Girls From da Hood 9

by Amaleka McCall

  A knock on the front door interrupted my trip down memory lane. I realized it was Heather, a classmate and coworker of mine. She graduated last year with a chemistry degree. She vowed to find a cure for Parkinson’s disease through obtaining a job doing clinical research. Well, grants ran dry and the research jobs were scarce and most required a master’s degree before you could even apply.

  “Hey,” I said after opening the door.

  “May I come in for a few minutes?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Have you heard from her?” she asked, referring to Antonia.

  “No,” I responded. She knew I wouldn’t lie to her.

  “What if this matter is more serious than we thought?”

  “You could be right,” I agreed.

  “I’ve been thinking. Don’t judge me, but I made a spreadsheet of all the men who made appointments with me. Plus, I managed to escape with the appointment book,” she explained.

  “What do you have in mind?” I wondered.

  “We could try to go in business for ourselves. Angela, you have the charm and charisma to get the clients in the door. I keep them coming back. I have got bills to pay. The local grocery store isn’t even hiring. Think about it and please let me know,” she expressed.

  “I will.” I nodded. She left soon after our conversation.

  On the way to see George, all I could think about were the pros and cons of going into business with Heather. My options of making ends meet were limited too. Besides, I couldn’t dare ask George for any money.

  “Ouch,” I yelped as the grease from the skillet popped me on the arm. Fera came from the living room to see if I was okay and to see if I was going to give her another baby carrot. Of course, I gave her another one.

  “Angela, are you all right in there?” George asked from his recliner chair in the living room.

  “Yes,” I said. My mind kept drifting about the conversation I had with Heather earlier. It was such a risk. Can she and I really pull it off? I thought as I flipped the last piece of fish with the spatula.

  Chapter 18

  Sunday Afternoon

  “Your meals are tasting better and better,” George commented, nodding his head.

  “Thanks. Joyce made sure I was going to learn how to cook.” I giggled.

  “Hey, boss. I’m done out here. The tractor is ready to go,” Larry, the handyman, said after entering the dining room.

  “Thanks,” George said.

  “Would you like a plate to take home?”I asked.

  “No, I don’t want to impose.”

  “I insist. We have plenty of food,” I replied.

  “All right, I’ll take a little plate home,” he agreed, knowing he wanted the food in the first place.

  It took no time to make a hefty plate to go and walk outside with Larry. Besides, I needed some fresh afternoon air.

  “Can we take a walk?” I suggested, motioning to the door.

  “Sure,” he agreed.

  “So how are things?” I asked him.

  “Well, you know. I’m taking it day by day. It’s still unreal Sheila and the baby died on the operating table. It’s been over two years but I still struggle with it every day. About two weeks ago, I managed to go out on a date,” he explained.

  Larry had been working for George even before I came along. It started as a part-time job in the beginning. As business grew, Larry never left. He’s five years older than me. When I was younger, I would watch from my window him working on the farm. I had to admit a few times he probably caught me staring.

  Sheila and Larry had been high school sweethearts. You know, the couple everyone loves to hate. For a while, they struggled to conceive a child. Her pregnancy went smoothly. She was so happy at the baby shower. While Sheila went into premature labor, she suddenly fainted. Her heart stopped. The autopsy report came back with a rare heart condition.

  Now, Larry was just trying to make it day by day. In an instant, his family was dead. After the funeral, I wondered how he got out of bed. He would be on the farm working for hours just so he didn’t have to go home.

  “How did the date turn out?” I asked.

  “A disaster, because all I did was talk about her. George said take all the time I need. That man will never get over Joyce passing away. That woman truly had his heart.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  This was the right opportunity for me to make my move. I slowly moved close to him and nestled my hands in position to rub his chest and move up to his shoulders.

  We stopped next to the barn to watch the sun set. He had been coming to the house for years and had always been respectful to Joyce and me. Deep down, I thought Joyce told him my story. When he looked at me, I could tell he felt pity for me.

  “What are you doing?” he asked after I got behind him. He seemed sort of startled.

  “I’m going to relieve some built-up tension for you and me,” I assured him, guiding him into the barn.

  By this time, the sun had set. I took off the sundress that I had on to be completely naked, no panties or bra. I motioned for Larry to take off his shirt. The hay in the barn served as a bed for us to lie down together. I climbed on top of him and continued to rub his chest. I playfully put my breasts in his face. I started playing with my clit to give him a show that only he could watch. The next thing I knew, his tongue was sucking on my clit. It was as if he was pulling my orgasm even closer to his mouth. I came so hard that it felt as though the ground was moving with me. Larry laid me down, and took off his pants and boxer shorts to enter into my nectar walls. Each stroke was hard and immersed. After we both came, a small period of silence moved in.

  I put my dress back on.

  “Angela, that was beautiful,” Larry said while trying to hug me.

  “Stop,” I said.

  “What! I don’t understand.”

  “Stop, leave me alone.”

  “You let me make love to you and now you’re looking at me as if I’m trash.”

