Life Without Hope (27 page)

he must have gotten out of the dirty clothes hamper in the bath-

room.

“
Hello? Hello? Anyone home? This is the police department.”

Shouts rang out from the first floor.

Marcus stood rigid, eyes bulging with fear. Beads of sweat cas-

caded from his forehead as he whispered in a hushed tone, “What

do I tell them?”

As I sat there on the floor with my eyes full of tears and emo-

tions spilling over, for the first time I recognized something in him

that I should have seen all along, femininity. It was right there

staring me in the face. I raised my voice, making sure that the

police could hear me. “If you don’t take your punk ass down there

and talk to them, I’ll be more than happy to tell them what hap-

pened. That I came home and caught you with a dick up your ass

the size of my arm.”

Marcus took one look at me and must have decided that I

would now be a good candidate for the crazy farm. As he scurried

by me, I kicked him with all my might. He fell hard. “Bitch!” I

cursed as he got back up. He hardly looked at me. I could tell his

mind was somewhere else–probably on his crippled lover and

what the hell lie he was going to tell the police. After a minute or

so, I regained some semblance of my composure, picked up the

lighter and ambled to my window looking out. The entire neigh-

borhood was out in throngs; it looked like a festive event. I

watched as they loaded Stan in the ambulance. He looked up at

the window at me in obvious pain. With his stare fixated on me,

I smiled as I flicked the Bic lighter as a friendly reminder of what

could have happened, and waved at him sweetly as the ambulance

drove away. OK, a sista was being a real vixen. In a year or so he

would get over it, as soon as he got out of the body cast.

I heard the sporadic crackling of police radios. I spun around

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and there were two police officers standing in my bedroom, a

place that I once held sacred in terms of its intimacy that we

women have for our personal sanctuary.

One of the officers was Black, tall and strikingly handsome.

He stood about six feet four, built like a football player. I realize I

was supposed to be traumatized by the day’s events, but I had an

overwhelming desire to stand in the mirror and fix my do; officer

man was fine with his wide broad shoulders and tree tr unk thighs.

His partner was white, older with stringy blond hair, a long beak

nose and unpleasant blue eyes that looked at me with the disdain

of his forefathers as he announced, “Ma’am, we’re going to have to

take you in, you’re being placed under arrest for assault –”

“
Whaaat!” I screamed. “I come home and catch my husband

with another man, and you’re going to arrest me?” Incongruously

both officers turned to look at Marcus as he stood in the hallway.

“
Get your ass in here!” the Black officer yelled not bothering

to hide his contempt. “Why in the hell did you tell us that damn

lie? You said she came home and just went off on ya’ll,” he said,

while the other one had me place my hands behind my back while

he read me my rights. I could tell he was enjoying the hell out of

his job, just from the impressive singsong of his voice.

“
Hold up, hold up Ralph!” the Black cop said to his partner.

“
You want to tell us what happened?” he asked Marcus with little

patience in his voice. Marcus gazed at the floor. The fumes of gas

permeated the room. He just shrugged his shoulders. The Black

officer shook his head somberly as he picked up a picture. Our

family portrait.

“
This your son man?” The words came out choked like an

accusation between two Black men. A silent berate that a white

man would never be able to understand. Marcus swallowed the

dry lump in his throat and nodded yes.

“
How about we just take both of them down to the station

and let the judge decide the outcome first thing in the morning?”

the white cop asked. For the first time the Black cop looked direct-

ly at me.

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“
Ralph, let me speak to you out in the hall a sec.” His voice

hinted at a plea, I hoped that his plea would be for me.

“
I’m going to call in and get a female officer to take her in,”

Ralph said on a second wind, not even paying attention to what

his partner just said.

“
Ralph!” his partner called again. I got the impression that

they had been working together for a while. I watched as they

walked into the hall, leaving me alone with a man I realized that I

never knew. My husband.

“
Marcus, no matter what, you’re gonna hafta pack your stuff

and get out of my house!” I said, feeling the blood boiling in my

veins. The police walked in. My heart fluttered in my chest. I had

never been to jail before.

“
You come with me,” the white officer said pointing. I sud-

denly had the urge to go to the bathroom and it wasn’t to pee

either.

“
Me?” I asked, pointing a finger at my chest. That white man

walked right up to me and continued walking. I watched as he

handcuffed Marcus. Lord God! I couldn’t help thinking, better

him than me. Take him away. I watched as Marcus was being led

out of the room in cuffs with a shocked expression on his face.

