Red Light Wives

by Mary Monroe

  Rockelle claimed that she had spoken to Clyde a day earlier, so we knew he wasn’t out of town, in jail, in the hospital, or dead. “He was acting and sounding strange. Even for him,” Rockelle reported, sounding more than a little concerned.

  It was a sad subject to bring up, but my guess was that Clyde was having more trouble with his daughter. He never complained about how hard it was to take care of her. But he was always dropping hints about how much he depended on the extra money he got from us, and how he wouldn’t know what to do with Keisha if he didn’t have us “helping him out.” Since I had lost my only child, and it didn’t look like I would have another one anytime soon, parenthood was a depressing subject for me.

  As much as I adored Clyde’s daughter, I avoided being around her. Mainly because it broke my heart to see a man like Clyde having to deal with such a heavy load as taking care of a severely handicapped adult child. But if my son had lived, it wouldn’t have mattered to me if he had horns and hoofed feet. I would have moved mountains if I had to, to make his life worth living. Clyde was not perfect, but his devotion to his daughter was almost saintly. But as it turned out, Clyde’s odd behavior had nothing to do with his daughter.

  “I called up his grandmother and asked her if everything was all right with Keisha,” Rosalee said. “She handed the telephone to Keisha and she told me herself that she was fine. I asked if she knew what was botherin’ her daddy and she said she didn’t notice anything different about him.”

  Then another week went by. Clyde still hadn’t called or come by the apartment or communicated with me or any of the other girls. One of the things that Clyde hated was for us to cancel or turn down a date with a regular. That Friday night, Ester and I both turned down dates with regulars. For the first time, Clyde didn’t cuss us out like he usually did when we did that. Then the situation got even more mysterious. Not only was Clyde acting odd, but Ester was looking and acting downright crazy, too. I didn’t want to say it to her face, or share my thoughts with Rosalee or Rockelle, but I began to think that Ester and Clyde were in some kind of cahoots. Like maybe she and Clyde were planning a major scam that would involve the rest of us, but not benefit us.

  Lately, Ester had a glassy-eyed look on her face. She wasn’t running her mouth like a motor the way she usually did. And, she wasn’t even eating or drinking as much. That little woman gnawed on tortilla chips and guzzled tequila like it was water. When I finally got up enough nerve to talk to Ester about her strange attitude, she surprised me with a bombshell of a response.

  I’d entered her bedroom and found her standing in front of the window, hands on her hips, staring out, looking at the sky. Her long dark hair was in a single braid, hanging across her shoulder like a rope.

  “So what if I been acting and looking crazy. I can say the same thing about you,” Ester told me as I shuffled across her bedroom floor, careful not to disturb the expensive, thick throw rugs covering most of her shaggy beige carpet. I never could figure out why Ester covered a carpeted floor with throw rugs. Especially when there were no little kids around to make a mess on it by spilling Kool-Aid and other kid-friendly shit. “You got me worried as much as Clyde,” she added. “You ain’t been eatin’, you been lookin’ weird, and you ain’t been talkin’ much. Wassup with you, girlfriend?”

  Ester was right. I had been acting unlike myself, too. I sighed and plopped down on Ester’s bed, which reminded me of her floor. Short thick blankets and about half a dozen pillows hid her beautiful blue goose-down comforter.

  “There’s this man I met. A bus driver, would you believe,” I laughed, looking upside the wall on the opposite side of the room. “I can’t believe I’m sittin’ here tellin’ you this,” I admitted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ester’s head snap around to face me.

  “That’s why you acting so strange? Because you met a man? Me, too!” she gasped.

  I marched over to Ester with my arms dangling. “You, you met somebody, too?” Then my heart almost stopped. “I hope you ain’t gettin’ all excited over a trick,” I hollered.

  Ester didn’t waste any time shaking her head. “What you take me for? I ain’t desperate like that Carlene. I would never get serious with a trick.” Carlene Thompson, the woman who had steered Rockelle and Rosalee in Clyde’s direction, had recently run off to Las Vegas with one of her regular tricks and married him. They had moved to Richland, Ohio, so that Carlene could help take care of her former madam, Scary Mary, who was in her nineties and raising all kinds of hell.

