The Lights of Tenth Street

Ronnie stared at her friend. “I don’t know whether to admire your insight or be angry at how easy it is for you to manipulate this guy.”

  “Ronnie …” Tiffany shook her head. “I’ve been manipulating this guy from day one. The difference now is that I know him well enough to know what he needs emotionally and how to give it to him. I make him feel powerful. That’s what every man wants.” She looked over her shoulder at her friend and winked. “You’re already doing that exact same thing whenever you do a table dance at the club. You just didn’t realize it.”

  Ronnie shook her head in reluctant admiration. Tiffany snapped her suitcase shut.

  “Stick with me, kid. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

  Tiffany stood on the top deck of the yacht, allowing the wind to whip through her hair. She wore a bikini and sipped a drink, oblivious to the party sounds all around her, oblivious to everything but the feel of the wind. And what she would do with an extra fifty grand.

  She’d first proposed the idea to Wade a couple hours ago, before the guests arrived. At first, he’d been taken aback and had started to click into business mode, but Tiffany had deftly made sure that didn’t happen.

  A short time later, she brought it up again and subtly planted the message that this was a key to retaining her favor. Marco’s ad agency colleagues would be in Atlanta in a few days—what a coincidence—and why didn’t he just meet with them to see what he thought.

  Wade had nodded sleepily—a meeting couldn’t hurt—before drifting off, his head cradled in her lap.

  Tyson slapped the cell phone shut. He excused himself from the meeting he’d been in and wound his way around computer monitors, satellite dishes, and out of the bustling floor area. In a few moments he was at his computer, tapping out a message to Proxy.

  Target met with ad team today, agreed to proposal Broker says target’s company surprised with the choice, but not disagreeable. They welcome the “fresh approach” of our team.

  Tyson reviewed the short message, chuckling as he read the end. If they only knew.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Tyson poured a drink in Marco’s deserted office and knocked it back. He poured another one, then stood at the one-way window, restless, watching the early evening activity on the club floor. This was getting ridiculous.

  He was looking at his watch for the third time when Marco strolled through the door.

  “What kept you?” Tyson said. “I’m supposed to report to Proxy in twenty minutes!”

  Marco raised his eyebrows and, without a word, walked over to the bar and began preparing himself a drink. Tyson took a breath and forced himself to lower his voice.

  “You know that Proxy is anxious to get all the pieces in place and get moving. He’s concerned that you, Marco, are not anxious enough.”

  Marco took his time settling into his chair, then swiveled to face his colleague. “And I know that you, Tyson, are lying through your teeth. We’re right on schedule. I have delivered the most important piece of the puzzle thus far—and will deliver the rest as promised—and I doubt whether Proxy would be happy to know that you’re trying to threaten me.”

  “Well, he’ll never know, will he? What you think is irrelevant. Proxy talks to me and me alone, and I think you better learn that lesson fast.”

  He nodded toward the window, where he could see the new girl, Macy, table-dancing for a nearby patron. “You need to activate her, Marco. Her and the others. Sasha’s good, but she’s not enough. We have very little time, and we need to work fast before they become suspicious.”

  “Last year, Proxy agreed on a schedule, and I’m sticking to it. I won’t rush it and risk it backfiring. These things take time.”

  “And I’m telling you, you’re out of time.” Tyson leaned down and locked eyes with the club manager. “Consider this your new schedule—begin the next phase immediately.”

  “But Proxy never—”

  Tyson slapped his hand on the desk. “Forget Proxy! You take orders from me; I take orders from Proxy. If I give you a direct command, you obey it as if it came from him.”

  Marco stared at him for a long moment, then rose to his feet and gave an exaggerated salute. “Yes, sir!” He dropped his hand and stared into Tyson’s face. “And privately, sir, I think you’re a fool.”

  Marco watched Tyson stalk out of the office. He was a sharp Ivy League hotshot and had proven that he knew his stuff, but he was getting too big for his britches. He was beginning to feel the power, and it was affecting his judgment.

