I'd Rather Be With You

by Mary B. Morrison

  Happy to see the man I loved, I smiled at my husband. Didn’t take much to cheer me up after what Loretta had done. My dad had done what worked best for him. Avoidance. Signing Roosevelt’s contract wasn’t a well-thought-out decision for my dad. I didn’t agree with him giving up 51 percent of our business, but he couldn’t have given it to a better person. And since I was still legally married to Roosevelt, I technically owned 100 percent.

  After I got better, I wanted to go over that contract my dad had signed. Help save his dignity before he’d become desperate again. He could be a foolish man at times, but at least he was a faithful husband and loving father. I didn’t appreciate his not coming to visit me that much, but I understood. Men were not as strong as they appeared. What was most important was he’d done what was best for his family. Interesting how when you’re sick, you need to know people care about you.

  One of the nurses peeped in. “You okay, Mrs. DuBois? Oh, I see your husband is here. You let me know if you change your mind about reporting that incident. You should.”

  Again I smiled. “No, but thank you.” After my surgery, I found myself being kinder to others, especially the nurses.

  “I’ll have your discharge papers sent in shortly for your review. Take care,” she said, closing the door.

  My doctor reassuring me they’d gotten all of the cancer was my biggest relief. Even Loretta assaulting me didn’t kill my joy. So-called Christian. More like a hypocrite. Soon as I had this baby, she’d get hers.

  I answered Roosevelt, “Loret—”

  Holding up his hand, he said, “Stop right there. I don’t want to know. Madison, I’d be a damn fool to get involved in whatever has and is happening between you and Loretta.”

  “Do you think this black eye is my fault? Baby, she’s crazy.” Roosevelt’s piercing stare went through me. His lips tightened. I felt his thoughts traveling back to the day I signed that authorization to take him off the respirator. Had he honestly forgiven me for that?

  “I came to see how you’re dealing without your twins. You okay?”

  Hell no! That was like my asking him if he was good after being castrated.

  I calmly replied, “I’m weak. It’s like I have no energy. Yesterday was better until this happened,” I said, pointing at my eye. “I don’t know what’s worse. I’ve heard chemo can be draining, but this recovery without treatment is too.”

  In order to keep my husband’s sympathy, I’d never say, “I feel great.”

  Roosevelt stood beside my bed and held my hand. “Hopefully, when they test you after the delivery, you’ll still be cancer free and won’t need radiation or chemo. That’s just a precaution, anyway. Next to my mother, Madison, you’re the strongest woman I know.” His grip was softer than usual.

  “Wait. What do you mean you came to see how I’m doing? Did you forget I’m being discharged today?”

  He exhaled, and then sat on the side of my bed. “You should take your mom and dad up on that offer.”

  “‘Offer’? The last time we spoke, you said you were—”

  “I know.”

  My happiness faded. “Know what? Why did you wait to the last minute to drop this on me? You didn’t come by yesterday. You didn’t call. Now you show up to tell me this at the last minute?”

  Sliding his hand from the top of his head to the nape of his neck, he said, “Things are changing. And I don’t want to lie to you. There might be someone else in my life soon.”

  “Are you telling me you’re cheating on me, or you’re thinking about it?”

  Men. One minute they are sure about who it is they want. The next moment my husband is confused? I expected that from the baby in my womb, not a grown man.

  “Madison, I married you because I loved you unconditionally. Being in love with you and loving you unconditionally aren’t the same. You changed my love. And no matter how hard I try to overlook what happened . . . Look, I’m not abandoning you. I’ll always do right by you. But—”

  “But while I’m recovering from breast surgery. Double mastectomy. One. Two. Count ’em”—I slid my arms out of my gown. I stripped away my patches for him to see my stitches—“You tell me this.” I started crying.

  This time I was not faking. Despite my ill will toward him months ago, Roosevelt had made me feel safe and loved. I was changing because he’d shown me how a real man treated his wife. I did not want another woman to steal this man from me.

