Knowing (3 page)

Easing off the counter, swiftly untying her pink chenille bathrobe, he pulled her into his arms, forcing hers to drop at her sides. His large, nut-brown hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her up on her tiptoes to feel the bulge in his crotch. Her gown molded between her thighs as he thrust his knee to spread open her legs. Closing his mouth over hers, he kissed her. Ginger felt the velvety smoothness of his skin that stretched over his muscular shoulders as she struggled to disengage their bodies.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered in her ear, licking the lobe. “We can go upstairs for a quickie before the kids wake up.”

“I don’t feel like screwing, Jackson. I’ve got a lot on my mind,” said Ginger, finally freeing herself from his embrace.

Jackson glanced in the breakfast room, and then looked at her. “We’re not going through this again, are we?” His muscles flexed, his breathing quickening.

As he followed her, Ginger nervously stacked the magazines neatly in a pile, and gathered them up against her bosom. Turning to look him in the eye, she said, “I don’t care to discuss this with you this morning. We’ll talk about it this evening. I’m going to take a shower.” She stormed up the stairs. He followed her, swearing under his breath.

“What did you say?” she fired. She turned at the landing before the flight of stairs leading to their bedroom, and looked down into eyes staring up at her from three steps below.

Jackson propped himself against the wood railing. “You got a one-track mind —”

“So do you. It’s your way or no wa —”

“That’s why it don’t do no good to tell you nothin’.”

“What!”

“ ’Cause you got your mind made up already. That’s why I can’t help you with nothin’.”

“That’s not true, Jackson, and you know it.”

“I can’t give you no suggestions because you got a one-track mind. I try to help, and tell you how I feel about things. Ain’t that important?” His eyes begged understanding.

“Not when they differ from mine. Which is all the time. Are my feelings important to you?”

He expelled a few exasperated breaths. He was getting nowhere fast. “Ginger, it’s always your way or no way. If you would just take time to listen to me once in a while, you’d save yourself a lot of time. You know I want to help.”

As Ginger took a step down, her eyes grew wide in fury. Her right hand made a half-arc above his head. “How dare you! When’s the last time you offered to help me at anything?”

“I don’t waste a lot of good advice on you because you don’t take it.” Jackson’s knuckles gripped the banister as he pushed himself up a step closer to Ginger.

Her tone became angrier. “Because you’re manipulative, Jackson —”

“No. No. You can’t recognize good advice. What you’re looking for is someone to support your thinking. Your imagination runs away —”

It’s too bad you don’t have a little imagination outside the bedroom! Ginger thought to herself before shouting, “There isn’t a damned thing wrong with my mind.” She stepped back, gripping the rail.

“Can’t you step outside yourself for a moment, look at the situation and be objective?”

“I can’t. Suppose you try stepping inside yourself and being a little objective? I’d like you to tell me your shortcomings. You’re so quick to pinpoint mine. Lord have mercy, I can’t believe how well you know me. We should get along like two peas in a pod.”

“Knowing you is one thing, being able to speak the truth to you about you is another thing altogether, Ginger.”

“Are you willing to sit down for a few hours and listen to me tell you about yourself, like I’m supposed to be willing to let you tell me about me?”

“I’m not going out trying to open a business, Ginger.”

“Oh! So you don’t think Oprah had any personal problems when she started out?”

Jackson crisscrossed his wrists on his knee and spat out the words “You ain’t Oprah.”

Jackson had long since tired of hearing Ginger brag about Oprah’s success. Oprah was a goddess in Ginger’s eyes. Her mentor. She could do no wrong. If he happened to be in the room when her show came on, Jackson would get up and walk out, saying “I don’t want to hear this shit today.” That always pissed Ginger off, and he knew it. She liked him to watch the show with her. Every now and then he would. Whenever he thought Ginger was on the brink of coming up with another big idea, he knew where it came from. Oprah was causing problems in his home she wasn’t even aware of. There were probably a lot of other husbands out there who felt the same way he did: Leave my woman the way she was, I liked her better that way.

“And you ain’t Michael Jordan either, but do you hear me complaining?” She knew that would piss him off, because he knew how she felt about Michael.

He ignored that retort, and continued honing in on his point. “Listen to me for just a minute, baby. You have a good head on your shoulders. We both know that. But sometimes you get too far ahead of yourself — move too fast. If I don’t support your first thought then I’m accused of being unsupportive. Sometimes your ideas are so farfetched I can’t believe it. And I just go along with you —”

“What!”

Jackson snapped his fingers. “And sometimes I just go on along with you knowing you’re wrong. But knowing if I go along it’ll make you happy as can be. Just to go along with your wrong idea . . .”

Ginger felt the veins popping out on her forehead.
You bastard!
She thought for a second, regaining her composure. A slow smile eased across her face. Lifting her gown, she turned back to Jackson. She wiggled her hips as she climbed the stairs. “It’s been quite a while since you had a good thought worth pondering over. The single revelation you ever had was when you decided to marry me, and I gave you that one!”

Jackson disregarded that remark, electing to make his point quickly. “I got sense enough not to leave over twenty years of seniority. A company that made it possible for you to live like you do.” Jackson’s gangly arms lifted to praise their beautiful surroundings. “Or have you suddenly forgotten where you live? Don’t you feel your seniority at the company deserves more respect than a fast money-induced advertisement for suckers like you?”

Ginger turned and marched silently up the stairs.

Ain’t Too Proud to Beg

Leaning over to fill the tub, Ginger replied through stiff lips, “No, I haven’t forgotten about my seventeen years at the plant.” Turning around to face Jackson, she sat on the edge of the tub and crossed her arms. “We’ve discussed my job at the plant and my endless jobs at home,” she huffed, “and you know exactly how I feel about both.” The sound of gushing water cut their conversation short.

