Respect Me, Part 1 by Nia Arthurs

Eight

Harriet

I strideinto Doc’s repair shop the next day, sliding my sunshades over my hair and observing the dirty cars and oil-stained equipment. Today, I dress appropriately—old T-shirt, faded jeans, sneakers. Nothing I can’t afford to throw away.

Doc stops working when he sees me. His head pops out of the car’s hood and his eyes do that thing where they see right into my brain. “You’re back.”

“I was told you usually ask for a wrench.” Pushing up my sleeves, I march straight to the toolbox. My eyes land on a pile of metal tools. Panic slaps me in the side of the head. Which one’s the wrench?

With the flat of his hand, Doc slams the tool box closed. “I think I made myself clear yesterday, ma’am. My technology is for males only.”

“I didn’t drive all the way here just to go home.”

“Then perhaps you’d like some lemon water before you go.” He gestures to a table set up with two chairs and a mug filled with water and lemon slices.

Savage.

Noted.

I fold my arms over my chest and summon all the courage I lacked yesterday. Yesterday when my husband slammed the door in my face. Yesterday, when my husband drove off.

Jerrison never came home.

I told myself I wouldn’t call him.

Then midnight chimed through the house.

Worry eclipsed my rage.

My fingers trembled when I dialed his number. I prayed that it was his voice I heard and not some woman who was picking up the phone while he slept in her bed.

Relief filled me when he answered. “I’m working late with Pat tonight. Don’t wait up.”

I didn’t listen.

Not because I didn’t want to but because I just couldn’t sleep.

Hours crawled by in nightmarish strokes.

The silence was cold. Empty.

My thoughts soared like deranged birds, cawing and piercing me with their beaks.

It felt like the end.

Like Jerrison was slipping further and further away from me.

My hands were tied, handcuffed to anxiety. I held the sheets to my nose and inhaled. Tried to smell him. Tried to pretend he was still there.

The emptiness lingered.

I couldn’t smile into the darkness.

Lies. Deceit. Pain.

Agony.

I threatened to leave, but I don’t really want to go.

Marriage was what I wanted.

It’s still what I want.

I believe Jerrison and I can make it, but that possibility seems more elusive than ever.

He was gone when I fell asleep.

He was gone when I woke up.

The helplessness that filled me when I opened my eyes to morning sunshine and silence forced tears down my cheeks.

In the light, pretending was not an option. The blankets with his scent, the clothes in our closet, his hats on the wall and the watches in the drawers all failed to compensate for my loneliness.

In the echoes of the quiet, I heard the truth.

I’m a failure as a woman. As a wife.

And I’m obviously doing something wrong.

Doc is the only one who can point me in the right direction.

“Why are you here?” Doc asks, barely disguising his impatience.

“You can help me.”

“What makes you think that, ma’am?”

“Calvin Fox.”

Doc sighs deeply and returns to the truck he’s repairing. “I’m sure Calvin told you I only work with husbands who want their wives.”

“He did.”

Doc wipes a hand on his shirt. He’s wearing a dark grey vest. It’s already covered in oil splotches. The arms of his overalls make a knot on his waist. The stench of gasoline permeates from his dark skin.

Undeterred, I trail him to the truck. “Calvin Fox was a playboy. He slept with anything in a skirt. Spent thousands on lavish parties, booze and women. He was a bastard and everyone knew it.” I grab the edge of the hood and lean forward, pushing myself just short of Doc’s personal space. “But one day, Calvin Fox came here. To this…” I glance around, “cluttered mechanic shop. He met a man named Doc. A man his best friend Graham told him to see.”

“Ma’am…”

“Have I mentioned Graham? He’s not only Calvin’s best friend. He’s a cheater. Cheated on his wife with a flight attendant.” A lump forms in my throat when I remember the story Pax told me. “His marriage fell apart. But, somehow, Graham changed everything. He met a man named Doc and now he and his wife are stronger than ever.”

Doc turns fully to me. “There’s one common thread in those experiences.”

“All the people who came to see you were men.” I don’t need him to spell it out. I have eyes. Ears. Understanding.

“And,” Doc adds, “those men wanted their marriages—for whatever reason—to succeed.”

