Hooker to Housewife (2 page)

“Well, a man gotta work and it's hard out here.”

“I don't understand why you just don't get one good job that would pay all the bills instead of getting nickel-and-dimed at those other little jobs you got.”

“Because nothing in this life is guaranteed. I like knowing that if one job lay me off then I have another to fall back on.”

Chantal took in a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “With all these little jobs you got, I'm sure you can spare twenty dollars.”

“What you need twenty dollars for?” he asked suspiciously.

“I need to get a pedicure.”

“What in the world—is that the procedure for your feet?”

Chantal ogled her dad for a moment, not sure if he was serious with his question. “Yes.”

“Well I'll be—you actually have to pay for that? I thought you were supposed to clean your own feet.”

“Daddy, if you don't want to do it yourself then, yeah, you have to pay somebody to do it. It's a job. Ain't nothing for free.”

“Sorry, but I can't help you with that one. Your mother needs some money for groceries.” Her mother nodded “yes” while her head was still buried in the Bible. Although she was supposed to be reading, her ears were obviously still listening.

“We don't need no more food up in this house. I can't believe ya'll gon' have me walking around with jacked up toes because you want some more pork on the table.”

“Now ain't nothing wrong with some good pork, Chantal.”

“Oh please. I'll see ya later.”

“Dear, you haven't touched your breakfast,” her mother looked up and said.

“I'm running late and I don't want to miss the bus. Give it to Daddy—I'm sure he's still hungry, since he needs to give you money to buy more food.” Chantal's parents looked at each other and she stared at them for a moment. She didn't understand how they could've produced her. Physically, she understood, because although both were in their fifties Chantal could still tell that at one time they had been a striking couple. Chantal's mother put her in mind of Diahann Carroll and her father was what many of her classmates labeled her: a mutt. He was a combination of African-American, Irish, Venezuelan, and Italian. None of that mattered to Chantal because when she looked in the mirror all she saw was a gorgeous, exotic-looking black girl.

Yes, their physical genes ran through Chantal's blood, but that's where the similarities ended. Her mother was a devout Christian who never raised her voice and her father was just plain clueless. Chantal wondered if the fact that her parents had had her later in life played a role in why they were so different from her. Chantal's mother had been told she couldn't have any children so when they conceived Chantal they called her their miracle child. When Chantal was born they spoiled her rotten. Not in a materialistic way because the Morgans didn't have the money to do so, which added to their guilt. But they spoiled Chantal by letting her say and do whatever she wanted. So although Mrs. Morgan was an
avid Bible reader she must have missed the passage that said, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”

“Chantal, don't be that way. Here, take this twenty and go get your feet all pretty.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I knew you wouldn't let me down.” Chantal kissed her father on the forehead, but not before making sure the twenty was placed securely in her back pocket. Chantal's father just smiled in his customary fashion while Mrs. Morgan discreetly shook her head. Mrs. Morgan knew she and her husband had created a monster with Chantal but she felt it was much too late to do anything about it.

The Morgans had put Chantal on a pedestal since the day she was born. Mrs. Morgan couldn't believe that God had blessed one child with so much beauty. Wherever she took Chantal they were constantly stopped and told what a gorgeous little girl she was. By the time Chantal was ten years old she, too, knew just how beautiful she was and made it known.

When Chantal started elementary school, Mrs. Morgan took a part-time job cleaning houses to bring additional income into the home. One day, due to a school half day, Mrs. Morgan had to bring Chantal along for one of her cleaning assignments. She had to clean a mansion for an affluent white family in North Chicago. Chantal's eyes widened when they pulled up the long driveway leading to the opulent estate. “Ma, I ain't never seen no house like this before. It look like one of those castles I seen in my book.”

“Well, it's big like a castle, too. Now you know I'm not supposed to have you with me so don't touch nothing, Chantal.”

“I won't. I promise. You gonna clean this big old place all by yourself?”

