Whos Loving You

by Mary B. Morrison

  At one point, his little mouth opened wide, he clapped his hands hard, and then he launched into song. “Woke up this morning with my mind stayed on spirit. Walking and talking with my mind stayed on spirit. All day long I keep my mind stayed on spirit. Hallelu, hallelu, halleluuuu-jah.” Then he said, “Mommy, wake up and sing with me.” He grabbed Velvet’s hands, making her clap.

  Pulling away, Velvet said, “No, baby. Mommy’s tired. You go ahead.” Velvet seemed lost without her Sidekick to text message G or anyone else.

  Frowning back at the people seated around us in first class, I clapped along with Ronnie. “Who taught him that song?” I asked Velvet’s mother. “Isn’t that a bit too old school for such a young child?” The overstuffed business shirt–wearing men seated behind us in the other eight seats, rattling their newspapers, could have used some spirit. I ignored them.

  “My mom taught him,” Velvet mumbled. “She sings that song religiously each morning, and he hears it again on Sundays at one of those scientology churches my mother takes him to. Are we almost there yet?” She leaned her head against the window and dozed back off.

  Church? Hm. That was a place I’d never been. “Do you go, too?” I asked Velvet.

  Her mother answered, “She used to, but not anymore.”

  Velvet was sound asleep and Ronnie, too, now. Me, I never slept in public places. I was happy to engage Velvet’s mother in conversation. She seemed wise, and I bet she had one incredible story she could tell. “Have you ever been in love?” I asked her, hoping she could help me understand why I was still in love with Grant when I knew I could offer no logical explanation.

  “Hm, in love? I don’t think so. If he loved me, he would’ve never left me for another woman.”

  A man leaving didn’t mean he didn’t love the one he left. “You think he left because he stopped loving you, or do you think he loved her more than he loved you?” I asked as respectfully as I could.

  “Both, and you can throw in convenience, too. Whatever he wanted she did. Not me. I used to, but all that cooking, cleaning, and taking Velvet everywhere I had to go got old. He wasn’t her father, and he acted like she wasn’t his child. Before we were married, that seemed okay, but after we got married, it wasn’t, but I still couldn’t leave him. I didn’t want to be alone, on my own again, struggling financially. That’s why it hurts me to see my baby work so hard. I help her all the time, but I’ve raised her. I don’t want to raise Ronnie, too.” She stared out the window.

  “Hm, well, Ronnie is blessed to have you for his grandmother. You did an excellent job raising Velvet. She’s a wonderful woman.”

  Velvet’s mother shot me a look that said, “I’m not so sure about that.”

  Finally, after five hours in flight, we landed at LAX. Now the real journey was about to begin. We headed to the baggage claim. Ronnie’s suitcase came first, then mine, and then Velvet’s and her mom’s. I went to pick up the rental car and then met them curbside at terminal one.

  After I programmed the address Alphonso had given me into my iPhone, we were in transit to Lincoln Heights. The neighborhood was rather quiet for a sunny afternoon. Parking in front of Alphonso’s home, I checked our location twice, matching the address on my paper to the one on the house.

  “Who lives here?” Ronnie asked.

  Velvet was quiet. I guessed G wasn’t returning her text messages. Funny how a man could easily create mood swings in a woman. One phone call and she was happy. No contact and she got upset. If a man started out unpredictable, he’d be that way forever. Damn, she probably wasn’t tripping on G at all. Alphonso was the bastard that had raped her, and she was on this trip because of her mother.

  “Let me see if this is the right place. Y’all wait in the car,” I said, then walked up the stairs to the front door. Unexpectedly, my legs got weak. I was remembering the day I’d walked up the stairs of my house in my hometown of Flagstaff, Arizona, hoping my father would be happy to see me. He wasn’t. I hadn’t seen my father, my mother, or my mother’s trifling-ass husband since my sister’s funeral.

  Before I rang the bell, a tall, heavyset man opened the door. “We don’t accept solicitations,” he said, eyeing me up and down. “You don’t look like any Jehovah’s Witness I’ve seen. Damn, girl, you look good.”

  Already he had it twisted. I was a woman, not a girl. Glancing at his first name on the tag pinned to his transit department uniform, I said, “Hi, I’m Honey Thomas. We brought your son Ronnie to meet you.” I moved to my right and pretended to let him look at the parked car, but I was trying to peep through the cracked door.

