In Sheep's Clothing

by Mary Monroe

  “Our prayers are with her,” Lupe choked. “She’s a dear sweet woman and we all love her to death.” Lupe paused long enough to catch her breath. “Ann will be taking a few days off. She asked that you bring these files to her condo this evening after work.” Lupe handed me a stack of manila folders. “Wendy can give you her address.” Lupe sniffed and burst into tears. “Excuse me, girls!” she cried as she spun around on a pair of pointedtoe boots and ran for the elevator.

  I blinked at Wendy, who folded her arms and shook her head. “Ann can’t be that bad off if she wants to work from home,” Wendy insisted. “I’d better go with you. She’s real particular about who comes to her place.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I wanted to know. “She asked for me to bring her some work.” I didn’t need Wendy to remind me that I was not one of Ann’s favorite people.

  “With the mood she’s probably in right about now, she might take her frustrations out on you. Don’t you know by now that that woman hates your guts?” Wendy said to me with a look of pity.

  “She was the same way with that other Black secretary we had,” Pam chimed in. I didn’t know if it was my imagination or not, but there were times when it seemed like Wendy and Pam enjoyed the way Ann treated me.

  “I can handle Ann,” I said firmly. “She can be nice to me sometimes.”

  “Uh-huh. And so can a cobra. Listen, my man is picking me up after work. We’ll drive you home after we leave Ann’s place,” Wendy said.

  The rest of the afternoon was pure torture. Mr. Rydell caught me in the break room and hemmed me into a corner so he could rave about what a wonderful person and employee Ann was. “So many of our clients will only deal with Ann,” he informed me, stopping to blow his nose into his handkerchief. “I don’t know where Bon Voyage would be without her.”

  The thing about people like Ann was she knew how to work the minds of the people who were important to her. I had to admit to myself that Bon Voyage would not be the same without her. Nor would I. I had come to depend on her credit card. Without it, I would be right back where I started: trying to live a champagne lifestyle on a beer budget.

  I scolded myself for not informing Lupe that I had plans to meet Freddie after work for a drink. But, in a macabre way, I was curious to see Ann and the condo I’d heard her brag about so often.

  Right at five on the dot that tense evening, Wendy grabbed her things and practically dragged me out the front door to the street where her man was waiting in her car.

  For some reason, I expected Wendy to drive a raggedy pickup truck or an old van with mismatched doors and a taped-over window. I was surprised when she steered me to a shiny new Altima sitting by the curb outside our office with the motor running. I was even more surprised when I saw her man. He was not the greasy-haired, hatchet-faced, tobacco-chewing redneck I’d expected. He was much worse.

  Wendy’s man, the same one who she bragged about having to fuck every morning before leaving for work, was the same obnoxious young Black man who had tried to pick me up on my lunch hour in the park.

  CHAPTER 26

  Freddie had a theory about why bad things happened to good people. “They ain’t living right,” she once told me.

  Despite the stupid things I had done, I still considered myself to be a good person. And I also felt that I was living right. It was so ironic that Wendy’s man and the man who had accosted me in the park in such an unforgettable way were the same man. And here I was now, trapped in the same car with that man. I said nothing about our little session in the park when Wendy introduced him as “the sweetest chocolate chip since Famous Amos.”

  I simply smiled and nodded at Daryl Proctor, and pressed my lips together to keep from saying something I’d regret.

  Traffic was always heavy in downtown San Jose. During the commute hours, it was a nightmare. Even though Bon Voyage was only about a mile from the freeway, it took twenty minutes for us to make it just that far. Having to listen to the unbelievably vulgar rap CD that Wendy had turned on made the journey seem even longer.

  The ride to Ann’s condo was uncomfortable to say the least. Not just for me, but for Daryl, Wendy’s goldtooth-flashing lover. I was in the backseat, hunched into a corner like a sack of potatoes.

  Daryl drove, barreling through the city like he had the cops on his tail. Every time I looked up into the rearview mirror, his eyes were on me with that deercaught-in-the-headlights look I’d seen on men’s faces after they’d been busted. I stopped looking in his direction when he grinned and winked, all the while caressing Wendy’s hair with his free hand.

