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“They may not teach it. I guess I liked it because I’m from Brooklyn.”
“Oh, yeah? I got a uncle live in Brooklyn. In Bed-Stuy.”
“That’s where I’m from.”
Her eyes narrowed into a quizzical squint. “But ain’t that mostly black?”
“Yes, it is. And it was when I was there, too.” That was in the 1970s, not the best of times for Bedford-Stuyvesant, once known as the biggest ghetto in the U.S. Not the best place for a pale-skinned white girl like me to be living, either.
Her expression was appraising now, as if trying to gauge exactly who I was in light of this new information. I must have passed some test, because her expression softened and she smiled.
I gave Tina my card which she stuck in her book.
“Call me anytime, if you have questions. Or want to talk about books.”
“Okay, Ms. McRae.”
“Call me Sam.”
Three raps on the door and Shanae poked her head in. I checked my watch. She’d been away an hour, to the minute.
“You done, right?” she said. “I need to talk to you.” To Tina, she said, “Go downstairs and wait,” dismissing her with a wave of her hand.
The animation drained from Tina’s expression as she rose. Glaring at her mother, she slunk out and closed the door.
Shanae shook her head. “That girl trouble. She need to clean up her act, you see what I’m sayin’?”
“She’s at that age, I guess.”
“Yeah, and I don’t know how much longer she gonna live, if she keep up her bullshit.”
“Well, this is her first offense, so to speak. It should go pretty smoothly. It may take a month or two before we get a hearing before a master. A master is like a junior judge—”
Shanae dipped her chin, in a brief nod. “Fine,” she said. “You jus’ let me know when her court date is. I gots another problem to talk to you about.”
/> I was surprised she didn’t have more questions about Tina’s situation, since she’d been so adamant about staying for the interview. “What is it?”
“You do child support cases?” she asked, taking the seat she’d vacated an hour before.
“Yes.”
“I need a lawyer,” she said. “My girl’s father owe me child support. I wanna do sumpin’ ‘bout it.”
“I’d be happy to help you,” I said, doubting my own words. There was no conflict of interest that I could see. And I could always use the work. “I would have to charge my regular fee, though.”
I thought that might end the discussion. “I can work that out,” she said. “My brother’ll lend me the money.”
“Okay,” I said. I wondered if she’d discussed it with her brother and why she hadn’t asked him for help when she failed to qualify for public defender services. I decided to get some case particulars, since I always give an initial free consult.
According to Shanae, Rodney Fisher had acknowledged paternity of Tina a few years after she was born, though he and Shanae had never married. He’d paid child support, not always regularly, since then. Shanae said he was making more money now and she wanted to sue for past-due support and seek an increase in his monthly obligation.
“Rodney making way more money than he say he does.” A worldly-wise smirk creased her face. “Under-the-table money, you see what I’m sayin’?”
“I get your drift. How do you know this? Off-the-books earnings can be difficult, if not impossible, to prove.”
“I got a friend been looking into this. He can tell you. See, Rodney own a pawn shop. I think a lot of money coming in that ain’t making it onto the books. Unnerstan?”
“I’d like to talk to your friend,” I said. “And see any documentation you have on his income, along with a copy of the child support order.”
