In Sheep's Clothing

by Mary Monroe

Genres: African American; African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

Mary Monroe is an Essence best-selling author, the recipient of the PEN/Oakland Josephine Miles National Literary Award, and a nominee for the Black Writers Alliance's Golden Pen Award. In Sheep's Clothing is an authentic story about a troubled young black woman with dreams of a better life. Trudy Bell needs to do something to spice up her life and hopes that her new job with the Bon Voyage Travel Agency will do the trick. But envy for her boss' glamorous lifestyle turns into a downward spiral that could end up costing her more than just her job.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Recorded Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

I didn’t know if the gun aiming at my head was real or not. But the sudden wetness between my legs told me that my bladder malfunction was real. So was the sweat that had saturated my hair and covered my face like a facial. I expected to look like a wet duck by the time my ordeal was over that dreary Friday afternoon. And the way things were going, it looked like I’d be a dead one, too.

“You might die today, bitch.” My assailant didn’t raise his voice or even speak in a particularly menacing tone. He was just as cool and casual as he’d been when he entered the store a few minutes earlier. A moment before he had given me a possible death sentence, he’d asked, “Do y’all take checks?” Before I could respond, he had whipped out a gun. Just the sight of it would have been enough to bring me to my knees. It was a long, dark, evil-looking weapon, complete with a silencer. His threat streaked past my head like a comet and bounced off the cluttered wall behind me. It even drowned out the piercing, ongoing screams of the spoiled Porter baby in the apartment across the parking lot.

“Please . . . please don’t hurt me,” I managed. “I’ll do anything you want me to. Please . . .” I had never begged for anything before. I never dreamed that the first thing I would beg for would be my life.

It seemed like every part of my body was in pain. My throat felt like I had swallowed a sword and my stomach felt like it had been kicked by a mule. Cramps in my legs made it hard for me to remain standing. Even my eyes were in pain, throbbing like I had run into a door. But that didn’t stop me from staring at what I thought at the time was the last thing I’d see on earth: the face of my killer. And on the last day of one of the most miserable jobs I’d ever had before in my life at that.

“You goddamn right you gonna do anything I want you to do! You stupid-ass heifer! I’m the one with the gun!”

“Well . . . please do what you have to do and leave,” I pleaded, ever so gently. It was bad enough that I had already emptied my bladder. Now my stomach felt like it was about to add to the puddle of pee that had formed on the floor around my feet. I heaved so hard I had to grab onto the counter and cover my mouth.

“Look—I just et lunch. If you puke in front of me, I’m gonna whup your black ass before I kill you!”

I had almost used a “sick” day that morning. I had almost asked to work the evening shift, but had decided not to because it was the shift that most robbers usually chose to do their dirty work in our neighborhood.

“Bitch, don’t fuck with me today!” My tormentor waved his gun at me as he spoke. His beady black eyes shifted from one side to the other as thick yellow snot trickled from both sides of his wide flat nose. This seemed to embarrass him. He turned his head so abruptly his knitted cap slid to the side, revealing neat, freshly braided cornrows. With a loud snort he swiped his nose using the sleeve of his baggy plaid flannel shirt. “Do you wanna die today?” This time his voice sounded like the thunder I’d heard just before he had entered the store.

“No, I don’t want to die today,” I told him, my voice barely above a whisper. A purple birthmark about a square inch in size and shaped like a half-moon occupied a spot directly below his right eye.

“Then you better stop lookin’ at me and do what I told you to do! Open that fuckin’ register and gimme every goddamn dollar in it! I ain’t playin’ with you, bitch! Shit!” He glared at me as he rubbed the mark under his eye. But it would take more than that to remove it. He had been branded for life. You would have thought that somebody with such an identifying mark would have concealed his face. But most criminals were as stupid as they were crooked.

The individual who held my life in his hands reminded me of my eighteen-year-old cousin, Dwan. He was the same age and height. He was even the same shade of cinnamon brown. And, like Dwan, he wore clothes big enough for two people. But my cousin had come to his senses before it was too late and was now in Iraq risking his life to keep America safe for me and fools like the one facing me.