  For once I was glad that Wendy was the chatterbox she was. She dominated the conversation, which was mostly about Ann. She bitched about how bitchy Ann was to her and me. She was angry about Ann getting attacked, but not for the same reasons as everybody else at Bon Voyage. “I have a feeling that because of this thing, she’s going to be an even bigger bitch,” Wendy complained. She didn’t like it when Daryl laughed about what had happened to Ann. “Daryl, what happened to Ann is not funny. She could have been raped or killed.” I rarely heard Wendy speak in such a caring tone of voice.

  “What the fuck do I care! That black-ass bitch looked at me like I stole something last year when y’all had that Christmas party,” Daryl barked. “She had it comin’.”

  I had had time to give the situation a lot of thought. It had been selfish of me to be concerned about losing the ability to use Ann’s credit card. But I could not overlook the few times she had been nice to me. “I just hope she’s going to be all right,” I said, genuinely concerned. “And I hope they catch the motherfucker that did this to her,” I hissed. There was not a woman alive who deserved to be brutalized. Since I’d been there myself, I felt even more strongly about it.

  Daryl parked the car on the street across from the large white building Ann lived in. Just as I’d expected, Ann’s neighborhood was as glamorous as she was. Orange and lemon trees, and palm trees, and expensive cars lined the streets. Tall bright buildings scraped the sky. There were no rib or fried chicken shacks on the corners, just restaurants and boutiques with names I couldn’t pronounce. I couldn’t imagine living in such a place.

  Within minutes after our arrival, a blond woman cruising by in a BMW rolled up her window as soon as she spotted Daryl’s scowling face. “Bitch!” he spat, slapping the side of the steering wheel. “I ain’t gonna be havin’ no peckerwood cop comin’ at me for bein’ out here.”

  Wendy had already cracked open her door. “Honey, don’t get excited. Nobody’s going to bother you this time.” Wendy paused and turned around, giving me a look of pity. “You, too, Trudy. Nobody’s going to bother you . . . as long as you’re with me,” Wendy said. That only angered Daryl more. The sad thing about White people like Wendy was she sincerely saw herself as being superior simply because she was White. It was no wonder she had a hard time accepting a Black woman on Ann’s level.

  “Kiss my black ass! I ain’t stayin’ around here so these cracker motherfuckers can do a Rodney King on me!” Daryl roared. He did nothing to hide the cocaine on his nose this time.

  “Daryl, please. Honey, did you take your medication ?”

  Medication? Daryl’s behavior was nothing new to me. My neighborhood was crawling with men just as rude and crude. But it never occurred to me that he needed to be medicated, too. His belligerence seemed natural. There was not much difference between his attitude and the man who’d robbed me. I thanked God every day for blessing me with Black men I could be proud of. Like James and Daddy.

  Daryl slapped the side of the steering wheel again. This time so hard the dashboard shook. “Yeah, I took that shit.” With an anxious look in my direction, he let out a deep sigh. Then, like a savage beast that had been shot with a tranquilizer, he softened right before my eyes. And for a split second, I actually felt sorry for him. I could imagine the sorry life he had. “Uh, if y’all don’t mind, I’ll come back in a hour. I got some business to take care of anyway,” he
purred, tickling the side of Wendy’s neck. She closed her door and turned to him, draping her arm around his shoulder.

  “We won’t be but a few minutes. You can wait,” she insisted.

  “Naw, baby. I got places to go, folks to see,” he insisted, glancing at his watch.

  Wendy abruptly turned to me. “Trudy, do you mind if I don’t go with you?”

  I held up my hand. “Don’t worry. Ann might not be up to much company anyway.”

  “You got my cell number. Call me when you’re ready and we’ll drive you home.” Wendy rolled her eyes and nodded toward Daryl.

  I nodded back and climbed out of the car so fast I didn’t get Ann’s unit number from Wendy. I was glad to see a smiling doorman in a uniform in front of the building. He directed me to the second floor.

