Better Than I Know Myself by Virginia DeBerry & Donna Grant

Author:Virginia DeBerry & Donna Grant [DeBerry, Virginia & Grant, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: African American, Contemporary Women, Fiction
ISBN: 9781429983075
Google: ZC27hLA41i8C
Amazon: B004H1U6FC
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-04-01T16:12:27+00:00

September 27, 1977

Brooklyn, NY

“Thought that was you, Li’l Bit.” Randy had caught the elevator door with his big hand, just as it was closing. Carmen rolled her eyes and stared at the numbers above the door. “Think you can ignore me, huh?” He slapped the emergency button. The car jerked to a halt between floors and the alarm screamed, but nobody in the building paid attention to that. People stopped the elevators all the time to hold the cars until they were done with them. Before Carmen could complain Randy grabbed her by the hair, spun her around. “Scream if you want.” His musty breath assaulted her. “Nobody’s gonna hear you.” He pushed her to her knees and the zip of his pants sliced through the incessant clanging. Carmen’s heart raced like she was about to die, then Randy grabbed her head, jammed himself into her mouth and started pumping. “Ignore this.” The sour taste made her gag and he slapped her so hard she saw an electrified flash in the darkness. “Don’t throw up on me bitch.” Randy pounded and started to whimper louder than his dog who paced impatiently beside them in the airless cube. Carmen couldn’t breathe, or feel her life beyond the pounding. Then it was over in a wheeze and a sour dribble. “Tell and your ass is mine.”

“Next and last stop, Utica Avenue.”

Carmen shook herself from the memory and got off the train just before the door closed, wondering what Jewell and Regina were doing and how much lip she’d have to take from Alan, her manager, when she got to work.

Arms folded across his blubbery belly, Alan blocked her path as she tried to scoot into the locker room to change. “Don’t bother. You’re history. Pick up your last check next Friday.”

“It’s not my fault.” Carmen’s need for the job only slightly outweighed her disgust at having to beg him for it. “I got stuck in—”

“I don’t care. Your shift starts at seven.” He checked his watch. “You’re two hours late.” For all his bulk he had a high, whiney voice that got to Carmen like nails on a chalkboard.

She wanted him to shut up, but he kept going on about the importance of reliable employees. Suddenly, she imagined choking him with his short, greasy tie until his flabby arms flailed and he couldn’t talk. She couldn’t stop the hiccup of laughter even though she knew the situation wasn’t funny. She’d just been fired, Z would be pissed, and Alan looked at her like she was an alien, but that only made her laugh harder. “You know what? Keep your stupid job. When I’m a doctor you’ll still be pushing Happy Meals.” She wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they felt good.

Carmen plowed down Utica Avenue, propelled by the giddiness of standing up to Alan, standing up for herself. She wanted to tell somebody, thought of Jewell and Regina and the phone number in her pocket. Like I could find them tonight.

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