Even as scared as I was, I was so angry that I was not able to keep my thoughts completely to myself. I pressed my sticky wet thighs together, angry that my urine had drenched my favorite pair of socks and my only pair of Nikes. “It’s a damn shame that Black folks are the ones keeping other Black folks down. If you just got to rob somebody—why us? You know how hard we work for our money!” I yelled. “How can you sleep at night, brother?” I asked, folding my arms. Bold was one thing I was not. At least not under normal circumstances. But even meek women like me had a breaking point. Especially when I thought I was about to die anyway.

“Aaah . . . I sleeps like a baby,” the young robber sneered, his eyes rolling back in his head in mock ecstasy. Then his face tightened and he gave me a sudden sharp look. “No wonder you Black women so evil—y’all too hardheaded! Don’t know when to listen! Didn’t I tell you to keep your hands up in that goddamn air?”

“I can’t open the register and do that, too,” I smirked, placing my hands on my hips.

“Uh,” the bold thief began. He paused and whistled to get the attention of his even younger accomplice guarding the door, not taking his eyes off of my face. “Snookie—everything still cool?”

“It’s all good, dude! Hurry up so we can get up out of here!” Snookie yelled back, sounding almost as frightened and nervous as I was.

Armed robberies in broad daylight had become a way of life in certain parts of the south Bay Area. Liquor stores seemed to be the most popular targets. Especially “Otto’s Spirits,” the liquor store conveniently located between Josey’s Nail Shop and Paco’s Bail Bonds.

My daddy, Otto Bell, owned the liquor store where I’d been working for the past six years, six days a week, eight hours a day. While I was being robbed and terrorized, Daddy was at home, in his frayed gray bathrobe, wallowing in depression on our tattered couch. This was how he now celebrated Mama’s birthday every year. Even though she’d been dead for sixteen years. The sudden thought that I might die on my mother’s birthday increased my anger. Not just at the young robber, but at life in general. No matter how hard I tried to enjoy life, things always seemed to blow up in my face. Even the little things. Earlier that day, a drunken prostitute had sprayed my face with spit when I’d asked her not to solicit in front of the store.

“Gimme the money, bitch! I ain’t tellin’ you no more.”

I popped open the cash register and scooped out every dollar. I dropped the small wad of bills on the counter next to the Ebony magazine that I’d been reading, and the two bags of Fritos, six-pack of Miller Light, and six candy bars the perpetrator had pretended he’d come in for.

He snatched up the money with two fingers and counted under his breath. “A hundred and seventy-five dollars?” he gasped and looked at me with his mouth hanging open. “Now that’s a damn shame.” His eyes were as flat as his voice.

“That’s all we have,” I whimpered, wringing my hands. It was hard not to look at his face. His eyes and the birthmark kept grabbing my attention.

He rolled his eyes then looked at me with extreme contempt. “Stop lookin’ at me so hard!” he screamed as he lunged across the counter, punching the side of my arm. His hand, the one with the gun, was shaking. I could not decide if it was because he was nervous or just that angry. “You stingy bitch, you,” he roared, grinding his teeth. “I went to all this trouble for a hundred and seventy-five fuckin’ dollars.” He gave me an incredulous look. “What is the matter with you people? Brokeass niggers! Don’t y’all know how to run a business? Them damn Asians puttin’ y’all to shame! At least with them, I get paid right!”

“It’s been a slow day and people around here barely have enough money to live on,” I explained, my hands back on my hips. “Look—uh, the other cashier will be back any minute so you better leave now while you still can,” I said.

He blinked and released a loud breath. He slid his thick tongue across his lips then formed a cruel smile. “Not unless he Superman he won’t. I seen that lame old motherfucker leave ten minutes ago. Matter of fact, I know for a fact that old dude was on his way to that massage parlor around the corner to get him some pussy. I been checkin’ him—and you—out for two weeks now.” Looking around he added, “I done did my homework. I ain’t no ignorant punk. I know what’s up around here . . .”

“You know Mr. Clarke?” I asked, praying that another customer would wander in and possibly save me. Even if Mr. Clarke had come back in time, he would not have been much help. The last robber had beaten him and Daddy to the floor with the butt of his gun. Then the greedy thug had helped himself to what little money we’d had in the cash register at the time, a sack full of alcohol, and other light items.