  “Then he’s a civilian like my bus driver?”

  “Somethin’ like that. But I didn’t just meet him. I been knowin’ him since I was a kid. His name is Manuel Vasquez. Manny. I seen him on my birthday when I was hangin’ out in the Mission.” Ester paused. A look appeared on her face that I had never seen before. She smiled, but just a little, and her eyes started blinking real fast, like she was trying to hold back some tears.

  “Was he your boyfriend? Or just your man?” I wanted to know.

  “My man? What you mean by that?” she snapped, a stunned look on her face.

  “Is he, uh, like Clyde?”

  “Look, Clyde is the only man in this crazy world that I ever sold my little pussy for. I ain’t like them other girls out there, you know that. Shit. Manny would never let me do somethin’ like that for him.”

  “I didn’t mean anything. It’s just that…”

  Ester held up her hands and gave me a sharp look. Her lips were quivering. “I can’t change what I already done in the past, just the future.” Ester moved to the bed and plopped down, her palms flat against her knees. “Manny’s a good man, a strong man. He would be good for me.”

  “What does he do for a livin’ then?” I asked, my heart beating a mile a minute.

  As much as I liked Ester, she was one of the crudest women I’d ever known. From what I knew about her, in my opinion, Clyde was probably the best she could do as far as getting a man who wasn’t just a trick. I felt bad about feeling the way I did, but I couldn’t help it. Unlike Rockelle, who still thought her shit didn’t stink, I usually kept certain thoughts to myself. I knew I was not going to be sleeping with men for money until I got so worn out they wouldn’t want me. But since Ester had been in the business so much longer than me and never really talked about retiring any time soon, I assumed she’d end up staying in it as long as Carlene did.

  I liked Ester and hoped that she was stashing away enough tax-free money in a safe-deposit box like the rest of us, so that she could live comfortably in her old age. “Ester, is Manny dealin’ drugs?” My breath caught in my throat when I saw the hurt look on Ester’s face. “Uh…or does he have some other hustle goin’ on?” The more I talked, the more it seemed like I was putting both my feet deeper and deeper into my mouth.

  “He cooks in a restaurant. Happy?” she snapped abruptly, giving me one of the dirtiest looks she could come up with.

  “Oh, so he’s a chef.” I smiled, hoping it would soften her.

  “I ain’t said nothin’ about no chef. Chefs is what they have in them fancy places downtown. Manny cooks greasy burritos, oxtails, tongue sandwiches, you know all that shit we crazy Mexicans eat.” Ester gave me a dry look. “You think all I can get is a thug, don’t you? You think I can’t get me a bus driver like you?”

  “Don’t be gettin’ all crazy on me. What else could I think? Whatever he is, I’m happy for you. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ a cook,” I said.

  Ester shook her head, and an embarrassed look appeared on her face. “That’s what he does now, but he used to do all kinds of other shit, he shouldn’t have been doin’. Stealin’ shit, sellin’ that shit out of his car. Dealin’ drugs when he couldn’t find nothin’ to steal. But he’s hella straight-up now. I would be very proud to call him my boo. It’s just that, bein’ with another man, like that, while I’m still with Clyde…well, I don’t want to think about tryin’ to please them both.” Ester paused and let out a weak laugh. “You know
how deep my people get caught up in that passion shit. When we love somebody, they stay loved.” She let out a loud sigh and shrugged. “But…I don’t think I can be with Manny as long as I’m workin’ for Clyde. It wouldn’t be fair to Clyde, or to Manny, or me.”

  Ester’s words made the insides of my stomach shift. I joined her on the bed and put my arm around her shoulder. Unless we were in bed, at the same time, with the same man, I rarely got this close to Ester or any of the other women I dealt with.

