God Ain't Through Yet (25 page)

T
hat following Wednesday morning, I went to see my lawyer so I could put my divorce on hold and revise my will. Rhoda was the only person who knew about my plans.

My mother, my father, and Scary Mary advised me daily to “straighten” out my life because they didn't want me to “suffer” or “be stupid enough to grow old alone.” Each one had a different interpretation of what I needed to do to get out of the mess I was in. My mother assured me that no matter what man I ended up with, he'd still be a dog or a devil. To her, the three were interchangeable. It didn't matter how good or bad that man was, when it came to men, it was a one-size-fits-all situation. It was up to a woman to make the best of a relationship; men didn't have enough sense to do so. Scary Mary offered to share some voodoo secrets with me that would “take care of Pee Wee and that wench” he'd left me for. Daddy told me that whatever I wanted to do, it was my business. But he also told me that if I wanted him to help me find a new man, and I didn't have a problem with age, he had a lot of widowed friends that he could introduce me to.

I was nervous sitting in the lobby of David Weinstein's office with four other women, all younger than me. And each one was barking like a dog about one thing or another. I overheard one woman complain to one of the other women that her husband had left her because she'd gained seventy pounds. Another one told somebody that she was conversing with on her cellular phone that she was sorry she'd let herself go. I could see why. Her bright red hair looked like a well-used mop, she was as big as I once was, and her nose looked like a meatball. Another one, a dwarf who couldn't have stood more than three and a half feet tall, said she was going to beat up the woman her husband had left her for. I found that hard to believe. With her squeaky voice and abbreviated height, this woman looked about as menacing as Winnie the Pooh. I decided to keep my business to myself.

And I was glad that I had not let my physical appearance go to the dogs. Not only was I the most well-groomed woman waiting to see Mr. Weinstein, I noticed that I was the only woman in the room with a neck. But I was still in the same boat with these other four no-neck women: I couldn't hold on to my husband.

My lawyer agreed with everything Rhoda had told me: I had to protect my assets in case Pee Wee got greedy. After we'd revised my will, my lawyer complimented me on how nice I looked. I had worn a stylish black pantsuit with a yellow silk blouse. I had just come from the beauty shop, so my hair, nails, and face were all looking good. By the time I left, I was feeling so much better.

My euphoria didn't last long, though.

A stout black man about my age, wearing a blue suit at least two sizes too small, got in the elevator with me on the fourteenth floor. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he had a pleasant-looking face. He nodded at me, I nodded at him. Then he looked at me and did a double take. “These white folks! I been tryin' to settle a claim with the unemployment folks for two years, and I ain't no farther along than I was two years ago. Ain't white folks a mess?”

“I know what you mean,” I said with a weak nod.

“It's a good thing I got me a side thing goin'. I'm gettin' paid under the table so I don't really need that pooh butt pocket change the unemployment crooks dole out anyway. But I want it 'cause I earned it! Know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

“I look at it this way, anytime we can pull somethin' over on the man, it's just part of that money they owe us for all that free labor our folks done for them as slaves. Know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I agreed.

The man suddenly gave me a critical look. “Excuse me, sister, but you look like somebody I used to work with when I worked for the phone company. And them dogs was about as racist as could be. They fired me for no reason! I was late a few times when my car wouldn't start and I didn't get along with my supervisor; but other than that, I was a damn good employee. I done what they paid me to do, so that should have been enough. Anyway, there was this sister there that they all liked. They bent over backward to keep her happy, like she was their pet monkey. And in a way she was! Of course, she was one of them butt-kissin' mammies that the white folks love to death. A woman named Annette.”

Damn! I must have been looking better than I thought if people didn't recognize me. Even though I didn't like what the man had just said about me being a butt-kissing mammy, I gave him one of my broadest smiles, and he smiled back.

“You know a sister named Annette Davis?” he asked, a puzzled look on his face.

I nodded. “Uh-huh,” I said shyly, the smile still on my face.

“People ever tell you that you look a lot like her?”

I nodded again.

“Don't it make you mad?”

“Excuse me?” The smile left my face so fast my teeth ached.

“I mean, if people tell you that you look like Diana Ross, that's one thing. If people tell you that you look like somebody like that Annette—not that you ugly or nothing, that's another thing. But she sure wouldn't have won no first-prize blue ribbons for her looks. You look enough like her, but you look WAY better than her! Take me and my older brother, Pookie. We look enough alike people can tell we are related. But he's ugly, whereas I inherited all the good looks.”

“No, it doesn't make me mad when people tell me I look like Annette Davis.”

“Hmmm. You must be a real strong woman. What you say your name was?”

“Annette.” I sniffed. “Annette Davis.”

If I had slapped this man with a dead skunk, he could not have looked more startled.

“You do look a whole lot better than you used to look,” he amended. “At least you got that goin' for you. What did you do to yourself? Get liposuction, or what?”

