“You got some nerve,” I heard Billie protest even though I couldn't see her. Instead, all I could see was her hand pointed accusingly at someone standing in front of Mustafa, who I couldn't see either, but I certainly knew who it was. I quickened my steps then, weaving around the clumps of people that separated me from Billie's voice.
“Nerve? I can go wherever I want,” Clyde said to Billie when I finally pushed my way past a tight circle of onlookers. He was standing beside Ms. Lindsey.
“What's going on?” I asked, coming between Clyde and Billie, but no one answered.
“This isn't about you being here; it's about you having that two-bit skank, slut, bitch next to you,” Billie blustered, looking at Ms. Lindsey so harshly that I was sure she was about to spit. The circle, of course, highlighted this moment with a refrain of support.
“Slut?” Ms. Lindsey charged, trying to get to Billie. “Who you calling a slut?”
“Calm down, baby,” Clyde said, holding Ms. Lindsey back from Billie, but from looking at his loose hold, it was evident that wasn't a hard task because Ms. Lindsey in no way intended to ever really reach Billie.
“Y'all stop it!” I snatched Billie's arm. “Hold her,” I said to Mustafa, who was standing there, looking as if he was waiting in a crowd of strangers. And while he was, for the most part, I at least expected him to try to protect and control Billie.
“That's right,” Clyde said venomously, “Tell him to handle her crazy ass.”
“Crazy?”
Billie repeated and I turned from Clyde to her in what seemed liked slow motion at the time. I'd been involved in many Clyde and Billie fights in my life and what I'd learned, and Clyde knew, was that the best way to fully upset Billie was to call her “crazy.” More specifically, if it was anyone else, she might have laughed, but from Clyde, it was a fighting wordâand with Ms. Lindsey standing there.... I'd never experienced it, but I knew it would be bad. Horrible. At that moment, she may as well have been Zenobia in the hallway and Clyde and Ms. Lindsey were Michael and Patrice.
“You're going to call me crazy after all these fucking years?” Billie said, her face contorting into an evil war mask. “I got your crazy!” She raised her arm as if she was about to swing a punch at Clyde.
“No,” I hollered, going for her, but it was too late, her purse was already up in the air and by the time I got a hold of her arms, that book bagâsized, leather heavy hitter had bopped both Clyde and Ms. Lindsey. And even after I had the best hold I could get and Mustafa had lifted Billie up and was pulling her toward the exit, she was still swinging and hitting Clyde and Ms. Lindsey and anyone else who happened to get caught. Along the way, security caught us and one big, bald man with hands the size of car tires pulled me off Billie and in what felt like a snap of his wrist, threw me out of the club and onto the sidewalk.
My face inches from the dirty pavement, my hands splayed out in front of me to break my fall, I first looked down at my body to make sure I hadn't been hurt and then over to see that both Billie and Mustafa were on the ground next to me.
“What the hell?” I screamed, and a boy who was standing nearby and looking on with a bunch of other people waiting outside came and helped me up.
“You okay, ma'am?” he asked, and I just looked at him. I was too angry to answer. “I was just trying to help.” He held up his hands defensively and backed away. By then, Billie and Mustafa were up, too, and arguing again.
“I didn't sign up for this,” Mustafa said, only his African accent was gone now and he sounded more like the guys standing around us.
“Don't be a damn punk. Nothing happened to you,” Billie said dismissively.
“Nothing? That nigga was about to swing on me if you didn't come between us,” he said. “Look, just give me my money for tonight, so I can go home.”
“Money?” I said, looking at Billie. “What is he talking about?”
“Don't be a bitch, Jerome,” Billie said, holding out her hand for me to be quiet. “I told you he was gonna be here. All you were supposed to do was to be cute and shut your damn mouth. No one told you to kiss me.”
“You said to act! I'm an actor, and I felt like that was what my character was supposed to do at the moment !”
“Act? What the hell?” I tried again.
“Oh, please, negro. You ain't been in a damn thing, past your best friend's wedding video, and you managed to mess that up, too,” Billie said. “You know what?” She reached into her purse and pulled out a thick envelope. “As a matter of fact, you can take your damn money. And go somewhere and take some acting classes or something.” She threw the envelope at him and he caught it just before it hit the ground in front of him.
“What's that?” I asked and Billie grabbed my arm.
“Let's go,” she said, pulling me.
