“The guest house?”
Trisha shook with confusion—go out for boxes and come home to a nightmare.
“It’s only for a few months. Time to get things in order for the trip,” Daphne said.
“But it’s a great idea. We’ll keep it rented and your father won’t have any reason to move.”
“Yeah, but your mama actually got to find someone who ain’t gonna sweet-talk her out of the rent,” Pie said.
Lady Bell held up a check for two thousand dollars.
“Excuse us,” Trisha said, gesturing for Daphne to follow her. “We’re going for a walk.”
Trisha led Daphne to the other end of the deck, but even at that distance she could feel their eyes, so she continued leading Daphne on in the direction of the park. She wanted to shout the question, “Why have you decided to ruin my life!” But instead she walked at an increasing pace with Daphne seemingly content to be led. After a hot and dusty walk by more modest homes on the downhill slope, they reached Stowe Grove Park and the cool shade of oak trees. Trisha found a reasonably clean picnic table where they sat across from each other, but neither looked the other in the eye. Whatever was going on with Daphne, it couldn’t justify this intrusion into her life.
“I know you’re shocked to see me. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Mrs. Pie and Lady Bell are so sweet, one thing just led to another.”
“It’s just Pie. Everybody calls her that. I have since I was a baby. Renting the guest house, that’s out of the question.”
“Yes, it’s a little much to even consider.”
“But why would you? You just met me, and that was just because I was jealous of your relationship with Jordan.”
Daphne looked Trisha right in the eye. Trisha could feel it coming, the reason why, and it made her queasy. It would be a damn good reason.
“I’m trying to hide from my husband.”
Trisha felt her jaw drop open and hang there.
“You’re married?” she finally managed to say.
“Yes. I’ve been married for the last five years, since I turned eighteen.”
Nervously, Trisha scratched her arms.
“Does Jordan know?”
“He knows now.”
Trisha turned away to collect her thoughts.
“This husband, is he hurting you?”
“He doesn’t hurt me, he controls me.”
“Honestly, Daphne, I don’t see how I can be of help to you. You can divorce him. Get a restraining order . . .”
“I know. I haven’t lived with him for years, but I can’t break away. He pulls me back in. I can never go too far.”
Trisha stood there, in a shade of an oak, feeling flushed, embarrassed to know all of this about Daphne.
“Ever since we had coffee I’ve thought about you. I thought about what Jordan told me about you, and I admire how you don’t compromise. I thought maybe you could help me.”
“Help you? You’re the one who just paid two thousand dollars to live in a studio that we couldn’t rent out for the last two years. It’s barely enough for a bed.”
“That’s all I’ll need. A little space to disappear into for a couple of months away from my family and Frank.”
“But what about Jordan?”
“Jordan . . .”
“He’s still crazy about you.”
“I don’t think so. Not after finding out about Frank.”
Trisha sighed and reached for the distraction of a leaf.
“You won’t know I’m here,” Daphne said, almost in a whisper.
“But why here? What about a motel? Maybe some place in Goleta?”
“You probably think I’m insane. This isn’t your problem, but Frank controls people. My family can’t handle him, neither can my friends. Your family is outside the circle of his influence. I never thought about it before, but you and your family live in your own world. White people live in theirs. Frank wouldn’t find me here.”
It all came together for Trisha.
“I don’t know what to think.”
Daphne shook Trisha’s hand.
“I won’t cause you any problems.”
She waved to Trisha and took off walking at a very fast pace. For someone who looked so fragile, she was in great shape, Trisha thought, as she puffed up the hill to her house.
CHAPTER 11
Weeks passed and not a glimpse of Daphne. Trisha began to wonder if Daphne actually was in there, in a bleak, almost windowless box of a guest house that Trisha imagined only a hard-up grad student would consider renting. She assumed it had started out as a cabana, but the previous owners ran out of money and thought they could get away with something halfway between a utility shack and a Santa Barbara studio; and a Santa Barbara studio is anything with three walls and a bucket. She remembered her father joking about it being their own slave quarters. Lady Bell was uncomfortable with the newfound windfall, and even more so because Daphne was never around to invite to dinner. Mr. Bell had Lady Bell deposit the check as soon as possible to ensure that it would clear, but Trisha had no doubt.
