Deliver Me From Evil (15 page)

W
ade washed up in the kitchen sink, with a blue washcloth that was so stiff, it looked like it could stand up by itself. As soon as he got dressed and left the apartment, after kissing me on the cheek like I was an elderly relative, I had myself a good cry. I had never felt so unwanted in my life. I cried so much, my eyes puffed up. Snot oozed out of my nose and dribbled down my face. Spit and other slime that I didn't even know my mouth could produce glazed my lips and chin like gravy.

I didn't want to use the same washcloth to wash my face that Wade had used to wash his ass. But since I couldn't find anything else to clean myself with, I ripped a page out of Nick's
Rolling Stone
magazine, and I used that. I closed my eyes and rubbed them until I couldn't feel them anymore.

I was hungry, but with roaches marching up and down the walls like soldiers, and swarms of gnats descending on the floor like locusts, it didn't take long for me to lose my appetite.

“Girl, what have you got yourself into this time?” I asked myself out loud, wiping my neck with the wet paper that I'd used to clean my face.

I didn't think that things could get any worse. I couldn't talk to my parents, and other than Tina and old Miss Odessa, I didn't have any real friends that I could fall back on. Since I'd already hit Tina up for a few dollars, I didn't have the nerve to call her. I had no choice but to call Miss Odessa. I snatched the cordless telephone up off the floor and dialed her number so fast, my fingers cramped.

It was a weekday, and I expected her to be home like she usually was on a weekday. I was wrong. I called every hour on the hour, and she didn't answer. And, she was one of the few people I knew who didn't like answering machines, so I couldn't even leave a message.

I was leaning out the window, trying to get some fresh air, with the telephone still in my hand when Wade came home around four that afternoon. I had heard thunder earlier, but it hadn't rained yet. The sky outside looked like a gray ceiling. That made everything seem even more gloomy. “You find a place yet?” Wade asked in a gruff voice, not offering any other greeting. He had that look on his face that people got when they saw somebody they didn't want to see. And, I could tell that he was agitated. He kept letting out loud breaths and looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Um, yes and no,” I said. I left the window and set the phone back on the floor where I'd found it, squeezed between a box of Fruit Loops and an empty peanut butter jar.

“Yes, you found a place? No, you didn't find a place?” Wade's hair was flat on both sides of his head and sticking up on top like a fan. His lips were dry and cracked. The bottom one had a scab that had not been there that morning. I couldn't imagine what he'd been doing for his hair and lips to end up looking like that. He looked like he had been mauled. He looked like anything but a movie actor.

“Huh?” As fast as I was living and as much as I thought I knew, I was still a child, and I sounded like one. One stupid thing after another slid out of my mouth like bubbles. “Who me?”

“Yes,
you!
What the hell is yes and no supposed to mean?” Wade strutted across the floor and stood in front of me. I was already backed up against the wall. And, the way he was looking at me, I wished that I could just disappear into the wall and get it over with. He had made it clear that he wanted me out of his sight. And, because of the way he had been treating me since I'd arrived, I decided I never wanted to see his punk ass again after I got my crazy self out of this mess.

“Um, two landlords told me to call them back,” I lied.

“Uh-huh.” Wade folded his arms. He stood so close to me, our faces almost touched. I had never noticed how big his Adam's apple was until now. It looked like a rock stuck in the middle of his long neck. “Well, there ain't no newspapers up in here, and I know you didn't leave out that door today. How did you find these two landlords?”

I dropped my head. “I'm going home. I don't have enough money for any apartment, and even if I did, who is going to rent to a girl my age with no job?” I muttered. I looked back up at Wade's face, and he looked even more annoyed. “I will leave as soon as I get the money from my folks,” I snapped.

I was glad when Wade left to go to his evening job, or wherever he went, a few hours later. As miserable as the apartment was, I felt better in it when I was alone. I called Miss Odessa three more times in less than an hour, and she still didn't answer her telephone. I knew then that I had to come up with another plan, and there was no other option for me except my parents.

One of my fears was that I would not be able to get help from some other source before Wade ran out of patience with me. But my biggest fear was not Wade kicking me out on the street. I was more concerned about whether or not I could depend on my parents to help me get back home.

