Night Two
Hamdulillah wa Mashallah you are safe, my beloved. I am so pleased and blessed by your presence. I am so glad that I and the food have pleased you. I have tried my best but sometimes our best just isn’t enough.
Sit back and relax, my love. Take from the sweets and drinks as you wish. I shall provide a recap to refresh your memory and then continue my story.
The family was shattered by divorce. Mr Dick remarried. Miss Lena got a job in a very supportive and safe factory. She was doing well even though she worried for her children.
The son, Mr Rick was institutionalized after a horrific car accident almost took his life. Miss Marie was off at college.
Miss Beverly was living on her own and had no contact with her family. Her boyfriend had threatened to kill her, her family and her friends if she didn’t do as he instructed. She had been beaten and raped repeatedly for her disobedience. She had just lost another job. He had come over demanding food, money and sex. Miss Beverly tried to appease him but she didn’t have any money. She prayed to God to help her through the night.
Miss Beverly watched as he slept. He had drank so much beer that he had passed out after eating, beating and raping her. She watched the clock so that she wouldn’t deviate from the routine. Although she didn’t have her job anymore and was on the verge of eviction, she needed to make him believe that everything was fine. She just couldn’t handle being beaten any more savagely than the usual.
She tiptoed around so as not to wake him praying to get out the door before he woke up. When the clock struck six, she carefully left her apartment and walked towards her former job. She kept focused but casually checked to see if he was following her. She had become accustomed to glancing at car mirrors or certain windows to see if anyone was behind her. When she arrived, she just kept on walking. She never stopped nor looked back.
When she was on the other side of town, a help wanted sign caught her attention and kept her from marching forward. She decided to go inside and inquire. Fuzzy owned a nightclub and needed another waitress. She lost the last one to marriage. It was a common theme.
Miss Beverly introduced herself to Fuzzy and inquired about the job. She was hardworking and eager but homeless. Fuzzy noticed the bruises in various states of healing that she tried to hide. Miss Fuzzy was a no nonsense Detroiter and businesswoman. She liked to know what she was getting into.
“What happened?” Miss Fuzzy inquired while pointing to one of her bruises.
Miss Beverly instinctively hid it, “I just fell. It’s fine.”
“Hell it is. Someone has been using you as a punching bag.”
“It’s okay.”
“If someone is going to be coming after you, I need to know about it. I protect my business and everyone in it. I can’t have someone coming in here causing trouble. We’ve all got stories. I still limp from my first husband breaking my leg. So what’s yours?”
Miss Beverly finally broke down and explained her situation. She didn’t know what to do but she couldn’t stay where she was. She needed a job to support herself while on the run.
Miss Fuzzy had helped other women and decided that Miss Beverly was worth taking a chance on. She had a bedroom upstairs that was used as storage and needed to be cleaned out. Miss Beverly could stay there after they cleaned it out and work in the nightclub to support herself.
There were armed guards and bartenders who kept it safe. If her abuser showed up, they’d handle him. Miss Fuzzy herself was an expert markswoman and was never without her revolver. She had a room just down the hall and was a light sleeper. Nobody would harm her on her watch.
The pair cleaned up the room as they got to know each other and formulate a plan to get her belongings. Miss Fuzzy took Miss Beverly’s key and address before introducing her to the staff. They showed her the ropes as Miss Fuzzy got to work. She called up some men who were willing to help a lady out.
They went to the apartment and hauled everything out. They looked for any signs of trouble or a tail on the way back. Just to be sure, they made a few side trips before pulling up to the nightclub. They hauled everything upstairs and put the bed together so that Miss Beverly could sleep.
After a good day’s rest, Miss Beverly got to work as a cocktail waitress in earnest. She was nothing like the tough and rowdy Detroiters who frequented Miss Fuzzy’s establishment. Men would pinch her or slap her butt with little to no admonishment. The others would sometimes intervene and tell her to not take that crap. She watched how the others earned the respect of the patrons but didn’t have that same confidence.
