P. G. County

by Connie Briscoe

  “Not at all, I’m fine here,” Barbara replied as she settled into the couch.

  Jolene slumped into the chair.

  “So, how’s the new house coming?” Bradford asked.

  Jolene and Patrick looked at each other.

  “Slowly but surely,” Patrick said.

  “Too slowly for me,” Jolene added. “We’re looking to move in by late spring.”

  “It was supposed to have been finished by now,” Patrick said. “But someone keeps changing her mind about this and that.”

  Bradford chuckled. “Oh no. That will do it. We went through something similar when we built our house.”

  “So many decisions have to be made,” Barbara said. “Paint, tile, wallpaper.”

  “That’s the fun part to me,” Jolene said. “We’re going to have a party and invite the neighbors soon after we move in.”

  Patrick scoffed. “If we have any money left over.”

  Bradford and Barbara exchanged looks.

  Jolene chuckled nervously. Patrick was starting to embarrass her. He sounded so ridiculously cheap, constantly harping on money. She wanted to tell him to shut up. “That rum cake you brought was delicious,” Jolene said to change the subject.

  Patrick leaned back and rubbed his stomach. “Oh man. You’re quite a cook, Barbara.”

  “I wish,” Barbara said, laughing. “My hairdresser made the cake.”

  “You mean Pearl Jackson?” Jolene asked with obvious surprise.

  Barbara nodded. “She’s having her son’s girlfriend over for dinner today, so she baked an extra one for us.”

  “That was nice of her,” Patrick said. “Where do I sign up?”

  Barbara laughed.

  “I’m serious,” Patrick said. “We need someone for refreshments at the fund-raiser I’m planning, and I prefer to give our money to someone black.”

  “Well, you know, her salon is in Bowie, Maryland, not far from Digitech,” Barbara said. “And Pearl loves to cook. In fact, she used to do some catering on the side, mainly desserts, for extra money when she was sending Kenyatta to college. But I don’t think she’s done much of that since she opened her own salon. I’ll ask her, though.”

  “Will you?” Patrick asked. “I’d appreciate that. Tell her I said that cake is the bomb. In the meantime, I need to work some of this one off.” He stood up. “Can I interest you in a game of pool, Bradford?”

  Jolene laughed. “A lot of exercise that is, guys, standing around the pool table shooting balls. You’ll be drenched in sweat. Should drop, oh, maybe an ounce or two.”

  Barbara smiled.

  “Well, it sounds good to me,” Bradford said, chuckling as he stood to join Patrick.

  “So, you said that Kenyatta is taking Ashley to dinner at Pearl’s house,” Jolene said after Bradford and Patrick left for the recreation room. “I thought Pearl was against that relationship.”

  Barbara shrugged. “I know that Pearl was reluctant to have her over. But what can you do? She doesn’t want to alienate her son.”

  “Did you mention to Pearl that Candice called me and asked about Kenyatta?”

  Barbara nodded. “Thanks for telling me about that, especially since you and Candice are next-door neighbors and you don’t really know Pearl.” And it was well known that Jolene was no fan of the families who lived in the town houses.

  “I felt trapped when Candice called me,” Jolene said. “She’s a good neighbor, and I sympathize with her. But it wouldn’t have felt right to talk about him to Candice.” Ratting on a sister, any sister, to her white neighbor was a no-no. “How does Pearl feel about this whole Jungle Fever romance thing?”

  “The same way Candice feels. She would prefer that he stick to his own race.”

  “I just hope Juliette picks the nice, clean-cut type. I don’t give a damn what color he is as long as he’s planning to be a doctor or lawyer or maybe a dentist.”

  “As long as he has money, you mean? Or will have it.”

  “Well, of course.”

  Barbara shook her head emphatically. “Money is not the key to a good relationship, Jolene. Trust is much more important. You can be pretty miserable without it, I don’t care how much money you have. Take my word for it.” As soon as Barbara said all of that, she regretted it. It sounded too personal, and spilling her personal troubles had never been her style, especially to someone like Jolene.