A
round eleven that night, Wade and his two roommates came home together, paying more attention to the roaches than they did me. As soon as they got inside the apartment, Nick grabbed a magazine and started smashing roaches. Bob strolled over to the stove and removed a cigar box from the oven. He rolled some joints, and I was surprised when he handed one to me. But other than that, the way Bob, Wade, and Nick behaved, you would have thought that I was invisible.

My period was heavier than usual this month, and I had some cramps that made my stomach feel like it was upside down. I knew that the stress that I was under had a lot to do with the way my body was breaking down. I flopped down on the beanbag and enjoyed my high while my thoughts swam around in my head.

I spent as much time as I could in that tacky, smelly bathroom next door to the apartment. By now I was bleeding like a stuck pig, and my cramps were even worse. I'd never been in labor before, but the way my mama had often described it to me, I was pretty sure that my cramps were on that level. That was enough to make me feel like shit. But Wade's reaction to my presence made me feel even worse. Instead of sharing the sleeping bag with me again, he made a pallet on the floor with some cardboard and a blanket and slept there.

The next morning all three of the boys were gone when I woke up. Wade had left the key to the apartment, a five-dollar bill, and a note telling me to use the money to get something to eat. I had not eaten since the day before. It was still early, and I knew that if I moved fast enough, I could reach my parents before they left for work. I stumbled across the floor to the telephone on the wall. My hands shook as I dialed the number. For the first time in my life, I was glad to hear my daddy's voice.

“Mmm … hallo!” he said in his usual gruff voice, grunting under his breath. This was the first time I'd heard my own father speak from the other end of a telephone line. He didn't have any kind of accent or anything, but the way he greeted me made it sound like he did. “Mmm … hallo!” he said again, sounding impatient and annoyed.

“Daddy?” I managed, my hand covering my heart because it was thumping so hard. “Daddy, it's me.”

“Me who?”
my father asked.

I almost dropped the telephone. I was his only child—as far as I knew. I was the only person I knew who addressed him as “Daddy.” The fact that he had to ask who I was made me wish that I had tried to call Miss Odessa again instead.

“It's Christine, Daddy,” I said firmly. “Your daughter.”

“Oh. Where are you calling from? Wherever you at? Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?”

“Daddy, I'm in L.A.,” I said in a flat voice.

“L.A.? Los Angeles?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, my heart beating like a bongo drum.

“Well, what … what you doing down there, girl? And when did you go down there?”

“I came down here on Sunday.”

“Is that right? No wonder them dirty dishes is still in the sink.”

“You didn't even know I was gone?” I wailed, my voice cracking.

“You know I don't get in your business,” he admitted.

“No. No, Daddy, you don't,” I said, and I wanted to say,
“But I am your business.”

“Aye yi yi! All this time I thought you was shet up in that room of yours. Either there or across the hall with that busybody Odessa. So what are you going to do now? You done finally quit school or what? And who you down there with? You ain't going to stop till you ruin yourself.”

“I want to come home, Daddy. I'm down here with a friend, but he said I can't stay with him. He's got two roommates, and their place is really too small. I need for you to wire me the money for a bus ticket to come back to Berkeley. I need thirty-five more dollars.”

“Hold on. Let me get your mama in on this. You know she handles everything in this house when it comes to money.”

There was dead silence for the next five minutes. I kept looking at my watch, wondering how much the long-distance call was going to cost and how mad Wade was going to be when he got the bill.

“Christine,” my mother finally said in a loud voice. Then, to my surprise, her voice sounded extremely soft and gentle. She didn't even sound like the woman I'd known all my life. “Are you all right?” There was so much concern in her voice, it almost broke my heart.

The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt my parents. But I didn't know what they wanted me to do and what they didn't want me to do. As far as I was concerned, the only person I needed to try and please was myself. “I'm all right, Mama,” I said, almost choking on my words.

“I hope so. Thank the Lord, you sound as strong as a
burro
.” My mother and father rarely spoke Spanish in my presence. For all I knew, they had forgotten most of it. Whenever one of them used a Spanish word, it threw me for a loop. Yes, I sounded strong, but I didn't like being compared to a donkey. “What the devil are you up to now? You left that kitchen looking like a train wreck. Dishes all over the place.”

