Paperback
-
PICK UP IN STORECheck Availability at Nearby Stores
Available within 2 business hours
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781477252932 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 09/10/2012 |
| Pages: | 424 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.94(d) |
Read an Excerpt
The Contest
A Stepper's Dream or NightmareBy Gregory B. Dickerson
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Gregory B. DickersonAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-5293-2
Chapter One
Maria Torres got off the 'EL' at her regular stop, South Street Station, on the South Side of Chicago. She rode the Blue Line every night to the point where she could fall asleep and never miss her stop. On this night, however she was unable to catch her usual nap because she was excited about the previous night's events. Along with her excitement, she was tired, her legs hurt, and with sneakers on, her feet were still killing her. Holding onto the handrail, she walked carefully down the stairs of the elevated station to South Street to start her two-block walk to her apartment. This apartment she shared with her roommate, Pearl Jenkins, who was secretly jealous of her success the night before. Pearl was a twenty-three year-old, tall, slender African American that Maria moved in with when Maria was all of nineteen years old.Inching her way up the street to the apartment, she could not believe how far it felt from the 'EL' when it was cold or when she was in this much pain. She did not understand why the sponsors of the dance contest held it on a Sunday, causing the competitors to dance all night when having to go to work in the morning. The grand prize was two hundred thousand dollars and Maria, Minnie 'T' to her friends, would dance on any given night the sponsors chose.
It was a warm summer evening that allowed the residents of South Street to sit outside on their stoops. Maria waved hello to most of them when she passed by. They were mostly blue collar African Americans who kept their street neat and clean with a variety of thriving small businesses. There was Mr. Small's dry cleaners, the deli on the corner run by Mr. Brown and his family, along with the fish store, hardware store, the barber shop/hair salon all housed on the bottom floors of three-to five-story buildings.
They were a close-knit group who took enormous pride in their community. In the summer, they often closed the block for parties. During the Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday season, they would celebrate together, just as one big happy family.
However, the one event they really got excited about was the big dance contest, where Minnie 'T' and her partner, Ronald Gaines, would represent the South Side. On the outside, the people of South Street showed great love for them, wishing them the best of luck and pledging whatever support they could to help them win against the other four areas of Chicago. The Stepping contest was not only big for the winners that would split the two hundred thousand dollar grand prize, but also for all of the Blacks in Chicago, who Stepped and those who did not.
Stepping in Chicago was serious business.
Ronald Gaines had won the teenage contest five years in a row, and in the following two years he placed third in the adult competition with his partner, Cheryl Mitchell. Therefore, when he chose to dance with Minnie 'T', there was a silent uproar on the South Side. The people who supported him and Cheryl were sure this year, was their year to come in first place.
Cheryl Mitchell, who could have danced with hundreds of others, was so upset when Ronald dropped her, decided not to dance. She figured, like most people, Ronald and Maria did not have a chance to win. Nobody could figure out why Ronald dropped her, but some were taking it extremely personal because of their love for her and some for the money they planned on winning by betting on them to win the contest. Some just did not like the fact that Minnie 'T' was not Black. Therefore, when they did win, Minnie 'T', from Puerto Rico, became the first non-Black to represent the South Side in the Chicago Stepping Contest. The contest was to be televised on BET for the first time in its twenty-five year history.
Walking up the street, all Minnie 'T' could think of was the contest in two weeks and all the hard work they would have to put in for a chance to come out on top. The first thing she did at work was request the next two weeks off to devote all of her time to practicing with Ronald and he did the same. Two hundred-thousand dollars is a lot of money, but the exposure of being on BET could lead to much more. Standing on the corner of South Street and Third Avenue with three other people waiting for the light to change from red to green, Minnie turned to say hello to a well-wisher who had called out to her from behind. Taking her eyes off the oncoming cars, she never saw the white van slowing down.
The feeling of joy she had been feeling for the past twenty-four hours turned to horror when the small-caliber bullets entered her knees almost simultaneously. Everyone could hear Minnie's screams, as the other people on the corner with her dove for safety. Minnie was lying face down on the ground with the left side of her body on the sidewalk and the right side in the street. She then pushed her handbag with all of her identification down the sewer with her right hand. The handbag no one would ever find. The white van turned right onto South Street never going over the speed limit then left onto Second Avenue under the 'EL'. Half of the people on the street tried to read the license plate number and the others dialed 911 on their cell phones.