I round the hood so I can stand on the other side of him. “Doc, have you ever tried working on a marriage with a woman at the helm?”

His lips tighten.

I’m not sure if that’s a yes or a no. I don’t care. “Look, if it worked for Calvin and Graham, it can work for me.”

“There’s nothing you can do.” He grunts as he pulls out a wire.

“I don’t believe that.”

Doc narrows his eyes in my direction. “Can you excuse me? I’m very busy today.”

“Fine.” I know when to back off. I’m the manager of a successful bakery franchise. Working with McClane Confectionaries taught me lessons on sales, marketing, and customer acquisition.

There’s a reason the customer is always right is a thing. The person with the money should never feel like they’re being forced or manipulated into a purchase. The decision has to appear as if it’s coming from them. Push too hard and it only ends in disaster.

Doc is reaching the end of his patience. I can sense it.

Lifting both hands, I step back. “I’m not giving up, Doc.”

He says nothing in response.

I check my watch. It’s still early. I told my assistant manager that I’d be out of the office everyday until noon. The afternoon rush is when the bakery really needs an extra hand anyway. I figured Doc would play hardball and I wanted a free schedule.

I’m going to need time to wear him down.

How am I going to do that?

Still not clear.

Metal clanks noisily behind me. A peek over my shoulder reveals Doc working on the car, his focus targeted on the lump of metal. He dutifully ignores my presence.

It’s almost amusing.

Poor Doc.

If he thinks a little rejection will stop me, he’s in for a rude awakening.

I sit on the chair next to the table and mug. Tap my fingers. Wait him out.

That’s my strategy.

It lasts for all of twenty minutes before restlessness steps in. I’ve been working since I was four years old. Mom handed me a broom at her janitorial job and told me to bug off. Then I worked so hard, she paid me a buck fifty for my efforts.

Across the room, I spot a ratty broom with broken bristles that are so dirty, they look like they’ve been died black at the ends.

My eyes glitter. Bingo.

I reach for the broom and start to sweep the far corners of the shop.

Doc glances up and I can feel his anxiety even from a distance. “Ma’am, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

For the next few hours, I dust the entire place. When I’m done, I wipe down the grimy walls with a clean cloth, water, and some soap powder.

Doc offers me a cup of water. “Please don’t waste your time. I appreciate what you’ve done today, but I won’t change my mind.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Breathing hard, I gulp the refreshing liquid and check my watch. Noon. “I’ve got to go.”

“I hope I don’t see you tomorrow,” Doc says.

But he does.

I prepare to head to Doc’s shop and have a stiff conversation with Jerrison about where he was last night. He stalks off angrily and I leave the house torn between wanting to beat him up and wanting to bawl my eyes out.

On the way to the garage, I get my emotions together and make a quick stop at the grocery store. Keeping my list handy, I fill my trunk with buckets, cleaning agents, and floral scents. Car oil stinks and if I’m going to be working with Doc, I want the place to smell better.

Doc ignores me when I walk into the garage. That’s expected. I simply stride past him and get to work. The hours speed by. I’m glistening with sweat by the time I complete my first cleaning task for the day, but my efforts are immediately acknowledged.

“That fragrance is lovely,” one of Doc’s customers mentions to me.

“Thanks.” I beam up from the floor where I’m scrubbing years of dirt out of the cement.

“You work here?” She eyes me, batting thick eyelashes.

“Sort of.”

Doc hurries over to me and shakes his head. “Ma’am, what are you doing? Would you stop cleaning? These tasks weren’t meant for you.”

“Call me Harriet, Doc. Since we’re going to see each other often, you should probably know my name.”

His eyes soften just a smidge. “Harriet, there’s no need to do this.”

“It’s making a difference.” I turn to the customer. “Isn’t it?”

“Doc, she’s doing a fabulous job.”

“Honey!” Her husband calls for her.

She waddles off.

Once we’re alone, Doc sighs in my direction. “Can you please stop now?”

“Not a chance, Doc.” I check my watch. Noon. Pulling the rubber gloves off my hands, I stare right at him. “In fact, I’m just getting started.”