Don't Tell A Soul

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “So, Mommy, have you talked to Auntie Taylor?” Cicely asks.

  I realize that it’s Friday and I haven’t talked to Taylor since last week at church. Yvonne, either, for that matter, and I need to get the details on her date. I’ve been so consumed with writing my new book proposal that I’ve lost a few days in my friends’ lives.

  “I haven’t talked to Taylor. Why?”

  Cicely’s eyes widen. “Oh, so you don’t know about Joshua?”

  I stop chopping the bell peppers and put the knife down on the cutting board. “What about Joshua?”

  “He got arrested at school on Wednesday.”

  “The blood of Jesus! Arrested? By the police?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They came up to the school and put handcuffs on him and everything. Then they put him in the back of the car. Auntie Taylor was up there crying like somebody died.”

  “Why did they arrest him?”

  “He punched Ms. Golden in the mouth and knocked out her dentures,” Cicely explains.

  “I don’t believe that!”

  I wipe my hands and fumble for my cell phone. Gretchen takes over and heats oil in the big skillet for the chicken pieces. She really doesn’t need me for this at all. Thank God, because I need to talk to my sister. I step into my study and close the door.

  The phone rings three times. “Hi, Pam.”

  “Taylor, what is going on? Cicely just told me about Joshua. Why haven’t you called?”

  “I did call, but your phone went right to voice mail,” Taylor says in a quivering voice. “I spent the last couple of days trying to get my baby out of the juvenile detention center. Spencer was finally able to get him released a few hours ago.”

  “Why did they arrest him? The story Cicely told me can’t possibly be accurate.”

  Taylor sighs, and there’s a long and pregnant pause. “Cicely was probably close to the truth. He’s got this teacher who doesn’t care for him, and she just won’t leave him alone. I guess he didn’t turn in an assignment, she chastised him, he talked back, and then she snatched him out of his seat. He doesn’t like people putting their hands on him, so he kind of lost it.”

  “What do you mean, he lost it?”

  “He hit that old bat and knocked her dentures out, but she wasn’t hurt.”

  I let out a gasp just thinking about what I’d do to any of my children if they raised a hand to one of their teachers. “I can’t believe Joshua did that! You’ve raised him better than that.”

  “Well, that witch shouldn’t have put her hands on my son. They did away with corporal punishment for a reason. So that these racist teachers can’t put their hands on our kids.”

  Now, I know Ms. Golden. I worked on the PTA with her, and both Cicely and Gretchen had her for fifth grade. She is a tough-as-nails woman who is somewhat old school. She doesn’t tolerate back talk, and she makes the children say “No, ma’am” and “Yes, ma’am.” She is a great teacher and is not racist at all. Even though she works in our well-to-do suburb, she volunteers every year tutoring reading students in the urban school districts.

  “I never thought Ms. Golden was racist, Taylor.”

  “Well, she is. She doesn’t like black boys. You have girls, so maybe that’s why you haven’t experienced it yet. You better hope TJ doesn’t have her when he gets in fifth grade. Hopefully, she will have retired by then.”

  “They haven’t filed any charges, have they? He’s just a little boy.”

  “Girl, they talking about assault, but we’re going to fight it. Right now we’ve got to worry about where Joshua’s going to go to school. They expelled him.”

  “Oh my Lord, Taylor, I’m so sorry. Do you think if he apologizes to the teacher that they’d overturn the decision?”

  “Apologize? He didn’t do anything but defend himself. She shouldn’t have put her hands on my son.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I know that Taylor overindulges Joshua a little bit. I thought that it was just because it was only the two of them for so long. I hoped that once Spencer came into their lives, she would be a little bit more balanced about that boy.

  “What are you gonna do, then?”

  “For now I’m going to homeschool him.”

  “What about your job?”

  “I’m taking a leave of absence. Spencer makes more than enough money to take care of us, and we’ve been stacking most of my checks for years. We’ll be fine if I take some time off to get my son back on track.”

