Disappearing Acts (23 page)

Hell, I was up to page 106 when I looked over at the clock. It was quarter to eleven. Where the hell was she? She said she’d be back by ten, didn’t she? I hope ain’t nothing happened to her. But then again, she’s with that wild-ass Portia, so ain’t no telling. I read a few more pages but couldn’t hang. Around eleven-thirty, I guess I fell asleep.

When I felt her easing in the bed, I pretended like I was just turning over, but what I did was glance at the clock. It was almost one o’clock! “So you finally decided to come home, huh? What happened? You got lost, or you met somebody?”

“Franklin, please. The music was good, and I danced like a mad-woman. I just wasn’t paying any attention to the time.”

“Well, next time pay attention to it.”

“Look, I didn’t know I was going to get the third degree when I got home—I mean really. Being a little jealous is one thing, but expecting me to punch in and out is another.”

“Ain’t nobody said nothing about punching in. And I ain’t
jealous
of nobody.”

“Well, what are you saying? That you’re giving me a curfew?”

“Did you hear me say that? You the one who said you’d be back by ten, and it don’t look like ten o’clock to me.”

“Look, Franklin, I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah, but I was worried as hell about you. I didn’t know if something had happened to you or not.”

“All right, already. Nothing happened, okay? Next time, if it looks like I’ll be later than I said, I’ll call. So let’s drop it. I’m tired.”

“I bet you are,” I said, and rolled over as close to the wall as I could get. She stayed on her side of the bed and didn’t put her arms around me the way she usually do. I betcha she met some-fuckin’-body.

*   *   *

Darlene called the day before Thanksgiving. She musta got Zora’s number from directory assistance, ’cause I didn’t give it to her.

“You going?” she asked.

“You?” I asked her back.

“I will if you go, but I’m not going out there by myself. No way.”

“What the fuck,” I said.

“You’re bringing Zora, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Be prepared for some kind of drama, Franklin.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll check you later.”

Zora was excited as all hell about going to my folks’ house. We took the ferry over there, and I warned her. “Don’t expect to have no fun, and just give me a wink or something when you can’t stand it, and we can leave.”

“You know, Franklin,” she said, “you really should give your parents more credit. So you don’t agree with every little thing about ’em—big deal. You’re not the first person who wasn’t thrilled about the way they were brought up. You’re thirty-two years old—I mean really. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive ’em for whatever it is you think they did wrong?”

“Skip it,” I said. She just don’t understand what it feels like to know your own Moms never loved you, treated you like shit, and your Pops was so damn weak, he was too much of a chump to do anything about it.

“Franklin?”

“What?”

“Will you do me a big favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Be nice?”

“You look beautiful,” I said.

“Thank you, Franklin. Do I look nervous?”

“Naw, and you ain’t got no reason to be.”

I need to check myself. Today
is
a holiday, and I’ma try to make the most of it. Zora looked dynamite. Sexy as hell. Times like now is when I’d like to just take a bite outta her. Those braids looked pretty, dangling around her face. She was wearing this fuzzy orange sweater, cut to a V in the front, but not so low it’ll give my Moms reason to whisper in Christine’s
ear. Her lipstick even matched it. And since I’m always complaining that I don’t never see her legs—except in bed—she wore a skirt for me. I felt proud as hell bringing her home.

My other sister, Christine, and her nitwit husband, Jessie or Jesus—whatever it was—beat us there. Their station wagon was parked in the driveway behind my Pop’s Oldsmobile. Zora was squeezing the hell outta my hand as I knocked on the door. Since nobody answered, I let myself in. Christine’s boys was sitting on the sun porch, watching the end of the Macy’s parade, and the TV was turned up so loud I don’t think they heard me when I said hi. Then I saw Darlene sitting at the dining room table, and it was obvious that she been here all damn day, ’cause she already looked lit up.

Pops walked out of the pantry with a glass in his hand. He had on his uniform: plaid shirt and khakis. My Moms and Christine was back in the kitchen. The house smelled like Thanksgiving, and one thing I
can
give my Moms credit for is that she can cook her ass off.

“Happy Thanksgiving, everybody,” I said, but didn’t nobody respond.

