Chapter 96.5 Humbled, Part III
Chenae’s POV
She’s back. Tallulah showed up on campus today and was waiting on me when I got back from practicum. I stopped and stared. She’s lost some weight and she looks good. I hate her less. Mrs. Jacobson was right. I’m responsible for my own hell. If anyone had treated Momma the way I treated Lula, I’d kill ’em and ask Pierre to hide the body.
“Chenae.” She stands and smiles and, for some reason, I smile at her.
“Lula. What’s up?” I nod at Mrs. Baker, the residence hall manager. “My future sister-in-law.” Mrs. Baker nods and I wave for Lula to follow me.
“Not much. I hear you’re in a pinch.”
Pinch would be nice. I sold all my old clothes on consignment and bought jeans and white T-shirts in order to be able to afford the parking permit. I kept enough of my old clothes to be presentable in any situation, but I got rid of the excess (sob!). I still take Greyhound to Momma’s. Momma slipped me $100 on my last trip. That’s enough for three round-trip tickets. My priorities have definitely changed.
I learned how to do my own manicure and, for the first time in my life, I’m doing my own hair. The freshman girls in the dorm had to teach me how to do more than flat iron, but I’m still looking presentable. The $80 hairdresser visits are a thing of the past. I look at Lula’s expensive weave and sigh. I remember those days.
“Pinch would be nice.”
She harrumphs. “I see.” She’s looking around my dorm room critically. It’s messy at the moment. “This is a hot mess, girl. Where yo’ clothes?”
“Sold.”
She turns around, wide eyed. “Damn! Now, of all the shit that’s happened in my life, my clothes are my luxury. You sold your clothes?” I nod. She sits on my bed and exhales. “Damn. Didn’t realize it was that crucial.”
Her expression makes me laugh. “I’m guessing selling your clothes is a last resort?”
“Once I got off the streets, clothes was my thing. I never had money for clothes before. You couldn’t convince me to let my Via Spigas go for no amount of money.”
I’ve never worn Via Spigas. I always thought they looked cheap. “Yeah. Someone said I finally look like a college student now.”
She snorts. “What the hell that mean?”
I smile. I know what they meant. I look like everyone else now, no better, no worse. “I’m wearing the college student uniform. Jeans and a t-shirt.”
Lula raises an eyebrow. “Not me, baby. I’ll wear what I want and fuck the rest of you.”
I laugh mentally. Exactly what Pierre said. Lula doesn’t give a damn about what people think about her clothes, hair, or accessories. She wears what she’s comfortable in and fuck the rest of you.
“Not that I’m trying to run you off, but what brings you here?”
She sighs heavily. “Tryin’ to learn more. Life with your brother gives me more options than I’ve ever had. I gotta sift through. Since you the only person I know in social work, I’m here to ask you questions.”
I raise an eyebrow. Wow. Well, maybe this is her giving me another chance. I clean off the chair and motion for her to sit down. I grab some water out of my mini-fridge, get comfortable on my bed, and smile at her.
“OK, shoot.”
“Well…” Suddenly she looks confused. “I guess I’m trying to figure out how to get started. I registered at San Antonio College, to get an AA,”—I nod and start taking notes—”but I’m not sure what to do from there.”
“Ok, well—”
She raises a hand. “There’s more.”
“OK.”
“Steph hired an HR director for RangeMan. Good woman. Former stripper.”
Damn! Does anyone at RangeMan have a clean background? Anyone not sell themselves for a dollar? I realize Lula’s looking at me closely, in disapproval.
“You ain’t changed that much, huh?”
That pisses me off. “How would you know?”
“Because your first thought isn’t ‘I wonder what happened’. It’s ‘Damn!’, right?” I cringe and blush. She nods. “Umm hmm. I told you that to see how you would react. She ain’t ashamed of it. She stripped after graduating with honors because her sister developed cancer and apparently her family wasn’t ’bout shit. She paid for her sister’s cancer treatments and hospital bills while working part-time jobs and trying to stay afloat herself. And your first reaction was to judge her.”
In the end, that shit doesn’t matter but character does. Character isn’t replaceable. Empathy isn’t replaceable. You don’t get to know people. You don’t look at circumstances. You don’t look at people’s hearts.
