by Mary Monroe
I must have said “I do” somewhere along the line, because the next thing I was conscious of was Floyd wrapping his arms around me and kissing me like I’d never been kissed before. He lifted me off the ground, and probably would have kissed me for the next hour if the warden hadn’t pulled us apart. The warden shook Floyd’s hand and hugged me. Brian kissed me, almost as passionately as Floyd. That made everybody, except me, laugh. Instead, I broke down and cried like an injured baby. My legs felt like jelly, and the rest of my body felt like it weighed a ton. It took Brian and Floyd to hold me up to keep me from falling to the floor.
Floyd’s hands were as cold as ice, and he had a smell that I could not identify. It reminded me of something sour and stale. Like some old clothes that had been stored away in a closet for too long. Then it dawned on me that everything else in the prison visiting area—the vending machines, the hellacious ladies’ room, and the dimly lit hallways—all had the same foul smell.
Floyd had told me that other prisoners had had to get married in their prison attire, those hideous orange jumpsuits, but because the warden liked Floyd, he had allowed Brian to bring a suit for Floyd to wear.
I wore a plain white linen suit. I’d left home in a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans to keep Paul from getting suspicious. I’d checked into a Motel 6 and changed, shaking so hard I could barely walk in the new heels I’d purchased from Payless for the occasion.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to work out something so you two could spend some time together,” Brian told me after the three-minute ceremony, with an apologetic look on his face. “But I won’t stop until that happens, too.” He gave me a hug and he shook Floyd’s hand. “Good luck to you both.” Then the guards led my new husband—I assumed that’s what he was—back to his cell. I wasn’t sure what he was to me because I was already married to another man. But as far as Floyd was concerned, he was my husband, period. He was happy, and if anybody deserved some happiness, it was Floyd. That was all that mattered. For now, at least.
It was one of the most uncomfortable weekends in my life. When I got home that evening, Paul was so horny he literally grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom as soon as I entered the condo. “Oooh wee! I’ve got so much sap in me to unload, I’ll be surprised if you don’t get pregnant with triplets tonight.”
I wasn’t going to get pregnant with triplets or anything else, anytime soon. I was on my period, so I got out of fucking Paul that night. The following Monday morning, I made a special trip to the drugstore to refill my birth control prescription.
The last thing I needed right now was a baby to complicate matters even more. It was going to take me a while to get comfortable about what I’d done. Especially if Floyd’s lawyer worked it out for Floyd to get conjugal visits. I still planned on having children. But now I didn’t know when, or with which husband!
As if things were not complicated enough, Paul’s company offered him a major promotion that would almost double his salary. They wanted him to manage two dozen high-level corporate trainers. The only thing was, the job was in the Bay Area city of Alameda, which faced San Francisco across the Bay. “Honey, I’d be a fool to pass up an opportunity like this,” he told me, calling me from his office as soon as he’d received the news.
Paul didn’t have to admit it, but I knew that one of the reasons this job offer was so attractive to him was because he’d be able to spend more time with his relatives in San Francisco. And knowing the way those snooty fools felt about me, there was no way I was going to move anywhere to be closer to them. At least not without a fight. As soon as I heard Paul’s news, I prepared myself to lock horns with him if I had to.
“Paul, I love my job and I love L.A. I don’t want to move,” I wailed. “As a matter of fact, I am not moving up there.” Things were happening too fast for me. I didn’t want to “lose” Paul, and I didn’t want to give up my job, either. I was glad that it was one of my off weeks. It had been three weeks since I’d married Floyd, and I was gearing up for my next visit to him in a week.
“You don’t have to move, baby. I would never expect you to give up that job you love so much for me. You can stay down here, keep an eye on our place on Manchester, and be with me on your off days. And I will still be spending time in the L.A. offices a few times a month. As a matter of fact, we probably won’t be apart too much more than we already are now. I think this is the way all relationships should be! They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“They also say, ‘out of sight, out of mind,’” I said with a dry laugh. Then I got real serious. “I can live with us being apart even more, but maintaining two residences will be expensive.”
“Baby, let me finish. Here is another reason why we can’t pass this up. The job includes an expense account that won’t quit. The company will provide me with a leased car, and a leased apartment, all at their expense!”
“My God,” I mouthed, my heart beating a mile a minute. “You’re right. We can’t pass this up,” I said, feeling extremely relieved. “When is this going to happen?”
“As soon as possible. Now look, I want you to fly up there with me next Saturday.”
“Next Saturday?”
“Next Saturday. I’m sure that sick friend of yours won’t die if you skip a visit from time to time. And I don’t want to bring this up now, but shouldn’t this friend be better by now? Is she ever going to be well enough for me to meet her? This is a strange setup, if you don’t mind me saying so . . .”
“Uh, um . . .” I was groping to try to find the right words, but I wasn’t having much luck. I paused and pretended that I had something caught in my throat. I had to cough for a few moments, and that allowed me a little more time to come up with an appropriate response. “Some air went down the wrong pipe,” I said, blinking hard.