“So you’re the mysterious Zora I’ve heard so much about, huh?” Darlene asked.

“Hello,” Zora said to her. “You must be Darlene.”

“How’d you guess?” Then Darlene started laughing.

“I’m Felix, sugar. So nice to meet you—have a seat,” Pops said, and held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Swift.” Zora shook his hand, giving me this I-thought-
your
-hands-were-big look.

“Call me Felix, baby. We’re not that formal around here. Come on and make yourself comfortable.”

Zora sat down at the table, and Moms and Christine came out the kitchen. Both of ’em was wearing
aprons. My Moms was wiping her hands on hers, and looked at Zora like she couldn’t see outta her glasses. She don’t wear glasses.

“Well,” she said, with a sigh.

“Hello, Mrs. Swift,” Zora said. I could tell she was nervous.

“Call me Jerry if you call me anything,” she said.

“I’m Christine, Zora. Nice to meet you.” Christine gave her a Stepford Wife smile. If I had brought home a prostitute, she’d act the same damn way.

“You want a drink?” my Moms asked. Her eyebrows went up, ’cause she wanted to find out up front if Zora was a alky like she thinks everybody who takes a drink is.

“A glass of water or soda would be fine.”

“Darlene, what you sitting there for—get this girl a drink.” She turned back to Zora. “So I hear you some kinda singer and music teacher. That true?”

“I do teach, but I’m working with a voice coach, so I don’t actually sing yet.”

“Uhn hun,” she said.

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Swift. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“I can just about imagine what Franklin done told you,” she said, and started walking back to the kitchen. “And I said to call me Jerry.”

Pops called me out to the sun porch, since the parade was over and the football game was starting. What’s-his-name was sitting out there too now. He didn’t say hi like normal people, he grunted.

“She’s a fine-looking young woman,” Pops said to me.

“Thanks. That she is.”

By the middle of the first quarter, I was sweating like hell, ’cause this damn plastic on the couch was sticking to my back through my shirt. My Moms got this shit on everything—it’s been like this as long as
I can remember—but ain’t nobody in here now to tear nothing up but her and Pops. Even the damn flowers and plants was plastic.

“Get yourself a drink, son.”

“I will, in a minute.”

From where I was sitting, I could see Christine and Moms in the kitchen, busy as little bees. Darlene was leaning on the table, and Zora was sitting across from her. They was talking, and I heard ’em both laugh. I looked over at what’s-his-name, and the fool was out cold. He just as dooflus as Christine, I swear to God he is. They make the perfect couple. He works his ass off—two jobs, one in some factory on Long Island and as a mechanic or something. He’ll do damn near anything to please my sister. Christine wanted a new house—Christine got a new house. Christine wanted a new car—she got a new car, a fuckin’ station wagon, no less. But she always did get everything she wanted, even when she was living at home, so marrying this high-yellow chump just kept up the momentum. I turned my eyes back to the game, then toward the dining room again. My Moms and Christine was both sitting down now.

“You know,” I heard Zora say, “you guys make a handsome family.”

“Well, thank you, honey,” I heard my Moms say. She always start out on the right foot, but I didn’t know how long this front she was putting on was gon’ last. It would be a miracle if we could get through this day without some kinda bullshit going down.

“Watch him!” Pops yelled. “Run that ball, boy!”

I switched my attention back to the game. What’s-his-name’s mouth was hanging wide open, and he was snoring and drooling like a damn pig. “Pops, shake him, would you?”

“Aw, he’s just tired. He came here straight from work. He ain’t been to sleep yet.”

I walked over and shook him. He snorted, then closed his mouth and was quiet. I went and poured myself some scotch and came back on the sun porch. The boys was outside in the front yard, playing with a rubber football.

“You and Franklin could make some pretty babies,” Darlene was saying. I looked at Zora, but she didn’t flinch.

“We’ve got too many other plans before we start thinking about having babies.”

“Like what?” Darlene asked, leaning on both elbows.

“Well, he’s going back to school in January.”

“Franklin? In school? I gotta see that to believe it,” my Moms said.

“He is,” she said, defending me. “Franklin wants to start his own business one day, and I’m hoping to get a record contract, so it’ll be some time before we start thinking about babies. Besides, marriage comes first.”

