Disappearing Acts (38 page)

“Franklin, it’s not that big of a deal. We’ll just take a taxi back and pick ’em up. Simple as that.”

“That’s six dollars one way. Never mind. You got a dime on you?”

She gave me a dime, and I called the taxi. It was there in less than a minute. We rode out toward the Bates, and Zora just looked out the window. “These mountains are beautiful, aren’t they, Franklin?”

“What mountains?”

When we got to the Bates, I ran in for the tickets and decided to bring my fifth with me. I was gon’ need something, and I swear to God, I didn’t know why I was jumping on Zora’s case. I need some pussy,
that’s probably what the real deal is. I’ma get me some tonight too. I don’t care how tired she is. The only reason Tarzan probably wouldn’t stand up earlier is ’cause she was the one who initiated it. Not that I don’t like her to be the aggressor, but she always likes to do it in the daytime. My jones comes down at night.

We could hear music before we even got there. Hundreds of people was walking with blankets and coolers. I was feeling pretty mellow and ready to party now. We started walking up a hill, and Zora was losing her breath. Finally, something she couldn’t do.

“Franklin, I need to stop for a minute. And I think my feet are swelling too,” she said.

“Aw, come on. We almost there.”

I watched her struggle.

At least it wouldn’t be dark until about nine, and since most of the people was sitting on the grass behind the arena, which was outside, with just a covering on it—that’s where our seats was—we decided to sit out there with the rest of the white folks for a while. We didn’t bring no blanket, but Zora wasn’t thinking about that white dress and flopped her fat ass on down. I whipped out my bottle.

“Franklin, do you have to?”

“Look, would you get off my case.”

She turned away from me, like she was trying to act like we wasn’t together. Fuck her. I was glad it was summertime, ’cause you get to see all the ass you want to. I looked around at Zora and that belly. All of a sudden, I wished she wasn’t pregnant. All of a sudden, I realized that I wasn’t married to this woman, that here she was carrying my baby, another woman controlling my destiny—again—and I was trying to figure out how I talked her into doing this shit in the first place. I didn’t want no more kids. She tricked me into this shit. She knew I wasn’t gon’ tell her to get rid of it. Here I’m thinking I can keep her, and I
betcha she had this shit all planned. “I know one thing,” I said. “These young girls is getting finer by the year.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Then why don’t you go get yourself one?” she said.

I got up, threw her her ticket, and started cruising.

Not really. What I did was I walked around and polished off the most of my bottle. I don’t even know why I said that shit. I got away from the crowd and ended up where the mineral baths was. They had these antique benches lined up, and I sat down on one. I lit a cigarette and looked out toward the mountains. Everything was happening too fast. Me and Zora. This baby.

After a while, I figured maybe she might think something weird happened to me. I fumbled in my pants pocket for my ticket and walked back. I went to the aisle where the usher was, so he could show me where our seats was. I could barely see Gladys Knight, but I heard her singing “Save the Overtime for Me.” The man walked me to the right row. “Are you all right, sir?” he asked. I guess it was obvious that I was fucked up, but I said, “Don’t I look all right?” and he didn’t say nothin’ except “Yes, sir.”

Something wasn’t right. As I got closer to our seats, I didn’t see her. ’cause she wasn’t there. Everybody in the row had to stand up so I could get past ’em, and now they had to stand back up, ’cause I wanted to know where the fuck she was, find out what kind of game she was playing. I got back outside and looked on the grass, which now I couldn’t hardly see shit, ’cause it was dark. Where the fuck was she? She probably wanted to make me look like a chump all along. Probably had this shit planned too. Couldn’t stop by the store I wanted to go in. Didn’t ask if it was something special I wanted to do. And the one thing I suggested, golf, she said it was too hot, yet she could lay out in the hot-ass sun and try to get black for two damn hours.

I musta stood around for at least a half hour, thinking maybe she went to the bathroom or something and would be right back. But she didn’t come back. So finally I walked back out to the entrance, where you could get a cab, and there she was, sitting on a bench. I walked over to her. “What’s wrong with you? Why ain’t you inside, listening to the music?”

