CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
She felt as if she was floating on air as she pulled up to the curb outside of the dry cleaners in downtown Scottsdale. Her clothes: a pair of perfect-fitting jeans and a white, sleeveless blouse tucked inside, might not have been the best-looking outfit in that ritzy town, but she was clean and neat and felt as if she was looking the best she could. Which was enough for her. She was sleeping on a bus bench just a few days ago. And now she was driving a Mercedes. That’s God, she thought, as she got out and went inside.
The Asians inside of the drycleaners were very friendly, but when they handed her four suits, each individually wrapped in that clear plastic, she realized the judge had forgotten to give her any money to pay them. When she just stood there with the clothes in her hand, the older Asian woman smiled.
“No need worry,” she said. “Judge pay.”
“But he forgot to give me the money.”
“No, no. He pay before. Before judge pay.”
That was when Tish realized what she was saying. “The Judge has pay up front you mean?”
“Yes, yes,” the woman said, relieved that she was being understood. That had to be a hard thing for anybody and Tish knew it. Nobody wanted to be misunderstood.
Tish smiled, thanked them, and then took the clothes and put them on the backseat. Only the judge’s car had hooks that she could hang them on. The man liked the finer things in life, she thought as she hung them up. Which only made her wonder harder why he liked her so much that he would give her a job and let her drive his car. What did he see in her?
“Hello there my sister.”
After Tish had hung up the last suit and closed the back door, she heard the voice. When she turned around, she saw this nice-looking black man in an expensive business suit standing on the curb. He also had a suit flapped over his arm, as if he was about to head into that drycleaner’s too. “Hello.”
“I haven’t seen you around before. You must be new in town.”
Tish almost said she didn’t live there, but she realized she now did! “Yes,” she said.
“Always good to see another one of us around this lily white place.”
Tish smiled. Whites were walking past him on the sidewalk, but he didn’t seem to care at all. He stepped off the curb and extended his hand. “I’m Rodney by the way. Rodney Smith.”
“I’m Tish. Nice to meet you,” she added as they shook hands. His hand was as big as the Judge’s and swallowed her hand. “You live in Scottsdale too?”
“Born and raised here. Left to go to college and then med school, but promptly returned when my parents needed care. I have a practice over in Jacksonville. What about you? What’s your story?”
Hers wasn’t the kind of story you told to strangers. “I’m a personal assistant,” was the most she was willing to share.
“Oh okay. I see.” His interest in her seemed to have dampened, she noticed. He apparently thought she was dating material and in his socioeconomic class. She wasn’t, he quickly realized. “Well, nice to meet you, Tish. I’d better drop off these clothes and get to J-ville.”
Then Tish thought of something as he was about to turn to leave. “Excuse me, sir.”
Rodney turned. “Yes?”
“Is there an African-American church here in Scottsdale? I was going to look for one while I was out and about today.”
“Yes, there is. I’m a member. Seemingly every black in town is a member. If you go all the way down to the second light on this street, and make a left, you’ll see it. It’s big. You can’t miss it.”
“Okay thank you.” She was attending a Baptist church while she lived in that boarding house, but after she lost that spot she only had time for survival.
“Have a nice day,” the doctor said and went inside the cleaners.
Tish got back into her car, checked off the cleaners as a done deal, and then pressed the button for her next stop: she had to pick up a package from the UPS store. But she wasn’t five minutes driving in that direction when a police car drove past her. Then it suddenly did a U-turn in the middle of the street, put on its sirens, and sped up behind her. When she looked in the rearview and saw that those sirens were for her, she felt her heart squeeze. It reminded her of that morning when they pulled the van over. But she didn’t hesitate. She pulled over at once.
She pressed down the window as the policeman, a tall, lanky white cop, made his way to her window. “Hello, Officer. What’s wrong?”
“What are you doing in this car?”
Tish found that a strange question to ask. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. What are you doing in this car?”
“I was running errands,” she started to say, but the cop wouldn’t let her finish.
“This ain’t your car, now is it?”
“I didn’t say it was my car. I said I was running errands and,” she tried to say again, but was interrupted again.
“Step out,” the cop said as he backed up from the door, his hand on his holster.
“You’re not letting me explain, Officer. What I’m trying to say is that I’m running errands. I work for Judge Brant.”
“I said step out!” he yelled so loud that people on the sidewalk walking by began to look over. He just didn’t want to hear it. “And I mean now!” he bellowed at her, and Tish didn’t waste another second. She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out.
As soon as she did, the officer grabbed her by the arms and flung her, face first, down onto the hood of the car. Then he began to cuff and frisk her. She looked around, as those rich white folks walking past were looking at her as if they just knew she was a criminal from way back.
She was, according to the law. But she knew she wasn’t. And that was the hardest part.