  The hallway reminded me of an expensive hotel. The maroon carpet was so thick I could not feel my feet on the floor. I couldn’t wait to see Ann’s place.

  I wanted to see with my own eyes how a real Black American Princess lived. But I was nervous about seeing something else that Ann had that I didn’t have. I knew that I would want that, too.

  Just like that credit card with the ten thousand dollar limit.

  CHAPTER 27

  Ann was not the bloody mess that I’d expected to see when she cracked open her front door, but there was a purple gash on her forehead. She wore a pink housecoat over a pink gown.

  “Hello, Trudy, come on in.” Her voice was so hoarse, it sounded like she had a huge frog trapped in her throat. She waved me into a spacious living room that looked like something out of Architectural Digest magazine. She had plush blue couches with matching carpets, exotic African artwork on her walls, and posters from cities I’d never even heard of. I was surprised to hear Usher crooning from a CD player on a stand next to her couch. She seemed more like the type who’d be listening to Frank Sinatra or Englebert Humperdink. “Excuse the mess,” she mumbled over her shoulder as I followed her to the couch. If she considered her place a mess, mine wasn’t even on the scale.

  “Wendy told me about what happened,” I started, setting the files Ann had requested onto a coffee table with a smoked glass top and brass legs. I knew that the reps made good money, but Ann’s place and her furnishings looked like she’d spent a king’s ransom on it. On top of all that she had one hell of a high-maintenance wardrobe, too.

  As she sipped from a flute of sparkling white wine and rubbed her head, I plopped down on the couch next to her wondering how in the world she could afford to live such a lavish lifestyle.

  Ann sniffed and stared at the wall like she was in a trance. “Would you like some champagne?” she asked, turning to look at me with her neck moving like a robot.

  “No, thanks. Uh, I just wanted to drop off the files and see how you were doing,” I said, coughing to clear my throat. I was just as uncomfortable being alone with Ann as I’d been in the car with Wendy’s boyfriend. Maybe even more so because I didn’t have to work with Daryl or be around him anymore if I could help it.

  “I’m all right I guess,” she mumbled. Without any prompting from me she gave me an account of what had happened to her. “I’m walking down the street and the next thing I know, some Spic motherfucker with a baseball bat jumps out of the bushes and asks me for a light. I ignore him and the next thing I know, he has one greasy, smelly hand around my throat and the other on my purse. I gave that fucker everything I had and he still batted the shit out of me.” A sob slipped out and Ann had to take a deep breath before continuing. “That punk! He didn’t have to do what he did to me! I would have given him my purse anyway!” she exclaimed, shaking a fist in my face. I had never known a Black woman, or a woman of any other race for that matter, who could shift gears as fast as Ann. She could go from being a swan to a pit bull at the drop of a hat.

  “It could have been worse,” I said gently. I blinked and slid a few inches away.

  If she had been anybody else, I would have hugged her.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I think he did a pretty good job of fucking me over.”

  “I know how you feel, Ann. I’ve been through this kind of thing myself and believe me, he could have done a lot more to you.”

  She sniffed again and gave me a distant look. “You? Oh, jeez, Trudy. What happened?” She asked in a gentle voice. Her concern seemed genuine, but I kept my guard up anyway.

  I nodded. “A few days before I started working at Bon Voyage I got robbed, too.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrow shot up. The same annoying way it did when she talked to me at work. Several dime size bruises dotted her neck in a shape resembling a cat’s paw.

  “My daddy owns a liquor store and I used to work in it. It’s in a neighborhood that’s kind of rough. It wasn’t always that way, though.” I mumbled. “It happened on my last day on the job.” I paused and balled my hand into a fist and slammed it against my thigh. “The guy took the money, but that wasn’t enough for him. That cheesy motherfucker . . . made me suck his goddamn dick.” I couldn’t believe that I was sharing something with Ann that I had not even told Daddy or James. And as much information as I shared with Freddie, I still hadn’t been able to bring myself to share all of the gruesome details of my ordeal with her.

