Live and Let Die

by Bianca Sloane

  “What am I going to do?” She looked up. “Maybe she has some,” Paula whispered. Smoothing back her hair, Paula opened her front door. There was a silver car in the driveway of the gray house with the red door across the street, so that must mean the woman was home. Holding her hand over her pounding heart, Paula licked her lips and jogged across the street to the Cross house. Reaching the front door, Paula took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell with a timid finger. It was a few moments before the door flew open to reveal Cindy Cross on the other side.

  “Oh. Hi,” Cindy said. “Did you need something?”

  “Do you have any Sweet ‘N Low?”

  “Huh?”

  “Sweet ‘N Low, I need Sweet ‘N Low. It’s for my husband’s iced tea and he won’t take anything in his tea but Sweet ‘N Low and I don’t have time to go to the store.”

  Her words were a stream of vowels and consonants crashing into each other. Paula stole a quick glance over her shoulder, fearful Phillip would come driving up and see her talking to this woman. Paula turned back around.

  “Please. Please tell me you have it.”

  Cindy pursed her lips before she stepped aside. “Sure. I have some. My husband likes Sweet ‘N Low, too. Come on in.”

  Paula broke down in tears as she rushed inside. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she said as she followed Cindy inside.

  Cindy reached into her pantry and brought out the Sweet ‘N Low box. “I like real sugar myself, but Chris—that’s my husband—he likes this crap.” Cindy shook the box. How many do you need?”

  “A half a packet.”

  Cindy stopped shaking the box. “Are you sure that’s all you need?”

  “Yes. Just half a packet.”

  Cindy rolled her eyes as she reached inside to produce a handful of pink packets. “Here, take all of these,” she said. Paula closed her hands around Cindy’s, her eyes shining with tears.

  “Thank you. Thank you again. I can’t thank you enough. I have to go.”

  Paula rushed out of the house, leaving a gaping Cindy Cross in her wake. She darted across the street back to her house, with barely enough time to measure out the sweetener for the tea and set the glass on the dining room table before she heard Phillip arrive. Paula mopped her face with a dishtowel before she went to greet her husband. She heard Phillip’s footsteps on the front walk and assumed her position.

  “Hello, dear,” she said as Phillip opened the door. “How was your day?”

  Phillip frowned when he looked at her. “Fine.” They hugged and Phillip pulled back, looking at Paula’s face.

  “Paula? What’s wrong? You’re awfully warm.”

  She hoped he hadn’t felt her trembling like a piece of paper flapping in the wind. She was petrified he would find out she had messed up. She didn’t want to go into the closet.

  Or worse.

  “Oh, I was just in the oven pulling out the chicken. It must be from that.” Paula was surprised. She had never lied to Phillip and was stunned at how easily that untruth had rolled off her tongue.

  Phillip stared at her for a moment longer before he shrugged. “As long as you’re not coming down with anything.”

  Paula chuckled. “Oh, dear, you know I haven’t been sick in forever. It’s all those good vitamins you give me that keep me well.”

  They performed their nighttime ritual, and the rest of the evening passed without interruption. As Paula lay in bed that night, trying to stave off sleep, she couldn’t stop thinking about Cindy Cross and how grateful she was that Cindy Cross had saved her.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Sondra hunched over her notebook and the papers spread out around her on the kitchen table. She’d been scribbling down the sketch of an idea for a documentary about Tracy. She should have been packing for Chicago, but was compelled to keep investigating the thread of her idea. She wanted to examine Tracy’s disappearance along with those of other women of color who disappeared and how their cases were treated both by law enforcement and the media. She’d printed out reams of articles and had filled up two jumbo three-ring binders with notes and research. As she usually did at the beginning of a documentary, her heart would race and her mind would spin a million miles a minute as she tried to capture her thoughts and images in a semi-coherent fashion.

  She had decided to start in Chicago with what had happened to Tracy and had some ideas about the other women she wanted to profile.

  First things first, though.

