Soulful Strut (32 page)

“Here, just use the index cards. Don’t forget
to look up so they can see you’re sincere.” Tyeisha handed her the
cards once Monette stopped pacing.

“Right, right. God, let this be over soon,”
Monette said, looking up at the ceiling.

Candi came in. “So this is the big day, huh?
Got your girls in here with ya, as usual.”

“Don’t start,” Tyeisha snapped. “She’s under
enough pressure without one of your moods.”

“Yeah, it’s not about you today,” Lenore
added, her accent softening the words. “Monette needs a calm
environment. Okay?”

“So sorry to interrupt your session with
Oprah and Iyanla Vanzant. But this is my room, too. Okay?" Candi
glared at them.

“We can go to my bedroom, Monette.” Tyeisha
stared back at Candi as she stomped by her. Lenore followed her
out.

“I’ll be there in a minute. Y’all go on.”
Monette stuffed a compact, comb and lip gloss into her shoulder
purse. “Not today, Candi. I’ve got too much on my mind.”

“I know. Just irritates me the way those two
act like teacher’s pet around you all the time. Anyway, good luck
with the pardon hearing.” Candi stood with both hands stuffed into
the pockets of her blue jeans.

“Luck, prayers and everything else you can
think of would help.” Monette checked her navy blue skirt once more
for lint. She looked at the clock, and then started out.

“Hey, Monette. No matter what happens, we’re
still girls. Right?” Candi walked toward her.

“Sure. You know that. Look, I gotta go. Lucy
should be here any minute.” Monette slapped Candi on the forearm,
then left.

“Hey, Monette. Your ride is here,” Janet
shouted from downstairs.

Lenore and Tyeisha rushed out into the
hallway. They each gave Monette a quick hug. Lenore smoothed her
hair one last time.

“Now remember, you got right on your side,”
Lenore said.

“Yeah, remind them. But don’t rub their noses
in it.” Tyeisha pointed at Monette to make sure she understood.

“Thanks, y’all. Here I go.”

Monette waved to them all. Several residents
wished her luck on her way through the hall to the front door. Lucy
sat in the driveway. Her sleek, pearl-gray Honda Accord V8 gleamed
in the sunlight. A whish of cool air came out when Monette opened
the passenger door.

“Ready for the big day? Shoot, I know the
answer.” Lucy grinned at her as she shifted into reverse when
Monette closed the door.

“I just hope my breakfast doesn’t come up.”
Monette closed her eyes.

“Not on my upholstery. Just stick your head
in this if you feel sick.” Lucy handed her a plastic grocery
bag.

“You have sick bags in your car?” Monette
snatched them from her and tossed them in the backseat.
“Please.”

“Hey, I’ve got three nieces that I babysit;
ten, seven and five years old. I’m ready for anything. Need a moist
wipe?” Lucy opened a compartment beneath the armrest between
them.

“Maybe later. So Jim is going to meet us
there.” Monette tapped a foot nervously.

“Yes. But you’re the star. They don’t want to
hear from us. They have the reports from your parole officer, Trudy
Sherman and the three statements of support.” Lucy wheeled the car
around a slow-moving sedan.

“And?” Monette heard something in Lucy’s
voice that told her there was more.

“The warden wrote a letter. Let’s just say it
doesn’t ring with enthusiasm,” Lucy said.

“Bitch.”

“What did you do to that woman, kick her
puppy or something?” Lucy pulled to a red light and glanced at
Monette.

“Maybe the warden is Winn’s new girlfriend.
Maybe a little bird told her I’m not truly reformed. Who knows?
Prison is full of nut balls, and then there are the inmates to
worry about.”

Monette looked up at the tall buildings
downtown. She considered the speculation she’d thrown out
sarcastically. The first one was far-fetched. The second just might
be true. Yarva, maybe even Candi, might be talking to inmates back
on the cellblock. Monette shook her head to clear out the wild
conspiracy theories swirling around in her brain.

“Well, the warden’s wrong.” Lucy glanced at
the digital clock in the dashboard. “We’ll be there in plenty of
time, twenty minutes early at least.”

“Good. I’ll have time to go over my notes.”
Monette dug through her purse. “Damn!”

“What?” Lucy hit the brakes and a car horn
behind them blasted.

