A Day Late and a Dollar Short (24 page)

"You won't be the first. What is it?"

"Could Shanice stay here with you for a few weeks until I can make some decisions? George and I have been having a few problems and I don't want her subjected to them any more than she has been already."

"What kind of problems y'all having?" she asks, looking out the corner of her eye.

"Not the kind you think, Mama. It's complicated, and Shanice could be a big help to you around here, you know, with Daddy being gone. And that school down the street isn't so bad, is it?"

"You mean you want her to go to school here?" "She can't just sit around the house all day." "What Shanice think about this?" "1 haven't asked her yet." "Asked or told: which is it, Janelle?"

She just has to make this difficult. "Shanice? Would you come here for a minute, please?"

We both sit there and wait for her to appear in the doorway. "Yes?" she says. Her braids are getting frizzy around her hairline, and her roots are looking like tiny black radishes. She needs a touch-up bad.

Before I can even figure out how to frame the question, Mama says, "I understand your mama and George is having some troubles and she thinks it would be better if you stayed here with me for a few weeks, until she can get things worked out. What you think about that?"

Shanice's face lights up. I haven't seen her look this excited in ages. "You mean I don't have to go home with you tomorrow?" "No," I say.

"Yes!" she exclaims, pushing her elbow down to her knee like Arsenio Hall does on his talk show. "How long can I stay with my granny?" "I don't know. A few weeks or so."

"That's all? That not even fair. You want to take me out of school and put me in another one for a few weeks and then go back to my old school? How'm I supposed to know what's going on?"

"Wait a minute! I'm thinking. Just trying to figure this out. It's all happening too fast."

"Can't I stay until the end of the school term?"

"I can't agree to that," I say. "How about until after spring break?" "You can stay until you start getting on my nerves," Mama says, smiling.

"Thanks, Granny. Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, a beer," she says, then abruptly, "No. There will be no more beer or booze in this house after today. I'm tired of drinking. You got that?"

"Yes," she says.

"You can make me some tea. That should about do it."

"Ma, what about my stuff?"

"Don't worry. I'll send whatever you need."

"She gon' need some spending money, I can tell you that much, "cause I'm getting ready to start eating Jenny Craig. And I ain't gon' be doing too much cooking around here."

"I don't mind eatingjenny Craig, Granny."

"Marie Callender's is what you need."

"I'll leave you a check, Mama."

"I can't use no check. The IRS know too much of my business as it is. Just send me a money order when you get home."

"Ma, can you send some of my books?"

"Look, don't go getting too excited, Shanice. This is not permanent by any stretch of the imagination."

"Any amount of time away from him is fine with me."

Mama just picks up the remote control and starts punching. She doesn't want to think she heard what she knows she heard, and I don't want to acknowledge it. "Well, you gon' call him or not?"

"I will when I feel like it, Mama, but right now I don't really have anything to say to him."

Just then the phone rings and I jump off the bed at least five or ten inches. "You get it," Mama says. "It's Tarzan, and right now I'm feeling the same toward him that you claim to be feeling toward old George."

But by the time I pick up the line, Paris has beaten me to the punch in the kitchen. I dread what she might say to Daddy. I just listen. "This is Paris, Daddy; what can we do for you?"

"I was thanking about trying to take y'all out to get something to eat before you all leave."

"That's sweet, but I'm almost finished with dinner; maybe next time." "Well, y'all don't want to spend a hour or two at the casinos?"

"I'm not big on gambling."

"I'm not much up for it either," I hear myself say.

"Is Lewis there?"

"He went home already," I say.

"Why don't we meet for a drink, Daddy?" Paris asks.

I'm shocked to hear her say this, which I know means she's got something up her sleeve. And I don't know if I want to be there for it.

"I ain't doing much drinking these days, but we can sit at the bar, if that's what you wanna do."

"How about eight, then? I'll meet you right out front of your place of employment. It's Harrah's, right?"

"Yes it is. I work in security," he says proudly. "That sounds good, baby. Janelle, you coming, too?"

"I'm too tired, Daddy, and, plus, I have to get up early and drive home."

"Then why don't you talk to him now?" Paris says and hangs up. I feel like a fool. I have nothing to say to him. Well, I do, but I don't exacdy know how to put it, so I just ask something I never got an answer for: "When are you coming home, Daddy?"

