A Day Late and a Dollar Short (21 page)

"And what is it that I've got?"

"Heartache." "Heart what?"

"You can spell it any way you want to, but it still boils down to plain old loneliness."

She does not know what she's talking about. "I'm not lonely, Mama. And when was my heart supposed to have been broken?"

She looks at me like I'm crazy. I guess she would be referring to Nathan. "You can't fool me, Paris. I brought you into this world. I can see right through you. What you need to do is drop your guard and let somebody find the latch that opens the gate to your heart. You'll feel a whole lot better."

"What makes you think it's not open?"

" 'Cause you shooting out radar that screams: 'Don't talk to me, don't bother me, I'm fine, I can manage all by myself. I don't need nobody!' "

"I think you're overstating the point, Mama. But what's bad about managing on my own?"

"Nothing, Paris. But stop focusing so much on Dingus. That boy's already on his way. You've done a good job raising him, and he's gon' be all right. Now put some of that energy into you." "How?"

"Go out. Do something stupid sometime. Something silly, something that tickle you-hell, something that don't make no damn sense." "Could you be more specific, Oprah?" "Join a club." "What kind of club?"

"Hell, I don't know! They got clubs for everything." "What about you, Mama?"

"We ain't talking about me now, is we, or are we?" "No. So let's make this a two-way session. Try this on: I'm not the one who's fifty-four and seven-eighths years old with a husband who has moved in with some welfare hoochie and left me in a tacky litde house by myself that from what I gather the IRS has a lien against, and I didn't just get out of the hospital after having a severe asthma attack, and I'm not the one who doesn't have a major source of income except Social Security. So-what kind of changes do you have in store, Miss V?"

"Well, first of all, if you gon' tell it, get the shit right. This house got more than a lien against it, baby. They gon' take this hellhole in a hot minute."

I get a lump in my throat. "Take it?"

"You heard me."

"Well, what do we need to do to stop it?"

"We ain't doing nothing. I don't wanna live in this dump no more."

"But what about Daddy, Mama? Are you sure he's not coming back?"

"I don't want him back."

"We've heard this before."

"Anyway, do you wanna hear some of the things I wanna do or not?"

"Yes I do."

"Okay," she says, her tone softening. "I would love to go on that cruise with Loretta."

"Sounds good."

"I wanna get some decent dentures. A tight fit, so they don't click when I talk."

"You should have only the best teeth, Mama."

"I'm serious, Paris! I hate these damn things. They make my gums sore."

"Sorry," I say, smirking and glad it's dark in here.

"And I'm gon' lose some weight. At Jenny Craig."

I want to laugh when I think of Mama doing a commercial for Jenny or starving on those miniature meals, but I know she's serious, so I just say, "Uh-huh."

"And I wanna live in a real house with a garage-door opener, but a condo would be just fine, as long as I can have enough yard to plant a handful of something."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"Now, this last one might seem oudandish," she says. I assume because the others haven't.

"What's that?"

"I want a brand-new car. 1 don't care what kind it is. Did you know that me and your daddy ain't never had a new car?"

"Nope. But, Mama, I don't mean to put a hole in your balloon, but how are you planning to get all this stuff?" "I don't know." "You have to have some idea." "I might start a day care." "A what?" "You heard me."

"I thought kids got on your nerves."

"They do. I could just run it. I wouldn't necessarily have to take care of 'em."

"Good idea. But you have to get a license."

"So I'll get one."

"You have to take classes."

"I can read."

"I know that."

"Plus, I been playing the lottery and been hitting for four numbers off and on this past year, and my palm keep itching which means something's gon' happen in the very near future. I just feel it."

"So-I'm assuming you'll be alive when you hit the lottery?" "You go to hell, Paris."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you, Mama. But, in all seriousness, I might have a few extra dollars to spare. After my taxes are paid this quarter I'll check with my accountant and see what I can do to help you out in a few of those areas."

"That would be nice, but don't strain yourself."

"Well, I have to do something."

"You ain't gotta do nothing."

"But I can, Mama."

"Okay, can I ask you something else?"