  I nodded and gave her a thoughtful look. Ester’s comment about developing a relationship with another man while she was still part of Clyde’s crew was ringing in my ears. It was sad but true, but at the moment, I needed Clyde more than I needed a bus driver in my bed. I suddenly found myself wishing that I’d never laid eyes on Richard Rice, or that he had at least been an obnoxious asshole. Then I could have cussed him out that day in Tad’s Steakhouse and gone about my business. Love had to be the most painful emotion in the world. It was love that had caused me to make a fool of myself with Larry.

  “So, what about the man you met?” Ester asked, turning to face me.

  “You know, I must be losin’ my mind,” I said with a heavy voice. “Now that I think about him, I realize a broke-ass bus driver ain’t nobody I’d want to get involved with. Especially a man with a cheesy name like Richard Rice.”

  Telling such a bald-faced lie was so painful the inside of my mouth felt like I’d slid a burning match into it.

  Chapter 25

  MEGAN O’ROURKE

  It had been three weeks since my encounter with Clyde that Saturday. I’d appeased Mom that day by telling her that I had not made it to Oakland and had gone to have lunch with a woman from my exercise class instead. And, Robert, well he had not even asked if I’d found a car for our daughter. He’d been in Baja on a fishing trip for the past ten days. With him and my mother out of my hair, I had more space and time to think. But even with all of the space in my house, it felt too claustrophobic, and there were too many things in it to remind me of the life I had with Robert.

  I was nursing my fourth drink in the same dingy bar I’d ended up in after seeing Clyde that grim day the month before. But I had to relive it all before I could figure out how I was going to handle my future.

  My mind traveled back in time again. I replayed some of the things I’d already filtered through during the previous weeks.

  A month before my sixteenth birthday, my sister, Fiona, died from an overdose of heroin. My parents were still mourning the death of my brother at the time. Losing another child almost destroyed us all so I promised my parents that I would not cause them any further grief. And I probably would have kept that promise if Clyde had not reentered my life. This time, he had accompanied his grandmother to work so that he could earn a few dollars doing odd jobs around our house. He cut our grass, washed the three cars we maintained, and groomed our three collies.

  Clyde was more handsome than ever. However, I couldn’t take advantage of his good looks the way I wanted to. I had too many other distractions to keep me occupied at the time. Like my upcoming birthday party and my cool friends who always seemed to know where to get the best dope. I never got that heavy into drugs, not after what happened to my sister. But everybody I knew smoked pot. To me it was no worse than smoking cigarettes. I was usually too stoned out of my skull to pay too much attention to Clyde until the night of my party.

  Effie had made all of the snacks, and agreed to work late that night to serve and clean up afterward. Of course, Clyde had not been invited, but he wandered into the recreation room in back of our house facing our kidney-shaped pool, just as my party was winding down.

  “Granny said for me to bring y’all the last of them sandwiches,” Clyde yelled, strutting past Dennis Russo on the floor, the only boy I knew personally who came close to being a drug dealer. Dennis had just come in from our back patio where he had puked for fifteen minutes. His face was red, his eyes dilated, and his legs so weak he couldn’t stand. Clyde hopped around Dennis’s prostrate body, then looked from Dennis to me, handing me the platter of sandwiches. “I guess dude done did enough partyin’ for one night, huh?” Clyde glanced around the room with an amused look on his face. There were only four other kids left. I was the only one still able to stand.

  “Oh, he’s fine. He had a little too much to, uh, eat,” I lied.

  “I bet he did,” Clyde said, smirking, then added in a low voice, “and another thing, I bet he had too much of the bad shit.”

  I set the platter of sandwiches on the pool table. “And what do you mean by that?”

  “Girl, you know damn well what I’m talkin’ about. You people wouldn’t know good dope from a bale of hay.” You people? Clyde glanced toward the door, then leaned closer to me. “If you ever want to feel real good, just let me know.”

  Effie’s sweaty Black face floated into the room on a body that had spread in the most peculiar way over the years. From the neck down, she looked like a lumpy pyramid. “Clyde, get your narrow butt movin’. Lickety-split!” she yelled, clapping her hands and stomping her foot. Still facing Clyde, she spoke in a sharp voice. “And, Miss Meg, Miss Carmody said I can clean up tomorrow. On account of I don’t want to be out too late waitin’ on no bus with all them rapists on the loose.” Effie paused and gave me a sly glance over her shoulder. A huge crooked black vein bulged out on the side of her neck like a snake. She casually cleared her throat and continued, speaking with her hands on hips that looked like they had a mind of their own. “She says if we go now, she’ll give us a ride home and we won’t have to take that bus.”

