last RESORT

  By:  Felicia A Roberts (FAR)

 

Her feet wobbled unexpectedly as she walked the familiar path she had traveled just seconds ago.  What she wouldn’t do for a drink.  But she had only been able to take a quarter dozen of her favorite stout with her.  That’s all she could afford.  It was her final investment with her last three hundred dollars. She went through them like a chain smoker.

 

“Shit!” She swore as she stumbled on a stone of immense proportions.  But she had to keep going.  She chose the security of the sidewalk, somewhat unpaved and sporadic by nature of paved entrances, against the menace of a drunk or mischievous driver.  Up then down; up again, down again; up … down …. up; she had learnt the uncomfortable way that to stop in any one location would deem that location hers and she had no such autonomy, excepting that of her person; that and her right of freedom to move about as she wished.  Yes, she had won that battle but she could sense the impending war.

 

Braemar Avenue stretched approximately eighty yards and was home to many businesses, many of which had locked shop hours ago.  Now, in the dark silence of midnight, patrons were disseminating fast from the two establishments that offered men and women, the luxury of each others company, some entertainment and alcoholic contents in a glass.  Some were lucky if they managed to escape with money in their pockets between the exotic dancers, slot machines, poker and domino games, not to mention the indulging waiters, waitresses and bartenders.  She waited in ambush for the fall-out.  

 

It was two hours since she arrived and still nothing.  She questioned the wisdom of her location.  But others had been more successful, leaving and returning only to leave again.  Great!  She thought disheartened.  With her luck, this business might need time to grow, develop and prosper, and time was something she did not have.  Tomorrow she would have to send her son to school and she did not even have the fare needed for him to take the bus. 

 

Nowadays, it was the norm not to send him to school at all.  He had never carried cooked food a day in his life and without the proper packaging it would spoil or worse, spill.  She remembered in her days that was never a concern.  Lunch was an imposition.  The traditional bulgar rice provided by the school feeding programme was never an option; hunger was preferred.  It would be different for her son however.  She chided herself that tonight she would not fail, she had a son to feed; to take care of. 

 

Last month was his 8^th birthday and for the first time she had no gift, no cake, no celebration.  She had called his father a month in advance and asked for his help.  He had said he would see what he could do.  That answer sufficed for a week till she called again and got a more definite positive response.  But the birthday came and went and James had to face the disappointment to which she had grown accustomed. 

 

James was fast becoming the angry little man.  These days, he would shout at her, ignore her and defy her.  He blamed her for everything.  His father didn’t send them money because she didn’t ask.  His father didn’t visit because she cursed too much.  His father didn’t love her because she was plain stupid . . .  ugly even.  He even told her, she was the reason she lost her job.  Because she talked back too much and needed to talk less often.  James had suggested, in one of his helpful moods, that she ‘play nice’ with her employers and fellow employees.  Albeit, he was right about her work attitude and things had progressed too far in the negative for her to make a genuine effort to be positive without it being seen as anything more than a smokescreen.

 

Acquiring jobs and losing jobs were equally uncomplicated for her.  The difficulty was office politics and keeping a stiff upper lip.  If she had things to do all over again, she knew she would do them very differently.

 

“Don’t worry baby, mommy is going to fix everything,” she whispered encouragingly to herself.  Thoughtlessly, she removed the luminous knee length white jacket which had made her two-piece tiger print shorts set imaginary; her skin was chocolate smooth and seemingly blemish-free; her legs exquisitely shaped were partly hidden in knee high boots. 

 

There was an abominable screeching of tires and she shrieked around to find that a black BMW tinted to obscurity had stopped within three feet of her.  She had a momentary lapse and apprehension set in.  Were the occupants about to kidnap her?  What was she going to do? 

 

She folded her arms instinctively across her mid-section and stood her ground; concealing her fear she let her gaze wonder to the windscreen and beyond.  There was only one occupant.  The fear dissipated as this reality greatly increased her odds to protect herself; that is if he did not have a gun or a knife or something.

 

“Oh!”  She groaned inwardly.  She had forgotten about that, the treacherous nature of her new job.  How could she?  Her own experience as a hottie out on the town was a lesson in the necessity for self defense aids; she recalled how her effortless confidence had attracted imperious characters of her own volition.  She should have gotten herself some pepper spray, a knife . . . something.  A chill went up her spine.  She wondered what would be the nature of those she marketed her wares to.

 

The car inched slowly forward until she was aligned with the passenger side.  Expectantly she bent her frame to allow her to look face to face with the driver as the window slid down.

 

“Want to make some money?”  He asked.  She did not miss the absence of courtesy.  It was something to which she knew she would never grow accustomed.  Her dreams were hinged on . . . hinged on . . .

 

She wondered what would become of her and all her dreams.  They were so many; one time, she tried lawn tennis.  Her father worked at a hotel and had set up an arrangement with one of the instructors there when she was eighteen.  She attended three sessions before refusing to be treated with the type of indifference that she now understood to be a simple process of prioritization. 

 

Then, she had wanted to change all that was wrong with her world – her country – as she knew it.  She realized that its’ erroneous nature was embedded in the its’ Constitution; to change the law meant commitment.

 

Also, there was the ever present hope of becoming “A Star”, if only she could master her voice lessons which had ended long before her insolvency set in. 