Â
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As we searched for the car and Mr. Green, Billie explained the intricate and ridiculous plot she'd organized to somehow make the exchange between her and Mustafa possible, who she'd confirmed was actually Jerome Jenkins from Jasper, Georgia. Apparently, Billie had grown so desperate to get back at Clyde for dating Ms. Lindsey that she'd hired some help. In an attempt to get over Clyde, she did try Internet dating for a while, but that didn't work and somehow she stumbled onto a male escort Web site. Jerome was listed as an escort for hire, who happened to have acting experience. His “ad,” Billie said, which featured shots of him in a tuxedo and in a thong, actually said he was the perfect, discreet accompaniment for high-class, high-powered single ladies not wishing to attend another business function, family dinner, or class reunion alone. He could play a long-lost love or boyfriend and leave a lasting impression on every person he encountered. His talents included international accents, dancing, and massage. Assuring me that she didn't sleep with him, Billie said after looking at Jerome's ad a few dozen nights in a row, it came to her that she could use his services to make her own lasting impression on Clyde. In all the years that they'd been breaking up and making up, never once had Clyde been forced to suffer seeing Billie in the arms of another man. And she thought Jerome/Mustafa would be the reality check he'd need. Handsome, smart, and international, he was sure to make Clyde rethink his decision and, she'd hoped, come crawling back to Billie's door. She just needed to make sure Clyde saw the two of them together. She paid Jerome to stay in Tuscaloosa for a few days and after that he just drove back and forth from Atlanta. But there was no success. Not until another teacher told her Clyde and Ms. Lindsey were going to the very same show in Atlanta she'd agreed to attend with me.
“Why didn't you tell me?” I pleaded when we were in the car and already headed home.
“There's no way I could've told you,” she said. “You had to go along with everything for it to be real. You would've stopped me.”
“Exactly. And I would've stopped you because none of this makes any sense,” I said, searching for sanity in my friend's eyes. “I love you to death and I've been through a lot with you, but this is just ... it's past crazy. It's the type of stuff people do in movies. It's not real. It's not ... it's not what people do in real life.” I was ranting, but this, even for Billie with her ways and love for Clyde, was beyond being a bit too much.
“I know it doesn't make any sense,” Billie said. “But I was tired.”
“Tired of what? Clyde? I'm your best friend. You could've come to me.”
“You don't understand.”
“Understand what?” I asked.
“I'm thirty-three and single in a town where everyone expects you to get married right out of college,” she said. “Late is thirty. Thirty-three ... I may as well be a senior citizen.”
“I got married at thirty-two!”
“Everyone knew you were going to marry Evan. And he's been begging you to get married since high school. I don't have anyone but Clyde. You don't know what that's like.”
“So the answer to that is hiring some actor to come to town to pretend he was your boyfriend?” I asked and I didn't mean for it to sound that simple, but it just was. “Don't you think that's a stretch? Pretty soon, you were going to run out of money ... or someone would find out. And why get everyone else involved?”
“When it all came out that Clyde was with Karen it was just like everyone was laughing at me... . Like I was a fool. Everybody knows how long I've been with Clyde and everything we've been through ... all the crap I've put up with. Everyone knows,” she said, and I could do nothing but nod along in agreement. “And when everything came outâthat he was really dating some little girl that's more than ten years younger than meâI know everyone was laughing.”
“No, they're not,” I said.
“Yes they are. And you know why? Because he's probably going to marry her,” she said so sadly that I began to cry at the thought. Not because I wanted Clyde and Billie to be together, but really because I knew if that happened, Billie simply wouldn't survive it. “Men never marry the women they go through all the crap me and Clyde went through. They just look for the next one in line. And here she is.” Billie began to sob on my shoulder, and I looked out the window of the car at the empty highway. “I just wanted him to feel as hurt as I do. Even if it's a lie.”
“You don't know that he's going to marry her,” I tried. And there was nothing left to say. It would have been easy to tell her to just get over it. But she had to get past it first. We just sat there for a while crying.
“What happened with Dame?” Billie asked weakly, still resting her head on my shoulder. “Did you talk to him?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you over him now? Did it work?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think it did.”
Chapter Seventeen
T
he impulse for forcing myself out of bed and getting into my car to get to school only hours after I returned home was “damage control.” I suffered through all of Evan's questions about the night over breakfast, making up careful yet interesting lies that I was sure I'd be able to recall should he bring them up again, thinking in the back of my mind that I had to get to school to somehow intercept Ms. Lindsey before she intrigued the school with her story about Billie and seeing me at the club. I knew I didn't have to worry about Clyde or Billie telling anyone, but Ms. Lindsey probably went straight to the school from the club to share the news. I had no idea how I'd stop her, but I had to try. If Evan found out about Dame and the club and me being on stage, he'd never understand why I went. And even with the situation with my father and the money still keeping me at odds with Evan, I didn't want him to lose trust in me. While I could honestly look back at the events at the club and admit that my attendance was completely suspect and had more to do with me wanting to see him than needing to get over him, it was my hope to work through both of these complicated desires alone and without damaging my marriage or Evan.