“I'll do the dishes as soon as I get home, Mama.” I sighed. “Mama, I'm in L.A., and I want to come home. But I don't have enough money to buy a ticket. Can you and Daddy wire me some money?” Mama was taking too long to answer, and I didn't know what her silence meant, but it frightened me. I said the next thing that came to my mind. “I will get a job and pay you back.”

“How much does this ticket cost?” she asked, with a weak sigh.

“I just need thirty-five more dollars,” I said sharply.

“Thirty-five dollars is a lot of money for piss-poor folks like us. And, how do I know that you ain't planning on spending this money on something other than a bus ticket? I never know what you are up to.”

“I'll even pay you back with interest,” I offered. I stopped talking because I was close to tears. My parents had not seen or heard me cry since I was a baby. I was too proud to let my guard down around them.

“I'll go to the Western Union place as soon as they open up.”

“Thank you, Mama. And, Mama … I do love you, and tell Daddy I love him, too.”

“Of course, you do,” she said in a distant voice. “And you should,” she added.

I didn't wait for Wade or his roommates to come home. Right after I took a birdbath in the kitchen sink, using another page from the
Rolling Stone
for a bath cloth, I fished some clean underwear out of my backpack and slid into it. Then I gathered up all of my shit and left that miserable place. I was thankful that the nearest Western Union station was only six blocks away. The additional money that I needed to help pay for my bus ticket was there when I got there. And, that was all that Mama had sent, nothing extra for food or anything else.

The few dollars that I had left home with and the crumpled five-dollar bill that Wade had left for me that morning was all the money I had to my name. Since I had to use part of it to cover the cost of my ticket home, there was not enough left over for me to take a cab home from the bus station, which was in Oakland a few miles away, from our apartment. Even though I'd fucked strangers, I was too afraid to hitchhike. Three girls that I used to run with had all been killed after accepting rides from strangers. If I had not found enough loose change in my pockets and in the belly of my backpack to take the local bus from Oakland to Berkeley, I would have walked the four miles home.

I got back to Berkeley around one that morning. The apartment was dark, but when I let myself in the front door and clicked on the light, Daddy lifted his head off his pillow on the sofa bed, looking at me with his eyes still half closed. He offered a rare smile. And then he lay back down.

About an hour later, after I'd gone to bed, I heard my bedroom door open. The lights were out, and I didn't budge, so I didn't know which one of my parents had entered my room, tiptoeing across the floor, bumping into things like a clumsy thief. But whoever it was, they lifted the covers off my face and kissed me on the cheek.

T
he next day was just like every other day in our house. My parents got up and got themselves ready for work, not once mentioning my unauthorized trip to L.A. However, my mother did get close to me and peer into my eyes in the kitchen. “You look all right to me,” she said, with relief, slapping a tortilla onto a cracked plate and setting it in front of me.

When I got to school that morning, I told everybody I'd had the flu. I kept to myself, and every quiet moment I got, like in study period and during lunch, I did some serious thinking. I was tired of the life that I'd been living. There was no doubt about that. I knew that if I wanted things to change for me, it was up to me to make that happen.

Right after school, I rushed home and put on the most conservative outfit I could find: a mammy-made plaid skirt with a matching blouse, which one of my dowdy friends had left in my room, and a pair of low-heeled shoes. That evening I visited every shop and restaurant that I could get to on foot in Berkeley, looking for work.

It was getting dark, and a lot of the businesses that I wanted to approach had already closed. But I didn't let that stop me. I'd already been turned down or told to come back in a couple of years by more than ten managers when I wandered into a video store on Alcatraz, between a sandwich shop and an ice cream parlor. Two young Asian women were behind the counter. They stopped talking and gave me a puzzled look.

“Is the manager in?” I asked, looking from one to the other. Before they could answer, a tall, slender man entered the main area from a back room, walking backwards. When he turned around, I gasped. It was that nerd-ass Jesse Ray Thurman. I hadn't seen him in over a year. But I'd heard that he'd graduated and attended some type of business classes at UC Berkeley. In addition to that, he had made money running a refreshment stand on a busy street downtown, where he'd sold hot dogs, cold drinks, and other snacks to construction workers and other people who worked in the area.

