“There’s nothing wrong with being pleasing in appearance. It shows respect. It also shows one’s better side. And you, my dear, are indeed a lovely woman to behold.”
“Ohhhhh well thank you!” she said, waiting for a back-handed compliment or building insult. But nothing. What do you know, Gillipsy actually said something. This would be a story to hell her grandchildren.
“I’ll help myself to the dressing room,” he said with a half-smile, which surely looked like the very waters parting from her vantage point.
Perhaps it was no coincidence that Gillipsy was there about the same time as Tonya Abrams walked into the Grandfork Men’s House department store. It was almost something like fate.
“Hi there,” she said to the cashier, looking around the store and booming back and forth until she found the boots section.
“Hey there,” the cashier said back, noticing the woman was a cowgirl, from the very top of her hat and downward. She was also young-looking, about late twenties7.
“Looking for size thirteen, size thirteen.”
“Oh? Special occasion?”
“No ma’am,” she said, flipping through the boots on display and sizing them up. “They’re for me. I’m a rancher. I need them to protect my ankles.”
“Well now,” the woman said with a smile. “Why does a pretty young woman like you feel obligated to get your hands all dirty? You should be out charming those young fellas.”
Tonya laughed quietly, not sure if she was flattered that a southern white woman was giving a young black woman a genuine compliment or insulted because she was holding back feminism.
“Well, thank you, kindly. But I reckon no man can handle me. I’m as stubborn as an oxe and as fast as a horse.”
“You sound like my grandmother,” Nancy said. “She was ahead of her time. I guess you might say we didn’t inherit the gene.”
“Too bad,” Tonya laughed. “There are plenty of ladies but not a lot of strong women.”
“Up north there are,” Nancy said politely.
Tonya laughed. “Here and there. I guess.”
Just then Gillipsy walked out of the dressing room, abruptly and eager to leave as always. However, seeing that Tonya was halfway to the register, decided to wave her in.
“Go ahead,” he said, acquiescing.
“I will,” she said proudly, sure as hell not about to give up her spot to the well dressed white man.
Carl waited patiently as Nancy ran up Tonya’s boots.
“I’m sorry, the card’s been declined,” she said apologetically.
“God damn it,” Tonya said with a stomp. “Fuckers took the money out of my bank.”
“Well that happens…you know, when you don’t pay your bills.”
Nancy flinched and kept her head low as Tonya turned around and glared at the smirking oil man.
“Excuse the hell me, but who in the name of Fucking Christmas are you? And why is it your business?”
“Is your bank Reliant State?”
“Well yeah...how did you…”
“Because I own that bank,” Gillipsy said firmly, as poor Nancy cowered further. “That’s the money you owe me. And you have a lot of nerve telling me that I’m wrong taking the money that you owe me.”
“Well for your information, I had to buy these boots to get a job to pay my balance.”
“All I know is that you signed the contract. You owe me money as agreed. If you couldn’t pay, then you should have called us to make arrangements.”
“Bullshit! It’s my money and that’s my debt. I will pay my debt when I get to it, and it has nothing to do with you, Donald Trump.”
Gillipsy laughed. “Well, that’s new. I’ve been called George W. more times than I can remember. I’m glad you liberals keep up to date.”
“You know? Screw this. I don’t even need this shit.”
Tonya pushed the boots over and stormed out of the store.
The whole thing made Carl laugh. But after shaking his head he made another request, along with the purchase of his new suit. Put the boots on my tab. Be sure to give them to her after I leave. She’ll never accept charity if she knows it comes from a white man.”
He smiled and left, happy as a clam.
Gillipsy had a good afternoon, but the evening was a bit of a farce. He blew out a tire just two blocks down the road from the store. Apparently some moron left a two by four with nails all over it right on the passing lane, and that did a good job of flattening the tire of Carl’s Lincoln MKS. He never took a limo into town—too pretentious.
“Hell of a thing,” he said to his chauffeur. “You buy the best American car trying to be a patriot. Tires aren’t worth a damn. Same damn thing as a Ford when it gets down to basics.”
“Well, maybe your problem is that you buy American, sir,” his chauffeur said.
“I don’t suppose you know how to change a tire, Charlie?”
“Not my specialty. I could try…”
“No, it’s okay,” he said tiredly. “I’ll call Triple A. Why else do I pay them every month if not for things like this?”
“Going to be a long walk, sir,” the chauffeur said. “Or a long wait. You want to ride piggy back to the diner?”
“Don’t be snarky,” Carl said, still smiling and always enjoying the guts and wit of his one Latino worker. “We can wait. You can entertain me with small talk.”
The two men nodded and stared at each other until an awkwardness chilled the air.
“Wow, it’s going to be a long wait,” laughed Charlie.
“You said it, amigo.”
And fate drove up, with perfect timing. Carl smiled when he saw a black Ford drive up beside him…only until he looked through the window and saw a very happy Tonya Abrams tilting her head and nodding like a loon.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Well, well, well!” Tonya said. “Looks like the boot is on the other foot now, isn’t it, Mister Gillipsi?”
“I suppose so,” Carl said with a scowl.
