“Yep.”
“Well, look, Mom, we’re rehearsing like mad hours and we’re videotaping our best session and I’ll send it to you on the computer to check out.”
“Wow, technology is something. You do that,” I say.
“Oh, and I haven’t met Brianna. Just Morgan, Faith, Dasia, Nadine, and Chanelle. Your other son is quite the Casanova down here in Atlanta, you know, but you didn’t hear it from me. Love you. Peace out.”
Peace out?
Prezelle’s senior citizen facility is really a very nice apartment complex. They have a better view of the bay and San Francisco than we do from our house. I tell Arthurine that I’ll try to be here between ten and ten-thirty to pick her up. Jill may have sung enough of my favorites by then to hold me for a while. I do not, however, bother to tell Mr. Spitfire.
I look through the buzzing crowd for someone tall that’s sparkling and has lots of cleavage, and I spot Bunny. She’s waving to get my attention, or to get attention, which she gets, as she gulps the rest of her drink down. “I can’t believe you actually bailed yourself out of Housewife Prison to join the party people, Marilyn. Two stars for you!”
“Baby and all!” Paulette says from behind, pinching me on my butt. Thank God she has finally taken those dreadful braids out of her hair. Now it looks like a short curly wig, but when I turn around to hug her, I can see her scalp. It’s her own hair! Her eyes, however, are now green. Dare I say anything?
“I’m here to enjoy myself, not to be ridiculed, so shut up and let’s go sit down.”
Jill is sold out. People are standing outside, begging to buy unused tickets. Luckily our seats are good. Bunny has all kinds of connections. A pleasant group warms up the crowd, but we’re waiting to be wooed by the woman herself. I tilt my head back to look up at the paintings on the domed ceiling of this magnificent theater, which has been painstakingly restored to what appears to be its original state. My head swirls to follow the floating women whose eyes look both sad and happy. I’m feeling drunk from the vastness of the ceiling, the flowers, and the sudden appearance of angels.
A tap-tap-tap on my shoulder brings me back down to earth. A baritone voice from close behind me says, “Don’t tell me you still haven’t found what you’re looking for, Marilyn?”
The weight of Gordon’s words enter my eardrum like heat. I don’t believe this. But when I turn around, there he is, my first husband, the man I knew for sure was my soul mate, the man who was so smart and courageous that he scared me. I divorced him because he wanted me to know who I was before I was ready. His love was impatient. Mine, too young. He had too much faith in me. More than I had in myself. He was the first person to tell me that if I used my eyes and hands together, one day I would be an artist. I didn’t believe him. I hadn’t created anything. He had all kinds of gifts. He taught others how to accept magic. I resisted. His heart was like a sponge. He cared fiercely about our condition as black people. He was not afraid of the world or his role in it. I wasn’t sure what mine was. It was his clarity and vision that first appealed to me, but then I found it intimidating. Because he expected more of me than I even knew I had to give. And when you’re scared, you back away.
“Well, how in the world are you after all these years, Gordon?”
“I’m fine. Older.” He leans back in his seat. Smiles at me out of the corner of his eye. His moustache is mixed with gray. His dreadlocks are, too. He might not even be handsome but he looks like he stands for something. Before I can utter a word, he says, “You look good. I saw you come in but didn’t want to say anything.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. You just looked majestic in that purple. Like nobody should have too much to say to you tonight.”
“That’s what I’m doing here. Jill will say it.”
“I’m here for the same reasons.”
“Hi, I’m Bunny, Marilyn’s best friend.”
“And I’m Paulette, her less-nosey friend.”
“Hello, Bunny and Paulette. I’m Gor—”
“We know who you are, sweetheart,” Bunny says.
“Nice to meet you, Gordon. Enjoy the show.” Paulette must have pinched Bunny or something because she jerks away from her, then snatches the mint from her hand that Paulette was about to put in her mouth.
“Same here, ladies.” He leans forward. I can feel his breath on my neck. I am uncomfortable. “Good seeing you,” he says, and squeezes my shoulder to show that he means it.
