A Day Late and a Dollar Short (23 page)

"Okay," she says, and heads toward the front door. I sit on the couch, waiting for my orders.

"There's going to be a delivery," Paris says, pointing her finger down at me. "Don't drink anything. It's going to be furniture. Let them in and show them which room the stuff goes in."

"I don't know which room whatever is coming goes in."

"I'm about to tell you. It's a bed and dresser. It goes in Mama's room."

"Well, what about her old furniture?"

"Figure it out, Lewis."

"Well, how long do you think you'll be gone?"

"Why?"

"I'm just asking."

"Two or three hours."

"I was thinking about catching the bus home tonight."

"With what?"

I feel my teeth grinding. "What do you mean, with what?"

"You don't have any money. How are you going to catch a bus?"

Why does she have to get so technical? She don't know how much money 1 got, not really. "I've got almost enough," I say.

"Almost isn't enough, Lewis."

"I know that, Paris. I'm not stupid."

"Tell me something. Have you already forgotten about your court date?"

"No I have not."

"Well, if you fail to show up, my two hundred dollars is gone."

"I wouldn't do that. Give me some credit."

"Anyway, Mania suggested you fly home with us in the morning."

"I don't like airplanes."

"Get over it," she says. "Besides, it's already done." She turns and leaves. It's already done. Already. Done. What would make her think I want to get on an airplane and sit next to her in close quarters where I have no escape route, and be forced to listen to what I should and shouldn't be doing? I don't think so. As soon as these furniture people get here, I'm outta here. I can figure out a way to get back for my court appearance, but I've got business I need to take care of at home.

I take a long shower, shave, brush my hair a thousand times, put my same clothes back on, go in the kitchen, and microwave myself some Campbell's potato-and-bacon soup. I eat it and then try to figure out what to wash it down with. My eyes zero in on one of those coolers. I decide against it, but before I know it my right hand is unscrewing the top and the cold rim is pressed against my lips. I consider pouring it down the drain, but it ain't but a couple of ounces and it's only 7 percent, so I polish it off, dig a hole in the bottom of the trash under the sink, and bury the bottle.

I get my cigarettes out of my shirt pocket and go sit out on the front porch to smoke it, when this white lady comes strolling up the sidewalk. I think I know who she is. "Hello," I say.

"Hello, son. And you must be Lewis."

"Good guess. And you must be Miss Loretta."

"I am indeed. Where's your mom?"

"Her and my sisters went to the mall."

"Well, she must be feeling much better."

"She is."

"What are you doing sitting out here all by yourself?"

"You want the honest-to-God's truth?"

"Of course."

"I'm in somewhat of a dilemma."

"What kind of a dilemma?" She looks interested, genuinely concerned.

"Well, I'm waiting for some furniture to be delivered for Mama, and I just received a phone call that's somewhat of an emergency and requires that I leave right away to go back to California, but I'm a little short on cash and not exactly sure how to handle this situation."

"Well, how much do you need, Lewis?"

"About forty or fifty dollars, but. Miss Loretta, I'd mail it back to you, I promise I will."

"Don't you worry about that. Is anybody hurt?"

"No, thank goodness."

"Well, I'll just run and get my purse and be right back." And off she goes.

Just then the furniture truck pulls up, and when they get out to ask me where the stuff goes, I realize that Mama's bed is all made up and her dresser is full of stuff and I don't know what to do with it, so I just tell the men to leave everything under the carport in front of Mama's car, where nobody can see it. While they're doing that. Miss Loretta comes back.

"Well, Vy finally got herself a new bedroom set, huh? She's been praying for one for years! See, prayers do get answered."

"Sometimes," I say.

"Here you go, Lewis," she says, handing me three twenties.

"I only needed forty or fifty." "Its okay. You don't want to get there empty-handed, do you?"

"No, ma'am. Thank you."

"Can I give you a lift anywhere?"

"Would you mind dropping me off at the Greyhound station?"

"Of course not. Just let me get my keys."

On that note, I go in and write a quick note on the first thing I get my hands on, which happens to be a napkin, and place it under a magnet on the refrigerator. Then I lock the front door and pray we don't pass my family on the way.

