Читать книгу Confessions - Sasha Campbell - Страница 10

Let me just say I love my job. I really really love my job. I work because I want to, not because I have to, and I make sure everybody knows it.

I strolled in on Wednesday before eight A.M. looking fierce of course. I found a slamming burnt orange pantsuit on clearance at Nordstrom for seven hundred. I paired it with a pair of chocolate Jimmy Choos and a thick chocolate belt, showing off my narrow waist. As usual I strolled into the office carrying my morning latte. There was absolutely no other way to start my morning.

“Good morning, Trinette.”

I waved at Chuck, our building security guard, before I turned the corner and stepped into our suite.

The moment I did, I looked over at our receptionist, Claudette, and I almost spilled my latte all over me. And you better believe I would have sent that chick the dry cleaning bill. I don’t know what possessed that girl to get red tracks sewn in her head over the weekend. Don’t she know she looked like Homey the Clown?

“Good morning, girl.” I swung my fabulous three hundred dollar weave over my shoulder. Showing her how it’s done. Only the best for me. Obviously she knew nothing about that.

I strutted through the office waving, being fake. I know half the hoes I work with are hating on my ass. And I’m all right with that. See, I walk with my head held high and strut like my shit don’t stink, because it don’t. Hell, I can’t help it if I care about how I look and they don’t. Most of the other case managers at the Division of Children and Family Services walk in looking like they just rolled out of bed. Not me. I get up extra early to make sure I look extra good.

“We’ve got a meeting at ten today,” Patricia called from her chair as I moved in the cubicle across from her.

“What about?”

She shrugged her wide shoulders, then reached inside a box of Dunkin’ Donuts. “Don’t know. Yolanda sent out an e-mail to just the case managers.”

Yolanda Webber was our director, so any time she held a meeting, it impacted our workload. We were already over-worked—not that I was complaining. I probably had the largest caseload, but that was because I am good at what I do, and Yolanda recognized my dedication to the job.

“Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning,” I said under my breath as Maureen Morgan sashayed by, leaving behind a cloud of her expensive, overly sweet perfume. I couldn’t help noticing she was wearing a new outfit. Trust me. I know when someone is sporting something new. Maureen had on a honey brown jacket and matching skirt that showed off her slender body and extremely long legs. I would never tell her, but I would do anything to have legs like hers.

“How was everyone’s weekend?” Maureen asked as she lowered herself into the chair behind her desk. She had been out of the office all week.

“Relaxing,” I replied.

“Drama,” Patricia said, then raised her brow. She had already given me all the details of her drama-filled weekend with that wannabe thug she was dating. Her life reminded me too much of the ghetto life I left behind.

Maureen fanned her fingers in front of her. “Well, I had a fabulous weekend. Michael and I put a contract on a new house.”

Patricia rolled her chair closer. “Oooh! A new house? Where at?”

“In Webster Grove.” Maureen reached inside her purse and pulled out not one but two flyers, enough for the both of us. “It’s more than three thousand square feet, five bedrooms, and even has a sunroom,” she announced proudly.

I stared down at the paper in my hand and the $400k price tag. “Daaayum, girl! What you need this much house for?”

“I like space.”

I looked in envy and found myself wishing for a home like that. I used to have one just like that if not better. Now I’m back living in the same three-bedroom condo Leon and I bought the first year we got married. My place didn’t even have enough closet space for all my clothes. Leon had traveled so much, we never stayed in either of the other homes we had bought long enough for me to fully enjoy them. And the second he was transferred due to a merger, we sold it and bought another. The only place we ever kept and used as rental property was the condo. When he was promoted to CFO and announced he would be moving to Richmond, I had returned to St. Louis during the entire transition. But I had long since grown tired of the small condo. I wanted a jetted tub like the one I saw in the picture. I wanted to sit out on a sunporch and watch the sun rise. And dammit, I was going to have it!

“I sure hope the sellers accept our offer. Michael and I are so excited.”

My eyes traveled over to the ten-by-thirteen photograph Maureen kept on her desk of her darling Michael. The first time I saw him, I found myself licking my lips. He was a pork chop waiting to be sucked. Michael Morgan was a former NFL player who now owned a large car dealership. I had spotted him Monday while at happy hour with Nikki and would have gotten his attention if Nikki hadn’t been with me. I love my girl, but she doesn’t understand the power of the pussy. That’s why her ass ain’t had none in months, which didn’t make sense to me. She’s a sexy size 10 with a small waist and the prettiest mahogany skin. Her breasts are too small, but she has enough ass to make up for what she’s lacking. Her best feature is her large brown eyes and her locks that are honey blond, long, and gorgeous. Nikki’s pretty, which she’d have to be to hang with me. I’m thick, caramel, and luscious, and she’s slim and sexy. Together we’re a force to be reckoned. Yet instead of hanging with me, Nikki wanted to sit at home, waiting for her husband to call. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love me some Donovan, but he was away, and instead of twiddling her thumbs, Nikki could have been finding another way to pass the time. While he was serving our country overseas, she could have been servicing the needs of some rich men in St. Louis.

The phones started ringing, and it was time to get to work. Even while I helped my first client, my eyes kept traveling down to that flyer. By the end of the morning, I was calling a realtor and made an appointment to discuss putting my place on the market. All I had to do was convince Leon. And I knew just how to persuade him. As soon as I hung up the phone, my private line rang.

“DFS, Trinette speaking.”

“Good morning, boo.”

Ugh! No, Cory was not calling me. “Didn’t I tell you not to call me no more?” Hell, I’d been telling his ass all that week.