Before I could answer, the elevator stopped on the third floor and he bolted, even though he had punched the ground floor.

I remained mildly depressed for a couple of hours. But when Jacob showed up at my house unannounced that night and told me that he'd been thinking about me all day, I felt so much better. “Annette, this time I am going to do everything in the world to hold on to you.”

Charlotte was with Pee Wee for only a few hours, so Jacob and I couldn't get too cozy.

We had just started on our first pitcher of lemonade when Pee Wee showed up with Charlotte in tow, hugging the new black-and-white backpack that he'd bought for her the day before.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Jacob,” she greeted before dashing up to her room.

Normally, when Pee Wee dropped Charlotte off, he didn't stay. But as soon as he realized I had a man in the living room, he made himself comfortable on the love seat that faced Jacob. I sat on the arm of the couch close to Jacob.

“What's up, dude?” Pee Wee grumbled, looking at Jacob with his eyes narrowed into slits.

“Hey!” Jacob jumped up from his seat and attempted to shake Pee Wee's hand. Pee Wee looked at Jacob's hand with a severe frown and ignored it. Then he looked at Jacob's bare feet. I didn't know Jacob had removed his shoes.

“I'm glad to see you and my ex seem to be gettin' so close so soon,” Pee Wee sneered.

“Well, brother, let me put it like this. One man's shit is another man's fertilizer,” Jacob announced with a smug look and a wink.

Pee Wee jumped up so fast he almost fell. Both his fists were clenched. I rose, too.

“I think you should leave,” I said to Pee Wee, both my arms outstretched.

“I think I should, too!” he snapped.

I didn't say anything to Jacob until I heard Pee Wee's car roar out onto the street.

“That was a tacky thing for you to say,” I scolded, shaking my finger in his face.

“It's true!” he boomed. “And the sooner you put that fool out of your mind, the better off we'll be. You need a husband who deserves you.”

“Jacob, let's get something straight right now. We don't know where our relationship is going. I told you in the beginning that I am not looking for another husband anytime soon. And I am not looking to get too seriously involved with another man yet either.”

“Well, let me tell you something right now, too. We are already seriously involved, sister.”

I cringed when he kissed me. And I asked myself,
What have I gotten myself into now?

T
wo days later, Jacob was at my door again, knocking so hard I thought he was trying to knock down the door. “I don't believe this shit!” I hollered out loud. “Does this man not listen, or does he not understand plain English?” I felt a little foolish standing in my living room having a conversation with myself. But I was at the end of my rope with Jacob's bad habits.

Since I had not invited him over, and he had not called to let me know that he was coming, I didn't answer the door. By now I had decided that the only way I was going to tolerate him was to be as crude and rude as he was. Well, maybe not that bad. But I wasn't going to make it easy for him to run our relationship in a way that suited him but not me.

I parted my living room window curtains just enough so I could see him. I waited and watched until he walked off the porch and back to his car. Then I went back into the kitchen and continued mixing the cornbread to go with the cabbage greens that I had planned to serve for dinner.

A couple of minutes went by and the next thing I knew, Jacob came prancing into the kitchen, grinning like one of those door-to-door salesmen. My daughter was right behind him. “Mama, didn't you hear Jacob knocking?” she asked, giving Jacob a sympathetic glance.

“Oh, was that you, Jacob? I thought I heard something,” I muttered, wiping my hands on the tail of my apron.

“I just about came through that door. And the knuckles on my hand are still aching from all that knocking I did. You must be deaf,” he complained.

“I didn't hear you,” I said, forcing myself not to sound angry. I didn't like to get involved in confrontations when Charlotte was present—not with Pee Wee, and especially not with Jacob. I had no trouble admitting to myself that my generation was setting some pretty bad examples for Charlotte's generation. More than half of her friends lived in broken homes. But since I had no control over my situation with Pee Wee and I was stuck with Jacob, I tried to make the best of it. And that meant I couldn't let my guard down and act a fool by telling Jacob off in front of Charlotte but still letting him come to the house. That was one mixed message I didn't want to convey.

Charlotte had an anxious look on her face. She stared at me for a few seconds; then she turned to Jacob. “What you bring me? What you bring me?” she asked, already reaching for a small white bag he held in his hand.

“Just some mangoes,” he responded.

I could tell from the look on her face that Jacob's latest gift didn't impress her at all. “Oh.” She shrugged, looking from him to me. “Mama, what's a mango?”

“It's a fruit,” I told her, taking the bag out of her hand and placing it on the counter. Somehow I managed to look at Jacob without scowling. “Have a seat,” I mumbled, waving him to the table. I gave Charlotte the most exasperated look I could come up with, but she had no idea why. One thing I didn't want to do was involve her in my plan to gently ease Jacob out of my life. For one thing, I wasn't sure that that was what I wanted to do. I liked Jacob, and I was more than willing to continue the relationship as long as we kept it on a level that was comfortable for me.