  It was foolish to push further so soon. Marco wasn’t sure that Macy was ready, nor the other two girls he had in mind. He thought a moment, then dialed Tyson’s cell phone number. It rang only once.

  “What?”

  Marco kept his voice calm. “Would you run my question about the schedule by Proxy, next time you contact him?”

  Silence. “Fine. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  Marco thanked him and hung up. He turned to his computer and tapped out an e-mail to each of the girls. Might as well get started.

  “Did you get this?” Ronnie walked into the kitchen where Tiffany sat in the window nook, eating a late breakfast. She was waving a printout of an e-mail. “What’s the deal with this party next weekend?”

  Tiffany continued crunching her cereal and reading a magazine. “Oh, Marco rents these party boats from time to time, and takes key clients out. We work the parties as entertainment.”

  “You mean we have to dance somewhere other than the club? I’m not sure I like that idea.”

  Tiffany glanced up at her roommate, a small smile on her face. “Do you like the idea of a few extra thousand bucks for an easy day’s work?”

  “Who pays?”

  “The guys, mostly. Sometimes Marco, too. It just depends. I’m not sure what the deal is with this one. I hadn’t heard about it before.”

  “Who’ll go from the club?”

  “They usually pick four or five girls. It’s a fun day, honest. You’ll love it. It’s more like fun than work.”

  “Except for the stripping.”

  “Lighten up, would you? Sheez, you’d think you didn’t play to a crowd of men every night, the way you’re acting.”

  “It’s different onstage.” Ronnie struggled to explain herself. “I’m putting on an act. I’m—you know—a different person.”

  Tiffany stood up and walked to the sink, washing off her breakfast dishes. She gave Ronnie a compassionate glance. “I know. I felt the same way at first. But honest, you keep your stage persona there, too, you know.”

  She lifted her chin and assumed a pose. “You’re Macy, the new hot dancer, whether or not you’re in the club, going shopping with the other girls, or entertaining at a private party somewhere. It makes no difference that it’s daytime and you’re on a boat instead of on a stage. Just keep your mind on the money you’ll be making and you’ll be fine.”

  Ronnie started to ask another question when the phone rang. Tiffany reached for it, then handed it to her roommate.

  “It’s for you, dahling. I’ve got to get going. I’m meeting Wade for some cocktail party thing this afternoon.”

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, hon.”

  “Mom! Hi! How are you?”

  “I’m doing fine, sweetheart. I started that job at the clinic, and I feel like I’m getting back on my feet. I’m going to start paying rent soon.”

  “That’s great, Mom—”

  “But really, I was just checking in to see how you’re doing. I get concerned when I don’t hear from you.”

  “I know, Ma, I know. I think about you a lot, really, I do. I just …” She sighed and plopped down on the window seat. “I just get so busy. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand. I was the same way when I was your age. But tell me how you’re doing, hon.” There was a strange pause. “How’s your job at the restaurant?”

  “It’s fine. I … uh … got promoted a while ago, which is why I’m making more money
. I’ve even saved up enough for tuition. You knew I start classes this week, right? I’ll start with summer school.”

  “I’m proud of you, honey. Are you nervous?”

  “Well …” Ronnie gave a sheepish laugh. “Yeah, of course. A little, anyway. I hope I can handle the course load, working and going to school at the same time. But if I can—if I can take summer classes each year—I might even be able to graduate on time!”

  “Are you sure you can handle that—working and school at the same time?”

  “I can handle it, Mom. I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “Well, actually, you did, sort of.”

  “When! When did I do that?”

  “You implied it plenty during high school, whenever I got a bad grade on a test or something. You’d say that it just went to show that I shouldn’t get too big for my britches with any grand ideas for my future.”

  There was another long pause, and suddenly she heard her mother’s voice go taut with emotion.

  “I’m so sorry, Ronnie. I really messed you up, didn’t I?” There were some sniffles. “Please forgive me. I think I was so resentful at being stuck in a dead-end life that I took it out on you. I’m so sorry.”

