Good Woman Blues (7 page)

“Whatever you want.” The waitress lifted a
shoulder and left.

“Thanks for looking out.” Erikka sighed.

“You’re welcome.” Karin turned to Hope.

“Don’t even try to start in on me, church
lady.” Hope pointed a finger at her with the hand that still held
her margarita.

“I don’t have the time or energy to babysit
your bodacious butt,” Karin quipped.

“Good, cause you gotta love me for me.” Hope
kept drinking.

The waitress poured more tea into Erikka’s
glass from a large pitcher. Erikka raised it. “Here’s to makin’ it
through.”

“And coming out better on the other side,”
Karin added. They clinked their glasses together.

“Amen, sista.” Hope wore a solemn expression
as she downed the rest of her drink.

“Forget that skeezer-chasing chump. You
deserve better,” Hope spat out as though Vaughn was still
there.

The three women sat quiet for ten minutes
until Erikka cleared her throat. “Hey, let’s not have a wake up in
here. I’m back.”

“Yeah. A couple of weeks out in the swamp
oughta cure anything, girl. I say we celebrate at the House of
Blues this weekend.” Hope launched into a memorized schedule of
musicians appearing in town. Karin called her mother, who was
always happy to babysit her grandson.

They debated throwing an impromptu party at
Erikka’s place. Erikka made excuses as to why her apartment was
out. Her landlord had stretched the limit on late rent payments. If
Erikka threw a party, she’d be evicted for sure. Her friends, God
love them, didn’t question even one of them. Karin volunteered her
three-bedroom suburban condo, and the plans were set. As she and
Hope ticked off a guest list and party foods to buy, Erikka smiled
and nodded. All the time she thought of how she’d just pulled a
neat Rosalinde trick. Pretend nothing is wrong no matter how bad
things look.

***

Less than two weeks back in New Orleans, and
she had no job, a shrinking savings account, and her landlady was
out of patience. Erikka’s boss had finally admitted that “more
rest” meant “don’t come back.” Mrs. Horton tiptoed in early one
morning and slipped the eviction notice under the front door. So,
Erikka sat on her thousand- dollar rent-to-own sofa watching two
beefy men carry out her six-hundred-dollar leather chair. She
looked around her two-bedroom, two-bath flat.

“Lovely view of the park. Washer/dryer
connection and cable-ready,” she said, quoting the ad listing her
apartment for rent. Her now-former landlady had used the same
wording as when she’d found the gem.

Brown cardboard boxes from the local
Winn-Dixie contained what was left of her worldly goods. What they
couldn’t fit into her Aunt Darlene’s house was going into storage.
Erikka ran her hand along the smooth acorn brown surface. Her life
on the sofa flashed before her eyes.

Vaughn had sat where she was now on their
first date two years ago. Sophisticated and well-read, he had
gotten her hot talking about the economy. He’d looked perfectly
edible, a rangy confection of brown sugar. They’d met at a cocktail
party. The backdrop was perfect, the Garden District mansion of a
wealthy woman devoted to historic preservation. Vaughn had been
standing on the terrace with a group of people. Erikka could almost
see him as though watching a DVD in vivid color. Laurie had taken a
bead on him as well. When Vaughn seemed to be taken with the lanky
blonde, Erikka dismissed him. Another brother who preferred cream
to coffee, she concluded. She was pleasantly surprised when he
spent the rest of the evening with her. Even more surprised when he
called two days later. By the third date their time spent on her
sofa had not been wasted on meaningful conversation. Fond memories,
Erikka sighed.

The men came back. The young one stood with a
fist on one hip. The older man managed to look regretful and
impatient at the same time. “Melvin” was stitched in white thread
on his slate blue work shirt.

“Ma’am, we really gotta get movin’. We’ve got
three more stops to make,” Melvin said.

“Sure, Mel. Wouldn’t want to delay you
ruining somebody else’s life.” Erikka gave the smooth acorn brown
surface one last affectionate pat, and then stood. ‘Take it fast
before I change my mind.”

“I’m sure you’ll bounce back.” Melvin
signaled to his partner as he spoke.

“Yeah, right,” the young dude said in an
undertone.