I hear Jill’s smooth voice coming from behind the black curtain and Gordon whispers, “Just tell me one thing, Marilyn. Are you happy?”
Jill walks out on stage. She is wearing orange and she is big and beautiful and sexy and proud. Before I join Bunny and Paulette as Jill’s backup singers, I turn and whisper back to Gordon, “Do I look happy?”
“You ho!” Paulette says, squeezing me by my elbow.
“I’m telling your husband you cheated on him on your first night out of the house! You’re worse than a preacher’s daughter!”
“What exactly have I done? Nothing. Except run into my ex-husband and said hello. That’s it!”
“He gave you his business card. Where is it?”
I reach inside my purse. “Right here. What’s the big deal.”
Bunny snatches it out of my hand. “He’s a high school principal?”
“That’s nice,” Paulette says.
“He doesn’t look like any principal I’ve ever come across.”
“You weren’t married to him but a hot minute if I remember correctly, right?” Paulette asks.
“Three months. And don’t ask.”
“He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I looked,” Bunny said.
“You guys are making too much out of this. I’ve gotta go pick up my mother-in-law. Thanks for inviting me and I’ll see you two scuzz-buckets later.”
We kiss each other on the cheek and by the time I hit Skyline Boulevard and look out and see the lights of San Francisco I feel a sense of delight.
Arthurine is sitting out on the bench with Prezelle when I pull up. He walks her to the car and opens the door. I think I hear a smooch. She gets in and he bends down to wave as we drive off. “I told you I felt lucky tonight,” she says, holding up two fake twenty-dollar bills. “God is sure good. He gives you just what you need just when you need it. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I’m almost ashamed when I feel myself grinning and nodding in total agreement.
Chapter 8
T
hanks for picking up Mother,” Leon shouts from the bathroom.
“You’re welcome,” I say dryly. I’m in bed, trying to finish a novel I started two months ago. “But what if I hadn’t?”
“I thought she was going to stay home.”
“I told you she had a date.”
“She’s too old to date. And this will be her first and last.”
“Just who do you think you are?”
“I’m her son, that’s who!” and he slams the bathroom door. I hear him in the shower. I hear him brush his teeth. And then the door opens. I haven’t flipped a page yet.
“Arthurine is a sixty-eight-year-old widow. If she wants to spend time with a seventy-one-year-old man, it’s her prerogative and her business! Not yours!” I realize I like yelling, too.
“What can they possibly do at their age to entertain each other?”
“All kinds of things. Tonight they played bingo.”
“Well that should raise her blood pressure. Surely they can’t have sex.”
“You don’t know that, now do you?”
“The thought itself is disgusting. And how in God’s name…”
“The same way you do. He probably has help.” I’d love to say
and you might want to look into getting some aid yourself.
He looks repulsed. “What do you feel like watching tonight?”
“Nothing.”
“Now what’s wrong?”
“I’m waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” he asks, and I can tell he’s looking for the remote, which of course is under his pillow but I’m not budging. He’s now also wrapped in a plaid flannel bathrobe that just barely ties.
“For my apology.”
“Apology for what?”
I snap my book shut and look at him like he’s crazy. “Think hard, Leon.”
He pretends to be thinking hard, but of course he’s drawing a blank because his mind is on that fucking remote.
“Yesterday? You not only yelled but you also swore at me.”
“I did not!” he says, yelling again. Maybe he really is going deaf. Just like his mother claims she is.
“You did, too.”
“I simply stated that I was just feeling the pressure of bidding on yet another job and how draining it’s becoming.”
“So that’s how you see it?”
“I did not swear at you and I certainly didn’t raise my voice.”
“Fine. No harm done,” I say. He knows I don’t mean it. I know I don’t mean it.
“Would you like to go to dinner tomorrow night?”
I feel like jumping out of the bed and drop-kicking him in his big fat stomach. But I stay put. “No.”
