Chapter 8

Eight

Q ueenie

Having spent the last half hour getting ready, I realized how little I'd been allowed to do things in my lifetime. Small things like making an effort to look pretty. Some people would consider me a natural beauty, but I wasn't sure that was a compliment or just way of not allowing me do the things other girls did. Outside of my wedding, I had never been allowed to look glamorous before.

I'd never even wore red lipstick before tonight. My mother never taught me to do makeup, but I'm sure it had more to do with how much harder it was to find my shade than hers. Papa always told me only fast women wore red lips or nail polish, so alas, I never wore it. I just had to imagine what I would look like all dolled up like a movie star.

Even the dress I wore looked like nothing I had ever worn before. It was something out of a Rita Hayworth or Lauren Bacall movie. A gown worthy of a red carpet. Dresses like this you really had to look in the mirror and twirl in them just to get the full display.

I know Cillian didn't care for me, so it surprised me how nice the dress had been. Only way I would have owned something this nice is if I had made it myself.

A hard knock came at the door, knocking me out of my fantasy world. "Time to go," was all I would get. Grabbing my accessories, I joined my husband in the hallway, along with two other men and in an uncomfortable silence, rode the elevator to the lobby.

A part of me felt I should say something, even if I didn't have the words to say the right thing. I wasn't sure he deserved an apology, especially given that I had done the right thing. But that hadn't meant that he had done the wrong thing.

In the eyes of the law, absolutely. But in the eyes of your own. Had someone done that for me? I wouldn't know how to feel because no one ever has. No one stood up for me and maybe there was no need to. Even if I ever told anybody, they'd argue it wasn't that bad.

It wasn't that bad, but I could barely touch my body without shame. It wasn't that bad, but the thought of someone touching me made me want to vomit. I want to blame my father, but even if Mama had stood up to Papa, what was done could have stopped long before I started to hate my own body. I was never going to be normal. But I guess it didn't matter because that kind of thing was supposed to be for men anyway.

We made it outside and Cillian obligatorily opened my door for me. Ducking inside, I was met with a face I'd seen before but still barely knew. "Elizabeth Stanton. Or should I say Elizabeth Sullivan?" the dark haired, dark eyed men engaged.

We'd been in each other's company before. Even had a conversation. When the subject of an arranged marriage was on the table, everyone advocated for him. But when I asked him his age, I wasn't comfortable, as he was so much older than me.

He was nice about it. Didn't make me feel stupid or shame for not wanting to be with a man in his thirties. But thinking back now, I should've considered his offer. He kept insisting he knew what a good woman was and if I changed my mind, he'd do right by me.

Leaving out my hand to shake, he pulled it to his mouth and kissed the back of it. He was either a lady's man or gentleman. Maybe both. "Pleased to make your acquaintance." I gushed.

"The pleasure is all mine." It was a strange thing to notice now, but this brother was really handsome. Maybe I just liked how dark his features were, but he was a different kind of handsome than his brother was. Did I find Cillian handsome? Or were his looks becoming less frightening?

Cillian rolled his eyes at the display of flirtation, pissed or repulsed that it wasn't his brother's immediate reaction to ignore me. "I hope my brother's taking care of you."

Uncomfortably nodding, Cillian proceeded to draw his attention to whatever was outside the window. To melt away some of the awkward silence, his brother sought to ease my discomfort. "You look beautiful, by the way. The colors. Not all women can do them justice. You must be one of the lucky ones," he winked.

"I apologize, I'm not good with names?—"

"It's Bellamy." He corrected, his Irish accent heavier than his younger brother's but strangely clearer. He must have been around Americans a lot more.

"So where are we headed tonight? I didn't quite catch that information," I said, silently recalling to just be ready or I'd be dragged out anyway.

"Your husband didn't tell you? We're heading to Woodcrest for a charity event. Cillian and I have business there."

"You have business in Woodcrest?" I said in jest.

"You would be surprised where and how far a man like me can go," he said with a bite to his lip. He wouldn't discuss it further. Claimed to never talk business in front of women. While normally I would have taken offense to that, it wasn't often a white man actually saw me as a woman, so I dropped the subject so not to appear unladylike.

When we eventually reached the Georgia Peach, the only Black owned hotel in Boston, Bellamy had been the perfect gentleman, helping me up the car. "Ladies first," he encouraged as I assumed correctly that I was here more for their benefit than mine.

Bellamy, Cillian and the two other men stepped out from other cars, followed the red carpet that led to the benefit being held for the hospital.

"Bellamy, I presume?" a light skinned Black man approached.

"Wouldn't be anyone else," Bellamy challenged in jest, as the first thing he did was take advantage of my presence. "Meet my sister-in-law, Elizabeth Sullivan." That had certainly melted some of the man's formality.

Now that I got a decent look at him, it was obvious who he was. Thurgood Baldwin—the first Black mayor of all Massachusetts. He could pass depending on the time of the year or angle but he wasn't shying away from any praise or recognition from being appointed the first Colored mayor in all the state.