“I know everybody and everything that go on in this neighborhood, girl. I ain’t stupid.” As cold and empty as his eyes were, he managed to wink at me. Then he leaned forward far enough for me to feel and smell his hot sour breath. My face was already sizzling with rage, so it didn’t make that much more of a difference. “I know about you and James and I know you give him some mean head,” he told me, his voice low and hollow. “If I was a little older, I’d let you be my main woman . . .” He paused and whistled again and yelled over his shoulder. “Snookie, if anybody come up in here—pop ’em in the head. I’m fin to take this stingy ho in the back room and get my dick sucked.”

It was March. For most of the people I knew, it had been a pretty good year so far. A few were still grumbling over the fact that California now had a movie star, who had played the Terminator of all things, sitting in the governor’s seat. Daddy wouldn’t even call our new governor by his name. “I can’t even fix my lips to pronounce his whole name no how. Arnold Swattzen . . . Swattzuh . . . oh, shit! If he don’t do nothin’ to help Black folks and cut taxes, he ain’t nothin’ but a terminator after all,” Daddy complained.

I had done my taxes myself earlier that morning before the robbery, and I was still upset because I had to pay Uncle Sam three hundred dollars. After that, and what the robber took and did to me, I felt that I’d been “fucked” twice in the same day by two different hounds from hell.

It had been raining off and on for most of the week. The cool air and dark clouds seemed to fit the mood that had already settled over me before the robbery.

The robbers had entered the store just after the noon hour, and the whole episode, the robbery and the violation, had taken only a few minutes. But it had taken the police more than an hour to show up, which was quicker than when they usually arrived to investigate crimes in the inner city. A month ago the jealous ex-husband of a waitress on Mercer Street had stormed her apartment waving a tire iron. By the time the cops showed up, the woman, her new lover, and the pit bull she’d bought for protection had all been beaten to death. I was one of the fortunate ones.

Before the cops arrived, I snatched a bottle of Scope off a shelf, rinsed out my mouth, rearranged my clothes, and composed myself. My urine had almost dried on my jeans but I smelled like a nanny goat. Several other customers had entered the store during that hour, but I’d turned them all away and placed the “closed” sign in the front window.

I told the cops as much as I could. How much money had been taken, the robbers’ clothes, and how they sounded. The only thing I left out was the sexual assault. How do you tell a cop, one who didn’t seem to care anyway, that a robber had made you suck his dick, too?

“Did the perpetrators harm you in any way, miss?” The young white policeman couldn’t look more bored if he tried. With a grunt and a sigh, he paused and chewed on a toothpick as he scribbled on a notepad. He was the same officer who had come to take a report the last time we got robbed six weeks ago. “Did they touch you?”

“No, they did not,” I lied, rubbing the sore spot on my arm where I’d been grabbed and dragged into the dim broom closet–size restroom to be further humiliated. “They just took the money and some beer.” I slid my tongue across my lips and clenched my teeth. I knew then that I would never look at oral sex the same again after this day.

“And do you think you could identify the suspects in a lineup? Maybe look at a few mug shots?” Lineups and mug shots would not have done any good even if every face I looked at was the face of the boy who had robbed and assaulted me. I knew enough not to identify my assailants. From past experiences I knew that it would only make the situation worse. I knew of too many shady lawyers who got their clients released on bail long enough for them to come back to retaliate.

I started to shake my head but stopped because it was now throbbing on both sides. My assailant had gripped my head like a vise, and held me in place between his hairy legs until he had had his way with me.

“I’d never seen them before and they had on masks,” I lied. I looked away from the policeman because I didn’t like the indifferent look on his face.

My mind went off on its own. It didn’t matter what I said. I knew it would do no good. I’d given a lot of thought to what I’d experienced. I’d been lucky that all I’d given up was the money, the beer, and a clumsy blow job. It was times like this that I really missed my mother. She had always soothed me when I was in pain by buying me something nice. She had rewarded me with a new bike when I was seven after I’d been hit by a car. She would take me on shopping sprees at the mall every time one of the neighborhood bullies harassed me. There was not a time I could remember that I didn’t get some type of reward from somebody to help me get over some trauma. Until now.

The policeman cleared his throat to get my attention back. “You said you’d never seen them before, is that right?” he mumbled.

“That’s right.” I nodded.

