God Ain't Through Yet (14 page)

I
was in no hurry to see Jade face-to-face. Her return impacted me like a boil on my butt! But I had heard so many nice things about her new husband, LaVerne “Vernie” Staples, from Rhoda and a few other people that I was really looking forward to meeting him.

“He's no Adonis like Marcelo, and he is kind of meek, but he's good for Jade,” Rhoda told me, giving me a guarded look over drinks.

We occupied a table near the ladies' room at the Red Rose, our version of the wildly popular bar on the old TV show
Cheers
. Rhoda beckoned for our waiter, a knock-kneed woman named O'Linda who didn't hesitate to cuss out patrons who didn't tip her after each drink she delivered.

“He'll be a good father, and Jade wants to get pregnant right away. I know you don't want to hear this, but she said she doesn't want to be old enough to be a grandmother when she gives birth to her first child, like you. She wants to be a young mother. She wants to grow up with her kids, like I did.” Rhoda paused, finished her glass of Chianti, and fished a couple of dollars from her wallet, which she handed to O'Linda as soon as she set down two more glasses of wine. “Isn't that cute? Jade's not even twenty-one yet and she's concerned about old age already.”

I didn't think it was necessary for Rhoda to tell me what Jade had said about me being old enough to be a grandmother when I had my daughter. Even though it was true. I wanted to respond to that comment by implying that Jade would probably be a
great
grandmother by the time she was my age at the rate she was going. I didn't. I knew Rhoda well enough to know that when she told me something mean and nasty that somebody had said about me, it wasn't to make me feel bad. And she knew me well enough to know that I always wanted to know where I stood with somebody. As if Jade would not let me know what she thought about me herself. That heifer had such a long reach that during the few months she spent in Alabama, just hearing somebody mention her name made my stomach turn.

With Jade back on the scene, I had to plan my visits to Rhoda's house more carefully. I wanted to avoid Jade as much as possible, so I didn't visit when I knew she was on the premises. However, I didn't let Jade's presence stop me from visiting my best friend. She usually rolled out of bed around noon, so it was fairly safe for me to drop by during the early morning hours. She went to the clubs several times a week, so it was safe for me to visit between the club hours, too.

My next visit to Rhoda's house was the morning after we'd had drinks at the Red Rose. I'd arrived around eleven thirty. Rhoda had seated me in her kitchen, my favorite room in her house. She loved to cook Betty Crocker treats for her sweet-toothed husband, so her kitchen always smelled like cakes and cookies. Anyway, there I was sitting in Rhoda's kitchen sipping from a can of Coors Light and admiring her new granite countertops. We were in the middle of discussing her son-in-law again when she had to attend to a minor problem in her basement with the man from the gas company. There was no one else in the house, so it was very quiet. But it didn't stay that way long. I was startled by a loud, nasty voice.

“I thought
you
were here,” Jade huffed. I looked toward the kitchen doorway and there she stood, still in her sexy nightgown, looking as friendly as the grim reaper. “I guess you won't stop until you wear out your welcome.”

“Hello, Jade,” I said, forcing myself to smile.

“Did Mama burn something?” she asked, looking around and sniffing with a sour look on her face.

“No, not that I know of.”

Jade glared at me for a few moments before she disappeared. Rhoda had returned to the kitchen by the time Jade came back with a can of room deodorizer. Without looking at me, or saying anything to her mother, she started spraying the kitchen, saturating the air with a pine-scented fragrance.

“Good mornin', honey. I didn't know you were up,” Rhoda said in a sweet voice. She removed another can of Coors from her refrigerator and started drinking from it right away.

“How can a person sleep in this house with such a foul smell coming from this kitchen? I thought a mouse or some funky creature had died up in here.” Jade looked directly at me and sprayed some more. During my last visit, she had sprayed the telephone with Lysol after I'd used it, so this didn't bother me much.

“I don't smell anything foul,” Rhoda said, looking from Jade to me. “Do you, Annette?”

“It is kind of stale in here if you don't mind me saying so,” I replied, looking directly at Jade. She shot me a smirk before she left the room. I turned to face Rhoda and resumed our conversation. “How does Vernie feel about Jade wanting to have children so soon?” I asked, looking toward the door.

“I really don't know,” she responded, easing onto a high stool by the counter, sliding her hand over that new granite top. “The boy is so mysterious it's hard to figure him out. He's so quiet, he usually doesn't even speak unless he's spoken to. I don't know if he likes livin' here in Ohio—he'd never even been out of the state of Alabama until now. I don't even know if he likes workin' for my husband and livin' with us. Jade does all the talkin' for him.” Rhoda stared toward the wall for a few seconds with a blank expression on her face. “I'm concerned about that,” she told me in a worried tone of voice.