My father had mentioned attending Morehouse with more than one important Black figure in his time, so it didn't trump logic that whatever my father was wrapped into was more than his modest beginnings could bring himself. Even more so now that he was connected to a powerful white family to protect him.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere private so we can discuss," the mayor concluded, as Cillian, their muscle and I followed along the red carpet avoiding the Black press as much as we could.

I didn't want my picture taken. Not for anyone who had eyes to see I was married to a white man. Everyone would think I was a bed wench. A woman not loyal to her race. No one would care that I didn't have a choice when it came to marrying this man, they were just going to see a woman who betrayed her people.

"Picture for the papers?" a photographer shouted out, as Cillian flat out snatched the camera and smashed it to the ground.

"Get a muzzle on that brother of yours," The mayor accused, forcing a distance between he and Bellamy that made him lose a bit of favor. For that display of disrespect, Bellamy pulled Cillian into a corner where they thought no one could hear.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"I said I'd bring her, not flaunt her."

"Cilly, Tadhg expects us—expects you —to behave. I wanted to bring Paddy, because he wouldn't pull the shit you do. I still didn't think you were ready, but Tadhg trusted you. And all you had to do was make nice with your wife for two hours, proving why I didn't want to bring you here in the first place."

"Well it ain't like you told me she's the fucking snitch who put me in prison?—"

"And because she lied, she got you out. But you're too fucking reckless to see anything past your own actions. You said you wanted to be better. You said you wanted to earn our respect. This ain't the way, Cilly. Don't embarrass me again."

After that vivid display of words, all Cillian could do was nod his admission. When they started to walk back, I moved closer to the mayor, reminding him he'd went to university with my father, as that seemed to warm him a bit when I mentioned hearing him speak at church a few times. It didn't hurt that when Bellamy approached, he wore a snake charming smile.

"Elizabeth, Mayor Mitchell and I are going off for a little bit, but this is a gathering so there's plenty of food and spirits to curb your appetites." Bellamy looked to his brother moping around. "Or at least that kind of appetite. Due to the nature of the matter, think you can handle your husband while we handle business?"

Faking a smile, Cillian looped his arm in mine and lead us to a table. "Hi, what can I get you two started on? We have the option of Gullah red rice. Shrimp and grits. Hush puppies and catfish or?—"

"I won't be having anything," Cillian interrupted. "Unless you have stout or whiskey. I only eat Irish food." He spoke dryly. Instantly, I was brought back to the time I criticized the way he spoke English the first time I'd been alone with him. It didn't feel good to be condemned for your culture. This must have been how he felt, because those were all the foods I loved.

"I'll just have the catfish and hush puppies please," I responded, and politely dismissed her, praying Bellamy's business wouldn't take long. I wasn't sure how long we'd last being alone with each other, but I didn't want to find out.

Waiting for my plate, it was hard not to notice Cillian constantly looking over his shoulder, surveying every part of the room as if he expected some act of violence to occur. Even as my food came, it was hard to eat in peace, watching him watch everyone around us.

"You don't have anything to worry about by the way," I said, blowing on a hushpuppy to cool it down.

"Who the fuck said I did?" He tensely sat up straight in his chair.

"I didn't mean anything by it. It's just annoying to watch you survey every inch of the room like we make you uncomfortable or something."

"Elizabeth ain't but two things that scare me and Black people aren't one of them."

"Well, you would never know by the way you can't seem to let your guard down for just a second."

"I look where I want to look. Anything to not have to look at you," he spat.

"Now you're just being cruel. It's not like I won't take some responsibility for us getting on the wrong foot?—"

"I don't look at it as being on the wrong foot. I see it as being exactly where we need to be," He challenged.

"Cillian, I don't know if you want me to apologize or something? But I'm admitting I didn't have the context when I came forward. That part I'm not going to apologize for. I had a lot going on at the time. I was just a scared seventeen-year-old girl thinking she was doing the right thing?—"

"The right thing wouldn't have been talking to fucking coppers. A girl like you should have known better. You think they were gonna give someone like me the benefit of the doubt?"

The comment made me drop my fork and knife. Since it was clear he was baiting me, I entertained it and took the bait. "And what pray tell is someone like you?"

"A gangster. Irish."

" Oh , I'm sorry for not considering those things. Guess I was too busy worrying about getting a dangerous man off the streets. At least you're fucking Irish. If you were Black, you'd already be dead."

"You think I should be grateful that I ate fucking slop for three years. Got jumped every other month for being from the wrong family. Not to mention have my family get on without me?"

"No, but it's a lot better than what my people get. And I'm not going to apologize for being scared."

"Good, because I don't want your damn apology. So, keep your fucking charity. Only thing you could give me is a wife who knows when to shut the hell up."

