Love Knows No Color Pt. 15

"You don't realize it, but you been one of us for a while now," Althea was having the motherly talk with me. "That day when you first came to our cookout, James talked music to you. He had you pick out the cd's and took over the DJ table for you. That wasn't about him. It was about you and Von, so you could dance and be close. Do you think he let just anybody rub up on her like that? We like you from the start. You have a good heart. You made Von happy, and that made us happy. That made you family. And that means we got your back."

Althea had a way of putting things into perspective. Shavonda had stood there the whole time, nodding her head in agreement. It was true. Once I proved my love for Shavonda, I was immediately, with few exceptions, a fully accepted member of the family.

We held Ethan's replacement birthday party the third weekend in January. Patty's kids as well as Ziggy's and some friends from the church joined us at Chuck-E-Cheese for a pizza party. I spent a lot of the party playing air hockey with Ethan. He was surprisingly good for a 5-year-old, and actually beat my best a couple of times. I quickly learned not to go easy on him or he'd clean my clock.

So far, Ethan had been behaving a lot better toward Miracle. I think he was afraid Brittany would kick his ass. She was very protective of her little sister, and always told us if we were in another room when Miracle started to cry. In return, I often let her hold the bottle when I fed Miracle. She watched Shavonda breastfeed the baby, and once said, "I can't wait until I get those so I can feed the baby too." I thought it was so cute.

January had turned bitter cold, the coldest it had been in years, with temps well below zero in the mornings, rising to just above zero during the day. This made roads treacherous, as it was too cold for salt to melt the ice. In addition, what snow was on the ground didn't melt, but turned into a fine powder that made for low visibility every time the wind blew. Luckily, January was a slow time of year for our company, and with fewer stops on my runs, I was able to at least get them completed most days even with the cautious driving I had to do. I ran along I-80 two days a week, and always went by somebody else in the ditch. One Thursday, on my way to Clearfield for my first stop, I was caught in the traffic jam behind a 50-car pileup. I sat in subzero weather for well over an hour before they turned us back west. I had to go back a couple exits and take 322 east to start my run. Normally, I would have loved the scenic drive, but 322 was in no better shape than the interstate, with blowing snow causing limited visibility and ice patches. I made it through about half my run before Nick pulled the plug on me and ordered me to return home.

The cold weather caused no end of problems on the job. Our trucks were plugged into the building at night so that the block heaters could keep the engine warm. One Monday I came in and found that whoever had plugged my truck in had tripped the circuit breaker. The truck had sat over the weekend without heat and the engine was frozen. I had to wait for a service truck to come and get me started. In addition, the bitter cold caused things like the side curtain on the trailer, and the load straps to freeze. It took a lot longer to get everything ready in the subzero temps, at the same time the cold was life threatening. All of this made for long, exhausting days.

On the home front, it soon became apparent how wise a decision adding extra insulation to the walls of the extension was. That part of the house was always warm, while even with the furnace running hot, you still needed to sit under a blanket in the living room. Thus, we bought another big screen TV and put it in the bedroom. Not that we watched much TV, but it was nice to have when we felt the need. Most of the time, we watched dvds or the news. Neither of us felt there was much on TV worth watching.

In early February, just before the trial, the weather finally broke, and we got back to seasonal normal temperatures, which were about 35 during the day and 20 at night. It felt like a heat wave. Luckily, as Shavonda's body healed even more and she got used to caring for the baby, we became intimate more often. And even on the nights we didn't make love, at least we still slept naked and I could run my hands over her beautiful chocolate skin. I was addicted to touching her, even my hand on her hip was enough to turn me on.

We approached the trial date with some trepidation. We both knew they were going to tear Shavonda apart on the stand, knowing her credibility would affect the outcome of the trial. The defense was going to try everything they could to drag her name through the mud. In a sense, she'd be victimized all over again. And yet, she never told me, "Jason, I can't do this." My queen was brave. More than that, she was still pissed over what had been done to her, and leery because of what almost happened to her. We both knew that if Ziggy hadn't been our friend, things would have turned out very differently.

