Bittersweet Chocolate (15 page)

Further, because she’d had the nerve to fight back, Joel thought
he
owed
her,
giving her one final lesson—endurance. It could be years before he gave up his insane desire for payback, if he ever let it go. A prospect that made her adopt her new philosophy of revenge never ends.

Hell, she needed to lose the melancholy. Her current pity party wouldn’t change anything.

She’d made the right decision to leave. For as much as she would have welcomed another face-to-face with Joel, she couldn’t risk losing her cousin. Frank was her heart, her male persona, as close as two people could be without being twins. And as sure as she breathed air, if she had remained in Philly with Joel’s threat lurking in the shadows, to protect her, Frank would have put himself out there. If she lost Frank, she’d go after Joel again, a direct attack out in the open, fatal to one or both of them.

In the final analysis, her heart had lost its zing, and accepting the job transfer to California had been the best solution.

* * * *

San Bernardino County, California

January 2, 1970

She’d missed celebrating Christmas and New Year’s with family for this, and so far, it wasn’t much to look at.

Girlfriend, reality check needed up in here.

Hell. Having just crossed the state line about two hours ago, and already thumbing her nose at the place. What was the matter with her? She’d arrived in California, new state, new city, and the beginning of her new life.

This was the place where all sorts of potential would be at her disposal. Had she forgotten her reason for being in California—to seek change, put her past behind her? And compared to Philly, there were bound to be differences she needed to accept, and get over herself.

She’d been on the road for four days, traveling at a snail’s pace, towing a U-Haul with all her property. Clothes, shoes, and stereo, along with her extensive record and album collections were in that trailer. She’d sold everything else, didn’t want the memories. And now that she’d reached the finish line, she should be glad the trip had neared its end, not where it ended.

No more comparisons, no more disparagements, and no looking back.

Approaching the Cajon Pass, the name posted on a sign indicating the elevation, she gawked at the magnificent view of snow-capped mountains and lush green backdrops. After several hundred miles of the barren landscapes of hot dry deserts, the current panoramic view came as an optical relief. She berated herself for not remembering to purchase a camera.

Dragging her gaze away from the eye-catching scenery to focus on the road, she realized she was at the apex of the mountain with the steep downgrade looming before her. The hair-raising feat of navigating the winding descent while pulling a trailer, and jockeying for position with eighteen-wheelers, required her full attention.

Once safely at the bottom, she discovered another fresh experience—intricacies of navigating the California freeway system as the road branched off in different directions. With caution, she maneuvered car and trailer across several lanes where Interstate 15 divided into east and west.

Merging with traffic headed toward her final destination, taking note of the landscape flashing by, she saw plenty of palm trees and more freeways, a lot of freeway. Philly had its Schuylkill Expressway, but nothing like this.

She also noticed the narrowly spaced homes with sweeping lawns, but not one group of row houses with concrete sidewalks like her old neighborhood. In fact, it seemed this state confined the use of concrete to its freeways.

Brow furrowed and bottom lip hooked between her teeth, she shook her head and made a solemn pledge. Like it or not, California would be her new home and she had to stop dwelling on the differences. Her survival depended on the distance she put between herself and Philadelphia. She needed time, a place for healing, and she’d reached the threshold of anonymous sanctuary.

Following the flow of traffic onto the 91 Freeway, and fast approaching the outskirts of Riverside, she consulted her map, pinpointing the exact location of the Sheraton Hotel where she had a reservation. From the 91 Freeway, she took the Central Avenue off ramp to Magnolia and found the hotel without getting lost.

She maneuvered car and trailer onto the back parking lot and, straddling two spaces, she put the gear in park and climbed out of the vehicle. Muscles screaming, she stretched stiff limbs, then gathered her personal belongings from the passenger seat. She locked the car and moved to the back of the U-Haul, retrieved her suitcase, and secured those doors. Glancing around, she spotted the back entrance to the lobby. With one final check of car and trailer, she set out across the parking lot.

