Authors: Lynn Emery
Tags: #romance, #womens fiction, #scandal, #wrongful conviction
“You’ve met the ladies already,” she said as
she continued to fuss with objects in the room.
Monette expected her to take out a white
glove, slip it on one hand, and swipe down the surfaces. “Yeah.
Nice group from what I can tell.”
“We’ve been careful in selecting our
participants. The board felt you would be an asset” Trudy checked
the room temperature displayed on the thermostat before she turned
to face Monette.
“I appreciate them for accepting me.” Monette
returned her gaze with an impassive expression. She crossed her
legs.
“Several of them feel that you can bring
positive media attention to New Beginnings. I hope that’s true.
Helping you adjust and start your new life is what we’re most
concerned about.”
“I won’t do anything to embarrass New
Beginnings or make the board regret their decision.” Monette never
lost her relaxed pose. She continued to stare at the director.
“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Trudy
replied. When Candi, Tyeisha and Yarva came in, Trudy smiled at
them. “Don’t forget the special house meeting tonight. We won’t
take long, since everyone has met Monette anyway. The twelve-step
meeting will be after dinner.”
“Okay, Trudy,” Yarva said with a smile back
at her. They watched Trudy leave.
“Okay, Trudy,” Candi mimicked Yarva with a
snicker as she tossed an apple into the air and caught it. “I
thought your nose had gotten so brown from being out in the sun.
Now I know better.” Tyeisha laughed and fell into a chair. “Candi
is so crazy.”
“Damn right. Trudy talks to my parole officer
every week. I’m gonna be sweet as my grandmama’s lemon ice box pie
when Trudy is in the room.” Yarva flipped her fingers to show she
didn’t care about Candi’s joke.
“If you hadn’t been such a badass maybe your
parole officer wouldn’t be riding your butt,” Candi tossed
back.
“I’ve seen the error of my wicked ways.
Okay?” Yarva sat down in a chair and looked at Monette. “So you’re
the famous author and talk-show darlin’. Nice work if you can get
it.”
“Which obviously you can’t.” Candi flopped
down on the sofa next to Monette. She bit into the apple, and then
crunched the crisp chunk.
“I didn’t get pimped by the right rich white
dude,” Yarva replied with a shrug. She grinned as though being
friendly. When Candi and Tyeisha frowned at her, she raised both
hands. “What?”
“That wasn’t funny,” Candi snapped.
“Geez, we tease each other all the time.
Guess your old cellmate is off limits.” Yarva rolled her eyes. She
stood and walked out.
“It’s okay, Candi.” Monette put a hand on
Candi’s arm to keep her from following Yarva.
“I don’t know what’s up with her. She’s not
usually a hater.” Candi gazed after Yarva for a second, and then
turned back to Monette.
Monette thought about the challenges of
building a new life. Staying sober and following rules had been
easy in prison. The question was, could she do it with no locks
between her and the street?
“One jealous ex-con is the least of my
worries,” Monette said.
Two days later Monette was well into what she
thought of as her probationary period at New Beginnings. All new
residents were required to use those first few days to adjust to
the rules and being on the outside again. According to the social
worker, women did better if they didn’t try to jump into things too
soon. No job hunting right away, no visitors, and limited phone
calls, especially to old pals. Monette had spent individual
sessions with Trudy and Sherrial, the social worker at New
Beginnings, planning her gradual reentry into the free world.
Unlike most of the other women, Monette had a calendar of
appointments. Part of her parole required that she commit at least
fifteen hours each week to community service. With help from the
female minister who had run the prison ministry, which proved to be
no problem for Monette. Reverend Moody had invited Monette to be
the morning speaker at a conference for social workers and
activists. On that bright spring Monday morning, Monette dressed
carefully in a navy blue skirt suit and pink blouse. She gazed at
herself in the full-length mirror and grimaced.
“Damn, I look like a tight-assed
librarian.”
“Out here in the world the tight-assed look
is in,” Candi teased before she left for work.
“Gee, thanks for the inspiring send-off,”
Monette retorted and shook a fist at her.
