Authors: Mary Monroe
She answered on the first ring when I finally called her back. Before she could start one of her rambling conversations, I immedi-124
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ately told her about my joining Rhoda’s bowling team and how I was going to bowl with them every Thursday night.
“Every Thursday night? You are gwine to be bowlin’ with Rhoda and her bowlin’ team
every
Thursday night?”
“Yes, Muh’Dear. You’ve been telling me for months that I need to have more activities outside of work and my home.”
“Well, one of them outside activities needs to be you spendin’
more time in church. I didn’t see you at the service this past Sunday or any other Sunday this month. Pastor and half of the congregation ask me about you all the time. They don’t want you to be lost.”
“I’m not lost, Muh’Dear,” I protested.
“Well, you must be! You get lost when you stray away from the Word and get too caught up in the world. Me, I know, because I used to be in the world in a big way. You been weak these last few months and backslidin’ like you was travelin’ on a sled.”
“Muh’Dear, please don’t be so negative,” I said. Her comments usually exasperated me, but this was one time that I was not going to let her rain on my parade.
I had called Louis again Saturday morning and told him again how much I had enjoyed our time together in the motel. We had also met for drinks at the Red Rose that Friday after work. That had been wonderful, too. But the bartender and some of the other patrons there knew me. Therefore, we’d kept our encounter businesslike. Not once had his hand slid up under my skirt.
We’d spent a couple of hours discussing, over drinks, his menus and other items that he wanted to experiment with. Then he’d walked me to my Mazda, which I had purposely parked two blocks from the bar, in an alley behind a Burger King. Leaning against the door on the driver side, and pressing against me like a Siamese twin, Louis had kissed me so long and hard that I had to push him away before I could breathe again. That was when he had proposed—no, he’d
demanded
—to see me on a regular basis and any other time I could get away.
“Is Pee Wee gwine to bowl, too?” Muh’Dear asked.
I had been so deep in thought that I had almost forgotten that my mother was still on the telephone. “Huh?”
“You didn’t hear what I said?”
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“Yes, I did. No, Pee Wee is not going to bowl with me. This is a women’s bowling team. He’s not interested in bowling, anyway,” I said in a dry voice. I was no more interested in bowling than Pee Wee was. But it was the best that I could come up with to explain going out at night on a regular basis. Rhoda had convinced me that this would be the perfect alibi for me to use when I wanted to be with Louis. And after I had heard about my husband’s mysterious “doctor visits” every Friday, it had been easy for me to make up my mind. “No husbands, period.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” my mother said as soon as I paused.
I continued talking, as if I had not heard her comment. “And when they have their tournaments in Cleveland, I will have to go for the whole weekend.”
I hated lying to my own mother, but it was necessary and prudent for me to add this “tournaments in Cleveland” clause to my declaration. And it was all because Louis had already hinted about us embarking on a romantic weekend getaway every now and then.
I had already told Pee Wee all the stuff that I was now telling Muh’Dear. He had not even remotely protested or challenged me in any way. As a matter of fact, he had responded with extreme indifference, which consisted of a nod, a shrug, and a blank expression on his face.
“When is all this gwine to start up?” Muh’Dear asked, speaking in such a gruff and loud voice, it sounded like she was in the same room with me. “You ain’t never been into no bowlin’ in all these years. Why now?”
“I just started bowling a couple of weeks ago, but I had been thinking about doing it for a long time. And, like I just told you, you’ve been after me to get involved in more outside activities. I promise I will be in church next Sunday, sitting on that pew, right next to you and daddy.”
My mother grunted before she replied. “Well, you might be in church next Sunday, but you won’t be sittin’ on no pew with me and Frank. We won’t be there,” she informed me.
“Oh? And why not?”
“Me and Frank is gwine to spend the rest of the summer in the Bahamas.”
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“Excuse me?”
“On top of everything else, you need to get your ears checked or cleaned. You didn’t hear what I just said?”
“It sounded like you said you and Daddy are going to spend the rest of this summer in the Bahamas. Did I hear you right?”
“Yeah, you heard me right. That’s what I called to tell you when I left those messages.”