I hate when Pierre’s words get stuck on replay in my brain. I swallow the great lump in my throat and Lula passes me the Kleenex. I wipe my eyes and stare at my notebook.
Lula sighs. “Anyway, she’s starting a new program in RangeMan, to support wives and girlfriends. We ain’t got a support group and I’ve been working with her on that. I wanna help women like me who are on the streets. I wanna work with kids. I got lots of things I wanna do and no idea how to get started. Do I have to specialize? Do I have to declare an interest in kids? I don’t know. You know.”
I sit on my bed and look at my notes. Again, Lula’s pointed out how wrong this profession is for me. I hear a sigh and look up.
“Baby Shug, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to help you. Your first thought is always to judge people and you can’t do that. My best friend is a woman who lost everything after a vicious divorce and a layoff. My other best friend is a woman whose options are limited because she’s the niece of a major Mob family.” My mouth drops and she nods. “My other friend was on the streets with me. The only one of my friends with a clean background is a stay-at-home mother of three, but those are my peeps. They’re ride or die with me.”
Pierre, Antoine, and now Lula have all said the same thing to me. This isn’t the right job for me. I look up and Lula’s smiling at me.
“Just say it, Baby Shug. Have the guts to admit it.”
I stare at her, tears forming in my eyes, but I finally say it. “I’m not cut out to be a social worker.”
Lula exhales and stands. “Finally.” She pulls me into her arms and I break down in tears. This was four wasted years in college, getting a degree I can’t use because I’m in a field I’m not suited for. I cry until I get a headache, with Lula patting my back and making comforting noises and I realize that it’s almost, but not quite, as good as being hugged by Momma.
Lula will make an excellent social worker. She doesn’t give a damn about how people present themselves as long as they have a need. Even me. I’ve been rude and nasty to her from the moment we met and she’s never once been nasty back to me. She’s fed me, convinced Pierre not to cut me off completely, brought Antoine back into the family and put up with my attitude.
That’s humbling. Antoine was right. Lula’s been the bigger person in all this because Pierre means more to her than my rudeness and nasty comments.
I finally wipe my eyes and laugh. I go over to my closet, fish out all my old college text books and look for a box. I can’t find one, so I stack them neatly on top of my desk. I turn to her. She looks confused. “My old college texts. Start reading now. Theory will drive you mad.”
She laughs. “Thanks! Now, let’s talk about you.”
I frown. “I thought you were here for you.”
“Yeah, but we can probably cover what I need to know quick. You need a game plan, right?” I nod, miserable. “So let’s start by acknowledging that people ain’t yo’ thang.”
Ouch! “Right,” I mutter.
“I like your advice to your cousin because it’s good advice. You hear how that turned out?”
I shake my head. My phone calls are limited to Momma and Antoine. I’m not trying to burn minutes on unimportant stuff.
“Well, Tasha did exactly what you recommended. She took Deion’s ass to court for child support and he blew a fuse, claiming the kids aren’t his, so Louisiana has ordered him to get paternity testing. Now, the fact that Tasha was getting aid without having established paternity for the last two was a shocker, but since he acknowledged the first two, it was assumed the last two, plus this one she pregnant with now, was his too. Anyway, he’s looking at damn near $850 in child support a month for all of ’em. His new wife lost her fucking mind because that’s nearly 40% of his monthly paycheck and she’s pregnant too!”
I laugh. Deion’s handsome as hell but flaky. I knew it. It’s already fucking up his marriage. He should have married Tasha like he kept promising her he would. Quit spreading seed everywhere and use condoms!
“Plus she asked the court to give him custody. Since he acknowledged paternity of the first two, they went home with him and his wife and Momma are pitching in to help. Since his wife and his momma don’t get along, that’s been hell on him. His momma is complaining everywhere that the kids are little heathens who don’t obey they Daddy but Tasha pointed out that he’s not Daddy. He’s a fucking stranger. They’ll obey him when they know him and she was part of the problem because she denied those kids too. They aren’t going to obey her either. They don’t know her.”
I’m grinning. Wonderful. Payback’s a bitch.
