Three the Hard Way: A Play in Two Acts (22 page)

"Good luck, Marcus. I’ll pick you up here when it’s over." Marcus started to walk away. Yvonne got out of the car. "Marcus!" He turned around and walked back. "You know you’ve slept with me for the last three nights?"

"Yeah, and I haven’t even kissed you." Marcus said as he leaned against the car.

"No, you haven’t." She kissed him on the cheek then gently on the lips.

"I love you, Yvonne."

"I love you too, Marcus. When all this is over, I’ll show you just how much."

"See you, Yvonne."

"See yah, Marcus." Marcus walked down the street and entered Bruce’s Place. He went into the bathroom and took the garbage bag out of the trashcan. He placed the bag in it and replaced the garbage bag. Then he took a seat in the back so he could see the door.

He checked his watch. It was 11:00. He tapped anxiously on the table. His tapping reminded him of the sound of Yvonne’s heels clicking against the tile that first night at the store. He looked up and Paris stood before him. Yvonne’s description of Paris was dead on target. He was dressed in a dull gray suit white shirt opened at the collar, black Ray Bans and wet look hair.

"Marcus, I’ll take it. Yvonne used to speak of you all time. You wouldn’t mind standing up and opening your coat, would you?"

"I’m unarmed." Marcus said as he did as he was asked then sat down.

"May I sit?" Paris asked.

"By all means. Let’s get this over with."

"Yes, this has been a very big misunderstanding. I never intended for any of this to happen. I don’t know how much Yvonne told you, but—" Marcus cut him off.

"I’m just the delivery boy."

"When she didn’t come see me, I simply had to take steps to recover the items. It was easy to track her movements and it was obvious that she was heading for Atlanta. Unfortunately, I underestimated her abilities."

"Right."

"May I see the items?"

"Excuse me for a minute." Marcus went into the bathroom and returned with the bag. He handed it to Paris. "Here you go." Marcus stood over Paris and watched as he opened the bag and looked over its contents. Once he had satisfied himself that the items were in tact, Paris got up and walked toward the door.

"Please tell Yvonne that I meant her no harm."

"She’ll find that very comforting."

As soon as they were outside, Yvonne drove up quickly and to Marcus’ surprise, she fired one shot to Paris’ head. Paris fell to the ground. Marcus started to pick up the bag. "Leave the bag!" Yvonne yelled.

Marcus ran to the car. Once he was in, Yvonne drove away. "Why did you kill him? It was over. All he wanted was his shit back."

"How naïve are you, Marcus? As long as Paris was alive it would never be over. Can’t you see that? He would just keep sending people to kill us."

"Why’d we leave the bag?"

"I’m glad to be rid of it. Let the cops worry about what those papers mean." Yvonne and Marcus drove back to Santa Barbara. They caught a flight back to San Francisco and brought tickets to Seattle. Yvonne knew someone there who could get them new passports; and would help her get out of the country. They sat at the gate waiting for their plane to begin boarding. "You know it was the right thing to do, Marcus."

"I know. But you could have told me what you were going to do."

"If I told you, would you have gone along with it?"

"No."

"That’s why I didn’t tell you." Yvonne said with a smile. "Tomorrow we’ll be safely out of the country. And I’ll spend the rest of my life in your arms."

"You still could have told me." Marcus kissed Yvonne on the cheek. "I’m going to get some water." Marcus walked away. Yvonne watched him walk until a lady walked up and stood before her.

"Is anybody sitting there?"

"No, have a seat."

The lady sat down, slowly removing a .38 with a silencer from her purse. Yvonne looked at her and the lady shot her five times. The lady got up and walked away as Marcus returned. Yvonne struggled to her feet.

"Marcus." He caught her as she fell. Marcus looked around for the lady, but by then she had disappeared into the crowd. He held Yvonne in his arms and thought,
There is only one way out of the kind of life Yvonne was living.

She died in his arms.

The Wrong Man

By R
oy Glenn

Copyright © 2002 Roy Glenn

Part I

It was almost eleven o’clock at night and I was getting tired of surfing the web. Tired of reading information to sound interesting at parties, but not really useful in everyday life. So I turned off the computer and began to wander aimlessly through the house, picking up this and straightening up that. When I started to dust, I knew it was time for me to get a life.

It had been almost three years since Dennis, my husband of ten years, decided that he needed more out of life.

"More out of life?" I asked him.

"Things I just can’t do here, Carla," he said.

