by the sleeve of my blouse. She had on jeans and a halter top. “I got company. Who you want to call?” She seemed rough and cold to be so petite and pretty.
“Uh, I need to call somebody out of state. Is that all right? I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t need your money. I got plenty. Go use the telephone.” She waved me to the telephone on the nightstand next to the bed. I hesitated when the naked man on the bed rolled over and coughed. “Go on. He’s dead drunk. He won’t wake up until mornin’.” The pretty little Latin woman laughed. I could see that she was getting impatient. She started tapping her foot on the floor and breathing real hard.
Then she strolled over and stood next to me, chewing on a vine of licorice as I dialed Verna’s number. The phone rang four times before she answered.
“Verna, I’m goin’ to have to leave this motel right away,” I blurted in a voice rattling with fear.
I heard my stepsister gasp and curse under her breath. “Somebody fuckin’ with you now?” she asked, breathing hard and loud.
“Somethin’ like that. I just had a, uh, disagreement with the motel manager and he said I had to leave tonight.”
“The one who gave you a job?” she said, wailing. “I thought he wanted to help you.”
“He wanted to do more than that.”
“Well, where you gonna go now?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll call y’all as soon as I get to another motel.” I hung up before Verna could say anything else. I knew that if I stayed on the telephone long enough, she would have broken me down and made me agree to come back home.
The girl folded her arms and looked me up and down, nodding.
“That Jose is the biggest scumbag I know. He would fuck his own ass, if his dick was long enough,” she told me.
“Thanks for lettin’ me use your telephone. Is there another motel around here? Real cheap?”
“You got money?”
“Some. I think I have enough to last me about a month. My sister and my husband’s sister are comin’ out here tomorrow and they’ll be bringin’ me some more money.”
With a concerned look on her face, the girl mumbled something in Spanish under her breath. “So, you ain’t got nobody out here?”
I shook my head. “Me and my husband just got out here yesterday. He got killed last night. He walked in on a robbery in progress at the mini-mart at the corner.” I stared at the floor. Strange unrelated thoughts started to flow through my head like hot water. Like how old the carpet was on the motel floor and how musty it smelled. I even thought about a comment that the maid had made earlier in the day about an operation she needed on her foot. I was trying to think about anything and everything that would keep me from thinking about the latest mess I’d got myself into.
“I know all about that. Uh, I heard some dudes talkin’ about it in the parkin’ lot,” my new friend said, crossing herself and mumbling in Spanish again.
“I want to stay out here.” I sighed. “There’s nothin’ for me to go back to in Mississippi.”
“Listen, I can help you if you want me to. I’m Ester Sanchez.” She held out her hand to me and I shook it. I was amazed at how soft and smooth her skin was.
“I’m Lula,” I paused then added, “Hawkins.” Even though I’d only been Bo’s wife for a little while, I wanted to honor him by keeping his name and I planned to use it until the day I died. I’d never liked the name Lula Mae Maddox anyway.
“Lula, welcome to California.” Ester smiled and made a sweeping gesture with her hand.
“Thanks, Ester.” I didn’t have to ask Ester what she did for a living. How she got paid was obvious. What she did was her business, and it wasn’t my nature to judge people anyway.
“I got a real nice place on Athens Street. I live there all by myself. You want to come home with me? You can wash up there. And we can kick it for a little while. Then I can help you find a place and…maybe a job, too.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t want to put you to no trouble. You don’t even know me.”
“If it was trouble, I wouldn’t be askin’ to do nothin’ for you. And you ain’t got to worry about me tryin’ to do nothin’ freaky to you. You almost twice my size anyway.” Ester laughed.
“What about your friend?” I nodded toward the bed. The naked man was in a fetal position, looking like a big white whale.
“Who, Henry? He can take care of hisself.” Ester waved her hand, dismissing the subject. “He’s a guard at San Quentin. If a big booger like him let somebody come in here and kill him, he deserves it.”
“That’s all right. I’ll just get my things and call a cab. Cabdrivers know where all the cheap motels are.” I sniffed, walking toward the door. I didn’t want to leave my purse and other belongings alone in my room too long.
“Girlfriend, if you can get a cab to come out here this late, I will give you a hundred dollars,” Ester said sharply, running to stand in front of the door, blocking my way. “And the bus stop is too dangerous. Especially for a pretty girl like you. If you don’t want to end up like your husband, you better listen to me.”
I was too weak to argue with this woman. “How are we goin’ to get from here to your place?”
“Someone is comin’ for me in a hour anyway with my car. My homegirl name Rosalee. I’ll just call her up and tell her to come now. We’ll go to her place instead. She’s Black and maybe you need to be with your own people right now. My man is Black, so I know all about Black folks. Relax and have a drink,” Ester said, strolling across the floor to a sorry dresser where she snatched up a bottle of tequila and a glass. “I think you need it.” She filled the glass and handed it to me so fast, tequila splashed on my foot, leaving a stain the shape and size of a silver dollar.
The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat. I didn’t wait for Ester to offer me another shot, I got it myself.
Chapter 8
ROSALEE PITTMAN
I usually turned off my telephone ringer as soon as I was in for the night. Once I had finished doing whatever I had to do outside my apartment, I liked to leave all that madness right where it was. I hated selling my body to men who saw me as nothing more than a piece of warm meat. But that’s exactly what I’d been reduced to. The long, hot baths that I took every night when I got home didn’t wash away the shame I wore like a second layer of skin.
I was very stingy when it came to my downtime. I didn’t want to see or talk to any human beings when I didn’t have to. I didn’t even leave my answering machine on once I turned off my telephone. Clyde knew that. And the other girls knew that, too. The only people who knew that I turned my telephone back on after midnight were Ester Sanchez and the people at the old folks’ apartment complex where I’d dumped Mama when she got too nosy about my activities.
Mama had been asking way too many questions and making comments that made me uncomfortable when I visited her. “Rosalee, how come I ain’t never seen none of your modelin’ pictures in the magazines or newspapers or even on the television? You just as pretty as that Tyra Banks and all the rest of them Black models I see grinnin’ and posin’,” she’d said.
“It takes time, Mama,” I told my mother, searching my mind for other subjects to bring up. “Did you record Bernie Mac last night?”
Mama ignored my question. “Time? Well, honey, time ain’t somethin’ you got too much of to waste. Clara, the White lady from across the hall, said you was kind of long in the tooth to just be startin’ out modelin’. Them girls always start out when they teenagers.”
“Not