One night a customer was making the usual rude comments with pinches and slaps for hours. Miss Beverly took it in stride. When he finally paid his tab, he told her to keep the change and grabbed her butt while hooting and hollering to his friends. Miss Beverly thanked him and went to the register to check him out and put whatever change he left for a tip in her pocket.
“Why do you put up with that crap?” a coworker asked at the register.
“I need this job. I have nowhere else to go. Fuzzy was so kind to me. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Fuck that bullshit. I would’ve accidentally spilled a pitcher on him to cool his horny ass off.”
“Oh, no. Is he still here?”
“Did that fucker stiff you? I see him. Over there.”
“Good. He accidentally gave me a $100 bill instead of a ten.” With that Miss Beverly ran over to point out the error.
“Sir, I think that you gave me the wrong amount?”
“You think that I’m going to fall for that bullshit. I even gave you a fucking tip, you lousy cunt. You didn’t deserve one but I took pity on you.”
The customer continued to admonish her as she tried to explain while holding the $100 bill in her hand. Word had spread throughout the staff. Miss Fuzzy came over with two bodyguards.
“What seems to be the problem, sir?”
“This fucking cunt of a waitress is trying to scam me. She oughta be fired immediately!” The spit from his venom landed on Miss Beverly’s arm.
“Bev, what’s going on here?” Miss Fuzzy asked.
“I was trying to explain that he gave me too much money. I’m sure that he meant to give me a ten but I got this. I was trying to return it.”
Miss Fuzzy grabbed the bill and showed it to the gentleman. He went to grab it but she pulled it away causing the bodyguards to step forward. “I believe that you owe my waitress an apology first.”
“I’m sorry. Usually you bitches are always trying to scam people.”
“Thank you for the apology. Just so you don’t forget about acting like a jackass. You also did tell her to keep the change. Bev can have this tip. Not many would’ve put up with your foul mouth and grabby hands for hours on end only to try to return a $100 tip. Hopefully you’ll make better decisions in the future.”
“Fuck you too, bitch! I ain’t coming in this dump anymore. I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
“We appreciate it, sir.”
As he stormed off Miss Fuzzy handed her the money as the staff and patrons applauded. Miss Fuzzy whispered to Miss Beverly to meet her after her shift for a chat.
That night the two closed down the bar together. Miss Fuzzy poured them both shots to ease the tension and get down to some hard truths.
“You’re a great employee but this ain’t no damn country club, Bev. This is a bar and people become assholes. You need to start learning how to fight back. You were strong enough to get here, you’re strong enough to demand respect. I don’t like seeing nobody get hurt by anybody who isn’t deserving of it. That fucker tonight deserved it. Maybe he’ll think twice about doing that shit again.
If nobody stands up to these people, they’re just going to keep at it and maybe next time it won’t be so easily resolved. You accepting it effects everyone in this bar and out there. You’ve gotta look out for others like we do for you. That’s how life works.
If you can’t stand up for yourself, you have no business working here. If you can’t work here, I’ll help you find someplace better suited for you. I know it ain’t for everyone. You’ll always have a home here though. We’ve all got our own battle scars and stories. We understand. We’re family. Okay?
Now you try to get some rest. When you’re ready, we’ll talk some more.”
Miss Beverly crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep. She felt like she had failed yet again. She didn’t know what to do. It had only been a few months. She didn’t know what he might do if he found her. She felt safe at Fuzzy’s but rarely ventured far. She was still terrified.
The next afternoon another cocktail waitress came in for her shift and went back to talk to Miss Fuzzy. She reemerged and took off her apron. “Come on Bev, Fuzzy’s got a job for us. Get your things and meet me in the parking lot,” was all that Miss Diane said before walking out the door. She didn’t even wait for a response. Miss Beverly rushed to meet her.
“Diane, what’s going on?”
“Get in the car. We’ll talk on the way.”
The car was idling at the entrance with the windows down. Miss Diane was in the driver’s seat smoking a cigarette. As Miss Beverly got in she turned on the radio which blasted Aretha Franklin’s hit “Respect.” She put it in drive and sped away.
Miss Diane wasn’t exactly a talker but more of a doer. With the radio blaring, conversation was difficult so the pair simply enjoyed the drive through the city streets on a beautiful summer day listening to Motown’s hitmakers.