“Why not?” he asks, looking in the drawer of his night table, then under the bed, then has the nerve to walk over to the TV and looks around it. Of course it’s not there, but would it occur to him to turn the fucking thing on manually? He totters back and stands at the foot of his side of the bed, looking stumped.
“Because I just don’t feel like it.”
“How do you know how you’re going to be feeling tomorrow?”
“I don’t. But I know right now that I don’t want to go out to dinner.”
“Why not?”
“I just told you, Leon!”
“You haven’t told me anything.”
“Because it’s boring.”
“I’ve got reservations at Chez Panisse.”
“Yahoo.”
“Look, what’s really bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it the baby issue?”
“The baby ‘issue’? Oh, so it’s an issue, is it? No, that’s not it, and so what if it was? I’ve got eight more months to deal with the
issue.
”
“I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was it’s both our problem.”
“You know what, Leon. Just be quiet, would you? I’m not going to hold the baby hostage because I’m pissed at its father.”
“Look, can we just stop talking and go to sleep?”
“Wait a minute. Let’s be honest with each other for a moment, shall we?”
I cross my arms. I’m ready for this.
“Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you really want to have a baby after nineteen years?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Finally, an honest answer. How do the kids feel about this?”
“I haven’t told them yet.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Because at my age, Leon, I’m going to have to take a test to make sure it’s going to be healthy.”
“Understood. When will the boys be home?”
“Spencer’s getting in next Friday and he’s bringing a girl and Simeon’s not coming.”
“What? Who? Why not?”
“He’s in a band and they’re playing at some club.”
“For crying out loud. A band? What kind of band could he possibly have time to be in with the course load he’s carrying?”
“Apparently enough. He’s in a jazz band. And just so you won’t be the last to know: he’s also changing his major from computer engineering to some kind of music producing or something. Good night.”
“Has he gone and lost his fucking mind?”
“Not like you have.”
He takes off his robe and then starts pacing the floor. His plaid boxers are so tight they should be briefs.
“And by the
fucking
way. I need you to pick Spencer and his girlfriend up at the airport because I have a doctor’s appointment.”
“What time next Friday?”
“Four-thirty.”
“I absolutely can’t.”
“And why not?”
“I just started working out with a personal trainer and he’s giving me my nutritional assessment, my meal plan, and all these supplements to help me burn fat and build muscle, and I can’t miss it.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. La Lanne,” I say, trying not to laugh even though I’m really pissed just listening to this bullshit. “You’re serious, too, aren’t you?”
“I told you I was going to start working out and I meant it. Can’t they take a cab? Or can’t you change the time of your doctor’s appointment?”
“No, I can’t. Because that’s the day I hear the heartbeat.”
“Really.”
“Don’t get so excited,” I say, as I reach under his pillow and toss him the remote. He catches it, looking quite relieved. “I’ll just get his real father to meet them at the airport because he won’t mind,” I say, as I pull the covers over my head to drown him out.
“Mom, I need your help,” Sabrina is saying. She has once again stopped by unannounced, but I don’t really mind. “I feel horrible! Why didn’t you tell me being pregnant makes you feel so miserable in the mornings?”
“You never asked,” I say. “It doesn’t last. Just a few more weeks is all.”
“Can you remember if you got nauseous in the mornings?”
“I did.”
“And what did you do?”
“I ate saltines and drank club soda.”
“Well, I’m going to the acupuncturist tomorrow. They say it can do wonders and it’s safe, don’t worry.”
“I’m not. I’ve got too many other things on my mind and I know you’re no dummy.”
“What’s pressing down on your mind?”
“Lovey, for one.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think she’s getting or has Alzheimer’s.”
“For real? How do you know? What makes you say that?”
“Quite a few things, really. Sometimes she says things on the phone that don’t make a lot of sense. She doesn’t call me like she used to. And when I call her, sometimes I don’t even think she really knows it’s me. She whispers. She’s been watering fake plants and last week she got lost driving to the Seven-Eleven which is five blocks from her house.”
“Wow. What are you going to do to help her?”