  He stepped outside of his house, closing the door behind him. He grunted, “Didn’t you get my letter?” Grinding his teeth, he stared at the car. “I told you I didn’t want that lying bitch coming to my house, and I don’t want to meet her son. He’s not mine. I’m done with this bullshit.”

  “Then you won’t mind consenting to a paternity test while you’re behind bars serving time for rape, will you?”

  The door to the house opened, and a woman came out and stood beside him. “Alphonso, who in the world is this woman?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “She has the wrong address,” he said, deepening his voice.

  Extending my hand to her, I said, “Hi. I’m—”

  “What’s all this chatting about?” Velvet’s mom said as she walked up the stairs with her grandson. “Alphonso, this is your son, Ronnie. Ronnie, say hello to your father.”

  “Wait, wait, wait, wait. Hold up one fuckin’ minute,” the woman said. “This is why your ass kept peeking out the fucking window. You thought I’d be at work today. You had these people show up on my doorstep with an illegitimate child? I can’t take any more.” She shook her head. “Is he yours? You’d better open your damn mouth and answer me, ’cause if he is, you can go wherever the hell he’s going.”

  The woman disappeared inside.

  “See what the fuck you’ve done?” Alphonso said, raising his voice. “I told you bitches not to come here.”

  I looked at Ronnie, then back at Alphonso. “No, I don’t. But I see what you’ve done. Do you have any idea how what you’ve done has ruined all of these people’s lives?” I said, pointing toward the car. “Especially hers.”

  The woman returned with an armful of men’s cotton boxer briefs. Bypassing us all, she marched across the lawn and threw the underwear in the middle of the street. She stomped her way back into the house, and Alphonso followed her. “Baby, please,” he pleaded. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  Quickly, I stepped inside the house before the door closed. Ronnie and his grandmother were right behind me. We stood in the living room, listening to them argue. I was surprised they didn’t put us out, but Alphonso was too busy trying to cover up his shit.

  “Baby, please, my ass. Alphonso Allen, as sure as I’m your soon-to-be ex-wife, I will hurt you if this boy is yours,” yelled the woman. “How old is he? Six?”

  “No, ma’am,” Ronnie said, blinking away his tears. “I’m five. Why are you so angry at my daddy? Are you mad at me, too?”

  Children had a way of calming the most enraged adult.

  Placing her hand over her heart, the woman said, “Everybody sit, and, Alphonso, you be quiet. I want to know exactly why y’all came here today. Start from the beginning, and explain it to me like I’m his age.” She pointed to Ronnie.

  Opening the front door, I motioned for Velvet to get out of the car, but she wouldn’t. “I’ll be right back,” I said, going to get her.

  Velvet opened the car door. “I don’t want to go in his house. I can’t do it. Just make sure nothing happens to my mom or my son, or else I will be in there all over his rapist ass,” she said, closing the car door.

  I went back inside and stood by the door, with Ronnie, just in case some shit broke out. If it did, I could push him out of the house.

  The woman calmly said, “Child, what’s your name?”

  “My name is Ronnie. Ronnie Allen.”


  “Alphonso, you care to explain how this child is yours?” the woman said, patting her foot.

  What a fucked-up way for a kid to have to meet his dad. Next time I decided to help someone find their father, I sure wasn’t listening to the grandmother unless she was the legal guardian. I felt sorry for Ronnie and Velvet. Velvet’s mother seemed quite content as she eagerly awaited Alphonso’s response. I looked at the picture above the mantel, and my eyes froze. The face looked familiar.

  “I don’t think he’s mine,” Alphonso said quietly.

  “Think or know? Which one is it, dammit?” his wife demanded.

  Alphonso grimaced. “Well, he—”

  “Oh, my gosh,” I said, not realizing I’d spoken out loud.

  “What? You know her?” the woman asked. Her tone went from pissed to hopeful. “Do you? Do you know her?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said. The girl looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure. We were in deep enough already. We didn’t need more drama.

  “Think or know?” The woman pressed me for an answer.

  “What’s her name?” I asked.

  “Tiffany Davis,” said the woman.

