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Authors: Titus Pollard

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BOOK: Living Right on Wrong Street
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Chapter 35
Also the Lord gave Job twice as much as he had before.
Job 42:10b
 
 
Their plans changed overnight. At least Monica's did. Job was in the middle of the master bedroom floor, watching
This Old House,
and pretending to do aerobic exercises. He knew that Monica was watching him, but she never made a comment.
When the phone rung, she answered it, and carried on a five minute conversation. By the time she finished, Job had completed ten or eleven knee bends, moved over to the edge of the bed, and was sprawled across the pillows, out of breath.
“That was Cory calling,” Monica told him. “I've got to go in and correct a few problems that've come up in the reservations department.”
Job jumped off the bed, stepped back, and put all his weight on one stiff leg. “You've forgotten today is
Saturday
?”
“I'm not on an hourly wage, honey. I'm salaried. And clients do play golf on Saturday. Whether we like it or not, I'm on call.”
“You can't call Nami to take care of whatever it is you gotta do?”
She flipped open her cellular and held it out for Job to take. “You think you're brave enough to tell Nami that she needs to show up for work today?”
The apple of Job's throat rose and fell with an audible thump. “Okay,” he whispered, “I think you need to go do your job.”
Cory instructed Monica to meet him at his office before she did anything.
When she arrived, he invited her to have a seat so they could talk. He took a seat near her, but away from his desk.
“This is informal,” he said. “I started to wait until Monday to tell you this, but I couldn't wait. The excitement of it all, I guess.”
Monica listened as Cory rambled on in such a robust style, but she couldn't make out what he was referring to. “Excitement?” she asked.
Cory's grin diluted to a pleasant smile. “I'm sorry about yesterday, about my comments. I can get carried away at times.”
Monica didn't think anything else of it. Cory was decent, in her eyes, but she knew that comfort with him should be carried only so far. “It's all right.”
His complexion gave him a hung-dog appearance. “Well, regardless, I felt bad. I shouldn't have said that to you, especially in the presence of clients.”
“Cory ...”
Let's move on, boss.
“Anyway, I'd like to make it up to you. I had an idea. More than an idea. I took the liberty to act on it and bare the consequences if anything went wrong.”
Monica knew that with Cory, she'd have to wait until he gave all the details of his actions. He was an astute businessman and the biggest prankster she'd ever met. She leaned toward him, ready to hear the rest of the story.
He shifted his weight and crossed his legs, exposing his cashmere socks and Kenneth Cole loafers. “You know I have a few connections out here.”
“Umm hmm.” She'd seen that for herself.
He leaned back into his chair with an “impart-the-knowledge pose.” “After bumping into you yesterday, well, after reading yesterday's news, I thought that you could use a boost.”
“What kind of boost?”
“The boost is actually for that wonderful husband of yours.”
“Oh, Lord. What have you concocted?” she asked. “I think I should be afraid. Very afraid.”
“It's not bad, really. I talked to an acquaintance of mine in the educational field.”
“Hmm.”
“He's a Nine Iron member who frequents when he or that fancy wife can.” He laughed.
“A teacher?”
“Let me tell this,” he chimed in, “but since you asked, no. He's higher up than that. I said he's a member
of this particular club
.”
She knew what that meant. Cory's White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant persona was seeping out of his mouth. Like a public school teacher can't afford a membership.
“Anyway, the guy's a friend of a friend. I scratch your back, you scratch mine type a thing. You know how the white boys do it.”
“Umm hmm,” she mumbled. Working at Nine Iron had taught her all too well.
“Don't be like that,” Cory said. “I'm not expecting anything in return. Like I said. I felt bad.”
“Go on.”
Cory had a pitiful look of appeal. “I thought, you know, Mr. Wright needs to be hooked up with someone that cares less about whatever his situation is.”
“He did love to teach. He hasn't said a lot about it, but I'm sure he misses his students.”
“Then if he loves it, he needs to teach. So if he had someone who would look at his teaching record as a criterion, then he stands a chance at getting back into the classroom. Am I making any sense?”
Monica sat dumbfounded by what Cory had done on Job's behalf. “Probably, for the first time in your life, you're making good sense.”
Cory reached over to his desk and picked up a small stack of papers that had a handwritten note attached. “Take these. The gentleman is a higher-up in the Deer Valley School District. This is the application. This is if he's interested. The door's open.”
“I'm sure he'll be.”
“Well, hey. There you go. Now let me warn you. They're already privy to some of the stuff that news article divulged. They'll check things out for procedure's sake. But that inroad should be okay.
Monica took the package.
“I know, I know. You're speechless.” He grabbed a cigar that was labeled Don Juan or something, and a cutter. “But seriously. You're an excellent VP. I thought that as efficient as you are, you couldn't have made a terrible choice in husbands.”