“Tasha’s got the last two and she’s signed up to take the GED and enroll in the community college. She’s getting her life together and I’m proud. So is Rose. Deion’s over there every day begging her to take the kids back but she told him that if he’d done what was right and married her, this shit wouldn’t be happening to him. He made his kids. Now he needed to take care of them. He needed to be a man and no matter what, he’s either paying the money to support them or he’s keeping ’em until she gets her degree.
She told him since he been fuckin’ round, she’s giving him custody till she gets her degree. She’s been busting her ass working trying to take care of them while he got his. Now she’s working and enrolling in college to do something with her life. He got a degree. Time for her to get one and Rose is happy to hear it cuz Tasha told her that once she has her degree, she’s getting out of there.
She’s determined to show her kids a better life and it’ll start with telling Tracy to keep her legs closed. She’s hoping Tank will come through for the next generation. She mighta fucked up, but maybe Tracy and Tenisha can have that luck.”
Lula’s laughing and I’m clapping, excited. I’m calling Tasha tonight. That’s great to hear.
“Now, I’m impressed because that was simple ‘Duh’ advice you gave her and it worked, but it worked because you know her and all her circumstances. That might not work for everyone, right?”
“Right.” I’m sober again.
“Now, the thing is you really gotta get over judging people the moment you see or hear them. You want to be a businesswoman?” I nod. “Well, look at how good Antoine is at business. If you were a bank manager, would you give him a loan?”
Hell no. And I cringe at that thought. Lula shakes her head sadly.
“And you know that your brother has a successful business. No matter what you go into, if you judge people, it won’t work out for you. You watch The Pursuit of Happyness?”
“Yeah. Will Smith and his son.”
She nods. “And at the time that he was in that training program he was homeless. He was busting his ass to make it through but if you judged him on attire and presentation, he failed, right?”
Damn. How does Lula always come up with these great examples? “Right.”
“If someone judged you right now, do you pass?”
OK, that’s really sobering. I cast an eye toward my closet. Yeah, I could still dress professionally. I still have all the correct pieces. I have the right shoes and purse. I look at my nails. I’d have to get a manicure and get my hair done, but I could pass.
“I could,” I tell her slowly.
“Now think about Tank right when he got out of the Army. Before the custom suits and expensive shoes. Could he get a loan?”
My shoulders slump but I perk up. “Well, these days, the bank managers merely input the information into the computer system and it spits back a yes or no. It’s less about personal judgment calls and more about the numbers.”
Lula sits back and smiles. “And what was your brother’s assets? His experience in business? His collateral? He had money but what was he gonna use to convince the computer he was a good risk?”
Damn! Who helped her with this argument? I realize that Lula’s a hell of a lot smarter than I gave her credit for. “Nothing. He didn’t have that.”
She nods. “Now, he’s told me that he will always remain grateful that you and Mrs. Carol Jean invested his money while he was in. You still have an investment account?”
I nod. There isn’t much in it. Only about $5000 or so that Pierre demanded I never touch. That’s my ‘nuclear’ money, the money I use if things are so dire that doing something below my dignity might be an option and no one is able to rescue me.
He’s never had to spell it out: That’s the money I use if I thought selling myself might be my only option. I let that money grow and pay the taxes on the interest.
“Good.” She hands me a bunch of checks. I look. Every single one of my siblings has written a check for $5,000 to me, personally, with Pierre kicking in $20,000. “We’re going to trust you to create a fund, a family fund. You’ve always had an excellent track record for making money. So make money. Open an account, send us our share statements, and keep track.”
I swallow hard and look at her. “Why?”
She smiles. “Because if you’re going to get a job in business, you need to show that doing it as a kid wasn’t a fluke. You can still do it as an adult. Tank’s check is a share for him, one for me, and one for Momma and one for Ranger. Each of us gets a separate statement.”
I’m looking and I’m shocked to see checks from both Lester and Bobby in the pile. I raise them in wonder and she grins. “They believe in you too. Now prove you’re a good bet.”
I look at the checks. I’m kicking in my nuclear money, to put my money where my mouth is. That’ll bring the total up to $50,000. I’ll prove I know how to make money make money.