Erikka wasted the nasty look she gave him.
The men became preoccupied with taking the last piece of her
dignity. They held a brief discussion of how best to get the sofa
out. In short order they maneuvered it through the door and down
the front steps. No doubt their efficiency was perfected by
practice. Darlene came from the bedroom, with Malik behind her.

“Okay, sugar. We’ll load up the rest of your
stuff, swing by Ace Storage, and be on our way home.” Darlene
slapped dust from the legs of her jeans and then the palms of her
hands.

“New Orleans is my home,” Erikka said
dully.

“Uh, I’m gonna take these on out.” Malik
looked from his mother to Erikka before he hastily picked up two
boxes and left.

“You could stay with Roz and be within
shouting distance of the city,” Darlene suggested.

“Within hours I would be shouting, no,
screaming, at the top of my lungs. She drives me nuts.” Erikka went
to the window and stared out at what used to be her view of the
park.

“Get mad. Tell me how you’re pissed off at
the world. Yell, call people names.”

“Please,” Erikka retorted, without turning
around.

“Here. Throw something against the wall
even.” Darlene tapped her on the arm with an object. “This is real
ugly. You won’t miss it.”

Darlene held out a small pink china vase with
blue flowers. The figure of a white woman holding a fan and wearing
an old-fashioned flowing gown was painted on the front.

“You have lost your mind. Give me that.”
Erikka snatched it from her. “You know how much this ugly thing is
worth? Vaughn bought it at an estate sale in the Garden
District.”

“A gift from Vaughn; more reason to smash
it.” Darlene crossed her arms.

“I’m going to get a good price on eBay for
this damn thing. Best revenge I can think of.” Erikka wrapped the
vase in wads of newspaper. She opened a small box and carefully
packed it.

“That’s the spirit. Out with the old.”
Darlene put an arm around her shoulder.

‘Trouble is I like the old. I loved my life.”
If she excluded being lonely, unfulfilled, and insecure that is.
Erikka straightened from bending over the carton.

“Then think of this move as a breather. An
experience you can use when you come back to New Orleans. Or
wherever you decide to settle,” Darlene added, when Erikka glanced
at her.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go. Mrs. Horton’s house is
on our way.” Erikka held up the keys she would drop off.

Darlene’s eyes softened with sympathy, but
she said no more. She picked up two lightweight boxes. “Right. Make
sure you haven’t left anything,” she called over her shoulder on
her way out the door.

Erikka followed her without looking back.
“Why bother? What hasn’t already been pawned, repossessed, or
packed, I don’t need.”

Chapter 4

Erikka looked up and down the main street of
Loreauville. Why was she expecting traffic? She could cross the
street with her eyes closed. Just as she was about to give it a
try, a horn blew.

“Have you lost your mind?” Monique leaned
across the passenger seat and looked at Erikka over her designer
sunglasses.

“Moni, have you not been paying attention? I
just got out of the nuthouse,” Erikka shot back. She walked over to
the car.

“Well, take your damn medicine, girl. Get in
this car.” Monique hit the master control button that unlocked the
doors.

“Sure, since you asked so nicely.” Erikka
climbed into the Mustang. Seconds later, Monique hit the gas, and
they headed down Main Street.

Monique glanced at her. “Thought I’d take a
few hours off and connect with my favorite cousin.”

“You have a job. I specialize in getting me
fired. I don’t freelance, okay? You lose that cushy position with
the state, it won’t be my fault. Just wanna get that out on the
table.”

“I’ve got a proposition for you. The judge
says you have to have a job as part of your probation, right?”
Monique turned into Darlene’s driveway.

“Him and about eight of my
less-than-understanding creditors. Not to mention I have to do two
hundred hours of community service. Darlene got me a gig
volunteering where she works at the local senior citizens’ center.
I should have begged for mercy and asked for a jail sentence.”
Darlene was the director of the center with a small staff and even
smaller budget.

“Can’t rescue you from little old ladies, but
I do have a job for you. Remember I went to the Chamber of Commerce
convention in New Orleans three months ago?”

“Yeah.”

“I met a guy who owns a public access TV
station in Lafayette. I saw Ryan at the local Black Business
Association cocktail mixer Friday night. He told me he’d just fired
his bookkeeper.”

“I don’t know, Monique.” Erikka shook her
head and walked to the front porch.

