Yvonne’s walk with the Lord had been weak back when she was married to Darrell. Even though she was born again and believed
the Word to be the absolute truth, Yvonne read the Bible when it suited her purposes and rarely prayed for the sheer joy of
communing with the Lord. Rather, it was her preference to throw herself prostrate on the floor at the first sign of trouble
with Darrell, in an effort to make the Lord “do something with him.”
That had been Yvonne’s walk with God back then. But she had been growing by leaps and bounds in the Lord ever since she moved
back home to North Carolina. The blessings of her relationship with God were so great until Yvonne wondered how she had ever
allowed herself to become so sluggish spiritually that she ran from the Lord and the joy of knowing His presence in her life.
This new walk had brought her so much closer to God that more and more she was able to hear and discern that “still small
voice” at a moment’s notice.
T
he alarm beeped, and the front door opened and closed. Yvonne closed her bedroom door and strutted into the family room, where
the girls and her dad were gathered on the floor getting ready to play their Wii game. Her mother was in the kitchen rearranging
the countertops, the table, and even parts of Yvonne’s refrigerator.
“Mama, stop. There is nothing wrong with my counters,” Yvonne admonished. “I don’t understand why you always feel a need to
come over here and fix what ain’t broken. Right, Daddy?”
“Goongad’s name is Wes and he ain’t in that mess,” Danesha said from across the room. She got up off the floor and turned
around to finally see her mother.
“Your hair, Mommy,” Danesha said.
“What about my hair?”
Yvonne’s mother stopped rearranging her daughter’s kitchen and gave the girl a second once-over. That was what was so different
about her—the hair.
D’Relle stopped fussing with her grandfather over the Wii control and came into the kitchen to get a better look at her mother.
“Oh … snap,” D’Relle said, dipping down her shoulder with her fist held to her mouth like the rappers did on the videos.
“Mommy, you almost look cool.”
“Uh … thank you, D’Relle … I think,” Yvonne stated, not sure what to make of that comment.
“I mean, you don’t look so
mommyish
,” D’Relle told her.
Danesha sighed loudly. “Mommy, what D is trying to tell you is that you look real good and not like the regular Mommy. I mean,
not that the regular Mommy isn’t pretty. But this Mommy looks like somebody who has a boyfriend.”
At that point Yvonne’s dad stopped playing with the Wii and decided he needed to take a good look at his oldest baby girl
himself. Yvonne was so breathtaking that Marvin felt tears well up in him. He had not seen the baby looking this beautiful
in years. There was a glow and beauty about her that made him think of the scripture in chapter three of First Peter, where
wives were encouraged to be known for
the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit
, which Marvin knew from watching his wife, Jeanette, all of these years,
is so precious to God.
“Aww … sookie sookie now,” he said with a big grin and grabbed Yvonne in his arms for a big hug and kiss.
“Daddy, you are going to mess up my makeup.”
“Okay,” Marvin said and let her go.
“What time do you and Mama want me back?”
“Whenever you get back” was all Jeanette said as she started setting the table for dinner, and then stopped to answer the
doorbell.
“Y’all expecting anybody?”
“It might be Tiffany, MaMa,” D’Relle said. “Remember you and Goongad said that she could come over and eat and hang out with
us.”
Danesha got excited. Tiffany Birkshaw was one of her favorites of D’Relle’s friends. She got up and ran to answer the door
but stopped and hollered out, “It’s a great big black man standing at the door. He’s dressed up. And … oh, it’s Coach
Parker from church—I mean when he comes to church.”
“Coach Parker is at the door,” Jeanette said, raising an eyebrow when she noticed that her child was suddenly all fidgety
and rearranging her purse. She didn’t know why Yvonne liked to pack her purses up with so much stuff.
“Coach Parker, Coach Parker?” Yvonne’s dad asked and got up to answer the door. He knew that if a man was coming to the house
to see Yvonne, he was getting in this Kool-Aid, and he didn’t care if he didn’t know the flavah.
“You know about this boy coming over here, Yvonne?” he asked his daughter in the tone of voice he used when she was a teenager
and about to go to a dance at Hillside.
“Yes, Daddy. He’s my date for the evening. We’re going to the reception together.”