Mama hits me on my shoulder with her fist so hard I feel a lump forming, so I get off the bed and pull the cord out of her reach. She's shaking her head back and forth, and at the same time listening carefully to the introduction of all three Jeopardy! contestants as if she's going to be quizzed about their biographical information one day.

"We might have to talk about this another time," he says. "I just wanted to spend a little time with you all while you was here."

"Where do you live?"

"In an apartment."

"What kind of an apartment?"

"It's the projects," Mama interjects, her eyes still glued to the TV.

"A everyday apartment."

"Do you live alone?"

"Not exacdy." "What does that mean?"

"I live with a friend."

"Male or female?"

He clears his throat. "Female."

"She on welfare and I heard she some kinda alcoholic," Mama says, switching the channel to Wheel of Fortune, where she will never in a million years guess a puzzle. We've played together too many times.

"Are those kids I hear in the background?"

"Yeah, sure is. Three of'em."

"You're living with somebody who has kids?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, Daddy. Nothing. I have to go."

"Wait a minute. I've got some good news, but you gotta promise not to tell your mama. Not yet."

"What is it?"

"I'm gon' be a daddy!"

"A what?"

"A father."

"You can't be serious, Daddy."

"I am very, very serious. The ole man ain't lost his touch after all, huh?"

"Who was ever concerned about that?"

"I don't want to answer that one right now. How's your mama doing?"

"She's doing just fine. And don't you dare stop by here without calling first, getting her all worked up so she ends up back in the hospital. You got that. Daddy?"

"Buy a vowel, dummy. Buy a vowel. Thank you!" Mama says in a loud whisper.

"You sound mad, baby girl, what's wrong?"

"Apparendy, I'm not your baby, Daddy. And what difference does it make if I sound mad or not? You can't do anything about it. You're part of the reason I'm pissed, but right now I don't think I want to hear the sound of your voice another minute. Goodbye," I say and hang up.

" 'Taxpayers' Money'!" I hear Mama blurt out. She makes a loud clap with her hands. I look over at the TV. Another puzzle is about to be put on the board. Vanna White looks the same now as she did twelve years ago, when I was breastfeeding Shanice. That's what money can do. Mama presses the remote and we're back at Jeopardy! When the phone rings again, she says, "That's him again."

I answer it. "Yes?"

"Janelle," Daddy says, "I'm sorry you mad at me, and, the way things is looking, I don't think it's gon' be such a good idea for me to have that drink with Paris."

"You aren't scared, are you, Daddy?"

"He should be," Mama says. She's back to Wheel of Fortune. This is a hard puzzle. A place. Three lines. "Tell him there's another brown envelope in the mailbox waiting for him, if and when he in the neighborhood. It might hold his interest."

"I heard her, Janelle. And to answer your question, naw, I ain't scared: not of my own daughter. But I just get the feeling that y'all don't understand what's been going on over there for quite some time, and it's understandable that you would take your mama's side, but I ain't done nothing wrong and I didn't do nothing to hurt your mama on purpose. And she know that."

"So-what do you want me to tell Paris, Daddy?"

"Tell her I'll have that drink with her on the next trip," he says. "When things cool down some."

"I'll tell her," I say, and hang up without saying goodbye.

And, without taking her eyes off the screen, Mama utters: "He ain't shit."

"The answer is 'San Juan Puerto Rico,' Mama. And he's certainly not alone."

Chapter 14

Bingo

" What Movie y'all going to see?" I ask the kids ftom the laundry room.

"We wanna see Above the Rim with Tupac and Leon," Tiffany yells, and then all three of 'em appear in the doorway. They wearing the ski jackets I got 'em that they ain't supposed to be wearing until next year, but I don't feel like saying nothing.

"There's no way I could sit through that," Trevor says.

"We're too shocked!" Monique says, rolling her eyes up in her head. One day they gon' get stuck up there.

"Well, which one do you wanna see, Trevor?" Tiffany asks.

"Actually, I was planning to drop you guys off and meet a friend at the fabric store and just hang out until your movie's over," he says, turning to me. "If that's okay with you, Ma."

"Why you need more fabric?" I ask. A whole corner of the basement ain't got nothing but stacks and stacks of material, just sitting there, dry- rotting, right next to my treadmill, which is doing the same thing. "Can't you think of something else you wanna do today?"