Chapter 13

Before I Pop

I don't like eating in restaurants that have booths with shellacked wood and the tables have those Western chairs with plaid seat covers and one thick ruffle just to convince you that this is how serious they are. I feel sick. Like I could barf. Mania's chili fries are soaking through that thin white paper and oozing between each red square of the plastic basket they're threatening me from. I lift my chin high enough so I'm looking out past the wooden wall of this dark booth where me, Dingus, Shanice, Paris, and Mama are having what I assume has to be dinner.

Paris outdid herself this time by handing over her Neiman Marcus card to Mama, who refused to look anywhere but the clearance racks. She needed help carrying the bags through the mall out to the parking lot. Then, when we pulled into the Acura dealership, Mama said, "And just what are we doing here?"

"Auntie Paris wants to buy you a car," Shanice blurted out with her big mouth.

"Lord have mercy. I can't take so much excitement in one day. Paris," Mama said, turning to her while reaching in her purse to get out her spray, "I don't need no expensive Acura. But if you just wanna spend this kind of money, then drive down a few more blocks to that Mitsubishi place. I saw a snazzy Galant on that lot that I swear got my name on it. But we ain't gotta do it today. I'm tired and I'm hungry. So can we please stop somewhere and get something to eat?"

"Whatever you want to do. Mama. But keep in mind that we're leaving in the morning, remember?"

"I know, I know. But I ain't had a decent car in ten years; a few more weeks won't kill me. Besides, I don't wanna leave Lewis in my house for too long by hisself."

So we came here. This was Mama's bright idea. I don't even know the name of the place. But I'm sure it's a chain. My chef salad was disgusting and everybody else just had cheeseburgers and fries. Mama and Dingus were the only ones who said yes to the chili.

"I need to go to the bathroom." I'm hoping Mama can hurry to get up, but she seems to be taking her time. I feel a lump of chili at the base of my throat, and pushing it down are pieces of straw chicken, and then, under them, are the Eggo waffles I had for breakfast. All of it's racing to get out. When Mama finally slides off the edge of the seat I can't hold it anymore and there, all over the table and floor, comes my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Shit.

"What is wrong with you, girl?" Mama asks, while Dingus helps me stand.

"Are you okay, Janelle?" Paris asks. "What all did you eat today?"

But I'm not finished. This time I aim for the floor. Other people are now spectators. My face is hot and throbbing. My stomach hurts. My head aches. I am embarrassed and hope I can explain it away. By the time I feel like I'm finished, I realize that Shanice hasn't moved. She's still sitting in the corner of the booth, leaning her head against the padded plaid wall, looking bored.

"I betcha it's food poisoning," Mama says. "It's a terrible feeling, ain't it, Janelle?"

I just look at her. "I need to find the bathroom," I say.

"I'll take you," Paris says.

"And, Dingus," Mama orders, "call the house and check on your uncle. Tell him we'll be home in ten or fifteen minutes, so whatever he doing that he ain't supposed to be doing, he got time to stop."

"You got it. Granny."

"And, Shanice, is something wrong with you, girl? You better get your behind up and make sure ain't nothing wrong with your mama." I watch my daughter uncross her tighdy folded arms and act like it's killing her to come to my aid.

When we get inside the ladies' room, she goes directly into a stall. She does not unzip her denim shorts. She doesn't even sit down. I can see the toes of her platform sneakers pointing toward the toilet; her brown calves pressed against the gray metal door. She's getting on my nerves with this huffy attitude of hers. She thinks the world revolves around her, but it does not. I rinse my mouth out with tap water and lean against the sink. Paris looks me dead in the eye and just says, "Janelle, you can fool Mama, but you can't fool me. You have not been poisoned. You're pregnant or my name isn't Paris. Now, spit it out."

I stand up too fast, holding my right index finger up to my mouth to shush her, shaking my head so fervently I get the spins. Before I know it, she's knocking on Shanice's stall door, and now I see her toes pointing in our direction. "Shanice! Is your mother pregnant or not?"

When that door opens, I'm afraid of what she might say, how she'll look, what she might do. But she just looks at her aunt and says, "I have no idea. Do you need me in here, or are you okay?"

"Go," I say, pointing to the door.