From the look on Jesse Ray's face, he was surprised to see me. But I was even more surprised to see him. I never expected to see him working in a video store. He seemed too independent for a job like that.

“Christine,” he said, giving me the biggest smile I'd seen on a man's face in months. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me, and that made me feel better than I'd felt in a long time. “Girl, I thought you'd left town or something. I haven't seen you since that day at your apartment building, when you were a
little
girl.” His eyes roamed up and down my body, and he seemed pleased that I was no longer “little.” And he was right. I had filled out a lot since the last time he saw me. I didn't need much make-up to look good, and my shoulder-length black hair was so manageable, it seemed like it had a life of its own. I tossed my head to the side and raked my fingers through thick black curls and waves, which a lot of jealous people swore was a weave.

“Jesse Ray, do you work here, too? I'm looking for a job, and I was just asking for the manager,” I chirped.

Jesse Ray dismissed the two young Asians before responding. “What kind of work are you looking for?” he asked.

“Anything,” I said, with a pleading look. “But I can only work nights and weekends.”

“Oh, that's right. You still go to Berkeley High?” he asked. He sniffed and caressed his chin.

I nodded. “I hope to graduate next year.” I let out my breath and looked around, hoping to see the manager. “Is the manager here? I'd like to apply for a job.”

“I assume you're eighteen now, hmmm?” he said, with his chin tilted up and his eyebrows raised.

“Me? Uh-uh, not yet.”

“I assume you are eighteen,”
he said again, glancing around. He got closer and lowered his voice.

“I assume I can be eighteen,” I said, talking in an even lower voice than he was. “If that's the only way I can work here.”

“When can you start?” Jesse Ray asked, his head tilted to the side. The fact that he glanced at my breasts a few too many times made me uncomfortable, but it was nothing I couldn't deal with. Shit. I had more fingerprints on my titties than a hooker.

“What?”

“I manage this store, and I can sure use another clerk in the evenings and on weekends.”

“You …
you
are the manager? You're giving me a job?” I asked, with an incredulous look on my face. I was so overwhelmed, I could barely speak. It was one of the few times that a man had offered me something other than dope or sex. I didn't count the five dollars that Wade had donated for me to get something to eat before I left L.A. But I did count that time at the flea market when Jesse Ray gave me a free cup of lemonade.

“You know, I always wondered if I'd ever see you again. Every weekend for the last six months, I set up a stand in that same spot where I met you at the flea market, hoping I'd see you again,” Jesse Ray confessed. “To be totally honest, I was glad you didn't come back. I don't like trouble, and so I knew better than to mess with a young girl like you. Even though I wasn't that much older than you.”

I had never felt so shy before in my life. And so sad. I was not used to men treating me with such respect. I didn't know what to say next, so I just stood there, with a weak smile on my face.

“So. When can I start?” I finally managed.

“Come back around next month and fill out an application.”

“Oh, I can't wait that long. I need a job real bad now. I owe my, uh, somebody some money.” I had promised Mama and Daddy that I would pay them back the thirty-five dollars they had wired to me in L.A. as soon as possible. “If it's all right with you, I'd like to start right away. Tomorrow. Or even today. Right now would be all right with me,” I said, looking around. It was a busy place. More than a dozen people had entered and started browsing since I'd walked in.

Jesse Ray pursed his lips and nodded his head. His hair was so thick and curly, it looked like the backside of a black sheep. He had nice full lips and a neatly trimmed goatee. He was more handsome than Wade, but that was something that I didn't realize until now. “Do you have any references?”

“References?” I asked, my voice drifting toward the floor, dragging my heart along with it.

“Somebody who could vouch for you, uh, like a former employer.”

“I've never worked before,” I said, my hopes floating out the door. I dropped my head and started to leave. “Thanks, anyway.”

Jesse Ray clamped his hand down on my shoulder and spun me back around. “Come into my office, and let's talk,” he said, leading me toward the back. My first thought was that I was going to have to suck his dick for him to hire me. But I was in for the surprise of my life. Even though I was not the required age of eighteen, Jesse Ray offered to hire me and pay me minimum wage under the table. It was a secret that he made me promise not to share with any of my friends. And, I knew that I didn't have to worry about my parents getting in my way. For one thing, I had a feeling that my parents worked for Mr. Bloom and got paid under the table, because they never filed taxes. For another thing, they wanted back the money I owed them, and they probably wanted me to be able to support myself so that they wouldn't have to do it anymore.