“There's nothing wrong with being quiet,” I said.

Rhoda shook her head. “I meant him bein' so mysterious.”

“Well, I haven't met him yet so I can't offer an opinion; but from what I've heard from people who have met him, he makes a really nice first impression, Rhoda.”

“So did Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer. And I am sure that Charles Manson must have made a good first impression, too, on somebody,” she quipped, drinking some more beer with a belch.

“I think you're going way overboard. It sounds like the boy is the type who likes to keep to himself, that's all. And there is nothing wrong with that.”

I took a long drink from my can and shook my head. Jade pranced past the doorway, coughing and rubbing her nose like she'd stumbled upon a skunk. I ignored her, but Rhoda gave me the usual hopeless look that invariably accompanied a Jade appearance.

“Anyway, as I was sayin'—keep to himself? Vernie? Uh-uh. That's one of the things you give up when you get married. If that's the case with him, there is just no tellin' what's on that boy's mind.”

“Cut the boy some slack. Be glad he's the quiet type. As long as he remains that way, you won't have to worry about him embarrassing you or Jade in public.”

“You're right and I know you are. It's just that…well, never mind. He's a sweet young man, and I think he's a good addition to my family. Even though…” Rhoda stopped and pursed her lips.

“Even though what?”

“He seems more like a stowaway than a newlywed husband.”

I chuckled. “That's cute, Rhoda. Even if he is a stowaway, you should make him feel welcome.” I sipped some beer. “Maybe Jade will pick up some of his habits.”

“Such as?”

“Since he's so quiet, maybe she'll tone her image down a bit.”

“Ha! That'll be the day. I can only hope. Listen, I know how busy you are these days dealin' with Pee Wee and his concerns about his business, but I appreciate you listenin' to me rant and rave about that daughter of mine.”

“You are always there for me, Rhoda. And I know Jade and I have our issues, but I only wish the best for her. She's still young enough to make some drastic changes in herself.”

I pressed my lips together and anxiously awaited Rhoda's response. All she did was stare off into space. As tough as she was, being the mother of a pistol like Jade had to be a daunting task.

“Has Vernie made any new friends yet?” I asked.

I had to snap my fingers to get Rhoda's attention back. It took her a few seconds to respond. But first she had to shake her head and blink a few times, like she was coming out of a daze. And I guess she was. I didn't even have to see or talk to Jade every day like she did, and I was in a mild daze myself.

“What did you just say?” she asked.

“Has Jade's husband made any new friends yet?” I asked gently.

“Not exactly. The Puerto Ricans across the street invited him over for a drink yesterday after he helped the husband jump-start that old jalopy of his. But just as he was about to go out the door, Jade put her foot down and told him she couldn't have him socializin' with people like that.”

“People like what? I thought you told me those people were very nice.”

“They are nice people. But ever since Marcelo jilted Jade, she's had it in for the whole Hispanic population. Jennifer Lopez flashed on the TV screen last night, and Jade called her everything but a child of God.”

“That Jade. Do you think she's ever going to come to her senses?”

Rhoda whimpered and looked at me like I was speaking Greek. “What's that supposed to mean? My daughter is not crazy,” she protested.

“You know what I mean. She's got some…uh…issues.”

Rhoda nodded and released a mild sigh. “I know that. And I'm the first person to say that she's not exactly Little Bo Peep. She takes after the women on my daddy's side. Aunt Lola and Aunt Moline are real feisty. You know that; you met them when they came up here for my grandma's funeral. And by the way, my granny was as hot as a six-shooter herself. She is the one who Jade is the most like. Talk about a snake! That woman was a cross between a cobra and a python! Whew!”

I gave Rhoda a pensive look.

“What's that look for?” she asked with both eyebrows raised.

“I was thinking about what you just said. You think Jade's a snake?”

Rhoda rolled her eyes and let out another mild sigh. “In a way, I guess I do.”

I patted her hand and gave her one of my most sympathetic looks. “Honey, for every snake there is a mongoose.”

“I know,” Rhoda agreed, dropping her head. She kept her eyes on the countertop for a few moments; but when she looked up again, all I could see was sadness. “And that scares the hell out of me. My daughter won't be lucky like I was when I was raisin' hell. You know what kind of shit I did along the way….” Rhoda paused and tilted her head to the side. “Remember all of that stuff I shared with you?” she whispered.