 

Then she realized . . . she had never committed herself long enough to any one thing yet she wanted to be great at it.  All her life had brought her to this place and time. 

 

“Goodnight,” she began in the sexiest voice her vocals could muster, “Tell me how high and maybe I’ll jump . . . on it,” she purred as she leaned appropriately friendly towards the open window being careful not to rest her hands on the vehicle.  She hoped he didn’t want anything out of the ordinary.  She had brought flavoured condoms but she had never used them and hoped she never would.

 

“Come around.”  He nudged his head signaling he wanted her by his door.  She straightened up and tried not to look like a ‘new ho’.  That could lead to some serious disadvantages she did not want to think about.  A smile in tow she made sure steady steps.  Her head hung at an angle, her long locks swung freely, invitingly; so sexual a move that it belied the irony of her thoughts as she wondered why she couldn’t keep a decent, respectable job.

 

 Self-employment was the new age employer.  Especially for persons blessed with her personality; eager to point out flaws in company policies and plans; crying foul when managers did not ‘play fair’.  Maybe she would succeed at being her own boss. Here she was, the broke owner of a car.  She drove herself here but the needle on the fuel gage questioned the possibility of her driving herself home.

 

“Heeeeeeeeeeyyy sexy,” his voice pulled her from her reverie as his hand reached and found her belly which tightened automatically in repulsion for his innate double standard and his ability to treat her like merchandise.  Otherwise, he was a good looking man, light pigment skin, hair of pedigree, probably well to do.  The kind, who would never offer her - the simple type - a second glance without her having stamped a strapping first impression.  In all probability he could be an owner or manager of some successful business with a wife of equal repute that sees sex exclusive to the missionary position.  Humoured by her thoughts she smiled.

 

“Yeah!”  He smiled approvingly at the ripples in her stomach and his gaze traveled down her toned legs. 

There wasn’t much to disapprove of.  At thirty-one, she had the body of a teenager; borne out of years on the swimming team, netball team, hockey team and ultimately her dedication to keep it that way.  Religiously she would get up and jog in the mornings and sometimes at night.  Then after each jog session she would concentrate on erasing what childbirth and age wanted to impose on her by doing squats, abdominals and stretches.  What’s not to like?  She had no problems attracting members of the opposite sex.  No, her problem hinged on attracting ambitious driven men who would want to commit to a life with her.  Then there was the problem of their lack of respect.  She would have none of that.  Her body was her source of pride and she would decide who got it and when.  She ran her hands up and down the length of her sides.  She deserved a good price.

 

What was that by the way?  She thought to herself and made a mental note to herself not to be too cheap.

 

“Get in!”  It was an order.  She could feel the wheels of defiance kicking in and her tongue lifted as her lips cracked.

 

“What . . .” It was scarcely a whisper that passed unnoticed with the simultaneous click indicating the central locking feature had made provision for her entrance on the passenger side of the car.  That was her answer; she had heard the two words that now stood to make or break her in this business. 

 

This wasn’t the type of business you played by air or was it.  Had she been propositioned?  If yes, what would be expected of her?  Was she going to be paid and where would he be taking her?  For how long would he be contracting her services?  James would need to be sent off to school in the morning.  What if, she weren’t there to send him off to school in time . . .  or . . .  ever again for that matter.  Then he would really hate her for doing this stupid, stupid demoralizing thing.  Better he had her than no mother at all.  Better he had a mother who understood and performed her responsibility.

 

With a sense of urgency she made her way to the passenger side and got in.  This was a sale she had to make. 

 

Sales, she smiled at the thought.  It employed a hit ratio of 1 in 10.  She never did have the nervous system for that type of job.  Her tolerance for what she was about to do was questionable.  She prayed her ratio had increased tremendously.

 

Seated for the first time in a BMW she felt totally out of her element.  He did not speak as he negotiated the car away from the sidewalk and continued up the road.  The preciseness of German engineering was evident in the quiet speed that took her out of familiar territory into the unfamiliar. 

 

It wasn’t a plush setting but a very far cry from the slum.  If anything it was understated wealth.  The kind you would have to know the background of, do your research, know your names; the trace the family tree kind of rich.  Finally, they came to a halt outside an apartment complex with looming electronic gates.  He pointed a remote and the gate opened.

 

It was a small apartment building, three floors.  There were four doors per floor.  She noticed there were two stairs, one to either side.

 

He disembarked inviting her to do the same and when she stood, she felt small in comparison to his 6ft 2 inches tall frame.

 

“Come,” he said.  The unnatural movement of her steps did not go unnoticed.  She looked down at her feet only to see that she had moved only a fraction of a step.

 

“Come,” he said before he added, “I’m on the second floor, third door.”  Then he went off to the right and bounced up the steps without further ado. 

 

The grounds promised a spectacle for daytime viewing.  Dewfall brought her senses alive with the smell of plant life; she could detect the smell of fresh roses blended with moist freshly cut grass.  She noticed what looked like cherry coloured mahogany doors set in walls done in a welcoming crème that defied pastel.  Above each door were triangular glass fillings intermingled with wood and the knobs where a deep bronze.  The stair continued with the richness of red wine-stained covered handrail, while the floor was a strange exquisite mixture of marble tile and granite.  Unwittingly her feet beckoned by her eyes followed his lead.

 

He stood just inside the door as she passed and then pushed it shut.