  “Then, no, I don’t know her. She just looks a lot like someone I know,” I replied.

  Velvet’s mother said, “Ronnie, go get in the car with your mother, sweetheart.”

  Squinting at Velvet’s mother, I tightened my lips, signaling her to keep quiet. I opened the door and watched Ronnie run to the car. Velvet opened the car door, then stared at the front door. I closed the front door to indicate we weren’t done talking.

  The woman’s eyes shifted to the corner, and she stared at Alphonso. Then she looked at me. “Well, if you showed up at my front door, claiming my husband is this kid’s father, then maybe you can help me find my baby,” she said, crying.

  Easing toward her, I kept my hand on my purse. Then I said, “I can help you. If you want.”

  “That’s an old picture of Tiffany. She’s thirty now. Here. Take this picture of her,” the woman said sadly, handing me a flyer from the stack of newspapers piled against the wall. “Oh, let me write my other cell number on there just in case.”

  Why anyone needed more than one cell phone number was beyond me.

  My world couldn’t possibly get any smaller if the girl on the flyer was Sapphire Bleu. Naw, couldn’t be. Could it?

  Handing the woman my business card, I glanced at Alphonso. The eerie look on his face sent chills through me, which Velvet’s mother must’ve felt, too.

  It was time for us to leave. I offered a closing statement. “Mr. and Mrs. Allen, we don’t want to impose on you any longer. We’re in town for a few days, and we’d like to arrange supervised time for Ronnie to spend with his father. Oh, and thanks for the seventy-two thousand dollars in back child—”

  “What the fuck did you just say?” the woman yelled. Her neck must’ve done a 360-degree turn. “How much? What? Alphonso Allen, your broke ass don’t have that kind of…” Picking up the phone, she pressed a few buttons. She pressed a few more. “Here I was believing the bank made a mistake, and you took the money. That’s what I get for opening a joint account with you, you bastard! You know I struggled to save that money. Now how am I supposed to pay a reward if someone finds Tiffany?”

  A reward? Hm.

  The telephone that was in her hands landed against Alphonso’s forehead. Damn, she’s good. I wanted to throw something at his sorry ass, too.

  Alphonso bit his lip, then rubbed his head. Exhaling, he swallowed hard, then said, “This shit ain’t my fuckin’ fault! What the fuck you hit me for?”

  Velvet’s mother walked up to Alphonso. What the hell was she doing? Trying to get all of us killed? I wasn’t sure if I should walk up to him. Nah. I stayed back, holding my purse closer. I couldn’t bring my gun with me on this trip, but I had a piece of steel the size and shape of a hot dog, and if I hit that big-ass motherfucker in his temple hard enough with it, he’d die or black out.

  “Velvet says you told her you raped that girl. You even told Velvet her name was Tiffany Davis. And if Tiffany hadn’t run away…” said Velvet’s mother. She started crying. “You said you wouldn’t have raped Velvet if Tiffany hadn’t run away. I hope you go to jail and those men gang-rape you so you can see how it feels to be raped. I’ve changed my mind. Velvet was right. I don’t want you anywhere near my grandson. We won’t be coming back here ever.”

  I’d seen that evil, burning look before in the eyes of my ex-husbands. I ushered Velvet’s mother out the door. I was right behind her, and Alphonso was right behind me.

  “You lying old bitch!” he yelled, slamming the door.

  Turning the key in the engine, I heard someone scream, “Aaaahhhh!” Quickly I drove away, pretending not to hear the scream. I dialed 9-1-1.

  Ronnie asked, “What was that?”

  Immediately upon getting a response, I gave the 9-1-1 operator the address, told her there was a 217 in progress, then ended the call.

  Velvet looked at her mom, then flatly said, “Told you so. Satisfied? Now can we stop by my agent’s office?” Velvet started text messaging again.

  I was speechless. I wanted to go back to help Alphonso’s wife, but somehow I didn’t think she was the one who needed help. Hopefully, she was kicking his ass, and it wasn’t the other way around. Size didn’t matter when a person was outraged or in fear for their life. I knew the remarkable strength a person could conjure up in heated confrontations. If I were her, I’d shoot him first, then pistol-whip his ass. I should’ve let her borrow my steel hot dog. The only reason I didn’t stay was because I couldn’t live with myself if anything had happened to Ronnie, his grandmother, or Velvet.