While Ms. Lindsey and I hadn't spoken much since she joined the staff at the beginning of the school year, and even less after she was caught in the janitor's closet with my best friend's boyfriend, I ran into her twice each day. Along with most of the other teachers at school, her first stop in the morning was in the teachers' lounge where there was always hot coffee and mailers for special announcements. There, I'd usually see her looking over her lesson plan or chatting over coffee with some of the other rookie teachers. And the second time we normally found each other was at the copy machine after lunch. Along with a group of five or so teachers, Ms. Lindsey and I discovered that the copy machine in the main office was usually free right after lunch. To avoid the long lines and fights over paper and toner replacement that occurred in the morning, it was best to hold any copies to this hour in the day when most teachers were still out trying to forget the morning's drama and prepare for what was ahead.
While Evan's inquisition about the “play” and my still-numb feet led to me being late to work and missing Ms. Lindsey's morning coffee, I ended up finding her standing alone in an unusually empty and quiet main office. When I walked in, two of Angie Martin's ghouls were walking out with stacks of paper in their arms. They were whispering and looking over their shoulders at Ms. Lindsey. In fact, when they saw me, they were so busy cackling that neither made enough time to roll their eyes and say something nasty.
Although Ms. Lindsey's back was to me as she leaned over the copier, I knew it was her, and to my surprise, she'd actually taken time to go home to change clothes before she came to work to ruin my life. Then I thought maybe she'd already started to spread the word about the club and wondered if that was why the ghouls had been whispering.
“Karen,” I called softly, unsure of what I'd say when she turned around. “Excuse me?”
Without answering, Ms. Lindsey turned slowly, and when my eyes met her face, I found a deep purple shiner over her left eye.
“Ewww,” I said, bracing myself at the sight.
“I knowâit's awful,” she said. “Clyde put ice on it, but that only made it worse.”
“That's from the purse?”
“What do you think?” she asked, annoyed.
“Oh, I'm so sorry,” I said. “I know she didn't mean to do all of that.”
Ms. Lindsey stood there unmoved by my explanation.
“What do you want?” she asked coldly.
“Well, it's about last night,” I started and trying not to look at her eye to figure out just what part of the bag slammed into it, I knew there was no way she'd ever agree to keep the night a secret. I was lucky she hadn't pressed charges and held a news conference. It was the biggest shiner I'd ever seen and I could almost make out a Gucci symbol over her eyebrow.
“What about last night? You want to talk about how that crazy bitch assaulted me?”
“Really, I wasn't coming to talk about Billie,” I said. “It's about me.”
“You?” She turned and picked up her finished copies from the machine.
“I need you to ... I need you toâ”
“Just come out with it,” she cut me off. “My left ear is ringing.”
“I was just wondering if you could not mention that you saw me at the club,” I said finally.
“Not mention?”
Ms. Newberry and another administrator walked into the office laughing loudly. They excused themselves when they noticed us at the copier and I saw Ms. Newberry look at Ms. Lindsey and say something to the other woman. They both nodded and separated as they went to their desks with their eyes still on Ms. Lindsey.
“As in, not ever tell anyone I was there,” I whispered, pulling her to the side of the copier where there was a little wall separating us from the pool of desks where the assistants sat.
“And why would I do that?” Ms. Lindsey asked.
“Because I don't want people to know. I was just there trying to support Dame, and you know how people are around here; they'll try to make more of it than what it is.”
“Well, what is it?” she asked.
“It's nothing.”
“It didn't look like nothing.”
“Karen, could you please just help me,” I said, trying to find some sympathy in her. “I can't have that kind of gossip going around about me. With Evan's career and the church ... I justâ”
“Stop it,” she said, rolling her eyes and pausing. “Look, I don't have any beef with you, so I'm not running to tell everybody.”
“Thank you.”
“If anyone in this school knows what a bitch gossip can be, I do,” she said. “Ever since I walked in that door, people have been calling me a whore and a slut ... and for what? Because I'm dating a man who asked me out?”
“Well, you know there's more to it,” I said.
“Really, there's not. Clyde can do whatever he wants. He's not married and he wasn't in a committed relationship, and unlike everyone else here, I don't think anyone can belong to someone else just because they've been linked to one another for a hundred years. I knew I was getting involved in a sticky situation when I agreed to date Clyde. He obviously still loves her.”
“He said that?” I asked.
“I tried to call the police after last night but Clyde took my cell phone and said his mother would kick his ass if Billie went to jail because of him.”
“I don't understand, then, Karen,” I said. “If you know he loves her, then why would you keep seeing him?”
“I'm twenty-one. I just want to have fun. And Clyde just wants to have fun, too. He's right here in Tuscaloosa and it's not like I'm trying to marry the man. Clyde's too old for me,” she scoffed. “I'm seeing someone else anyway and that's why I wanted to go to the club to see Dame.”