"Hold it a minute," Paris says. "What the hell is going on here?"

"What?" Shanice moans.

"You better watch the tone of your voice," Paris says, and then: "You act like you don't even care."

"I'm just not interested."

"Okay, stop it!" I yell. "I might be pregnant, but, then again, I might not be. What difference does it make? I'm a married woman. Would it be a crime if I was?"

"Why don't you ask your husband, the policeman? He knows a lot about crime," Shanice says, and prances out the door.

"Don't ask another question," I say, brushing past Paris.

From behind, I hear her say, "Curious minds just want to know, is this Part Two of Guiding Light or As the World Turns? All I do know is something ain't right in Kansas."

I can't even muster up a response.

Lewis isn't there when we get back. Mama's car is, because she has the keys. All of us walk around the house as if he might appear, but it's obvious he's gone. Then Dingus says, "Check this out," leaning against the refrigerator. " 'I had to go home. Don't worry about me, please. Glad you feeling better, Ma. Didn't know what to do with all your stuff, so your furniture is under the carport in front of you car. Love, Lewis.' "

"What furniture?" Mama asks.

"He must be crazy!" Paris blurts out. "What about his court date?"

"His what?" Mama yells from the bedroom. "And what furniture is he talking about? I ain't bought no new furniture!" She heads straight for the side door that leads to the carport. Shanice follows her.

"He had a court appearance he forgot about," I yell, giving Paris a shut- your-big-mouth finger for the second time today.

"It's always something with that boy," Mama says. I hear her give out a big yelp and then an "Oooo" and then a "Y'all too much!" and in she comes, with a humongous grin on her face.

"Who did this?"

Paris lies, and points to me. "It was her idea."

"Y'all too good to me, but I love it, I love it, I love it! Thank you,Janelle."

"You're quite welcome," I say, and smile a thank you to Paris. She knows if I could I would.

"And I'll be damned if I'm putting it in this lean-to. Remind me to get some tarp to cover it up. Won't nobody suspect anybody would be stupid enough to leave a brand-new bedroom set outside." She goes back into her bedroom. "Shanice, come unhook Granny's brassiere before I pop. Anyway, Lord only knows how Lewis got home. By hook or by crook, I'll betcha. Dingus, come in here and check your granny's jewelry, would you, baby? Lewis don't know that I put the fake stuff out just for thieves. Look in my middle dresser drawer, under my underwear, and lift the middle stack until you feel a plasdc bag with a sock in it. Just tell me if it's still there. And, Janelle, your loving husband left a message for you to call him at home."

"Home?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Are you sure he said 'home'?"

"Come listen for yourself. Nat King Cole also left a message. He wanna know if he can take y'all out to dinner-which is a new one on me-or if y'all wanna do some gambling while you here. He didn't leave no number. Said he'd call back around seven, which is fifteen minutes from now."

"Mama, aren't you the least bit upset about Daddy being gone?"

"Do I look upset?" she says with a smile. I know this is all just part of a facade. She's hiding her pain, just like me. I hate this. All of it. Standing here pretending, as if nothing has happened. That me and my daughter are members of a healthy, loving, tight-knit family unit. That my husband is really a good man. That I couldn't have asked for a better person to share my life with. And what about my daddy? What made him just pack up and leave Mama after almost a half-century? Why do men always seem to do what the hell they want to do when they feel like doing it, without any regard for others, at least not us, the women who do everything for them? And what is the reward for that? Desertion? Cheating? No child support? Abuse of your child?

Shanice has flopped down on the sofa next to Dingus. Her head is resting on his shoulder, as if she's tired, but I know she's not. She's wearing makeup. Cinnamon-colored lipstick and a dark, dusty line on her lower lid. I hadn't even noticed it until now. When did she start wearing makeup? And who gave her permission? "Shanice, sit up."

She frowns and then bolts straight up. "What?" she asks, clearly annoyed.

"What's your problem?" Paris asks, from the kitchen. She's fixing something that smells foreign. Lord only knows what it might be.

"Leave that girl alone!" Mama yells from her bedroom.

I walk into her room and sit down next to her on the bed. She has to scoot over. "Mama, 1 need to ask you a big favor."