  “Oh, Trudy, I am sorry to hear that.” If a bolt of lightning had struck me down, it would not have startled me as much as what Ann did next. She leaned over and hugged me. “Did they catch him?”

  I was so taken aback by her show of affection that I had to blink to keep from crying. I was still in her embrace when she rubbed and patted my back. “Not for what he did to me. But I’m sure that, sooner or later, he’ll get caught for doing something to somebody else.”

  I had mixed feelings about what I’d just revealed. As unpredictable as Ann was, there was no telling how she would treat me now. I had seen enough movies involving rape to know how some people ended up treating the victims. Especially when it was a young woman. I almost wished that Ann’s attacker had sexually assaulted her, too. That way I wouldn’t have to worry about her looking down on me even more than she did already. I was immediately sorry for having such a wicked thought, and I put it out of my mind as fast as I could.

  “I’m truly sorry, Trudy. Did you get any help?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you get some counseling? I have an appointment to see a therapist tomorrow.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I admitted, bowing my head in humble shame.

  “Well, you should. Otherwise you will eventually act out your frustration in some other way.”

  If she only knew . . .

  “Uh, I know. I do plan to talk to a professional . . . soon.” I swallowed hard and bit my bottom lip.

  Professional help would have done wonders for me. Not just for the robbery and assault, but also for the deep sense of grief that I still felt over losing my mother in such an unspeakable way. Right after the September 11 attacks I went into such a deep depression I couldn’t eat or sleep for three days. The attacks were too similar to what had happened to my mother. As soon as I was able to crawl out of bed, I went on a four-day shopping binge. There had been no credit card in my possession to finance that frenzy. That time I’d used rubber checks. If I hadn’t sold the jewelry that Mama had left me to cover the bad checks, I would have been sitting on a hard, lumpy, naked bed in a cell in a women’s prison long before I got my hands on Ann’s credit card. I had almost forgotten about that dreary chapter in my life. That was another thing that I had not shared with Freddie. Freddie was no angel, but she knew where to draw the line when it came to breaking the law. She would never pull some of the stunts I’d pulled.

  “I know how degrading that must have felt. A cab driver raped my own mother six blocks from home. Lucky for her, they caught his ass. And Black men think they have it so hard.”

  “Does your mother live in San Jose?”

  “She used to. But right after that traumatic incident, my father sold the house and they moved back to ’Fri
sco.” Ann rose and started pacing, straightening pictures on the wall. “She was never the same after that. She sincerely believes that we Black women are destined to suffer. But then, most of our mothers end up thinking that way. Did you tell your mother about what happened to you?”

  I shook my head. “My mama died when I was twelve. She was a flight attendant on that Pan Am plane that the terrorists blew up over Scotland.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.” Ann stopped, and stared at me. “Well, maybe she’s better off anyway. Being a Black woman in this country can be a tragedy in itself. It’s like we have the word victim written all over us.”

  “My mother was definitely a victim, but she wasn’t Black.” Both of Ann’s eyebrows shot up as I continued. “Her folks were Dutch.”

  “I never would have guessed that. You don’t look . . .”

  I held up my hand and let out a sharp laugh. “I know I don’t look half-White and I rarely bring it up. I was raised as a Black child and I never got to know my mother’s family. After she married my daddy, they disowned her.”

  Ann shrugged and shook her head. “Well, I thank you for coming out of your way.” She blinked and let out a loud sigh. “I plan to work from home the rest of the week. Direct all of my callers to Lupe, but if anything seems important, call me.” She didn’t have to say it, but I sensed that the conversation was over by the way she was walking toward the door.

  “If you need anything else, let me know,” I said, walking stiffly toward the exit.

  A blank expression was now on her face. “Where did you park?”

  “Uh, I don’t have a car,” I managed. “Wendy and her boyfriend, Daryl, drove me over here,” I blurted.

  Ann frowned, shuddered, and shook her head. As often as she shook her head, I was surprised that it hadn’t fallen off. “Let me give you some advice, sister to sister. We are in the same book. Don’t get too friendly with that White woman and that punk nigger boyfriend of hers. I don’t like people like him knowing where I live.”