Authors: Dorothy Phaire
“I know, baby. But keep it on ice ‘til I get back. I won’t be gone long.”
S
everal days had past since Bill left for India. Renee was taking the Lexapro that Helen had prescribed for her to ease her anxiety attacks. She got through each day as if on autopilot. Everyday she wrote down her thoughts and feelings in a diary just as she advised her patients to do. She stared at the pill in the palm of her hand for several seconds, trying to decide if she should skip this one and lower the dosage. The pills allowed her to function somewhat normally. But at times her mind went blank during therapy sessions with her patients. She felt tired and listless throughout the day, which was another unwelcome side effect. Renee heard voices outside her office in the waiting room and knew that her last patient had arrived. She folded the pill inside a tissue and placed it inside her front desk drawer. Then, she straightened up in her chair and buzzed Brenda on the intercom to allow the client into her office
Thankfully, this one was a regular. She had heard him relate the same self-loathing issues many times before and didn’t have to listen too closely. She pretended to write lengthy notes as he spoke and kept her eyes glued to the yellow notepad on her lap, only glancing up at him periodically to feign concern. He talked freely without the need for prompting questions, which made it easier. Today, she was grateful for his nonstop, asthmatic-sounding voice. Her strategy to get through this last session—sit there and appear interested until his fifty minutes were up.
After her last patient left, Renee retreated upstairs to her bedroom’s anteroom and sat down at her writing desk to go through a stack of mail. She flipped through the mail haphazardly until she caught sight of a thick envelope, stamped with a foreign return address. La prison de Luynes, France was marked in bold, black ink. Immediately, she knew it was a letter from her father, Leroy Curtis. Renee could hardly contain herself from the excitement. She ripped open the envelope and a photo slipped free. It was a picture of her father, clutching his saxophone and standing next to another gentleman in front of a cafe. Renee flipped the picture over and recognized her Dad’s cursory, handwriting on the back.
1961 at Haynes Restaurant, Montmartre, France with owner, Mr. Haynes.
Leroy Curtis would have been thirty years old in that photo and looked as dapper as she remembered him to be in those days. He sported his trademark, pencil-thin, Clark Gable mustache; wavy, promade-slicked hair, and a double-breasted, pinstripe suit.
In his letter, her father told Renee that he loved her and how good it had been to see her this summer in August after so many years of thinking that she hated him. Prior to visiting him a few months ago in prison, Renee hadn’t heard from her father in 18 months when she had received his last letter from Frankfurt, Germany. Tears stained her cheek as she read his heartfelt apology for not being a real father to her. Leroy said he realized how much he had sacrificed for his music. He now realized that touring throughout the States and Europe ten months out the year had cost him his daughter’s childhood, as well as, her young adult years. He knew now that was the time in her life when she needed a father, especially after her mother died in that freak bus accident. Those were difficult times for a seven-year-old to deal with. He understood that now, but he had been selfish.
Her father was right. As a child, Renee didn’t understand why her mother would never come home again and why her father left so abruptly right after the funeral. Aunt Clara’s harsh words only make it worse. No amount of Lexapro could erase the memory of what Aunt Clara said to her after they returned home from her mother’s funeral. “
It’s your fault your Mama’s dead. You’re a disobedient child and your room’s always a pigsty. That’s why the good Lord took your Mama to glory—to punish you. Now I'm stuck with you for good since that no-account daddy of yours has gone off again, traipsing all over the world.”