  Jolene smiled awkwardly. She had expected Barbara to agree that money was important. After all, Barbara had married Mister Moneybags himself. But maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone knew Bradford had a roving eye. He had probably slept with half the women in Silver Lake. Was this little outburst evidence of serious trouble in paradise?

  This had started out as a meeting to butter the Bentleys up, in hopes of getting a promotion for Patrick. But now Jolene found herself wondering about the strength of the Bentley marriage. Was it all a sham? Was Bradford perhaps available to the right woman? To her? Jolene wanted to draw out more clues, but she had to be careful not to irk the boss’s wife.

  “Would you like something a little stronger to drink?” Jolene asked sweetly. She knew that Barbara once had a drinking problem, and it was wicked to even ask. But liquor did wonders to loosen the tongue.

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink alcohol.” As if she didn’t know, Barbara thought, folding her arms tightly across her waist. The little vixen was up to something.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Jolene said, flipping her weave innocently. “Can I get you some more water or something else then?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  Jolene cleared her throat. “Well, I must say that I’m surprised by what you just said, Barbara. I’ve always thought of Bradford as quite the catch, and, well, it’s no secret that he’s loaded. And the two of you look so happy. You are happy, aren’t you?” Jolene smiled sweetly and waited impatiently.

  Barbara hesitated. How brazen. How rude. She had already told Jolene more than she should have, and here the little sneak was hunting for more. Her relationship with her husband was nobody’s business but her own. “What I meant is that it’s not his money that makes Bradford such a catch, as you put it.” That was a little curt, but this hussy was asking for it.

  “Uh-huh,” Jolene said, her voice full of doubt.

  “He’s a wonderful father,” Barbara said. “And he’s very resourceful. I always know he’ll look out for us.”

  Jolene was utterly disappointed. Resourceful? A good father? Puh-leeze. What the hell happened to all that stuff about needing trust and honesty? Maybe if she said some negative things about her relationship with Patrick, Barbara would feel more at ease spilling the bad beans about her marriage to Bradford.

  Jolene nodded. “I know what you mean. Bradford is the take-charge type. Patrick is the exact opposite. I probably shouldn’t say this, but I have to push to get him going on anything. It’s so tiring.”

  This conversation is what’s tiring, Barbara thought. She didn’t like it one bit. It made her uneasy talking about personal things with her husband’s employees and their spouses, especially this spouse. She needed to change the subject immediately. “Patrick seems to be really into this political thing,” Barbara said. “That takes a lot of initiative.”

  “Please,” Jolene said with a wave of her hand. “I give it a few more weeks to play out. He’ll grow tired of it and be right back to sitting on the couch watching cable TV most evenings in no time. I’m sure that’s not the case with Bradford.”

  Barbara chuckled. “That definitely is not Bradford. Sometimes I wish he would be more like that. Bradford is always on the go, always reaching.”

  “I admire that. I wish I could say the same about Patrick. But there is one advantage to someone like Patrick, though. I don’t have to worry about him running around on me. He doesn’t have it in him to have an affair.”

  Barbara clammed up. She thought she had shifted the conversation to Patrick and politics. How on earth did they get to this
talk about affairs all of a sudden? If this woman thought she was going to get her to talk about such a delicate subject, she was dreaming. Barbara never talked about that to anyone.

  Damn, Jolene thought. Judging from the way Barbara had suddenly stiffened, their conversation had hit a brick wall. Jolene was disappointed not to get much more out of Barbara about her relationship with Bradford, but she didn’t dare push the boss’s wife any further. She had probably already gone too far.

  “Um, may I offer you something more to drink, Barbara? Water, tea?”

  Chapter 21

  “Hey, Big Daddy. Wanna have some fun? I can be nasty or sweet, however you want.”

