Young Wives Read Online Free PDF

her (white) neighbor Michelle and sometimes, though she loved Mich, she felt…well, alone. Worst of all, though, was Clinton’s alienation.
    Sometimes Jada wasn’t sure if all the struggle was worth it. When Clinton had first begun as a carpenter, he and Jada had lived in Yonkers and rented a two-room apartment. Then he’d gotten a job that changed everything. A wealthy executive in Armonk noticed Clinton’s work on a commercial project in White Plains and hired him to convert a three-car garage into a guest house. Clinton had learned the ins and outs of contracting right on the job. He didn’t make a dime of profit on that first one, but he had used it as a spring-board to other jobs. The boom times, and perhaps a little white liberal guilt, had gotten Clinton work at least as often as it had stood in his way.
    But he was equipment crazy. He spent all the profits on a backhoe, a bucket loader, and a bulldozer. He had T-shirts made up that said, JACKSON CONSTRUCTION AND EXCAVATION , IF WE AIN ’ T BUILDIN ’ WE ’ RE DOZIN ’. Well, he was probably dozing right now—on the sofa. Because he had mismanaged everything.
    At first they’d both thought Clinton’s touch had been golden. Both she and Clinton had been sure he would create their fortune. In the darkness, Jada shook her head. Maybe he’d gotten a little cocky, a little arrogant even. He felt like he was different than most of the other men back at their church. “They’re employ ees ,” he used to say. “I’m an employer.” He didn’t go as far as turning Republican, but he did buy a set of golf clubs. And she had had total faith in him.
    It was funny. When she’d seen Clinton working on a building site or directing his men, she’d gotten off on it. He was DDG—drop-dead gorgeous. He seemed so “take charge,” so full of authority. Now he was just full of it.
    Blind faith, as it turned out. They didn’t know they were merely riding the fiscal tide of the times. When corporate downsizing began, all of Clinton’s business dried up and blew away, just the way so many white executives’ jobs and minds had. He couldn’t make payments on the equipment, couldn’t make salaries, had to let people go. The trickle-down effect took a little longer, but Clinton’s mind and pride were eventually blown, too. For almost four years he tried to hang on, giving detailed estimate after detailed estimate on houses that were never built, extensions that were never added.
    Finally, all his pride, her faith, and their money were gone, but their mortgage payments still had to be paid. Jada begged Clinton to get a job, and when he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, she—who hadn’t worked since their first child was born—got the only job she could—as a teller for minimum wage. Even for that she had needed the help of her friend Michelle to get the position. There were a lot of job-hungry wives in Westchester. The money Jada had earned just barely covered groceries, but at least from that day on they were paying cash for their Cap’n Crunch instead of Mastercarding it.
    Clinton, though, hadn’t been relieved. In fact, he’d been made even more miserable by her working. He moped and loafed and slept and ate and griped. He said he didn’t like her out of the home, that the job paid too little and was beneath her. She agreed, but knew they were in no position to negotiate. Somehow, Clinton just never accepted that. He lived a bitter, private life, waiting for “the climate to turn.” He’d gained at least forty pounds. He yelled at the kids and seemed to blame her for everything.
    If it had been impossible to cope at home, Jada had found it surprisingly easy to persevere at work. The bank was a relief: what they expected of her was so much more doable than her task at home. To her own surprise, she’d been promoted almost immediately to head teller—a black woman with three other black women and a white girl reporting to her! She’d never supervised anyone but