“Do I smell cabbage greens?” he asked, sniffing and looking toward the stove where a pot of greens sat simmering.

“OH NO! NOT AGAIN!” Charlotte roared, stomping her foot on the floor so hard some empty pans on the counter rattled. “This house is turning into a chamber of horrors! If it's not one kind of greens for dinner, it's another. Yesterday, it was turnip greens. The day before that it was collard greens. The day before that it was collard greens
and
turnip greens—cooked up together in the same pot! I don't know what's wrong with the African American family these days! With all of the greens black people eat, one day we are going to turn into plant people!” She paused long enough to give me a pleading look. “Mama, why do you keep doing this to me?”

“I've been cooking the same meals for you for eleven years, and as long as you live in this house, I will continue to choose the meals here. When you get a job and can afford to feed yourself, you can cook what you want to cook.”

“See, I told you,” Charlotte said to Jacob. Then she did something that I didn't like. She leaned over and whispered something in his ear.

“Don't do that,” I ordered. Charlotte and Jacob whirled around and looked at me at the same time. One looked just as startled as the other. “Whispering is rude,” I said.

Jacob laughed and pulled Charlotte into his arms. “Little sister, you better be glad you didn't grow up in my house. We had greens
and
beans together every day, seven days a week.”

“And she'd better be glad that she's not a member of some family in China or Somalia, where they are lucky to get
anything
to eat every day,” I said, sitting down in the chair facing Jacob.

“Get me a beer out of the ice box, sugar,” he said to Charlotte, slapping her on the butt as he released her from his embrace.

“What time are you taking me to the movies this Saturday afternoon, Jacob?” she asked, prancing back to the table with a can of Coors Light in her hand.

“What movie?” I asked quickly, looking from Jacob to Charlotte. I didn't like that he had made plans to do something with my child without my permission or knowledge. And I didn't like the fact that my daughter had gotten friendly enough with Jacob to be contemplating spending a Saturday afternoon with him at the movies. But what I really didn't like was that the two of them had become so close so soon. “I don't recall anybody asking me about a movie?”

“What's the big deal? Jacob took me to the movies last Saturday,” Charlotte reported.

“Oh? How come I didn't know about it?” I had to think back to the previous Saturday afternoon. All I could remember was Charlotte mumbling something to me about going to the mall with a friend and asking if it was all right. After I'd given her some spending money and told her to be home before dark, I'd waved her out the door. She came home before dark, told me she'd enjoyed the movie, we ate dinner, and that was it. She had said nothing to me about Jacob being the “friend” whom she'd gone to the movies with. And I had no reason to ask.

“I was at Jacob's house and we got bored,” she told me. The more she revealed, the more concerned I became.

“Charlotte, can you go into the living room so I can talk with Jacob?” As soon as she left, I turned to Jacob. “Jacob, don't do anything else with my daughter unless I know about it.”

He blinked like an owl. “I understand. But I didn't see any harm in letting her into my house when she went to the trouble of riding her bicycle all the way over to Willow Street. And I didn't see any harm in taking her to the movies that afternoon.”

“I didn't even know she knew where you lived! And she knows I warned her about talking to…uh…I've just warned her to be careful. We're living in a world gone mad.”

I had endured one of the most painful childhoods imaginable. Old Mr. Boatwright had tainted my precious little body with the scourge of sexual abuse, and that was not going to happen to my daughter if I could help it.

“Look, you listen,” Jacob said, a hand in the air, a finger wagging in my face. “Your child couldn't be safer with nobody more than she would with me. I love kids. You know how much I miss my own child. So don't you worry about Charlotte.”

“No, you listen, brother. Charlotte is not your child, she's mine. I will be the one to worry about her safety. I am responsible for her. I don't want you, or anybody else, to interfere with the way I'm raising my daughter. Now, if you want to remain friends with me, that's the one thing you will stay out of. Do I make myself clear?”

“I understand. But don't you think it's going to confuse her if she can't be friends with me and here I am over here spending time with you, taking you out, and eating dinner with you and her? And I hope you don't think for one minute that she doesn't know what's going on behind closed doors. I mean, the last time I spent the night and made love to you, you screamed so loud she came running to your room. I can assure you that she didn't think you were in your room screaming because I was scaring you with a spider or stepping on your toe. Kids know more than we do these days.”

“Jacob, I don't want to sit here all night discussing this subject. I just want us to be on the same page. Charlotte is my daughter. You can be her friend; but when it comes to her activities, that's my job. If you want to take her to the movies, or anywhere else, you check with me first. That's all I ask.”

“That's fine with me. This is your house and I'm just a guest. I will behave as such from now on….”

I excused myself to go to the bathroom and when I returned, Jacob was kicked back on my living room sofa, barefooted, shirtless, and with a plate of my greens on his lap. But what was more disturbing was the fact that Charlotte was sitting next to him with her arm around his neck.