Authors: Terry McMillan
“You look nice,” I said.
“Thank you.” She creased her lips, then stood back to look at herself.
“Where you going?” I asked. All of a sudden, my head was killing me. I shouldn’ta mixed bourbon and rum, and I knew it.
“Out.”
“What you mean, ‘out’?”
“Just what I said.”
“What would you do if I said I didn’t wanna go out?”
“I’m going anyway.”
“Without me?”
“Without you.”
“So it’s like that, then, huh?”
“Franklin, look. You’re the one who got all duded up, boozed it up all day, then left, and now you come strolling back in here three hours before midnight and expect what?”
“I don’t expect nothing but a little consideration.”
“Consider-what?”
“You don’t even try to understand what I’m feeling, baby—and today ain’t no different.”
“Explain what you mean by that, would you?”
“Let’s face it, baby. The only reason you all geeked up and wanna run out on New Year’s Eve is ’cause the white man says that’s what we supposed to do. Most of the people going out tonight is only going
’cause they ain’t got nobody at home to be with. You got me. And on top of that, you wanna spend a couple hundred dollars that we don’t have to do it. For the first time in months, I got a few dollars in my pocket, and I don’t wanna give it all to the white man in one night ’cause they say it’s a fuckin’ cause to celebrate.”
“That’s how you see this?”
“Yeah, that’s how I see it.”
“Well, let me tell you how
I
see it. I think you’re just being cheap. If my Daddy hadn’t given you this money, you wouldn’t have had any. Before I met you, Franklin, I
always
had it, and didn’t spend half my time worrying about it either. I never go out anymore, because
we
never have any money. All we do is fuck and play Scrabble. Well, I’m sick of it—to use your favorite phrase, really fuckin’ sick of it. And whether you like it or not, I enjoy putting on a dress and high heels and perfume and makeup and going out for dinner and dancing. If I can’t do this with you, who can I do it with?”
The phone rang, and she snatched it off the hook. “Hello. I’m on my way,” she said, and slammed the phone back in the cradle. Damn, she’s so pretty when she’s mad.
“I can understand your feeling this way, baby. But you ain’t asked me
why
I’m trying to hold on to this five hundred dollars, have you?”
“Go ahead, tell me. I’m just dying to know.”
“You can cut the sarcasm, baby.”
She made her fingers clip the air so it looked like she was cutting something. I’ma let this go. For one thing, what she said was too true, but I still didn’t feel like being chumped off. “I wanna buy us a car.”
“You wanna buy a what?”
“You heard me. A car.”
“What kind of car do you think you can buy in 1983 for five hundred dollars, Franklin? Tell me that.”
“I was hoping you’d put your five hundred with mine.”
“Oh, is that what you were hoping?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, my five hundred is gone.”
“Gone?”
“I had credit cards that were past due, remember? And a phone bill and a gas bill, and—”
“Look, if we had a car, it would make finding and getting to work all that much easier. We could go anywhere we wanted to when we wanted to. I’m working now, baby, so I can save a few extra dollars in a couple of months and get us a decent ride.”
“Knock yourself out.”
She went over to the closet and got her coat. Shit, she was serious. She
was
going without me. “Tell me something, baby. How you getting to your destination?”
“By cab.”
“And you gon’ walk down this dark street at ten o’clock at night on New Year’s Eve by yourself with all these dope fiends and shit on the loose?”
“Franklin, please, that one won’t work.”
“I hope you ain’t planning on doing no drinking.”
She cut her eyes at me.
“Well, you know what they say, don’t you, baby?”
“About what?” she said.
“That whoever you spend New Year’s Eve with is who you gon’ spend the rest of the year with?”
“Who said that?”
“I don’t know who said it, but what difference do it make? Just think back over the past few years. Who’d you spend yours with last year?”
“I’ll ponder over it while I’m dancing.”
“Then you have a good time, baby.”
“I will.”
“We got any popcorn?”
“I don’t know. Go look.”