Monique followed close on her heels. She
stood in the yard while Erikka climbed the steps. “What don’t you
know? You need a job, and he needs an accountant. I’d call that a
perfect fit.”

“Wait a minute. Let me guess, Ryan is
superfine and you’re going for extra brownie points.” Erikka looked
at Monique with her arms crossed.

“No.” Monique groaned when Erikka continued
to stare at her. “Okay, so I’m trying to get in with his fine older
brother Clifford. But that isn’t the point.”

“Uh-huh.” Erikka waved at her and unlocked
the front door.

“Come on, Erikka. We both win here.” Monique
grabbed her by the arm and pulled her around until Erikka faced
her.

“Moni, you can’t be this desperate. Don’t
sell your kinfolks for a man. They can’t be that scarce.” Erikka
tugged free and walked to the kitchen. She took a pitcher of
lemonade from the refrigerator.

“Cuz, I want a man who has a steady job, all
of his teeth, and doesn’t live in a tiny trailer in his mama’s back
yard. Help a sista out,” Monique pleaded.

Erikka laughed out loud. “Here’s a thought,
move to New Orleans.” Then she stopped laughing when she considered
her experiences. “Might as well stay here.”

“Do this for me.”

“I’m still not sure.” Erikka took two
tumblers from a cabinet and poured lemonade in both. “When I tell
him about my recent troubles—”

“I told Ryan about you already. No details,”
Monique added quickly, when Erikka looked at her. “Just that you’ve
been through a tough time. You can fill in as many of the details
as you want.”

“Better be decent money. Of course anything
over zero would be a big help,” Erikka added, with a dry laugh
empty of real humor.

“He can’t pay a lot, and it’s part-time. But
like you said, it’s a paycheck.” Monique watched her steadily, her
eyes wide with hope.

“It can’t hurt to talk to this
what’s-his-name.” Erikka still felt a flutter of anxiety in her
midsection.

“Ryan Wilson.” Monique grinned and did a
little dance.

“Yeah. Give me his number, and I’ll call
him.” Erikka lifted the glass to her lips.

“No need. You have an interview with him this
afternoon. Get dressed.” Monique took the glass from Erikka’s hand
before she could taste the lemonade.

“What the—” Erikka let out a string of curse
words.

“Think of the judge and those creditors,
baby.” Monique pushed Erikka out of the kitchen and steered her to
her bedroom.

“You’re not thinking of me, Moni. I suddenly
feel used,” Erikka protested. Seconds later they were in her
room.

“Uh-huh.” Monique went to the closet. “These
gray slacks and matching jacket look sharp. I say we go with
those.”

“This is a sad day. Where is your dignity?”
Erikka snatched the suit from Monique.

“I tossed it the night my last date told me
his hobby is watching pit bulls fight to the death. Get moving. You
don’t want to be late.” Monique tapped her wristwatch.

“It’s noon, and I haven’t had lunch.” Erikka
stared at herself in the mirror. “Look at my hair.”

Monique went into the small bathroom. “I’ll
fire up the curling iron and treat you to a meal later,” she yelled
through the door.

Erikka stared at her reflection. Her anxiety
jelled into fear. She’d made so many mistakes in the past year.
Taking a deep breath, Erikka tried to pump up her sagging
self-confidence.

‘Try not to screw this up,” Erikka said,
pointing to the jittery woman that looked back at her.

***

The next day Erikka went to her first day of
community service. The job interview had gone well, much to
Monique’s delight. Of course, Ryan Wilson had the jittery tics of a
man on the edge of financial ruin, so he might have made a snap
decision. Erikka would start going over the television station’s
books in a few days to give his staff time to get them organized.
She had a job; even it was part-time and temporary. And at least
she wasn’t picking up trash on the highway as part of her community
service.

“Who’s got B sixteen?” the recreation
assistant yelled for the third time, as loud as she could. Three of
the twenty or so bingo players strained forward, the rest either
chattered to each other or wandered around gossiping. Rusty chairs
and shaky tables were scattered around. A few faded and
forlorn-looking pictures of swamp scenes hung crookedly on the
walls. The place definitely needed a makeover, Erikka thought to
herself.

“I’m in hell.” Erikka shook her head slowly
as she looked around at them. “Lord, why me?”