Supporting the Girls Read online

  Melissa stared at her in disbelief. “I don’t really think his spelling is our biggest concern.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. We should really worry about who we’re going to get to come wash it off on short notice.”

  “In this neighborhood, no one,” said Melissa. “It won’t wash off, anyway. Go park. I’ve got a contingency plan for this.”

  Nikki eyed her speculatively for a minute. “Good to hear.”

  Melissa made some phone calls after they got into the building and then ordered pizza for 11:30.

  “Don’t you usually bring your lunch?” asked Nikki, coming out of the break room and catching sight of the pizza logo on Melissa’s screen.

  “The pizza isn’t for me; it’s for my graffiti specialists.”

  “You have graffiti specialists?” asked Nikki.

  “You apparently have rat specialists,” countered Melissa. “Why can’t I have graffiti experts?”

  Nikki laughed as her phone began to ring. “Hey,” she said picking up. “Yeah, we saw it. Nope, it’s taken care of. Melissa has a specialist on it.” Nikki paused to wink at her and Melissa wasn’t sure if she was being made fun of or invited in on a joke, so she straightened some papers and went to the break room for cleaning supplies. She was still scraping paint off the glass when Judd showed up.

  “Somebody doesn’t like you,” he said, taking the pick out of his Afro and fluffing his hair absent-mindedly.

  “Yeah,” said Melissa, looking up at him. “I noticed.”

  Judd looked around the neighborhood. “You’re trying to do a good thing, but maybe you should think about moving.”

  “No,” Melissa said firmly.

  “Okay,” he said, nodding as if she had pronounced some infinite truth and he had accepted it. “It’s a big wall; I’ll need my crew if you want me to do it by the end of the day.”

  “Not a problem. I already calculated you into this quarter’s budget.”

  He grinned, his face lighting up the way she’d seen it do when they’d met at the art gallery showing his work.

  “Now I remember why I liked you,” he said.

  “Because I can actually pay?” she asked tartly.

  “Well, there’s that,” he said. “What kind of piece did you want on here?” He waved his hand at the building. Melissa turned to look and stared heavily at the word “bitch.”

  “Pretty much the opposite of what’s on there now,” she said. “I want something that brings people up. I don’t really care after that. All of your stuff at the gallery felt like that—really energized. I want that.”

  “I can do that,” he said smiling again. Melissa found herself smiling back. “So tell me, what’s this place about? What’s the main goal?” He walked along the front of the building, feeling the wall.

  “Our mission is to help girls,” said Melissa.

  “Why girls?” he asked curiously. “Why not boys, too?”

  “Carrie Mae’s main focus is on women, and their charity arm, which is what I work for—I don’t actually work for the cosmetic company—wanted to try a problem-prevention approach, rather than having to solve a problem after it’s been created. So we’re focusing on getting girls to stay in school. Research indicates that if you educate girls, they make more money, have babies later, and have fewer children. Which means that they spend more time with the children they do have and can reinforce an ethic of education and hard work within the next generation. You want to help a population? Educate girls.”

  “You’re pretty passionate about this job, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “I will be, if I can ever get some girls to help,” said Melissa, trying not to sound as hopeless as she felt.

  “Hey Melissa,” said Nikki, sticking her head out the door. “You’re needed on the phone.”

  “Right,” said Melissa, ducking inside. It was her fully certified child-care worker telling her that she was going to be taking another job—she just couldn’t wait for Melissa any longer. Melissa tried to pay attention, but mostly she watched Nikki standing outside and talking to Judd. That white girl was flirting. Well, maybe not flirting, exactly, but she was being awfully nice to him. Melissa grimaced and pulled herself back to her phone call just in time to say goodbye politely and hang up the phone in dejection. She felt like crying.

  “Oh my God,” said Nikki, coming back inside, rubbing her gloveless hands together and then her arms. “He is adorable! You’re single, right? You broke up with that Dylan douche, like, months ago, right? Because I told Judd you were a footloose single gal who liked dudes. Well, I put it less white than that, but I said you were single and managed to imply that you were not a lesbian.”

