A Special Relationship

by Yvonne Thomas

  “That crazy behind Carrie, that’s what. Dooney got a slot for her butt, he’s been bugging me about it every night, but she too good to work at Simms.”

  “I thought she was working at Simms.”

  “You thought wrong. Some uptown white man she’s foolin’ with won’t let her.”

  “What white man? Robert Kincaid?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “I know that sucker from Dyson. Can’t stand him either. He think he’s so superior to everybody.”

  “Just like Carrie. I tell her to get some rent money from him then, that’s what sugar daddies are for, but she just look at me like I’m crazy. I tell you that witch makes me crazy sometimes! But I got to go,” Mona said as she continued her walk down the stairs. “What you doing this way tonight?”

  “I wanted to holler at Carrie.”

  Mona laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet you did.”

  “Hey, Mo, why don’t you unlock the door for a brother. She ain’t gonna let me in otherwise.”

  Mona stopped walking and looked at Willie Charles. “For how much?” she asked.

  “How much?”

  “Yeah, niggar, how much. How bad you wanna get up in there?”

  “You cold, Mo.”

  “How much, Willie Charles, I ain’t got all night.”

  “Ten.”

  “Twenty and you got a deal.”

  “Twenty?”

  “That’s right.”

  Willie Charles shook his head. Mona Banks could hustle a hustler. But he reached in his pocket and handed her a twenty just the same. Mona grabbed it and then continued her walk downstairs.

  “What you doin’?” Willie Charles asked, stunned. “You got to unlock the door!”

  “It’s already unlocked!” Mona said with a laugh as she hurried out of the door of the building.

  Willie Charles frowned at that hustler but then hurried upstairs. He listened at the door only for a second before opening it and going inside.

  Carrie, who had been getting a glass of water in the kitchen, saw Willie Charles’ sudden appearance in the apartment and dropped her glass.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “What you think I’m doing in here bitch,” he said, coming upon her. “You get me fired from my job and think I’m not gonna get something back from you?”

  Carrie immediately tried to run away but Willie Charles, running after her and smiling that crooked, gap-tooth smile of his, tried to pin her against the wall just beyond the kitchen arch.

  But she fought, with everything she had. She kicked and hit and gave as good as she got. She broke away and even managed to pick up a piece of broken glass and threatened Willie Charles with it, insisting that he leave now or he’d be sorry. But Willie Charles found that funny too. “You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said and kept progressing on her. When she reached out and cut him on his arm, however, and he realized how deep the gash was, his smile vanished. He cussed at her, hit her with his fist across the face, grabbed her by the hair and rammed her into the refrigerator. But instead of falling, instead of rendering herself just helpless enough for that maniac to do whatever he wanted with her, she ran. She took his blows and then she ran so fast out of that apartment that she nearly flew down the stairs. Her head was throbbing, and her face was stinging in pain, but she ran all the way up Dresel Street, to Phoenix, to the only place she knew to go: the storefront church Millie used to attend. Unfortunately for her, however, it was closed.

  She slumped down at the door and cried out to God. She was tired of this. She was tired of all of this turmoil in her life. She leaned her body against the door and cried as loud as she could. All she wanted was peace. Just a little peace and quiet in her life. And then she thought about Millie. God is able, she used to love to say. So Carrie said it too.

  The light on the table next to Robert’s big bed clicked on and Robert picked up the ringing phone. He was still so groggy that he forgot to say hello, prompting the female voice on the other end to say it instead.

  “Yes?” he said, his eyes closed, his basic instinct telling him that nothing could be so important that it required disturbing him at midnight.

  “This is Gwen Curtis with Dyson’s answering service, Mr. Kincaid.”

  “Hello, Gwen.”

  “Hello, sir. I’m very sorry to bother you like this but a police officer just called on your private line asking for you.”

  Robert frowned. “A police officer?”

  “Yes, sir. He said it involves someone named Carrie.”

  Robert’s heart dropped. “Carrie?”

  “Yes, sir. He didn’t have a last name, and he said it couldn’t wait until morning.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “He said this Carrie was apparently assaulted tonight and—”

  Robert’s eyes flew open and he slung the bed covers off of him. “Assaulted?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “He said she’s okay but she won’t cooperate with them. When they saw your name and number on a business card in her pocket, they decided you were the only hope they would have of getting to the bottom of this. They need you to come downtown, sir.”

  “Downtown?”

  “To the police station, yes sir. She refused medical treatment, insisting that she was fine, so they took her there.”

  Robert closed his eyes again and squeezed his temple. “All right, Gwen,” he said. “Thank-you.” And then he hung up the telephone.

  TWENTY

  Carrie was seated on a short, vinyl couch in the sergeant’s office when Robert arrived. He was casually dressed in a pair of cream-colored pleated pants, brown dress shoes, and a green, ribbed-top sweater shirt that zipped up in the front, and a surge of pride shot through Carrie when she saw him. The idea that somebody like Robert would leave his comfortable home and come and see about her still astounded her. Now more so than ever, when everything about her life seemed in such disarray.

