And then the boy began to like Vanessa. And Anthony decided that it was better if he just stuck close to his ‘friend’. When Donald complained that Vanessa was a stuck up bitch and his interest became dark, Anthony scrambled to divert his attention to someone else—to Scotty, turning him into the focus of Donald’s dislike for being able to charm the girl.
It wasn’t completely untrue. Anthony hadn’t particularly liked the white kid until Walnut Hills. Scotty stood in the middle of the halls one day and Anthony had seen the lost look that he himself often felt being surrounded by people who had money or a nice home.
He reached out to Scotty and found a friend that looked beyond the confines of Winton Terrace and could talk about philosophy—they even created their own philosophical theory called Existential-ghettoization in which the world outside of the ghetto ceases to exist. They looked at Winton Terrace as a planet with its leaders, warriors and commoners.
It was fun to stretch their imagination and it was easy to become friends, especially when Vanessa was a distant memory for them both. And then Scotty changed. His focus moved from school back to the streets. And Anthony forged ahead with his eyes on the prize, weaning himself from his life in the ghetto—which also included Donald Miller.
Anthony had never told anyone that he suspected Donald was responsible for the Yolanda’s murder. He hoped that he was wrong about his friend, but deep down he knew the truth—that Donald Miller was insane and dangerous.
Anthony looked at Scotty who swiped away at his tears and he wished that he’d had the guts to take a baseball bat to Donald’s head the way he had envisioned so many times in his youth.
“I’ll make things right,” he said softly. He had been saying that to himself since hearing about the attack on Vanessa and the way Scotty had ended the life of the attacker with his own fist. He should have never used his influence over Donald to create a dangerous hostility towards the couple. He should have been a force of peace and calm. He’d done them all wrong and he was intent on making it right.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Happy Thanksgiving.” Juan Carlos slipped sliced turkey onto his son’s plate. There was prison version of turkey and dressing and then there was Juan Carlos’ version. He used the turkey served for dinner but made his own dressing from a box stuffing mix that he doctored up. He used his own instant potatoes and his own canned gravy. Canned cranberry sauce was doctored up with fruit cocktail and he’d managed to create a green bean casserole with nothing but a hotplate.
Juan Carlos made them say grace before they ate and Scotty gave him a wry smile. His father was a praying man when it came to food. But Scotty had seen no mention of God at any other time of the day.
“This is really good,” Scotty said past a mouthful of food.
“Mhm,” JC agreed with his own mouth filled with food.
“Dad, what are you going to do when you get out of jail?”
Juan Carlos looked at him in surprise.
“I mean you can go back to working the streets—but frankly you’re getting too old for that shit.”
Juan Carlos wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Well son, what else do you think I’ll be able to do? Pimping is all I know-“
“Well that’s why they offer all these college courses-“
Juan Carlos scowled and focused on mixing his gravy and potatoes together. “I don’t want a gig as a barber. License plate making is all I know.”
Scotty stared at him until his father looked at him. “You know cooking. You can be a chef.”
Juan Carlos snorted. “You mean I can work as a fry cook in some dumpy diner.”
“No. I mean that you should go to culinary school and become a chef.”
Juan Carlos looked at Scotty with interest. “That cost money, which I ain’t got. And they don’t exactly offer culinary arts here in prison.”
“Why don’t you work in the kitchen? It seems to me that you’d be happy there.”
Juan Carlos shook his head with a smile. “Hell no. I tried it for a while but the place drove me crazy. They did everything wrong. No, I can’t work there.”
“Wow. You’re being picky? You’re a pimp! How can you be so picky?”
“Scotty, pimping is an art, not a job. Besides, you’ll be out of jail before me. How is it going with your appeals?”
Scotty answered while eating. “I’m not sure. They are slow as shit. They just filed the first motions a few days ago. At this rate I’ll be eligible for parole before my case is heard.” He looked at Juan Carlos.
“When you get out will you look into culinary school? Please?”
Juan Carlos’ expression became bemused.
“Fine. I promise. Do you want a pinky swear?”
“I trust you.” Scotty said honestly while finishing his meal.
After a long pause Juan continued eating as well.
“Scotty!” Meghan was grinning even before she reached the consultation room. If it had been Anthony approaching him, Scotty would have been hopeful that it was news about Vanessa. That would be the best Christmas ever. But since Meghan still knew nothing about Anthony’s search for his child and mother he assumed that her news had to do with the motion that they’d filed over a month ago.
He looked behind her.
“Where’s Anthony?”
Meghan placed her hand on her hips. “Is that all you can say? Scotty I have good news for you. Now if you prefer to wait for Anthony than—“
He shook his head with a slight smile. “No, no. I’m sorry. What’s your news?”
She paused, her broad smile giving her normally stern look a soft beauty.
“We have a response to our request for a new trial.”
“And?” Scotty held his breath.
“And not only was it granted, but they agreed to a jury trial.”