Despite being nervous about facing a crowd of
educated people who had never sat on the wrong side of prison bars,
Monette got through it. She was part of a panel discussion on women
in prison and the special problems they face upon release. Having
Sherrial at her side definitely helped. The daylong conference
wrapped up at four that afternoon. Monette did not relax until they
were in the car on their way back to the hallway house. When they
walked inside, Monette let out a long, slow breath. Trudy came down
the hall to the foyer as they entered.
“How did it go?” Trudy asked.
“Very good. Everyone was really impressed
with what Monette had to say.” Sherrial smiled at Monette.
“I needed to hear that. 1 was scared that I
sounded stupid,” Monette said to the social worker in a rush of
gratitude.
“Not at all. You were nervous after being on
national television? I saw that interview and you were great,”
Sherrial said.
“Only a few people were in the studio, so
that was easy. Having an auditorium full of smart folks staring at
me was hard.” Monette gave a shudder. She hadn’t anticipated just
how hard it would be. All those accomplished women made her even
more aware of her lack of education and her past.
“Social workers need to hear from people who
have lived the experience. You educated them,” Sherrial said with a
nod.
“Me, huh? Wow. I have something to say beyond
being the hot story of the moment?” Monette liked the way that
sounded.
“Yes. Sensationalism is one thing, but truly
making a difference is a real contribution,” Trudy added. She
started back toward her office, where the phone was ringing.
“Congratulations, Monette. You’ve made a good start.”
“Making a contribution.” Monette thought
about her chance to have a radio show. She looked at her reflection
in the hall mirror. The conservative clothes did not seem so alien
after all.
A tall man the color of milk chocolate walked
through the front door. He wore a light blue work shirt with the
sleeves rolled up. Monette saw his reflection over her shoulder in
the mirror. She stopped fussing with her hair. In the same instant
he noticed her. They gazed at each other for a few seconds before
Monette looked away. When she turned around, she saw that Sherrial
was smiling at him.
“Hi, Jayson. You finished the oil change on
our van, I guess.” Sherrial took the sheet of paper he handed
her.
“Sure did. Put some antifreeze in the
radiator. Cleaned it for you, too. No charge this time. Just spread
the word that I’m going to do detailing work.” Jayson darted
sideways glances at Monette while he talked.
“I sure will.” Sherrial took the keys from
him and read the invoice.
“Y’all got a new social worker. Hi.” Jayson
dipped his head to Monette in a gentlemanly greeting.
“Monette Victor. I moved in a few days ago.
Nice to meet you.” Monette smiled when his dark eyes widened in
surprise. She liked being mistaken for regular people, especially
by a fine man.
“I’m sorry. Forgot my manners,” Sherrial
said, and then looked at the second page of the invoice. “This is
Jayson Odum. He owns Quality Car Care Centers.”
“I’d shake hands with you, Ms. Victor, but
I’ve been working on cars since six this morning. I’d hate to ruin
that pretty outfit you’re wearing.” Jayson wore a shy smile.
“You know the old saying, Dirty hands, pure
heart. Or something like that. Thanks for the compliment.”
Monette liked the way his full lips curved
more to the right, forming a dimple in one cheek. Jayson was not
classically handsome, but when he smiled his brown eyes lit up. He
had a rough kind of grace. Monette forced her gaze away when he
glanced at her again.
“I’ll take this in for Trudy’s signature and
get your check,” Sherrial said and left them alone in the
hallway.
Jayson cleared his throat. He shoved his
hands in both pockets of his work pants. “So, you live here.”
“Yeah. Live here, not work here.”
Monette felt an urge to tell him her whole
story; that she had been sent to prison by a vindictive jilted
lover who happened to have been the district attorney in Pointe
Coupee Parish. She hadn’t exactly been an angel either. She’d
partied with the wrong people and made a lot of mistakes. Those
mistakes had left her vulnerable. A jury had had no trouble
believing that Monette had had a part in selling drugs.
“Well, good luck on making a new start,”
Jayson said in a polite tone.
“Thanks,” Monette replied, matching his
reserved attitude.
He had the Sunday-school manners of a typical
“nice guy” from a proper, middle-class black family. Still, the
handsome face and strapping body made for a nice package. Not
usually her type though. Too tame. Not only that, he’d probably
already judged her. Monette wiped away fantasies involving cautious
flirting that might lead to more.
