Red Light Wives (7 page)

The hardest telephone call I ever had to make in my life was to Odessa to tell her that her brother had walked in on a robbery in progress and had been shot dead.

C
ops was everywhere, but nobody was telling 'em shit. I wasn't worried about them cops; they never scared me. And they never bothered me 'cause I never gave them no reason to. Me, I seen that dude shoot that man, but I couldn't say I seen it. Oh well. Too many of them thugs out there knew where I lived.

My man wouldn't have been too happy if he knew I was somewhere I wasn't supposed to be, so I had more than one reason to keep my mouth shut. I was still supposed to be at the Mark Hopkins Hotel, spending the night with a trick from L.A. A thousand dollars for a whole night was a lot of money to me. Five Benjamins for me, five for my man. That's the way we planned it. Usually, he only took a third of what I got from every trick. Lately, he was having a lot of expenses. And, so was I. I had to be cool if I wanted to stay hot. And staying hot meant I couldn't be wasting valuable time with a trick that's gonna sleep like a dead man.

That's why when the trick at the hotel passed out, I tippy-toed out. I had to get back on the job. I figured I'd hop a cab over to Capp Street in the Mission, pick up one more trick before I had to meet up with my man and bring the trick to the motel that me and some of the street girls used. And that meant more money for me that I didn't have to share with my man. I believed that the most important person to “get paid” for my hard work was me.

I felt kind of bad for not telling them cops what I seen. I seen everything through the window in the front of that mini-mart store. The trick did, too, but he wasn't talking. He ran out to his car like somebody was shooting at
him
. I'm lucky he paid me first. The dead man was probably real nice. Him and his lady was checking into the room next door to me and my trick when we checked in. Their ride had Mississippi license plates.

Since the room was paid up for the whole night, I decided to stay and get some sleep. It had been a long day for me. That was my problem with being popular. A lot of tricks wanted to give me their money. And I'd been hella popular lately. But I needed to stay put until the cops left. I needed some rest. I needed to think.

The motel clerk was cool. He was a Mexican with no papers and he had crooked cops and drug dealers looking for him back in Tijuana. To make sure he stayed cool with me, I slapped a fifty in his hand every time I seen him, and he looked out for me. Besides, we spoke the same language. I never had to remind him that we Latinos had to stick together.

Clyde didn't expect to see me until eight in the morning, in front of my apartment. By then, I'd have forgotten about seeing that man get shot. Death was one thing I didn't want to deal with until I had to. I'd been hiding from it since the day I was born.

“Ester, you my best girl. I'll take care of you.” My man, Clyde, told me that all the time, and it made me feel good. Even though I knew he was a liar. Him being a man, he couldn't help that. He told all of his women the same thing he told me. I knew that because me and them other women talked about the things Clyde said to us. Clyde was also a stupid man. He had to be if he didn't know that his women got together to rat him out to one another. But I was his first wife, so when he told me I was his best girl, it meant something to me.

In a way, Clyde and his wives was my only family. He ain't married to none of us, he just called us his wives. He said it had more class than some of the things other people called women who slept with men for money.

I don't know where I would be if it wasn't for Clyde. I never thought that I would grow up to sell pussy. I never thought that I would grow up at all.

The woman who gave birth to me had better things to do with her time than to raise a baby. A few hours after I was born, my mother left me in a Dumpster in an alley behind a bar in the Mission District. Me, a little baby, was left there with the trash and hungry rats.

It was Clyde who found me. It was Clyde who saved my life and even though I lie to him, I would do anything for him. Well, not anything, but a lot.

I just wanted to forget all about seeing that man get shot to death. Besides, I needed to come up with a good lie in case I had to tell one to Clyde about tonight.

D
addy begged me to come back to Mississippi after I called to tell him about Bo getting killed.

“I'll pay your way home and you can move back into your old room 'til we find you another apartment. Why in the world you went runnin' off to a hellhole like California in the first place is beyond me. Girl, what was you thinkin'?” Daddy's voice sounded like it was a million miles away.

Etta's voice was the next one I heard. It was a boom that sounded like it was coming at me from all different directions. “I tried my best to raise you right after your mama up and dropped dead. I see now that I didn't do too good a job. You done quit your job, run off and married some musician, and now look at the mess you done got yourself into. I'm surprised that the devil who shot Bo didn't shoot you, too.”

“I don't want to come back to Mississippi,” I whimpered, spit oozing out of my mouth, greasing the telephone in my hand.

“Well, what do you plan to do, besides worryin' everybody to death? Did Verna and them confused friends of hers put you up to runnin' off the way you did? You ain't got a lick of sense, but it ain't like you to be runnin' off. You ain't smart enough to come up with a clumsy scheme like that on your own. Didn't you shame yourself enough by gettin' pregnant by that woman's husband? You headed for trouble, girl. Bring your tail back on home before it's too late,” Etta said, growling.