  Lee leaned over in her red booty shorts and stuck her head into the passenger window of the tan Toyota. She opened her white fake fur jacket so the occupant could get a good glimpse of her pert sixteen-year-old breasts. She didn’t have all that much to display, so she figured she had to flaunt what was there. She had been doing this a couple of months now and had learned a few tricks of the trade.

  He was a balding white man in a cheap suit, probably just getting off from some two-bit government job. He took a quick glimpse of her, then glanced furtively into his rearview mirror. “Uh, how much?”

  “Fifty bucks,” Lee said, smacking on her gum. “It’ll be the best fuckin’ fifty you ever spent, sweetie.”

  “Where?”

  “I got me a cozy place around the corner I can take you.”

  “Nah. It’s probably a dump. What about in here?”

  Lee shrugged. “Fine with me, sweetie. Whatever floats your—”

  A police siren blared in the distance and the bald white man nearly jumped out the window. Lee backed away quickly. She knew from the scared look in the man’s eyes that he was about to take off, and if she was still hanging in the window he would drag her with him.

  She was right. It was as if the Toyota suddenly turned into a Learjet the way it flew down the street. Lee stomped the pavement with her black patent leather knee-high boots and wrapped her jacket tightly around her breasts. It was so damn cold she could see her breath hanging in the air. She would give anything right now to be inside some man’s nice warm car instead of standing on this godforsaken curb freezing her buns off in the middle of December.

  She was more than ready to turn in for the night but she needed to turn a couple more tricks for Tony or she’d be sleeping out here, too. And that would be far worse than turning even a hundred tricks in this weather.

  But first she would take a short break. She glanced around to make sure Tony’s car was nowhere in sight. If he caught her slacking on his time, he could be a bigger problem than any kind of weather. That sucker was an expert at beating his girls and leaving no bruises.

  She stood near a building and lit a cigarette as a cold blast of air whipped around the corner. It had gotten so she could turn these tricks without even thinking about it. The first week was the worst. Every time she was with a man, she would relive the first time Uncle Clive put his foul hands on her. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter. Even thinking about it now sent a chill up her spine that was far worse than anything from the frigid night air.

  Lee stepped out of the shower and grabbed her towel off the rack. She had to dry off and get to the bedroom fast. She was running late for school, since she had a bad cold and had a hard time getting out of bed that morning. But what she was really worried about was Uncle Clive coming back to the house. He was in and out all day between drug deals, and she hated being there alone with him. But with Mama working two jobs, waiting tables all day and cleaning office buildings at night, it was getting harder and harder to avoid being alone with Uncle Clive.

  She wrapped the towel around her slender body and blotted the water from the ends of her hair. They were extensions, and she needed to have them redone, but Mama didn’t have the money just yet, said to give her two weeks. Lee hoped the braids didn’t all fall out in the meantime.

  She studied her chocolate-colored face in the mirror above the bathroom bowl and noticed a tiny pimple on her chin. She peered closely. She was seeing more of these ugly things on her face lately. Mama said it was normal at her age, something about hormones changing. Well, she would sure be glad when her hormones settled down.

  She heard the front door open and shut and remembered that she was still not dressed yet. Damn. Please, let that be Mama coming home early from work to check on her cold after dropping Vernon off at school. Please, please, please.

  Lee took a deep breath, cracked the door open and stuck her head out. She heard the refrigerator door shut, but she didn’t dare call out. She opened the bathroom door all the way and stepped into the hallway, planning to run to the bedroom as fast as her legs could carry her.

  But before she could take even one step, Uncle Clive appeared in the hallway and planted himself right in front of the bedroom doorway. He took a swig of beer, then looked her up and down from head to toe as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stuck one hand in his pocket and smiled, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth.

  He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. She knew what was on his mind. But it would be a cold day at the equator before she let him put one stinking hand on her. She might be a girl, but he was a scrawny old man. She would bite, kick, hit and everything else if he dared to mess with her.