The day of the trial, we waited in the hallway outside the courtroom to be called to testify. When we'd first arrived, the prosecutor had taken us individually into a small office to go over our testimony, and to try to put us at ease about the ordeal to come. He had intended to call me to the stand first, and knowing I was Shavonda's rock he decided that it would be better if I were there in the courtroom for moral support while my queen gave her testimony. He had an inkling what she was going to be up against, and made me promise not to interrupt the proceedings. He knew they were going to put Shavonda through the ringer. "Just be there and smile at her no matter what happens," he said. "Let her see how much you love her, and that you'll be there for her after the trial no matter what they throw at her. She's lucky. The other women testifying do not have somebody to support them like that."

Soon it was my turn to be called to the stand. After I was sworn in the ordeal began. I testified as to the events of the night, how we were driving down the alley to my house coming home from the engagement party, when we were followed by the cop on trial. How he circled the block and pulled up on us as I kissed my fiancé in my parking spot on my own property. How he cuffed her and insisted she was a prostitute even though we showed him her engagement ring and the leftover cake from the engagement party on the back seat. How he then issued me 3 bogus tickets before driving off with an innocent woman. How I'd thrown him off my land, citing private property. How distraught she was when I picked her up at the police station after she'd been released. How her ordeal had contributed to the mood swings and stress she went through in the next couple of months.

When I was done, the defense attorney grilled me.

"How long have you known Shavonda Jenkins?"

"A little over two years. And her name is no longer Jenkins, it's Waite."

"Have you ever picked up a prostitute?"

No, I never needed to."

"To your knowledge has Shavonda Jenkins ever been a prostitute?"

"No. She has her own business, making jewelry."

"Are you aware she once posed nude for a magazine?"

"She had mentioned something about a photo shoot long ago."

The defense attorney entered a magazine into evidence, then handed it to me. "Cab you identify the woman in the photo spread under the name 'Marie?'" The magazine was called Black and Beautiful, the issue date was May 2003.

"That would appear to be my wife, Shavonda." I was trying to control my anger. Not at Shavonda for posing, she was young and we've all done things we regret in our youth. I was angry that they'd stoop so low as to dig up an old magazine to discredit her, in the defense of the indefensible. "Why are you digging up a magazine over ten years old?"

The prosecutor objected, citing relevance. The defense argued that the photos showed her character. The judge sustained the objection.

"No further questions," the defense said, and I was free to step down. I took a seat in the spectators' area as they called Shavonda to the stand. She entered the courtroom from the hallway, head held high. I silently prayed for her.

Once sworn in, the initial questions were about who she was. They established her place in the community, her two stores, her activity in the church. She also testified how that night started out with my proposing to her, and how we happily made our way back to my house intending to continue our celebration in private. How we were followed by the defendant, who snuck up on us as we made out in my Jeep on my property. How she was detained but not charged. How the cop took her to a dead-end road in the woods, and told her he'd let her go if she performed oral sex on him. How he said he'd just take it anyway when she objected, telling her she couldn't stop him with her hands cuffed behind her back. How she told him she'd bite his little 4 1/2" pecker if he tried, and then he'd have to explain how he got teeth marks there if he wanted to file assault charges. The courtroom laughed at the reference to Shoemacher's size, and I watched him turn red, enjoying his discomfort.

The defense asked Shavonda the same questions they asked me, culminating in the magazine.

"Yes," Shavonda said. "Those photos were me when I was 20 years old. I had no idea they'd end up in a magazine. It was a quick way to make a little money while I was in school. I only did the one shoot, and felt bad about it afterwards."

"Is it true you offered to have sex with Officer Shoemacher in order to gain your freedom?"

"No, I did not." I could see her anger rising. I prayed she would keep her cool. "And that does not explain why the officer took me to that secluded place in the first place instead of to the station." Nice shot across the bow, baby. Make me proud.

"Did you threaten to bite Officer Shoemacher?"