  “He asked if I was single?” asked Melissa, her voice rising.

  “Yeah!” said Nikki, doing a little happy dance. “He’s totally into you!”

  “Wait, when did I tell you about Dylan?” asked Melissa.

  “Never mind that,” said Nikki. “You should go talk to Judd.”

  “I don’t know . . .” said Melissa, but Nikki was already shoving her out the door.

  When Judd and his crew finished up around five o’clock, the building front was alive in colors, and a giant koi fish swam through a tangle of blue and green, completely covering the graffiti. Melissa loved it.

  “It looks awesome,” said Nikki, as Melissa locked up for the day.

  “It does, doesn’t it?” asked Melissa, pleased with herself. “Let’s just hope no one paints over it.”

  “Yeah, it’s totally dry, right?” asked Nikki, waiting as Melissa locked the back door, too. “I mean, it’s okay if it gets wet?”

  “He said it was rainproof,” said Melissa, with a shrug. “Why?”

  “No reason,” said Nikki. “See you tomorrow.”

  The next day, Melissa struggled to line up a new child-care person. Nikki was a no-show. Melissa wondered bitterly, as she dialed another number for someone she probably couldn’t afford or who probably already had a job, where Nikki was.

  “Hey,” said a blonde walking in the front door; it jangled as it was jerked open and Melissa jumped, startled. The blonde was dressed in neighborhood-appropriate winter wear, but there wasn’t much that could disguise her American Dream good looks. “Is Nikki in?”

  “Uh, no. Not yet. Are you a friend of hers?”

  The blonde looked at her pityingly. “You really haven’t worked with Carrie Mae very long, have you?”

  “Well, forgive me,” said Melissa icily, “but selling makeup wasn’t really something I aspired to when my mother sent me to Columbia.”

  “Yeah, that’s not what I did in Colombia, either,” said the blonde.

  “What?” asked Melissa. She and the blonde exchanged stares.

  “Never mind, wrong Columbia. How’s it in here with the . . . office-y stuff? Mrs. Simply still flipping you shit?” She perched on the edge of the desk and flapped her hands at the pile of spreadsheets in front of Melissa.

  Melissa snorted in annoyance. “Yes. I just got another email from Mavis, reiterating that I have until the end of the month to show progress, which is now less than two weeks away.” She wanted to add that it was less than two weeks away and Nikki, the purported security expert, had not produced any apparent results. The rat gambit had moved the gang temporarily, but they were back this morning as if they had never left.

  “Mrs. Simply,” said the blonde, correcting Melissa. “It’s company policy. If you’re married, you’re a Mrs.”

  “You have got to be shitting me,” said Melissa, bluntly.

  “I shit you not,” said the blonde. “Mrs. Simply, the Queen Bitch-Cow herself, must be referred to as Mrs.”

  “That is archaic and ridiculous,” said Melissa, slamming her papers together on the desk.

  “Well, we all have to pick our battles,” the blonde said with a shr
ug.

  There was a sharp bang from across the street, and a fountain of white exploded across the view through the door.

  “What the hell was that?” demanded Melissa, jumping out of her seat, her heart thumping in her chest.

  “So hard to know,” said the blonde, without moving from her perch. “Could be practically anything.”

  “Hey, Jen,” said Nikki, sliding in the back door. “How’s it going?”

  “You tell me,” said the blonde, gesturing to the front door.

  Melissa looked from Nikki to the blonde and then went to see what was causing the rushing noise outside.

  Behind Melissa, Nikki chuckled. “Jenny, you are a machine! I think you timed that down to the second.”

  “Of course,” replied the blonde. “Because I’m awesome.”

  The street was awash with water gushing from a fire hydrant. Water was sluicing into the street and the convenience store parking lot. Given that the temperature was below zero, the street would undoubtedly be a sheet of ice within an hour, and the gang kids and their customers were already leaving the area.