  We heard screams a block away. Desperately trying to see out of the back windshield, Ronnie kept asking, “What is that?” None of us answered.

  Somebody was either going to the hospital or the cemetery. Hopefully, the police would respond to my 217 call, assault with the intent to murder.

  CHAPTER 24

  Sapphire

  What the fuck? Had Grant come all the way to my house to protect his Honey? “You don’t know me,” I said. “I’m just doing my job. And Honey isn’t the only one who’s had it hard. I’ve been through a lot, too.”

  “Really?” Grant said like he didn’t believe me.

  I’d prove it to him and make him love me more than her.

  “When I was sixteen, my stepfather gained my trust by showing interest in my cheerleading competitions and my academic achievements, which made my mother extremely proud. Perhaps it was my full splits or my high kicks or my voluptuous tits or my ability to do multiple flips without using my hands that excited him below his waist. When I was fourteen, he started touching me in places that made me feel weird, but at the same time, it felt kinda good. My breasts tingled. My pussy twitched with excitement. When I was fifteen, he began fondling me, probing a little deeper into my vagina, and pressing against my hymen, and when I turned sixteen, he stole my innocence and began fucking me more than he fucked my mom.”

  Grant sat there, staring at me.

  Uh-huh. Told him so. I knew he was feeling sorry for me now, so I kept talking. “Desperately, I wanted to tell my mother the truth, but I wasn’t sure whom she loved more. Him? Or me? Plus, I felt guilty for having allowed him to do all the things he’d done before he started raping me. Plus, my mother was so in love with Alphonso, she couldn’t look into my dilated pupils and see the iris of my pain, and she was struggling, like me, to stay out of his way when he was angry, which progressively became all the time. I never could figure out what or who had made him so angry, seemingly for no reason. Maybe he resented all females because of something unforgivable a woman from his past had done to him.”

  Grant interrupted. “Tiffany, I’m really—”

  Oh, you’re going to listen to me. I didn’t give a fuck what he was getting ready to say. I was talking, and it was rude of him to try and change the subject. I bet he di
dn’t interrupt his little Honey.

  I continued. “Whatever happened to him, it wasn’t my fault or my mom’s. I didn’t bother telling my mother about the sexual abuse, and I didn’t know how to make him stop, but I knew there had to be a better place somewhere out here for me. The day I ran away, I caught the bus to Wilshire Boulevard; walked into an expensive hotel’s restroom; changed into a short, sexy dress and high heels; put on tons of blue eye shadow and red lipstick; then sat high upon a stool at the bar during happy hour.”

  “Aaahhh,” Grant yawned, covering his mouth.

  He had one more time to interrupt me, and he was going to regret it. “Frowning, the bartender asked, ‘Can I see your ID?’ just as I opened my mouth to order an Amaretto and pineapple.”

  Grant cracked a smile, nodding. “I remember that drink. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, raising his brows. He looked at me this time, giving me his undivided attention.

  “Embarrassed, I chuckled, then lied. ‘I lost my driver’s license. But I really am eighteen,’ I said. The bartender didn’t believe me. ‘Well, your license wouldn’t do you any good at any bar anywhere. You have to be twenty-one, and you can’t sit here,’ he said. ‘Make it easy on yourself, young lady. Leave. And if you are as smart as you are beautiful, you’d go home. Dressed provocative like that, you’re headed for nothing but trouble.’ Damn, What was I thinking that day?”

  “I have no idea,” Grant commented. His eyes were halfway closed.

  “I’m almost done,” I said, continuing. “As much I’d talked to my girlfriends about not being able to wait until we turned eighteen to be legal and twenty-one to drink legally, I knew that shit. I couldn’t call my best friend to tell her I’d run away, because she would’ve told her mother, and her mother would’ve told my mother. I’ve been gone fourteen years. Did my parents have hope that one day they’d see me again, or did they think I was dead? After that bartender kicked me out, I picked up my bag, left the hotel, and headed to Sunset Boulevard. I figured I’d have a better chance there of meeting a nicer bartender who’d believe I was twenty-one, and I prayed I’d meet a rich, handsome man who’d invite me to his house.