“Thanks, Cory. Really”
“Don't mention it. What I've known about the two of you and what that news article said, well, it just didn't match up. What da heck. I should do my part.”
“I'd never figured ...”
“What? That a white-bred like me had a heart?” He waved. “C'mon! You should know me better than that.”
“Thanks isn't sufficient.”
“Yes it is.” He repositioned his legs. “You have the hard part yet to do anyway. Convincing him to fight for a job might be work. But I'd think that they'd love to have a celebrity teaching in their district. Gotta get your husband to Deer Valley with the application.”
“Deer Valley, huh?”
“Not far from your subdivision. West of Paradise Schools,” he said.
If only Cory could see her inner smile. She then remembered other matters needing her attention. “I've got to get to my office.”
“No, you don't. That was my scheme to get you here.”
Her jaw dropped. “You're a rascal.”
“If I told you that I needed to talk to you, you would've said it could wait until Monday.”
She couldn't argue with that rationale. Cory took a phone call from someone who, she was certain, was inviting him for a few hands of poker. She thought,
Joseph Bertram Wright. Even the devil can bring you a blessing! Now that's two things I've got to tell you.
Chapter 36
Observe and hear all these words which I command thee, that it may go well with thee, and with thy children after thee for ever, when thou doest that which is good and right in the sight of the Lord thy God.
Deuteronomy 12:28
 
 
Job couldn't help but feel apprehension while he waited for his interview with Deer Valley School district to commence. He had to set his completed application on the floor to keep from wrinkling it up and making it appear worn. At least the ambience of their headquarters didn't give him as much of a sense of inferiority.
Monica told him that he would be meeting a Dr. Knight, the director of employment.
Through a bit of research, Job learned that this set of schools was not as large as Paradise, which could turn out to be a great asset. They may be more personable.
“Dr. Knight will see you now,” the receptionist told Job.
He entered into a meager, yet well-organized office. It was far from the over indulgence of Buddy McManus, but was well suited for its purpose.
“Hello. I'm Dr. Knight.” He smiled and reached for Job's hand.
Job shook hands and introduced himself to the slim gentleman of average height with a Middle-Eastern shaped beard. He was impeccably attired. Job's excitement burst open when his memory caught up with his eyesight. “You're a jazzman. A
big time
jazz musician. Umm, Zachary Knight, the alto saxophonist. I saw you months ago at the Rhythm Room.”
He expressed sophisticated amusement. “That's my hobby. At my day job, they call me Dr. Knight. You call me Zachary.”
Dr. Knight took the application and examined it with precision. “I have been briefed, more like drilled, on recent discoveries about you.”
Job's leg swung once before he grabbed his knee. “My application,” he murmured.
Dr. Knight fanned the pages of the application, and placed it in a folder labeled with Job's full name: Joseph Bertram Wright. He looked straight at Job.
Job looked nowhere. He was determined to do what he should've done when he applied to Paradise Schools: apply with total honesty.
“I've considered your coming to Deer Valley Schools very carefully,” Dr. Knight told him.
“Yes sir, but I want you to know—”
“Let me finish, Mr. Wright.” Dr. Knight sat back and relaxed in his chair. “The findings are most unfortunate. They were unfortunate from the standpoint that Mr. McManus was dumb enough to let his board dictate to him who to keep and who to let go.”
Job couldn't believe that he was hearing someone downgrade the Paradise School's superintendent. His attention was diverted, in part, because the gist of the meeting was yet mystery.
And, though he vowed never to admit it, his anxiety about the meeting had stirred his physical senses; he needed to use the restroom. “Excuse me?”
“We don't have an available, permanent business and technology position in any of our schools right now.”
Job was disappointed.
“We would like you to sign on as a part-time instructor with full-time pay until a permanent position opens. Will you consider that?”
Job was elated. Halfway in was better than not in at all. “I just considered the position. The answer is yes.”
“Great.” Dr. Knight gave him directions for completing his employment forms, security passes, and other details. “By the way,” he said, “your references were impeccable, and the certified copy of the letter from Paradise Schools gave us a detailed explanation of your misfortunes.”
“Letter? From Paradise Schools?”
“Well, the copy came from McManus, but it was written by a Mr. Delvin Storm.” Dr. Knight had a look of amazement. “What? Don't you know him?”
Then, he really had to use the restroom. But it would've been to vomit. “Yes ... I know him. But I didn't use him as a character or career reference.”
Now this I don't believe.
“Sometimes in life, Mr. Wright, circumstances present themselves in a positive fashion, without our interference. Sometimes, things are just meant to be ... you are now leaving it alone,” Dr. Knight joked.