"No, Mama."

"Why don't you wanna do that television program?"

"Because it would be too time-consuming."

"What ain't? It sounds like a whole lotta money."

"That's why so many people are miserable as it is, doing it just for the money. And it's not as much money as you think."

"Well, what about that cookbook idea?"

"I'm working on it. I just need time to develop the proposal. It's more to it than handing over a bunch of recipes, Ma."

She rolls over and, out of habit, reaches for her inhaler and takes a few puffs, then rolls back over and looks up at the ceiling. She's quiet for a few minutes. I'm listening to the silence. "Janelle is going through something. I think she done found out that George been doing what I suspected he was doing all along."

"What makes you say that?"

"Can't you see how grown Shanice is looking, not to mention acting?"

"I didn't notice one way or the other."

"She's different."

"She's going through puberty, Mama.'.'

"Puberty, my ass. Somebody done messed her puberty all up, and his name is George or my name ain't Viola Price."

"So what should we do?"

"I don't know. But if I tell you something, I want you to keep it to yourself."

"All right."

"I smelled liquor on Shanice's breath today."

This makes me sit up. "What?"

"You heard me. I know it was beer."

"Mama, she's only twelve years old."

"Wake up, Paris. Something is bothering that child. My instincts is telling me that things ain't right in their house. I just wanna make sure you watch out for her, 'cause if Janelle's too goddamn stupid and put that man before her own daughter-if and when the shit do hit the fan-promise me, before anybody else gets her, you'll take care of Shanice."

"I thought Janelle said George was gone?"

Mania just sucks 011 her teeth, then takes them out and sets them on the table. I think I will get her a decent set.

"How far could he go?" Mama says. "It's his house."

"Well, I'll ask her about it in the morning."

Mama grabs my arm. "I just asked you not to say nothing about Shanice and no drinking."

"1 won't. I'll ask her why George is gone and if she's planning to take him back, if he comes back."

"He'll be back," she says, and rolls over on her side. "I'm going to sleep now. So, if you got something else to say, you'll be talking to yourself. Good night."

It's hard to get to sleep. I toss and turn and then slide ofF the bed, reach for my purse, and feel inside until I find my pills. I almost step on Dingus when I go out to the living room. He's rolled up inside a few sheets and a small flannel blanket Mama must've taken from an airplane. Lewis is conked out on the couch. From the kitchen, I hear a glass clink against the inside of the sink. Shanice appears, in the same shorts she had on earlier and a light-pink tank top. "What are you doing up so late?" I ask. She of course is surprised to see me.

"I was thirsty. Needed some water," she mumbles fast.

I walk over to her and she beelines it toward the room she and Janelle are sharing. "Wait a minute," I say.

"What is it, Aunt Paris?" Her back is toward me.

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"All right, then. Good night."

" 'Night," she says, and clashes into the hall bathroom. I hear the faucet come on and, a few minutes later, the toilet flush. In the kitchen I see a clear blue glass lying on its side in the middle of the stainless-steel basin. I place the pill on my tongue while I pick up the glass and take a whiff. It hurts when I smell that Tropical Breeze cooler, but I swallow the pill dry and go on back to bed.

I wake up to the smell of bacon and loud rap music. Mania's already up. 1 don't feel like moving, really. There's a tap tap tap at the door. "I'm up," I say.

"Can I come in?" Janelle asks.

"No, stay out there and talk to me through the door."

She eases it open and the phone rings at the same time. I hear Mama yell, "I got it!" from the kitchen. I look at the clock. It's just barely eight-thirty.

"What's up?" I ask. Janelle looks sullen, despite the white sweatsuit. Her hair is in a ponytail and she's got on dark-pink lipstick. With that against her dark skin, she looks like a Somalian Barbie. If I'm not mistaken, it also looks like she could stand to lose a few pounds. I dare not say anything or she'll freak out. "Sit," I say. "No, wait. Come on into the bathroom while I brush my teeth."

"Dingus!" Mama yells. "A girl name Meagan is calling you!"

I stop dead in my tracks and Janelle bumps into me from behind. Her boobs feel bigger.