“No. They have regular on-staff maids, but a couple of them are sick and they need me to do some light cleaning. We need the money so I couldn't turn the job down.” By the time Mrs. Morgan finished her sentence Chantal had already made it to the door and rang the bell.

“Can I help you, little girl?” the butler asked when he opened the door.

“Excuse me, I'm here with my mother.” Chantal brushed passed the man as if the house belonged to her.

“I'm sorry, sir, my daughter can get a bit excited. I'm Patricia,” she said, extending her hand. The butler simply ignored her gesture and continued to stare directly into her eyes. Feeling embarrassed, Mrs. Morgan put her hand down. “I'm here to clean the house.” The butler then turned and eyed Chantal. “Oh, I explained to the cleaning company that my daughter was out of school today and I would need to bring her with me on this assignment. They said it would be okay. I promise she won't be any trouble.” The butler gave her an annoyed smirk and moved to the side, finally acknowledging that she was welcome to come in.

“You'll be cleaning the bedrooms upstairs. I'll escort you to the master suite.” Mrs. Morgan and Chantal followed behind the snotty man. When they reached the master bedroom Chantal thought it looked more like a mini-mansion. The bedroom was twice as big as the entire house they lived in.

“One day I'll have a bedroom that looks exactly like this,” Chantal stated proudly. Both her mother and the butler glanced at her simultaneously, but Chantal was oblivious to their glares.

“I'll be leaving you to your work. Let me know when you're done.”

When the butler left, Mrs. Morgan stared at Chantal. “Chantal, you can't say things like that in front of the butler.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm here to do a job and that's not appropriate.”

“You always tell me to be honest and I was telling the truth. One day I will have a bedroom like this and a house, too. That man should know it. Who knows, maybe he'll be working for me in the future.”

“Oh, Chantal, such big dreams you have.”

“They're not dreams. Look at these people,” Chantal said as she pointed to several family photographs that decorated the room. “I'm more beautiful than all of them. If they can live like kings and queens, then so can I.”

“It takes more than looks, honey. These people work very hard.”

“Work hard doing what, Mama? They can't be working harder than you and we ain't living like this.”

“Still, trust me this family worked very hard to get what they have.”

“I bet you the only work the lady of this house is doing is on her back.”

“Chantal, don't you say such things. Where did you learn that from?” Mrs. Morgan was stunned that her ten-year-old daughter was talking so grown.

“Mama, on my summer breaks you watch soap operas just like I do. All those white broads married to rich men don't do nothing but keep their hair, nails, and clothes tight. They go to bed looking like that and they step out the bed looking just as good. Obviously that's all men want, a woman who keeps herself looking pretty and ready to pleasure him in bed anytime he like.”

“Chantal, that is television, it isn't real life. Plus, you have been blessed with God-given beauty and should never use it as a weapon. That's just evil.”

“So you say. I call it using what you have to get what you want. I'm sure the Lord would understand. If he didn't want me to have it, he wouldn't have given it to me.”

“Dear Lord, please heal my child,” Mrs. Morgan said closing her eyes in a brief prayer. “You just make sure you're ready for church Sunday morning.” Chantal rolled her eyes, already dreading their upcoming Sunday ritual. Mrs. Morgan could've had the pastor preach the entire sermon with his hand placed on Chantal's head and it still wouldn't have changed her heart.

That distant Monday morning, in the bedroom of a multimillionaire, Chantal had made it clear to her mother that living a life as a rich man's wife was her ultimate dream.

“Patricia, can you hear me?” Mr. Morgan asked for the third time. She had been so caught up in reminiscing about the past that she didn't hear her husband talking to her. It was seven years ago when she realized how jaded her daughter was and nothing had changed. Mrs. Morgan felt completely responsible for Chantal's thirst to live that life. She wondered if they had been more financially secure and provided her with more, maybe Chantal's attitude about the importance of material things wouldn't be so twisted.

“I'm sorry, honey, this scripture got me in deep thought. What did you say?”