“Yeah, I agree. Blessings in life will come.” Job wondered how that blessing came about. “But Delvin Storm?”
 
 
Times had improved. Things were healthier. At least, that was what Monica believed.
Improved times and healthier things were in the forecast; God's blessings made her want to celebrate. The rain check she promised for Job had now been forty-eight hours later, but it wasn't too late. Tacos, various chilies, and Mexican cheese dishes formed a culinary bouquet that seemed to stick to the adobe walls, breathe, and sing in chorus,
Hallelujah
.
And it was all for her man.
She was ready for the positive outcome from his meeting at Deer Valley. Her faith told her that it would be so.
And when he got home, he stopped in the foyer.
Monica laughed because she knew the aroma was paralyzing him. The last time she cooked Southwestern cuisine, they were merely planning a move to Phoenix. Now, they had become a fixture.
Job stepped toward the kitchen, and, as he began to speak, the phone rang, and he answered.
Job started doing silly things: rolling his eyes, pulling the receiver from his ear and holding it in the air, or making faces with his tongue. He was definitely out of character.
“Fontella?” Monica asked.
He nodded in the positive.
Fontella must've gone into a stream of indeterminable sentences. He acknowledged her with happy sounding grunts. “Listen.” He covered the phone with his palm and tried to make Monica take the phone.
Monica twisted her mouth at him.
Job told Fontella, “We're gonna have to call you back. Probably tomorrow. Or the next day.” He laughed aloud.
“Short, sweet, to the point,” Monica chimed.
Job said, “See ya,” and hung up. And then they both laughed.
Job had to lay out the details of his interview with Dr. Knight twice. The first time came out in warp speed. The repeat was understandable. “I look back, thinking about how I most likely could have bypassed some problems if I had confronted them in the onset.”
Monica responded, “It wasn't supposed to happen that way.”
“Yeah,” Job agreed, “We were destined to go through it and make us better. I know I'm a better man for it. How do you feel?”
Instead of answering his request for an explanation, she moved toward the sink and lowered a skillet she had emptied into it. “Since I've been married to you, it's been one thing after another.” She moved a strand of hair. “I'm tired now. Really tired.”
Job looked as though he had contracted shingles. “I've really put God in my life,” he pleaded.
Oh my God, he doesn't get it. I'm tired.
Monica knew she had his psyche off-centered. If he'd only known that the fatigue was a result of her pregnancy.
While they were hand in hand, Job led Monica out to the suite's balcony that evening. The lights of the Phoenix suburbs were twinkling out in the distance where crowds of city dwellers were rushing about to late night restaurants and bars, doing whatever they did on Mondays when they were restless and not ready to go to their homes and destinations.
Keep me in your care, Lord.
Monica was glowing in a tide of joy and security. She stared into Job's eyes. “I love you, man.”
He responded with a smooth, sultry, “I love you, too.”
They sat down in a couple patio chairs, looking into each other's eyes. Job poured himself an Arnold Palmer from a pitcher on the patio table. “God is good.”
“He is.”
“Ahh. Isn't this great?” He didn't wait for an answer. “I just want to take a moment to feel the warmth against my face, view the peaks of the mountains, and listen as the wind work its way between buildings across the city's industrialized desert.”
“Boy, you so stupid,” Monica said. She could not contain the giggle that had been welling inside her ever since Job came home.
Job said, “I know I'm being silly. I just feel, God, I feel blessed, you know?”
“Blessed. That's the right word for now,” Monica said lightheartedly. Then she paused, batted her eyes, and then she planted an intentional look of solemnity on her face. “But I want you to know that you've gotten me into some trouble.” But she kept grinning; she couldn't help it.
Job wasn't picking up on her childish behavior. He sighed as though he was preparing himself. He reached over, took her hand, and said, “Okay, baby. Tell me about it.”
Baby. Mmm, he's almost right.
“Honey, it's the kind of trouble that makes me have to decide on a blue room or a pink.” She pursed her lips and waited for Job's next response.
Job's speech started drifting off on some subject, and then he said, “Blue? Pink?” He tried to rise out of his chair, but he lost balance and fell forward, landing on his knees. Job looked over at Monica, who was then laughing uncontrollably. “Oh, my God,” he said, “are you serious?”
Between pants of laughter, Monica said to him, “Yes, honey. I want to introduce to you baby boy, or baby girl, Wright.”
Job gave up on getting back in his chair, and sat down on the concrete balcony floor. “Monica,” he whimpered. Tears welled in his eyes, and then they dropped. He touched her belly. “You're beautiful, this is beautiful. Now this is living well.”
Monica planted her legs across his thighs and looked into his eyes. “We're not living well. People that live their lives without God can do that. We're living
right
.”
BOOK: Living Right on Wrong Street
5.54Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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