Disappearing Acts (33 page)

Who was I to think I could save somebody else’s life? Shit, my own energy level has dropped so much that with the exception of loving Franklin—and sometimes that alone uses up most of it—everything else I do feels mechanical. From teaching to eating. I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed—or at least he hasn’t said anything—about these ten pounds I’ve put on. I don’t know, maybe I’m just scared. Scared that I’m not as good a singer as I thought I was. Scared that even if I do make the demo, it’ll go unnoticed or I’ll get some mediocre contract that won’t make any kind of splash. That I won’t have affected anybody. And whose fault would that be? I think my whole problem is that I’m too self-centered. If I could just stop thinking so much about Zora and stop doubting myself so much, maybe I’d not only have more energy but have a little more compassion.

I’ve been trying to prove this to Franklin—that I really do care what happens to him—but I guess it shouldn’t start and stop with him. Besides, Marie is my friend. And she’s in bad shape. Nothing helps you to stop focusing on yourself better than when someone you care about needs you. So when she called, I was grateful for the diversion. She was hysterical and—as usual—drunk. When she’d come home this evening,
she said, there was a seventy-two-hour eviction notice stuck on her door. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Z. I can’t handle this shit anymore. I swear to God, I need a fucking break. A woman goes through all kinds of changes trying to get one foot in the fucking door—Tell me something, do you think I’m funny?”

“Of course you’re funny, Marie.”

“Yeah, but the men in this business sure know how to cockblock. Let’s face it: I’m not Richard Pryor or Bill Cosby, am I?”

“No, but you’ve got your
own
style, which is much better than being a carbon copy.”

“Speaking of styles—Shit! Hold on, I’ve gotta—”

When she didn’t come back to the phone after two or three minutes, I decided to get over there to make sure she was all right. Tonight, though, I was not about to play her little game with her. Yeah, I’d listen to her sad story, but as soon as she finished, I was going to cut the bullshit—meaning I wasn’t going to feel sorry for her like I’ve done before. I was going to tell her exactly what I’ve been thinking for the last couple of years. If I had to stay there all night to ram it into her head until she agreed to get help, then that’s what I was going to do. I packed something to wear to work, and was writing a note so Franklin wouldn’t be worried, when the phone rang. It was my Daddy, making kissing sounds in my ears. He was home, and feeling like his old self again.

I stood in front of Marie’s building. Thank God her lights were on. It must’ve started snowing while I was on the train. Boy, was it pretty. I hope Franklin doesn’t get mad about my not being home when he gets there. I rang her buzzer, and she buzzed me in. Maybe she was expecting somebody else. I took the elevator to the fifth floor, and when I got off, I could see that her door was cracked open. I walked in but didn’t see her. How could Marie live in
such a tiny place all these years? I’d go crazy living in one room, that much I do know. Newspapers were strewn all over the floor, along with the clothes she’d probably worn the past week. And the smell. A combination of Russian vodka—which was sitting on the cocktail table, open—and packs and packs of cigarette smoke. I tried to open a window, but it was stuck.

“I’ll be right out!”
she yelled from the bathroom.

I didn’t know where to sit, so I cleared a space from one of her director’s chairs. When I heard the bathroom door open, I looked at Marie but didn’t know what to say. The girl was butt naked.

“I knew you were coming. I’ve got ESP, Z, did you know that?”

“Why don’t you have any clothes on?”

“It’s hot in here. Why? Does it bother you?” She sashayed over to the couch and poured herself another drink.

“No, it doesn’t bother me, Marie. But you look a little ridiculous, and it was really stupid of you to buzz me in without asking who it was and leaving your door open like that in your condition. Have you forgotten that this is New York City, or what?”

She flopped down on the couch, right on top of those dirty clothes. I got up and went over to her closet. At least twenty pairs of shoes fell out when I opened it. God, what a mess! No wonder she drinks. “Marie, where’s your bathrobe?”

“I don’t need it, and I don’t want it!”

“Fine,” I said, after I found it and threw it in her lap. Then I sat back down. “Okay. So. How much do you need to stop the eviction?”

