CHAPTER 4
Gabrielle
I was a nervous wreck at breakfast. Since living here, I’ve developed a tick – the slightest movements startle me because I never know if it’s Dilvan coming for me or not.
I still can’t believe he kissed me on the cheek at breakfast. It was more like a kiss of death – a threat from him that I’d better not say anything negative about him to Padma.
He’d already kicked me twice beneath the table.
My leg still hurts from it. Still bruised.
A wave of relief came over me when Dilvan left the table to show Tyson to his room.
I talked with Padma for a while, mostly about some of the charity and community events she was coordinating, which included a few food drives.
She also helped to organize a fun program called Ice Cream For Kids, partnering with local ice cream shops to provide free ice cream to kids during the scorching summer month of July.
The thing Padma was most excited about, and needed my help with, was a community garden. Her vision was a large garden that would grow fresh, organic produce for local area food banks and organizations that worked to feed the homeless. The food would be delivered to the elderly and less fortunate.
I told her it was a good idea, and we made plans to meet at her house on Friday to discuss it in more detail. Even if I wasn’t, I’d do just about anything to get out of this house. Dilvan was making my days harder and, quite honestly, I don’t know how much more I can take.
* * *
In the afternoon, I stayed hidden in my room, as I did most days, because I didn’t want to make the mistake of running into Dilvan.
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t here – I was still afraid.
He’d run out earlier to get a facial and body scrub, something he did before every photo shoot.
He also got regular waxes, preferring not to have one blade of hair on his body.
Tyson went out to buy a few items he needed. I know that because he came upstairs and yelled through my bedroom door that he was heading out and wanted to know if I needed anything.
I didn’t.
For now, I just wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet. I wanted to sleep without worrying about being awakened by a tyrant.
DILVAN hadn’t returned home in time for dinner service at 6:30 p.m., so I sat at the table alone, ready to eat in solitude.
Beatrice had prepared crab cakes and garlic shrimp, along with a few breads and a fresh garden salad.
Everything she cooked was exquisite. It was food I wasn’t accustomed to.
My family could never afford to eat like this.
“Here you are, Mrs. Alexander,” she says, presenting me with my food on a gold-rimmed China plate that was fit for royalty.
“Thank you, Beatrice.”
I began eating while noticing her do something she’s never done before – sit down at the table with me.
Ms. Beatrice never took a moment to sit down.
She was always working – finding something to dust, something that needed to be put away, something to cook, organize, fix – she loved staying busy.
As a matter of fact, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen her sit down.
I’m glad to see it.
Usually when I saw her, she looked like she needed a drink of water.
A short, stout woman with short, silver hair, dark skin and a big belly, she’d have beads of sweat on her forehead for which she kept a handkerchief handy.
She stayed smelling like bacon grease, Palmolive dish detergent and cough drops, and wore those old-fashioned house dresses that looked more like nightgowns.
And I’ve never seen Ms. Beatrice without an apron.
She looked like one of those earthy, motherly type women who’d raised a gaggle of kids, and could tell you stories about the olden days – when you could buy a loaf of bread for fifty cents and fill up your gas tank with ten dollars.
“Mrs. Alexander, may I ask you something, sugar?” She whips out a handkerchief and dabs her forehead.
“Yes, and please don’t call me Mrs. Alexander. Anything but Mrs. Alexander…”
“Okay, Mrs. Gabrielle,” she says instead. “Why you let Mister treat you like a sack of dirt?”
I frown. This conversation is a one-way ticket to my grave.
What if Dilvan walked in? What if he had this place surveilled or bugged?
What if Beatrice was on his side, trying to get me to say bad things about my husband so he could torture me more than he already has? I wasn’t willing to take the chance.
I laugh it off and say, “What do you mean? Dilvan is the ideal husband. He’s a little stressed about work sometimes, but that’s all.”
Beatrice waves her hand in front of her face. “You might as well stop telling Ms. Bea that tale. Mister made you eat your dinner off that there flo’, child,” she says, pointing toward the floor. “Is that what you call ideal?”
“No, but—”
“Why you let him treat you like that, Mrs. Gabrielle?”
