Abnormal Lives (34 page)

30

Simone sat in the interrogation room at the mercy of Detective Warner and Officer Evans.

“How long have you been using your dead granny's identity to obtain credit?” Detective Warner asked. “Weeks, months, ever since her death?”

Simone's pulse quickened.
Who the fuck does this fat, sloppy, old white pig think he's talking to?

“Did you hear the question?” Officer Evans asked.

Simone glared at her with rage-filled eyes.

“I suggest you answer the question,” Officer Evans said.

“Never,” Simone said.

“Excuse me,” Detective Warner said.

“Never, I never used her identity to obtain credit,” Simone reiterated.

“How do you explain your car?” Officer Evans asked.

“I paid cash for my car. It's just in her name,” Simone said.

“Where did you get the money from?” Detective Warner asked. “Hooking?”

Simone looked away and didn't offer a response.

“We found a camcorder in the home of two murder victims,” Detective Warner said. “It was hidden on the dresser in that dump they called a room.”

“They were being entertained by two prostitutes when they
had a dispute over payment and were killed,” said Officer Evans.

“Guess who we have on tape committing those murders?” Detective Warner said.

Simone got a knot in her stomach. They were bluffing. There was no way they had a tape of the incident.

“Would you like to see the tape?” Officer Evans asked.

Simone lowered her head. After all that had happened to her during the last few months, she couldn't be spared from this.

Officer Evans smirked. “Warner, I think she's embarrassed.”

“Are you, Simone?” Detective Warner asked. “Are you embarrassed about being a hooker?”

“Aw, don't be too hard on her, Warner,” Officer Evans said. “It's understandable. If I did any of the things she did on that tape, I wouldn't show my face in public.”

Detective Warner nodded his head in agreement. “I sure am glad your grandmother didn't live to see this.”

Simone could not hold in her rage any longer. She hated how they stood in front of her with their holier-than-thou attitudes, knowing damn well they had committed their own offenses. The only difference between her and them were they wore badges. It was apparent that Detective Warner was lonely and so desperate that he was a turn-off to even the most undesirable women. He gorged himself, trying to cure his loneliness. His distorted figure was proof of that. He would be more than happy to pay for a woman's services, even if it was only to keep him company.

Officer Evans was the plain Jane-type. There was nothing special about her. The way she stood, the placement of her arms near her sides, her not being able to veil how fascinated she was with having control over the situation showed that she was goofy. Simone was sure she had clients who had treated her better than any man Officer Evans had ever been with had treated her. She
would bet her bail money that Officer Evans' job was the primary way that she met her men. She pretended to look out for the criminals that she and her coworkers arrested, hoping that in return, she would be sexed by them later.

“Don't worry about my grandma. She sure wouldn't have given a shit about a fat piece of trash like you,” Simone said.

Detective Warner's face grew redder and redder with each passing second until it resembled a tomato. He tried to mask his anger with a smile but Simone realized that she had hit a nerve.

“I bet your fat, lonely ass be cruising the streets looking for a woman like me, but you don't have enough money to talk a junkie into sleeping with you,” Simone said.

Detective Warner became furious. “Listen, you little bitch...”

“Hey...hey...hey...” Officer Evans shouted, cutting her partner off. It was time for her to take over. She was disgusted with how her partner had allowed Simone to get under his skin so easily. She was certain that he had heard a similar spiel several times before. If he couldn't deal with it, he needed to hand over his badge and let someone else have his job.

Officer Evans looked Simone over. Simone had her flaws. She sat in front of them with her clothes wrinkled up, sweaty, and with her hair tangled. She wondered had Simone slept in her clothes the night before and if she'd had a chance to bathe before they arrested her.

“Seems like Warner hit a nerve,” Officer Evans said. “If your grandmother meant that much to you, you should've honored her by living a better life.”

“Nothing's wrong with my life,” Simone said. “I make more money in one night than you do in a month and I have clients that treat me better than any man will ever treat you.”

Officer Evans laughed.

“I don't know what you're laughing for,” Simone said. “You know it's true. I could have your man if I wanted him, although I doubt you have one.”

Officer Evans held up her hand and pointed to the one-carat ring on her left hand. “This is an engagement ring, something you will never have, being that men don't marry women like you.”

“Whatever, he's probably a junkie or some criminal you locked up and made your boo.” Simone giggled. “I wouldn't be surprised if you had to pay for the ring yourself.”

“Even if I did buy my own ring, I still have something you will never have; a man who's committed to me. And by the way, my man wouldn't have you.” Officer Evans looked Simone up and down, sizing her up. “My man might be a criminal, but he does require his women to take baths.”