She went to get her purse and keys, and was just about to put her coat on. I walked over and stood right in front of her. “I’m not trying to mess up your New Year’s, baby, I swear I ain’t. All I wanna do is be with you, that’s all. We got the rest of our lives to dance and party. And we gon’ do that, I promise. You know how many more New Years I wanna spend with you? All I’m trying to do now is get our constitution down, build us a solid foundation, so in the future when we
do
go out and party, we ain’t gon’ have to worry about how much it’s costing us. Can’t you understand that?”
She opened her eyes as wide as she could get ’em, and I saw the tears working their way inside the rims.
“Can I at least give you a New Year’s kiss before you go?”
Zora wiped her eyes, and that black stuff smeared underneath both of ’em. Then she leaned back on one of them high heels and started biting her bottom lip. She looked up at the ceiling and back down at the floor. Then she looked up at me. Her eyes looked sad. She let out a long sigh, then walked toward me and stood on her tiptoes. Her breasts pressed against my chest and collapsed. By the time her lips found mine, I felt her coat drop to the floor.
“Bitch! You said you and Franklin was coming, and me and Arthur sat there and sat there, and waited and waited, and your asses never showed up! I shoulda known he wasn’t gon’ let you out the house. What are you, his prisoner or something?”
Portia leaned forward on both elbows and put her face inside her palms. Something told me she had taken our not coming too easily over the phone. She’s been holding it all in, just waiting for the right moment, so she could throw it directly in my face.
“No, I am not his
prisoner.
Franklin got sick, and I didn’t want to leave him. By the time I called you back, you’d already left.” Now, why’d I just tell that barefaced lie? And to Portia, of all people? If I told her the truth, all she’d do is accuse me of being too gullible—I know how she thinks. But why should I have to defend how I feel about my man?
“What was wrong with him?”
“Why?”
“You’re lying, Zora. I can see it all over your face. He talked you outta coming, didn’t he? Tell the truth.”
“No, he didn’t
talk
me out of anything, and I wish we could skip the subject. Are you ordering or not?”
“Since I got stuck with a hundred dollars’ worth of
fuckin’ tickets, you’re paying for this. It’s a good thing Arthur ain’t cheap, or I’da had to fork up the cash myself.”
Portia looked up and down the menu, and I stared out the window at people trudging through the snow. All of a sudden, I felt like getting up from this table and walking and walking until I ended up in a place that was totally peaceful. It’s so hard trying to please everybody. They just keep pulling at me. Franklin expects this. Portia expects this. Reginald expects me to practice more. Breathe harder. Then lighter. Make a record. Sing. And school: Miss Banks? Miss Banks? Miss Banks? Can you be on this committee? That committee? No, not this week. Next week? Yes. Remember your responsibility to the children. To the school.
Up to now, I’ve done a pretty good job of dealing with things. Faking it is what I’ve really been doing. Pretending that nothing is wrong. That Franklin’s being married hasn’t bothered me. That his being out of work hasn’t bothered me. That his not having a formal education hasn’t bothered me. But it’s getting too hard, this acting. I’m scared of what the outcome of everything will be. Me and him. My friendships. Teaching. Singing. Me. And now the thought of these damn fits. Right this very minute, my head feels like a hot-air balloon. I’m beginning not to trust myself.
I put my purse in my lap and searched inside until I found the bottle. I’ve been carrying it for months, thought of it as insurance. I twisted the top off and took one tiny pill out and popped it into my mouth. Portia didn’t even notice.
“I’ll have the shrimp scampi and a glass of white wine,” she said.
I took a sip of water. “So. Will this Arthur last until Valentine’s Day, or what?”
“Maybe, maybe not. He’s nice as hell, and he ain’t stingy, so that’s two things working in his favor.”
“What’s working against him?”
“He’s married.”
“Oh, is that
all
.”
“You know, Zora, why you so damn sarcastic today? What’s going on?”
“Nothing, girl,” I said, and started fidgeting with my water glass.
“Are you pregnant again?”
“Pregnant? Be serious. What would make you ask that?”
“Well, something is on your mind. And you just ate four pieces of French bread. Come on, spill it.”
“I’m just getting nervous. Next week Reginald wants to start working on songs for the demo. I’ve got a few originals, but I don’t know how good they really are. This whole process is kind of scary, if you want to know the truth.”
“He thinks you’re ready, right?”
“Yeah. He’s almost more excited about it than I am.”