  Ronnie stood with the phone in her hand for a long minute, listening to her mother trying to regain control on the other end of the line.

  “Mom … I love you. You know that, right?”

  “I know, hon. Not that I’ve done anything to deserve it.”

  “I always knew you loved me. Even when.…”

  Her mother’s quiet voice finished the sentence. “Even when I didn’t protect you as a mother should?”

  “Well …”

  “It’s okay, you can say it. I’m starting to come to terms with all I never did. Please forgive me.”

  “Well, you were trapped, too. I’m glad you’re out of there. Please tell me you won’t go back.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Mom … what’s happened to you? You sound … different.”

  “I feel different. I feel free.”

  “Well, you are. You’re not under his control anymore.”

  “No, I mean spiritually free. I feel like I’m finally discovering who God intended me to be.”

  “You didn’t join a cult or anything, did you?”

  A quiet laugh. “No, don’t worry. Nothing like that. I’ve … I’ve started going to church with the Dugans.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good, I guess.”

  “Very good. I hope you can come back for a visit sometime soon and come to church with us.”

  “Well, I work all weekend, you know.”

  “Just sometime, maybe. Maybe you can find a church there. Maybe one of your friends has a good church.”

  Ronnie tried not to laugh at that one. “I’ll ask around. Well, I should go. I’ve got a lot of stuff to do today.”

  “Okay, sweetheart.”

  Ronnie hung up the phone and stared at it before shaking her head and walking out of the kitchen. What on earth had happened to her mom?

  THIRTY-NINE

  The Sunday night service was over, but the ministry time was just beginning. Ronnie’s mother was down front, kneeling on the wide steps to the altar, pleading with God.

  She was surrounded by people—mostly women, but a few men—who had heard the news and were standing in prayer with their new sister. Linda didn’t care that her face was tear-stained and her makeup had run. There were no secrets anymore. No reason to worry about what people thought. The only thing that mattered was her daughter. And these new friends—these people who already seemed like lifelong family—knew it, too.

  This was a battle now and they were an army, storming the gates of hell on behalf of a little lost lamb. Linda had no idea yet how to do spiritual warfare. But she knew that she would pray for her girl until Jesus brought her home.

  The morning sun hadn’t yet cleared the mists when Ronnie slipped out of the apartment, careful not to wake Tiffany.

  She paused on the open landing of the stairs and looked out at the trees that lined the complex. They were lush and green, the closed buds dotted with moisture, the full bloom of summer ready to wake to a new day. For just a moment, Ronnie found herself wondering how the flowers knew to sleep at night, how a tree knew to spread its leaves toward the sun … how it could all just be an accident. There was something cosmic in the stillness around her, a sense that a deeper mystery would unfold at the slightest touch.

  She took a deep breath to settle her jitters then padded down the stairs toward her car, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her sandals making little noise in the stillness.

  She had agonized for an hour over what to wear to orientation day, terrified that the slightest mistake would draw attention to herself. She wanted to get in and out, to make no friendships and answer no hard questions. She would study hard at school and work hard at work, and the two worlds would never mix.

  She had finally settled on the basic student uniform: jeans and a simple T-shirt. No one would notice her.

  “Ronnie!”

  Ronnie started and looked around the half-full auditorium. The admissions director, Mr. Woodward, was coming toward her with a smile. She stood from her aisle seat to meet him, clutching her registration packet.

  “Welcome to Georgia State.” He shook her hand. “I was so pleased when I saw that you had accepted our admission and would be starting so soon.”

  Ronnie noticed other students staring, curious at the exchange. Her cheeks flushed. “Thanks … thank you. I’m surprised you remembered me.”

  “Not at all. You seemed like a motivated person, and I know you’ll do well here. And frankly, you seem like someone who can beat the odds, and we want to help and encourage that in any way we can. We believe people like that can change the world if only they get the breaks and the support they need. So I’d like to hear how things go for you here. Well, almost time to start. Please call me, Ronnie, if you need anything.”

