivered and watch a couple of movies.”

  “What about Libby?” I asked with a tight look on my face.

  “Libby’s not my mother,” Jeffrey snapped with a hot look on his face. The only time I ever saw him look anything but pleasant was when Libby was the subject. “She doesn’t control me.”

  I used to wish I could marry a man like Daddy. Now I wished I could marry a man like Jeffrey.

  I didn’t want to use the telephone in the living room because I didn’t want Bertha to wake up and hear my conversation. I called up Joan from the kitchen phone and invited her over. She didn’t want to visit me. Instead, she insisted I come to her house. Since Jeffrey had offered to hang around for a couple more hours to spend time with Bertha, I jumped at the chance to take a break.

  As much as I enjoyed spending time with Joan in her bedroom, my visit was going to be short. Five minutes after I plopped down on the side of her bed next to her, she started saying things to and about me that I didn’t like.

  “Lola, I hope you don’t turn out to be a damn fool like your mama.” Joan was not a mean girl. She was just the type who believed in saying whatever was on her mind; even if it was something unpleasant. Her harsh words sent shock waves all through my body.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked as I rubbed my chest and glared at her.

  “You’re as smart as I am so you should be able to find a husband who treats you better than your daddy treated your mama.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Joan.” I stopped rubbing my chest and sat up straighter. “You need to worry about yourself because you might end up worse off than my mama . . .”

  “Pffft!” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand. “I don’t think so. For one thing, I would beat the dog shit out of my husband if I found out he was cheating on me!”

  “Why are we talking about husbands now in the first place? We’re still teenagers and don’t even have steady boyfriends.”

  “Well, we won’t be teenagers too much longer. All I know is, we both deserve something better than both of our mothers settled for. I’m only going to get married one time. I would never marry three different men like Mama did.”

  “What if your husband dies? Then what?”

  “That’s different. That’s the only reason I’d marry another man. I believe that once you get married, it should be for life—even if it’s a bad marriage. I don’t care how bad it is, it can be fixed.”

  I gave Joan a pensive look. “Those words might come back to haunt you some day,” I warned.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Anyway, I don’t want to get married but once myself. I hope I meet a real cool dude when I’m around twenty-four or twenty-five. I don’t want to get married too young. After I finish high school, I want to have fun for a few years before I settle down and start my family. And I’m telling you now; I am not going to marry an average man. I want a man who’s got everything going for him: looks, a good job, a great body, and a real good personality. And, he has to be good in bed.”

  Joan looked amused for a few seconds and then a serious expression spread across her face. “As pretty and smart as you are, you shouldn’t have any trouble finding a man like that.” What she said next sent a chill up my spine. “But a dude with all that going for him could also be a serial killer.” Her statement was so disturbing, I didn’t even comment on it.

  And it was the reason I left a few minutes later.

  Jeffrey had put Bertha to bed by th
e time I got home and I didn’t stay up much longer myself. I slept well that night and by the next morning, I had put Joan’s ominous statement out of my mind. I wouldn’t think about it again until sixteen years later when a serial killer entered my life and decided he wanted to kill me . . .

  MARY MONROE, the daughter of sharecroppers, is the author of the award-winning and New York Times–bestselling God series that includes God Don’t Like Ugly and God Don’t Make No Mistakes, among other novels. The winner of the PEN/Oakland Josephine Miles Award, Mary Monroe currently lives in Oakland, California, and loves to hear from her readers via e-mail at Author Author5409@aol.com.

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  Master storyteller Mary Monroe begins her Lonely Heart, Deadly Heart series with a page-turning tale of seduction and shocking surprises, as two unhappy women fulfill their every erotic dream—and find a desire that kills . . .

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  Chapter 1

  Lola

  September 1999

  TWO WEEKS AFTER LABOR DAY, SOMEBODY RANG OUR DOORBELL. It was a Saturday, about an hour before noon. When I opened the door without looking through the peephole or asking who it was, I was surprised to see a woman—I had never seen her before—standing on our porch. She was almost as wide as she was tall, and she had to be at least six feet. She was a light-skinned, middle-aged black woman with a scary scowl on her face and one hand on her hip. She wore a dark green pantsuit that looked like it was at least two sizes too small. There were a few strands of gray hair on her two chins and several black moles dotted her thick neck. I could tell she had been crying because her eyes were red and swollen.