“When was the last time you took your vitamins?”
“I don’t remember. I’ll take some tonight.”
“Make sure you do. This is not the time for you to be getting sick. This new job situation is going to be stressful enough for us both.”
“You’re right. That’s what we need to concentrate on right now—your new job and the move,” I agreed. “This has nothing to do with Christine.”
“Christine? What? You said—I thought her name was Crystal . . .” Paul said in an accusatory voice.
“It is! Didn’t I say that?”
“You just referred to her as Christine.” Paul got real quiet. All I could hear on his end was his heavy breathing.
“Paul, if it’s that important to you, you can go with me the next time I do visit Crystal. I just don’t see the point. You have a lot of friends that I’ve never met, and I don’t want to. I can’t expect you to share every little aspect of your life with me. We both agreed that our individual independence was one of the things that attracted us to each other in the first place. It’s just that, well, Crystal was finally beginning to make some progress. You, um, kind of resemble the man she lost her mind over. If your unexpected presence upsets her, I will just have to deal with her relapse, I guess.”
“Girl, stop messing with me!” I was glad to hear Paul laugh. “I don’t really want to meet that loony friend of yours.”
“Paul, I wish you’d be a little more sensitive. The woman can’t help herself,” I said in a plaintive voice.
“I’m sorry, baby. I should be ashamed of myself, and I am. But I have to be honest about this peculiar situation. Now don’t take this the wrong way, but I just ask about your sick friend from time to time so you won’t think I don’t care. And to tell you the truth, I asked you to go with me to the Bay Area so I’d have a good excuse not to let my family make a fuss over the new place, and me, when I go up there next Saturday.”
“What I could do is drive up there after I visit Crystal. It should take me only three or four hours, if I don’t get lost,” I offered.
“Now you know I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want you driving on that highway alone any more tha
n you already do. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. You’re the most important thing in my life, Dolores. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled. “I know that.”
“Other than death, I can’t think of anything that I wouldn’t challenge to keep you. And I hope you feel the same way about me.”
“I do . . .” I muttered.
CHAPTER 43
There were a couple of women on the ship who pestered me to socialize with them every time they saw me. They also tried to tag along with me when I went shopping in every port we cruised to, and when we were not on board the Encantadora. Sue Ann Thomas managed the ship’s gift shop. She was old enough to be my mother, and so loud and brassy I was embarrassed to be seen in public with her. She was a nasty piece of work. One time she’d almost got us arrested in Cancún because she’d insulted a Mexican policeman by calling him a spic to his face.
The other pest, Donna Minger, was a couple of years younger than me. She was a cute, redheaded waitress in the ship’s main bar. Other than work, I had nothing in common with these two women. However, they were a little more fun to be around than the two matchmakers who I’d previously worked with in the corporate office.
The strange thing about all four of these white women was that they often said things that sounded racist to me. Their targets were usually the Latinos who we came in contact with when the ship cruised into the Mexican ports. I avoided these women whenever I could. As far as I was concerned, anybody who was stupid enough to display a racist attitude toward another race with me could just as easily do it to me. I couldn’t understand why these women wanted to hang around with me in the first place. They had become such pests that I started avoiding them. It was women like them that made me appreciate Valerie.
One of the reasons I had such a strong friendship with Valerie was because we didn’t see each other that often now. I was glad to see her when I did, and it was usually at Paw Paw’s, with me slumped on a stool at the bar and her mixing me one complimentary drink after another.
A few nights ago, I’d sat at the bar and sucked up four drinks as I listened to her complain about how dull and empty her life still was. “I have so little to look forward to,” she whined, sounding more and more like Moanin’ Lisa. This foolishness was coming from the mouth of a beautiful young woman who owned her own house and her own business. If that was not something to look forward to, what was? I didn’t have the nerve to ask her, but I wondered how much of Valerie’s gloom could be blamed on her dark secret.
I also wondered if her conscience ever bothered her, and if she had nightmares about her stepfather from time to time. But to hear her tell it, her biggest disappointment was not having what I had. “You’ve got it all, Lo. Other than children, you’ve got everything a woman wants.” Valerie gave me a thoughtful look. “And with your luck, you will have nothing but the most beautiful and most intelligent kids in town.”
Since I had two handsome husbands, a nice condo, and a job that I enjoyed more and more each day, I didn’t know what to say—that I hadn’t said already—to make Valerie feel better.
I had come to her house today because she had invited me. She still did not like to be in that house alone. And I didn’t blame her. I didn’t believe in ghosts, because I’d never seen one. But I had never seen the Grand Canyon, either. And if ghosts did exist, the last one I wanted to see was Mr. Zeke’s. I understood Valerie’s fears about being alone in that house. One of the two women who had taken over the rooms that Moanin’ Lisa and I had vacated had moved out the day before to get married. And the other one was threatening to move out, too.