Simone jumped out of her seat and charged Officer Evans. Officer Evans grabbed the can of mace off of her side and sprayed it into Simone's face.

“Arrgh!” Simone screamed and fell to the floor.

Detective Warner cheered Officer Evans on. “Good job, Evans; mace her like the dog she is.”

Two officers lifted Simone off of the floor. One grabbed her feet and the other grabbed her arms. They took her to solitary confinement and threw a dingy white pillowcase and a mattress into her cell.

Simone sat on her bunk and cried. There was no one to help her. No one to tell her what to expect or how to get out of the mess that she was in. There was no one to tell her everything would be all right and she couldn't assure herself of that; she knew better. Was this what her life was about: tragedy? God always found a way to bring her down, to weave misfortune into her life. She'd witnessed others perform cruel acts without facing consequences.
But for everything she did, Judgment Day came and arrived quickly. She recalled the story that she was once told as a child. The story of Maat, whose feather the hearts of the dead were weighed against, and if their hearts outweighed her feather, their souls would be devoured. She thought about how refreshing that would be, her soul being devoured; it would be the end of her existence. She would not have to worry about her fate. She would no longer wonder if Officer Evans was right about a man never committing to her, or if Detective Warner was right about her being equivalent to a dog. She wouldn't grit her teeth with anger when she thought about how much pleasure her enemies would feel when they learned of her misfortune, or how the girls she had gone to school with would laugh and talk about how they knew that she would never amount to anything. She envied the dead. Stefan was lucky that he was allowed to take the easy way out.

Stefan's father lay back on his couch and cried. Memories raced through his head. He remembered the day that Stefan was born. He had his mother's complexion and her hazel eyes. He'd held Stefan in his arms while they cleaned up his wife, Sarah. Stefan looked at him and smiled.

“He just smiled at me,” he told his wife.

His wife laughed. “He's too young to do that. He probably has gas, Dennis. They say it tickles their bellies.”

He didn't care what his wife had said. Their baby had smiled at him. After all of the hard work that he had done to free himself from his mother's womb, he still had the strength to smile. His son was a winner, a survivor. He was a proud father. He was grateful to his wife for bearing him a son.

He remembered taking his three-year-old son to the park to socialize with other kids. Stefan had picked flowers with the girls and fought the boys. He was a flower picker and one hell of a little fighter.

His wife told him not to worry about their son's behavior. Their son was fine. He was still so young and wasn't aware of the dos and don'ts for boys and girls, let alone his sexual orientation. He was a free spirit. He would eventually grow to know the ways of the world but, meanwhile, let him be.

When Stefan was four years old, Dennis noticed that he was still urinating sitting down after he had showed him the proper way for men to urinate for what seemed like a hundred times. Then there was the time he had overheard Stefan asking his mother when he would develop breasts.

Dennis looked back on the day he had walked out on his wife and his son. How his wife had begged him to stay.

“Please don't leave,” she'd pleaded. “It's too soon to tell whether he's gay or not and even if he is, we'll find a way to deal with it. That's what families do.”

He'd ignored his wife's pleas, grabbed his suitcase, and made his way to the door. Stefan stood by the door, crying as he made his way out.

“Daddy, please don't leave,” he'd said.

He'd pretended not to hear his son and left.

What would people say when they found out that his son was gay? What would his mother and father say, whose roots were deeply embedded in the church? He had brought shame to his family.

No matter what good deed he had done, when people heard of the deed, they wouldn't praise it. They would be too busy saying, “You know his son is gay.” Stefan was his dark shadow; his curse.

He blamed his wife. He thought she had some genetic defect and that's why his son's body didn't match his spirit.

He tried to forget them. When his wife committed suicide, he told himself that it wasn't his fault. He hardened his heart and spent whatever free time he had volunteering at the church, so he could stay busy.

But now the floodgates were open and there was nothing he could do to keep his mind off of the family he had started and then ran out on. There wasn't anything he could do to keep his mind off the loss of his son. Oh, how he was foolish. What man would turn his back on his family so he wouldn't be defamed by others?

Stefan wasn't his curse. His pride was. It had caused him to lose his wife and now his son. He kept replaying the day he had left them over in his head. He imagined that he had made up with his wife and they had worked things out, and now they were all sitting around the table having dinner and that he wasn't lying in the house by himself grieving the loss of his Sarah and Stefan. Instead, he was enjoying their company. But no matter how much he daydreamed about what would have happened if he hadn't walked out on them, that chance had come and gone and there was nothing he could do to change the past. All he had were memories, a few pictures of Stefan as a child, and the pictures they had taken of Stefan in his coffin before he was buried. He would have rather seen his son prancing around in one of his dresses, with his heels and makeup on, than lying in a coffin.