“Could you please not raise your voice?”

“Oh, so now you
telling
me what to do?”

“Franklin, you’re drunk. When we sat down in the restaurant, I knew this was coming, but I didn’t think you’d embarrass me like this.”

“Oh, so you embarrassed, is that it? Well, whip-the-fuck-ee.”

She got up off the bench when she saw a cab pull up, and I grabbed her by the arm.

“Where you think you going?”

“Back to the motel. You’re making me sick. And what I want to know is, where’s that piece of fine young ass you so desperately thought you could get? There’s still time, so go get it, and please let go of my arm.”

“You ain’t going nowhere. I paid all this goddamn money for these tickets, and we came up here to have a good time and listen to some music. You the one who fucked it up. Whatever Zora wants to do, we do it. Even that baby was your big fuckin’ idea. Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m tired of you telling me what to do.” I pushed her in the cab and slammed the door. “Don’t be there when I get back. No, I’ll tell you what—don’t look for me tonight, ’cause I’m gon’ get me some unpregnant snapping pussy, some good pussy, from somebody who wants to give it up at night!”

The cab pulled off, and that’s the last thing I remember.

I hate his fucking guts.

Couldn’t just go away for the weekend and have a good time, like normal people. No. He had to show his black ass. He was deliberately trying to start a fight with me. But why? That’s what I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Did I? Franklin’s got problems and doesn’t even know it. He’s so used to being broke and miserable he doesn’t know how to relax and enjoy himself. And even though I never wanted to believe this, I think he’s an alcoholic. He can’t just have a few drinks; he’s not satisfied until he’s drunk. Since I’ve been pregnant, he hasn’t once said I was beautiful. So now the baby was all my idea, huh? Is this what happens when a man gets scared? He’s got to turn things around to put the blame on you? He never finds the good in anything. And one thing has become crystal clear to me now. He’s more like his mother than he realizes.

I wasn’t about to be at the motel when and if he came back ranting and raving like a lunatic. I cried all the way in the cab, and the baby was moving, and I swear to God, I wished I could’ve reached down and yanked it out of my stomach and thrown it out the window. What have I gotten myself into? Here I am five months pregnant by a man I love but am not married to, and have
no idea when and if it’ll ever happen, or now if I even want to marry this asshole. He begs me not to get rid of it, then turns around and accuses me of tricking him. All I wanted to do was sing. Fall in love, and sing.

I paid the driver and could barely get the key in the door because I was shaking so bad. I was scared of my own man. He had grabbed my arm like I was some stranger. I threw all my clothes and toiletries into my suitcase and slammed it shut, then I counted to see how many dimes I had and went back outside to use the telephone. I kept looking up at the road to make sure when I saw a cab it wasn’t turning in here. I was prepared to run. My heart kept beating so fast, I thought I was going to have a heart attack right then and there. I bet that’d make him feel bad—coming back here and finding me and his unborn baby on the cold cement. I bet that’d sober him up. I was being too dramatic about this. Stop it, Zora. Get ahold of yourself. I took a deep breath and told my heart to slow down, relax. When it felt like it was trying to cooperate, I called to see what time the next bus was leaving. But there weren’t any more buses going to Manhattan tonight. Trains. No more of those tonight either. Then I started looking for vacancies at other hotels and motels, but everywhere I called was still booked. Shit.

I took another deep breath and convinced myself that he wasn’t coming back. Simple as that. I walked back into the motel room and locked the door. Then I sat down on the bed. This was all wrong. All of it. I’m supposed to be married. I’m supposed to be in the studio, or coming out of the studio, with my demo. I’m supposed to be waiting to hear from some producer, telling me I’ve got style and a strong voice and they want to record me. How did I get to this place? When did all this happen? I was out of tears now, so I turned on the TV and was half-ass watching it. Every time I saw a headlight through the curtains, I panicked. I decided not
to put on my gown, just in case. And sure enough, I heard a key turn in the door and jumped from one bed to the other.

“Don’t jump, baby. Ain’t nobody gon’ do nothing to you.”

