From there, all he had to do was track down Russell, who kept my name out of it but couldn’t hide that he had broken two of the most scandalous Farrell stories of all time. Then he had gone to Erica London, who never did quite live up to all the potential that she had thought she had at the time I had blackmailed her. Despite a lot of hype, her television show had bombed after three episodes. And though she was still very pretty, she was now making a lesser living playing no-nonsense wives and mothers in commercials for practical things like disinfectants and life insurance.
She had been forthcoming, as had Corey Mays, who had been blaming his weakness and Chloe’s duplicitous nature for his broken engagement all these years. Now he, like everyone else, was aware that it had all been me.
On a hunch, the PI had then gone to Mike Barker, who had told him about my bet. Then, after visiting Chloe and Nicky, he presented my solved case to Veronica Farrell as a neat little package the very same day. She had flown out from New York, shown James the evidence in his driveway, and that was that.
Mama Jane tutted during every dramatic twist and turn of the story, and when Nicky finally finished she patted me on the shoulder and said, “I didn’t know you had in you, Davidia Jones. That is some story.”
“It ain’t funny,” Nicky said. “These rich bitches could sue her ass. They got lawyers, and what Davie did was off-the-hook.”
Mama Jane harrumphed. “They ain’t suing nobody. And if they try, send them to Mama Jane. I’ll run them over with my truck.”
High School Davie, who had never had a defender, was startled into laughter. The image of Mama Jane running over the Farrell family with her eighteen-wheeler was so hilarious that the laughter didn’t even seem to be a choice. It just came hiccupping out of me.
Then the sound of my own voice broke me, and I started crying.
Mama Jane sat me up and pulled my head to her shoulder. “That’s the stuff, baby. Let it out.”
And that’s how it went. I was catatonic High School Davie for one day, and then I was myself again, crying off and on for about three days straight. Mama Jane stayed with me the entire time, making me soup and sandwiches for lunch and dinner, and then sleeping on a pallet on the floor until I was ready for a bowl of cereal the next morning.
. . .
On the fourth day of my recovery from the Driveway Confrontation, Mama Jane and I were sitting on my couch, eating cereal. She had a big haul that she was leaving for that afternoon, so it would be our last breakfast together for a while.
“I don’t know why I did it,” I told her. “I guess I felt like if I couldn’t have my Molly Ringwald Ending, then none of them should get to be happy and in love.”
“What’s a Molly Ringwald Ending?” Mama Jane asked. She was dressed in her usual off-duty uniform of boxer shorts and a tank top. Probably the least attractive thing a graying, butch, and overweight black lesbian could wear, but it wouldn’t be Mama Jane if she showed up to dispense advice in anything but the least fashionable attire.
“It’s a perfect ending. It’s when somehow, against all odds, people manage to surmount all issues of class, status, and personality to get together at the end of a story.” I thought about that definition, and then realized for the first time: “It’s basically impossible. I’ve never seen that kind of ending happen in real life. I mean not ever.”
Mama Jane patted my hand. “I never met this little boy, and I ain’t condoning what you did to him and his. That shit was funny, but it ain’t right.”
She waited for my contrite nod of agreement before continuing on.
“But don’t you think you’re giving somebody who didn’t even know you was alive till very recently a lot of power over your life?”
It was such a profound statement that the tears threatened to overtake me again, but this time I kept them at bay with a hard sniff. “I think I’ll go back to work tonight. I feel ready to sing again.”
Mama Jane smiled and gave me another pat on the hand. She didn’t approve or disapprove of my decision, just said, “Drink your coffee, baby.”
TWENTY-FOUR
I found out what Mama Jane already knew when I went downstairs for rehearsal.