Lies of a Real Housewife (9 page)

needed something different.

By the way Phaedra was acting, I could tell that this gig was going

to be the big one. I was ready for those thousands of dollars she promised I would make. Other than the one time I got caught, and was charged with forg-

ery, everything Phaedra had told me to do seemed to have a smooth ending.

Even the one snafu or offen
se, I really couldn’t blame Phaedra for

that. She provided me with the checks, but I got banged up for personal purchases. She had nothing to do with that. I was out on bond awaiting trial. Phaedra assured me that I was only going to get a slap on the wri
st. So again, I put my trust in her, and we kept rolling along.

July of 2001, Phaedra and Apollo drove me to Hartsfield Interna-

tional Airport. The previous day, I had given Phaedra a passport picture of myself that she instructed me to purchase from a CVS Pharmacy. I was told to go inside the airport, and purchase a round trip ticket from Atlanta to Wash-

ington, DC.

From the jump, I could tell that this particular operation would con-

sist of some very slick, cunning and well-connected sh**! I did exac
tly as told and they waited for me outside the airport. My flight was due to leave the next morning. Everything was going according to plan. I left early that morning with a returning flight for later that day. I was given a folder filled with fake documents. I had in hand, bank statements, a utility bill, and a social

security card with a fraudulent Georgia state driver’s license.

The name associated with this particular operation was that of one, Tara Evans. The picture on the license was the same passport picture I had taken at the CVS Pharmacy two days earlier. Damn! I thought. The thrill of living life on the edge, playing with fire, and not getting burned gave me an adrenaline rush. They seemed to know their way around everything. I felt

invincible.

My assignment involved flying to DC, and catching a cab from the

airport to Baltimore, MD. Then I was supposed to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles, submit my documents, and obtain my State of Maryland

driver’s license.

I will never ever, ever forget that ride on the airplane that day. I was

six months pregnant, overweight, and fighting with the father of my unborn child. To make matters worse, I did not know if I was going to make it back

home. I just knew I was doing what I had to do.

There was a change of plans when I arrived in DC. What Phaedra

and Apollo didn’t know was that I had family there. I grew up in Buffalo, but I was born in Maryland. My mother had moved to Buffalo when I was six weeks old. DC was familiar territory. It just so happened that my uncle, Ernie, was in the hospital. Junior, my cousin, picked me up from the airport. He drove straight to the Walter Reade Memorial hospital where my uncle was

on his deathbed.

Ernest Lee served our country from 1961 to 1997. He fought in the Vietnam War and was in Bagdad. He was retired, and had been a lieutenant colonel in the air force. Ernest Lee was my father’s only brother. A family man and veteran, my uncle was in the hospital dying of brain cancer. Various family members told me that it would be a complete waste of my time for me to even visit him. They claimed he wouldn’t recognize me, but I had to make

this visit to see for myself anyway.

It was very painful for me to even imagine my uncle in that state, but I still wanted to see him. He had always been good to me, and never showed me anything but love. For that, I loved him. My uncle never treated me indif-

ferently and I was sure he had heard all the bad stories about me.

Uncle Ernie had heard of the many schools which expelled me. He

heard all about me being mischievous and disrespectful. Even when I got caught stealing, he heard about that too. My family members made sure they told him of all the times I had run away from home, and the hell I dragged
my father, his only brother, through. All those endless nights my father had spent searching for me my Uncle Ernie heard it all, but never once raised his voice to me. He never spoke anything foul about my life, and always offered me encouragement, no matter what kind of hell I put my parents through. He was never judgmental, and Uncle Ernie gave me his unconditional love. That was why the first thing I did when I landed in DC was to go visit with

my sick uncle.

It was with some trepidation that my weak
legs dragged me through

the doors of the hospital. I quickly found his ward, and was soon standing next to his hospital bed, looking down at him. I glanced at the medical machinery all around him. Then reached out, and touched my Uncle Ernie’s

hand. I leaned closer to him.