  He kissed the stitches on both of my breasts. “I’m not cheating. I haven’t had sex with anyone but you since we’ve been seeing one another,” he said, then paused, knowing I couldn’t say the same.

  But I’d only screwed up once. “I thought you’d forgiven me. Why get my house back and buy me a new Bentley? Why the mixed signals of affection?”

  He kissed my forehead; then he stood. “I restored you because I have forgiven you. I haven’t met this woman yet. Chaz thinks I should open myself up to moving on, just in case the kid . . . Honestly? I’m confused. I’m not even sure if I can go out with her. But I’m not sure I can do this with you either. I’ll call you later,” he said, letting go of my hand.

  I watched my husband walk out on me when I needed him most. Covering my breasts, I started weeping into my pillow. I couldn’t stop crying. I wished Loretta were here to hit me again so the greater pain could overpower my broken heart.

  I heard the door open and prayed he’d come back to tell me he’d made a mistake. I’d forgive him.

  Staring at the tall, handsome man dressed all in black, I dried my eyes, thinking he had the wrong room number. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you Madison Tyler DuBois?” he asked.

  Reluctantly I answered, “Yes.”

  Handing me a set of papers, he said, “You’ve been served”; then he left.

  CHAPTER 28

  Granville

  This was the most important day of my life. I didn’t go to sleep at all last night. I prepared all day yesterday. G-double-A and No Chainz drilled me on what to do and say. They reminded me to sit high and stand tall. Always speak clear, but not too loud. Don’t frown or show a mean face. Don’t smile, because I would appear condescending.

  “If they think you’re dumb, you’re done, dude.” Those were the last words No Chainz spoke to me this morning.

  “Yeah, man. You’re big, black, and ugly as ever,” G-double-A added.

  I should’ve never introduced him to rap music. Keep it up and I’d take back the iPod I’d bought him. Make him get his own. Hell, I’d paid him five g’s already. I hoped he wasn’t a white guy trying to become black behind bars; then whenever he gets released, he’d act like he couldn’t relate to us.

  Being escorted to intake and discharge, I was one of those dudes that didn’t change. But was I ugly, for real? That bothered me. Or was G-double-A joking? Maybe that’s why it took me so long to get a woman and have my first seed growing. Women found me unattractive?

  Did my mama lie to me all these years? I did overhear her say, “An ugly man makes a pretty baby,” but I thought she was talking about my dad or Beaux.

  Last night I’d practiced in the darkness of my cell. I paraded a short distance, back and forth, pronouncing my words clearly so the judge or the witnesses wouldn’t have me repeating myself if they didn’t understand what I was saying. I didn’t want to risk confusing the jury.

  Inmates in other cells shouted questions and formulated strategies. We had sixty-two cells—124 beds—and the majority of the prisoners in my unit were serving the maximum of three years. Then there were the ones, like me, awaiting trial, then sentencing. If I got life, I’d have to be transported to the state. Walking out of this place, I felt like a slave being freed. I didn’t want to come back to FDC after my trial, but I knew I’d have to take off this suit, put on that green prison gear, and be shackled like my ancestors.

  This morning my standby counsel was seated next to me, but I was on my own during the testimonies. Since I was representing myself, he was only
allowed to speak with me when court wasn’t in session.

  At first, I thought he was too young, and I didn’t want an intern giving me advice. After consulting with him outside of the courtroom, I realized I had another advantage. Someone else had to pay him to advise me. He knew the law that applied to my case; and if he didn’t, he did his research. I wasn’t sure, but I believed that both of us were up all night preparing for this moment.

  I wished G-double-A and No Chainz were here with me. I felt smart in my new designer suit and cowboy boots, which Beaux had bought me. I should’ve listened to G-double-A and worn shoes, but my boots made me feel so sexy. Too late now.

  Beaux checked on my apartment every day to make sure nobody stole my stuff. He paid my rent and bills on time each month. Since I refused to bail out, my brother said he was working on a backup plan. I wasn’t ready to return to my life on the outside. If I were out, I’d find Madison then lose focus on building my case. G-double-A wouldn’t be able to advise me every day. I’d made the right decision.