“Nice meeting you.” Monette nodded and turned
to leave.
“Same here,” he called after her.
Yarva strolled out of the living room. She
grinned at Jayson. “Hey, good-looking. Hope you delivered my BMW in
good shape.”
“Hi, Yarva. She’s parked out front. Ready for
a ride,” Jayson answered, falling right in on the joke. “How have
you been?”
“Good, good. See you’ve met our local
celebrity.” Yarva blocked Monette’s path. “Not the typical halfway
house hag. Right, famous lady?”
Monette shook off the desire to tell Yarva
where she could go. She was aware of Jayson’s curious gaze. Instead
she forced a smile and shrugged as she tried to go around Yarva.
“More like flavor of the month. Excuse me.”
“Don’t be modest. Jayson, you must have heard
about Monette here. She’s the one who got set up for prison by Winn
Barron. You remember that whole case.” Yarva did not move. “Wrote a
book about it, went on TV and everything.”
“Wait a minute, I did read about you in a
newspaper article,” Jayson said and snapped his fingers. “Winn
Barron was the DA back then and he set you up because ...” His
voice trailed off.
Monette sighed and faced him again. She would
definitely see that look of judgment in his dark brown eyes now.
“Yes, I’m that Monette Victor.”
“I’m glad you finally got justice. Well, sort
of.” Jayson walked toward her. “You should have been pardoned, not
paroled. Anybody looking at the facts could see you were
framed.”
Yarva scowled. Her plan to humiliate Monette
seemed to have backfired. “Yeah, she’s a real Joan of Arc
alright”“I’m no saint for sure,” Monette said. She felt uneasy at
the way Jayson stared at her. “My lifestyle made it easy for Barron
to set me up.”
“That still doesn’t make what happened to you
right I’m all for being tough on crime, but locking up innocent
people is even more criminal in my book,” Jayson said with
force.
“Well, uh, thanks. Again.” Monette blushed at
the passion in his voice. She gave him a tentative smile.
“Aren’t you writing a book about your
experiences?” Jayson seemed genuinely interested, not just being
polite.
“Actually I already wrote it. On sale at
bookstores everywhere.” Monette laughed. “My publisher makes me say
that. I think they even wrote it into my contract.”
“Excellent. Like Dr. Martin Luther King said
once, the truth pressed to earth shall rise again. I’m going to
pick up a copy. Hope you’ll sign it for me,” Jayson said. He wore a
serious expression for a moment then his smile broke through like
sunshine from behind a cloud.
“Sure will.” Monette enjoyed the warmth and
light coming from him.
“So anyway, Jayson, you gonna be at the rec
center down at Starlight Baptist Church Friday?” Yarva moved until
she halfway blocked Monette’s view of him.
“Gotta catch up at the garage. Speaking of
which.” Jayson nodded as Trudy approached. “Nice talking to you
ladies.”
“Same here. Don’t work too hard.” Monette
cursed herself for not being more original. She started for the
stairs but took her time walking out.
“Here you go, Jayson. Thanks for giving us
more for our money,” Trudy said.
“I aim to keep my customers satisfied,
ma’am.”
Yarva hung around in the hallway. Once Trudy
disappeared back into her office, she exchanged more small talk
with Jayson after he accepted a check and paperwork from Trudy.
Monette glanced back over her shoulder in time to see him wave from
the front door, then leave. She waved back before going to her
room. Moments later, Candi arrived home from her job.
“Damn, whoever wrote that song about Mondays
being a bitch didn’t lie,” she blurted out unceremoniously, then
flopped down on the bed next to Monette’s.
“Which song?” Monette took off her jacket and
slipped on an oversized Southern University T-shirt.
“All of ’em, girl. How ’bout some fool comes
in and hands me a fake twenty. Like I ain’t been around enough to
know.” Candi grunted as she took off her athletic shoes.
“What did you do?” Monette slipped off her
skirt and panty hose, and put on a pair of jeans.
“Grabbed that silly youngster around her
wrist and whispered, ‘You better pay with real money or I tell my
boss.’ They know Willie Lee don’t play that crap. He’ll lock ’em in
the storeroom until cops come to haul ’em away.” Candi sighed as
she rubbed her feet.