“Do you ever see her go in there?” Trisha asked Mr. Bell, but even with his paranoid need to know, he didn’t have much to add.
“Sometimes I hear the pool gate opening,” he said gravely.
Out of sight but not out of mind. Trisha was relieved that Daphne had conveniently vanished before graduation. Graduation would be her salvation, she hoped. She’d be on her way to starting a new life away from family, and now, this weird situation with Daphne. She prayed that it would come off without trouble, even if Daphne seemed more a hapless ghost than a femme fatale.
* * *
Graduation day arrived. Lady Bell had been ready since early morning for the afternoon ceremony. Pie arrived with a cake big enough to feed two wedding parties and just in case they were needed, some of her sweet potato pies. Pie seemed to produce them like magic, but the truth was, Pie had a huge freezer in her garage, and sweet potato pies freeze very well.
Pie glared at Trisha.
“Where’s your cap and gown?” Pie asked.
“I’ll put it on there.”
“You put that thing on now.”
“Pie!”
“Child, I want to see how that thing fits on you.”
Reluctantly, Trisha put on the gown. It fit poorly but she didn’t care. She would just return it when the ceremony was over, but Pie led her into the kitchen where she had her sewing kit.
“This ain’t gonna take but a minute. Why you so impatient? You done waited all these years to graduate, you can wait ‘til I finish you up.”
Trisha could only nod her agreement as Pie ripped a seam and started work. As usual, Pie’s logic won out.
* * *
As Jordan was readying for Trisha’s graduation, he noticed a black BMW with a license plate “Carpe Diem!” turn into the driveway. A car door slammed, and he saw a man walking to the front door. The entrance no one used except for strangers. Frank! Panicked, Jordan rushed for the back-door as Frank knocked on the front. Through the back-door window he saw that Frank had blocked the Triumph in.
No longer burning mad, ready to rush Frank even if meant getting slammed, he beat a retreat. Daphne had burned him, and he wasn’t about to lift a finger for her.
Outside, he ducked behind the Triumph, then went on across to the safety of a strip mall congested with people. Then he thought about it, having to flee from his own house. This wasn’t about Daphne, this was about him. He couldn’t do it. He returned to the driveway ready for whatever. Frank had returned to the BMW, waiting for Jordan like he expected to collect serious debt. Jordan hesitantly approached the driver’s side, trying to stay clear of the side mirror.
“Hey, you looking for me?”
Frank exploded from the BMW so fast he almost caught Jordan with the swinging car door.
“Where is she?” he demanded, all the cool demeanor from their first encounter gone, now just a red-faced rage.
“What
are you talking about?” Jordan replied, stepping back to create some space between them.
“Is she in there?” Frank demanded, pointing to the house.
“Daphne? Be for real! She’s a married woman. I don’t fuck around with married women.”
“You’re involved in this!”
“I don’t have a damn thing to do with this. She’s your problem, not mine.”
Frank lunged for Jordan, but Jordan twisted away and threw a punch to his ribs. Frank let out a whoosh and slumped against the car. Jordan backpedaled away and waited for the next move.
“Pretty brave. You still want to mix it up.”
“No, I don’t, but you’re not beating me down this time.”
“Listen, I know you’re in on this. I’m trying to be polite. I could just kick the back door of this dump in and see for myself, or you could unlock the door.”
“You got no reason. I’m telling you the truth.”
Frank laughed.
“Okay. Well, I’ll see for myself.”
Frank headed for the door, and at the top of the rickety steps, he leaned back to get off a good kick.
“Wait, it’s open,” Jordan said at the last moment.