  Looking over my shoulder, Beaux, all the people I’d had served, plus Raynard were here, and Madison. I liked her sunglasses. She was more beautiful than I remembered. I had to get a picture of her pregnant. She was sitting down, so I couldn’t see if she was showing. Didn’t look like it. I stared at her, then looked away. Did she kill my kid? If she did, I might press charges against her.

  Mom had decided not to attend the trial. I probably made her feel bad in the letter I wrote:

  Dear Mommy,

  Why did you wait for me to get locked up to find out you’re sick? Why didn’t you go to the doctor when Beaux and I wanted you to? I miss sitting in Dad’s chair, talking to you. I miss bringing you crab, shrimp, catfish, and all the stuff we used to spread over the table. Mama, I need you. Don’t do this to me. Don’t you dare die while I’m locked up. Hang in there for your grandbaby.

  Love you, Mommy,

  Your son

  That was the first letter I’d written my mom, ever. I was concerned, though. Actually, I was scared, not knowing if I’d see her again. I had to get out. I nodded at Madison; then I motioned to turn forward and looked back over my shoulder. That woman with the long cinnamon hair was seated on the last row beside, “Oh my goodness,” the sex therapist with a large red Afro. I wondered if G-double-A sent the long haired woman to take notes on my case and if Loretta sent Numbiya. My dick went limp.

  I faced the jury. They were my peers, I guess. Half were men; the other six women. Eight were black; four white. They all looked like they had jobs and kids. They might feel sorry for me and let me off easy. I didn’t care how I got off. I just wanted out.

  The judge entered the room. I smiled. She was black and stunning. She wasn’t the same judge I had before but I was glad she was black. This one was light like Madison. I hoped she wasn’t going to be mean to me. Maybe I could charm her into dropping my case.

  Uh-oh. What if she thought I was ugly?

  “All rise. The Honorable Judge Owens presiding,” the courtroom deputy announced. Once the judge sat in her seat, he said, “You may all be seated.”

  She explained her philosophy and background. Said something about ice cream and how everybody had a favorite. Mentioned something about how she liked Blue Bell. Compared that to how the jury should be aware of their biases and not allow that to influence their decision.

  Blah. Blah. Blah.

  Her beauty distracted me. I wanted her juicy lips all over me. Wow, was she educated and hot! I hadn’t had sex with a woman since I’d been locked up. I got a woody and flashed back to when I prayed for the teacher not to call me up to the chalkboard. My dick was huge and long. That’s why Loretta wanted me to share it with Madison. I’d never been to college, not a real one. Almost went to Lamar State College in Port Arthur. Finishing construction school got me in the door with my first good-paying job, and I’d worked my way up. I wondered if that deputy dude had a degree.

  I missed working more than I missed having sex. Laboring made me feel like a man. Sticking my dick inside a pussy made me cum. Took being behind bars to make me appreciate both. Being a fast learner, I’d worked my way up in the jail’s kitchen from washing pots and pans, scrubbing floors, and whatever else had to be cleaned to cooking. I was on my way to becoming a self-made top chef. Maybe I could get on one of those shows when I got out.

  Seemed like it would be against the law to pay me a little stipend—especially one that didn’t compare to the almost $100,000 I made working for Madison. They needed a pay scale. Inmates with good jobs should get paid half of what they made on the outside. In some cases the labor value was the same.

  At least I had my brother to put enough money on my books so I could shop online at the commissary and get junk food, my own drawers, and nice white socks. That’s how they knew the socks were mine. They didn’t issue free white socks inside the joint.

  The judge asked me, “Mr. Granville Washington, are you prepared to present your case?”

  I stood. “Yes, Your Honor. I’d like to thank you, Your Honor, for inviting me here today. I appreciate your hearing my case. I’d like to thank the jury for making time to be here with me. Y’all look nice. And I’d like to call my first witness to the stand, Chaz DuBois.”