Aunt Clara had warned Renee then that if she didn’t change her devilish ways, more punishments from the Almighty would follow. Renee had never understood what awful crimes she had committed as a child that deserved the wrath of God like Aunt Clara said—unless it was not reacting fast enough to her aunt’s daily list of orders. Her aunt reserved Saturdays for cleaning. That meant everything, including garbage cans, had to be scrubbed until they gleamed. Throughout the week another strictly enforced rule demanded that everything be put away in its proper place when not in use. On Sundays they observed sunrise service at St. Augustine’s Catholic Church in Washington, D. C. Aunt Clara’s daily praises and devotions to the Lord and testifying about God’s goodness to all within earshot made others think she was a good woman but Renee knew her cruel side. On Thursday and Friday evenings, Renee attended
catechism class as well as devotion and prayers instead of running wild in the streets like other people’s kids who had no home training, according to Aunt Clara. In her many years of counseling youth, Renee knew that children required discipline, structure, and love in order to thrive. Growing up, Aunt Clara did provide her with two out of three of those necessities in extreme quantities, discipline and structure. But Renee never felt truly loved by the woman who she came to understand raised her only out of duty.
The sudden death of her mother, and losing her own baby at sixteen were the two worst times in her life. That’s when she felt completely alone and powerless. Yes, she had needed her father as a child, but even now as a grown, married woman of 45, she still needed him.
Leroy wrote that he felt like he had let her down and abandoned his parental responsibility. At that moment Renee longed to hug her father the way she always did when she was a little girl. She wanted to recapture the excitement as he rushed through the door after arriving home from a lengthy tour. She now understood that Leroy Curtis was a free spirit, just like her fancy, showgirl mother had been. They were both happiest when performing before an audience. Leroy wrote that he had never stopped writing music or playing his sax even in prison. Though he was grateful for his daughter’s forgiveness, Leroy said he wanted her to see only the debonair man he used to be in the picture—not a beaten-down convict in wrinkled prison garb.
“
Please daughter, I beg you not to come back to this horrible place again. Have faith and be patient. I will be home by Christmas,”
he ended his letter
.
Renee’s hands trembled as she reread that last line. How could her father be home by Christmas? He had only served one year of a three-year prison term for manslaughter. But as she read on, her doubts were answered in the letter. Leroy explained that Detective Hamilton had been working to finalize arrangements with the Parisian police department for his release. He went on to say it was a godsend that her detective friend had taken it upon himself to discover his whereabouts. Otherwise, he would be languishing in la Prison de Luynes for another two years for something he didn’t do. Renee would never forget that day during the summer when Deek told her he had found her missing father. “
Renee, I tracked down your father using one of the department’s on-line investigative International data bases. For the last year, he’s been serving time for manslaughter in a Parisian prison.”
She would never forget those words and how she felt when she heard them for the first time. Deek had renewed her hope then, and now he was doing it again. Renee read through her father’s entire letter once more. She just couldn’t believe it.
Dear Daughter,
How have you been? As for me I am quite well under these circumstances beyond my control. I have missed you even more since your visit this summer. For the past few years before my arrest, I had felt like the creative freedom and tolerance that Black Americans had enjoyed in Paris, during the 50’s and 60’s, were all but gone. Paris no longer meant the City of Light to me and I had grown weary of traveling around the world. To be honest Renee, I was actually ready to come home and then I got arrested.
When you were here, I didn’t want to spoil your visit by going into details about my arrest. But I want you to know that I am not guilty of manslaughter. I want to explain now what happened last year that got me in this mess. One night after finishing my final set at a jazz club where I played regularly every Thursday through Saturday night, one of the band’s backup singers and I were sitting at the bar having a drink. I could tell she was stalling and was not looking forward to going home. At some point the woman’s drunken husband came into the club looking for her. We didn’t know he had a knife. When he saw us laughing and talking, he got the wrong impression that I was fooling around with his wife. I tried to reason with the man but as I said he was drunk. When he lunged at me with the knife, we struggled. I was only trying to get the knife away from him, but I accidentally stabbed him during the scuffle. He later died at the hospital.
At the trial, I explained that I was only trying to be a friend and to lend a sympathetic ear. This woman said her husband had been an abusive drunk throughout most of their marriage. I guess no one believed me even though the woman testified on my behalf. The singer and her husband were both French and I was a Black foreigner. The jury found me guilty and I received the maximum penalty for manslaughter.