I sigh. “I don’t have a choice, Ms. Bea.”
“We all got choices, honey.”
“I don’t. My family needs the money. Padma paid my father a hefty amount of money for me to marry into this family. I can’t very well pay it back to her. It’s already been spent. My dad needed a home. My sisters…they–” I fight back tears. “They needed a way out. I was their way.”
“Mrs. Padma is a reasonable woman. I’m sure if you had a lil’ chat wit’ her ‘bout what’s going on in this here house, she would be understanding.”
I shake my head and push the dinner plate away from me. My appetite is gone, and I feel like getting up from this table and running away for good while Dilvan is out getting his chest and balls waxed.
“It’s okay, Beatrice. Everything is fine the way it is. I’m not going to worry about it.”
“Well, I’m worried ‘bout it. You’re being abused, Mrs. Gabrielle.”
“Well, technically, he hasn’t hit me,” I tell her, and I feel like a fool saying that. What exactly has this man done to me? He ain’t even here and I’m defending him.
“Yet!” Ms. Bea says. “He hasn’t hit you yet. The yelling would be enough to get me away from him.”
“I know, but sometimes, God allows things to happen in life, you know, to test us. I learned that when I used to go to church with my daddy.”
Beatrice wipes her forehead and says, “God don’t want us to be no fools either, shug. God is a God of love–not hate and disunity. Dilvan has no love for you. None. You think God smiling when he looks down upon y’all?”
“No.”
“He shonuff ain’t. It just ain’t right.”
“Well, I have six more months left, then Dilvan can divorce me. I can hang in there until then.”
Beatrice sighs heavily and shakes her head.
“I don’t know where Mister gets his mean streak from, honey.
His parents are so nice, and they do all this charity work for the community.
..even his brothers are thoughtful, respectful men.
Good men. But Mister, he’s not like them–making you call him my lord like he somebody. He has some nerve!”
“Has he done this to other women?” I ask now that I have a chance to find out some things.
Beatrice shrugs. “Mister don’t never bring no woman home, but I imagine he’d treat them the same way he treats you. He likes to use women, and you know what fuh.”
“If that’s the case, why did his mother want to marry him off so quickly?”
“Don’t you see, honey? She trying to save that boy! It’s all in them marriage papers you signed. Didn’t you read any of it?”
“No, not really. Padma just handed me a piece of paper and told me to sign it, so I did.”
“Let me tell you summin...now Ms. Bea ain’t one for nosying ‘round, but I was cleaning Mister’s room and came ‘cross them papers. It said summin ‘bout Mister can’t have no relations wit’ any other woman while he’s wit’ you, which is the only reason he creeps up in your room every Tuesday and Thursday night. ”
I look at her in shock. “You know about that?”
“I pretty much knows ‘bout er’thang that goes on in this here house. So back to them papers...it say if he ends the marriage, you know, by kicking you out or leaving you, he’s cut clean out of his parent’s will, and you know they rich peoples so he doesn’t want that.
Now, if you end the marriage, it say you have to pay back the money Mrs. Padma gave your father.
But let’s forget about the money for a second–Mrs. Gabrielle, you can’t continue to put up with Mister’s abuse.
Now, if you don’t say nothing to Mrs. Padma, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to. ”
“Beatrice, no! Dilvan would kill me.”
“How he gon’ know? Think about it...he’s leaving for California tomorrow. He won’t be back ‘til Sunday. You could be looong gone by then, honey. Long gone.”
She’s absolutely right. Surely, Padma would understand me when I told her how badly Dilvan had been treating me, and that I’d been enduring his mental torture for six months.
I could be packed and out of here and it would be perfect to do this while Dilvan was on a different coast. I wouldn’t be on edge.
There would be no reason for me to look over my shoulders.
But how would I hide from him? Permanently?
I hear the front door open and cringe. I immediately pull my plate back in front of me while Beatrice hurries out of the chair she was sitting in and disappears off into the kitchen.
I quickly glance up and back down again because Dilvan is standing there, with black shades on, looking in my direction.
“You couldn’t wait for me, huh?” he says.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what time you were going to be home, my lord.”
“Where’s Tyson?”
“He–he–”
“Spit it out!”