I was alone with the Black officer. His intimidating presence

seemed to fill the entire room. He walked up to me and placed his

big hand on my shoulder. This was not the officer, this was the

brotha comforting a sista in distress. Someone raised their child

with compassion for human life.

“
Are you going to be all right?” His words stroked me for

something I realized I had been starved for, affection. I bit down

on my lower lip, held back my tears, exhaled frustration, looking

away from him as I felt the tide of emotions building. A sincere

man can always do that to a hurting woman. I didn’t trust my

voice. I tried to smile, but hurt pulled my cheeks the wrong direc-

tion. The nametag on his broad chest read “Coffee.”

Damn, the

name suits him well

, I thought as I looked up at him. Coffee, with

a touch of cream, his complexion was smooth mahogany.

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“
We’re going to take him down to the station, charge him with

obstruction of justice for lying to us. Now, ma’am, you did say

that the other guy slipped and fell out of the window, right?” It

took me a second to catch on. “Ma’am?”

“
Oh, uh, uh, yes, yes, he did slip and fall,” I stammered with

my words tr ying to connect. He still had his hand on my shoul-

der trying to coach me. When he stepped away taking his hand off

of my shoulder, he offered me his card.

“
If you have any more problems, let me know.” I looked up

into his handsome face, the man was Denzel Washington fine.

Damn I wanted to fix my hair. “Call me. You know I’m here for

you, to serve and protect.”

I wondered,

Is it me, or is Mr. Policeman trying to flirt?

I

watched him as he headed toward the door checking out his nice

rear end. He turned catching me with a knowing grin that says

caught you looking.

“
Mrs. Green?”

“
Yes.”

“
You know some of the best things in life are free. Call me.”

He smiled a one-hundred watt smile that could make a girl need

sunglasses and walked away. Mr. Policeman definitely was flirting.

*****

I took all of Marcus’ belongings and had a yard sale. When he

came to get his stuff, I called the police on him. I drained all of

the money out of our accounts, wouldn’t let him see his child and

when he started getting too intimidating, I had a restraining order

placed on him where he could not come within ten miles of my

home. Basically, I became the proverbial bitch, making his life a

living hell. And the bad part was, I still loved him with all my

heart. I too was guilty of committing a sin. Every day I looked at

my child and was reminded of the old adage: You reap what you

sow. Ain’t love grand?

*****

As always, in times of need, I called my girl, Nandi. She was

now teaching at UCLA as an assistant professor in African studies.

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She answered on the third ring sounding winded.

“
Hello, Nandi?”

“
Girl, what’s wrong? I know that voice,” she said with con-

cern.

“
You sound like you was running or something,” I said stalling

for time, not sure that I wanted to tell her.

“
Well, if you want to know the truth, me and my warrior were

doing a little nation building in the bed.” She laughed. Nandi was

happy. I felt a pang of jealousy. She married an ordinary brotha.

He was a carpenter, had one of them African names that was hard

to pronounce. They had three kids. Her first pregnancy was with

twins. More African names.

I sighed over the phone shaking my head as if she were standing

there as I blurted out, “I caught Marcus in bed cheating on me –”

Before I could get the words out, Nandi was hollering, “I told

ya, I told ya his sorry ass wasn’t shit, too damn pretty with his con-

ceit –”

“
I caught him in bed with another man,” I interrupted.

“
Man? Girl tell me you lying.”

“
Nope, caught them in my damn bed playing hide the

sausage. Child, Marcus’ asshole elastic gotta be ruined. The man

backed out of his ass with something as long as my arm.”

“
Helll naw!” Nandi drawled unbelievingly on the other end of

the phone.

“
Guess who he was with.”

“
Who?”

“
Stan Johnson.”

“
Stan Johnson? That preppie cute guy that used to drive the

nice Benz that went to Florida State?”

“
That’s him girl,” I responded trying to carry on a conversa-

tion like it was not humiliating me as well.

“
What the hell is going on with our Black men?” Nandi said

exasperated. “Didn’t he marry that nice girl Tonya the AKA?”

“
I dunno,” I said with my mind conjuring up the vivid scene

of walking in on my husband with anther man. In the background

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I could hear Nandi’s husband calling her affectionately. Nandi

always told me that she was going to have ten kids if she ever mar-

ried. In my heart and soul, I honestly believed her. We talked a lit-

tle while longer then we hung up. For the first time I felt worse

than I actually did before I called her.

*****

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Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

“
Starting Over”