That’s for sure.
NATALIE
October 1988
My mother was a prostitute.
The policewoman didn’t say so that day, the worst day of my life. She said Mom worked for an escort service. But I knew what that meant. Six nights a week I sat at home after Mom went to work. My favorite TV shows were
Dallas
and
48 Hours
. One time I saw a prostitute in a miniskirt and a skimpy top and white knee-high boots. She had a hard-painted face and chewed gum. Mom never let me chew gum. She said it made me look cheap.
Mom didn’t wear mini-skirts or skimpy tops and she didn't own any knee-high boots. How could she be a prostitute? I told the policewoman Mom was a hostess at Commander’s Palace, a fancy restaurant.
She put her arm around me and said, “Honey, your mom didn’t work at Commander’s Palace.” Her face had a pained look and her eyes were sad. “We found her in a hotel room.”
Mom. Found dead in a hotel room. The policewoman didn’t say how she died and I was afraid to ask. A big dark cloud twirled me up into a corner of the ceiling with the cobwebs. My heart was beating hard and fast. I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t cry.
“Did your mom have any boyfriends?”
And I thought: That’s what prostitutes do, right? Have boyfriends. It hurt me to think about it. The part of me that wasn’t up near the ceiling said, “No. She didn’t have a boyfriend.”
The cop gave me a fake smile. “Who takes care of you while your mom is working?”
“Nobody. I take care of myself.”
That made her frown. “What about your relatives?”
At first I thought it was a test. Talking about my relatives was complicated. I didn't know where my father and his parents were, and Mom doesn't get along with
her
parents so I don't know where they were, either.
“Mom’s got a brother in Texas.”
That seemed to make the policewoman happy. “What’s his name?”
“Brixton, same as me.” After the divorce, Mom got her maiden name back and changed my name too. She didn’t want people thinking we were foreigners. My father’s name is Thu Phan. Thu means autumn in Vietnamese. He was born in October. His father, Bao Phan, was born in Vietnam but his family moved to France back in the 1950s. Mom said Bao Phan met my grandmother, a Frenchwoman, in Paris. I don’t know what her name was. But I didn’t say this to the policewoman. She had too much on her mind already, frowning and clenching her jaw like she was angry about something.
“What’s your uncle's first name?”
“Jerome. He lives in Pecos. We got a Christmas card from him last year.”
Thinking about Christmas almost made me cry, but I didn’t.
Christmas wasn’t going to be very merry this year without Mom.
_____
Living with the Brixtons in Pecos was okay at first. As far back as I could remember it was just Mom and me. After never having a family, it was nice to live with one. Uncle Jerome said to call him Uncle Jerry. He's five years older than Mom. “I was her big brother,” he said. He smelled of pipe tobacco and had thick muscular arms, probably because he drove a UPS truck and had to lug heavy packages into people’s houses.
Aunt Faye didn't talk to me much. I got the feeling she wasn't happy having another kid around. She already had two of her own. Faye's got bottle-blond hair that she poofs out with metal tines. She's almost as skinny as the tines. She never ate much, but she always said a prayer before dinner. That seemed weird. Mom wasn’t religious, but most everyone in Pecos was. All the kids went to Bible school in the summer.
My cousin Randy's twelve. He's got dark reddish hair and a temper to match. Ellen's eight. She's a bookworm, always reading, hardly ever speaking. At least not to me. Ellen and Randy had rooms on the second floor. Mine was on the third floor in the attic. It only had one window so it was hot and stuffy, but at least I could cry in private.
One night Jerry sat me down on the sofa and told me a story about Mom. I think he did it to cheer me up. But thinking about Mom made my stomach hurt. I missed her a lot. Never again would we buy ice cream cones and walk along the Mississippi River talking about books and movies and clothes.
Mom was dead. Murdered. In a hotel room.
“Your mom was a terrific dancer,” Jerry said, and told me a story about how she went to New York after high school. Mom's dream was to dance with the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall, but then she met my father and got pregnant. Jerry smiled when he said this, like it was supposed to make me happy. I don’t think it made my father happy. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left when I was two.
After he finished the story, Jerry said I would always be welcome in his home. Then he went in the kitchen and got a beer, like he was relieved about something. I was glad he didn’t say anything about Mom being a prostitute. Maybe he didn’t know. But I think the lady cop probably told him.
_____
At school all the Mexican kids hang out together, chattering in Spanish, which I don't understand. I can speak French, though. Mom taught me. She learned it from my father, who spoke French fluently. Mom and I used to speak French when we went for walks in the French Quarter.
Another fun thing we’d never do again.
All the girls in my class listen to country music. I'm into rock. At night in my room I listen to a radio station that plays Guns N Roses and Elton John. The boys are into playing football and ignoring girls. But my fifth grade teacher likes me. I always do my homework. In New Orleans, I got A’s in English, French and social studies, B’s in math and science. In Pecos, the work seems easier. I get A’s in everything.
Sometimes Randy calls me names like
slant eyes
and
gook
. Not when Faye or Jerry are around. One time I told him to shut up, and he grabbed my hand and bent back my wrist. It hurt a lot, but I didn’t cry so he finally let go.
After supper Randy and Ellen and I watch TV in the living room. Randy picks the shows. He loves
America’s Most Wanted
. I think he'll grow up to be a criminal someday. He's already sneaky and mean. Sometimes I wondered what it must be like to commit a horrible crime and have to hide for the rest of your life. I love John Walsh. He's handsome. Sometimes I fantasized that he was my father. Except I knew he wasn’t. He's not half Vietnamese.