Renee, your friend Detective Degas Hamilton went above and beyond after he found out about my case. He promised me he would do everything he could to get me off with time already served. At first I didn’t get my hopes up. But eventually I saw that he was sincere. He asked the French inspector to send him a copy of my file so he could learn all the details of the city’s case against me. He then petitioned the American embassy in Paris to intervene and use their clout to get the case re-opened. Due to the questionable circumstances surrounding the case, the embassy agreed. Detective Hamilton also asked a criminal attorney friend of his to file the necessary motions and act on my behalf pro bono. This is one young man that I look forward to thanking personally when I return home to Washington, D. C.
So, Please daughter, I beg you not to come back to this horrible prison again. Have faith and be patient. I will be home by Christmas. Take good care of yourself. I just have to hold on a little longer until I see you again.
Love Always, Dad
Renee wanted to leap out of her chair. Leroy ended his letter by saying he owed his impending freedom all to her friend, Detective Degas Hamilton. Renee had to agree with her father. It was typical of Deek to keep his good deeds undercover. Had she known all the behind the scenes effort he undertook to gain her father’s release, she would have thanked him last night at the fundraiser. She could never adequately repay him for all he had done to obtain justice for her father. But the least she could do was to say thank you. Renee picked up the telephone and dialed his mobile number instead of calling him at FBI headquarters or the police station. She wanted to speak to him directly, not leave a message on his voicemail at work. Deek picked up on the first ring. Street traffic and voices echoed in the background.
“Yeah,” he answered with an edginess in his voice.
“Deek? This is Renee. Did I catch you in the middle of something?”
“Yeah, you could say that. I’m in the middle of hell. There’s been another gang related shooting and witnesses are scared and tight-lipped as usual. But luckily, the suspects missed their target this time, and no one was killed.”
“Oh, … will you be able to get everything under control?”
“Trust me, Renee, you don’t wanna know what’s going on down here. Anyway, what’s up with you?” he said in a softer, more relaxed tone.
“I received a long letter from my father today. He says he’ll be home by Christmas and he owes it all to you. Deek, I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for him,” she blurted out. “But you sound busy so I’ll let you get back to your work. I’m sorry if I bothered you, but I had to call and thank you personally. If I had known when I ran into you at the fundraiser I would have thanked you then.”
“No need to thank me, Doc. Hearing from you has been the highlight of my day. Renee, I know this is short notice but are you free for dinner tonight? We never did get a chance to celebrate your birthday and you left the fundraiser rather suddenly.”
Renee took a deep breathe before answering. “Thank you Deek, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Please Renee, don’t turn me down. Not today.”
“Bill’s out of town and I feel funny about going out with you,” she said, and rubbed her forehead to relieve the tension that was suddenly building.
“I understand, but listen. It’s Friday night and I can’t take another day dealing with these knuckleheads who wanna shoot each other over nothing.”
“It’s just that, I don’t think we should …”
“I just want to treat you to a birthday dinner that’s all. I swear if you say no, I’ll pay one of these thugs to put me out of my misery. I’m sure they’d do a drive-by on me for free,” he said in a humorous tone.
“Don’t even joke about that, Deek,” she said.
“Who’s joking? I really need to see you.”
“I guess you’re not going to give up easily, are you?” she sighed.
“Nope. Especially when it’s something I really want. Just give me a couple of hours to write up this report and change clothes. Do you want to meet me at my place or should I pick you up at home around six?”
Renee analyzed how she had gone from a range of emotions over the past few weeks—from depression and loneliness to a renewed acceptance of herself as a woman who needed to be appreciated. What could it hurt to have dinner with someone who made her feel special and whose company she enjoyed? She just wouldn’t let things get out of hand like the last time. Since Bill was gone until Thursday, Deek could actually come to her house to pick her up as long as he got no further than the front foyer.