  “Larry, leave me alone!” I screamed with tears in my eyes.

  When I walked back into the house, I grabbed Fera. She was asleep in George’s lap. He was asleep as well. I put my hair in my face so he wouldn’t notice that I had been crying.

  “You gone already?” he asked after hearing Fera whimper.

  “Yes, I’ve got a long day tomorrow,” I explained.

  “Bye, Angela. I’ll see next week. I love you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. I love you, too,” I said and walked out of the door. I didn’t see Larry anywhere in sight. I couldn’t deal with what just happened. I stormed to the car and placed Fera in her car crate. She was whimpering because she could tell something wasn’t right with me. What I wanted to do was just drive and get lost into a song.

  After an hour or so, I ended up at Heather’s door. I knocked on the door. I knew it was late but hopefully she would be home and answer.

  “So do you have an answer for me?” Heather asked, yawning, after she opened the door.

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Come in here so I can hear it,” she said, eager to see if I would take part in this business plan.

  “Okay, I will agree to this for only a while,” I stressed to her.

  “I understand how you feel. I myself want to do this temporarily as well,” she stated.

  “All the tools and resources are within our reach.”

  “Explain while I make some popcorn,” she said.

  “We have everyone’s number from Pearl. We will decide who is useful or not. First thing is the location. A few days ago, Jacob, who was one of the top security guards, called and said his house was in foreclosure. I spoke to him. His duplex is the house in foreclosure. He kicked both of his tenants out for nonpayment. We will start small and use his house. In a few months, I will be aiming for us to be in some sort of building. What do you think so far?” I asked.

  “I like it so far. You’re the brains in this operation. Do y
ou want soda, juice, or water?” she asked from the kitchen.

  “What kind of soda do you have?”

  “Italian soda. You have a choice of lemon or blood orange.”

  “I will take a small glass of blood orange,” I decided.

  “You’re in luck. I have kettle corn tonight,” she said.

  “Hip hip hooray,” I replied.

  “I will be saying that when my first student loan payment is paid on time.” She snickered.

  Later on that night, I lay in my bed thinking about what was going to happen. I could feel the pressure on my shoulders already. I knew those people I wanted to hire back were going to be depending on me. I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

  Chapter 19

  School News

  At times, I felt as though I shouldn’t have been born during my era. I preferred the early 1930s and 1940s, when life was much simpler, mixed with a mother who truly loved me. Even after so many years, I often still wondered why she just couldn’t love me. I couldn’t remember one time when she hugged me or said I love you. Funny thing was I had more loving memories with my second-grade teacher, Ms. Old, who paid more attention to me than my own mother.

  Trying to find my car in the university parking lot was a nightmare at times. I couldn’t tell you how many times I would forget where I parked.

  “Excuse me, are you Angela Farmer?” a woman asked as I was getting into my car leaving class. The school parking lot was noisy because so many people were trying to leave.

  “Yes,” I said, wondering where I knew this woman from. She looked familiar.

  “Hi, I’m Maureen Saunders.”

  “What can I help you with?” I inquired, now wondering if she was one of the FBI agents who had approached me trying to find the whereabouts of Antonia. I was going to make sure that my answers to the few questions I allowed her to ask me would be short and to the point.

  “I’m looking for my birth mother. I’ve been searching for quite a while. You were listed as next of kin to Pamela Farmer. I’m your half sister,” she explained and then gave me a hug.

  I pushed myself away from the grips of her arms. My stomach began to turn after hearing her say my mother’s full name. I hadn’t said that name in years. My surroundings were spinning. I broke out in a cold sweat and my hands began shaking.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I nodded. I quickly reached into my purse to grab an Ativan pill.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m positive. You just hit me a lot of unexpected information. I mean I never knew you existed,” I responded.

  I tried to gather my composure. I wasn’t really sure how to receive Maureen. A part of me was thankful I wouldn’t be so alone in life. Yet another part of me felt George, Joyce, and Fera were all the family I needed. I quickly rummaged through my purse to pop a pill in my mouth.

  “I have proof. Here is my birth certificate and I have a few pictures of her. She gave me up at the tender age of fifteen. My adopted parents were great but I have always been curious about my mother and father.”

  I examined the birth certificate. We didn’t have the same father. I couldn’t bear looking at the pictures. The sight of my mother made me nauseous. I didn’t care whether it was a young picture of her or not.

  “This is a lot to take in,” I said, taking deep breaths. The medicine was finally kicking in. I was ready to ride the wave of relaxation.

  “So where is our mother?” Maureen wanted to know so desperately.

  I pondered before answering her, Should I tell her the truth? Or should I lie? If I tell her the truth, I may run the risk of not having any type of relationship with her.

  “How did you find me?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “I hired a private detective.”

  “Do you mind if we go sit down?” I asked her while pointing to a bench nearby.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  “Tell me about yourself. We will get to your mother later.”

  “I’m thirty-two years old. I’m married with two kids, Jordan and Jade, with a dog named Chewy. I work for an accounting firm. I have always loved numbers. And you?”