  Through the artificial rain, Marquis D’Shawn began to walk toward them. Icy water dripped off his face, but he gave no recognition of the temperature. He walked right up to the glass door; Melissa wanted to move but found herself stuck to the floor, just as her tongue was to the roof of her mouth. He was mere inches away from her, separated only by what she was increasingly thinking of as an inadequate layer of glass.

  He was taller than she was, even in her heels; thick-necked, with burn scars on his face; and he had a tattoo she couldn’t quite read creeping over the edge of his jacket collar. He scared her. He scared her in a way that made her feel like a victim. His knuckles were flattened and scarred, and he had “F-U-C-K” tattooed on the fingers. He scared her because he was going to hurt her and they both knew it. His hand reached for the door handle.

  “No,” said Melissa firmly and loudly, so that he could hear her even through the glass, and saw his hand hesitate. “This is my place. You are not allowed here.” And she stared at him. She pulled herself up straight, pushed her shoulders back and her chest out, and stared at him. In the distance, a police siren began to wail. The purple Cadillac pulled up and one of the passengers shouted at him.

  Marquis backed up, not turning around, not taking his eyes off her. When he reached the car, he made a gun with his fingers and fired it at her.

  Melissa stayed where she was until the car was out of view. Then she burst into tears. The blonde led her to a chair, and Nikki brought her a cup of water. She accepted it gratefully, her hands shaking. Jenny, the blonde, rubbed her back and made soothing noises while Nikki patted her knee and offered her tissues.

  After a while the tears subsided and Melissa gulped into silence.

  “My aunt said I wasn’t cut out for this,” said Melissa, tossing another tissue in the garbage can.

  “What are you talking about? You did great!” Jenny thumped Melissa on the back.

  “I was . . . I am so scared,” said Melissa. “He scares me.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Nikki. “And you know it. But he doesn’t know it.”

  “I thought about my grandma,” said Melissa. “She could stare down a Mack truck.”

  “Apparently, so can you,” said Jenny with a grin.

  “I don’t think I’m that hard core,” said Melissa, grabbing for another tissue.

  “You’ll learn to be,” said Nikki.

  “That kind of scares me too,” Melissa blurted.

  “Yeah, I know. Try not to think about it,” said Nikki, giving her knee a final pat.

  Phase Three:

  The next morning, Melissa found herself breathing quickly as she stood in front of her mirror, as if she’d jogged up a flight of stairs. Her heart beat erratically as she slipped the backs onto her earrings.

  “I’m OK,” she said to the mirror. “It’s not like he knows who I am or where I live.” Her reflection looked skeptical. Melissa packed her briefcase and lunch, picked up her keys, pulled on her overcoat, and prepared for her three-block walk to the bus stop. She kept meaning to get a car but hadn’t seemed to get around to it, even though she hated the bus ride and always ended up with frozen fingers by the time she got to work. She opened the door and jumped back with a startled yip when she saw Nikki on her stoop, her hand raised, about to knock.

  “Hey,” said Nikki. “I was passing by, thought you might like a ride.”

  “Uh, sure,” said Melissa, fumbling with the house keys and locking the door. “How did you know where I live?”

  “Jane pulled your file before we got here,” said Nikki, her expression amused.

  “Just who is ‘we’?” asked Melissa, sliding into the passenger seat of Nikki’s nondescript sedan. “Who’s Jane? Why hasn’t that Jenny girl come to the Center before if she’s helping you? And what do you mean, my ‘file’? What file?”

  “It’s probably better if you don’t know, don’t you think?” asked Nikki.

  Melissa snorted in frustration. “Why won’t you answer questions?” she demanded.

  “Why do you keep asking questions?” asked Nikki, her eyes twinkling.

  “Because it’s weird!” snapped Melissa. Nikki nodded sympathetically but said nothing, and Melissa lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive. As they drove toward the center, Melissa could see that the gang members had not yet returned to the convenience store, as city workers were still working on the fire hydrant. Melissa felt her butterflies subside slightly.

