Living Right on Wrong Street (26 page)

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Authors: Titus Pollard

BOOK: Living Right on Wrong Street
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AWARD-WINNING TEACHER DISMISSED FROM PARADISE
“What a poor way to treat an employee. I'm sorry you had to find out about your job this way, honey,” Monica told him. The empathy in her voice was buried by the seemingly ever-present emotional turmoil. Job felt it.
“They advertised it. Like ... you're nothing,” Monica said in a low tone.
Job heard her but wasn't going to waste time responding. He gulped the OJ in a swallow. He tossed the cup into the sink and cringed for a moment.
Oh, Lord. Oh. It's plastic.
He felt Monica's eyes on him as he darted toward the bathroom.
“What do you have in mind, Job?” she asked.
“The last thing anybody should do is make a black man mad.”
“Well, you need to hold on,” she said, breaking the energy of the moment. She blew a kiss as she pranced by him.
He let out a boisterous laugh, praying she wouldn't take as long in the bathroom today as she had the previous morning.
Job was angry but determined not to commit a sin. But he didn't take the time to follow protocol when he arrived at the district administration building. If anyone asked him to—and one, maybe two people did—they were wasting their wind. Paradise District could call Job whatever they wanted that morning, but he was going to be heard.
Job failed to check whether he took the door of Buddy's office off the hinges.
I'm sorry. But that door was in the way.
“Mr. Wright!” Buddy was enjoying the benefits of the Phoenix horizon when Job stopped in the threshold. “Now, this is a surprise.”
“Man, don't play me. I didn't come to listen to your okey-doke chatter. An e-mail, a phone call, a voice mail. I didn't get nothing! You need to explain yourself!”
Buddy appeared as though he could've died instantly. He cast his eye down onto the desk and began to scramble through a set of documents. “Why, Mr. Wright, I swear to you—”
“What?”
“You received—”
“What?”
“Lemme get a word in. Please ...”
Job moved in closer and slammed the door. “Man, you better make up a good lie, 'cause I'm not leaving
this
office without an explanation I can live with.”
Buddy brushed his hair and began to move quicker as he continued to look for whatever it was he was searching for. “You know I received your e-mail yesterday. Matter of fact, Ms. Rizzo—”
“You didn't bother to respond to that either.”
“Well, I'm pretty sure I did—”
“Stop lying, Mr. McManus. I know you didn't. I've checked, more than once.” Job was making the room taut on purpose. He'd let one man run him over in the past, but today would not be Buddy McManus's day.”
Job could discern that, as the wall clock ticked off the seconds, Buddy was escalating in fear. The item he was looking for could not be found.
Job closed in until he stood against the desk. He was close enough that, if he desired, he could feel Buddy's panting.
“I, umm ...”
“What's your problem?” Job asked.
“You talk like you didn't get our letter.” Buddy's hands began to tremble and his details sounded nervous and chatty.
“Letter?”
“Why yes. A letter specifying the board's decision to terminate your employment.”
“When was I supposed to get a letter, Mr. McManus?” Job wore a tight athletic top that day on purpose. When he drew his arms toward his chest, his biceps and triceps flexed, giving a menacing look.
It was effective enough to make Buddy's eyes bulge. “On yesterday. By certified mail.”
When Job gave thought to the explanation, it torched him to the core. “I blame you, man. And I wonder if you were responsible for some consultant work that I was denied.”
Buddy's face wrinkled up, which led Job to believe he might've been mistaken about Buddy's involvement in the real estate work.
“Please,” Buddy said, “It wasn't my decision.”
“I'm talking about you had to be the one who planned to have a news feature published about me right on the same day that I find out . . . by a letter. That's the mark of a big, fat coward.”
“I didn't—”
“Stop lying. Every person in this district knows you give strict instructions about news interviews. You only want to be the one who gives them; for the district's image.”
Job was sure that any moment, Buddy would fly off into tears. His face was flush like death and he had ceased his endless search for the missing item.
“Mr. Wright,” he croaked, “we are truly grateful for the service you rendered. But my hands are tied and the decision's been made.”
“The way this district handled this was sorry. I'd feel better if I punched you out. The Christian in me keeps me from doing it, though.”
“I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that even though we've terminated you, you're free to apply with another district.”
Job shook his head. “That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. He walked to the door, the exact opposite of what Buddy and his secretary, no doubt, thought he would do.
He closed the door with the graciousness of a happy man.
With that ordeal behind him, the day had to be downhill from there.
Or, so he thought.
On the way out of the front entrance of the district's building, he met a woman hiding behind large, dark sunglasses. She was quickly striding to the door in a gait as strong as a man's. He took a closer look, and her face met his.
“It wasn't enough, was it?” Bianca asked in an angry, yet deceptively soft, tone.
“To do what?”
“What's this you're trying to pull? This revenge tactic isn't going to work. I'll be able to keep my job.”
Job was confused. “Revenge tactic?”
Bianca tensed her lips and backed up a few inches as though she'd misspoken. “We shouldn't be having this conversation anyway.”
“Why not? I've nothing to hide.”
“Like I do,” she interjected.
“My situation is over, Ms. Rizzo. I'm not an employee of these schools, so I'm not governed by their rules. Not now.”
“That's unfortunate, really, Mr. Wright. Maybe if you'd been a little more cooperative, we wouldn't have had to take this path.”
“Humph. Maybe so. But I'll credit the Lord for keeping me from getting into that trap too deep. You have a great day, Ms. Rizzo.”
While he was still in the parking lot, he phoned Monica and told her that that chapter of his life was over. “Time to start working on another permanent job,” he said.
“And yours is on the way for you,” Monica told him. No doubt, she had fed from His blessed assurance tree.
“Actually, I'm not too worried.” He jabbed his fist into the upholstery. “But I loved that job.”
He returned home after a day of emotional turmoil and closed the door to all that was behind him. And sure enough, there it was.
Paradise Valley School District's letter, which had taken two full days to reach him since it made a stop at Rong Street before being forwarded on to Nine Iron.
The letter, which was complete with a royal blue U.S.P.S. acknowledgement of receipt sticker, rested on the carpet just below the mail slot in the door.
He sneered at it and picked it up, refusing to even break its seal.
Chapter 34
For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds. II
Corinthians 10:4
 