“When you turn eighteen, if you want to stay, I'll do the paperwork,” Jesse Ray told me.

I could barely stay still, sitting across from him at a desk in an office crammed with boxes and bags of videos. Nobody had ever done something so nice for me in my life. I didn't know a lot about the employment rules and regulations, but I did know that Jesse Ray was taking a big chance with the IRS and the people who made the child labor laws. He did all of that for me.

“You won't regret this. I promise I will be the best clerk in the world. I won't disappoint you, Mr. Thurman,” I assured him.

“You just did,” he said, with a frown. I froze. Then he smiled again. “Don't you ever refer to me again as Mr. Thurman. You call me Jesse Ray, or J.R., like everybody else. Is that clear? Now you be here Saturday morning at ten sharp.”

I ran almost all the way home. Once I got inside my apartment building, I didn't stop running until I made it to Miss Odessa's door. I had not seen or talked to her since I'd returned from L.A. She must have sensed I was coming, because she snatched open the door before I even knocked. The sweet smell of a freshly baked cake almost knocked me out.

“Praise God, you are all right,” she said, crying and hugging and kissing me as soon as I got inside her door. She had on a housecoat. A hairnet covered her head like a spider's web.

“I tried to call you from L.A. a bunch of times,” I told her. “I, uh, went down there to visit a friend.” I felt bad enough about what I'd done. I didn't see any reason to drag Miss Odessa into my foolishness. “But I …” I stopped and stood there in the middle of her living room floor, with my mouth hanging open. There was a bandage on the side of Miss Odessa's nose. “What's the matter with your nose?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“Oh, it's nothing serious. Just a little skin cancer,” she said, laughing and waving her hand. I didn't know how to respond. I had never heard somebody laugh when they talked about cancer. Especially if they had it. As far as I was concerned, cancer was way up there on the shit list, just below the devil.

“Cancer?” I mouthed. The word itself was enough to make my head swim. “You've got cancer?”

“Oh, it ain't nothing to worry about.” Miss Odessa laughed again. “I got warts on my feet that are more serious than this little bugger,” she said, pointing to the bandage on her nose. “See, Dr. Stine scraped it all off, and he guaranteed me, it won't come back. Now, what are you so excited about?”

I didn't like what Miss Odessa had just told me. I didn't care how “little” her cancer was. Cancer was cancer. “You were in the hospital when I tried to call you from L.A.,” I told her, unable to take my eyes off the bandage on her nose. I blinked a few times and looked around the room, sniffing that cake and hoping she'd offer me a big slice.

“Yeah, I guess I was. But I told you, it wasn't nothing serious. They did the surgery and sent me home the same day. I had my telephone turned off so I could rest.” Miss Odessa folded her arms and dipped her head. These were the two things she often did when she was serious. “Now tell me why you so excited,” she ordered.

“I got a job!” I yelled. “I got a job and I'm back in school and everything is going to be all right now.” I had finally done something constructive for myself, and it felt good.

Miss Odessa still didn't get all up in my business, but I knew she was dying to hear about my journey to L.A. So I volunteered the information on my own. I left no stone unturned. By the time I finished talking, she knew as much about Wade as I did.

“And how do you feel about yourself now? Did all them drugs and fornicating and running away to Los Angeles make you feel any better?” she wanted to know, handing me a glass of cold milk and a large slice of homemade lemon cake.

“Uh, it did when I was doing it,” I admitted.

“But it don't now,” Miss Odessa said in a stern voice. “I've heard all I want to hear about that Wade boy. From what you say, he sounds a lot like my second husband. All dick and no brain. You don't need that. If that's all that boy got going for him, you can get that from one of them adult shops on Telegraph. All you need is some batteries.” She laughed. I bowed my head and laughed, too. “Now tell me all about this job and this Jesse Ray Thurman.”

“He is so nice to me. I think we're going to get real close,” I said hopefully, meaning every word.