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Authors: Mary Monroe

BOOK: God Don't Make No Mistakes
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CHAPTER 48
R
HODA DROPPED HER CAR KEYS AND PURSE ONTO THE COFFEE
table. She exhaled as she sat down hard on the arm of the couch where Muh'Dear and Daddy sat with anxious looks on their faces.
Pee Wee stood next to Rhoda, rubbing her back. “You don't look too good, sister,” he noticed.
“I don't feel too good either.” Rhoda exhaled again. “I told Jade she could come home and all would be forgiven, if she agreed to my conditions. I told her she had to get a real job, respect me, be more responsible, and help me keep the house clean.” Rhoda's eyes rolled back in her head; then she laughed in a strange and eerie way. It was disturbing to say the least. “Then she tells me that she will only come home if I agree to
her
conditions. She earns anywhere from five hundred to a thousand dollars a night in tips at the club, so she claims. She will quit the club only if I give her an allowance equal to half of what she's makin'. Can y'all believe the nerve of that girl?”
There was a horrified look on every face in the room, especially mine. Every feature from my forehead to my chin felt like it had frozen in place.
“I'll say she's got some damn nerve!” Muh'Dear shouted, almost jumping off the couch. “Who in the world does that little chicken-leg hussy think she is?”
Rhoda laughed in that same eerie way again. “Oh, this is the best part. She said I had to agree to let her come and go as she pleases, let her smoke weed in the house, hire a maid to clean her room, and let her entertain her boyfriends in her bedroom, no questions asked.”
“I hope you didn't agree to any of that shit!” Lillimae snapped. There was a disgusted look on her face as she handed Rhoda a glass of rum. “Take this, sugar. You look like you need it.”
Rhoda sipped from her glass and then sucked in a deep breath. “Fuck no, I didn't agree to her demands! So I guess she won't be comin' home. There is nothin' more I can do. I realize that now.”
“Rhoda, you ain't done all you could do. She is still your child, and you got to be there for her and love her unconditional,” Daddy suggested.
“Oh, shet up, Frank! You didn't have no trouble raisin' your girls. I don't know about your other daughter Sondra that you had with Lillimae's mama, but Lillimae is one of the most upstandin' women I know. Jade ain't right. There comes a point in time when a bad child can cause more damage to a parent than a serpent's tooth,” Muh'Dear said. “Rhoda, you got a King Kong–size mess on your hands, girl.” She shuffled over to Rhoda and gave her a long bear hug.
“Well, y'all, I'm goin' home to my husband now,” Rhoda said, looking strangely serene.
“If Jade was my child, I'd teach her a lesson she'd never forget,” Muh'Dear said. “I'd straighten her out once and for all. It's been years since I had to whup Annette, but I still know how to swing a mean switch. Shoot!”
Rhoda didn't want me to, but I went home with her anyway. Otis and Bully were snoring like bulls in the living room. Otis was stretched out on the couch; Bully was slumped in the love seat. I wondered how things would be if Jade came home while Bully was still occupying the guest room.
Rhoda and I went into the den to watch the eleven o'clock news. The lead story was about a teenage boy who had robbed the Grab and Go, threatening the cashier with a baseball bat. The whole crime had been caught on the store's security camera. An announcer for Channel Four asked viewers if they could identify this stupid-ass boy. Before they could even finish the story, they reported that the switchboard had just lit up like a Christmas tree. The very first call had come from a viewer who identified the boy without hesitation: the boy's own mother.
“Damn! Can you imagine a mother turning her own son in knowing he's probably going to jail?” I gasped.
There was a blank expression on Rhoda's face. At first I thought she was asleep with her eyes still open. “Oh my God! Rhoda, are you awake?”
“I'm awake.” Rhoda's voice was barely audible.
“Girl, did you see what was just on the news?” I asked.
“Mmm-huh. Sure I saw it. Some woman turned her own son in for robbin' the Grab and Go,” she said with a shrug. “I don't blame her one bit... .”
We didn't mention the strip club or Jade anymore that night. We talked about the Grab and Go robbery, some upcoming sales at the mall, the latest gossip from Claudette's beauty shop, and a new movie that had been recently released. “So you think
Titanic
is goin' to be a box office hit?” Rhoda asked. We had both seen the new movie a few days ago.