As he walked toward her, Jackson inhaled deeply, then put an arm around her shoulder. Ginger stiffened, continuing to pour generous capfuls of jasmine bubble bath into the tub. Running his fingers through her hair, he turned her head toward him. His lips brushed against her neck as he spoke “Baby, let’s not argue today,” while kissing an exposed shoulder.

The warmth of her breath bounced off his face as she uttered softly, “I don’t enjoy arguing with you, Jackson. I would just appreciate a little understanding.” She stared innocently into his face. “Is that too much to ask?”

Knowing where the conversation was leading, he folded his hands together in a nonhostile gesture. “What is it this time, Ginger?” he asked in a civil tone. “You promised me the last time you spent thousands of dollars on that . . . that . . .”

Her head lowering, she whispered, “Body Shop.” Ginger knew every angle from which he would come at her. They’d had this same argument so many times that she’d memorized his speech. He’d bring up the kids. Her job. Her responsibilities at home. Finally end with “You must be losing your mind.”

“Yeah,” he continued. “That lotion and perfume business that you were so sure would be a success here in Detroit.” He stood and walked toward the window. “Isn’t that what you said!”

“Yes, but —”

“But nothing. I can’t take this constant juggling in our home life every time you come up with a new business idea. It hasn’t been so easy on the kids, either. How many times do we have to go through this? Every year?” He paused. “Are you that selfish? Can’t you think about anybody but yourself? Are you losing your —”

“If I don’t get out of that plant soon, I
will
lose my mind. It’s always going to be the kids. You. Champion Motors. This damned house. What about what’s important to me?” Her voice broke. She walked into their sitting room and flopped down on the couch. Every Saturday the set in this room was turned to the Westerns on TNT. Plush, pale pink carpeting stretched the forty-foot expanse of their bedroom suite. White walls complemented the pink-and-green floral café curtains covering the numerous windows. Ginger turned her head to focus on the fairyland the night’s snow had made of the park a few yards away.

“Listen, Ginger. You knew what kind of woman I expected you to be when I married you. I can only take so much —”

“And you knew what kind of woman I
was
when I married you.” She eased forward on the sofa, flicking the remote, cutting off the noise. Then, silence. “Jackson, why did you lie about helping me with my career? You knew from the beginning of our relationship how much it meant to me. I was upfront about getting into a business.”

“I would’ve said anything to get you, Ginger.”

“So you lied?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“What about my needs?” Ginger asked.

“Nobody knows better than me what you need,” he said seductively.

She raised her voice. “I need a career. I can’t take working at that factory too much longer. When I look at that place at four forty-five every morning, I cringe. When I walk to the door, I dread opening it. It’s getting harder and harder not to turn around and walk back out. If I hear another person tell me ‘Ginger, you’re so pretty . . . so talented . . . you’re so intelligent, I can’t understand what you’re doing here,’ I’ll scream.” Her fingers trembled as she massaged the veins in her forehead.

“If you didn’t go around broadcasting your latest venture to everybody, you wouldn’t have to hear it. I’ve told you time and time again to keep your mouth shut. But no —”

She shot off her seat. “I talk too much. So what. If you don’t talk to people and network, you won’t learn anything.”

“You got it wrong, baby. You have to
listen
to learn.” The muscles in his jaw tightened as he snatched a sweatshirt from the bureau.

“Jackson,” she pleaded. “Why then haven’t you been listening to me these past eight years? I’m almost thirty-seven years old. I want my life to have some significance — some meaning. I want to be able to be something or do something better than anyone else.”

“Ginger —”

She waved him off. “I have four children, each of whom I love dearly. I’ve got a husband whom I love. I want to be a good mother and wife, but I can’t do everything for you and the kids and not spend time on seeking my own happiness. It’s just not fair, Jackson.”

“My mother managed to take care of
nine
children and a husband and never complained once.” Slipping his size twelves into a pair of cowboy boots, he stood over her like a giant admonishing his servant. “Every morning Hattie B. Montgomery woke at four-thirty A.M. to make us fresh homemade biscuits and gravy. She served us plum preserves from the orchard trees in our backyard that she’d canned each year, got hand-churned butter and buttermilk from the farm a half mile down the road. And she made sausage, bacon, rice, and eggs as well. Every morning!”

Damn this man. Not this sermon again, thought Ginger. In Jackson’s eyes, his mother epitomized the perfect woman. Whether it was cooking, cleaning, washing, or rearing the kids, Ginger could never quite measure up to his mother’s legacy. Hattie B. Montgomery was a living legend.

“Yes, that woman was the first person up in the morning and the last one to go to sleep at night.”

“Stop it, Jackson. I’ll never measure up to your mother’s standards. And quite frankly I’m getting a little tired of trying,” said Ginger adamantly.

“I’ve never tried to compare you to my mother!”

“ ’Cause you don’t even know that you’re doing it. But you
do
do it.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“It’s a fact, Jackson. Unconsciously you’ve done it since we’ve been married.”

“Why should I —”

“So I can work harder. Turn flips to constantly be better, satisfying your every whim, because that’s what your mother did for your father.”

“You’re taking my admiration for my mother totally out of context.”

“You know, Jackson, most men secretly want to marry a woman who mirrors their mother. I can respect that. But I’d also like to be respected for doing the best I can. This is the nineties, not the fifties. Times have changed.”

“You’re right, baby,” he said, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder.

Ginger pulled away. She wasn’t buying his concession, because she knew before the month was out they’d be having this same conversation again. “Jackson, I’ve told you on numerous occasions that I’m not your mother. I will never be your mother. I resent your constant comparisons, always making me fall at least five steps short,” said Ginger, staring up at him in defiance.