When the van reached the next corner, Clark Street, the driver turned left and parked the van in the nearest parking spot. He along with the shooter removed their masks and put them into their pockets with their hats then got out. They walked very calmly to the entrance of the same train station that Minnie had just come out of. The two paid their fare with tokens and rode the Blue Line one stop uptown, getting off at the Pine Street station. They walked to the corner of Pine Street and Second Avenue, got into a black four-door 1995 Honda Accord. The two drove in the direction of the North Side, never to be seen again by any of the residents of South Street.
The residents gathered on the corner of South Street and Third Avenue, watching Minnie, now lying on her back still screaming. The first emergency vehicle to arrive was a police car with two officers. They pulled close to the corner then jumped out. The first officer pushed through the crowd to get to Minnie. The second instructed the crowd to move back from the crime scene as the EMS vehicle pulled up. Once the first officer, a female, reached Minnie, she bent down to pull Ms. Walker away from her. Ms. Walker, a resident of South Street for thirty years, was attempting to comfort Minnie. With Ms. Walker out of the way, Officer Reed was able to see Minnie 'T'. With her trained eye, she saw immediately what had happened to her.
"Who would want to cause you this much pain, baby? Who would want to do this to you?" she asked after brushing her short black hair out of her crying eyes.
Before Minnie could answer, EMS personnel pulled the officer away. After ten minutes of attending to her, they carried her into the ambulance on a stretcher and then sped down South Street, heading for St. Jude hospital. Inside the speeding ambulance, EMT Quick inserted an IV tube into Minnie's right arm and had comforted her enough to answer his questions.
"Miss, can you tell me your name? You have no identification."
"My name is Marie, Marie Morales. I live at 139 Dowd Street on the North Side. Call my husband Hector at 773-555-5555. Do you understand?" Minnie 'T' asked him.
"Yes. Yes. I got it, Mrs. Morales," he answered just before Minnie 'T' passed out from the excruciating pain.
Mrs. Gloria Prescott sat snuggled in the corner of her favorite leather sofa wearing her blue silk robe, watching the ten o'clock news on the fifty-inch plasma T.V. She was with her husband, William, in his office, who sat at his desk reading the day's mail not believing what he was reading. The reporter, Jim Lee, of the Channel 5 news team, was just finishing the story of the shooting of an unidentified female on the South Side, a story that would get more of her attention than he would like. Before the night's end, he knew he would have to hear more of her ranting and raving about the Stepping Contest he was competing in with his five-foot seven-inch, blue-eyed, blonde-haired, athletically fit, gorgeous White partner, Donna Sable. She would go on and on about how only people involved in the shooting on South Street would participate in something so crass as a Stepping Contest. And how we, the upper crest Prescotts, of the affluent North Side, should not have a damn thing to do with it. Especially with a White girl. He was sure he would hear her say:
Damn it, William! Are you trying to kill me or just trying to get us removed from the social registry?
William, nevertheless, would not be paying her any attention. Not at this time. For he was too busy trying to figure out who sent him the piece of mail he was now holding. Pushing his high back leather chair away from the desk he stood to his full five-foot-nine inches. He then slowly walked his very fit and trim body to his wall safe hidden within the books on the bookshelf that stood from floor to ceiling. Once the envelope containing the report, which was causing him this evening's despair, was safely locked away, he turned and headed for the door without a word to his wife of twenty years. She bore him a son, Preston and a daughter, Lily, both of whom were away at Ivy League colleges on the East Coast. Opening the doubled mahogany doors leading to the large foyer area and spiral marble staircase, he heard her call out to him.
"William, where do you think you're going? You know damn well I have something to say to you. William!" she yelled a second time when he did not reply which stopped him before he could close the doors to make his escape. Letting go of the doorknobs, he turned slowly in place to face her. Never leaving the doorway, he watched her walk slowly towards him, letting her robe fall open revealing her well-toned, surgically repaired body.
"Now, you tell me what does that White girl have that I don't have, William? Come on, tell me. What does she have? I may be forty-five years old, but you know I still look good. So, what's the problem, baby? Why you got to go to her?"
"Gloria, what are you talking about? You know damn well Donna is only my dance partner and the only thing going on between us is dancing!"
Now only inches from him and looking up into his eyes, William Prescott's wife played her ace in the hole.
"William, I've known you for twenty-five years. I know when you are lying. I know when you are telling the truth. I even know about the other bitch you had over on the West Side and I know you are lying now. So you have two choices baby," she said calmly with lust in her voice. "First, you can tell your little snow bunny you will not be dancing with or fuckin' her any longer. Or, you can take the second choice."
"Look, I told you ...," he tried to say to no avail.