  She found herself nodding at his back as he moved away, shaking a few more hands and sharing words of welcome with others he recognized. She took her seat again, curious as she watched him work the aisle. He looked like he truly cared about those he spoke to, making people feel at home.

  Ronnie picked the final textbook off the shelf and rechecked her course list. That had to be everything. She hefted the tall stack of books in her arms. Time to find out the damage. She waited in the long checkout line, and held her breath as the cashier hit a few keys.

  “That’ll be two hundred and eighty-three dollars.”

  Ronnie winced. “I was afraid you were going to say something like that. Do I need to get all these books right away, or are there some that I can wait a few weeks?”

  The cashier—a middle-aged woman with orangey hair—shrugged. “No idea, doll. You want ’em or not?”

  Ronnie glanced at the line behind her, which wound among the bookshelves, at least fifteen people deep. The girl behind her looked at her watch.

  “Um …”

  “Look, we can’t wait all day for you to decide. Either pay or come back when you know what you need.”

  Ronnie felt a tap on her shoulder. The girl behind her leaned forward, a small smile on her face as she gestured at one of Ronnie’s thick textbooks.

  “You have Barnes for Biology 101?”

  “Yes.”

  “He spends the first part of class going over a high school refresher. He won’t get to the textbook for at least two weeks. And I bet you won’t need half of those little literature books until later in the summer. Just keep the main text and you’ll be fine for a bit.”

  “Thanks.” Ronnie gave a sigh of relief as she separated out the unnecessary purchases. “I feel totally clueless today.”

  “Everyone is the first week of school.”

  The cashier scowled and gave Ronnie the new total—one hundred dollars less than the original. Ronnie paid in cash and r
etreated with another word of thanks to the girl.

  She stepped out onto the sidewalk and glanced at her watch. She would need to hustle to make it to work on time.

  The next morning, Ronnie tried to stifle another yawn as she climbed the stairs heading for her second class. She saw a familiar face coming toward her and paused, glad for the excuse to rest.

  “Hi, Mr. Woodward.”

  “Good morning, Ronnie.” He peered at her in the green-tinted light that filtered through the old windows. “Goodness, you look tired.”

  “Yeah.” Ronnie gave another huge yawn. “I had to work late last night and didn’t get much sleep.”

  “I can see that. Too bad you have a nine o’clock class this morning.”

  “It’s the only time they offer Biology 101 in the summer.”

  “Well, maybe after classes you can go home and take a rest.”

  No, after classes I need to go to work and exhaust myself all night.

  Ronnie gave him a noncommittal smile. “Maybe. At least tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “Are you getting a sense of how you’ll balance things, putting yourself through school and all?”

  “Um … not yet. Soon, I hope.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. And remember to come see me if you need anything.”

  FORTY

  Doug Turner grabbed his suit coat off the back of his chair and stepped out of his office. Mary was on the phone.

  “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. I have to get something to eat.”

  Mary put her hand over the receiver, calling after him. “Don’t forget the executive strategy meeting at three o’clock. New client.”

  Doug looked at his watch and sighed. “Make it thirty minutes, then.”

  He headed downstairs and out the door, making a beeline for a bustling little deli nearby. This pace was crazy. Almost two-thirty and he hadn’t eaten yet. But what else was new? He was making a concerted effort these days to be home by seven—not seven-thirty or eight-thirty like before—but that meant he needed to get to work extra early, often leaving before anyone was up.

  The kids, at least, appreciated his extra attentiveness, even if they didn’t know the reason for it. Sherry probably did, too, but they still weren’t at ease with each other. He ached for the day she would give him a spontaneous hug and snuggle into his arms like she used to early in their marriage, secure in his love for her, before the stresses of life had begun to pull them apart. There had been a few signs of their old playfulness returning, but too few—and they only made him yearn for the old ways all the more. With God’s help, he held out hope. It was the hope that was keeping him sane.