“Here's the money for the groceries.” He handed her four twenty-dollar bills. “I'm a little short of the hundred I promised, but you know Chantal did need the money.” Mrs. Morgan looked down at the money and realized this was the story of their lives. Always sacrificing what they needed in order to give Chantal what she wanted.

 

As Chantal sat on the bus on her way to school she pulled out the new issue of
Vibe
magazine. The headline read,
MEET THE KING OF NEW YORK
. It had a full shot of one of the most handsome men Chantal had ever seen. When she looked inside to read the six-page article and photo layout her panties started to get moist at the thought of being married to a man with all that money, power, and respect. They showed snapshots of him with the mayor of New York and a couple of movie stars and supermodels. Chantal knew she was just as pretty, if not more so, than the women pictured with him. In Chantal's mind they just happened to get to the limelight faster than she did, but that was a small obstacle for a young
woman as determined as Chantal. In a few days she would be a free woman and no one would stop her from achieving all her dreams.

 

Late Saturday afternoon Chantal returned home with her parents from her high school graduation. She laid her cap and gown on the kitchen table and headed to her bedroom. She returned ten minutes later and her parents were bewildered when they saw their only daughter standing in front of them with a suitcase and what appeared to be a bus ticket.

“Chantal, are you going on a trip?” Mr. Morgan asked with a perplexed look on his face.

“As a matter of fact I am.”

“What is it, a graduation trip with some of your school friends?”

“Ma, I don't have no friends in school.” Even though many had tried, Chantal refused to befriend any of her classmates; she kept to herself. She had the reputation as being the most beautiful girl in school but also the one with the nastiest attitude. Besides a couple of neighborhood girls Chantal kicked it with, she felt above everybody else. In Chantal's mind she already knew she was special and would live a lifestyle that most of them only fantasized about. The thought of putting her energy into befriending any of them seemed like a waste of her time.

“Then where are you going?”

“To a place where I can make all my dreams a reality.”

“Where is that?” It was obvious to Chantal that her parents were dumbstruck.

“I'll let you know once I get there.”

“But what about college? How will you support yourself? You don't have any money.” Chantal just nodded as her parents continued to say what sounded like mumbo jumbo to her ears.

“Listen, I ain't going to no community college and I will find a way to support myself—it just won't be here in Southside Chicago.”

“But, Chantal, if you stay here you'll have our support. That's fine if you don't want to go to school. We'll help you at whatever you decide to do,” her dad pleaded.

Chantal chuckled for a minute. She didn't know whether to laugh at her father or pity him for being so naïve. “Daddy, with where I'm gonna go and what I'm gonna do your assistance won't be needed.”

Mr. Morgan stood there completely confused, but Mrs. Morgan wasn't. She knew her daughter was up to no good and all they could do was pray that she wouldn't be eaten alive by the wolves she so desperately wanted to tangle with. Mrs. Morgan doubted they needed to worry about Chantal; instead their concerns should be for the prey Chantal was seeking out.

“You're my little girl; please don't leave us.”

“Sorry, Daddy, but I have to go. The platinum streets are calling my name.” Chantal picked up her suitcase and headed toward the front door. Mr. Morgan moved forward to stop his daughter.

“Cliff, let her go,” Mrs. Morgan stated firmly.

“But she's our baby.”

“No, she hasn't been our baby for a very long time.”

“Chantal, please at least let me give you some money,” he screamed out in his last attempt to make her stay.

“That's okay, Daddy, I'll be fine.” Those were the last words Mr. Morgan heard before Chantal slammed the door.

Later on that evening when Mrs. Morgan was putting away the money she made from the previous day's work, it became crystal clear why Chantal had no need for the money her father had offered her. Chantal had stolen the very last penny of the $7,000 Mrs. Morgan had been saving up for the last few years, hoping Chantal would want to continue with some form of higher learning after high school. Mrs. Morgan was from the old
school and, even though she had a checking and savings account at the bank, she always believed you were supposed to keep a secret stash at home. Unfortunately for her, no secrets were safe from Chantal.