Lies of a Real Housewife

by Angela Stanton

  people in my life who truly wanted to see me succeed.

  The morning of my trial, I prayed just as I did every morning. I

  asked God to have his way. The only way I knew. I had been through enough to realize that man’s plans and God’s plans were totally different. I was a

  nervous wreck. Just full of emotions, my mind was racing back and forth.

  There was no guarantee that I wouldn’t be serving any more time. I was facing five years for conspiracy, and the state time I served had absolutely nothing to do with my federal case. Even though this was all the same crime, Ms. Hashimi had to prove to Federal Judge, Linda Evans that I had

  learned my lesson, and therefore did not deserve to go back to prison.

  I sat on the right side of Judge Evans with my attorney. Everett Tri-

  podis sat on the left side of Judge Evans with his attorney. Ms. Hashimi and I sat silently, and listened as Everett’s Lawyer pleaded his case for him. We listened as his attorney told Judge Evans that I was the mastermind behind the whole operation, and that he worked for me under my direction.

  That was a good one! Now it started making sense to me where the

  investigators got all of their information. Ms. Hashimi was quick to object. She stated that I didn’t have any related crimes in my criminal background, but Everett Tripodis and his brother Apollo Nida on the other hand were both

  on federal parole for the same exact crimes at the time of their arrest.

  Judge Evans held a stare that could pierce any soul. She was an hon-

  est and fair Judge who made sure that she read between each and every line. Judge Evans did not believe I was the mastermind. She was concerned with

  how much involvement I actually had in this Federal racketeering scheme.

  Before Judge Evans sentenced Everett she gave him the opportunity

  to speak for himself. He stood before the court and begged the Judge for his release. His excuse was because his mother was sick, and he wanted to be by her side before she passed away. I could have vomited all over the courtroom

  at that point. I was noticeably sick to my stomach.

  Judge Evans was reasonable, but firm. She sentenced Everett Tripo-

  dis to five years right in front of me. He was escorted out of the courtroom

  and I was next. I could hear my mother’s words again.

  “Girl one day your mouth is going to get you in a world of trouble!”

  I thought about her words because they were true. I was going back

  to prison and there wasn’t any doubt in my mind. My legs were shaking uncontrollably. My bowels were weak. I was having hot flashes, and I just knew it was over for me. The thought of my children suffering anymore than they already did took the life right out of me.

  My federal parole officer, Lorna Murphy, stood before the court, and

  she testified on my behalf. Something she told me that she’d never done for

  any parolee throughout the duration of her career.

  Lorna Murphy spoke about the changes she observed in me, and

  about how I had transformed from nothing into something. I was a success story. She shared the reports she had received from my counselor, and the reports from the clinical psychologist. They all attested to the fact that I had

  been completely rehabilitated.

  My brother testified on my behalf, and Ms. Hashimi proved my

  case. She provided the court with a letter from the Georgia Department of Transportation stating that I was an excellent employee, and that I had a great future with the company. Ms. Hashimi showed the court that I was an asset, and not a liability. I had become a law abiding, taxpaying citizen. Sending me back to prison would be a waste of taxpayer’s money, and would definitely

  serve as an injustice to my children.

  When it was it was my turn to stand before the court, and plead my

  case. I stood and focused on the judge then said, “First and foremost I want to apologize to you Judge Evans and to the court as well. I take full responsibility for all my actions Judge Evans. And I want to just throw myself upon the mercy of the court. I heard Everett Tripodis say that he wanted to be by his mother’s side before she passes. Well Judge Evans, my mother did pass during my incarceration as did my grandmother, and due to certain circumstances I wasn’t at either funeral. I also gave birth to my daughter handcuffed to a bed, and I wasn’t able to be a mother to her until she was eighteen months old. Those things I would like the court to take into consideration before my sentencing. Those things are far worse than any prison sentence. I would have rather served twenty years, and come home to my mother than serve the eighteen months I served that took away everything I have ever cherished!

  Thank you your honor for taking the time to hear my words.”

  Judge Evans stared at me long and hard before she made her deci-

  sion. Every time she opened her mouth to say something, she looked directly at me, shook her head, and sat back in her chair. I knew that she was thinking intensely. But what killed me was that I had no idea what it was that she was thinking. The courtroom was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The anticipa-

  tion of what her words would be had the entire courtroom on edge.

  I was silently praying while awaiting the verdict. My fate was hang-

  ing in the balance. Through the corner of my eyes, I could see my brother, head bowed and praying. Lorna Murphy was doing likewise, even Ms. Hashimi was praying on my behalf. I felt my mother’s presence in the courtroom with me. I knew this in my heart, even though I couldn’t see her, I couldn’t hear her, but I could definitely feel her.

  We were all on the same accord that day, asking God for the same

  blessing, and God answered our prayers. Judge Evans sentenced me to three years supervised release. It meant that I would not have to go back on the inside. I could indeed stay on the outside with my children, but I would be on parole for the next three years.