  “What did Spencer say about you leaving work?”

  Another loud sigh from Taylor. “He basically said that all of this is my fault. He’s wanted to punish Joshua for his other outbursts, but I don’t allow that. He’s not hitting my son. So he said I might as well handle it.”

  This is a touchy subject, and I don’t even know if our friendship can withstand me telling Taylor how I really feel about this. I think Joshua could’ve used a good spanking a couple of times, but I don’t think she believes in spanking. I can understand why she doesn’t want Spencer to touch him, but I also know how much Spencer loves them both.

  “Maybe Spencer’s method is not such a bad idea.”

  “You sound like Yvonne.”

  “See . . .”

  “Neither of you has been a single mother, so you have no idea what I’m going through.”

  “But you’re not a single mother anymore.”

  Taylor clears her throat. “You just worry about getting that book published, huh? We’re all looking for a reason to celebrate, so let’s get it poppin’, girlfriend.”

  “Okay, Taylor, you can avoid the issue for now, but we’re not done with this conversation.”

  “I’m not avoiding anything. I’m just done talking about it. I didn’t ask for advice, Pam.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s what you do. I know where to find you when I need you.”

  I can hear the smile in Taylor’s voice, and I know she doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings. “All right, girl. You want to get lunch tomorrow? Maybe Yvonne can come, too.”

  “Yes. We’ve got to grill her about Kingston.”

  “Okay! She thinks we forgot.”

  “She needs to go on ahead and get back on the horse. Luke is sure riding into the sunset. That loser is getting married!”

  I chuckle. “Wow.”

  “He claims he’s changed. He’s started a church.”

  “Shut the front door!”

  Taylor giggles now. “Yes, child.”

  “Well, I guess anyone can change.”

  “Mmm-hmmm. Anyone can start a church!”

  I hear Aria’s loud, shrill giggle in my home and decide it’s time to end this conversation.

  “See you tomorrow, Taylor. Troy and I have company.”

  “Okay. Text me the place tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  After I disconnect the call, I walk back through the kitchen, where Gretchen has got everything under control. The chicken is sautéing with the onions and bell peppers, and she’s added slices of chili peppers to the mix.

  “You need any help?” I ask.

  Gretchen smiles. “I got this, Mom. Daddy’s friends are here.”

  Gretchen knows me so well. She’s been my shadow ever since she could walk, and she has discernment when it comes to my feelings. She knows that I do not like Aria, even though I’ve never said it out loud.

  I put a fake smile on my face as I stride into the living room. Aria sees me and runs over to me. She gives me a tight hug and air kisses. I feel my body tense from this unwanted affection.

  “Hey, Ms. Pam! Or should I say authoress Pam?”

  “Um, Pam is fine.”

  Logan hands me a colorful bouquet of mixed flowers and a gift bag. “I was a rude guest the last time I came by. This time I come bearing gifts.”

  Now, this makes me smile for real. I inhale the sweet fragrance of the flowers and then open the gift bag. There’s a small box with a beautif
ully decorated cupcake inside.

  “Troy said you like baked goods,” Logan explains.

  “I do, but I’m not sure if I need it. I’m on a diet.” A fact I am very much reminded of right now with Aria prancing around, wearing skinny jeans that hug her ridiculously large bottom. How can a woman even have that big a behind with those skinny legs? I thought big behinds came with big thighs. Mine does!

  “You look great,” Logan says. “A grown man isn’t afraid of a grown woman’s curves. Isn’t that right, Troy?”

  Troy laughs out loud. “Don’t discourage her, Logan! She’s doing great on her diet. You are looking good, babe.”

  I narrow my eyes at Troy and take a huge bite of the strawberry and cream cupcake. The sweet, creamy frosting gives me a sugar rush, which immediately lifts my mood.

  “Enough kissing up to my wife!” Troy says. “Let’s get started on this music. I can’t wait to hear these tracks.”