She had pushed through the glass doors, when a sudden trepidation quickened her pulse and her footsteps faltered. With vivid clarity, her mind jetted back to the incident in Tennessee.

Traveling alone, and not sufficiently armed, she didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in her car at night. Driving straight through from Philadelphia, only stopping to catnap during the day, or to get food, and use the facilities at the rest areas. Pushed to exhaustion, she pooped out forty miles from Memphis. At that point, she spotted a motel’s flashing vacancy sign, didn’t care that it wasn’t a national chain, and pulled off the highway, intending to check in. The night clerk’s attitude had been rude and dismissive.

“We’re full,” he snapped before she said a word. No smile, no greeting, and he never looked at her. His short rotund ass just stood behind the counter, both elbows resting on its top while he flipped through the pages of a magazine. All the while, the grotesque sound of snapping gum and smacking lips emanated from his gaping mouth.

Jumping all over defensive, she retorted, “Well, some dumb ass forgot to turn off the vacancy sign.” She had the little pinhead’s full attention. His narrow-eyed gaze bored into her and she returned his glare, not the least bit intimidated.

“Look, missee
...
”

Whatever he’d been about to say, she’d never know because a young white couple entered the office and asked for a room. The clerk turned away from her. His smile effusive, he warmly welcomed the couple, avowing there were several vacancies. Just like that, in her face,

The heat of anger warmed her cheeks, knotting her insides as she realized she’d experienced the stupidity of prejudice, up close and personal. It had been so subtle, or she’d been so tired. Slipped in on the lie, she would have left thinking it was an oversight on the clerk’s part for not turning off the sign, if the couple hadn’t arrived.

In an attempt to keep her cool, she mentally acknowledged several foul expletives. A language she had mastered in recent years, which helped bring her seething emotions under control. Hell. She only wanted to transact business, not move in with the pissant, and her cash worked like everybody else’s money.

A calmer frame of mind prevailed when she interrupted the clerk’s fulsome dialogue with the couple. “Excuse me. You told me there were no vacancies.”

The clerk tried to ignore her, and to her surprise, the young couple came to her defense. She obtained a room, but it didn’t feel like a victory. In fact, she didn’t know what she was feeling besides white-hot rage, the kind that seared the soul
...
uh, maybe not.

If she were honest with herself, the anger of bigotry only strafed the surface of her soul. To penetrate the armor-plated wrath of Joel’s treachery, her introduction to racism would have to gain much more exposure.

After the incident with the motel clerk, she’d chosen the path of least resistance, didn’t stop at any hotels or motels during the rest of her journey. Adequately armed or not, day and night, she had pulled into rest areas when exhausted.

That Tennessee experience had her in defensive mode as she advanced on the Sheraton’s front desk, prepared for an altercation.

Tired and gritty, she didn’t intend to back down, because all she’d had were quick washes at rest stops, only changing underwear and tops since leaving Tennessee. She wanted a bath, and refused to remain in her stale crumpled clothes another minute, much less for the time it would take to find somewhere else to stay. She’d made her reservation well in advance, and they
would
honor it, or she and this hotel chain were about to become front-page news.

Moments later, she walked away from the front desk, check-in complete, but pissed at herself for letting one bigoted asshole in some little backwater town cloud her normal open-mindedness. Her budding fury had been a waste of already depleted energy because the employees had been courteous and efficient. Before leaving the lobby, she stopped at the newsstand and purchased the local paper.

Settled in her room, she unpacked her suitcase, relaxed in a long, hot shower, donned clean undies, a t-shirt, and jeans. Feeling refreshed, she ordered room service. While she waited for her food, she took the time to peruse the real estate classifieds, looking for suitable rentals as a starting point. The knock on the door had her stomach growling and her mouth watering. All thoughts of things to do were set aside.

She worked her way through a hefty Reuben sandwich, an ample portion of potato salad, and a strawberry shake so thick her jaws deflated drawing liquid through the straw. Hunger satisfied, she washed up, threw herself across the bed, and sighed.

