Borrow Trouble. Mary Monroe

      Debra gave me an exasperated look, but then, a split second later, she looked at me with pity. “Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?”

      I nodded.

      “Let me tell you something about those other women. Jail is a blessing to most of them.” Debra sniffed. “So many of them are homeless or involved with men who mistreat them. They have no families to turn to. It is very dangerous on the streets doing what they do. In jail, they have food and shelter, and medical attention if they need it. They look forward to spending a few months, or years, in jail. It’s a bleak life to those like you and me, but so many people are not as fortunate as you and me.”

      Shaking my head, I said, “How should I plead?”

      “Like I’ve already told you, you can plead not guilty and spend up to a year in jail, anyway, while awaiting trial. Or you can plead no contest, or guilty, and accept your sentence.”

      “They told me that I’d have to do three months if I plead guilty. There is no way I can survive three months in jail down here.” At this point, it didn’t make much difference to me if I had to face three months or a year in jail. I couldn’t imagine doing either one.

      “Shhhh. The judge is about to speak.” Debra smiled, then gripped my hand. “Let’s hope for the best.”

      As soon as the judge opened his mouth, I sucked in my breath and held it.

      “Renee Denise Webb, you have been charged with the crime of prostitution. How do you plead?” the judge asked. His deep, gravelly voice was like the boom of a cannon and seemed to bounce off of the walls. There was not one thing that I liked about this man. He had that smug look I’d seen on the faces of foreigners on the six o’clock news. The angry ones in a position where they could get back at the American government by taking out their wrath on any American.

      I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t get any words out until Debra jabbed me in my side with her elbow. “Uh…guilty, Your Honor,” I said, almost choking on my words. That’s the last thing I remember, because I fainted. When I came to, in the same infirmary, in the same detention center that they’d taken me to the first time I’d fainted, Debra Retner and two guards were standing by the side of the cot. My forehead was throbbing. I reached up and felt a knot the size of a jawbreaker, which had formed a few inches above my right eye.

      “What happened?” I asked, looking at Debra.

      Before she responded, she waved the two guards out of the room. Then she sat on the side of the cot, blinking hard.

      “As soon as the judge announced your sentence, you fainted and fell face first against the edge of the table. That’s how you injured yourself. You’ll have to return to the courtroom tomorrow to face the judge again. Hopefully, you will remain lucid until he passes sentence again and invites you to comment.”

      “If he’s already sentenced me, I don’t need to go back to that courtroom,” I protested, still rubbing the knot on my forehead. It didn’t take long for it to become as numb as the rest of my body.

      “The court has to be thorough. You fainted before the judge had finished making his comments. I guess this is not your day,” Debra said in a weary voice. “I guess the judge is having a bad day, too. He wants to make an example of you….”

      “I have to spend three months down here in prison?” I asked, struggling to sit up.

      Debra dropped her head and nodded.

      “I did all I could do for you. I am so very sorry, Mrs. Webb.” Debra’s eyes were red and swollen. It was obvious that she’d had a bad night herself. She had lost her daughter to a system that few people could understand. Now she was losing me, too. To another system that few people could understand.

      CHAPTER 7

      Unlike a lot of the Black girls that I knew growing up in Ohio, near Cleveland, I had a pretty good life. Even after my daddy died from stomach cancer when I was thirteen. Mama was eight months pregnant with my baby sister, Frankie, at the time. I missed my daddy, but I was thankful that I still had Mama and a lot of other relatives in the area.

      Mama always made sure I had everything I needed. She collected Social Security for Frankie and me, but she also worked part time. Frankie and I never had to wear secondhand clothes or eat meals purchased with food stamps.

      I put myself through college by working three part-time jobs and falling back on a couple of student loans. That was enough, but Mama still insisted on doing all she could for me. “I don’t want nobody running around here feeling sorry for us,” Mama told me more times than I could count.

      There were times when all Mama could spare was some loose change. She wouldn’t take no for an answer when I tried to refuse to take it from her, telling me, “These few pennies ain’t much, but it’s a few pennies more than you got.” I was lucky that I’d been raised by a generous and caring woman like Mama. It made me have a lot of hope in mankind.

      My love life was average, but by the time I’d finished college, I was ready to settle down and start a family. Mama had told me that it would be nice to settle down with a man who could take care of me, but she expected me to always be able to support myself, too. I looked forward to my future.

      I had just started teaching second grade at Butler Elementary when I met Inez McPherson. The year before, she had opened Soulful Nails, the first Black-owned nail shop in our neighborhood. It was in a strip mall between the office of a gynecologist and a popular beauty shop, so there was a steady stream of women in the area at all times. Business was good for Inez. The shop was always neat and clean. There was a large TV, reading material, and restroom facilities to accommodate her customers. And most of them tipped well.

      Other than our nails, Inez and I didn’t have much in common. But we hit it off right away. I enjoyed her company a lot more than I enjoyed the company of my other friends and my family. I was twenty-two, and she was the only person in my life who treated me like an adult at the time. Mama had a key to my place, and she’d sneak in during the week to do my laundry and clean the little one-bedroom apartment I rented above a candy store. No matter how much I told her not to, she never left my place without leaving a pot of something that she’d cooked on my stove. “Girl, you ought to be glad I come over here and cook you a mess of greens every week,” she’d tell me. “This way, I know you eating at least one decent meal every week.” I didn’t like to argue with my mother. I rarely won, anyway. No matter what the outcome, it did me more harm than good. She eventually started cooking for me two times a week. I was lucky to have a mother who cared so much about me. And, I was lucky to have Inez. I had most of my fun during that time because of Inez. If she wasn’t the one giving a party, she always knew where a good party was being held. It didn’t take long for me to regard Inez as the big sister that I’d always wanted.

      “Baby girl, I want you and that fine-ass man of yours to come to my engagement party next Saturday night,” Inez told me a couple of months after we’d become friends. Inez was twenty-five at the time. Technically speaking, she was not a classic beauty. She had dull brown eyes and a slight overbite. When she turned to the side, her lips protruded like a carp’s. But she had beautiful bronze skin and a decent head of black hair, which she’d bleached blond years before blond hair on a Black woman became popular. She’d had matching blond hair weaved into her own.

      Inez was tall and nicely built. I was almost as tall as Inez, but not as shapely. With my big brown eyes and round face, a lot of people described me as cute, or even pretty. But I’d never been called beautiful.

      I dropped into Inez’s nail shop after work and on weekends on a regular basis, whether I needed my nails done or not. One thing that had attracted me to Inez was the fact that she lived such a fascinating life compared to mine. The first time I saw her, she had on a T-shirt that said: WHEN GOD CREATED ME, HE WAS SHOWING OFF.

      “Engagement party? Engagement for what? You’re already married,” I said, amused. One thing I could say was that with Inez, there was never a dull moment.

      “It’s