  Robert tried not to stare at her when the officer escorted him into the small office, but it was too difficult. She looked awful. Her usually very neat hair was ruffled and her jaw appeared swollen and those green eyes he loved so much appeared, once again, terrified. He wanted to run to her, shake her until she told him who did this to her, and then strangle that jerk within an inch of his life. But he kept his calm and, instead, extended his hand to the sergeant seated on the edge of her desk.

  “Mr. Kincaid?” she asked as she shook his hand. She was a burly woman with a strong handshake.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Sergeant O’Reilly, how are you?”

  “Not so good,” he said as he looked over at Carrie. “Hello, Carrie.”

  “Hello.”

  “We meet again.”

  Carrie tried to smile but couldn’t. “I guess so.”

  “She finally gave us a name,” Sergeant O’Reilly said and Robert looked at her.

  “She did?”

  “Finally. A Willie Charles Payton.”

  “Willie Charles?” Robert looked at Carrie. “Willie Charles did this to you?”

  Carrie nodded.

  “That sonafa—”

  “You know him?” the sergeant asked.

  “Yes, I do. Has he been picked up yet?”

  “It’s happening as we speak. We would have had him sooner if she would have spoken up sooner. But I guess she didn’t trust us at first.”

  Robert looked at Carrie. He could only imagine the things Willie Charles tried to do to her. He could only pray that he didn’t succeed. “And she refused any medical treatment?”

  “Yep. She doesn’t want us to make such a fuss over her she said.”

  Robert nodded. He knew what she meant. “Ready?” he asked her. Carrie stood up quickly and walked over to him. She wore a pair of red shorts, a Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. Robert smiled. “This is Gator country, you know,” he said and Carrie, for the first time all
night, looked down at her shirt and then actually smiled too.

  Robert’s SUV drove onto his horseshoe driveway and Carrie had to do a double-take when the SUV ground to a halt. Was this his home, she wondered, as he stepped out of the truck to open the door for her. It was all brick and massive, a colonial home with thick white posts out front that made it look like a bank. The idea that she knew the man that lived here was astounding to her. But even more astounding was that he could live here alone. This was a family home, not a bachelor’s pad. Did this man have a family hidden inside there somewhere?

  “This is yours?” she asked as he opened the door and helped her out.

  “‘Fraid so.”

  “Don’t say that. It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank-you.”

  “You must have a big family.”

  Robert hesitated then closed his car door. “Just me,” he said. “Come on.”

  He found himself grabbing hold of Carrie’s hand as he walked her through the huge double doors into the opulent foyer that took Carrie’s breath away. From the ceiling that was so high she had to lean back to look up, to the gold plated staircase that swirled its’ way around to the second level, she’d never seen any home more regal. And Robert, it seemed to her, was totally unfazed that he lived in a palace as he escorted her up those stairs, down a hall, and into a bedroom almost as large as Popena’s entire apartment. He still held her hand, which surprised her, as they stood in the middle of the room.

  Robert looked down at her. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Positive. I feel fine.”

  Robert, however, led her to the bed, sat down beside her, and lifted her chin. He studied her jaw and then touched it with his thumb. She winced. “It hurt,” he said.

  “No, it’s all right.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Carrie.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a little sore, that’s all.”

  “What happened?”

  “He just, you know how Willie Charles is, he just. . .”

  “He just what?”

  “He tried to come onto me and I fought back.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “He hit me in the face—”

  “With his fist?”

  “Yes.”

  Robert’s jaw tightened. “Go on.”

  “And he slammed me against the refrigerator. But he only jumped on me like that after I cut him.”

  “You cut him? With what?”

  “A piece of broken glass.”

  “Good.”

  Carrie smiled. “You should have seen his face. He was so angry.”

  Robert nodded. “Good.” Then he looked at Carrie, placed his hand on her neck, and began massaging it. “So you’re tough after all,” he said.

  “In a situation like that you’d better know it.” Carrie said this and exhaled. The warmth of Robert’s hand on her neck was so comforting that she felt like closing her eyes. So she did.

  Robert looked at her. Admired her. “Carrie?” he said.

  “Um?”

  “Did he. . . Did Willie Charles do anything else to you?”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes.”

  Carrie was so absorbed in the feel of Robert’s hand that it took her a moment to understand what he meant. Then she opened her eyes. And looked into his. They were so close she could hear him breathing. “I’m sure that was his point,” she said, “but I got away.”

  Robert nodded. “Okay,” he said. Then he removed his hand from her neck and tapped her lightly on her back. “The bathroom’s right over there. I want you to take you a bath, you’ll feel better. You can get one of my shirts out of that closet and put it on.” He stood up. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Thank you for coming and getting me. I didn’t even know the police had called you.”

  “You’ll promise me something?”

  Carrie hesitated. “What?”

  “Not to run away in the middle of the night. To just rest and worry about all of this drama tomorrow.”

  Carrie smiled. Then nodded. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  Robert returned her smile and took his hand and ruffled her hair. He stared deep into her eyes again before he left.