“The club? You're trying to date Dame?” I asked.
“No,” she said, grinning. “I'm trying to get back with my ex-boyfriendâBenji. You know, Dame's bodyguard that came over when you were talking to me and Clyde at the club?”
“Oh, that's why he seemed so angry and rushed.” I recalled the furious look on Benji's face when he saw me with Clyde and Ms. Lindsey.
“Yeah, he's the jealous type, and I thought if he saw me with Clyde, he'd get upset and want me back. He's been tripping off all those groupies ever since he's been on tour with Dame. But I keep telling him when it's all over, he'll be looking for me. I know it sounds insane. But I love him... . You know how love can make you do crazy things.”
“I'm learning that,” I said.
“Anyway,” Ms. Lindsey said, looking at her watch, “I only have fifteen minutes before my monsters come back from lunch.” She looked at me. “Don't worry about your secret. Just keep your friend away from me.”
“I'll do that,” I said, and we walked out of the office together. “Ms. Lindsey,” I called when she turned to walk back toward her classroom.
“Yes?”
“Did you tell Clyde you're not serious about him?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “He knows I'm just having fun.”
“No... . He's a little older than the âjust having fun' age,” I said. “I think you should tell him. Make sure you two are on the same page.”
“Gotcha,” she said, winking her good eye like she was breaking in a flag football game. “I'll think about it.”
Watching her walk down the hall, I noticed that on one of the benches in the lobby sat Zenobia. Even though this was her normal resting place between classes, I didn't expect to see her there because she hadn't been to my class. I was sure she skipped other classes, but for most of my students, music was at least tolerable if they were in the building. She was slumped over with her head resting, cheek down on the tops of her knees. Her arms were hidden somewhere, folded into her lap.
“Ms. Hamilton?”
I stepped toward her. She didn't look up, move, or shrug her shoulders to acknowledge that I'd called her name.
“Zenobia?” I called again. Nothing. “Zenobia?”
I tapped her on the shoulder.
She moved slowly to lift her head, looked at me, and averted her eyes. They were dry but red and puckered.
“Everything all right?”
“No,” she said blankly.
I sat down beside her and pushed my body close to hers, easing down to rest my elbows on my knees to be head to head with her. We sat there for a minute, not saying a word. Zenobia just stared out toward some of the students rushing to their classes, and some of my own even walked by en route to my classroom, but I felt I needed to wait there with Zenobia.
“Ha, ha, you ain't gonna make the cheerleading squad next year,” one girl teased another. “You dance like you got two left feet, Calaya!” The two laughed and popped their gum as they followed the crowd down the hallway. A single tear slipped from Zenobia's left eye and she wiped it away quickly with one of her fists.
“You want to go to the office?” I asked.
“No.” She looked at me for the first time. “I went today.”
“To have the operation?”
“Yes.” She looked away again.
“Well, why are you here? Shouldn't you be at home resting?”
The bell rang.
“Mrs. DeLong, everything all right out here?” Ms. Newberry asked, poking her head out of the office in front of us.
“Yes... . Actually, could you go down to my classroom for a minute until I get there?” I put my arm around Zenobia.
“Sure,” she answered quickly.
“Let it out,” I said to Zenobia when Ms. Newberry left. “It's okay to feel sad. You just did something very adult. You just have to be strong now. You hear me?” I lifted her head with my hand so she could see my face.
“I didn't do it,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“I couldn't do it. I went and my mama left me because she had to go to work and I waited and waited and I just left.”
She started crying openly then; tears were coming from her eyes faster than she could wipe them away.
“Oh, Zenobia,” I said, and she went to rest her head back on her knees.
“I can't kill my baby,” she said and her voice was both angry and sad. “I won't do it. It's my baby. I won't kill it.”
“It's okay,” I said. “Just let it out. No one's going to make you do anything.”
“Mrs. DeLong,” she said, “I don't know what I'm going to do. I keep thinking thatâthat I don't know what I'm going to do. But I have to figure it out because I can't kill my baby.”
“So, this is really what you want?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I can't lie to you. It's going to be hard. Really hard. And there will be a lot of sacrifices. But if you pray and really keep God first, you can make it.”
“You believe that?” she asked tearfully, and in the eyes of this girl who'd fought me so many times and complained and turned her back on me, I saw for the first time that she really needed to hear my opinion of her and that it mattered.
“You can do anything you put your mind to, Zenobia,” I said. “You're a strong girl. You're passionate. You're bright. You're smart. If you use all those skillsâskills that God gave youâyou'll be blessed.”
She shook her head, and I could see that she hadn't heard these things about herself before. But I meant each of them. As feisty as Zenobia was, her passion always shined through. Similar to most of the kids like her, she just had to focus this energy on a goal. And now, she had one.