“I know, but I wanted a chance to show you I’ve changed. I went out and got a new car to prove it.”

Did he really think getting rid of that gay-ass car was going to make a difference? “I don’t care if you got a chauffeured limousine! There is no more us, and if your cheap ass calls my job again, I’m calling your mama.”

There was a long pause. The last thing Cory wanted was for me to call Mommy Dearest and tell on him.

“You don’t mean that,” he finally said.

“Oh, don’t try me. I’ll even come over and show her those doo-doo-stain draws you left under my bed!” The phone went dead. I looked over at Patricia, who was trying her damnedest not to laugh. “Stanky ass,” I mumbled under my breath.

She busted out laughing and I joined her. Cory had a lot of nerve calling me after what I found under my bed. I guess his mama had never taught him how to wipe his ass properly. Just thinking about sex with him made my stomach cringe. The things I do for money.

My nine o’clock appointment arrived. I moved into the conference room, which is separated by partitions, and down to workstation three where a chick was sitting. She could have been cute if it wasn’t for the hoop earring dangling from the corner of her nose.

“Cimon Clark.”

A pair of hazel eyes met mine. “Yep,” she mumbled, chewing her gum like it was going out of style. “Where’s Casey?” she asked. The frown on her face indicated she wasn’t too happy to see me. That’s just too damn bad. It was time she learned you can’t always have what you want.

I gave her a saccharine smile. “Casey transferred to Iowa, so I’m your new worker.”

Cimon rolled her eyes and put a crumpled piece of paper on the counter. “I got this letter saying I need to renew my food stamps.”

I nodded. “Yep. You’re required to do so every six months. You bring a copy of your lease and utility bills?”

“Uh-huh.” She passed the documents to me.

I looked through the papers, then went through a list of standard questions. “Do you have a phone?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Can’t afford it.”

“Anyone else living in your house?”

“Nope, just me and my three kids. Y’all need to increase my food stamps ’cause three fifty ain’t enough to feed four people.” Cimon sounded disgusted.

That chick was tripping, because that sounded like enough food to me. I was typing notes in her case file when I heard Ciara’s new song playing. Don’t you know that hoochie reached inside her purse and pulled out a cell phone, then had the nerve to start talking.

“Whassup? Giiirrrl, I saw that! Yep. I’m running to the mall in a few.”

No, she didn’t. I stopped typing and stared her ass down. “Excuse me, but are you here to handle business or not?”

Cimon had the nerve to suck her teeth and roll her eyes. “Velveeta, girl…I’ma have to holla back.” She hung up, then leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. Velveeta? What was her mama thinking naming her after processed cheese?

I cleared my throat. “I thought you didn’t have a phone?”

She had the nerve to try to look dumb. “You said a house phone.”

“I said a phone. I didn’t say what kind. If you don’t have a job, how you pay your cell phone bill?”

“Why you all up in my business?” She rolled her neck as she spoke.

Did this bitch not know I had the upper hand? “I’m your caseworker, so you best believe I’m gonna be all in your business.”

She looked like she had an attitude for a second, but she had sense enough to shut up. I was already sick of her ghetto ass.

“Do you have a car?” I asked.

“Uh…yeah.”

I tore my eyes away from the screen long enough to look at her. “Okay. What kind of car do you have?”

She hesitated. “I’m driving a 2000 Honda Civic. It’s paid for.”

I entered the information in the computer. “Let me go make copies of your documents. I’ll be back.” I rose and went to the copy machine, then came back to find Cimon sending a text message. That girl was really pushing her luck with me. As soon as she spotted me, she put the phone away. She better have. “All right. According to the information you provided me, we’ll be increasing your stamps to four twenty. They’ll be available in two weeks.”

“Thanks.” Cimon grinned like she suddenly thought of something funny.

“Is something wrong?” I couldn’t keep the attitude from my voice.

She gave it right back to me. “Nope. Nothing at all.” She stuffed her documents back in her purse, then rose.

Oh, I wasn’t done with her. “While you’re here, I need you to go to the career center next door and apply for some jobs.”

Cimon looked at me as if I told her ass to rob a bank. “Why I need to do that?”

“Don’t you wanna do something with your life other than receiving food stamps and living on Section 8?”

“Fo’ what? It cost me more to get a job and pay for a babysitter.” Another chick trying to get over on the system. Women like her made me sick.

“You got three kids, which means you are entitled to full education benefits. You can get a free ride. I wish I could have gotten a degree for free. Did you know you are eligible for child care?”

“Fo’ real?” She gave me a greedy look.

“Yeah, as long as you’re working or going to school.”

Cimon sucked her teeth and quickly lost interest. Ha! She really thought we were going to pay for daycare while her lazy ass lay around at home with some thug.

I pointed down at the sheet of paper on the counter. “I need you to sign here and here.”

I stared at her pinch braids while she signed. They looked like she had just gotten them done. It would have cost her at least one fifty, but she didn’t have money to feed her kids. Did I tell you women like her made me sick?

After she left, I went and took a bathroom break and checked my makeup on the way out, making sure I was still looking good. I was. Before going into the office, I went outside to get a newspaper from the rack out front. It was the week before the Martin Luther King holiday and cold as hell. I dug a quarter out of my pocket and was shivering as I reached for my paper. I was moving back into the building when I spotted Cimon climbing into a bad-ass midnight blue Lincoln Navigator. Before she could pull out of the parking lot, I memorized the license plate, which was easy. CIMON. That bitch thought she was slick. Just wait until she tries to swipe her EBT card and comes up short. You got to get up very early in the morning to fool me.