Scotty threw his head back and laughed. He felt something more than tension and anguish for the first time in months. A jury trial would mean the world to his case. It would mean that he could appeal to the human nature of twelve people instead of one over-worked and street hardened judge.
Meghan clapped a hand over his chained one. There was a guard present but the guards remained mostly uninterested in what they discussed. He watched, only for the passing of contraband. The guard repositioned his stance when Meghan touched him and she quickly pulled her hand back.
“We’re fortunate to get a trial date on January 4. That hardly ever happens so quickly!”
“It still seems like a long time.”
Her smile retreated. “I know Scotty. It’s been a long, unfair journey. But I have another surprise.”
His brow rose at the timid look on her face. “Is this a good surprise?”
“Yes! Anthony and Jeffrey have arranged for a television interview with Channel Twelve News! They’re going to do a story on you and our journey to get exposure to your charges. We’re going to show that you didn’t do anything that anyone else wouldn’t have done and that you were being judged by your circumstances and a past that had no weight. Scotty this is an amazing opportunity!”
Scotty’s expression had gone from happy to unsure. “Meghan … I’m not good with people.” He didn’t know whether or not he would be able to show a sympathetic face instead of one that he felt more accurately described him; a loser.
“Look, you don’t have to worry about anything. You’re just going to tell your story. Channel twelve is already on your side so its not like being on trial. They aren’t waiting for you to fail, Scotty.”
He swallowed. He didn’t like the idea of people knowing so much about his business and judging him on his actions.
Scotty didn’t see himself as a good guy, nor did he think that he was a bad one. But he didn’t need a bunch of strangers trying to figure out which one they thought he was.
“Whatever it takes,” he finally stated.
II
However, Scotty never made it to trial. A week after Meghan’s visit the Grand Jury determine
d that Scotty’s sealed records would not be used in the jury trial and the prosecution declined to pursue the conviction. The conviction was overturned in a decision that took approximately ten minutes.
And after one year and one month of imprisonment Scott Brian Tremont was deemed a free man.
Part II
Many say
That I'm too young
To let you know just
Where I’m coming from
Oh, but you will see
That it's just a
Matter of time
My love will surely
Make you mine
-Sparkle (1976)
Chapter One
Vanessa fidgeted with her hands as she waited outside Miss Lydia’s office. She knew that she wasn’t Miss Lydia’s favorite person. She was already considered a troublemaker, and that was about to intensify.
Miss Lydia made her wait for nearly fifteen minutes before she was called into her office.
Vanessa cleared her throat and steeled her shoulders before entering the office of the producer of A Tender Heart. The Indy film had received much praise at the Sundance Film festival before being transformed into a musical.
The production had the backing of two big name investors and the casting call saw some of the most well known names on Broadway vying for a part.
Charisma’s agent had gotten her an invitation before the open calls and once she had secured her position she had mentioned Vanessa to the casting director. It was the best Charisma could do, but the casting director remembered her name and during open calls she was invited back.
Vanessa landed the part when big heavy teardrops splashed from her eyes as she sang the production’s most pivotal song. Her voice wowed the casting director but her acting was just as essential to the part.
Vanessa knew how to harness her pain.
She had been asked to commit to sixteen weeks of rehearsals. No one wanted to know that she had a three-month old baby. The babysitter couldn’t keep Crash for ten hours at a time—and she wouldn’t want that either.
The plans that she and Charisma had put into place to take care of the baby couldn’t work when they were both on the same production. Between babysitters and Charisma’s willingness to care for her Godson when she wasn’t working just didn’t float in the reality of what it meant to actually be a single mother in a theatrical production.
And so Vanessa was here to bow out of the show. It happened. People got hurt or sick and had to be replaced. But being in this production had been not only a dream come true, but a validation that this was what she was meant to do.
But maybe that was no longer true.
When Vanessa had first come to New York Charisma had been anxious to immerse her in the lifestyle of a performer. That mostly entailed parties—even though Vanessa was pregnant. They went to clubs and met sports stars and actors and men who couldn’t keep their eyes off either of them.
Vanessa had never been one to get glammed up. But Charisma insisted on the ‘wow’ factor wherever they went and for whatever they did. The two girls couldn’t hit the laundry without putting on lipstick. Vanessa went along with it because it was New York and an agent or producer or talent-scout could turn up anywhere.
But also it helped to keep her mind off of thoughts of Scotty. Nothing ever completely removed him from her mind, but it helped to keep busy and Charisma did her share in that regards.
Being the recipient of attention from strange men was another problem. She might have left Ohio and her past but she had not given up on hope for a future with Scotty. It might be ten or more years but she owed that much to her son. And since it was her fault that Scotty was in prison, she owed it to him as well. But she wouldn’t make his time any harder than it had to be.