  ***

  The next morning Robert showered and dressed and headed into the guest room just as Carrie was stirring awake. He leaned against the doorjamb staring at her as she twisted around in bed, her small body silhouetted through the thin sheets, her only covering, her eyes not yet opened to this new day. He must be out of his mind having her here, he thought, but what could he do? Take her back to a lonely hotel room that she’d only run away from anyway? Or leave her back at that sister of hers apartment, where all of those ripe young men were itching to do what Willie Charles tried but, thank God, failed to do? Carrie was so pretty, and so vulnerable, that he knew, whether he liked it or not, she had to be with him. He had to take care of her until she was back on her feet again no matter what.

  Her big green eyes opened to the sight of Robert standing in the doorway and she smiled. Unlike last night, when he was casually dressed, he was decked down today in one of those expensive suits of his that always looked tailor-made pristine. Carrie appreciated the kindness he showered her last night, from coming to get her to bringing her to this beautiful home. She knew he didn’t have to do all of that for her. But thank God he did.

  “Good morning,” he said, as he pushed away from the door and began walking further into the bedroom.

  “Good morning,” she said. She wanted to get out of bed, she felt awkward like this, but she wasn’t wearing anything but one of his big shirts.

  “Slept well?” he asked her.

  “To my surprise I did. I slept like a baby.”

  “Good,” Robert said and sat on the edge of the bed. The smell of his sweet cologne and the nearness of his body caused Carrie’s heartbeat to quicken. “You needed some sleep,” he added.

  “What about you? Did you sleep well?”

  Robert shrugged his shoulders. “Not really, no.”

  “Why not?” Carrie asked, extremely concerned.

  “I was thinking about you.”

  “Me? What about me?”

  “What I’m going to do with you.”

  That statement hit Carrie hard. She’d been praying that it wouldn’t come to this, that he wouldn’t force her to leave him so soon. “I’ll get out of your way as soon as I can get up and get dressed,” she said.

  Robert stared at her, at the silhouette of her body and then at her. That stubborn independent streak in her would never die, he thought. And he was pleased that it wouldn’t. “What do you most need, Carrie?”

  Carrie knew that answer verbatim. “I need a job and a place of my own. Popena’s my sister but I don’t know how long she’s gonna let me stay there with her.”

  “How are you feeling this morning? That jaw still hurt?” He placed his hand on her chin and turned her jaw toward him.

  “It’s fine,” Carrie said, barely able to contain the exhilaration she felt whenever he touched her. “I feel fine.”

  “You feel better?”

  “Seems like, yeah.”

  Robert allowed his hand to rest on her small shoulder. “Feel good enough to start a new job today?”

  Carrie’s eyes widened. “A new job?”

  “Yes. With Dyson.”

  Carrie began shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s the only idea, Carrie. You need a job, you said so yourself. I can get you one. I should have never let you talk me out of it before.” He frowned when he said this. “Now get up.” He slapped her against the side of her thigh and stood to his feet. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  “What about clothes?”

  “We’ll swing by your place. You need to get all your things anyway because, Carrie, you aren’t going back there.”

  “Aren’t going back. . . But Robert,” Carrie said as he bega
n walking away. She leaned up on one elbow. “What could I possibly be qualified to do at Dyson?”

  “Let me worry about that,” he said, without breaking stride, as he left the room.

  Marva Cox gave her a look that could have withered a cactus. But Marva didn’t care. She was disappointed in Robert. She’d never known him to fool around with some woman almost young enough to be his daughter, and the idea that he would bring her to his job, to his place of employment, was unconscionable to Marva.

  Robert had left Carrie with his secretary and had went into his office. He wasn’t in there ten minutes, however, before Marva was racing in, with Carrie at her heels.

  Robert was on the phone so they both stood in front of his desk and waited. Like a study in contrast, Robert thought. Marva wore her button-down business suit while Carrie wore a nice-fitting knee-length dress and heels Robert had driven to her sister’s apartment for her to pick up. Mona was at home at the time and was fussing about the state in which Carrie had left her apartment and about how wrong she was to “lie” on Willie Charles. But both Carrie and Robert ignored her. Now Robert was ignoring Carrie and Marva Cox and Marva didn’t like it.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Kincaid,” she said to Robert as soon as he hung up the phone, “but just what kind of job are you expecting me to find for her?”

  Robert looked up from his papers. “Whatever needs to be done, Marv. She can be your assistant.”

  “But is she qualified to be my assistant? What is she qualified to do?”

  Robert exhaled. He had too much on his plate as it was. He looked at Carrie. His heart surged when he looked at her. “What can you do, honey?” he asked her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can you type?” Marva asked her.

  “I can peck,” Carrie said.

  Marva shook her head. “Can you file?”

  “I’ve never filed before, but I’m sure if you tell me how to do it I can do it.”

  Marva blew out a sigh of anguish. She was displeased and she didn’t care that Robert saw her displeasure. “May I speak with you alone, Mr. Kincaid?”

  “Not right now, you can’t. Just find something for her to do, all right?”

  “But has she even filled out an application?”