“How could I forget any of it?” I whispered back. It seemed hard to believe that the woman sharing the kitchen with me, my best friend, had killed five people—and gotten away with it. “I just hope that Jade never…you know…does the same things you've done.”

“I doubt she'll go that far. Me, I'm old school. Jade belongs to what I call the dot.com generation. There are too many things at her disposal for her to get too caught up on any one thing in particular. Look how quick she bounced back after Marcelo left her. And remember how fast she bounced back after that little misunderstandin' she had with you?”

I was still bouncing back from that “little misunderstanding” between Jade and myself that had occurred a little over a year ago. It still hurt when I thought about how she'd harassed me with anonymous nasty phone calls, vicious notes, and vile packages, hoping to send me to the nut house so she could move in with my husband.

“And Jade's still bouncing,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that? I didn't hear you,” Rhoda said, tapping her fingers on the table.

“It was nothing,” I said with a dry laugh. “I was just saying how lucky we all are to have so many blessings….”

I
counted my blessings each and every day. I had so much to be thankful for. Not just material things, my health, and my family, but emotional and spiritual things, too.

I was not perfect, so I knew that I could still lose my way again if I wasn't careful. My affair had cost me dearly—most of my self-respect and my husband's trust—so I was determined to put it so far on the backburner that I would forget how good I thought it was during the time that it was going on. I realized now just how much I had to lose, and that it could all happen in the blink of an eye—not just for myself but my family as well.

It had taken me a lot of years to get to where I was, and I prayed that I had a lot of years left to enjoy it. Thankfully, there was no reason for me to believe that I didn't have a lot of years left. I had been fortunate enough to reach middle age and longevity seemed to run in my family. Both of my parents were now close to their eighties. And even though they were both as fussy as toddlers some days, they were still enjoying healthy and productive lives. One of the things that I was most grateful for was that they were still sharp enough to live on their own. I dreaded the day that I'd have to either put them in a home or move them in with me. The way my mother rode my back by badgering and preaching to me, it wouldn't take long for my sanity to fly out the window if she lived with me.

“Annette, God been good to you, but God ain't through yet,” Muh'Dear reminded me on a regular basis. She was right. God had been good to me; not by randomly dropping things into my lap, but because I had worked hard for everything I had. Therefore, I tried not to take anything for granted.

Besides, if God wasn't through with me yet, I was anxious to see what other good things He had in store for me.

One of my best blessings was my job. I loved being employed as a manager at Mizelle's Collection Agency. The pay was good, my boss loved me to death, and I was finally at a point where I got along with all of the people I supervised. Counting myself, we were a staff of seventeen. It would have been eighteen, had I not scared off one of my husband's most loyal client's twenty-five-year-old nephew, Michael Dench, last December.

It was hard to find good workers, especially for jobs as unpopular as credit collection agents. You had to be strong to put up with some of the crap we got from the deadbeats we went after.

Well, Michael had submitted a résumé that looked too good to be true. I could not ignore the fact that he was so eager to work for me that he had walked all the way to my office from across town for his interview because he didn't have bus fare.

It was the week before Christmas. He had arrived on time, which meant he had to leave the house he shared with his mama at least two hours earlier. One of the reasons Michael was so anxious and determined to get a job was because he wanted to earn some money so he could send his terminally ill grandmother to Disneyland for her eighty-fifth birthday, which was coming up in a few weeks. I really liked this young man and his enthusiasm.

“I just hope my granny lasts that long,” he told me during the interview, looking away too late for me not to see the tears in his eyes.

“I hope so, too, Michael. Uh, if things work out for you, you can do all of the overtime you can stand. And you can even take work home from time to time—if you don't mind calling up deadbeats during the hours when most people your age are out dancing and having a good time,” I said, sounding as giddy as a teenager. That sweetened a pie that was already sweet to him, but I didn't stop there. “We also have bonus incentives.”

The more I talked, the more he smiled. Because we were short handed that day and two of my employees were out sick, I adjusted the rules and decided to hire Michael on the spot, but on a temporary basis. He got so excited he started grinning from ear to ear.

“Let me check out your references and do the background check. If everything goes well, we can talk about a permanent arrangement,” I told Michael as I concluded the interview. Even though he was twenty-five, he still looked like a teenager, and I had some concerns about the fact that he was so cute.

“Um, thank you,” Michael said, suddenly looking nervous.