“Well, if the perpetrators had on masks, how would you know that?”

“Wh . . . what?” I stammered. It wasn’t bad enough that I was already flustered. But now I was being grilled like I was the one who had committed a crime.

The policeman massaged his forehead with his thumb and gave me an exasperated look. “Do you want to tell me what really happened, ma’am?”

“I just told you,” I wailed, getting angry all over again. I knew what he was thinking. A few of the cashiers in the ’hood plucked money from the cash registers, robbing their employers blind. Then they staged phony robberies to cover the thefts. One of the problems with that was these same thieves blabbed to the wrong people and now even the cops knew about that scam. “Look, sir, this is my daddy’s liquor store. If you think I’d steal from my own daddy, you got another think coming. Now if you don’t want to take this report, give me your badge and precinct number so I can call up your supervisor and tell him to send somebody out here who can do the job!” I was proud of the fact that I had enough courage to stand up to an authority figure when I had to. But I knew enough about rogue cops to know that that could get me into trouble, or killed, too. And since the cop and I were alone, I decided that it would be in my best interest for me to be a little more docile. “Uh . . . if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish this up so I can call my daddy,” I said in a meek voice, looking at the cop’s shiny black boots.

“I’m just doing my job, ma’am. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, I didn’t make this up and I hope you believe me.”

“I do believe you, Miss Bell. I apologize if I implied otherwise. Like I said, I’m just doing my job.” The cop paused and gave me a quick, weak smile. “Well, if you can think of anything else, please give us another call. I suggest you close up and call it a day. You’ve been through enough.” With a sniff the officer snapped his notebook shut, tipped his hat, and strolled out of the store, whistling like he was on his way to a ball game.

Before I could lock up and leave, Hai Suk, the old Chinese woman who owned the nail shop next door, entered the store clutching a fistful of bills. She padded across the floor on her tiptoes like she always did. “Five quick pick, cash value. I feel lucky today,” she said, slapping the money onto the counter. Her grin disappeared and she gave me a concerned look. Her eyes were already so narrow I wondered how she could see. But she narrowed them some more and looked at me long and hard. “Trudy, you don’t look too good.”

“We just got robbed,” I mumbled, placing five lottery tickets into her dried hand.

“Again?” Hai Suk asked, shaking her head. “So sorry, so sorry. Last week was my turn. Not much money so crook take nail drill and cell phone, too.” Hai Suk turned her head to the side and tapped a faint bruise below her fish-like eye. “Doctor say if robber hit me one inch higher I maybe lose eye.”

“You want anything else, Miss Suk? I’m going to close up and go home now.” I sighed. It felt like I was breathing through a tube.

The old lady shook her head, her coarse gray and black hair dangling about her parched yellow face like a vine. “I see you next time, Trudy.”

“No, you won’t,” I announced proudly, feeling like I’d just returned from the dead. I was even able to smile now. “I’m starting a new job on Monday.”

“Good for you.” Hai Suk waved her hand in the air, then fanned her face with the lottery tickets. She bobbed her head so hard her eyes watered. “I don’t like to work so hard. Did I tell you about . . .”

I held up my hand and flashed a smile. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do have to close up and leave,” I said as gently as I could. Hai Suk was like so many of the people I knew. She liked to share her business with the world and she liked to take her time doing it.

Well, this was one day that I didn’t have the time to listen to anybody else’s problems. I had enough of my own to keep me occupied. As far as I was concerned my ordeal was not over yet. The police had come and gone and had been of little or no use. The boy who had robbed me admitted that he had been watching the place. He could have been peeping from behind a tree right now for all I knew, waiting to pounce again.

Hai Suk gave me a grin and a nod. “I understand, Trudy. I just want to say I hope next job is better.”

“It will be,” I said, clicking off the lights and snatching open the door to let the old woman out. “I’ll still come by your shop to get my nails done,” I promised.

I stared out the door for a few minutes, wondering if it was safe for me to leave. I had some serious concerns because the boy who had robbed me knew about James and me. If he knew that much, then it was possible that he knew where I lived. I had never seen him before. At least I didn’t think so. I let out a deep breath and with it went some of my anger and fear. I had to move forward with my life and put this behind me. And standing there in that darkened liquor store, that’s just what I decided to do.