I shook my head. “I'm sure that it won't be half as big of a hit that
Jaws
was. That Kate Winslet might make it big some day, but that Leonardo Di—whatever his name is—looks too much like a teenager for anybody to take seriously. He'll be waiting tables this time next year.” We spent a little more time talking about a few things we'd seen on TV, and how glad we'd be when Christmas was over. Before long, we had forgotten all about the report about the woman turning her son in for robbing the Grab and Go. At least I did.
“That woman must really love her son to turn him in like that,” Rhoda said in a hoarse voice.
It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about. “Oh, you mean that mother the news said turned her son in? Well, that boy cooked his own goose. He's going to jail for sure. And at least his mother will know where he is for a while. Yes, I would say she loves him. If she didn't, she wouldn't have turned him in. And he would have continued to commit crimes. That fool would probably end up killing some innocent person, or getting himself killed.”
Rhoda nodded. “Uh-huh. I agree with you on that one. At the rate that boy is goin', he would be much better off in jail than on the streets.”
CHAPTER 49
“T
HAT'S IT
!
I'VE GOT IT
!”
RHODA SAID. IT WAS THE FIRST THING
out of her mouth when she called me up on Sunday morning.
“You've got what?” I asked, glancing at the clock on my nightstand. It was only seven
A.M.
“I know how I can save my child!” I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard Rhoda sound this giddy. “I'm goin' to send Jade to jail,” she announced. “I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner! But after seeing that TV news report about the woman who turned her son in last night, I know that I need to send my daughter to jail to save her.”
“You want to send Jade to jail? For slapping you? I don't think she'll get much time, if any, for that. And don't forget, you slapped her back. Not to mention the fact that this happened last summer,” I pointed out.
“She's goin' to get herself killed, or end up in prison anyway, Annette. With the people she's runnin' with, it's just a matter of time.”
“I won't argue with you on that, but what can you do to her to send her to jail? From what you keep telling me, she wants nothing else to do with you, so you won't even be around her to know what she's up to.”
“I think I know a way.” Rhoda paused and snorted. Rhoda was not the kind of woman who snorted much; that was more of a guy thing. Or something you'd expect from Muh'Dear or Scary Mary, or even me. But this time she snorted like Mr. T. “Poppy is dyin'.” Poppy was Rhoda's elderly father-in-law. “Jade adores him. That old Jamaican lives and breathes for that girl. He taught her how to fish, scuba dive, and how to spit halfway across a room. Last week she told Scary Mary that she plans to go to the islands after the New Year to spend some time with Poppy while he's still alive. The doctor says he's only got a few more months.”
“So?”
“Otis and I are goin' down there too. Jade's goin' to get busted at the airport when she attempts to reenter the States.”
“Oh? And what is she going to do to get herself busted?” I wanted to know.
“She's goin' to get caught with drugs in her luggage.”
I wasn't sure that I'd heard right. “What did you just say? I know it's not what it sounded like you said.”
“What did it sound like I said?”
“Rhoda, it sounded like you said Jade is going to get busted at the airport coming back from the islands with drugs in her luggage. Now, either I'm hearing things or you did say that. And if you did, why did you say that?”
“They don't search everybody. But if an anonymous tipster calls the right person and tells them Jade is a mule, she'll get searched.”
I still didn't know if what I was hearing was what I was hearing. I could have sworn that Rhoda had just told me that her daughter was going to get busted at the airport for transporting drugs from Jamaica to the States. That made no sense at all to me. If Jade was not even speaking to Rhoda, how did she know what Jade was planning to put in her luggage?
“Rhoda, what are you talking about? I know that your daughter is a little off, but I don't think she'd be fool enough to try and smuggle drugs out of Jamaica into the States. It's too risky. They've got dogs sniffing all over the airports and DEA agents running around like headless chickens.” I had to pause to catch my breath. “How do you know Jade is going to have drugs in her luggage?”
“Because I'm goin' to put them there.”
The room got frighteningly quiet. Even so, I could hear a ringing noise in my ears. “Rhoda, have you lost your mind?”