Things he couldn’t do being married to me, is what he meant. The next day he left for California, leaving me with our two children. Sure, he sends money and he calls every blue moon, but that doesn’t replace the children growing up without their father, or me having a husband. So I’ve become both mother and father, and that’s become my whole life. But this summer much to my surprise, shock would be a better word for it, Dennis called and said he wanted the children for the summer. So I let them go, and for the first time in ten years, I am alone.

I poured myself a glass of wine and went out on the deck. It had been a very humid summer in Atlanta and this night was no exception. As I sat there, I listened to the neighbor’s music, which they always play too loud for my taste. Not that I have anything against Rap music, I just don’t understand it anymore. I’ll just say it’s come a long way from Kurtis Blow and Run DMC and leave it at that.

I can’t even say what the name of the song was, but this particular song, for reasons I can’t explain, got to me. I started tapping my foot and before I knew it, my head was rocking. It started me thinking about the old days, when I had a life. Me and my girls, Meka and Shika were the "happy hour" queens. I loved to dance. We’d hang out all night and go to work the next morning looking like hags, but we didn’t care, we always had the best times, but that was before I met Dennis, got married and had children. Back when I had a life. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children and I love being their mother, but some times I wish there were some semblance of my former life associated with it.

I finished my wine and got up to pour myself another. When I got to the refrigerator I said, "Hold it. Why not go out? It’s Friday night and the kids are gone."

Why not?

But where?

All of my old hangout spots have long since closed their doors. I opened the refrigerator and poured another glass, marveling at how easily I talked myself out of it. I returned to my chair on the deck. I remembered hearing some of the gossip girls at work talking about a place they went to in Buckhead that played old school music. But I couldn’t remember the name of the place. "Bell Bottoms!"

I took a big swallow of liquid courage and went inside to change into something more appropriate for the big event.

"Big event?"

Damn right, my return to the club after a twelve-year absence is a big event.

I stood in front of my closet for what seemed like an eternity, in a state of brain lock, trying to decide what to wear. I wanted to look sexy, but not hoochie. I had gained a few well-placed pounds since my club days, (read: a big butt and the gift pouch I got from the children) so the outfits that I wanted to wear just didn’t look right. I finally settled on a pieced together black outfit. The top from one outfit, that I could not wiggle all this big butt into the pants of, and the skirt I had bought years ago that Dennis would never let me wear. It was a little tight and I was showing plenty of thighs, but it was on. I tried a few steps to see if I could dance in it. I checked my hair and makeup and I was on my way.

Part II

After standing in line for what seemed like a long time, but was more like ten minutes, I was in. The club was crowded but not packed, and the music was pumpin’. I scanned the crowd, which was predominately Black with a smattering of whites, mostly female. It always has amazed me how some Black men will jump over a Black woman to get to those three or four white girls with jungle fever. Anyway, most everyone was dressed comfortably, but stylish, so I didn’t feel over dressed or out of place, as most of them seemed to be in my age group.

I took the long way to the bar and walked around the dance floor to get a feel of the place. The DJ mixed in "The Men All Paused," which I felt was appropriate since I had turned a head or two as I walked around the room. It made me feel good that me, a woman in her mid-thirties and mother of two, still rated a double take.

Once I reached the bar, I stood behind a man and woman who seemed to be in deep conversation and tried in vain to get the bartender’s attention. When the man noticed me, he immediately got up and offered me his seat. "Thank you!" I said over the music and sat down. Once I was seated, the woman glanced in my direction and rolled her eyes. I thought she didn’t appreciate him giving up his seat for me, until she quickly turned back and leaned toward me, "Girl, thank you," she said.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Thank you for showin’ up and standing behind him like you did."

I looked at her like I didn’t understand what she was talking about, which I didn’t. Then she looked around and leaned toward me again. "I told that guy when he sat down that I was waiting for somebody, but he didn’t care, he sat down anyway and started layin’ down his mack. He had just trampled on my last nerve when you walked up and stood behind him. So I told him that we were together. I hope you don’t mind?"

"No," I laughed. "Girl gotta do what she gotta do sometimes to get rid of a pest."

"No, girl. I don’t think you understand me," she said.

I gave her that same I-don’t-understand look, because I didn’t.

"I told him that we were, you know, together, together."

I thought my eyes were going to pop out my head. "You told him we were—" And started laughing.

"Yup. It was all I could think of. Nothing else was working. But when I told him that, he frowned up at me like I had some kind of disease, looked at you, and jumped up."

I laughed. "Well, like I said, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do."

The bartender finally arrived to see what I was drinking. "Vodka Collins."

"You ready for another?" The bartender asked my new friend.

"Bring me another Henny and Coke, and put her drink on my check."

"That’s all right."