I didn’t know if my next job was going to be better, but I knew it would be safer. And I’d make more money so I’d be able to give myself the material rewards I so desperately wanted. Not that any of that mattered to Daddy, though. He’d been upset ever since I’d started going on interviews three weeks ago.

Having to go home and deal with a grumpy old man after being robbed and sexually assaulted was the last thing I wanted to do. But I didn’t have a choice in the matter and that was part of the frustration I’d been feeling lately.

Changing jobs was one choice I was glad I’d finally made. I had already decided that even if my new position turned out to be the job from hell, I would make the best of it.

As soon as I got a job offer Daddy fussed about it so much he had chest pains. He thought that that, and a slew of his other ailments, would make me change my mind.

“What if I need to get to the hospital?” he had asked when I told him I’d accepted the job I’d been offered.

“Miss Plummer from across the street said she’d keep an eye on you,” I told him. “She used to be a nurse.”

“And how do you plan to get to San Jose?” he asked, wheezing louder and harder than usual. “That’s twenty miles from South Bay City. You know I need the car to get around in,” he whined.

“I’ll take the bus until I can afford a car of my own,” I told him.

“San Jose is a big city. It ain’t no safe place for no woman to be roamin’ around.”

“I’ve been to San Jose dozens of times, Daddy, and nobody has ever bothered me. The only place I’ve ever been bothered is right here. . . .”

I could barely keep my attention on the road as I drove home. South Bay City was a mostly blue-collar city with a little more than fifty thousand residents. To see so many of the city’s young Black men hanging out on the street corners on this particular day infuriated me more than it normally did. I ran a red light when one hissed in my direction to get my attention so he could wink at me.

I knew most of the individuals holding court on the streets, so I knew that the majority of them didn’t have the time or the desire to go to school or work. And it was no wonder. Why would anybody want to work when they could rob and assault people like me and get away with it? The fact that so many criminals didn’t have to deal with any consequences for their crimes had a lot to do with the mess I eventually got myself into.

The noisy old Chevy that I shared with my daddy made enough noise to wake up the whole street we lived on. But Daddy was already hanging out the front window of our living room with an exasperated look on his tired face when I pulled into our driveway.

Even though it had stopped raining, dark clouds hovered over our house making everything seem just that much more menacing. Every door in our house had two dead bolts. And Daddy and one of his friends had put bars on every window except the one in the front where Daddy liked to roost. I couldn’t figure out why I was so worried about the same boy coming to the house to take even more from me. And, as old and feeble as Daddy was, he would do everything he could to protect me.

“Trudy, what you doin’ home so early? Who’s mindin’ the store?” he yelled before I could even get into the house.

“We got robbed again, Daddy,” I told him, watching the expression on his face turn to one of anger. “There were two of them this time. Teenagers.”

A horrified look appeared in a flash on Daddy’s tired face. He leaned farther out the window. “They didn’t hurt you or nothin’, did they, baby?” Daddy’s eyes watered and his lips quivered. “I can’t have nobody messin’ with my girl. You all I got left.”

My feet felt so heavy I could barely lift them up the three steps to the front porch. “They didn’t hurt me, Daddy. They just took the money and ran,” I muttered, my eyes looking everywhere but at Daddy’s face. It was hard for me to look in his eyes and lie.

“Oh. Well, wipe your feet, come on in this house and get dinner started. James just called here ’cause wasn’t nobody answerin’ at the store. He was wonderin’ where you was at.”

I didn’t speak again until I got inside. Dragging my feet across the living room floor, I dropped my thin, discount-store windbreaker onto the back of the wing chair facing Daddy as he stood in front of the couch, with his tacky housecoat looking more like a body bag. One thing I was proud of was the fact that even though we didn’t have much money, our house was nicely furnished and never cluttered. Our outdated plaid furniture and dull brown carpets were clean, and everything else was always in its place. And even though we recycled mayonnaise jars and used them for wineglasses and some of our pots and pans didn’t have handles, I was proud of everything we had. But that didn’t stop me from wanting something better.

“Daddy, if you don’t get a security camera, the store’ll get robbed on a regular basis from now on. And the next time we won’t be so lucky. The guy had a gun,” I said, running my tongue across my lips.