  Not knowing quite what to do with myself, I sit down on the couch and wait to see what happens next. Aria takes her usual place on the stool in front of Troy’s keyboard. She always looks like she’s posing there to me, with her head thrown back and her weave flowing over her shoulders. Troy and Logan go to the computer and load the flash drive.

  The next thing I hear is a pounding, almost disco beat, but with a melody on top of it. It sounds like something you’d hear in a club or one of those rave things that teenagers have.

  “That’s hot!” Aria says. “But what am I going to sing to that?”

  Logan holds up one finger, as if he’s waiting for something. Then he sings, “I came for the party. Now, leave me alone. You didn’t bring your boys. I didn’t bring my girls. I came to get my party on. Baby, I’m grown. I’m gone keep on dancing till the break of dawn.”

  After hearing Logan sing it a few times, Aria starts singing it in her rich voice. Even though I can’t stand her, I never could deny that Aria could sing her butt off.

  Logan kills the music. “See the vibe we’re going for? Strictly club and a couple of really melodic mid-tempo ballads. You want songs that people learn by heart. That’s the only way you go from being an aspiring artist to an artist that’s making bank.”

  I’ve never seen Troy speechless, but when Logan talks, my husband—the self-appointed big dawg in charge—gazes at him in awe like he’s looking at a deity. I don’t know if what Logan is saying makes sense or not, but Troy and Aria are lapping it up with a spoon.

  “How many songs do you think I should do?” Aria asks.

  “I think you should start out with five or six, almost like a mix tape, build the public interest, and then take it from there,” Logan replies.

  Troy says, “And I get songwriting credits on the record?”

  “Absolutely. On the songs that you write, you get credit.”

  “So if she goes platinum, Troy is a millionaire again?” I ask.

  Logan turns his attention to me. It’s like he forgot I was there and just now noticed me again. “Well, that’s not exactly how songwriting credit works. The songwriter gets nine cents per song, per album. So, for every song on a platinum record, Troy gets ninety thousand dollars. I know it’s confusing.”

  “It’s not confusing,” I say with a tight head shake. “It’s really simple math.”

  Logan laughs out loud. “Troy, you ought to hire your wife to mind your books. It sounds like she’d do a great job of it.”

  “Maybe she would. Or maybe she’d spend up the money getting her nails and hair done,” Troy says.

  “No, Troy, that would be me,” Aria says. “I think Ms. Pam would do the right thing.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get y’all off track by asking business questions. I was just curious,” I say.

  “You were just counting my money,” Troy says.

  “I thought when you got married, it became the both of yours,” Logan says with a chuckle.

  I give Troy an unblinking stare, wondering how he’s going to get out of this one. “You’re not married,” Troy says. “So you wouldn’t know.”

  “I’m not married, because I haven’t found a great woman like the one you have.”

  I feel myself blush, so I look away from Troy and at the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man say such nice things about me, not even Troy. Thank God Gretchen comes in with her tray of fajitas before I have to respond.

  “Troy, I’m going to get out of your way now, so y’all can do your thing. I need to work on my next book,” I say.

  Troy walks over and gives me an extremely intimate and embarrassing hug. “Good. ’Cause I think you’re distracting my homeboy here.”

  “Boy, stop playing!”

  On my way out of the room, I lock eyes with Troy and he gives his eyebrow a slight lift, which lets me know we’re not done talking about this. Well, he can talk all he wants; it’ll just be noise. He can’t get mad at me because another man looks my way. I still got it. He needs to recognize.

  CHAPTER 9

  EVA

  Loud music filled the dressing room, where dozens of dancers scurried back and forth in scant lingerie. It was almost eleven o’clock, the time when the club really started jumping. It was when the ballers came through to make it rain dollars on the dancers as they gyrated away their dignity and every good lesson their mamas ever taught them.

  Eva sighed as she stared at her tear-streaked face in the mirror. The fake mink eyelashes, which were supposed to make her look glamorous, just made her seem more melancholy. The red lipstick and glittery eye shadow couldn’t hide the turmoil in her heart.