Frank sneered at him and flung the door open.
Jordan wondered how long he was going to be in this fucked-up situation. Then he heard the sound of Art’s busted muffler and of course, he parked behind the BMW.
“Hey, J, whose beauty is this?” Art asked.
“Daphne’s husband. You don’t want to go in the house.”
“Man, I got to take a dump! I don’t give a fuck if Godzilla is in there.”
Art rushed in. A few moments later as Jordan expected, Art came back walking so fast he looked to be skipping.
“Who’s that big fucking narc? You didn’t buy something off his ass?”
Jordan shook his head.
“So, what’s he doing?”
“He’s looking for his wife.”
“Oh.”
Art looked seriously panicked.
“His wife?”
“Yeah, it’s Daphne.”
Art glanced back at the house, then started inching to his VW Bug.
“What is this? Is he on some revenge trip?”
“I don’t know, but he does keep a gun.”
Art hopped in the Bug, cranked and gunned the engine, and began backing out.
“Let’s get out of here and call the fucking police.”
Jordan turned to Art and didn’t see a grim-faced Frank burst from the house.
“Move your car,” Frank said to Art, as if he weren’t in the process of pulling out. As he started his own car, he called to Jordan.
“I hope you’re not lying to me. I’ll be back. I’m not fucking around this time.”
* * *
Jordan arrived for the graduation almost on time. He should have been early, but he couldn’t get himself off the couch, sitting there plotting strategies with Art about how to handle maniac white men.
“You need to tell this idiot to stay away.”
“I did, but I’m not prepared to shoot him, so I guess I can’t stop him from looking for his wife.”
Jordan could tell from Art’s smirk that he didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t know Daphne had a husband. He couldn’t blame him.
* * *
The graduation ceremony was held by the lagoon under blue skies and on newly planted sod. The graduates milled around in their black robes, waiting to receive their marching orders. Campus dignitaries paraded to the portable stage big enough to handle the assembly line procession of students. Jordan found Trisha and her family where Trisha said they’d be, in front of the faculty club. Mr. Bell wore a drab gray suit, Lady Bell wore an aquamarine suit that blended perfectly with the green-grass foreground and the blue ocean behind it. Pie had on a fur with a horrific little fox head around her shoulders and a pillbox hat. She was more excited than Trisha’s parents. Trisha looked stylish in her Pie-hemmed robe while everyone else seemed buried in the bulky black severity of the graduation robes. She smiled when she saw Jordan walking toward her. He kissed her briefly, and took pains to shake Mr. Bell’s hand firmly and to kiss Pie and Lady Bell.
“You’re only twenty minutes late,” Trisha whispered to him.
“Really?” he said, and kissed her again.
Trisha left them to join the graduates as they began the procession. Trisha sat proudly among her AKA sorors, twenty or so young black women with the highest grade-point average of any of the Greek organizations on campus.
Lady Bell could no longer suppress her joy to see her last child finish college, even if her husband’s presence hindered her from showing the full extent of her happiness.
“Lady,” Mr. Bell said, trying to calm her enthusiasm, but she ignored him.
The ceremony went surprisingly quickly. It was the black graduates’ turn to walk the stage, divided into frats or sororities or friends or classmates; they received their diplomas together. Michelle, Trisha’s closest friend and soror, raised her hands to the sky and shouted, “Thank you, Lord!” Then it was Trisha’s turn. She walked quickly to the chancellor to the sound of sorors shouting, “Skee Wee!” Lady Bell popped up from her seat and applauded wildly. Even Mr. Bell stood and clapped. Pie, swaying like she was in church, clutched a handkerchief to her eyes.
Jordan was glad he had come.
* * *
Later that evening, at the graduation party for Trisha at the Bells’, Pie brought out large trays of barbecued chicken wings for the buffet table by the pool. The house was starting to fill up with guests, and Jordan felt right at home and proud to find himself helping to host the party. Trisha was busy greeting everyone and accepting envelopes; Jordan hoped they were filled with money. She didn’t have time for him, so he ended up in the kitchen watching Pie hastily prepare more refreshments.