“Oh … well, it’s good I’m here—so that negro will know that we Fountains don’t play no mess with nobody.”
“I think he already knows that, Daddy. He is one of Maurice’s best friends.”
“Oh, well, okay” was all that Marvin said as he went and opened the door for Curtis, who had heard everything that played
out in the house while standing outside on the porch. He thought he’d holler with laughter over what the youngest had said
about the big black man.
“How are you doing, sir?” Curtis said and extended his hand to Mr. Fountain, whom he liked and respected. Marvin Fountain
was a good man just like his nephew Maurice. The Fountains were just good people, period. Made him wonder why he had never
tried to get to know Yvonne in the past. But then, he knew why—he wasn’t ready for the kind of commitment that was required
to be with a woman like Yvonne. You didn’t roll up on a sister like that unless you were serious and bent on acting right.
“Doing fine, son,” Marvin said, putting emphasis on the word “son” to make sure that Curtis knew his place. He grabbed his
hand and gave it a firm shake, squeezing it harder than necessary to let this boy know that he wasn’t playing with him. His
baby had been through enough, and he would hurt a negro bad who came in here trying to mess over her and his grandbabies.
Curtis read that handshake and the hard glint in Marvin Fountain’s eyes. He knew that this man did not play, and would shoot
him and drag him in this house as if he were a would-be burglar before he let him mess with his babies—especially that big
one standing next to her mama looking all fine and delectable in that baby-blue velvet suit.
Umph, umph, umph
, he thought,
I don’t know how I’m gone keep my hands off of all of that. Lawd, ha’ mercy
.
“You taking our mama out,” D’Relle said, hands on her hips.
“Yeah, you the big black man who gone take our mama out,” Danesha said, now standing by her big sister trying to look tough.
“Well,” Curtis said, “would it be okay with you two ladies if I took her to the basketball reception this evening?”
“As long as you act right,” D’Relle said with a whole lot of attitude. And she wasn’t trying to look tough, she did look tough.
“Our little mommy is
our mommy
and we don’t like it when somebody tries to be mean to her. You know she has a gun and likes to go to target practice to
shoot with my granddaddy.”
“And she’ll shoot you if you don’t act right, Mr. Coach Parker,” Danesha said.
Curtis glanced over at Yvonne, who was staring at her children as if to say,
Have y’all little heifers lost y’all’s minds
.
“Girl, you didn’t tell me about you and this gun thing. I knew about the wire pliers but not the gun. What kind of gun do
you own?”
“One like this,” Marvin said as he ran off and came right back with the gun in his hand. Curtis hoped that the safety was
on and secured.
“It’s a beauty, ain’t it? I got it for baby girl as a divorce present.”
What is it with this family and guns
? Curtis thought, remembering Trina and her gun.
Curtis took the gun out of Marvin’s hand and examined it. Marvin wasn’t lying—this was a beautiful gun. Gray metal with a
pink mother-of-pearl handle. It was heavy and Curtis couldn’t help but wonder how Yvonne managed that thing with those dainty
hands of hers.
He bounced the gun up and down in his hand a few times.
“It’s heavy, ain’t it,” D’Relle said. “But our mommy is good at handling it. She can walk around our house with the gun in
her hands like she’s a detective on
CSI: Miami
—which is one of her favorite TV shows. Can’t you, Mommy?”
“Yes, baby. Mommy can do just what you said,” Yvonne replied. It always tickled her to know how proud the girls were that
their mother could handle firearms.
“I bet you could shoot a negro right between the eyes fifty feet away from him,” Curtis said, and gave Marvin the gun.
“Well.” Yvonne shrugged, grinning, hunching up her shoulders, and rubbing her chin like J. J. Walker in the 1970s sitcom
Good Times
. “What can I say?”
“Girl, take your silly self on out of this house so Curtis can get to his own reception on time,” Jeanette said.
“Yeah, we better get going,” he said and started for the door, then stopped and said, “Good to see all of you.”
“Does that include me and Danesha?”
“Most definitely, Miss D’Relle.”