“I'm not comin' back to Mississippi. Bye, Etta. I'll talk to you and Daddy later.” I hung up and dialed my stepsister's number. She picked up right away. “Verna, I might need you to send me a little more money until I find a job and a place,” I said dryly. I had cried all the way to the police station when they took me downtown to get my statement. To add insult to injury, by the time I got back to the motel, somebody had stolen Bo's car! I didn't even call the police back to report that. I knew that I wouldn't be able to drive Bo's car anymore so it didn't matter. It was in its last days anyway. We had spent a lot of money during our journey on that car, so that it would get us all the way to California. And we'd made it by the skin of our teeth. I was glad it was gone. It was one less thing I had to worry about.

“Baby, don't you worry about a thing. Me and Odessa'll be out there as soon as we can get a flight,” Verna assured me. “I'll give you every dime I got.”

“Thanks, Ver. I knew I could count on you. Let me…let me speak to Odessa.”

“She standin' right here. Don't keep her on the telephone for too long. She ain't doin' so good.”

I heard some muffled moans before Odessa spoke.

“Lula, you doin' all right, girl?” Odessa sounded like she had a frog in her throat.

“I'll be fine,” I lied. I felt like I was going to fall apart any minute.

“I'm comin' out there to bring my brother home and you, too, if you want to come. You can stay with us.”

“I think I'll stay out here for a while. The motel manager said I can stay here for a while. He'll let me stay in the room, if I help the maid. And he'll pay me minimum wage. That'll do until I can do better.”

“Well, you be careful out there. You ain't in no country town no more, and all kinds of shit be happenin' in California. Get some rest and we'll get out there as quick as we can.”

The first day was the hardest. As much as I hated cleaning motel rooms, it kept me from thinking about what had happened to Bo. The motel manager seemed just as shady as some of the people who checked into the musty rooms, which some of them rented by the hour. Even though the shifty-eyed motel manager promised to pay me under the table and let me pay a lower rent, it seemed too good to be true.

And it was.

It was a Saturday night. I'd spent most of the day helping the regular maid mop up the motel's filth. “Hurry up, hurry up so I can get up out of here,” the testy old Black woman insisted, waving a mop handle at me. “I gots to get away from here before it gets dark. And if you smart, you won't go out your door after it gets dark.” When the maid left, trotting off toward a bus stop with a can of Mace in her hand, I felt all alone in the world. It was hard to tell what time it was from one hour to the next, because there was always a ruckus going on in the parking lot and in the rooms on both sides of me. With all of the moaning going on, it sounded like somebody else was being murdered in the parking lot and in the other rooms.

Not long after the maid's departure, I crawled into the sad-sack of a bed, almost rolling to the floor when the mattress flattened out under my weight. I had just dozed off when a thumping noise woke me up. Somebody was coming in my door! I sat up and clicked on the dim lamp, clutching my heart and breathing through my mouth. It took me a moment to focus.

Jose, the motel manager, a sly grin on his wide, homely face was walking toward me, limping like one leg had suddenly grown longer than the other. I couldn't tell which was more frightening, him or his huge shadow on the wall. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off a belly the size of a watermelon you would only see in Texas. He stopped in the middle of the floor and smoothed back his long, oily hair with his slow hand.

“What the hell—what in the world are you doin' in here?” I hollered. I was so scared and shaking so hard, it felt like I was in a vibrating bed. I was surprised that I was even able to get my words out. “What do you want, Jose?”

“Don't get up,
mami
. You right where I want you to be,” he said, growling under his breath, sliding off his cheap flannel shirt as he moved toward me. I could smell his foul body odor from across the room. “You just relax. I know what you want…”

I rubbed my nose and tried to come up with the meanest look I could. “What do you want?” I yelled, not taking my eyes off his, which were so bloodshot I could barely see the whites.

“You know what I want. Shit, you want it more than I do. I seen the way you looked at me today.”

“You bastard!”

“Keep your voice down,” he ordered, holding up his hand. “As it is already, seems like these walls talk,” he added with a suggestive sneer. Then he humped the air with his wide hips.

He jumped on top of me, covering my whole body like a fleshy blanket. His dusty, hard, greasy hand covered my mouth. He slapped me when I bit his fingers, drawing blood.

“You Black bitch. If that's the thanks I get for helpin' you out, you can get the hell out of here!” he roared, shaking a fat fist in my face.

I kicked Jose to the floor. I was amazed to see a man his size jump up as fast as he did.

“I'll leave first thing in the mornin',” I said, pulling the musty bedcovers up to my neck.

“No, you're leavin'
now
or I'll call the cops and tell 'em you tried to rob me. Bitch.” The angry man slammed the door so hard on his way out, a velvet picture of Jimi Hendrix caressing a snake fell off the wall.

I got dressed and tried to call Odessa and Verna back to let them know that I was checking out of the motel, but the telephone was dead.

I'd met a little Spanish girl earlier when I'd gone out to get something to eat. She had checked into the room next door. She seemed friendly enough, so I knocked on her door.

“What?” she barked, cracking open her door just enough for me to see the body of a naked White man sprawled across the bed snoring.

“Excuse me. I don't mean to bother you, but I was wonderin' if I could use your telephone. The one in my room don't work.”

“Come on in. You gotta be quiet,” she said, snatching open the door and pulling me inside 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.