Luxuriating in the comfort, she promptly dozed off.

Following a week of research regarding a multitude of choices for places to live, Marissa found the house she wanted. She settled on Riverside, a midsized community, where her company had its main office. It made the most economical sense, since it eliminated the need to commute.

Located in the Wood Streets area, so designated because most of the streets had woodsy names, she found a lease-to-own single story on a large lot with an attached two-car garage. It had two bedrooms, one and a half baths, a powder room, a living room/dining room combo, and eat-in kitchen. Walking distance to Riverside Community College, Community Hospital, and the downtown area, the house was twenty minutes from her job. Things couldn’t have worked out better if she’d planned them.

The protracted task of adapting to new surroundings was a welcome activity for her unresolved restlessness, and eased the emptiness of leaving behind all she’d known. The general acceptance of her neighbors helped her with the settling in process.

Coming from a segregated environment, she hadn’t expected a friendly mix of humanity coexisting in the same area. After her first bigoted experience, and seeing the televised treatment of Negroes―
damn,
they call the folkes African Americans now, don’t they?

Geez, she had quite a few adjustments to make, to move with the times. And in her new integrated world, she really had to stop letting cynicism, another antisocial personality quirk, and past racist incidents color her ethics.

Following the installation of plush charcoal-gray carpeting, the furniture and accessory buying, and the manual labor of moving in, she was satisfied with her decorating acumen.

The first night she returned from work and had nothing to unpack, no furniture to move, and no pictures to hang, she considered herself settled. Kicking off her shoes, she moved toward the stereo, while admiring the cozy atmosphere she had created.

For the living room, she’d purchased a six-piece suite consisting of a three-seat sofa, club chair, and recliner covered in a light gray, polyester/cotton blend fabric. Also included was a coffee table and two end tables done in a black forest finish. She had centered the furniture in front of, and facing, a three-section shelf unit made of used railroad ties, installed along one wall, behind a handmade L-shaped mahogany bar unit. Beneath the center section of the shelf unit she had placed a small fridge, and situated her stereo behind the sofa.

She flipped on the stereo, put on a few Smokey Robinson and the Miracles albums, went in the kitchen, and made a sandwich from leftover meatloaf. Grabbing a Pepsi from the fridge, meal in hand, she returned to the living room, dropped down on the sofa, propped her feet on the coffee table, and made herself comfortable. Music playing softly in the background, she worked on a crossword puzzle while she ate.

Finished with dinner, she curled up on the sofa and let the music flow around her. Moments like this made her think of Graham. To give his life for her, he must have loved her way more than she deserved.

These quiet times also reminded her of how much she missed Brittany, Frank, her dad, and even April, recalling happy memories of the good times they had shared. Conversely, in view of the embarrassment she must have caused them over the years, perhaps they were glad she’d left. It tore at her heart to think she might never go home again.

Closing her eyes, the tears came. If only she hadn’t been so arrogant.

* * * *

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Marissa—14 years old

She’d put aside her concerns about racial unrest and gang issues. She had a party to attend that evening.

Jennie Webster, a classmate, was having a birthday party. Marissa intended to make it a memorable occasion because it was the first party her parents were allowing her to attend minus Brittany as her chaperone. You’d think that was a biggee. Uh-uh, Jennie lived down the street and their parents were friends.

Excited, even though it was hot as hell, she turned on the radio and, humming along with the music, she danced across the room to her sister’s bed.

“Brie...”

“Rissa, as hot as it is, don’t even,” Brittany mumbled.

“Hey, a girl has to practice her steps before a party. Let’s do our routine.”

“Touch me, you die.”

Smiling, she did the cha-cha across the floor, then stopped, flopped down on her bed, and wiped the sweat from her face. Even the heat and humidity didn’t diminish her enthusiasm. She rested for a moment, then leapt off her bed and went into the bathroom.