“Now why, sir, may I ask are you broken down in the middle of the road? All you had to do was service that tire. Or else you wouldn’t be in such a mess.”
“That’s a ridiculous analogy. We ran over a nail.”
“Well, why on earth would you do that?”
“It was an accident.”
“Oh I see. But because I’m black then that means whatever mess I get myself into is just cuz I’m a pot-smoking bum that lives on welfare, right?”
“All right. You made your point,” Carl said with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to spend the next hour listening to you mock me.”
“Just relax. I’ll change it for you.”
“You?”
“Hell yeah. I learned how to change a tire before I turned thirteen years old. Don’t tell me Juan there doesn’t know how to change a tire.”
“That’s racist,” Charlie said with a smirk.
“Easy now, Charlie,” Carl laughed. “She can say whatever she wants if she helps us out of a jam. I sure don’t want to wait an hour in the car making small talk with you.”
“More like two hours in Granfork. They probably don’t even know where we are on the map.”
Tonya parked and got out of the car. She opened the trunk and pulled out a jack and wrench.
“Sad world we live in. Poor black woman has to take care of two helpless rich men.”
“I owe you one,” Carl said, surprised at Tonya’s mechanical skills.
“Mmmm-mmm, you don’t owe me a damn thing. And just to let you know, the only reason I’m doing this is if you take back those boots you bought me.”
“What?”
“That’s right. I don’t need your charity.”
“I was being nice.”
“Nope. I don’t need anyone to be nice to me. I pay my own way. That is, if the bank doesn’t rob my account first.”
“Well technically it’s the bank’s money…”
“Excuse me?” sh
e said, wrench in hand and finding his eyes.
“Never mind. It’s uh…not important.”
“That’s right. And you’re taking back those boots, mister.”
“I believe in fairness. You earned them. How’s that?”
“No. If you really believe in fairness…then here’s what you can do. You can return my money that you took without my permission. And we can call it square.”
“How much was it?”
“It was two hundred dollars. I needed that money for the whole week. I can pay you next week for the rest of the month.”
“Done. I appreciate your ingenuity.”
“Yeah right,” Tonya said.
“I do. It’s rare to meet someone with intelligence, class and…”
“What? That’s black?”
“Well no…I was going to say beauty.”
“Ahhhh. Ahaaahh!” Tonya grabbed her tummy and laughed her ass off. “Don’t even go there. Don’t even.”
“What?”
Charlie laughed too. “Smooth, Mister G.”
“I state it only as a matter of fact.”
“Yeah well, no flattery needed. Just accept the fact that you were a jerk and I showed you how to be a better man, mmmkay?”
“I don’t think I need any help being a better man.”
He almost continued but then bit his lip and smiled.
“I’ve heard that before too,” Tonya said looking at Carl and raising her eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean I believe it when they say it.”
“Well…come what may. Maybe it was fate that brought us here today.”
“Maybe…or maybe it was just you running over a nail like an old fool,” Tonya said, yanking the lug nut right off.
The tire change was great—she had strength and precision and tied it just perfect, better than they even did at the dealership. She smiled at Carl and he smiled back, not quite sure what to say or what to feel.
“Well…check your bank account tomorrow. All I can say is thank you.”
“No problem. Guys like you need the most help, Mister G,” Tonya said, leaning on the car window. She walked back to her car and drove away.
It didn’t take long for Tonya to break through Carl’s downstairs floor. She knew being a poor person she couldn’t just storm the place; but if she was a “hired contractor” there to fix his computers, that seemed as good a cover as any other.
It took at least one secretary and one project manager to realize there was no “Kate Johnson” and before they could stop her it was too late.
The two women ran into Carl’s office fearing the worst. But all they found was just Carl calmly sitting at his desk and smiling, while Tonya shook her head back and forth.
“You can’t be in here!” one said.
“Let her be,” Carl demanded. “It was your fault she passed security. But now that you’ve let her in, we might as well hear what she has to say.”
“You bastard,” Tonya said with an angry smile. “You put five thousand dollars in my account?”
“You wanted American money, correct?”
“Yes but I asked just for what you took. Not five thousand dollars!”
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s charity,” she said strongly. “I don’t believe in charity. I believe in paying my own way.”
“Well you are paying your own way.”
“What?”
“Changing my tire cost you at least five hundred dollars worth of your time, or at least that’s what I would have charged for such an efficient performance. And taking you out to dinner tonight in Bellevue at the Ritz Diner, well that’s going to easily run you a thousand dollars, especially if you order the best wine in the cellar. Then the limo ride, then going down to Galveston for a beachside dinner. You are paying your own way…because I’m thoroughly convinced you’re going to say yes.”
“Say yes to what?!”
“To…well. Obviously. Going out with me.”
All three women made quirky faces and looked around the room, shocked. Only Tonya stayed behind; the others scurried out of the room, still trying to understand what had just happened.
“You mean…like, you’re asking me out?”
“Well…that would seem to be the consensus.”
“But…you’re…”
“What? Rich? Is that not politically correct anymore?”
“I…I don’t even know your first name.”