Despite the heavy dose of Scope I’d used to rinse out my mouth after the assault, and the three sticks of Dentyne I was smacking on now, the vile taste of the stranger’s most intimate body part was still in my mouth. At least it seemed that way to me. I took a sip from an open bottle of warm beer on the coffee table but it didn’t help. The inside of my mouth still had that unholy taste in it.

Knowing that I was not that wild about beer, especially when it was room temperature, Daddy gave me a blank look as he fell back onto the couch he was so fond of. “Where was brother Clarke at?” With a groan, Daddy wobbled back up from the couch and snatched my windbreaker off the chair and hung it on the hook behind the door. When it came to his house, he was the neatest man I knew.

“Getting his weekly ‘massage,’” I sneered. I tossed my well-worn denim shoulder bag onto our coffee table, the top of which contained an empty candy dish so pristine I could see my face in it.

“Them suckers didn’t take my new radio off the counter, did they?” Daddy asked, plopping back down on the couch again with a painful moan.

“No, they didn’t take your new radio, Daddy.” I was too restless to sit, so I stood in front of him with my arms folded, shifting my weight from one foot to the other like I had to pee again.

Daddy looked me up and down with his hooded eyes narrowed and his gray mustache wiggling like a caterpillar above his lip. I was glad that the urine on my jeans had dried completely now, but it had left a stain. “And you say they didn’t touch you or nothin’?”

I shook my head, turning before Daddy noticed my soiled clothing. “No, they didn’t.”

“Well, I’m sure enough glad for that.” Daddy sighed and fanned his face with a rolled newspaper. “I thawed out them neck bones.”

I finally eased down onto the arm of the couch, crossing my legs. “Daddy, I wish you would close that place up or sell it or something. It’s getting too dangerous.”

“And what we gwine to do for money?” Daddy’s eyes were too busy watching one of Ricki Lake’s daily sideshows on the television, one of his favorite pastimes. “Hmmm?”

“I’ll be making a lot more at my new job. As long as I work, I can help you out. And with James’s salary, we’ll do fine,” I insisted.

Daddy whipped his head around and gave me a hard look. “You the one marryin’ James, not me. I can’t expect that man to support me. Besides, that mama of his ain’t about to let nothin’ like that happen. What’s wrong with you, girl?”

I sighed so hard my throat hurt. “I’m tired. I want to take a hot bath and go to bed. I got a lot of things I need to do before Monday. I need to go out tomorrow and get some office clothes, I need to learn the bus schedule to San Jose, and I need to practice my typing.”

Like me, Daddy bought almost everything he wore off a clearance rack at a discount store or from a secondhand store. Size, style, and color didn’t matter. His housecoat was two sizes too large. The tail swept the floor as he followed me to my tiny bedroom near the front of our one-story stucco house. He stood leaning against the doorway. “And what you know about workin’ a travel agency, Trudy? You ain’t had no experience.”

“I’m just going to be a secretary. I have done some clerical work so I know all I need to know. Besides, I’ll finally get to do a little traveling,” I said, sitting down hard onto my squeaky bed.

My room was slightly larger than a walk-in closet. It barely accommodated my twin bed and a few other pieces of furniture. But it was the only room in the house where I felt comfortable anymore. And it was the only place in the house where there were still traces of my mother. I had insisted on keeping some of her clothes. One of her favorite sweaters, pink cashmere, was in my closet. A small framed photograph of her occupied my nightstand. Right next to it was a picture of James Young, the man I had agreed to marry. I had been counting on James to “rescue” me for the past ten years.

“Travel so you can end up just like your mama did?” Daddy barked, rubbing his chest. Daddy’s numerous ailments, his “bad” heart being the crutch he used most, had all started right after my mother’s death and had become more profound over the years. When he wanted to make me feel guilty about something, or sorry for him, he threw in complaints about his arthritis and high blood pressure. “I just hope I live long enough to see you get married . . .”

“Don’t you start that again because it won’t work. James doesn’t want me to work after we get married so this might be the last time I get to see what having a real job is like. Besides, working for a travel agency sounds like it’ll be a lot of fun. I might even be able to get you some traveling discounts.”

“You can get me all the discounts you want. I ain’t gwine no place.” Daddy pau