My staff included a couple of predatory women who ate cute young things like Michael for breakfast. Michael would have been just a quick snack, like a bag of Fritos, for those heifers. He wore a loose-fitting white shirt that day with a maroon tie. But his black pants were tight enough for me to see how firm his thighs were. With his small, pearly white teeth, juicy lips, cinnamon brown skin, cleft chin, and light brown eyes, he was a recipe for disaster. Had he come around last year, he might have been the one that I lost my mind over instead of that fool Louis Baines. They looked just that much alike. But I was a changed woman. There was not another man on earth who was going to come between me and my husband again. Michael could have been sitting in front of me naked and it would not have aroused me.

“Uh, in the meantime, you can come in tomorrow morning at nine, fill out the necessary paperwork, and I can put you to work right away.” I smiled.

“I'll be here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock sharp.” The palm of his hand was covered in sweat when I shook it before his departure.

That boy was so anxious to start working for me, he arrived at the office before I did that first morning. I was pleasantly surprised when I stumbled across the parking lot and discovered him squatting on the ground in front of the bus stop a few yards from my office building. By the end of the first day, he had roped in two of our most difficult and elusive debtors, and locked them into firm commitments to bring their delinquent accounts up to date. “Thank you for taking a chance on me, Mrs. Davis,” he said on his way out at closing time.

I knew for a fact that a lot of employers didn't always check all references, because I fell into that category myself. One reason was that if I had a good feeling about a job candidate, I usually went with that. Another reason was that sometimes tracking down references took up too much time. As much as I didn't want to admit it to myself, Michael's good looks had a lot to do with me wanting to check his background. After my disastrous affair with that pretty boy Louis Baines, I was now convinced that a good-looking man was a pig-in-a-poke. That and the fact that the uncle who had referred him to Pee Wee was a pimp
and
a drug dealer with a record as long as one of Magic Johnson's legs.

On the third day of his temporary assignment I got around to checking out his background. Just as I had suspected, it was a disaster. One of his “references” was a man named Logan Hotchkins, his parole officer. His other reference was fictitious.

According to Michael's résumé, he had spent two years studying business and finance at Kent State. As it turned out, he had dropped out of school in the tenth grade. He also had a felony record that included assault and battery, indecent exposure, and grand theft. I had some concerns about hiring him because he would be a security risk, and he would be a risk in other areas as well. But then so was I.

Not only had I worked as a prostitute, I'd embezzled money from my employer to give to that fool I was screwing around with last year. But I was lucky and had never been arrested. Unlike Michael, my record was as clean as a whistle, and now that I was on the right track, it was going to stay clean. I felt sorry for Michael and wanted to help him as much as I could. I decided to overlook his background report and hire him anyway. I firmly believed that everybody deserved a second chance.

Michael must have sensed something that day. I had left a note on his desk that I needed to talk to him as soon as he returned from lunch regarding his references, his background check, and his future with my company. I was on the phone with Rhoda when he came back, and by the time I ended the call and made my way out onto the floor he was gone.

Later that afternoon, a woman with a loud, menacing voice called me up and told me that Michael was not coming back. After mumbling a few profanities and calling me some choice names, she also told me in no uncertain ghetto terms where I could spend eternity and where to send the check that Michael had earned for the few days he'd worked.

I had thought about Michael almost every day since that day. I even prayed that he'd turn his life around and that somebody else would eventually give him a job. But things didn't work out that way for him. The same day that I interviewed Lizzie, I heard on the local news that Michael had committed suicide. An unidentified relative had told a newspaper reporter: “The boy made a lot of mistakes, but he had paid his debt to society. He tried to find a job, but nobody wanted to give him a chance. He was trying so hard he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. That last job thing was his last hope. By then he was super duper depressed. But he was still confident that he'd do well as a collection agent—if he had the chance! But that woman who interviewed him turned out to be a coldhearted witch….”

I hoped that nobody else thought of me as a coldhearted witch. Life had knocked me down a few dozen times over the years, but it had not destroyed me. I was now in a position to give back, and that's what I always tried to do.

Had Michael come to see me like I'd instructed in the note I left on his desk that day, he would have found out that, in spite of his references and bleak background, I was going to convert his temporary assignment to a permanent position.

Lizzie's situation had not been nearly as bad as Michael's, but knowing that I had helped her made me feel good about myself. Now all I hoped for was that things between her and my husband would go as well as I wanted them to.

Things must have been going well. It had been a week since Pee Wee mentioned Lizzie, and when he came home from work each day, he was more cheerful than he'd been in months. When I brought up the subject myself, he usually said something like, “Oh, Lizzie's doin' fine! Everything is turnin' out real good! What's for supper?”

And I left it at that.