“No, I have not lost my mind; but if I don't do somethin' to save my child, I will lose what's left of my mind. I love Jade, and I'd rather send her to jail than let her continue doin' all the crazy things that she's doin' now.”
“And where will you get the drugs?” I asked dumbly. “Wouldn't you have to go to a lot of trouble?”
“Where would I get drugs?” Rhoda cackled. “Honey child, that's the least of my worries! I know more ganja farmin' Rastafarians in Jamaica than Bob Marley knew. Half of them are my in-laws. I'd have no trouble gettin' my hands on what I need.”
“But even if they find the drugs on Jade, they'll have to prove that they are hers, won't they?”
“The drugs will be in her possession. It will be up to her to prove they are not hers.”
“I don't know about this, Rhoda,” I said, shaking my head. “They come down really hard on smugglers. Jade could get sent away for a long time.”
“I know... .”
“But is that what you want for her? Wouldn't that be like cutting off your nose to spite your face? If they find drugs on her, she's probably going to go to prison!”
“Annette, my daughter is already in prison if you ask me.”
“Rhoda, I—”
“Let me finish! She's livin' with drug dealers, pimps, strippers, and who knows what else. And from what we both heard her say in that strip-club dressin' room about her givin' some regular a blow job, she's obviously involved in prostitution too! At least if she was in prison, she would
have
to follow somebody's rules. Her daddy and I would know at all times where she was and what she was doin'.”
“Rhoda, you really need to think this through. This could really backfire on you. I do read the news and I watch a lot of true-crime TV. People get killed, raped, and abused in prison.”
“People get killed, raped, and abused on the street too. What would you do if Jade was your daughter?”
“But I—”
“What will you do if Charlotte turns out like Jade? If you had the chance to shake some sense into her by settin' her up to get arrested, wouldn't you do it? If this was the only way you could save her?”
“I don't know, Rhoda. And I hope I never have to find out.”
“I hope you don't either.”
I prayed that Rhoda would change her mind. There
had
to be a better way for her to turn her daughter around. But after all Jade had done and said, I honestly didn't know if such a thing was possible.
Had I not known any better, I would have sworn that Jade was going out of her way to antagonize her family on purpose. She had behaved in such an atrocious manner in that strip club that I didn't think she could outdo herself.
But it wouldn't be long before she did.
CHAPTER 50
A
BOUT THREE WEEKS INTO THE NEW YEAR, THERE WERE SEVERAL
news reports on TV about a woman named Paula Jones, as homely as she could be, accusing President Clinton of sexual harassment. Everybody I knew was laughing about it. Even me. Clinton was a handsome man. And with his cute Southern accent and charisma, he could have done much better than Paula Jones. If what that woman named Gennifer Flowers was saying in the tabloids was true, she'd had a very long affair with Clinton. She was a pretty woman, and I could see why the president would have been attracted to her. But this Paula woman was such a straight-up dog.
“It's a damn shame how far a female will go to get attention,” Lillimae said after one of the TV broadcasts with that Paula woman grinning into the camera. “This heifer's nose looks like a man's elbow. She needs a heavy dose of spiritual guidance.”
Spiritual guidance was one thing that we all needed on a regular basis to nourish our relationship with God. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been to church, or even to one of the frequent tent revivals. Now seemed just as good a time as any for me to do so.
The tent revival folks had left Richland the last week in December, but they had returned a week ago. This time they had pitched the huge tent in the parking lot of the Second Baptist Church, the church that I went to when I did go to church. Muh'Dear, Pee Wee, Daddy, and almost every other black Baptist I knew belonged to this church.
This was the fourth time in the last six months that Reverend LeRoy Pritchard, a roving assistant pastor from Columbus, had brought his popular revival to Richland. He and his staff usually set up the tent, which was large enough to accommodate at least a couple of hundred people. Until the beloved reverend replaced the reverend he assisted, or got a church of his own, he would roam around with his tent, spreading the gospel for several weeks at a time each year. And since he had grown up in Richland, and was a first cousin to Reverend Crutchfield, my preacher, he spent more time here than in any other city in Ohio.
Each week of the revival, the Reverend Pritchard and his associates printed up flyers inviting people to attend the evening services that lasted from seven to nine
P.M.