Lula and I talked through her college options for the rest of the afternoon. My future sister-in-law is the classic nosy person with a heart of gold, so trying to help her narrow down her options was tough. Finally, I suggested she get licensed in social work in Texas and Louisiana.
“Why?” Lula’s moaning. She’s looking at getting a master’s, at minimum.
“Because you’ll be able to work in both places. Plus, having a license means you can work as a counselor for the men at RangeMan if you wanted.”
Lula cracked one eye open. “And this is a good idea because?”
“Because you said the other woman knows the paperwork, rules, regs, and she’s gonna have her hands busy with that. Meanwhile, who’s taking care of the men’s mental health?” I grin. “Please tell me it’s not Pierre. That would require talking!”
She laughs and we both acknowledge that while Pierre is many wonderful things, a talker he is not.
“So you need to contract that out right now and make sure their mental health is taken care of, but if you get a degree, you might be able to help.” I sit back and look at Lula critically. “You know what? You should try to become a therapist.”
“Why?”
“Because it combines the best of all worlds for you. You get licensed as a social worker and you can help people help themselves, but as a licensed therapist or counselor, you could really serve as a guiding light.” I sigh. “Look at me. In the course of one afternoon, we’ve gone through a box of Kleenex, but you’ve finally helped me accept that I suck at social work and that this isn’t the job for me. I was still moving along, trying to think of how to do it. I’d even thought of working with pregnant teens.” Lula winces. “What?”
She raises an eyebrow. “No disrespect, Shug, but you way too damn judgmental to help some scared 15- or 16-year-old work through options.” I wince. “Yeah. They’d have to sit through a lecture on birth control, then a lecture on responsibility, then—”
“I get your point.” Lula’s no dummy. She’s outlining my talk with Tasha.
She laughs. “Volunteer if it means that much to you but you can’t be the one to help.”
“Right.” I’m going to take Lula’s advice. She knows people. I know my kind of people.
Lula tips the chair back on its back legs and I smile, hoping she doesn’t tip over. “My girl Steph is coming next week to review the San Antonio branch.”
“Is this the bounty hunter?” The one that looked a disaster in the papers? The one now working for Pierre?
Lula nods. “Yup. She’s bringing Connie, the Mob princess, Mary Lou, the stay-at-home mom, and Candy, the former stripper, with her. I want you to meet these women. Oh, and Hector’s coming too.”
“Really?” I’ve heard Pierre mention Hector and Momma will be thrilled to finally meet him. He’s the only one of Pierre’s friends we haven’t met yet.
“Yup. It’s damn near gonna be a reunion, so get ready. I want you to meet my friends and I want you to see how useless it is to judge people you don’t know. Every single one of them will surprise you.”
“So, next on the agenda is Soror Chenae, with an update on Fundraising for the year. Soror?”
Christina smirks. My report has been filed. I’ve raised nothing.
I spent yesterday afternoon opening an online brokerage account, depositing the checks and researching what stocks to buy first. I realize I have a lot of eyes on me and a lot of people putting faith in me. I’m unlicensed and have only personal experience doing this. I spent the rest of the night researching the Certified Financial Planner® and Certified Financial Analyst® designations and realized that if I study hard and get the right job out of college that will allow me to gain work experience, I could have both designations in four years.
Essentially, I won’t lose a damn thing. I can’t freakin’ believe it. Even more, the money my family just gave me will help me prove that I can have qualified, professional work experience in an investment decision-making process because I intend to guarantee that whatever firm I work for allows me to retain control of that account.
Un-freakin’-believable. Lula helped me find a way out of my mess once I finally admitted I was no social worker. I still have to graduate, and I will, but I can do it without dreading what comes next. I’m researching and applying for finance jobs now.
“Unfortunately, I have not been able to give this the time and attention required, as I warned you at the beginning of the semester. I suggest that we all pitch in to help the chapter achieve its fundraising goals. I cannot do it alone.”
Everyone is staring at me. Christina sniffs. “Well, that’s certainly a change in attitude, Soror. Whatever happened to the get-up and go Soror who smashed through all problems and had plenty of time to promote the sorority’s mission?”