The doorbell rang again and Danesha ran to answer it. She came back with Tiffany, who ran over to D’Relle and said in her
customary high-pitched and fast-paced Tiffany voice, “D, ain’t that Coach Parker? And what he doing with yo’ mama, walking
out the house with her like that?” Before D’Relle could shush and then try to answer Tiffany’s questions, she said, “Oooh,
D. Yo’ mama look good. That suit is crunked.”
“Bye, Mommy,” the girls said and waved, and then ran to the window and tried to be inconspicuous, staring out to see what
kind of car Coach Parker was driving.
“That’s hot,” D’Relle said, admiring the Cadillac truck. “He just needs some better rims, though.”
“I like the rims, D,” Tiffany told her.
“You would, T. They are the same kind of rims your daddy just put on his Explorer.”
“Like I said, D, I like the rims.”
Yvonne stared back at the house, hoping they read her face and got their nosy little butts out of the window.
“Whewwww. Girl, you got your hands full with those two.”
“I know. They are something else. But they are some very sweet girls.”
“I know they are sweet. They can’t help but to be sweet, as sweet as their good-looking mama is.”
Yvonne smiled and blushed and then said, “Boy, you are so crazy. And you ain’t shortchanging nobody your own self. That’s
a nice suit. Where’d you buy it? From Mr. Booth?”
“How did you know I bought this suit from Mr. Booth?”
“Mr. Booth is the only person I know who has suits of this quality at affordable prices,” Yvonne told him, and rubbed the
fabric on the sleeve of the suit between her fingers.
“Cashmere and silk. Nice. I love this red chalk stripe on the black. And the black silk vest with red stripes running through
it and matching tie and handkerchief is tight … oh, crunked.”
“Why thank you, Miss Fountain.” Curtis smiled, face really lighting up next to that fancy white diamond-print jacquard dress
shirt.
Whew
, Yvonne thought.
I didn’t know a Mounds Bar was as appetizing as it is right now. Glad I ate a snack before I left the house.
Curtis liked that she was checking him out on the low and liking what she saw. He slipped in a CD. The Ohio Players’ “Honey”
was playing. Curtis snapped his fingers and said, “That takes you waaaayyyy back, don’t it, girl?”
Yvonne, who had thought that she was going to be so nervous she wouldn’t know what to say to Curtis when they were all alone
in the car, started cracking up.
“You are a fool, Curtis Lee Parker.”
“A fool for you, baby,” he answered, surprised at those words that popped out of his mouth seemingly of their own accord.
“Curtis,” Yvonne said and tapped his arm playfully, as she would have done back in the day when they were at Hillside High
School.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
C
urtis turned his car in to the Sheraton Imperial and drove around searching for a parking space that wasn’t what amounted
to several blocks away from the hotel’s entrance. Yvonne liked this Escalade truck. She’d always seen them on the street and
thought they looked good but she didn’t realize how good a ride the car was. But then again, truck or not, it was a Cadillac.
She’d never been in a Cadillac that wasn’t a smooth ride.
“I like this car, Curtis.”
“I love it. And when I get a chance, I’m going to take that D’Relle for a spin because I know that this is right up her alley.”
Yvonne gave Curtis the sweetest smile and said, “How did you know?”
“How could I not know with all of that big, bad talk about guns and
our mommy
? But it’s all good. You are blessed to have such beautiful, funny, sassy, and smart children.”
“Thank you, Curtis. You know there are men who don’t appreciate funny, mouthy, sassy, and confident girls like D’Relle and
Danesha.”
“Then those men are fools. Because they don’t know what they are missing getting to know little girls like that. They are
so much fun and will grow up to be sweet, kind, and wonderful women just like you and your sister and your friends.”
“There’s your space,” Yvonne said, pointing to a sweet parking space with a cone and one of Eva T.’s security guards holding
a neon red sign with COACH PARKER written on it in huge black letters.
“Girl, you have some good eyes. I need to have you riding shotgun with me more often,” Curtis said and eased into his parking
spot in a space right near the hotel’s lobby entrance.
The Gap Band’s “Early in the Morning” started playing in the car, even though Prince’s “Purple Rain” was playing on the CD.
Yvonne dug her phone out of her purse and flipped it open.
“Where are you?” Rochelle asked.
“We just parked the car. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Was that Maurice?” Curtis asked.
“No, Rochelle. She always gets the best table at any event and is holding our seats.”