“Do we have to talk about that now? I was just starting to feel good. How about some music?”

“Look, you’re the one who got yourself into this mess, and I came over here to see what I could do to help you get out of it. Do you have any coffee?”

“Coffee? Who needs coffee when I’ve got vodka? How stupid, Z. Come on, have a drink with me.”

I refused to answer her and got up and walked over to the corner that was supposed to be the kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and roaches were crawling everywhere. I felt my skin itching but tried not to think about it. I found the Joy and decided to clean up some while I made a pot of coffee. “How much?” I asked again.

“Shit, Z. About eight hundred smackeroos.” She started laughing after she said it.

“I can lend it to you,” I said before I even realized it. This was part of my studio money, which Franklin had no idea I’d saved. I never spent that five hundred dollars my Daddy gave me, but I wasn’t about to use it for a stupid car. For some reason, after looking at Marie, knowing how hard she’s been trying to get work, it felt like this was worth it. I couldn’t let her get thrown out, I just couldn’t.

“You don’t have to do this, Z. I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back. And hey, I’ll be okay, really.”

I turned the fire up under the water and put extra coffee inside the filter, because I knew it would take something close to espresso to sober her up. The sink was full of bubbles, and I figured I’d let some of the food soften up and soak off for a few minutes. I went and got my checkbook out of my purse. I was writing a check, when I looked over at her. She was spread-eagled on the couch, the bathrobe was on the floor, and she was massaging her breasts like she was in here by herself. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?”

I ripped the check out of the book and threw it on the cocktail table. I heard the water boiling and got up. “You need help, Marie. Have you ever thought of getting some? I mean, joining AA or something—anything?”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

“So why don’t you go?”

“I just haven’t had time.”

I forgot. You can’t talk to a drunk when they’re drunk. Nothing sinks in or adds up. So I figured I’d keep my little speech to myself. “Do you have any rubber gloves?”

“Try under the sink.”

I was afraid to open the doors, but I did it anyway, and to my surprise, the gloves were actually visible. I poured water over the coffee and looked inside the cabinet for a cup. I decided it would be best to rinse it off first, which I did, then filled it and took the coffee over to her. At least she wasn’t rubbing anything now, but she looked like she was in a trance or something. She was gazing up at the ceiling. “Drink this,” I said.

“I don’t want any coffee. I thought you were making it for yourself.”

“Look, Marie, I don’t know who you’re trying to kid, but you need to think about cleaning up your act before taking it back onstage. Staying drunk won’t get you out of this, and it won’t help you get another gig, but you know that.”

“You didn’t come up here to lecture me, did you?”

“No,” I said, and walked back over to the sink. I put the gloves on and stuck my hands into the scalding water, but I didn’t feel its intensity.

“How is Mr. Franklin doing these days?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Is he fucking you good?”

“Why?” I asked, as I put a plate into the dish rack. But Marie didn’t answer me. I cleaned and rinsed another plate, and was about to put it into the rack, when I felt her standing behind me—but I didn’t move. The next thing I knew, her hands had slid underneath my armpits and moved to my breasts. She
couldn’t possibly be this damn drunk. I dropped the plate in the sink and spun around, but Marie didn’t budge. My face was against her neck—since she’s so tall—and I pushed her. “Are you losing your fucking mind, or what, Marie?”

She was grinning. “Don’t act so surprised, Zora.”

“Surprised? I’ve known you for almost two years, we’re supposed to be friends, I come all the way up here to help your drunk ass out of a fix—and you put your hands on my breasts and don’t think I should act surprised?”

“I’ve been wanting to touch ’em for a long time.”

“Marie, stop it. Right now! Go sit your drunk ass down and think about what you’re saying and what you’ve just done. Come on.” I really didn’t want to touch her, but I shoved her out of my path anyway.

“I know exactly what I’m doing and saying.”

“You need help, I swear, you need some damn help.”

“I need you to put your arms around me, that’s what I really need,” she said, and started coming toward me again. That’s when I hauled off and slapped the shit out of her so hard she fell on the floor.

“You’re past drunk if you thought I’d let you get away with some shit like this.”