“You can’t sit here and tell me that you ain’t excited about this shit.”
“Of course I am. It’s just that
I
don’t know if I’m as ready as I thought. It feels like it was only yesterday that I had my first lesson. I’m really just getting used to singing on a regular basis. And now we’re getting ready to go into the studio.”
“Ain’t you the one who been saying how tired you are of teaching?”
“Yeah.”
“So I don’t get it. The time is now, and you getting cold feet, girlfriend?”
“It’s not that. I’ve just got so many other things on my mind, I don’t feel focused enough, like I’m not in a position to give this my all.”
“Meditate more, girl. You the one who said that shit gets you ‘clear’—correct me if I’m wrong.”
“You’re right. But I haven’t meditated in ages.
Since Franklin moved in, it’s felt weird sitting in the middle of the room chanting, knowing he’s in the bathroom shaving. And lately it’s been hard enough trying to drag myself out of bed to get to school on time.”
“Not Miss Guru herself?”
“Go to hell, Portia.”
“Come on, Zora, cut the bullshit. Don’t tell me you gon’ turn out to be one of these women they write about in
New Woman, Today’s Woman, Tomorrow’s Woman, Anybody’s Woman.
…” She started laughing. “Seriously, girlfriend. You heard what they been saying about women who want success so bad they can taste it?”
“What?”
“When it’s finally staring ’em in the face, they get scared. All of a sudden, they don’t feel worthy and shit, start fuckin’ everything up or doubting themselves so much that they don’t get what they started out to get. Please don’t turn out to be one of them, Zora. Hell, when I first met you, all I heard was, ‘I know I can sing. And one day I’m going to sing to a roomful of people, and folks’ll push me into their cassettes while they’re laying on the beach and driving down the highway.’ Didn’t you used to tell me that shit like it was going outta style?”
“I guess.” The waitress came to take our order. I was starving, so I ordered a spinach salad and linguini with clam sauce. Portia changed her mind about the scampi and ordered a steak. “It’ll still be a while before we actually go into the studio. It’s just so damn expensive.”
“So what! You’re worth it, ain’t you?”
“Of course I am.”
“All right, then. Anyway, back to Arthur. It ain’t nothing, girl. I just feel like being kept for a little while. The man is only five foot six, so you know I ain’t serious. He’s got some nice friends, though.”
“Where was his wife on New Year’s?”
“In South Carolina with her family. Her Mama got high blood pressure or something. But who gives a shit.”
“What a terrible thing to say, Portia.”
“You always got to be Miss Goody Two-shoes, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer her. Franklin should be getting home soon, and I’m praying that he’ll have good news. Not about a job. He went to that trade school to talk to a counselor, and I’m hoping it went well.
“Zora, snap out of it, girl. You seen Marie?”
“No. She was supposed to stop by for a drink on New Year’s, but I haven’t heard from her.”
“She’s probably in a gutter somewhere. Maybe I’ll stop by to check on her. We need to do something to get that girl in AA, I swear.”
“She won’t go. Marie swears up and down that she doesn’t have a problem.”
“Problem ain’t the word for it! Shit, some nights I’ve talked to her and she made perfect sense. But the next day? She can’t remember shit. I’ll let you know what I find out. What about Claudette—you talk to that bitch?”
“She had a baby boy.”
“La-di-ta-ta.”
All during dinner, I kept looking at the clock. It was almost seven, and rush hour should’ve been over by now. I wanted to call Franklin, to let him know I was on my way. “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” I said. “Be back in a minute.”
“The phone is right outside the door, girlfriend.”
Portia makes me sick.
Franklin answered on the second ring.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he said.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Where you at?”
“In the Village, having dinner with Portia.”
“What time you gon’ be home?”
“In about an hour. How did it go?”
“How did what go?”
“The consultation at school.”
“Can we talk about it when you get home?”
“Sure.”
“What am I supposed to eat while you eating out?”
“Franklin, there’s plenty of stuff to eat around there. Did you look?”
“I thought that was your job.”
“My job?”
“Yeah. The way you laid it out to me, you said you’d always do the cooking, or did the rules change?”
“Look, Franklin, I just called to see how things went and to let you know I was on my way.”