The flyers only contained program information that pertained to each individual night. Well, “that modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah,” as Reverend Pritchard called the strip club that Jade worked for, had become such a huge thorn in the side of Richland's black community that the elders had spent more time condemning it than any other place. Every other day for the past two weeks, the flyers had displayed “guaranteed salvation” to anybody connected to The Cock Pit. All they had to do was attend the service and atone.
Last Sunday evening, two dozen church members paraded around in front of the strip club with signs condemning it, begging the patrons to “come to Jesus” before it was too late. The bouncers chased them away, but some of the protesters returned later that night during the club's busiest hour. They blocked the entrance, discouraging dozens of patrons from entering the club. It made the front page of
The Richland Review
newspaper the following Monday.
On this particular Sunday evening, just as people were moseying into the tent's front and only entrance, two SUVs pulled up and parked across the street in front of a deserted feed store. Somebody had built a huge snowman in front of the feed store, complete with a carrot nose and pieces of coal for eyes. What was about to take place would have made that snowman melt, if such a thing could happen.
Before Scary Mary, Rhoda, Muh'Dear, Daddy, Lillimae, Charlotte, and I could get into the tent and find enough metal folding chairs where we could all sit together, all of the doors on each SUV flew open. It was fairly dark, but there was a lot of light from the streetlights, so we could see everything taking place across the street. And it was a sight to behold. Several half-naked young women, and the same three mean-looking bouncers who had accosted Rhoda and me in the club, piled out. They marched out to the curb like soldiers.
“Wolves! Nothin' but the big bad wolves!” Muh'Dear gasped, clutching a thick black muffler around her neck.
“And them wolves didn't even bother to dress up in sheep's clothin'!” Daddy noticed. He wore a black fedora, black suit, and white shirt. And with the grim expression on his face, you would have thought that he was a funeral director.
This pack of wolves was being led by none other than Jade. There was a mischievous look on her face that could have stopped a clock.
“Rhoda, ain't that your girl?” Lillimae gasped, attempting to usher Charlotte inside.
Charlotte had been very reluctant to attend the tent meeting. As hard as she tried to bargain her way out, volunteering to do laundry and other unpleasant household chores, you would have thought that she was trying to talk her way out of a whupping. Most of the kids who attended the meetings did not do so by choice. My daughter quickly changed her tune when I told her that she had to go either to the revival or to Harrietta's house.
There was an amused look on Charlotte's face now, the kind you see only on the faces of youngsters her age. Had the same look been on my face, people would have thought that I was crazy. “Dang! Jade looks hella cool in that outfit!” Charlotte yelled, admiring Jade's micromini and halter top. We were still in the middle of one of our worst winters in years, and Jade was dressed like she belonged on a beach. I wore my knee-length, blue wool dress with a thick, lined plaid coat on over it, gloves, boots, a muffler around my neck, and I was still cold.
“Young'un, you better save your praises for the Lord,” Scary Mary warned Charlotte, using her gnarled fingers to thump the side of my daughter's head like a cantaloupe.
“Let's get inside,” I insisted, standing behind Lillimae. But nobody was moving forward, and I couldn't because Scary Mary and Lillimae were blocking the way.
Rhoda's jaw had dropped so low that her mouth looked like a dipper. In her cream-colored silk dress with matching wool coat, her face beautifully made up, and her hair pinned into a neat French twist, she looked like a supermodel who had just stepped off the cover of
Vogue
magazine. But from the sudden look of horror on her face, it seemed like she'd gone from looking like a
Vogue
cover girl to one who belonged on
Mad
magazine. She looked like she wanted to cuss out the world. “That's it. I'm not goin' to let my child go on like this,” Rhoda said in a low voice.
What happened next was so outrageous, cars driving down the street stopped.
One of the bouncers produced a boom box and fired up one of the raunchiest rap CDs that I'd ever heard in my life. I didn't appreciate any of that trash anyway; most rap music was disgusting to me. But this one crossed the line. Whoever the “singer” was, started out chanting
“pop that pussy, pop open that bootie ...”
Jade lifted her skirt and began to perform a slow bump and grind. Then the other strippers did the same thing as the bouncers clapped, whistled, and cheered them on.

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