“I must have left my index cards on the
dresser. We got to go back.” Monette dumped everything out into her
lap to be sure.

“No way. If we’re late they’ll move on to the
next application. You could wait three to six more months.” Lucy
shook her head. “Look, just calm down and collect your
thoughts.”

“I can’t do this today.” Monette felt panic
push up from her chest into her throat. Items slid from her lap to
the floor of the car.

“Yes, you can. I’ve seen you face reporters
and talk on national television. You can do this.” Lucy spoke fast
and with fervor as she drove onto the parking lot of an impressive
building.

Monette stared up at the massive stone walls
of the building housing the United States Court of Appeals for the
Fifth Circuit. A wide set of steps in two sections led to six glass
doors. “Sure. No problem. I just won’t think about how much the
rest of my life depends on this.”

“Breathe in and out. Real deep in, slow
cleansing puffs out. You’ll do fine.” Lucy looked around as though
she hoped to see Jim.

“Let’s put it off,” Monette said as she blew
out more air. “This isn’t working.”

“Breathe,” Lucy commanded. She hopped out of
the car and sprinted around to the passenger side. She picked up
Monette’s things from the car floor and stuffed them back into the
purse.

“Hello. Uh, what are you two doing?” Jim
calmly watched them with a hand in one pants pocket He looked cool
despite the already sticky heat.

“Breathing,” Monette hissed and inhaled
again.

“She’s just a little nervous because she left
her notes at the halfway house. Here.” Lucy jammed the purse into
Jim’s chest, and he grabbed it in reflex. She gingerly helped
Monette out of the car. “Visualize something calm, pleasant.”

“Remember how you talked me into at least
checking out your story? You can be very persuasive,” Jim said.

“Morning, Jim. Nice fashion statement.” A
tall man with a bald head and gray beard grinned at Jim.

Jim handed the purse back to Monette. “Hi,
guys. I was just being chivalrous. Lucy, Monette, this is David
Harris and his law partner, Brad Singleton. They’re two of the best
attorneys in this state.”

Singleton nodded in gratitude. “The same is
true about Jim.”

“So, you’re here for the Department of
Environmental Quality hearing, I’ll bet. These guys represent a
multinational chemical company in Louisiana,” Jim explained.

“I will be,” Singleton said. He started off
with a wave. “Speaking of which, I’d better go in. Judge Polozola
has a particular distaste for tardy lead attorneys. My junior
partner will not be good enough.”

“See you later,” Jim said, then looked at
Harris expectantly.

“Ahem, I’ll see you inside at the Pardon
Board hearing,” Harris said.

“Really? Harris, Singleton and Associates
only represent high-profile, wealthy folks. Don’t tell me one of
your white-collar convictions is trying to clear his name.”

Harris shot a glance at Monette. “I’m
representing Winn Barron.”

Before they could recover, Harris had put
distance between them with a long-legged stride toward the
courthouse. As if on cue, a tan Lexus SUV pulled up to the curb.
Winn stepped out of the passenger side, and then the SUV pulled
away smoothly. Looking sun baked and fit, Winn was dressed in a
light gray, thousand-dollar suit. Monette was sure of the price tag
because she knew his tastes. Harris and Winn shook hands. Both wore
determined expressions as they climbed the steps.

“Crap.” Lucy’s succinct description summed up
the way Monette felt perfectly.

Jim turned to them both. “Look, Barron can’t
say too much. I’m sure David has told him showing up here is a bad
idea.”

“Winn thinks he’s bulletproof. So far seems
like he’s been right.” Monette felt sweat rolling down her back.
The fabric of her blouse stuck to her skin. She squeezed her eyes
shut, then opened them again. “Damn. I was hoping to wake up from
this nightmare.”

“He can’t say much without opening up some
nasty stuff that could hurt him,” Lucy tried. She glanced at
Monette and attempted a confident nod.

“Right.” Monette tried to convince herself
that she believed Lucy’s words.

“Think of Winn Barron sitting on the beach in
Florida. He lied, cheated and framed you. But he didn’t get away
completely unscathed. He had to resign from his dream job as
Louisiana attorney general. Which means someone must have believed
you.” Jim walked beside her.

“Low-down, no-good chump.” Monette saw Winn’s
face. Then she imagined slapping it hard enough to knock him
down.