“He went to buy some supplies.”
I hate feeling so scared all the time. I was hoping Dilvan would forgo dinner and continue to his room, but he pulls out the chair in front of me, and takes a seat. Then places his sunglasses on the table.
“So, what did you and my mother talk about this morning?”
“She wanted–to–to know if I–um–if I would–”
“Spit it out, girl! Dang. You can’t talk now?”
“She wanted to know if I would help her with a community garden.”
“What else?”
“That was all.”
“So, my name didn’t come up at all?”
“It did, my lord, but I told her everything was fine, and that we were happily married.”
“Good girl,” he says, like I’m a puppy. “You were starting to piss me off at breakfast this morning, actin’ like you were sick and all.”
I wasn’t feeling good this morning. As a matter of fact, I’d been feeling sick for the last week. This morning was Dilvan’s first time hearing about it because he doesn’t care about how I feel. He wouldn’t even inquire about my well-being.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intent to upset you,” I tell him.
“Don’t let it happen again, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, my lord.”
“Perfect. I’m going to go upstairs. I need to make sure I got all of my things together.” He stands up, then says, “Beatrice, I won’t be eating anything. I had a bite to eat already.”
“Okay, suh,” she yells from the kitchen.
* * *
It’s a little after nine and I’m standing in the shower, thinking like I usually do.
For the first ten minutes, I’m usually in a trance, letting the water run over me as I stand as still as a statue.
I’m numb. The life has been sucked out of me for the last six months, and now I’m seriously contemplating taking Beatrice’s advice and letting Padma know what’s really been going on in this house. I have to.
There comes a point in a bad relationship when you just have to let go.
I haven’t been happy since I’ve been here.
Even though everything is readily available for me and I have more shoes, clothes and everything else that I could possibly need, I’m not happy.
I was much happier living with my father and sisters – broke and all.
We didn’t have money, but we had each other. I have no one here.
My thoughts are interrupted when I look through the foggy shower door and see the outline of someone standing there, motionless. I freeze. I knew it was Dilvan, but why was he here? Had Beatrice told him something about our conversation earlier?
He reached for the handle, opening the glass door by sliding it to the side, and now, I’m standing here exposed, wet and naked, and he’s standing there like he’s about to get in with me, his arms crossed, staring while holding my bath towel.
I suddenly feel a chill strike me. I have goosebumps all over my body. He doesn’t say a word, just watches me, torturing me with his intense stares and unwelcome presence.
“How long have you been in there?” he asks, his voice blending with the rushing shower water.
“About twenty-five minutes.”
“Time for you to get out, don’t you think?”
“Yes, my lord,” I respond with chattering teeth. I turn off the water and step out of the shower, reaching to take my towel from his hand.
He moves back, not allowing me to take it from his grasp, playing this silly game.
So, I stand there, in front of him with beads of water glistening on my skin. I cross my arms to cover my chest, then in the nicest, most respectful voice I can muster, I ask, “May I pl-please have my towel, my lord?”
Tears roll out of my eyes as I struggle to catch a breath. After everything I’ve been through – the embarrassment, the harassment, the fact that Ms. Bea knows about all the crap this man has been doing to me – I snap. “Why do you hate me?”
His eyes narrow to slits. “I thought that was obvious, dummy. I didn’t ask for you. I don’t want you! Nothing in me desires you.”
“Yet, that doesn’t stop you from sleeping with me.”
A sly, evil grin touched his lips. “I might as well take advantage of you while you’re here. That’s all you’re good for.”
His chest puffs in and out quickly before his hand wraps tight around my throat.
“Let me…let me…go!” I yell.
He frowns and pushes me to the floor, my naked body landing hard on cold tiles. “There. You’re let go.”
He walks out of the bathroom finally, leaving me on the floor in tears.
No matter how much I tell myself to get up, I can’t move.
My leg hurts right along with my bruised self-worth.
I’m not sure if I can even get up. I can’t stop crying as I think about telling Padma I have to leave.
I’ve never been a quitter – a failure – but I’m tired of being a stereotype – the poster child of an abused woman. Ms. Bea was right.
God doesn’t want me to be anyone’s fool.