In all our banter, I hadn't even realized someone sitting opposite, until a gentle hand grazed my shoulder. "I'm sorry, is this seat is taken?"

"Actually, it…" Just as I was about to dismiss our table crasher, one look in their direction and all the air in my lungs vanished. Expecting it to be Bellamy, my insides wove itself in knots at the sight of our guest.

All it took was one look. One dirty glance in my direction and I was taken back to eighteen. Taken back to sixteen. Even as young as twelve. Back then I didn't understand what was happening to me. All I knew was that for seven years…I didn't even know how to explain what he was doing to me. I knew it was wrong. But Papa said that it proved I wasn't being fast.

Cillian's words ricocheted in my head. " But there's a difference between that kind of wickedness and mine. At least I can turn mine off. A person attracted to kids ain't never gonna be able to turn that off ."

Suddenly, my body felt glued to my chair. I couldn't blink. I couldn't speak. In his presence, I was taught not to move. Not to react. All I could really do was recite Psalm 34:4-5 under my breath and pray it ended sooner.

My heart was beating faster than it ever had. Maybe even faster than when I witnessed someone die. He'd only sat down for a few seconds, not even a minute, but even that had felt like a lifetime.

"It was nice to see you Elizabeth." My body uncomfortably shook at the sound of my name leaving his lips. As he stood, I kept repeating my words of comfort up until he was out of view.

"Family friend?" Cillian's question breaking me out of my trance. I planned to get up so I could find some place quiet to cry, but my dress was wet, as well as the train of it. In such a short exchange, I hadn't realized I'd been sitting in a pool of my own urine.

Completely trapped, I broke down in an uncontrollable sob feeling just as powerless as I'd felt when my father had forced me to go to him every year. No matter what I did, I'd be humiliated. If I stood, everyone would see that I'd soiled myself. If I stayed, there was no way of knowing whether I'd encounter him again.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" A slight snarl curling onto Cillian's lips. Assuming I would match his energy, his face dropped into one of concern when I wouldn't stop crying. All I could do was cover my mouth to muffle the sound so I'd bring less attention to myself, but with Cillian, the scene had already been made.

"Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?" His angered expression softened, but I could barely get the words out.

"I want to go home." The words leaving my mouth no louder than a whisper. Cillian pulled his chair closer to mine, assuring me if I wanted to go home, then that's what we were going to do.

"Get up."

"I can't." Another whisper.

"Elizabeth, if something's wrong with you, you need to stop wasting my time and get up?—"

"I said, I can't!" My tone sharper but not enough to hide my cowardice. I wiped my nose with my napkin and Cillian finally looked toward my feet to find my soiled shoes, train and floor. I would be the laughing stock of Black Mecca but most of all, he'd probably never let me live this down.

"Elizabeth Sullivan, I'm not gonna tell you again. Get…The fuck…Up," he demanded, as I balled my hands into fists, closed my eyes and wished the entire room would disappear.

"Please don't make me," I pleaded once more.

"You don't think I see something— someone —must have scared the shit out of you? You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, sitting in your own piss. Or I could get you the hell out of here. None of that can happen if you don't stand the fuck up."

"I just…need a minute," I said, doting my face, aware I'd ruined my makeup when streaks stained the napkin.

"I'll stand with you. Soon as you stand, we'll go home," Cillian insisted.

"Promise?"

"I, promise you, that you won't be made a fool of if you just stand up." I prepared myself for the dozens of stares that would accompany walking by prying eyes.

As I stood, without hesitation, Cillian slipped out of his suit jacket, threw it over his forearm and swooped me into his arms, so the back of my dress wouldn't be as noticeable.

Cillian carried me out through a back exit and with every good grace I had, I wanted to thank him but I had lost my voice. Eventually, Cillian had managed to find the car, tap the door to bring attention to the driver, as once the car door was open, Cillian hoisted us in the backseat.

"What should I tell Bellamy if he asks?"

"Tell him I left to take care of my wife," Cillian admitted softly, as he adjusted me on his lap and held me close. We'd only been married two days and, in that time, I would've expected to hear his ridicule. Maybe even his taunting that whatever happened to me, must have been my fault. But none of that happened.

"It's ok," he hummed softly into my ear, as he insisted I rest my head on his shoulder. Tears kept falling as the memories of Dr. Thorpe continued flooding in. Everything happened so fast, I almost forgot he had a name.

My Papa. From the time he thought I started looking like a woman, he felt the need to test my virtue. Every year he'd send me to get checked . Having some strangers' fingers on you. Inside you. I couldn't think of a worse way to punish your eldest daughter.

"It's ok, Elizabeth. I won't let anything happen to you," Cillian repeated, as I buried my face in his neck. He smelled so nice. Certainly better than I did given my accident. With his free hand, he caressed the top of my hair, switching from my hair to my upper back.

Something was happening and I didn't know what. But what I was sure of was, if Cillian let go, I would surely fall apart.