“She realized she has to graduate and that Pink and Green is eternal but petty chapter bullshit is not. You guys voted me to the head after I warned you not to? Fine. But I’m warning you now, if the chapter doesn’t have the money it needs to do the things it wants to do, it won’t be any skin off my back. After all, I graduate in May.” I look at the treasurer who, like everyone else in the room, is in shock. “I’ll pay the fine for my coarse language later. I’m ex-officio to this committee so I don’t need to attend this. Goodbye.”
“I guess you’re too busy helping your future sister-in-law find a new corner, huh?”
OK, that’s enough. Me knocking Lula is one thing. You doing it is another. I turn around, cold as ice. “More like we’re looking for one for you.” Gasps in the room and Christina’s mouth drops. “I’ve come to acknowledge and appreciate her point of view. You’re giving away an elastic product for free and, unlike drugs and guns, pussy doesn’t remain elastic for long. As an econ major, you should understand my meaning. And close your mouth or an Omega might stick a dick in there. Whoops! Last Friday, right?”
I might not like Lula all the time, but she’s still Pierre’s fiancée. She’s family and we’re thick as thieves. I’ll defend her. I nod at the doorkeepers and walk out.
For my language, I’m fined $6. Fine. No biggie. Our graduate advisor wants to see me, to talk to me about my new ‘attitude’. Cool.
I’m seven months from graduation and I could care less about all this. The chapter can’t suspend me or recommend my removal. The most they can do is what they’ve done. Fine me.
I head to Dr. Abrahms’ office and knock. “Come in,” the soft, cultured voice replies.
I walk in and Soror Bernice sighs wearily and motions for me to take a seat. “Chenae. This is a first.”
“I agree.”
“And for something I never expected from you.”
“I agree. I never thought I’d find myself defending my future sister-in-law, but she’s about to be family and I won’t allow anyone, not even my sorority sisters, to insult her.”
Soror Bernice looks at me in wonder. “Is that what that was about?” I nod. She sits back and barks a laugh. “Ah. No wonder they wouldn’t explain your comment, well, the part I couldn’t understand.” She smiles at me. “So, if I read between the lines, your in-law was a prostitute at one point?” I nod again and she shakes her head in amusement. “Lord. That makes so much sense now.” She grins. “Nice job tying in Econ 102 to that insult. It flew over almost everyone else’s head.”
We laugh. Soror Bernice is an Econ Professor and one of the many reasons I joined AKA. I loved her classes and excelled in them. She was the epitome of ‘finer womanhood’ in my estimation. Tall, with beautiful, well cared for dreads twisted into a crown around her head, she was fierce in class. She didn’t tolerate being late, being unprepared, or being rude.
From anyone.
“So I officially told you your conduct was unbecoming of finer womanhood, yada yada, blah blah blah. You’ll endeavor to remain professional and sisterly in future sorority meetings, correct?”
“If they attempt to insult my family, Soror, I cannot guarantee my response will be sisterly.”
“Understood. Have a good day, Chenae.”
“Actually, Soror, do you have a moment?”
“Certainly.” She waves to her teapot and I nod. She pours me a cup, passes me the honey and a slice of lemon and we sit and sip for a moment. “How can I help you, my dear?”
“I find myself at a crossroads, Soror.” Her heads tilts to the side in silent question. “I’ve recently realized that social work is not for me.”
“Oh dear,” she murmurs. “Bit late for that, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I know I have to persevere and I will.” She nods in agreement. “However, as my future sister-in-law pointed out recently, just because I have a degree in it doesn’t mean I have to do it.”
Soror Bernice laughs softly. She refills her tea cup and leans forward. “Your plan?”
“CFP designation. I’d like to get a CFA designation also.”
She whistles. “CFP, for a smart girl like you, is an excellent option. CFA? You know that only about 40% of the test takers pass, right?” I nod. “It’s really a Wall Street thing.”
“I know, but anyone holding a CFA designation is gonna make money.” Her nose wrinkles and I blush. “Going to make money.”
“Better.”
“Yes, ma’am. I apologize. Anyway, I think it would be excellent to turn my sights that way instead of dying in social work.”