“Boy, you must not be getting enough to eat.” She stopped working long enough to fix him a plate.
“Pie, I’m okay, really.”
“Aw, you know you want me to fix this up for you.”
Jordan didn’t disagree.
“So, you saw that friend of yours?”
“Friend? I don’t have any friends here.”
Pie cut her eyes.
“I mean outside of you guys,” Jordan said.
“What about that girlfriend of Trisha’s livin’ in the back house?”
Jordan shrugged.
“You better ask that Trisha. We don’t see the girl much, just a ghost opening doors every now and then leaving a light on, but that’s it.”
Jordon shrugged.
“So, you serious about my girl?”
“Trisha is great.”
“You better be a man and go on and ask her; don’t you be keeping her around like she’s some piece of meat drying in a meat locker.”
“Drying in a locker?”
“Y’all need to start planning. Getting married ain’t no walk in the park.”
“Getting married?” Jordan almost dropped his plate of chicken wings.
“That’s what we talkin’ about.”
“That’s what we’re talking about?”
Pie scowled mightily at him.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” she said.
“No.”
“Ya got to take care of business.”
Jordan lost his appetite for chicken wings. He put down the plate and then backed away. Pie closed in on him, picking the plate up.
“You ain’t done with these. Don’t be wasting food.”
He quickly picked up the plate of wings, trying to inch away.
“No, you ain’t gettin’ off easy,” Pie said, her hand clamping down on his wrist. “I’m not through with you.”
Trapped and desperate, he thought of White Fang. He imagined showing up at the emergency room with a gnawed, bloody stump for a hand, and having to explain to a doctor that it was worth it.
“Hey, Jordan, I’ve been looking all
over for you.”
Saved by Trisha Bell!
“Pie, are you scaring Jordan? It looks like you got him cornered.”
Jordan flashed a look of desperation to Trisha but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I was tellin’ him you two need to get married,” Pie said, still clutching his wrist.
“Pie, don’t tease him. He doesn’t know how you tease.”
“I ain’t teasing, girl. I want him to know I’m dead serious.”
Finally, Pie let go of the death grip she had on his wrist. Trisha didn’t seem to be surprised or alarmed by Pie’s statement. Jordan smiled awkwardly as he rubbed at his wrist, trying to get some feeling back into it.
“Well, you talk sense to that boy. He don’t have time to waste. You two need to start on a family, not playing games chasing after each other.”
Pie turned and headed back to the kitchen, and Jordan was very happy to see her go.
Trisha had changed into a short, sleeveless black dress, and she looked comfortable and happy.
“Don’t let her worry you. I don’t plan to force you to marry me yet.”
“Thanks,” Jordan said.
“I’ll give you a few months to get your nerve up to ask.”
He smiled as though she was joking—or at least he wanted to believe she was.
“So, what was Pie talking about? You have a girlfriend staying here?”
Trisha’s mouth fell open.
“What?”
“Yeah, she said a girl we’re both friends with is staying here.”
Trisha looked away from him nervously.
“I’ve got to circulate.”
He nodded, and Trisha hurried away without looking back.
Jordan knew. Daphne was staying there, and the thought confused and angered him. He couldn’t get far enough away from the humiliation she had put him through. It was still an open wound for him, but now it seemed Trisha wanted to keep it fresh.
Was she there at the party?
A quick walk around to the pool, where most of the guests had gathered, didn’t turn up any skinny, pale, short-haired girls who could pass for white. Not only was he confused at the idea of her being there, but what reason would there be for her to stay with the Bells?
Then he thought of Frank; that was more than reason enough. She must be trying to lose herself right under his nose. Maybe she hoped she’d find safe harbor with the Bells. Jordan was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice Trisha next to him.
All the Trouble You Need Page 14