  His hand was moving inside his pocket, and she looked down at the floor and pretended not to notice. She didn’t want him to see the panic on her face, the fear. Should she run back to the bathroom or try to make it past him to the bedroom? It didn’t really matter. None of the doors in this cheap-ass apartment had locks on them worth a dime. How could she have let him catch her half naked like this?

  She bit her bottom lip. Then, without knowing why, she turned and fled back toward the bathroom. He was on her heels like a hungry shark, and her heart leaped. She let out a low moan and tried to shut the bathroom door behind her, but he burst through and sent her hip smashing against the white basin. She screamed as he grabbed her.

  Next thing she knew, she was sprawled across the bathroom floor on her back with her legs lying out in the hallway and he was on top of her, his pale face and nappy head within inches of her own. The smell of beer on his breath was so strong it seemed she could taste it. He clamped a hand over her mouth as she tried to wiggle free, but she could barely move under his weight. He was so much stronger than he looked.

  She bit his hand, and he yelped. She opened her mouth to scream but he covered it again with his foul-smelling palm. He grabbed the neck of the beer bottle and held it within inches of her face.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch, or I’ll smash this right into that ugly black face of yours.”

  She kicked but that seemed only to arouse him more. He tossed the bottle onto the floor and ripped the towel from her body. He fondled her breasts, then reached down toward his pants. She knew what was coming or thought she did. No one had ever touched her this way, and she was scared out of her mind. Would it hurt real bad? Would she bleed?

  She closed her eyes and tried to block everything out. There was nothing else she could do. She couldn’t even lift a hand to wipe away the tears falling down her cheeks.

  A car pulled up to the curb. A window rolled down. Lee stomped out her cigarette, spit the wad of chewing gum in her mouth out on the sidewalk and stuck a fresh stick in. She opened her fake fur jacket, walked up to the open window and leaned in.

  Chapter 22

  Candice walked off the Metro escalator and pulled up the collar of her wool jacket. The street was full of slippery mush from the recent snow, and she had to step gingerly in her boots as she crossed the intersection to keep the mess from splashing over her ankle-length skirt.

  She was definitely not looking forward to spending another afternoon at the National Archives. It seemed like she’d been coming here forever, but if that’s what it took, so be it.

  She had finally found George and his second wife in the census for Massach
usetts. But George’s mother and sister from Virginia were still a mystery, one Candice was determined to solve one way or another.

  After closely rereading the letters from George’s sister, Rose DuPree, Candice realized that she and her family had settled in Charlottesville, Virginia, after the Civil War. So Candice planned to look up the DuPrees in the censuses taken after the war. That might provide the names of Rose’s children and hopefully lead down to someone alive today whom she could contact to learn more about George’s mother, Sara.

  She went through the metal detector, signed in and draped her jacket on the back of a chair as she had countless times before. Then she retrieved a microfilm and scanned it eagerly until she found the section she was looking for. And there it was: DuPree, Peter. He was the right age to be Rose’s husband, and there was a woman in the household named Rose.

  Four children were also listed, two girls and two boys, Candice noted with delight. She was finally having some luck. She quickly removed a pad of lined paper and a pen from her shoulder bag and began jotting down all the names and ages. As soon as she finished with this roll of film, she would scan the next census to see if Rose and Peter had more children in later years.

  She finished writing everything down and was about to rewind the microfilm when her eyes caught a column that she hadn’t paid much attention to recently. It was always filled with the letter W, which stood for white, next to the names of her relatives. She had also noticed the letter B in that column, which stood for black, but never next to the names of her relatives.

  But now she noticed the letter M in that column next to the names in the DuPree family. What did that stand for?

  She turned the knob on the microfilm reader and scrolled quickly up toward the first row. What she saw hit her heart with a thud.

  The mystery M stood for mulatto.

  Candice blinked. Her right eyelid began to twitch, and that hadn’t happened since her divorce.

  How odd this was. Everything else about this family of DuPrees seemed to match. But according to the census taker, this Rose and her family were mulatto, which meant they were mixed—part black and part white.