"You can go upstairs, pack your shit and get out of this house. And get prepared to hear from my lawyer because he will be informing you of my desire for a divorce. Next, you will hear from my daddy and he will be informing you that you no longer work for him! That's right, William. You can get ready to say good-bye to the company car, the company plane and the goddamn company expense accounts. And do not think I will not come after your money. That's right, player. I am sure the judge would want me to keep living in the fashion you have me in now. So, what are you going to do, William? Give up living the good life for the White bitch or let her ass go?"
They stood there for a long moment in silence. William had a look of confidence on his face. His mind, however, was spinning out of control. He could only take a deep breath and smile at his wife before he answered.
"Baby, look. I'm telling you the truth. I am not fuckin' her or some chick on the West Side! Come on. Do you really think I would risk your love or hurt you by cheating?"
He stepped slowly to her taking her gently in his arms and bent his head just enough to whisper in her ear.
"Sweetheart, I love you and I am in love with you. I do not care about the money or the lifestyle. All I care about is you. I would never do anything to jeopardize our marriage," he said before kissing her forehead and lifting her to his level. He looked deeply into her eyes as their hearts pounded as one against each other's.
"Then you should have no problem with telling Donna first thing in the morning!" Gloria Prescott whispered with as much passion in her voice as she could muster.
Releasing her arms from around his neck, she let her body slide to the floor and stepped away from him then closed her robe. William stood there frozen. He realized his attempt to calm her had not worked. She stepped around him in the doorway and walked into the foyer heading for the staircase. Walking gracefully up the stairs, her bronzed skin glowed in the light of the crystal chandelier that hung high above. Gloria looked down at her husband with a look of a diva. Still in the doorway, William could only look up at his wife.
"You can sleep in the guest room tonight, my dear. It will give you chance to think of what you will say to her and hopefully by tomorrow night all this will be behind us."
Before he could say anything, she closed the door to their extra-large master bedroom. She walked to her nightstand and picked up the basic white envelope she had received in the mail that same day. Stepping up onto the king-sized bed she shared with her husband, she rested her back against the gold trimmed headboard and stretched her legs out to become one with the silk sheets. She opened the envelope and removed the letter along with the photo for the tenth time. Gloria still could not believe it. She read the words again, this time aloud:
Your husband and his dance partner are also lovers.
Looking at the picture of them kissing, she held tightly in his arms, her feet off the floor. Gloria Prescott's tears started to flow once again.
At the same time Gloria was crying, William was downstairs looking over the report still unable to believe what he was reading. It had arrived via regular mail in an unassuming yellow envelope with no return address. Consisting of two sheets of paper, the first being a hand written letter in black ink that, at first glance, he thought was written by a child, but with further examination, he concluded it had to be the work of an illiterate adult. Once again, he read:
"helo Wiliam I hope tis leter find you and your wife in good helth and your boy and girl doing wel at those white schols out east. Now to get to the point of the leter you my borther ned to which youre back a lot closer an stop puting your busines in the stret. But since you didnt its going to cost you your mariage and the free ride from your wife's dady or a milion bucks its your pick. I would prefr the milion bucks so Wiliam look at the report from your girl frinds doctor.
Putting the second sheet of paper on top of the first, he looked at the results of a pregnancy test taken at St. Helens hospital. The test was taken by a doctor named M. McNeil that says the patient, Donna Sable, is very much pregnant. Written at the bottom of the report in the same black ink were the words:
'Wiliam if you dont want your prety wife and her dady to get a look at ths report you wil be prepraed to send me the milion bucks in two weeks time have a good day Wiliam I be calling.
At eleven p.m. of the same evening, Hector Morales and his wife Marie, sat in the back seat of a gold 1995 Chevy Impala. They rode in the car belonging to her mother's boyfriend, Peter E scobar. The car was being driven by her mother, Eva, along Highway I-94 returning from Detroit to the East Side of Chicago. The four had taken the five- hour drive to attend the 'Church of Christ' weekend long seminar and revival, the Motor City's biggest gathering of Christians. This event has been attended by a Torres family member for the past twenty years, where Hector and Marie had met and fallen in love at the tender age of fifteen. Hector would tell people it was love at first sight. Marie would counter with, "Yeah, as soon as he could figure out if it's me or my identical twin sister Maria he had fallen in love with."
The sisters stood at the same exact height of five feet two inches, had the same slender figure, the same size breasts, and the same long black hair, which Marie still maintained to this day. Also, they both still weighed one hundred and ten pounds. No one could tell them apart except their immediate family members, which no longer included their father, who was killed in a car accident when they were ten years old. Not until the age of eighteen when Maria had an uncontrollable desire for independence and not only cut her hair to her shoulders, but also dyed it blond, could anyone else tell them apart.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Contest by Gregory B. Dickerson Copyright © 2012 by Gregory B. Dickerson. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.