The Porn Identity

Chapter 23

       I pressed my finger to the doorbell then hit it twice. I could hear its muffled ringing echoing on the other side of the door. It went silent for a moment and then the hasty shuffling of feet came my way.

       The door pulled open with a hard yank—a necessity since Aunt Jackie's door was just a bit too oversized for the door jam—and then there was Jackson standing alert in the doorway, his face a cool mask.

       He wore baggy sweats and a plain black tee that had some kind of splotchy rust colored discoloration running up the side. His short tufts of kinky hair were unkempt but oiled. "The hell you doin' here?"

       I felt my top lip twist up in aggravation. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

       He let go of the door and puffed his chest out like the world's proudest bird. "Here to say sorry and beg for me to come back."

       It took everything in me not to turn around and go home. "I'm not sorry. I came to tell you, you have one day to report for duty before I fire your ass for real."

       His chest deflated. "So, I still got a job?"

      "It's hanging by a thread."

       He looked back into the darkness of the house like he was seeking permission for something. "A'ight."

       A'ight? That's it? No arguing. No negotiations? Just compliance?

       My jaw unclenched. "Well, this was easier than expected."

       He shrugged. "New job doesn't start for weeks. I still got bills to pay."

      "Then why did you quit in the first place?"

       He looked away; his hand started fiddling with the copper doorknob like he was ready to slam the door closed. "...It was a, uh...high stress moment and... you know, sometimes you just got to...take a stand—"

      "You were trying to impress your girlfriend, huh?"

       He huffed out a resigned sigh. "...Yeah."

       I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. It's over. Tomorrow. Report for duty or hit the unemployment office."

       I turned on the dime and moved to walk back down the cracked concrete walk toward the street where my car was parked.

       "Uh, Evie!" Jackson called after me in a kind of whisper. "Could you do me a little favor first?"

       I turned and stared holes into him. "Seriously?"

      "Could you...apologize to Donna first?"

       I almost laughed. "Now I know you don' lost your natural Black mind! Apologize for what?"

       "Cuz, plllleeeeaassee..."

       Oh, now it's 'cuz'. Not boss-lady, slave driver, or iron fist of the capitalist machine? How you like that?

       "Well, isn't this pathetic? 'Help me, Evie!', 'save me, Evie!'" I tsked before pointing my finger right at his fat head. "Where were you when your girlfriend was disrespecting me in my own business?"

       He looked around again like he was fearful of the wind then said in a hushed voice. "I'm sorry about that. Everything happened quick as hell."

       "Why are you whispering?" I looked back at the house and realized suddenly that a strange car was parked in the driveway. "Is she in there?"