  She rifled through one stack of papers and put her hands on the envelope with Phillip’s letter, the edges smudged with dirt from Sondra’s constant handling. She slapped the envelope against her palm, still debating if she should reach out to Phillip and open up a potential hornet’s nest.

  Maybe he’d been trying to protect Tracy by leading them all to believe everything was rosy between them.

  Or maybe not.

  Sondra glanced at the return address on his letter, a street in the town of Royal Oak, Michigan.

  Chewing on her pen, Sondra pulled her laptop closer and typed Phillip’s name into Google. She clicked around a few links, frowning. His last known address was the house he and Tracy shared, but nothing in Michigan. She sighed and typed in the return address from the letter and gasped at the result.

  It was the address of a mailbox rental company in Royal Oak, Michigan.

  Her fingers trembling, Sondra grabbed her phone and dialed the number that came up.

  “Thank you for calling Mailboxes R Us. How can I help you?”

  “Yeah, hi. I’m wondering, how long have you been a Mailboxes R Us?”

  “Oh about six, seven years.”

  “What were you before that?”

  “I think it was a pizza place. Are you interested in mailbox rental?

  Sondra looked at the envelope again. “I’m not sure, but do you forward mail for your customers?”

  “We do. If you rent a mailbox from us, we’ll forward your mail to you anywhere in the U.S.”

  “Huh. By chance, would you be able to give me an address you might have on file for one of your customers?”

  “I’m sorry ma’am, but we couldn’t give out that information.”

  Sondra sighed. “Alright, thanks.”

  “No problem. Have a great day.”

  Sondra hung up, perplexed. She ran her finger across the address, lost in thought. Why would Phillip have his mail forwarded?

  And where was he having it forwarded to?

  TWENTY-FIVE

  As Paula scrubbed the windows of her bedroom with a bright pink rag, she thought again about Cindy Cross. She wrung the rag into the bucket, the water sluicing over her raw, shriveled hands. She now thought maybe… she wanted to ask him, but was afraid of the response. Paula thought about asking him while she prepared dinner, formulating the words inside her head while she worked, proposing opening lines, imagining his replies.

  After getting Phillip started on dinner, Paula paid lavish attention to her baked fish, hoping to find the courage to ask him the question. Finally, she took a deep breath and dove in.

  “Dear?” she asked, her voice pitching slightly upward.

  Phillip looked up from his asparagus. “Yes?”

  Paula bit her bottom lip and focused her gaze on her salmon, afraid to look at Phillip. “Well, I was wondering if I may be allowed to have coffee sometime with our new neighbor across the street?” Paula stopped and let the question hang in the air between them. Phillip set his fork down.

  “What?”

  Paula swallowed and looked down at the food on her plate, pushing it around with her fork. “It’s just that, well, I saw her at the market the other day and she mentioned perhaps we could have coffee sometime and I thought it might be nice to… have a friend.”

  Phillip leaned back in his chair, incredulous. “You talked to her?”

  Paula’s face froze as her lips flapped. “It was just a moment, a few seconds really—”

  “What did you say to her?”

&nb
sp; “Nothing, nothing at all, I swear.”

  “You know why that’s not a good idea,” he said, his voice softer than it had been moments before.

  “I won’t say anything, I swear. I’ll be good. I won’t tell her anything, I won’t slip. I promise.”

  Phillip shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no. It just wouldn’t be wise.”

  Paula jumped up and ran over to Phillip. She dropped to her knees and clutched his calves. “Oh, please. Please! Nothing will happen. I swear.”

  Phillip looked down into Paula’s earnest face and shook his head. “No, Paula. And that’s final.”

  Paula hung her head and crept back into her seat. The rest of the meal was finished in silence. Paula performed her nightly chores without any of her usual gusto and Phillip seemed not to notice his wife’s gloomy mood.

  That night, as the water gushed into the tub, Paula cried, her tears ceasing when she turned off the faucet. After she’d put on her mint green nightgown and lain in bed, Phillip came in and stood over her.