“Uh, maybe she needs to think positively and
not concentrate on Barron. Monette needs to channel good images,”
Lucy mumbled as she leaned closer to Jim. She shot an anxious look
at Monette.

“I just did,” Monette replied. She smiled as
they climbed the concrete steps.

Minutes later they were through imposing tall
glass doors. Monette grew serious again when she saw a man dressed
in a dark green shirt. The letters DOC stamped on the back stood
for Department of Corrections, a sign to all that the man was on a
prison work crew. Seconds later a guard dressed in the black
uniform they all wore appeared around a corner. He said a few words
to the man. Monette watched them until Lucy tugged on her
sleeve.

“You’re free now, and nothing can change
that,” Lucy said.

Monette watched the inmate push a large dust
mop across the marble floor. She grew angrier as she thought about
the years she’d been locked away. “Damn straight I’m not going
back. Winn is going to be very, very sorry he didn’t stay on the
beach. Come on.”

When they entered Courtroom B, another
hearing was in progress. About thirty people were scattered about
in the cushioned stadium-style seats. Most of them scribbled notes.
Monette and Jim exchanged a glance. Both recognized reporters who
had shown up her first day at New Beginnings.

A long curved desk on a raised platform sat
facing the seats. Monette gazed at the men and women who would
decide the next turn her life might take. More than anything she
wanted her record wiped clean. Not so much for herself in reality.
She wanted it for her children and grandchildren.

“Thank you, sir. We’ll notify you of our
decision within ten working days. Please let Ms. Little there know
if the address we have on file is current.” A female board member
pointed to Ms. Little, a clerical worker who was tapping minutes
into a slim notebook computer.

“Yes, ma’am.” The petitioner left the table,
spoke softly to the secretary and then left. “Good luck,” he said
to Monette as he went by.

“Thanks.” Monette smiled back at him.

“Ms. Monette Victor,” the board chairwoman
read from a list in front of her. “And her representatives, if
any.”

“Don’t try to shoot them a load of bull.
They’ve heard it all,” Lucy said quietly.

“That’s your only advice? I already knew that
much.” Monette started to say more when the woman’s voice cut her
off.

“Ms. Victor, we have a full morning. If
you’re not ready, we can move on.” The woman’s arched eyebrows
pulled together. The other board members looked up from reading
papers in front of them. All stared at Monette intently.

“I’m ready, ma’am.”

Monette pulled herself together as she walked
down to the table set up in front of them. She sat down. Lucy sat
in the chair to her right and Jim to her left. Her hands began to
ache from gripping her purse so tightly. Taking care not to let her
jitters show, Monette flexed her fingers.

“Ms. Monette Victor was convicted of drug
trafficking and possession with intent to distribute in 2000. The
governor intervened once evidence suggested that improprieties led
to her conviction. She was finally granted parole this year after
some, er, debate.”

Improprieties? Winn Barron had committed a
crime, not used the wrong fork during a fancy dinner party. As for
the debate, politics had delayed her parole for almost two years.
When Monette glanced to her right, Lucy shot her a warning look.
Monette gave her a taut smile that did not seem to reassure Lucy
one bit.

“We have reports from Ms. Victor’s employer,
the director of New Beginnings, and her parole officer.” The
chairperson droned on for another few minutes. Then she looked over
her stylish red reading glasses at Monette. “Any additional
statements you want to present for our review later, Ms. Victor?
Ms. Victor?”

Monette blinked her way out of a daze. “What?
I mean, ma’am?”

“Do you have any additional written
statements in support of your petition?” The chairperson glanced at
the man to her left as if to say, “Give me strength!”

“No, ma’am.”

“Fine. Why don’t you start by telling us in
your own words why your petition has merit.”

“Uh, okay.” Monette desperately tried to
remember every word she’d written on the note cards. A few seconds
ticked by.

Lucy leaned over and spoke into her ear.
“Just pretend you’re doing the radio show.”

“Just pretend you’re not here making me even
more nervous,” Monette hissed back. Jim gave Monette a nod of
encouragement.

“Maybe it would be easier if we start off
asking questions.” The chairperson’s expression softened a bit.

“Sure,” Monette said, then regretted the
decision immediately. Too late. A stern-looking, older black man
leaned into his microphone.