“I just wanted some company today and you were the first person that came to mind,” Valerie told me, handing me my favorite drink—a large glass of white wine. “This old house seems like a big old scary castle when I’m here by myself. I’ve been begging Binkie and Liz to move back home, but they don’t want to come near this place.”
“You still don’t want to sell it and move into a condo?” I asked, knowing the answer to that question, and why.
Valerie shook her head and scratched the back of her neck. “I got a call from Moanin’ Lisa the other day. She wanted to know if she could move back in after Toni moves out.” I knew that Valerie had evicted Moanin’ Lisa because of that comment she’d made about the backyard during my wedding reception. However, she later admitted to me that she’d regretted that decision. “I told her I already had a new tenant lined up. I just might break down and let her move back in, though.” Valerie cocked her head to the side and gave me a pensive look. “Some days I can’t walk into the kitchen without a Bible held against my bosom.” Valerie rarely entered religious territory these days but when she did, she was serious. I didn’t know if she had prayed for God to forgive her for killing Mr. Zeke like I had, but she and I both still needed some serious spiritual guidance in other areas. “But you, you can always move back up in here. And, if you have to, you can bring Paul with you. It might be nice to have a man in the house again.” Valerie paused and laughed, but it was a short, weak laugh. “At the rate I’m going, it might be the only way I ever get to live under the same roof with a married man.”
Valerie looked so sad and lonely when I left her house that night. I felt the same way when I got home myself, even though I had spent an hour talking to Paul on the phone earlier that day, and I was going to see Floyd that Saturday.
I felt better after my visit with Floyd. And things got better as time went on. I spent days at a time with Paul in the new apartment in Alameda, when I could. He was happy, I was happy. And now that I was Floyd’s wife, he was happy, too.
Paul came to L.A. often enough so I didn’t really miss him the way I thought I would. I usually visited Floyd once a month. But every now and then I visited him twice in the same month, just to keep his spirits up.
My life became so routine that I got a little too comfortable. As a matter of fact, I got so comfortable, I got careless. I went for days without checking my voice mail on the other cell phone that I had bought to use only to communicate with Floyd and his lawyer.
On a Monday morning there was an urgent telephone message left for me with the ship’s receptionist. It was from Brian, Floyd’s lawyer. I stumbled to my stateroom and called him back right away.
“I’ve left several voice mail messages for you,” Brian told me, talking so fast and loud it frightened me. The first thought that came to my mind was that something bad had happened to Floyd. He had told me about a few altercations that he’d had with some of the other prisoners. And last year two convicts had been attacked and killed by other prisoners.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice just above a whisper. “Is Floyd all right?”
“Mrs. Watson, your husband Floyd is coming home to you,” Brian told me. The news hit me like a ton of bricks. I got so lightheaded and dizzy I fell across the bed, shaking like a leaf, and babbling gibberish like an idiot.
I don’t know how long I remained on the bed like that. But the next thing I was conscious of was Brian’s voice ringing in my ears like a bell. “Hello? Hello? Mrs. Watson? Mrs. Watson, are you all right?”
The telephone was still in my hand, even though I couldn’t feel it. Somehow I managed to sit up on the bed and speak again. “What did you just say?” I croaked. “What in the world is going on?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for three days. Floyd and Warden Beale have also tried to reach you by telephone. I didn’t want to call you at your work, but I didn’t want you to hear the good word on the six o’clock news!”
“Did the real killer confess or something?” I had to squeeze my thighs together to keep from losing control of my bodily functions. I wanted to vomit, pee, and shit all at the same time. But I couldn’t even move from the bed.
“Are you familiar with DNA procedures?”
“Uh, a little,” I whimpered.
“Well, DNA was still in its infancy back when Floyd got arr
ested. Through DNA, we’ve been able to prove—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that Floyd Watson was not the man who raped and killed that girl. The real culprit is currently in custody for another crime. Not only will Floyd be released soon, with the settlement I am sure we will receive, he will never have to work again a day in his life. That won’t make up for the years he spent in prison, but that’s about the best we can hope for. I am so happy for you!” There was a long pause before Brian spoke again. “Mrs. Watson, are you still with me?”
“I . . . I’m still here,” I managed. A million and one thoughts were swimming around in my aching head. I didn’t know what to say, think, or do. “When?”
“When will he be home? Well, he’s free to leave at any time now. But, as you know, he has no home to go to, except with you. Can we get together this evening?”
“Uh, can I call you back?”
“Well, yes, but it has to be soon.”
“I will call you back later today. I have to call somebody right now.” I hung up before Brian could say anything else. Then I dialed Valerie’s number at Paw Paw’s. I was so stunned, confused, and frightened that when she answered I could barely speak. “Valerie . . . I need,” I began, struggling with the words. “I need to talk . . .”
“Lo, what’s the matter? You sound strange,” Valerie said, sounding alarmed. “Hold on, let me get Tiny out here to cover for me, so I can take this call in my office.” I waited about three minutes for Valerie to return to the telephone. “Now, what’s the matter?”