  “Can I ride along, too?” I asked quickly, intrigued by Clyde’s remarks about making me feel “real good.”

  “What about your friends?” Effie wiggled her nose and made a sweeping gesture with her hand. Dennis was moaning and twisting around on the floor. One thing I had to say about my parents, they never disrupted my parties unless some busybody neighbor called the cops when the music got too loud. Tonight’s party had been tame compared to the last one I had when Lynette Sweetser attacked Deborah Retner with a punch bowl for dancing with her boyfriend.

  “Oh, they all live around here. They can find their way home,” I insisted, already rushing from the rec room to get my purse. “I’d like to see where you live.”

  When I had opened the back door on the passenger side of Mom’s Buick for Effie to crawl in, Effie ignored me and snatched open the front passenger door and sat down, looking at me with a smirk. “I don’t sit in the back of nobody’s vehicle no more. In the state of California or in Mississippi. Ain’t got to no more,” she purred with defiance. A glare from her deep-set, shiny black eyes alone was enough to make any normal person tremble. Mom trembled and turned beet red. Like I said, Effie always did what she wanted, and she would have, whether the civil rights law said she could or not.

  One of the many things that puzzled me was, if there were other Black people as proud and fierce-looking as Effie and could control a situation as well as she could, why was the Black race in such a mess? I didn’t even think that Effie could answer that question, so I never even thought about asking.

  “Clyde, where is your manners, boy? Don’t you see Miss Meg standin’ here waitin’ on you to help her into her mama’s car?” Effie said smugly.

  With a look that displayed both surprise and annoyance, Clyde stepped aside and held the back passenger door open for me. The cool breeze from the night air on my face helped clear my head. But I became even more alert when Clyde’s knee touched mine. It stayed there all the way to Effie’s dreary street.

  We were in an area in Oakland that I had never been in before in my life. It was a foreign-looking neighborhood with old houses in desperate need of paint and repairs and boatlike cars that looked older than I was. Garishly dressed dark-skinned people with outlandish hairdos occupied the corners, staring hungrily at every moving car. Surprisingly, I was not the least bit afraid. For some reason, I felt safe with Effie
and especially Clyde. If anything, I was curious about these mysterious people. I felt like I was on an African safari.

  I got so curious during the next few days, that I decided to pay Effie and Clyde a visit on my own. I had recently acquired my driver’s license, but I was only allowed to drive Mom’s car. I knew enough about East Oakland to know that it was not a safe place for an expensively dressed White girl to be alone and driving a nice car. Short of putting on an Afro wig and a dashiki, I made myself look as inconspicuous as possible. Even though it was night, I had on dark glasses, a scarf, and dark clothing.

  As soon as I reached Clyde’s street, I slowed down so that I could see the houses better. When I stopped, a scowling, bearded man leaped out of nowhere. He tapped on my window and held up two fingers. I stepped on the gas and didn’t stop until I was back on the freeway.

  I didn’t know why then, and I don’t know why now, but I stopped at the first pay phone I saw and dialed Effie’s number. I prayed that Effie would answer so I could just hang up, but it was Clyde who answered. I was surprised to hear soft, easy listening music in the background. If anything, I had expected either some of Effie’s wailing gospel music, something Motown, or one of the many disco tunes that Clyde and every other teenager I knew liked.

  “Clyde, this is Meg.”

  “Meg who?” he said, sounding more annoyed than curious.

  “Carmody.”

  “Oh. What the hell do you want?”

  “Uh, I drove by your house a few minutes ago.” I don’t know what I was feeling at that moment, but I had come too far to turn back now.

  Clyde took his time responding, clicking his teeth in a way that made me think he was doing it on purpose to annoy me. “For what?” He didn’t even try to hide his impatience.