“Carl. Now you know.”
“Huh…Carl. Cool. I guess I have no problem with it. But…”
She folded her arms and stared at him. “We’re going to a nice place around here. Something for like twenty books, with soda pop or tea. I don’t want to be owing you five thousand dollars. Deal?”
“Hmmm. You drive a hard bargain, Tonya.”
“That’s what they tell me,” she said with a smile.
The night was charming. Not over the top swanky as Carl Gillispy was used to, given the big oil parties his family often hosted, and his last date—a New Yorker, of course, she wanted the works. But Tonya was a refreshing delight. She stubbornly insisted on paying her own way. She even insisted that Carl be a gentleman and take off his Stetson hat when he sat down. Carl always liked to buck the establishment and remind folks that a billionaire was in the house. But he found her old fashioned sensibilities charming.
“How’s your meal?”
“Good,” she said coldly.
“I have to admit, it’s a charming place. Not what I’m used to. But good none the less.”
“Look, you’re sweet. All right?”
“Well…that’s something I don’t hear too often. Not in my line of work.”
“I just don’t think this is going to work.”
“Oh. Well, just one date. Not too much damage done.”
“Yeah…look I gotta’ go. I’ll see ya around. Just…let me leave my share of the bill, okay?” Tonya frantically searched her purse for two twenties and then dropped them on the table.
“Oh…well…all right. I guess if that’s what you want.”
Carl watched a panicky Tonya get up from the restaurant, carrying her uncharacteristically blue and formal dress away as she quickly made her exit.
Something felt strange about it. Tonya was all smiles the first time they met and this time, under the lights and in a beautiful dress that brought out the wonderful glow of her cocoa skin, it should have been something a little bit closer to magic. If not a happily ever after sort of thing, then at least a good business dinner, if nothing else.
But this woman wasn’t having it. She didn’t smile, didn’t tease. Just fled in…what seemed to be revulsion. Was she really that color blind?”
Carl finished his meal and waited for desert to come, as usual. While waiting and looking around the room he noticed a well dressed black man staring at him.
Carl nodded at him. Wasn’t right to assume just any black man had to know who Tonya was. But there was something peculiar about the way this man was pointing and chuckling.
Carl felt it appropriate to walk over and see what the ruckus was about.
“Hi there.”
“Wassup, G? I’m Leon.”
“I uh…”
“I couldn’t help but notice,” Leon said in his funniest mock “formal” voice, “that you were dining in this fine establishment with Tonya Abrams. Do you know who Tonya is or is she pulling the wool over your eyes too?”
“Well…she said she was a rancher.”
“A rancher!” Leon laughed hard and yukked it up with his two buddies at the table. “A rancher now. No, no. What you have here is the classic case of a chronic liar. Tonya A is as big a hoe as you will ever meet.”
“Well…why would you say that? Do you know her…”
“Hey now, don’t assume that I know her just cuz’ you think we all look alike.” He laughed again. “Nah, I’m just teasing you man. Seriously though. I ain’t saying Tonya is a hoe. She’s not ‘professional’ in any sense of the word. B
ut I ain’t never seen a gold digger as committed as her dependent ass. Tell you what, G. Look her up on RosyBrides.com. See what you find. Then…you make your own choices. K?”
Carl nodded uncomfortably. Whether or not this guy was fibbing or not, all it was, was just a source. A tip. It was up to Carl to find out the truth, if there was any.
Carl looked up the website and searched for her name: nothing. Then he searched for a few variations; Tawnyee, Tanner, Tonta and Tony. Only Tonye came up with a search.
“My God.”
It was true. There was Tonya Abrams’ face—her beautiful, proud face mugging for the camera, a bit more shy and submissive than her hard exterior was in purpose. She was offering herself to a “wealthy man preferably overseas who knows how to treat a lady. Asian and African are OK!”
He was in disbelief, to say the least. To think that he felt bad about harassing her for being in debt…only to find out she was someone else’s destined mail order bride. The nerve of the man. He had right a mind to call her up…or…
Nah, nah, his deep southern conscience seemed to prick at him. No good sense in kicking a woman while she’s down.
He couldn’t resist however, doing the one forbidden thing—sending her a message on the mail order bride site and letting her know, there’s no pulling a fast one over Carl Gillispy’s eyes.
Thank you for a lovely night, Townye. I regret that things didn’t turn out better than they did. But I’m glad I got to see the softer side of you. I hope you find the Asian fellow of your dreams.
-G
To say that Tonya received the message was an understatement. She actually wrote back some twenty messages, all of them saying pretty much the same thing—“How the fuck did you…” and “Who the fuck gave you…” but Carl didn’t bother reading them past the subject line.
Just figured it was in his nature not to let her get away with any shit. The man certainly didn’t double his daddy’s fortune by just letting people sucker him.
Tonya tried to call him but there was no good reason to talk things over. He knew and she knew what went down. Not that he was resentful. Poor kid was probably too embarrassed to tell him who she really was. Yeah, why not put up a strong front and pretend to be some bad ass if it makes people respect you. That’s some southern logic for you, and worth repeating.
The Taken Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 21