Soror Bernice sighs deeply and sits back. She stares at me for a while before smiling. “Honestly, I wondered when you would come to that realization.” She refills my teacup before continuing. “I honestly hoped you would switch majors after you managed to make an ‘A’ in my class. You know, an ‘A’ from me is a rare mark.”
We laugh. Soror Bernice is known for weeding out wannabe Econ majors. Christina was in shock when she only made a ‘B’ in her class and she worked hard for that B.
“You truly think this is the correct path for you?” I nod. “OK. Then I suggest the following. I’ll help you find a job in the field. Where do you intend to live? Here? Texas? Lafayette?”
I sit back. Crap. New options. She nods. “That will help us narrow down your options. There’s a chapter of the CFA in San Antonio and another in Austin. There’s also a chapter here in New Orleans and you can join with a student membership. Go, soak up the information, and decide if you really want to go after that certification.”
“How much is it?”
She surfs to the webpage. “$50.” She prints off the information. “You can join their study groups for the exam and that’s important. You can also check their job boards.” She points at the screen and I’m astonished. They have plenty of jobs listed. I can feel my spirit rise.
Thank you, Lula, for helping me accept the truth. Doing that cleared the obstacles in my path and I now see my way out.
Soror Bernice and I chat for a bit longer and I leave feeling hopeful. I have a way out. I’m going to get my life on track.
“Yo.”
Antoine. “Hey, bro. Everything cool?”
“Uh. Yeah, can I speak to my sister?”
“Fool.” I smile. “What do you want?”
“How much you know about child support?”
“Not a lot but I can research. What do you need?”
“I want to try to get my boys by Christmas. Momma suggested I call you for help.”
Momma is just playing matchmaker these days. I grin. I’m going to tease her when I go home.
“You want a checklist of things you need to do?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You aren’t going to like number one.”
A deep sigh. “I gotta stop smoking.”
“Not just stop. Give it up completely and you need to ensure you remove all drug paraphernalia from your home and the studio. Call in professional cleaners to get that place spic and span and post new rules. No drugs on premises.”
“Damn.”
“You knew it.”
“Yeah, I did. What else?”
“Negotiate to get the boys for a visit for Christmas. That’s the best you’re going to be able to do.”
“Why?”
“Because the first thing the courts are going to ask for is a drug test. You need at least 30 days for the THC in marijuana to leave your system.” I take a deep breath and plunge on. “You’ll need to cut the dreads.”
“WHAT!”
“Yeah. I mean, I need to do research, but everything I’m looking at right now online says that 90 days is the time required to remove THC from a hair follicle test. So unless you intend to wax your entire body, you need to cut the dreads, trim everything back, and just wait.”
There are some conversations I’ve never wanted to have with either of my brothers. I’ve just added that one to the list. Although . . . I gotta admit, the idea of Antoine waxing makes me want to giggle.
“Shit! Not only fucking up my high, but changing my appearance,” Antoine grouses.
“Sorry. I mean, if you want the boys, that’s the sacrifice. Prepare to have the courts look through your background with a fine-tooth comb. Your finances, your home, your business, they’re going to turn it all over trying to make sure you can provide the boys with a stable home that meets the standards of ‘best interest of the child’.”
Antoine is silent for a few minutes. “Why don’t women have to do this?”
“Because it’s assumed that they’ll do what’s in the child’s best interest.”
“Bullshit.”
“Maybe, but the idea has always been ‘Momma’s baby, Papa’s maybe’.”
“That’s fucked up and unfair. I’ve always claimed my boys.”
“Don’t tell me it’s unfair. Just prepare to fight. The moment Tamika realizes that you getting custody means that she won’t get child support anymore, she’ll fight tooth and nail. Expect to have her plant drugs on you, photograph you all the time, and basically stalk you. If I were you, I would call Pierre and ask him to come secure your premises. Install cameras, post those drug-free rules, and prepare to fight.”
I hear Antoine sigh and I smile.
“You gotta ask yourself bro: Is the fight worth it?”
A/N: I know I’ve said this before, but please pay attention to the Tank/Lula storyline. In particular, try to spot the similarities between Chenae and Steph. There are many.