She knew that Scotty loved her, but she also knew that he hated her a little as well. She’d felt the animosity in the last letter she’d received from him. After finding out about the baby he had simply told her to leave him alone to focus on his new reality. To not even mention the life she carried inside of her was like a stab in the back.
He didn’t care about the baby.
It hadn’t changed his mind about them continuing, it had only made things worse.
The letter hurt. She still loved Scotty even though she wanted to hate him. And she hated herself for loving a man that could separate himself completely from their baby. But it made the decision to move easy and perhaps that had been Scotty’s motivation.
She prayed that was the case. Because it was the only thing that kept her willing to hold on to some of the love that she couldn’t quite forget.
So when the men gave her unwanted attention, Vanessa, who wore her engagement ring like a wedding ring flashed it and then pressed her hands to her stomach to show the swelling there and the men got the message quick enough.
As the weeks moved forward, Vanessa began to sort through her emotions and to focus on what Charisma was trying to show her—that the Big Apple was a place for possibilities.
But then the unthinkable had happened.
She had been in clean-up mode for a few days. She had even read that there was a name for it; nesting.
Charisma’s apartment was small and crowded with cute frilly things. But it needed cleaning—the type of cleaning where the floors got a good waxing and the bathroom tile was scrubbed.
It was the least she could do since her friend had given her a place to live and a way out of a bad predicament. They agreed to split the rent—which was still astronomical compared to the cost of housing in Cincinnati. She was lucky to have the cash available but knew that it wouldn’t last forever. Vanessa’s immediate goal was to line up work for after the baby’s birth.
She’d gotten the apartment scrubbed clean and was thinking about how surprised Charisma would be when she got home. She had lifted the end of the couch in order to straighten the rug beneath it and immediately had felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her back.
Vanessa dropped down to the couch and rubbed her back and after a minute or so the pain receded. But then it returned a few hours later. She took some ibuprofen, fearful that she’d thrown her back out and then went to bed to rest.
Her body was crazy with bones that stretched and a belly that protruded and her sense of balance was wonky. She had become used to her spine popping when she sat up, or her ankles aching. She was always sore and tired. But she had not attributed her backache to the onset of labor—at least not until it began to wrap around her belly and squeeze.
Charisma insisted she go to the hospital while Vanessa kept trying to deny that she could be in labor. It was too soon. If she was in labor that meant the baby was in danger and without her baby there would be no reason to continue. There would be nothing left in her life worth living for.
Despite her unwillingness to accept it, her son was born the next day, twelve weeks premature. He was so tiny and so beautiful … and then the doctor’s had told her that something was wrong.
When at work Vanessa only thought about Crash and whether or not he missed her, if he was crying for her. She would feel like the most horrible mother.
She would take too long at dinner break because she had to run home just to hold and feed her son. Or she spent all of her breaks on the phone cooing to him and being assured that he was pooping and sleeping and eating well by the baby-sitter. Once she had been so distracted that Miss Lydia had called her into the office to tell her to get her shit together.
“How can I help you Vanessa?” The woman asked stiffly. Her pinched nose was in the air and although she was sitting, Miss Lydia still managed to look down her nose at Vanessa who stood in front of the woman’s modern chrome and glass desk.
“I’m sorry ma’am … I’ll get right to the point. I have to leave the show.”
Miss Lydia’s face became even more white than it had been previously—which Vanessa found almost impossible. Lydia McDermott was pale with light eyes and white hair amplified by her signature bright red lipstick.
It made her look like porcelain. She was a handsome older woman, though not the nicest.
“Are you serious?” Lydia barked.
“Yes. I’m sorr-“
“Don’t you dare tell me how sorry you are. Is this because of that baby?”
Vanessa hesitated at the term ‘that baby’ and then decided to suppress her anger so that she could get this over with. She knew this wasn’t going to be pretty but she swore that she wouldn’t allow it to make her ugly.
With a deep breath she replied.
“I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to juggle the show with being a mother.”
Miss Lydia rolled her eyes. “Do you think you’re the only person on this production that has a child? People have families and boyfriends and husbands-“
“But my baby is three months old-”
Lydia’s grey eyes flashed coldly. “Four weeks ago you auditioned with the knowledge that you had a baby-“
“But I didn’t know that I would be expected to be here morning, noon and night!” Vanessa interrupted. She couldn’t possibly be expected to stay at rehearsals for ten hours at a time only to be sent home for a handful of hours of sleep just to rush right back again!
Lydia’s attitude annoyed her. She was more interested in interrupting than in understanding the truth.
Lydia removed her glasses and looked at Vanessa calmly. “We have sixteen weeks of rehearsals and then another sixteen weeks at Tryout before hopefully being picked up on Broadway.
“We can replace you. That won’t be a problem. But the loss of time that your poor decisions have caused will hurt.”
Vanessa lowered her eyes feeling the guilt of her decision at the same time that she felt a strong dislike for the woman who made her feel as if she was ten years old again.