  I must have cried, and thanked God all day. It was such a lovely day! He had delivered me from the snares of the devil once again. My life almost began to feel normal. My trial was behind me, and I didn’t have any pending charges. Shaheed was long gone out of my life. He had been sentenced to life on his murder charge. I had a career ladder job with benefits, my children were in counseling. We had our own apartment, and our own ride. I was so happy. God had finally restored my life. Thank you sweet JESUS!

  Over the course of the next few months, my life was pretty aver-

  age. I went to work then returned home, cooked, ironed, washed clothes, and cared for my children. I worked extra hard to try and build our relationship

  again.

  I was a normal law-abiding citizen. I went from being a hot girl who

  was worried about the law, to having a job, and being a full-time mother. No more running the streets with my cousins. No more side hustles. I wasn’t living from check to check, but it sure felt like it because there was never any money left to save. Every time I paid all the bills, the kids needed something else. If it wasn’t clothes it was shoes, if it wasn’t shoes it was food or gas for the car. There was always something to eat up whatever spare change I may

  have had lying around.

  By this time, I had endured so much in life that the negative came

  right along with the positive. In other words, I hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst. I learned to take the good with the bad. So it would pretty much take a lot to get me upset, or out of character. I kept striving to be the best I could be on my job. And with every free moment, I tried to make up for

  lost time with my children.

  My highest position with the Georgia Department of Transportation

  was in the personnel department. I had been promoted yet again. I was now

  the person that sat behind the desk during the interview process.

  When I interviewed people I always looked for sincerity. If they

  wer
e sincere, honest, and up front about their past, I figured they deserved a chance. There were people just like myself who already had strikes against them, and would work ten times harder. They were driven harder by some

  unknown force because they knew they had everything to lose.

  My coworkers were astonished by my growth in the company. They

  witnessed my hunger, and my eagerness to survive. One glance at me and all they saw was an outer shell. They had no idea what was deep down inside of

  me. They didn’t know that my job was all my children and I had.

  One of my coworkers applied for the position I had just been grant-

  ed. Not only did she apply for it, she had basically already claimed it. She was sadly disappointed, and she strongly disagreed with the decision to give me the position. But hey, may the best woman win. And hands down I was the

  best! I was the best because I had to be.

  What choice did I have with so many strikes against me? This job

  was the best thing I had going, and I was going to hold on to it for dear life. I knew this particular coworker had it in for me. I saw her dirty looks, and her snares toward me were obvious. But not only just that, I even dreamed of her in my home one night. In the dream she was chasing me in my hallway. She was the size of a T- Rex. She was angry, starving, and hunting me down,

  making me her prey. That sounds crazy, but let me get to the next part.

  It was Mother’s Day, and I was on my way to work, listening to the Yolanda Adams morning show. I loved Yolanda Adams. Her lyrics had been inspirational to me. When my mother passed during my imprisonment, one of my fellow slave mates gave me a CD player and a copy of Yolanda Adams’ latest album, ‘The battle is not yours’. God knows, that song had saved my life. Her voice and her words restored my soul. If I ever get to meet her one day, I will be sure to tell her how much her lyrics meant to me. But nonetheless, everyone was calling in giving thanks for their mother, and I was obviously not only moved by the outpouring of affection, but also by the love

  shown on this particular Mother’s Day.

  I felt the urge to call-in and share my pain with the world. It would

  be my way of letting the world know that people should never take their mothers for granted. So I did! I shared my story about how my mother died

  while I was in prison, and how I wish I had done things differently.

  When I got to work that morning, my coworker, the one I dreamed

  of, had heard me on the radio. So she asked, “Angela were you on the radio

  this morning?”

  I said, “No.” Then I walked right by her desk.

  “That’s funny. I could’ve sworn that was your voice I heard. It was

  someone that sounded just like you though!” She said. I left it at that and never responded.

  A couple of days later, I arrived to work. And about five minutes

  after my arrival, my boss called me in her office. She informed me that I was

  being terminated and that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

  Apparently, someone had gone online, pulled up my criminal back-

  ground, and sent an anonymous letter to the commissioner of GDOT. The letter stated that I had been in prison for forgery, and that I should not be allowed to work in the personnel department with access to everyone’s per-

  sonal information.

  The commissioner made the decision herself to fire me. There was

  nothing my boss or her boss could do about it. There it was; the enemy had won again. The devil hated when I shared my story with people. My story

  held the power to heal.

  I called the commissioner and I begged her to at least demote me or

  transfer me to another unit. I begged, “Please ma’am… I’m a single mother. I have no other way to provide for my children!”

  I told her everything I could to keep my job, but she had no emotion. She truly could have cared less just like the counselors my mother sent me to talk to after I died at the age of five. Like getting rid of a dirty rag, she threw

  away my life, and my children’s well-being went with it.