“Uncle Ernie it’s me, Angela. Your niece...” I whispered in his ear.

He knew exactly who I was. Instantly squeezing my hand, Uncle Ernie refused to let go. Tears began falling from his eyes. Deep feelings for him were welling up inside of me, threatening to explode. I knew I was on the verge of an emotional shipwreck, so I tried pulling my hand away. Uncle Ernie had a firm grip. It was getting emotionally out of control for me. After all, I was there to do a job and I did not have time to be sidetracked by my

feelings for an ailing uncle.

With some hesitation, I began peeling his fingers away from my

hand. Silently my tears rolled down my face while I severed our connection one finger at a time. I was thinking about his inevitable fa
te. Uncle Ernie was crying because he knew it was near the end for him. I had to seize control of my feelings, I broke free, and turned away. Walking out of his hospital room, I knew that it was the last time I would ever see my uncle alive.

Needless to s
ay, the ride from the hospital to the Department of Mo-

tor Vehicles was not only stressful, but also unsettling. After all I was pregnant, my uncle was dying, and I was far away from home in another state doing something illegal. I had to put Uncle Ernie to the back of mind,
and go handle business. My cousin, JR, pulled to a stop at the DMV. I sat adjusting my thoughts and makeup. It took a little while before I could completely

detach myself and regain my composure before embarking on my mission.

Eventually I was able to confidently get out of the car. Knowing

damn well that I had a handful of counterfeit government documents in my possession, I walked straight up to the counter without hesitation or fear. The DMV clerk viewed the documents, stamped them and told me to stand in line, and wait for my picture
to be taken. I took my photo. Then the clerk gave me my new identity, and I proudly walked out of the DMV. I remember thinking

how happy Phaedra would be when she knew I had scored once again.

I was happy to please Phaedra. In my mind, she had given me and

my children a way out of poverty. Life was better now and I felt that I owed her for what she had done for me. I wanted her acceptance. I had always been an outcast. I was pleased to be accepted in her circle. I was relieved and glad that the mission w
as a success. I was also delighted that I had gotten away, and contented about a job well done. With each success I received more clout and was advanced to the next level. I was rapidly climbing my career ladder. I didn’t want to be viewed as a curmudgeon.

At around eight that same evening, I arrived back in the ATL. Apollo

was waiting for me at the airport. Mission accomplished. It never dawned on me to even ask the purpose or what was to be the future use of the license. I

trusted my partner, Phaedra, that much. There were no questions.

After a long, hard day, there was nothing more rewarding to me

than to see the look on my mother’s face when I returned home. At last, I was back in the comforts of my home. That whole day had just seemed so long and drawn out. My mother’s whole life circled around my children, and me. She was unmarried and wasn’t dating. My mother devoted her entire life completely to God. Joan Milling had been transformed into a very dedicated minister. My mother was a real preacher, and I was sure she would never give

another woman a potion to abort an unborn child.

While she cared for my children, I provided financial support for my

mother. At fifty-two years of age, she was a robust woman. But then o
ne day, my mother got real sick. I took her to the hospital, and as I waited outside the hospital room, I overheard the doctor talking about my mother having breast cancer. The news of her condition was way too hard for me. Flipping out, I

f**king lost it
in that hospital.

Then came the many days and weeks filled with chemotherapy treat-

ment. My mother’s lovely hair began falling out. I hated seeing her sick. I couldn’t handle seeing her on days when she could barely hold her head up. As a result, I sought to escape and spent most of my time on the streets. It felt safer out there. I focused on what made me feel good, and that outlet was

getting money.

Having lost her business, and all of the benefits that came with it, my

poor mother didn’t even have
health insurance for her treatment and medication. Even though I hated seeing my mother in pain, I felt powerless to really do anything to help her. There was nothing I could do to alleviate her hurting, and that made me angrier. I hated when things spun out of my control. I refused to see my mother suffer. Watching her going through her crisis made me feel like a victim. Those were images that I could never erase from my