  “Do you think they’ll stay away this time?” asked Melissa.

  “Do you?” asked Nikki.

  “No, not really.”

  The day was quiet, and Nikki disappeared again around mid-morning. Melissa couldn’t decide if it was better that way or not. By the end of the day, the road crew had finished up and Melissa knew her day of peace and quiet was over; the gang would be back tomorrow.

  And the next morning, so was Nikki—back on her front porch, as if by coincidence.

  “You’re worried D’Shawn is going to come after me, aren’t you?” asked Melissa as she unlocked the center.

  “Did I say that?” asked Nikki.

  “Actions speak louder than words,” said Melissa, going to the front. Sure enough, the gang was back in place.

  “A stitch in time saves nine,” said Nikki.

  “What?”

  “Sorry, I thought we quoting proverbs. How about ‘better safe than sorry’?”

  Melissa shot her a dirty look and went out to check the koi fish mural for defacement. So far, everything was intact. She wondered if it was OK to call Judd and report that fact. Would it seem too desperate?

  She waited until Nikki went out for lunch before calling.

  “Hey,” answered Judd on the second ring, his voice warm. “I was just thinking about calling you.”

  “Yeah?” Melissa felt herself blush. “Did you want to check up on your artwork?” she asked, keeping her tone playful.

  “No, actually. I was thinking I wanted to ask you out for a drink.”

  “Oh.” Melissa, thrown off her script, gaped slightly at the phone.

  “So, uh . . .” he said, clearing his throat, when she’d let the silence drag on too long. “Would you like . . .”

  “Yes!” Melissa exclaimed, getting her voice back. “Yes, I would.”

  “OK, how about Saturday at six?”

  “Sounds great!”

  “I was thinking the 336 Main; it’s on . . .”

  “Three-thirty-sixth and Main,” said Melissa, laughing. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. I’ll meet you there.”

  Melissa hung up the phone with a wave of euphoria, which lasted until she heard a wet smacking sound against the wall of the building. Creeping to the window, she peered out and saw some of
the younger gang members throwing eggs at the Center while the older boys laughed. She jumped as one smacked the window near her head with a crunch that rattled the glass in the frame. Melissa felt a surge of anger and headed for the door, ready to chew off a chunk of someone’s ass.

  “Don’t go out there,” commanded Nikki, just as Melissa reached for the door.

  “They are throwing eggs!”

  “Yeah, and you’re going to let them,” countered Nikki.

  “But . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. It sucks. But we don’t need a confrontation yet.”

  Melissa felt second thoughts creep in. Nikki was right, but . . . Melissa stomped away to the break room without saying anything. Shouldn’t someone be doing some sort of confrontation at some point?

  Twenty minutes later she was still mad, and she found herself pacing between her desk and the door.

  “So, did you make a date with Judd or what?” asked Nikki, her feet propped up on the desk.

  “Yes!” snapped Melissa, glaring at her.

  “Cool!” said Nikki, smiling, refusing to be deterred by Melissa’s bad mood. “When is it?”

  “Saturday. What does it matter?” asked Melissa. “The gang is back and the Center is going to close. I’m going to lose my job; I’m going to have to move in with my dad out in LA, and I’ll spend the rest of my life thinking I’m too fat just because one of my boobs is larger than an Olson twin.”

  Crunching on a Funyun, Nikki laughed, then started to choke. “That’s not going to happen,” she said, taking a sip of water. Her phone chirped a text and she checked it.

  “Really? Really? Because I have to say that so far nothing you’re doing seems to be working, and all it really seems to be doing is pissing them off,” said Melissa.

  “What? You want me to go chase them away for you?” asked Nikki, smirking slightly.

  “Yeah!” snapped Melissa. “That’s exactly what I want to see!”

  “OK,” said Nikki, standing up and tucking her phone into her back pocket. Melissa watched, waiting for Nikki’s bluff to fail, as Nikki walked to the door. But Nikki just kept walking.