  “Paula?”

  “Yes?”

  “I will let you have this one privilege. But no one else and no more. You have too much to do here. If it interferes, even a little, it will be taken from you. Do you understand?”

  Paula sat up and clapped her hands together with the glee of an exuberant child. “Oh, yes, yes, I understand,” she said.

  “And it can’t be more than once a week and for no longer than twenty minutes.”

  Paula’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as she threw her body around Phillip in gratitude. “Oh, dear, thank you. Thank you so much. You are so wonderful.”

  Phillip nodded in agreement. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Paula had never been a vain woman, partly because she never thought of herself as attractive or stylish for that matter. When it came to her appearance, ‘practical’ was the mantra she lived by. In fact, she never went clothes shopping; Phillip ordered all of her clothes online, deeming shopping a ‘frivolous activity.’ Besides, he knew what looked best on her. But today, she was going to Cindy Cross’ house and she wanted to look extra special. She had decided on a purple dress and was adjusting her stockings when Phillip came into the kitchen brandishing her vitamins.

  “Good morning, dear,” she said, her voice brimming with cheer as she opened her mouth. Phillip placed the vitamins inside and she downed them with one gulp of her orange juice.

  “You’re in a good mood today,” he commented as he sat down at the table and waited for Paula to serve him.

  “I’m going to see Cindy Cross today,” she said as she placed a bowl of shredded wheat and an elaborately arranged plate of peaches, strawberries, and cantaloupe in front of Phillip.

  She held his glass juice to his lips and waited for him to sip. She sat down across from him, her eyes shining. “I’m very happy. What do you think about this outfit?”

  Phillip held a spoonful of cereal to his lips. “If I were you, I would worry less about clothes and more about making sure things continue to run smoothly in our home. Dinner had better be on time tonight, or I will revoke this privilege.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, dear. It will be. It will be. Meatloaf. Just like every Tuesday.” Paula didn’t even mind that she had to have sex with Phillip that night she was so excited.

  Phillip chewed and nodded. “I hope so.”

  Paula smiled. “Of course dear.”

  “Is my lunch ready?”

  “Just about. I just need to fill the thermos with soup.”

  Phillip nodded his approval and popped a strawberry in his mouth. “Very good. Carry on.”

  Paula walked into the kitchen to finish preparing Phillip’s lunch. She put the bag down the table next to him and waited for him to give the signal that he was done so Paula could clear the dishes. She went to the hall closet for Phillip’s blazer and held it up for him. He went to put it on and frowned.

  “Paula, you didn’t press this.”

  She looked down. “Yes, I did. This morning, when I woke up.”

  Phillip ran his index finger under the lapel, highlighting a slight wrinkle near the edge. “No, Paula, I don’t think you did.”

  Paula clutched the collar, her hands starting to sweat. “I promise, I did.”

  Without saying a word, Phillip grabbed Paula, who dropped the jacket as he yanked her towards their bedroom.

  “Phillip, no, no,” she said as she tried to drag her feet to make him stop.

  Phillip continued as if he hadn’t heard his wife’s pleas. He stood her in front of the bed and crossed his arms. “Take your underwear off and bend over,” he said.

  Paula wrung her hands and shook her head. “No.”

  Phillip sighed. “Do not make me ask you again. Take off your underwear and bend over, or I will do it for you. I think you would prefer to do it yourself.”

  Crying, Paula lifted up the hem of her purple dress and pulled her thick, white granny panties and pantyhose down until they were pooled around her ankles. Sobbing, she bent over, the bottom of her dress bunched in her hands. She heard the whoosh of his leather belt as he jerked it through the loops of his pants. She jammed her eyes shut and waited, holding her breath. The first slap came with a definitive thwack across her bare skin. She let out a yelp as salty tears fell into her mouth. Another loud smack landed on her bottom, stinging her flesh. Twice more, Phillip slashed her with his belt before he told her stand up. Paula was hiccupping from crying as she struggled to pull up her panties and stockings and dropped her dress.