"Yes, I did. And it wouldn't have been assault on an officer. It would have been self-defense against rape."

"Did you see Officer Shoemacher expose himself to you?"

"How do you think I know how tiny he is? Oh, and he has a mole halfway down his shaft as well." The courtroom laughed again while the officer on trial buried his head in his hands. She was emasculating him every chance she got. "Maybe you should make him drop his pants and show the court." Even the judge was laughing now.

"So, if he was about to rape you, why did he stop?"

"He was called to the station by the dispatcher. He was questioned why he had a prisoner who was supposed to be transported to jail on an out of the way dead end street. They knew by GPS exactly where he was. I heard it all on the police radio."

The defense gave up on questioning Shavonda after that. She'd held her own, and her sarcasm had inflicted serious damage on the defendant while she hopefully kept her reputation intact.

The prosecutor had her testify some more on redirect. She clarified her answers so that they were unambiguous. Then they let her step down. Ziggy was the next witness called. But the DA told us we were free to leave, so we did. On the way out of the courtroom, I noticed a black lady officer who looked a lot like Shavonda. I asked her, "Are you the undercover cop?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Thank you," Shavonda said. "We're glad you got him."

"No," the officer said, "Thank you for coming in. I know who you are. And without you he would still be out on the streets. You put your reputation on the line to come testify. All I did was my job."

In the elevator, Shavonda broke down and sobbed into my shoulder as I held her tight. "You did fine, baby. I'm proud of you."

We retrieved the Cruze from one of the parking garages, and made our way home. Althea offered to take the kids for the night when she saw how emotionally drained Shavonda was. We had the house to ourselves. I ran her a hot bath, and lovingly washed her body. I told her how much I loved her. I told her I thought she looked beautiful in the magazine, and that I wasn't ashamed of her for letting them take those photos of her. Drying her off, I carried her to the bed, where I lotioned her entire body, giving her a massage that got all the tension out of her muscles. And after that, I held her and rocked her as she cried her way to sleep. It was the least I could do.

The next morning I called in sick. I felt Shavonda needed my comfort. I was right. She seemed surprised to see me still in bed when she woke up. "Jason, you're late for work," she said, shaking me by the shoulder.

"I have the day off," I said.

Shavonda was still upset about the trial, and it showed in the slump in her shoulders, and the way she avoided my eye.

"Von, baby, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I let you down," she said. "I wanted to be perfect for you, and my past caught up to me. Now you probably hate me for that magazine."

"No, I don't. You're my queen. And we're both very sexual people. I knew from the get go you had a past. I could tell by the way you made love to me the first time. I don't know or care who you were with before me, other than to thank them for training the perfect woman how to be the perfect lover. And you know what went through my mind when I saw that magazine? Damn, my boo still looks this good. And, so what if other people can look at the photos. I have the real thing in my bed every night."

"Von, what you did when you were 20, I might have done as well if the opportunity had presented itself. Seriously, a well-hung man would be a porn star no matter what he looked like. Ron Jeremy is proof. At 20, I'd have jumped at the chance to get paid to get laid. All you did was take some nude photos. And like the magazine you are black AND beautiful. You still are. Honestly, I wouldn't mind having my own personal copy of that magazine. Autographed, of course." Shavonda smiled when I said that.

"You're not mad at me?" she asked.

"No baby. Not at all. I am mad at those idiots for digging up the past when it had no bearing on the present. They only did that to try and rattle us. They sprung those photos on me to see if I'd turn on you. But you'd told me something about them a long time ago, so I knew they were out there. But I couldn't warn you about them because I couldn't affect your testimony or they'd have called a mistrial. I worried about you, but you handled yourself well. You shot them down every chance you got, and I think you won the jury over by fighting back. You made me proud in there."

Shavonda hugged me tight, kissing me over and over. Her eyes were filled with tears, but they were tears of relief. I meant the world to her, and my opinion mattered more than she liked to admit. If I'd been mad about the photos, it would have been devastating to her.