"This is what I want to do today."

"All we wanna know is when you ever gon' make me and Tiff a pair of them shiny Janet Jackson pants like you promised us for Christmas that wasn't nowhere to be found under the tree?"

"Soon, soon, soon," he says. "I've got a few other orders I have to finish first."

It's hard for me to even believe this conversation, but when you ask your one and only son what he wants for Christmas and he says just one thing, a Surger so he can finish off his seams like a professional, you shouldn't be shocked to hear this. I just keep separating what looks like two tons of dirty clothes into three or four piles: dark, medium, whites, and filthy.

Trevor done put some kind of perm in his hair, 'cause it's all wavy and brushed forward. Looking like a black Beatle. He's worse than the girls when it comes to fooling with his hair. And even though he's got the scoop on the fashion scene in Paris and New York, he dresses like what the kids call a "nerd." He's wearing navy-blue Dockers, a white turtleneck underneath his yellow, white, and blue Nautica jacket and navy suede boots.

I haven't had the nerve to just come out and ask him, and Al says leave him alone, he ain't hurting nobody, and if he is you can't blame him for it, 'cause they say it's in their genes or something. But nobody on either side of our family's got these kind of genes, at least not that I know of. He even got the girls giving him manicures and pedicures. Made 'em swear they wouldn't tell, but I ain't blind. His nails look better than mine, his heels smoother than most women's. Just the thought of him kissing on some other boy-and Lord knows I don't wanna think of nothing else they might do-makes me wanna gag.

"Get out the mirror, Tiffany," I say, and pick up a pair of panties that smell too strong for girls their age, and when 1 look closer I see a dark-red stain where ain't supposed to be one. I ball 'em up and toss 'em on they own separate pile. How come she didn't say nothing to me? I'm her mama. I'm supposed to be the first to know this. Who told her what to do? And when did it happen? I certainly don't feel like embarrassing her right now, so I just keep my mouth shut.

Apparently, Miss Tiffany is on a Cindy Crawford kick today, 'cause she's wearing a blue "North Carolina" baseball cap turned backwards with a whole bunch of reddish-brown hair that ain't hardly hers flowing past her shoulders. Her jacket is powder blue; Monique's is cotton-candy pink. Tiffany's is zipped all the way up to the throat, which mean she ain't wearing nothing close to no turtleneck underneath it, but I ain't in the mood for arguing and I want all three of 'em to hurry up and get the hell outta here. Al left yesterday on his fishing trip, and even though I was mad at first, I was surprised at how relieved I felt not five minutes after he was gone. Now , when these kids leave, the whole house will be mine, something that hardly ever happens.

They should be gone at least three or four hours, which should give me plenty of time to look under beds, go through closets, and empty out overstuffed drawers. I do this two or three times a year to get rid of things they done either outgrown or just never got around to wearing. Some of the stuff needs to be thrown out, but these the clothes and shoes I usually look at twice, 'cause like they say, one person's trash is another person's treasure. I usually give some to the church and take the rest down to one of the shelters for them women with kids. I ain't chintzy when it comes to giving away me and Al's stuff either, but I already did him and me this morning.

It depresses me when I go into them shelters-there's two or three of 'em I take turns going to-but it do remind me how truly fortunate and blessed we are to have as much as we do. Every now and then, when I'm just bored and wanna get outta the house, I'll go through my credit cards and pick out one or two that's got real low balances and head for the mall, knowing ain't a damn thing me or the kids need, and I think about them kids at the shelter and go berserk. I pretend like they my kids, or at least my nieces and nephews, who can't help it that they got stuck with crackheads or alcoholics or dumb asses for parents, or whatever the reasons are that they ain't got no place to live.

Is that lipstick on Monique's lips? I hope it's just Vaseline. When I look a little closer, I realize that's all it is. But Tiffany is a whole 'nother story: she got black pencil inside the bottom of her eye. Lip liner and a pretty pale- pink color inside. Who taught her how to do this? She looks nice, even though I don't know if this is the right time for her to be wearing makeup yet, but, what the hell, times have changed from when I was their age. Girls is doing all kinds of things at thirteen we didn't even think about until we was almost out of high school.