Miss Diane briefly said that she had to pick up her daughter as they flew over potholes and headed south. They rolled up the windows when they hit Ecorse with the stench of the smelting plants. They pulled up to a rundown house near the river.
“Come on. I’ll need your help. It’ll be quick. Just leave your things,” Miss Diane coolly said. Miss Beverly didn’t even notice her grab the tire iron next to her seat as she exited the still idling vehicle.
Miss Diane pounded on the door. A man answered in a wife beater and shorts with an attitude to match. “What the fuck do you want?” was his response as he flung open the door. He saw Miss Diane, tire iron in hand and said, “Oh, shit.”
Miss Diane pushed her way inside before he could slam the door shut while screaming, “Carla!” When she didn’t see her, she turned her attention to the man with the tire iron in her hand flashing in the sunlight. “Where’s Carla, fucker?”
When he didn’t respond quickly enough, she shoved him against the door with the tire iron firmly held against his throat. He murmured, “Upstairs.”
“Go get her Bev while I keep this gentleman occupied,” Miss Diane ordered.
Bev skirted past the pair and flew upstairs to find Carla. She sheepishly called her name as she ran up the stairs. She saw the bathroom door open and peeked inside while continuing to call for her. She didn’t have to go far. A voice murmured from the next room, “Over here.”
She went inside to find a woman bloodied and bruised from head to toe. She ran to her side and tried to gingerly help her up. There was a bag and purse on the bed that she grabbed. Soon Miss Beverly was helping her down the stairs with one arm and carrying her belongings in the other.
You could hear the breath escape from Miss Diane at the sight of her daughter. No tears would come. He wasn’t worthy of seeing her pain. She leaned harder into the tire iron on his neck and asked, “Did you do that, fucker?”
He wisely didn’t answer as Bev and Carla maneuvered past them and into the car. Once they were safely inside, Miss Diane released the tire iron’s grip from his neck. He grabbed his throat and tried to catch his breath while calling her a bitch.
Miss Diane pulled back her arm and swung the tire iron into his ribs with all of her might. She heard his ribs crack but he didn’t fall. She gave him a few more blows until he dropped. Once he did, she wiped his blood off the tire iron with his wife beater before running back to the car.
She slid the tire iron beside her seat as she got behind the wheel and threw it into reverse. A neighbor had come out and watched as they pulled away. They needed to get far enough away before the police arrived. She didn’t care to deal with the police. It didn’t matter that Carla was a bloody mess. She was a domestic matter. It wasn’t the concern of police. Diane beating a man with a tire iron was assault with a deadly weapon or attempted murder though.
Miss Beverly was in the backseat trying to make Miss Carla as comfortable as possible while attending to her wounds. Miss Diane had a first aid kit under the passenger seat that aided in her efforts.
Once Miss Diane noticed that they weren’t being followed and out of the city limits, she kept glancing at them in the rear view mirror. “How’s she doing, Bev? How bad is it?”
Oh, my love. I am so sorry but I can’t finish my story. It is time for morning prayers. I must go. Thank you for letting me entertain you. I wish that we had more time together but I understood everything before asking to be your wife, if only for a moment.
I love you and pray that you are happy and healthy for the rest of your days.
Good morning and goodbye, my love. I will be waiting for you in heaven.
With that I left to wash and pray. I noticed my favored neighbor and companion enter the building’s prayer room as I finished my prayers. She was surely taking me to the gallows. I said, “Salam alaykum,” in all directions before rising to greet her.
“Ahlan wa Sahlan. Salam alaykum,” I said welcoming her while putting my hands on her shoulders and kissing her cheeks. “I am ready, my friend.”
She smiled brightly and said, “I am simply to tell you that Uncle Sam will return in a few days to hear more.”
I embraced her once more before asking what she might like for breakfast. We sat on the balcony with our coffee and bagels enjoying one more day of life. I am truly blessed. I have given my people more time to escape. I am at peace because
Every life matters, especially yours.
God bless Nebraska and especially Her people.