That was the Shavonda I had come to know and love. To the outside world, she was a strong, proud, even defiant black woman. But once she'd made her stand, and in private, she would cry the stress out of her system. She'd be a wreck, a quivering mass of tears for a while. During that time, I tried my best to just hold her and comfort her. Once she was done crying, she'd wipe away the tears and continue on with her life like nothing had happened. She was an amazing, resilient woman.

Two days later, the DA stopped by the house in the evening after the trial. He thanked us for our testimony, and told us that the jury had come back with a conviction on the sting operation, and on the incident with Shavonda. They acquitted him of all other charges. "Off the record," he said, "I'm not allowed to offer to pay you for your testimony. But if you file a civil suit against the city, I will try to get them to offer you a generous settlement. I know you had a court reporter there taking a transcript. You should have everything you need there to prove your case. And I'm sure the city does not want to rehash this in another public trial. They know civil suits are easier to prove than criminal ones, and he's been convicted in criminal court. By the way, Mrs. Waite, nice job insulting his manhood during the trial. We don't normally get a laugh like that in court. Even the judge couldn't help himself. It really boosted your credibility. But what really did it for the jury was seeing them try to use those photos against you, and both you and Jason defied them. They saw you two as a loving couple that was being victimized again in court."

We called our attorney, and had him transcribe the court reporter's notes. We met with him a few days later to review the transcript, then allowed him to draw up the civil suit which he filed later in the week. The city came back with a settlement offer a week later. $50,000 for Shavonda and $10,000 for me. Our attorney made a counter offer, and in the end I got $15,000 and Shavonda got $65,000, plus attorney's fees. It was an expensive lesson for the city.

Don't get me wrong. Neither Shavonda nor I had anything against the police per se. Most of them did a very difficult job with low pay and very little thanks. But there were a few who let their power go to their head. Those were the ones who harassed people, because they could. Or in extreme cases, they were themselves criminals hiding behind a badge. Neither of us understood who the police force tended to circle the wagons around the bad apples and try to protect them. It made more sense to weed out the bad apples and give the force as a whole a bit more respect and credibility in the community at large. IN the case of Officer Shoemacher, getting rid of him when they started getting complaints back in Zone 5 would have saved the city so much wasted time and money in the long run. Instead, a loose cannon was let to roam the streets, passed from Zone to Zone until he messed with the wrong black woman. Shavonda.

I'd been brought up to think that the police were heroes, a noble occupation. I still felt that way about most of them, but Shavonda had opened my eyes to the combination of racial prejudice and abuse of power that could rear its ugly head unexpectedly. If things were still like this 50 years after the civil rights struggle, I wondered how bad it must have been back in the day. Certainly, it had been bad enough for people to flee their homes in search of a better life in a place where they were a little more respected. Shavonda's family heritage was proof of that, both her parents had roots in the deep south.

We had a nice little candlelight dinner for us and Brian and Tamika at the house for Valentine's Day. At least this year we could celebrate. Nobody was around to harass us. We had pork steaks with mashed potatoes and gravy. There was a marble cake for dessert. Barbara had the kids that weekend so it was perfect for the romantic evening the ladies had planned. After dessert, we put on the music and slow danced in the living room. Miracle fussed a little, but once she was fed and changed, she sat in her carrier and cooed until she fell asleep. It was amazing how much I enjoyed dancing with Shavonda. I'd never been much of a dancer before I met her. But once she taught me how to move, it became another way to be close to her.

We let Brian and Tamika stay the night in Shavonda's old room while we made love in our room. Since it was a Friday night, nobody had to work the next day. We made them a nice breakfast and discussed their plans for the future. They were planning a wedding in the summer just before the Ren Fests, and they planned to take a honeymoon holed up in a remote cabin in the mountains. Brian apologized to me about the house, saying, "Sorry we won't be able to buy it from you this year. But we have a wedding to pay for."

"Don't worry," I replied. "As long as you cover my mortgage and any repairs on the house, you can rent it until you can buy it." It seemed like a fair deal to me.