“Well, will you at least tell me how this came about all of a sudden?”
“It’s a long story,” she began. Just as I suspected, Muh’Dear was going to answer my question in a roundabout way.
“I’ve got time,” I insisted, rubbing my forehead with the balls of my fingers.
“You remember old Miss Jacobs, whom I used to work for when we lived in Florida? That white woman with them real hairy legs, remember?”
“I remember the Jacobs woman,” I said, groaning. My mother was reopening one of the many wounds from our past. “How could I not remember that old battle-ax? She hit you with her cane that time for not cleaning something right, and I bit her on her hairy leg.”
“And you shouldn’t have done that to that white woman. It could have got us lynched. White folks was straight-up bloodthirsty back then.”
“She used to fart in front of her company, and you used to claim it was you,” I reminded her.
“That was part of a servant’s job. No decent white woman in America would
ever
own up to somethin’ as gruesome and unlady-like as a public fart. I can’t even begin to imagine dainty white ladies like Sophia Loren or Princess Diana pootin’. They like to keep a dog or a servant around so they can blame it on the dog or the servant, if they have to.”
“Muh’Dear, where is this conversation going? Are we going to sit here and discuss white women’s gas problems?”
“You the one that brought it up!” Muh’Dear got silent and stayed that way for a long time.
I was getting more and more frustrated and sorry that I had re-GOD AIN’ T BLIND
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turned her call without having a few drinks first to make it less painful.
“I thought you were going to tell me how this trip to the Bahamas came about,” I said, hoping that she could tell from the curt tone of my voice that I was impatient and tired. I always tried to hurry my mother along, but it never did any good. She did and said everything at her own pace.
“Well, old lady Jacobs passed away a few weeks ago, and her son Ezra got a detective to hunt me down. She’s the Jew lady that used to play with your ears so much when you was a young’un. Remember her?”
“I just told you that I remember the Jacobs woman,” I stated flatly.
“Her boy wants to sell the beach house that Miss Jacobs bought in the Bahamas after her husband died so she’d have somewhere to go in the wintertime. At least that was what she told her boy.” At this point, my mother lowered her voice and said what she had to say next in a whisper. “Your daddy said she probably bought that place down there so she could take advantage of them black island men.” Muh’Dear paused long enough to suck her teeth in disgust.
She continued, speaking in a loud voice again. “Anyway, her son has to be in Spokane, where he lives, for a long murder trial. He’s a prosecutor. Miss Jacobs had fired every single one of her servants a few days before she died. To make a long story short, the boy wants me and Frank to go down there and look after the place until he can get down there to sell it and do whatever else he needs to do.”
My ears were almost numb, and I was so exhausted, I didn’t even care what the rest of the story was. But I knew that my mother was not going to release me until I’d heard it all. “I’m glad to hear that, Muh’Dear. I know how much you love the Bahamas,” I managed, rolling my eyes up toward the ceiling.
“Well, this time when I go, it’ll be free, and I won’t be in no economy hotel, like all them other times we went down there. Old lady Jacobs always bought the best that money could buy, so I know her place will suit me just fine. Jenny Rooks, my day manager, will run the business while me and Frank is away. All I need for you to do is check on the house from time to time.”
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“When are you leaving? When do you want me to pick up Charlotte?”
“That’s the other reason I called. I don’t want Charlotte to miss out on all the things you missed out on when you was her age, so she’s gwine with us. This will be a good experience for her. How soon can you get all her summer clothes packed up?”
My breath caught in my throat, and I was stunned speechless.
“Annette, you still there?”
“I was a little taken aback by what you just said,” I told her. “I don’t know if I want my child to be out of the country for that long.”
What I meant was I didn’t feel comfortable with my only child gallivanting around in a foreign country with two senior citizens who sometimes didn’t know if they were coming or going. My mother was still in reasonably good physical and mental condition. I knew that I could trust her to take good care of Charlotte. But since Daddy was in the mix, I had a few concerns. He had occasional memory lapses and lost things left and right. One day last year, he had come to my house, wearing two different shoes, couldn’t remember where he’d parked his truck, and couldn’t remember where he’d just come from. I didn’t know that he’d left my mother stranded at the beauty parlor until she came to my house with a police escort.