  Earlier in the week, she’d tried her hand at a square job. An employment agency sent her to a collections call center site to make harassing phone calls to people who owed money on their credit cards. She didn’t know who she was fooling trying out that job. She couldn’t compel anyone to pay their bills. Heck, she was one of those people that hid from those collectors’ calls herself.

  So here she was at the Gentlemen’s Den strip club, trying to decide if she should go and make her money for the evening. Rent on her apartment was due in a few days, and even though she could find a church to give her a free meal, her only other option for somewhere to stay was a homeless shelter. Eva didn’t have any family or friends that she felt comfortable contacting.

  Eva took two steps toward the stairs that led up to the dance floor. God, forgive me please. As she walked up the stairs, the music got louder and the beat was so intense that the walls shook, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of her conscience and a small, quiet voice.

  Eva stopped at the top of the steps and sighed as the last few dancers ran past her and out into the club. It was packed. Wall-to-wall men and a few women, all ready to toss their money at her. Money that she’d use to pay her bills. Money that she’d put on the offering plate on Sunday. It was dirty money, but it was still spent the same.

  Eva envisioned herself stooping to pick up the money from the floor as every part of her body was exposed. The thought of it made her stomach churn. She didn’t want to do it, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t pray about it, either. Eva had promised God she’d leave the business for good if her HIV test was negative. And she wasn’t doing films anymore, but even if there was no sex, stripping was still part of the sex industry.

  The song changed, and Eva didn’t move. She stayed planted in her spot through another song, and then another. Every time she tried to will herself to move, she just couldn’t do it.

  One of the girls walked past Eva and said, “Girl, you better come on out on the floor. I just got all my bills paid for the month. The ballers are being generous tonight.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah, girl. They paying for lap dances and everything. If you go in the back room, you could probably get your bills paid for two months.”

  Eva frowned. The back room was where all the rules of the club disappeared and men paid for extra favors that they couldn’t get out in the open o
n the dance floor. Eva wasn’t going anywhere near the back room. It was too much like the set of one of her adult films.

  “Well, are you coming?” the girl asked.

  “I’ll be out there,” Eva said.

  As soon as the girl left, Eva walked back down the stairs to the dressing room area. She got dressed quickly, before she could change her mind or think about a bill that needed to be paid.

  Just as she was about to go out the basement exit door, the owner of the club, a guy named Roe, walked into the dressing room. He frowned at Eva as she tried to make her exit.

  “Where you going? You trying to keep my cut?”

  For a second, Eva didn’t understand what Roe meant, and then she realized that he wanted his percentage of her tips. “I didn’t dance at all. There’s no cut.”

  “I advertised that you were gonna be here. Film stars make a lot of tips.”

  “I’m a former film star,” Eva said, eyeing the door warily. Roe was standing between her and the exit.

  Roe licked his lips slowly and stared lasciviously at Eva. She pulled her jacket tightly around her midsection and started to shift her weight from one leg to the other. She knew the look that Roe had on his face. She’d seen it on the faces of countless johns when she was a teenager. It was a look of lust multiplied by evil.

  “If you ain’t gone dance, you gone have to do something. You losing me money, girl.”

  “Look, Roe, this was a mistake. I just wanna go to the house.”

  Roe rubbed his hands together as he walked toward Eva. “You gone undress, or you want me to undress you?”

  “Neither. Why don’t you just let me go?” Eva didn’t plead, because she wasn’t afraid. She’d fought off bigger creeps than Roe. But she wasn’t in the mood this evening. She wanted to go home and erase the entire night from her memory.

  “I will. After.” Roe stopped in front of Eva and snatched open her jacket. That was the only move he got to make.

  Eva stepped in close and gave Roe a swift knee to the groin. When he doubled over from the intense pain, Eva delivered a roundhouse kick to his jaw, which took his consciousness.