She struggled to get up but didn’t have the energy. Then she started crying, but I didn’t feel sorry for her in the least. I reached for my coat and purse and walked over to the door.

“Don’t go, Zora, please. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Do you pull this shit on all your girlfriends?”

“No. Just you.”

“Oh, am I supposed to feel privileged, or what?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were like this, huh?”

“Because you never asked.”

“Right. Look, you’ve got a choice, Marie. Give that money to your landlord, or fuck it up. But if you’re out on the streets in three days, don’t call me, okay?”

“I’m sorry, Zora. Where’s the coffee? I’ll drink it.” She tried to get up again, but without any success.

“Look, I’m still your friend, and I’m going to pretend like this little scene here never even happened. But try to pull a stunt like this again, and this friend is history—you got that?”

All she could do was nod. I left her there on the floor.

*   *   *

The apartment was dark, and I couldn’t wait to slide under the covers and feel Franklin. I needed him to put his arms around me and hold me all night. I couldn’t believe what Marie had tried. All the way home, I kept thinking about her and how pitiful she was. Why couldn’t I have read the signs? I wasn’t about to tell Franklin what had happened, because he wouldn’t empathize at all, with me or Marie—I know him.

I peeked inside the bedroom, and sure enough, he was lying there asleep. I took my clothes off as fast as I could and stood next to the bed and looked down at him. God, was he handsome, even in his sleep. I watched him breathe and could smell his body heat from here. My crotch started throbbing, and I was excited at the mere thought of what I was going to do. But I felt dirty, so I turned and walked to the bathroom and quietly closed the door.

I took a one-minute shower and was back before I knew it. Now my breasts were throbbing. All I wanted to do was feel his heartbeat against mine, smell him, rub my ears against his muscles, touch his tongue, and feel him inside me. I didn’t care what shape it was in. When I crawled into bed and put my hand around it,
it felt strong and firm. I stroked it, then climbed over his thighs—which seemed warmer than usual—and eased down on him. Shit, Marie doesn’t know what she’s missing.

My hips began to move without any help from me, and that’s when I felt Franklin’s hands begin to slide up and down my back.

“You came home?”

“I came home,” I said.

He leaned forward and kissed me. When I closed my eyes, I could still see him. The hair on his chest brushed my nipples, and he pressed me so close that our heartbeats caught up with each other. I felt soft and electric, weak and strong. Then those wonderful hands of his cupped my hips. I was floating on him now, and when he looked at me as if he was asking me a question, the answer came all at once.

*   *   *

“Mornin’,” I said, trying to wipe the grin off my face.

“So what was you on last night?”

I started laughing. “You.”

“You ain’t woke me up like that in a long time. I love it when you want it. You act hungry, and you know how to give it up when you hungry.”

“Well, I’m glad you were here to wake up.”

“Sometimes I wish I was a woman, you know that? You make me jealous as hell when you come three and four times in a row and shit.”

“If I didn’t have the right man, it wouldn’t be possible. What are you doing up so early?”

“Starting a new job today.”

“Really,” was all I could say.

“Yeah. You seen my gray thermal undershirt?”

“Look in the third drawer, under the red one. You have time for coffee?”

“Yeah, but make it quick.”

“Make it quick, make it quick….”

I got up, and instead of going directly to the kitchen, I walked over and plastered a sloppy kiss on his lips—bad breath and all. “Go brush,” he said, and started laughing. “So what’s the deal with Marie?”

“She’ll be okay, I guess. She’s an alcoholic, you know.”

“I think you told me that. So what happened? I thought you was staying the night. Did you miss your Daddy that much?”

“Yeah, I missed you. But to be honest, her place was a mess, she was sloppy drunk, and all she needed was some money.”

“You lent her some money?”

“Yeah, I had to, or she would’ve been out on the street in three days. She got one of those seventy-two-hour eviction notices.”

“Just how much did you lend her?”

“Why?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Eight hundred.”

“Eight hundred fuckin’ dollars!”

“You don’t have to scream, Franklin.”

“You mean to tell me you lent a drunk almost a grand?”

“So what? She’s my friend, and she needed my help.”