  That high-yellow chick banged her gavel like she was tenderizing a piece of meat. My dick shriveled up fast. “Mr. Washington, you will not make a mockery of my courtroom.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I apologize,” I said, not sure of what I’d done wrong. Then I remembered to stand at attention.

  Chaz raised his right hand, took the oath from the deputy, and then sat on the stand.

  “Thank you for being here,” I told him.

  “Mr. Washington, enough of the pleasantries,” the judge said.

  Oh, now I get it. “Yes, Your Honor. I apologize,” I told her; then I asked Chaz, “Do you recall what happened the night someone shot your brother?”

  “That someone was you,” he answered.

  I admired his tan suit and expensive watch. His button-down white shirt was fresh, but he wasn’t wearing a tie. How did this thirtysomething youngster have more money than me?

  “Let’s not jump to conclu—”

  The judge interrupted, “Answer the question, Mr. DuBois.”

  “Yes.”

  Stretching my head toward the ceiling, I said, “Please explain in detail to the court exactly what you recall.”

  That dude sighed heavily into the mic. “It was the evening of my brother Roosevelt’s—known to many as Chicago—wedding reception. I was in the middle of making the toast when”—Chaz pointed at me—“he pulled out a gun and pointed it at my brother.”

  “Did you see what type of gun the shooter had?” I asked.

  “No. You were too far away.”

  “‘Too far away’? Hmm, did you see the shooter pull the trigger?”

  Chaz grunted between closed teeth. “Man, why you going through all this when you know you did it? Just admit it and save the taxpayers’ money.”

  I used to be a taxpayer before Madison broke my heart and fired me. Not sure which one came first.

  “Mr. DuBois, answer the question,” Judge Owens said.

  “What was the question?” he asked, straightening his jacket.

  I repeated, “Did you see the shooter pull the trigger?”

  “Yes. It was you.”

  I knew he was hoping I’d slip up and admit my guilt. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “Did you have a gun in your possession at the time of the shooting?” I asked him.

  “No.”

  “Where were you when the first bullet was fired?”

  Chaz exhaled again. “Standing at the top of the arch over the pool.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I jumped into the swimming pool after you fired the second shot.”

  “First I was too far away. Did you jump into the swimming pool before or after the secon
d bullet was fired?”

  He sat silent.

  “Mr. DuBois, answer the question,” Judge Owens insisted.

  “After,” Chaz said, rolling his eyes.

  “Were you shot before you jumped into the pool?”

  “No.”

  “Was your brother shot before you jumped into the pool?”

  He sighed again. More heavily this time. “I’m not sure.”

  “Thank you. Your Honor, I have no further questions.”

  She asked, “Does the prosecutor wish to cross-examine the witness?”

  He stood. “No, Your Honor.”

  Good. I continued, “I’d like to call my next witness to the stand.”

  I smiled on the inside. This might be an open-and-shut case.

  CHAPTER 29

  Granville

  “Roosevelt DuBois,” the deputy called out.

  This was going to be a match between two bulls over one golden cow. Man versus money. Love over fame. He had more success, but my heart for Madison was literally bigger than his. My dick too. Standing taller and squaring my shoulders, I stared at him to prove I was the man.

  There was no way I was going to let this chump take my Madison away from me. I watched him stroll up to the witness stand, take the oath, then sit. He had swag. Even as a man, I’d have to admit that. I wondered what it felt like to be a multimillionaire and if there was a way I could get my hands on some of his money to balance things out. If I won my case, maybe I could sue him in civil court.

  Damn. I’d forgotten, based on what G-double-A had advised me, I wasn’t supposed to stare at him like that. A smile stirred in my stomach. Concealing it, I asked him, “Do you recall what time you arrived at your wedding reception?”

  I had to throw him off. He probably thought I was going to ask him the same questions I’d asked his brother. There was definitely one question he’d have to answer like all the witnesses.

  “No” was all he said.

  “Roosevelt, do you recall if you arrived at your reception early, on time, or late?”