  A few months after I was fired, she made the national headlines

  herself. The commissioner of the GDOT was caught in a scandal. But unlike me, she was afforded mercy. How ironic? When she cried about how she was

  a single mother of one, she got to keep her job. I’ll just be damned!

  I started to go pay her a ‘remember me’ visit. I wanted to make her

  remember my situation during her time of discomfort. Just to see if she could empathize with me. I mean, seeing how she had no sympathy for me back then. Maybe she would be more understanding. Well, we all know that God

  doesn’t like ugly! No… Not one bit.

  Nevertheless, I was back to square one. Now what? I cried when I

  lost my job, of course. That was simply because I didn’t see any other way out at that time. But after time passed, I realized that my job with GDOT was just a bridge. It was just a bridge to carry me from the beginning, to my federal trial, to now. Without my job with the GDOT, Judge Evans would have most certainly sent me back to prison. My job showed that I was being productive. It was a reason for me not to commit crimes. No sense crying over spilled milk. God was in control now. Before long the bills were piling up again. The rent was due, and my children were begging for everything

  they saw on television.

  I needed to talk to someone. On the verge of having a nervous break-

  down, I made an appointment to see my OB/GYN doctor. Dr. Neal Freeman had proved to be a special person in my life. He worked at the neighborhood welfare clinic, Southside Health Care. His office was walking distance from my grandmother’s home. Dr. Freeman had provided all of my prenatal care for my three sons. He even delivered two of them.

  Every time I went to Dr. Freeman’s office it was like going to see

  my father. He gave me endless countless sessions on what I should be doing to get my life together. Being my doctor for over thirteen years, he knew my story all too well. I was four months pregnant with Emani the last time Dr. Freeman saw me. He wondered why I had just dropped off of the face of the

  earth.

  On this particular visit, I couldn’t hold my composure. I wasn’t sure

  if I was going to make it after the latest blow life had given me. I told Dr. Freeman about my journey to prison, my release, my job, and how I was back to nothing. I had my recently finished manuscript with me. It was my life and everywhere I went, I carried it along with me. I showed it to him, and briefly

  detailed what it was about.

  After intently listening, the look in his eyes beneath his square

  framed glasses, said it all. Dr. Freeman is a tall bright-skinned, handsome man. He was amazed and immediately started telling me about his friend Goldie Taylor, and about all of her accomplishments. Goldie Taylor was a famous television personality with connections in the literary field. Her biggest achievement of all to me was the fact that she was a successful author. That was my dream.

  Dr. Freeman gave me his word that she would help me. Before I left

  his office that day I had Goldie Taylor’s personal number in hand. It was the blessing I had been waiting for. This provided me with the incentive I needed to keep on pushing. Before calling Goldie, I went to the public library, and did some research into her life. I will be the first to say that I was blown away

  by what she had accomplished.

  The day that I spoke with Goldie, I could tell that there was some-

  thing in her voice which let me know that everything would be alright. She was all ears when I shared my story. I told her about the sexual abuse I endured as a child. I was surprised by the fact that she told me that she had also been a victim. There was an instant bond welding between us. I asked her if she knew Phaedra Parks. She told me that she did, but I didn’t go into any details at t
hat point because Goldie and I still needed to feel each other out. She agreed to meet with me the next week. I sent her my manuscript by email

  so she could read it in the meantime.

  The following week I met Goldie Taylor in the lobby of the RitzCarlton hotel on Peachtree St. She came with gifts in hand. Goldie was a short woman compared to me. She had hair the color of gold, golden skin, and golden eyes. I could easily see why her name was Goldie. She had given me a signed copy of her own book, several other books and a gift card from Barnes and Noble. In addition to that, she had a contract for me to sign. She was so moved by my story, not only my story, but the stories that resided within the pages of my first book, ‘Life Beyond These Walls’.

  She agreed to represent me as my agent. Many promises were made,

  and I was left with a new outlook on life. With my contract signed and dated the next few weeks, I seemed to be making progress. Goldie had already explained to me the grueling process of editing, so I wasn’t too pressed about how quickly this project would jump. I was just happy the process had started.

  My life was beginning to take a perfect shape. I had stopped stress-

  ing, and was now dreaming of all the things I would be able to provide for my children. Then on a day when I was feeling good, there came the one phone call that shifted my life yet again. The phone rang, and looking at the caller ID, I saw that it was Goldie Taylor calling. Feeling the excitement building inside me, I immediately grabbed the phone. My smile quickly turned to a frown. Goldie bluntly and unremorsefully explained that she had received a contract from Warner Books. It was one that she had been waiting on. The contract clearly stated that she could not work on any other projects. Just like that, my dream had died a quick death. It was the last telephone call I ever received from Goldie Taylor. I was hurt because she dropped me like a hot rock, but at the same time I was genuinely happy for her success. I wasn’t going to hate on her for being something I wasn’t. Oh well, back to square one. Back to absolutely nothing!

  I hated taking the position that I took, but it is what it is! You can’t