“I can’t really help her, but I’m going back out there in a few weeks to take her to the doctor to get a complete physical and be tested.”
“I thought they couldn’t test for that?”
“Well, they can rule out things, that’s what I’ve seen on the Internet and some TV specials about it.”
“Lovey with Alzheimer’s? That’s a hard one for me to even fathom.”
“It’s what I’m thinking. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m hoping I am.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. How’s Aunt Joy?”
“The same.”
“Is she working?”
“What do you think?”
“Well, how’s LL and LaTiece?”
“They’re about two years away from being candidates for juvenile hall, thanks to their loving, caring mother.”
“How old are they now?”
“LL is five and Tiecey is seven.”
“Kids grow up so fast. Seems like they were just born!”
“They were.”
“Oh, wait. I see the mailman. I’ll go get it for you.”
I stand here in the kitchen and watch my daughter. She has her whole life ahead of her. I know it’s terrible of me to even be thinking this, but I can’t help it. I wish she wasn’t pregnant. I wish she had waited. She’s only twenty-two. I had hoped she’d go to graduate school like she planned and not do what I did: take a quarter of a century detour. Men don’t usually give up their plans for us and I’ll be glad when we stop being so accommodating. I want to tell her again that being in love is a good thing but it shouldn’t mean you have to forfeit your dreams. Babies are not romantic. They require attention and care and almost all of your time. They don’t disappear. They grow up right in front of your eyes. But you won’t see it happening. You’ll wonder how the years went by so fast. Which is why this is the time in her life she should be exploring the world, and her role in it. But now is not the time to repeat this.
I was just about to make a peach smoothie right before Sabrina walked in, since I don’t have to be at Heavenly Creations until noon. Arthurine’s been gone since early this morning, and Snuffy must still be asleep at the foot of her bed. Hallelujah. Sometimes it’s hard for me to swallow when he’s in the same room. I drop about eight frozen peaches into the blender along with half a banana and a splash of orange juice. I’m reaching to get the vanilla soy when Sabrina comes back with a huge pile of mail.
“Wow, I didn’t know you guys get so much junk, Mom!”
“We normally don’t get this much.”
She’s curious and flips past the bills. “What do we have here?” Her eyes get big. “Mom, why are you getting catalogs from the Academy of Art and California College of Arts and Crafts?”
“I just wanted to look through them.”
“Are you thinking of going back to school?”
“Maybe in the future.”
“These look like
soon
to me. There are apps in here and everything. Do it, Mom. Please!?”
“I’m just curious, is all. I have no idea if I can even get in.” I don’t want her to know I’ve already applied—just in case.
“You can get in. I’ve seen all of the things you’ve made. And they’re amazing. Dazzling if you don’t mind that word. Believe me, you’re in. Can I get a smoothie, too, please?”
“Sure,” I say, turning on the blender.
“These schools sure aren’t cheap, but Dad’s loaded and the least he should be willing to do for the woman who raised his children, ran this household, spoon-fed him, and babysat his Loaner Mother (God forgive me for I know not what I say), I think twenty grand a year for tuition is a very small price to compensate you for years of sacrifice. It’s time for him to ante up!”
I’m laughing so hard I almost choke on my first sip.
“I’m serious. He owes you. And you owe it to yourself to do whatever you are so moved to do. Hey, Mom. You’re forty-four, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Have you started going through menopause yet? Any signs? I’ve been seeing stuff about it everywhere.”
“I could be.”
“Well, when you’re certain of it, promise me you won’t ever take any of those synthetic laboratory-made things?”
“I promise.”
“There’s a test you can take to measure your hormone levels. Did you know that?”
“Yep, I’m having it done soon.”
“Good. Let me know what you find out. But check this out, Mom. Did you know that forty million of you boomers will all be going through the big ‘M’ at the same time?”
“Surprise, surprise.”
“I think it’s so cool. Don’t you, Mom?”
“I’m ecstatic,” I say, wanting to put an end to this conversation. “Now drink up. I’ve got to get to work.”