  “Shut up,” Phillip said as he put his belt back on. Paula clamped her hand over her mouth, her shoulders still heaving.

  “Go into the bathroom,” he said.

  Mute, Paula turned and stumbled into the bathroom, tears cascading out of her eyes like a waterfall. He pointed to the floor, her cue to drop down. She winced as her stinging bottom made contact with the icy tile.

  Now,” Phillip said as he stood over her. “You will stay in this bathroom all day. I will let you out when I return home, at which time you will change the sheets on the bed, bathe, then go right to sleep. Do you understand?”

  Paula nodded, too afraid to speak.

  “I didn’t hear you Paula.”

  “I understand.”

  “Obviously, there will be no visits with Cindy Cross today. In light of this morning’s problems, I will have to rethink my position on that.”

  Without a word, Phillip shut the door and locked it from the outside. Paula lay down on top of the white bathroom rug and cried for the rest of the day.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sondra sipped her club soda while she waited for Cicely. She was desperate for a cigarette, but Chicago, like New York, was smoke-free. She drummed her fingers on the seat next to her and kept an eye out for her sister’s best friend. She saw her breeze through the door in all her five foot two, size zero glory. Her pink suit was flawless against her milk white skin, which offset the soft sweep of dark brown hair and flashing green eyes. Sondra threw up her hand to signal to Cicely and upon spotting her, the tiny brunette click-clacked on her teeny high-heeled sandals over to where Sondra was sitting. Sondra rose to greet her.

  “Hey, stranger,” Cicely said as she gave Sondra a fierce hug.

  “Hey yourself.” Sondra said as she returned Cicely’s embrace. She pulled back and motioned to her glass.

  “Can I get you something?”

  Cicely nodded to the bartender. “Whatever the house pinot noir is, please.”

  Cicely settled into the chair next to Sondra and turned her attention to her friend’s sister. “So… how was your flight?”

  Sondra nodded. “Oh, it was good. Uneventful.”

  “So what brings you to town?”

  “I’m, um… thinking about doing a film on Tracy and her disappearance.”

  “Oh. Wow. What brought that on?”

  “I was flipping through the newspaper and came across this story abo
ut this woman who’d gone jogging—just like Tracy—and disappeared.”

  “Okay.”

  “And this story got huge, huge coverage. I mean, you would have thought the Pope had up and vanished. Now, this girl was eventually found dead, but it struck me as kind of interesting how much coverage this got.”

  Cicely sipped her wine. “Yeah.”

  “Anyway, I was looking up coverage of Tracy’s death and aside from her obits and a few stories you guys did, nada.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Okay, so then I found this “USA Today” article about how when white women disappear it’s all over the news, but when a black woman disappears,” Sondra snapped her fingers, “nothing.”

  “Sad to say, it happens.”

  “Originally, I was thinking I would do the documentary about that and Tracy, but now… well, there were some things going on with Tracy before she died.”

  “Like what?”

  “Cicely… did you know Tracy was planning to divorce Phillip?”

  Cicely choked on her wine. “Excuse me?”

  “I found the number of an attorney, Damon Randall, in her datebook. I called him and he said she wanted to meet with him to discuss divorcing her husband.”

  “My God. I had no idea.”

  “She made an appointment to meet with him the Monday after she died.”

  “You’re joking,” Cicely said, coughing.

  “There’s more. Phillip sent a letter to Mimi, telling her he’d gotten remarried.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “Anyway, I wanted to talk to him about Tracy, you know about the documentary and well… everything. I thought maybe he was protecting us by not telling us about the divorce. I just want the full story, right?”

  “I get it.”

  “Well, first I try finding him online and his last listed address is here. Then the address on the letter is some mailbox rental place in Michigan.” Sondra leaned closer. “If you rent a box from them, they’ll forward your mail to you anywhere you want them to send it.”