I think Faye's an alcoholic. One time I saw her stuff a Smirnoff bottle in a garbage bag and throw it in the trash before Jerry got home from work. Faye doesn't have a job. She watches soaps on TV every day, chugging OJ and vodka. When we get home from school, she yells us at to go outside. Like she's angry. I'm angry too. Mom's gone, and living with Uncle Jerry and Aunt Faye in Pecos is way worse than staying home alone at night in New Orleans.
Now Christmas is coming. Another Christmas without Mom.
_____
After Easter, Faye and Jerry started arguing in the kitchen after dinner. Jerry said, "I'm sick of eating hot dogs and hamburger." Faye said, "Get over it. I don't have the money to buy steak."
And I thought:
If you didn’t buy so much vodka, you would.
One night she screamed at Jerry and accused him of having an affair. It was sort of like
Dallas,
except I couldn’t turn it off. I didn’t know if Jerry was having an affair or not but it wouldn’t have surprised me. Faye never read newspapers or books. What did they talk about?
I thought about telling Jerry about Faye’s vodka problem but I decided that would be a mistake. In October 1990, Jerry told me the New Orleans policewoman had called. By then Mom had been gone two years. I got excited, thinking she’d found Mom’s killer. No such luck. Jerry said she’d called to say she was still working the case. I wanted to ask her why she couldn’t find the killer, but when I asked Jerry if I could, he said No.
I should have asked him for her phone number and called her myself. Maybe I will someday. Except I can’t remember her name.
Then the most wonderful thing happened. One morning after breakfast I went outside and found a kitten outside the back door, mewing like he was hungry and scared. He was all black except for two white paws and the white muff under his chin. When I picked him up he started purring.
I named him Muffy and I loved him with all my heart.
Muffy was an orphan, like me.
When I asked Faye if I could keep him, she said, "No. Cats are smelly."
But I squeezed out some tears and told her I’d keep the litter box in my room and clean it every day. So Faye let me keep him. I loved the way Muffy lapped up milk with his little pink tongue. The best part was the way he purred when I held him and petted his fluffy black fur.
Whenever Randy tried to pick him up, Muffy hissed and scratched him. I was glad. Randy's mean. He's fourteen now, almost as big as Jerry. He plays on the high school football team. I think Faye's afraid of him.
In September I started eighth grade. The boys are still into football, but now they make smart-ass remarks to the girls in the cafeteria. Not to me. I'm twelve, but I haven't filled out like most of the girls. My bra size is 32 AA.
One day I went to the school library to research my father's heritage. I thought it might help me figure out who I was and who I was supposed to be.
I found a great article about Vietnamese culture in an encyclopedia. Reading it made me feel good, like I finally belonged to something. The parts I liked best were Veneration of Ancestors, Devotion to Study, and the belief that certain animals and parts of nature protect people.
I chose birds and mountains to protect me.
But one part scared me. The Vietnamese believe that people who die a violent death become angry spirits who bring misfortune to family members if they don't avenge their death. That made me think of Mom. Murdered in a hotel room. Was Mom waiting for me to avenge her?
If I didn't, would her angry spirits bring me misfortune?
Sometimes I thought about this late at night in my room.
I still didn't have any friends but I wasn’t alone. I had Muffy. He'd snuggle against me and purr while I did my homework or listened to music on the radio. But one day when I went up to my room after school, Muffy didn’t chirp and come running to me like always. He was lying on my bed. His body was limp and his eyes were open and I knew he was dead.
A terrible pain burned my stomach. First Mom, now Muffy.
Then Randy barged into my room. "How’s your precious kitten, slant-eyes? Fuckin cat scratched me once too often so I wrung its neck."
I wanted to kill him. For a long time after Mom died I felt like something had eaten away my insides and left a big gaping hole. When I felt lonely and sad, I could go up to my room and cuddle Muffy.
But now my adorable kitten with the little pink tongue was gone too.
Somewhere deep inside me an iceberg formed, cold and hard. I didn't know if I would ever be able to love anyone again. But I knew one thing. Someday I would make Randy pay for what he'd done to Muffy.
"Get out of my room," I said. "I hate you."
"Shut up you little gook pussy."
That night at dinner I couldn’t eat. When Jerry asked if something was wrong, I shook my head. Faye just sipped her OJ cocktail. Ellen said nothing. Randy bragged about the great play he’d made at football practice.
The next day at sunrise I buried Muffy behind the garage.
_____
We still watched TV every night after supper. Now Randy was into
Star Trek
reruns. One night we watched an episode from 1968 called
Elaan of Troyius.
France Nuyen played Elaan. She was so beautiful I thought my heart would stop. The next day in the library I read her biography and found out France Nuyen was half Vietnamese and half French, like me. It didn’t make up for losing Muffy, but it made me proud to know that someone like me could be an important actress on a hit TV show.
I made sure not to let Randy know how much I loved her. He couldn’t kill France Nuyen like he’d killed Muffy, but he could stop watching
Star Trek
.
That turned out to be the least of my problems.
Right before Christmas I woke up one night and Randy was sitting on my bed, smelling the way boys do when they’re hot and sweaty.
"We’re kissing cousins," he said, "so kiss me."
The cold hard iceberg formed in my stomach. "Get out of my room, Randy. Get out or I’ll scream and wake up Uncle Jerry and he’ll smack you."
He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me closer and I bit him.
He jerked away and rubbed his arm. "You bit me, you slant-eyed gook."
He left, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be back, and my door had no lock. That Sunday after church I asked Jerry to put a lock on my bedroom door. I was afraid to tell him Randy had killed Muffy and tried to kiss me. Later that day Jerry bought a lock at the hardware store and put it on my door.
That made me feel safer.
But it didn't stop me from wanting to kill Randy.