“Muh’Dear, I have to think about this. I have to discuss this with Pee Wee,” I said, one hand on my hip.
“He already said it was all right with him.”
“Oh? When did you talk to him about this?”
“This mornin’, before he left to go fishin’. Didn’t he tell you?”
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“No, Pee Wee didn’t tell me,” I said, grinding my teeth. “He has not said anything to me about you, Daddy, and Charlotte planning to spend the summer in the Bahamas.”
“Humph! Gal, I don’t know what’s wrong with your marriage, but whatever it is, you better fix it, and you better fix it quick. Time ain’t on your side. You can’t afford to lose that good man, which the good Lord done blessed you with. I know you think that since you lost all that weight, you’re cute, and that’s true. But your booty still stinks when you don’t wash it, just like everybody else’s. It’s true that Pee Wee ain’t no Prince Charmin’. But at your age, who else would want you but Pee Wee, with your ashy self? I hope you been usin’ that lotion on your neck that I got for you at that candle shop when I went to Cincinnati last month!”
Who else would want me, with my ashy self? Louis’s handsome face and long, thick dick flashed through my mind. I had to bite my lip to keep from responding to my mother’s last insensitive comment. I knew it would have blown her mind if I had told her who else wanted me, with my ashy self. I swooned to myself when I recalled how Louis had made love to me in that sleazy motel room, and how he had made me feel about myself—and my ashy body parts. Yes, I still used the lotion that Muh’Dear had supplied me 130
Mary Monroe
with, but I couldn’t see any difference. She was the only person who thought that my skin was ashy in the first place, so it didn’t matter if I used that lotion or not, unless I was in her presence. And it had a foul taste to it. I found that out when Louis licked my neck and complained about how bitter it tasted.
“Yes, I’m still using the lotion you gave me,” I told her with a smirk.
“Good! I gave you enough to get you through the summer, so you don’t have to worry about that until I get back. You just worry about that mess of a marriage you got on your hands.”
“Muh’Dear, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me worry about my marriage. I don’t need your advice.”
“Don’t you sass me, girl. I’m your mama, and I will be your mama till the day I die. If a mama ain’t got no right to give her own young’un some advice, who does?”
I wanted to conclude this conversation as soon as possible. “I’m sure Pee Wee just forgot to tell me that you talked to him about Charlotte going with you,” I stated, trying to sound nonchalant.
“And Charlotte can’t wait to go! She’s been runnin’ around the house, singin’ “Day-O” better than Harry Belafonte ever sung it.”
My mother laughed.
Right after she finished laughing, I heard my daughter and my daddy in the background, singing off-key the line from that old Belafonte song, which the whole world seemed to associate with
any
part of the Caribbean. “Daylight come and me wanna go home. . . .”
I heard some muffled voices next, and then Charlotte was on the telephone. “Hi, Mom! I’m going to the islands with Granny and Grandpa.”
“I don’t know about that, Charlotte,” I said gently.
“What! I . . . you . . . Ayee!” What do you mean you don’t know about that? Granny said I could go!” my daughter wailed.
“I am your mother, girl,” I reminded her firmly.
“Dang! You spoil everything! You always act crazy when I want to do something, Mama!”
“I advise you to shut up while you still can, young lady. If you don’t watch your step, you won’t be going to the Bahamas, or anywhere else this summer but this house. Do you hear me, Charlotte?”
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“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled, sounding like she had a mouth full of food.
“That’s better.”
“Mama, can I please go to the islands?” Charlotte sounded so cute and humble and contrite now, I wanted to take her to the Bahamas myself on my back.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I insisted.
“What? When? We have to leave tomorrow morning!” she whined.
“I already got a new bathing suit!”
“You went to the Bahamas last summer,” I reminded her.
“That was just for one week! I got that rash from that eel I caught on the second day and had to spend the rest of the week in the room, wearing that smelly salve on my legs and arms! Please, Mama! I have already told all my friends that I was going. I even made a list of things they want me to bring them back. Mama, I can’t let my friends down. I have to go!”