"Paris, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Just a second." I go over to the door to see if Dingus is still asleep. He is. Lewis is nowhere in sight. If I didn't have an audience I'd get on that phone and put this little bitch in her place and then maybe kick the hell out of my son for putdng us both in such a precarious situation. On the ride here I was too busy worrying about Mama to bring the subject up, and even though it was taking up a big chunk of my mind, I decided to wait until we leave to deal with this issue. Now is not the time or the right circumstances to mention it, because not only would Mama be heartbroken, but this kind of news could put her back in the hospital. I still give him a stiff kick in his ass. "Ouch! Ma, dag! What's wrong?"

"What's so important that this girl has to call you here?"

"Who?"

"Meagan. That's who."

"I don't know."

"You and I both know you know. And I suggest you handle it now or suffer the consequences."

"I don't have a clue about what you're talking about, Ma. Granny, would you ask her if I can call her back later, please?"

"You ain't making no long-distance calls on this phone. Period. Paris, come talk to this girl, would you?"

"No!" Dingus says. "Never mind. I'll talk to her." "What we doing today, Paris? Wanna go to the mall?" "Mama, are you supposed to be walking and doing stuff already?" "I feel good. 1 don't wanna sit in here all day looking stupid. We need to do something. What time y'all leaving?" "My plane leaves early tomorrow morning." "Please get a seat on it for your brother." "Where is he, by the way?" "Said he went to work. And don't ask."

I shake my head and head back toward the bedroom, but stop at the door when I hear Mama say, "All I know is, he better bring my damn car back in one piece."

"You shouldn't let him drive it, Mama."

"I know. But it's too far and too frigging hot to walk anywhere, and with his arthritis acting up and all." "His what?"

"Maybe he ain't been lying about it. His right knee is all puffed up, and you should see his elbows and wrists, Paris. They look like big knots. Even two of his fingers is getting crooked."

"Really? I just thought he's been faking these past couple of years. That he's just been complaining to get some sympathy and using it as an excuse so he wouldn't have to work." "I saw it with my own eyes." "Then why doesn't he go to a doctor?"

"He said he's been to three or four, but all they do is give him this medicine that messes up his stomach. He said Tylenol works, sometimes. And he took four of 'em at one time. Why don't you give him one or two of your Advils!

Is she trying to be funny? "I'll ask him if he wants to try one when he gets back. Where's Shanice?"

"Still sleep!" Janelle screams from the bathroom. She's sitting on the edge of the bathtub when I get back, fidgeting with Mama's shower curtain with tropical fish swimming behind her. "I guess she was beat."

"I know she was," I say, and get out a brand-new toothbrush from under the sink.

"What are we going to do for Mama's birthday?"

"That's what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"Well, not exactly."

"Then what?" I ask.

"First, do you have any ideas what we could do?"

"Well, I was thinking about asking if she wanted to come up for a few weeks, which we know the answer to that already. Plus, I might have to go to London for four or five days. She could hang out with Dingus, maybe spend a week with you."

"I'm not sure what my situation is going to be like yet."

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, what's the deal with George? Have you guys really split up?"

"Probably."

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm still far too pissed."

"He didn't touch Shanice, did he?"

"No," she says, dryly.

"You wouldn't lie about some shit like this, would you, Janelle, seriously?"

"No, I wouldn't. But I don't feel like talking about George right now, Paris, okay?"

"Are you pregnant?" She looks shocked by my question.

"What would make you ask that?" Her eyes are black and glassy. Like she's going to break down any minute.

"Well, you look like you've gained weight and your boobs are bigger."

"So what? Yours are, too."

"Yeah, but I bought mine."

"What?"

"I got implants."

"When? Why didn't you tell me? Let me see!" I lift up my pajama top and show these beauties off. "Damn," she says, staring. "They're humongous!" "They are not. I'm a 34-D. That's it." I cup them with both hands, then let them go. They don't move. Janelle's hands are over her mouth. "How come you didn't tell me?" "You don't tell me all your business, now, do you?" "The important stuff."