 
Monica couldn't take another bite out of her breakfast sandwich. She was positive that Job didn't notice her stuffing the leftovers into the garbage and covering it with a sheet of Bounty. She didn't want Job to see it, and think that his getting fired had given her indigestion; that wouldn't have been true.
She could identify with Job's neglect of her, but more than an uneaten sandwich had slipped under his senses.
Her extended stays in the bathroom each morning were for a far greater reason than a physical reaction to external issues. To be certain, though, she made a stop at Walgreen's for a Clearblue Easy, which confirmed her suspicion.
She continued to keep Job at bay during lunch when he called to check on her. Monica grunted loud enough to resound in the receiver.
“What's wrong with you?” Job asked. “Still have an awful case of indigestion. Got to call Dr. Najib to find out what I'm allowed to take. I'm all right.”
“Girl, all that burping and stuff sounds crazy over this cellular.”
There was only so much holding off she could do.
As she conducted the scheduled safety inspections, she walked the halls of the administrative wing and caressed her midsection; the painful part, she was confident, was now blossoming.
In addition to its physical benefits, walking allowed her to release tension. She was still broiling over the Paradise Schools uncouth exploit that made Job's dismissal public.
She kept Job's ill-gotten notoriety in the forefront of her mind, staying prepared for any idle comment she may hear. She didn't question if the news had reached her office. Her wonderment was over who would have the bravery to mention it to her. Nine Iron's employees and patrons were avid periodical readers during cocktail hour, lounging, or a break between golf rounds.
The only time when there appeared to be some insolence came from Cory, which was out of character.
She was in the lobby with reps from E-Golf Corporation discussing a discrepancy in reservation dates for a workshop. Cory meandered toward the group and tapped Monica on the shoulder.
“I guess we're going to have to link you with an image consultant, huh?”
There was no mistake that comment was a stab at her, whether his intentions were good-natured or not.
Monica responded with a proud, cold look.
The one person she could always depend on was Nami, who hit her straight when it came to the buzz around work. Monica soon realized that day was no different.
“And, oh, my. They had the mitigated gall to print the story on the front page,” Nami exclaimed.
“Please don't remind me. I'm trying to see the benefit of making it public. It was somebody's morbid way of humiliating my husband.”
“Well, boss, I have nothing to report. No one has seen the story, they're not dimwitted enough to relate it to you, or they are talking outside of our presence. But I haven't heard a word.”
“I don't know what to think, if no gossip has passed by your ears,” Monica joked. “Anyway, I'll consider it a good thing. Maybe it will blow over.”
“It made you mad didn't it?”
“You know it did.”
Nami lowered her voice to a whisper. “Mad enough to want to kick somebody's ...”
“Girl, what has gotten into you?” She wasn't surprised at Nami's comment.
“I'm sorry. But I would've set my Christianity on the shelf just long enough to whip me some tail. This is one of those times when you have to remove your earrings.” Nami ran across the middle of the office and demonstrated how she could remove her stilettos without breaking stride. She held her shoes and declared, “Hey. It's how I do.”
Monica cracked up. “I wonder sometimes why I hired you.”
“Because I'm good at dis job.”
There was no argument there.
Nami headed for the door but stopped to pick up a file that was propped against the water cooler. “I'll bring you a coffee in about ten minutes when I have the new contracts printed off.”
“Uh, I don't think I better have any today, thank you. But can you get catering to cut up a pomegranate? For some reason, I have a taste for one.”
“No caffeine, eh? Fruit?” Nami turned toward her and narrowed her eyes. Monica could feel her examining her soul. “We'll expect a girl . . . hope you've started taking some prenatal vitamins,” she said.
That's the strangest woman.
“How? Who? That's ... how do you pick up on that—”
“Call it a sixth sense. Have you told the hubby?”
Monica was stunned. “No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“No, please. Don't act like you know anything when you get around him, Nami. I'm begging.”
“I won't. I'll give you ample time to tell the news. Don't keep it a secret. Hubby has a right to know.”
“I want to be sure first.”
Nami smacked her lips. “Fair enough. But I won't hold out too long.”
Just to keep Nami from following through on her threat, Monica called Dr. Najib's triage nurse to give a brief report of her overall state, her temperature, and the results of the home pregnancy test. The nurse would, in turn, set an appointment date.
That evening, Job suggested a light dinner and a play at the Helen Mason Performing Arts Center.
Monica wasn't feeling up to going out that evening. Her stomach churned with anxiety. And her womb was churning with a fetus.
She couldn't make up her mind whether to tell Job the wonderful news that evening, or to wait. She offered the alternative of home-cooked blackened chicken salad, with
Survivor
for entertainment.
“Tomorrow is the weekend.”
Tomorrow is the day that I'll give you this glorious news
. “Can I have a rain check until then?”
He shrugged his shoulders and frowned. “Sure, honey,” he said. There was no excitement in his voice.
Monica thought that he would be fine. He would be elated with what she had to tell him.

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