  “I’m twenty-two years old. I’m graduating next week with a biology degree. I have a dog named Fera, who I love dearly. I recently was laid off by my employer. The economy got a hold of the company,” I lied. I was too embarrassed to tell her how I really made a living. “Do you have pictures of your family? I’m sure your children are beautiful,” I said in an attempt to switch the subject off me.

  “Yeah, they’re my cutie pies,” Maureen replied, reaching into her purse, pulling out her wallet, and showing me the most recent school pictures of the kids. She told me about the kids as I looked at the pictures.

  “You’re a good mother. I can tell.”

  “Did our mother raise you?” she asked.

  “I was in her possession ’til the age of twelve. Then, my paternal grandparents raised me,” I answered her in a roundabout way.

  “I have longed to know what she looks like now and where she is in life,” Maureen commented.

  “Listen, your mother was mentally ill. She suffered from being bipolar and was a drug abuser. With this deadly combination, my childhood was unbearable. She beat me, would leave for days. Ultimately, she hated me and to show it she let three men rape me at the age of twelve. After I was raped, she locked me in a closet for days. I almost died. I stabbed her repeatedly and set her body on fire. Your mother has been in hell for quite some time. If you must go visit, she is at the Woodlawn Cemetery in Virginia Beach. Before you ask or if it may cross your mind, I don’t feel bad for what I did and never will.”

  Maureen ran to a nearby garbage can and began to vomit. I followed her.

  “I’m sorry that I don’t have a better happy ending for you, but this is the truth and I hope you can handle it,” I said with a straight face. “How could she have done that to you? Who would treat a little child so cruelly?” She cried even more.

  “I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that same question many days and sometimes several times a day.”

  Maureen asked me to go to the cemetery with her but I couldn’t bring myself to go. We exchanged numbers and I agreed to have dinner with her before she left to go back home to Charlotte, North Carolina.

  That night I couldn’t sleep. Meeting Maureen and being forced to speak about my mother unleashed a deep-rooted anger and I couldn’t let it go. How do you forgive someone for such a despicable act?

  I decided to take a drive so I could at least attempt to clear my head.

  It was late but I was craving a sweet latte from Starbucks. There was one in our area that stayed open ’til midnight. It hit the sweet-tooth spot. Since it was on my way home, I stopped at a gas station to fill up so I wouldn’t have to do it in the morning. Tomorrow morning I had my last exam and would be fighting traffic going to Old Dominion University for the last time to attend a class anyway.

  “Where is she?” a man’s voice asked.

  “What?” I asked as I turned around to see who it was. He punched me in the face. The gas clerk was on the phone. It was just him and me out there.

  “You don’t get to ask me questions. Antonia owes me money. I was there when the feds raided the place. I paid for a night totaling over a thousand dollars and all I got was a damn backrub. Tell her I want my money back,” he instructed me.

  My face was throbbing. I immediately noticed the night clerk was jamming to the music coming from his earphones. Suddenly, he shut off the OPEN sign lights and turned on the CLOSED sign lights. The wave of adrenaline came over my entire body. I quickly grabbed my knife from my shoe and sliced this man’s forehead and the side of his face. He fell to the ground, not being able to see. I quickly removed my blow torch from the trunk of the car and beat him in his face with it.

  “You won’t ever touch another woman again. Not even your wife,” I said, noticing his wedding ring. “Does your face hurt?” I asked.r />
  “Yes,” he whimpered.

  “Good. My face hurts now since you punched me in the face. Say it louder,” I instructed him while I beat him over and over again. He was a prick named Tommy. I gladly ignited the blow torch and used it all over his body. All I could see in my mind was my mother’s face. Then, he died. It was so dark that I hoped no one saw a thing.

  Chapter 20

  Grand Opening

  Our grand opening went better than I imagined. Staying up all night was easy when you’re constantly being handed cash. The last client appointment was scheduled for five in the morning. Some men preferred quickies before heading off to work. After giving everyone their earnings for a night’s and early morning’s work, enough was left over for me to deposit some cash in the ATM.

  After pulling out of the bank parking lot, I stopped by Hardee’s to pick up breakfast for the night crew. Heather and I chose only twelve people to come on board with us.

  Before I could get out the car, the security guards were taking out the biscuit-sausage-and-bacon-aroma-filled bags. I myself wasn’t that hungry. Part of me felt guilty for what I was doing. I could see Joyce now shaking her head, wanting to slap me with a side of a hearty lecture. On the other hand, it felt good to know I was helping people get their bills paid and have food for their families, including their pets.

  Exhausted and grateful that I could sleep for the majority for the day, I was getting into the elevator to go up to my apartment floor. All of a sudden I heard Craig. He was my neighbor’s son and came to check on her most of the time. Agnes Murphy was a sweet woman who would bring Fera doggie treats. She would bring me pastries and cookies from Sugar Plum Bakery. That was before she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen her lately.