“I would think so,” Moms said.

“What about you, Darlene?”

Darlene looked down at the plastic tablecloth. “I don’t want any kids.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Why not, if I’m not being too personal?”

My Moms cut her eyes at Darlene.

“Because I just never wanted any. I can’t picture myself being a mother. I’ve got a million things I want to do in my life, but having babies is not one of them.”

That was only part of the truth. Darlene can’t have no kids. Somebody fucked her up in high school. The whole family found out about it by accident. She comes home, complaining that she’s in pain, and it turns out that she couldn’t stop bleeding. When my Moms found out the truth, all she said was, “Serve your dumb ass right.”

“But, Ma, what would you’da done if I had come home pregnant?”

“I don’t know. But you didn’t have to go to no butcher and damn near get yourself killed.”

They had to rush Darlene to the hospital. And a few days later, I heard that they took her insides out. My Moms still didn’t show her no sympathy. “Now I guess you satisfied,” is what she said when they got home.

“Hey, Zora,” Pops yelled. “Come on out here and have a Thanksgiving drink with us.”

“She don’t drink liquor, Pops.”

“Okay,” I heard Zora say, and she appeared in the doorway.

Was I hearing things, or what? She must be bored as hell already—that’s gotta be it. I ain’t never seen her drink nothing stronger than a soda. I wanna see this shit myself.

“I’ll have another one too,” Darlene said.

“You look like you’ve had enough,” I said.

“Nobody’s talking to you, buffalo head, so be quiet.”

Darlene got up and poured them both two tall ones. Zora brought hers out on the sun porch. I looked at her, but she wouldn’t look at me. She took a sip. Her nose turned up and she squinched her eyes, but she didn’t put it down. What was she trying to prove?

“You know, I’ll be happy to drive you two home later on, or you can spend the night here—plenty of room,” Pops said.

“We both gotta get up early, but you can give us a ride to the ferry,” I said.

Just then he shouted at a tackle being made on the third down, and what’s-his-name still didn’t budge. The kids was running around the house, and after a while I looked at the fake fireplace. There was pictures of all four of Christine’s boys, from the time they was babies till now. Where was my kids’ pictures?

“Jerry, how’s the food coming?” Pops yelled. It was almost halftime, and what’s-his-name finally woke up.

“We putting the food on the table now, Felix.”

Zora got up and went back into the dining room, carrying her now half-empty glass, and offered to help. My Moms told her she didn’t need any. The game was getting heated, but I sat down at the dining room table because Christine and Zora was now in some kinda conversation that I felt like getting in on. Darlene was just sitting there like a zombie, not saying nothing, and you couldn’t tell if she was even listening. Zora was running her mouth faster than I’d ever heard since I’ve known her.

“I just wish that black people wouldn’t harp so much on the past and stop blaming white folks for everything.” Zora gulped down another slug. “I mean, we’ve got more opportunities now than we’ve ever had before. Some of us are just too lackadaisical.”

I knew Christine didn’t know what the fuck that word meant. I did. And why I wasn’t taking this shit personally, I don’t know. Maybe ’cause there was some truth to it. And since I ain’t never really heard Zora’s real feelings about this kinda stuff, I decided to just kick back and listen. One thing I did notice was that every time my Moms brought something to the table, she looked at Zora and rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know
nobody
with a college degree,” Christine said.

“Well,” Zora said, and polished off the rest of her drink. “I just wish some of us had more courage to make our dreams come true. Too many of us are hung up on what we don’t have, can’t have, or won’t ever have. We spend too much energy being down, when we could use that same energy—if not less of it—doing, or at least trying to do, some of the things we really want to do. You know what I mean?”

Christine just nodded her head, like she was trying to put all this together.

“We all need a master plan in order to get ahead.”

My Moms, her lips curled down, plopped a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. She shook her head as she walked back to the kitchen. Christine and Darlene tried to act like they didn’t see her.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘master plan’?” Darlene asked. I guess she musta reentered the real world.

“You know, sort of like a blueprint, a plan. Thinking and planning how you want to get something accomplished, then setting out and doing it. I think too many of us give up when we don’t see instant results. But like Confucius said, ‘Everything takes longer than you think.’”