“How did you get here, Franklin? I didn’t hear a cab.”

“I walked.”

“All the way from town in the dark?”

“I needed to walk.”

“Why are you acting like this? This is our first time doing anything fun, and you fucked it up.”

“No, you fucked it up, baby.”

“What did I do?”

“It’s what you haven’t done. Look, I wanna say I’m sorry, but I ain’t, at least not yet. Just let me have some pussy, sleep this shit off, and I’ll see how I feel in the morning.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Naw, and I wish you would stop asking me that shit.”

“What do you think I am, some kind of fucking machine or something? We go to a concert, sit on the grass, and the next thing I know, you’re checking out all the young girls and telling me how fine they are. And since you couldn’t find any, you come back here and expect me to fuck you?”

“I didn’t look for none.”

“Tell me this: What would you have done if I’d have said some shit like that to you about all the fine men around?”

“They wouldn’t be looking at you, ’cause you fat and pregnant.”

“Well, fuck you too.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

The next thing I knew, he hauled off and slapped me
so hard my head hit the headboard on the bed. I don’t know what I saw, but something silver was swirling around in front of my eyes, and I felt the right side of my face stinging. Before I realized it, I jumped up and threw the lamp at him, but he dodged it.

“You motherfucker!”

He started coming toward me, but then he stopped dead in his tracks. I pushed myself back against the headboard, with the clock radio in my hands, ready to throw it.

“Put the radio down, baby. This is crazy. I’m wrong. I ain’t had no business putting my hands on you. I’m sorry. I swear to God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t come near me, Franklin, or I’ll bash your fucking head in.” The baby started moving, and I had to change positions. How was I going to get out of here? This had to be a nightmare, because Franklin had just hit me. And I’d just thrown a lamp at him. This is what I’ve heard about all my life. Men and women fighting. I’ve always wondered how people that love each other find it in their hearts to deliberately hurt each other. Now I know. No, I don’t, because I don’t understand this. I was crying again and needed to blow my nose, but I wasn’t about to put the radio down. Franklin sat at the foot of the bed and put his head in his hands. It sounded like he was crying, but I wasn’t impressed. I saw a Phil Donahue show about this once, and most of the women said after they hit you, they’ll do anything to get you to forgive ’em. Crying was on the top of the list.

Then someone knocked on the door. “Is everything all right in there?”

“No!” I yelled.

“Yeah, we just knocked over a few things,” Franklin said. “I’m not gon’ touch you,” he said. “I swear to God.”

“Would you just leave?”

“I ain’t got nowhere to go,” he said.

“That’s not my problem. You’re the one who said you didn’t want to come back, so would you leave, please. I don’t care where you go.”

To my surprise, he got up and walked out the door. Then, like a damn fool, I didn’t want him to leave, but I couldn’t bring myself to go after him. That’s another thing the women on the show said always happened. All I knew was that I was confused. I got up and peeked out the curtains and saw him go sit by the swimming pool.

I couldn’t believe it. Franklin started taking his clothes off and stripped down to his briefs. Then he eased into the pool and was standing in almost six feet of water, which was just over his shoulders. He stood there for a few minutes, dunked his head under a few times, then started doing a dead man’s float. Once he reached the other end of the pool, his arms reached up and pulled, and he was moving through the water like a torpedo. He could swim! But why’d he tell me he couldn’t? He did at least ten or twelve lengths, then got out and put his shirt over his shoulders and sat down on a lounge chair.

I stood there and watched him reach into his shirt pocket and get a cigarette. He used one to light another one and must’ve done this at least six or seven times. I knew he had to be freezing, so finally I opened the door. “Franklin,” I said, “come on back in before you catch pneumonia.”

He got up slowly, and when he entered the door, I handed him a towel.

“I’m sorry, baby. I swear to God I am.”

“Look, Franklin. I don’t understand what’s going on, and right now I’m so tired I don’t know if I want to use the energy to find out. But promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“That you’ll cut down all this drinking.”

“Looks like I’ma have to, if it’s fuckin’ with me like this.”

“And this I’m not asking. If you ever so much as raise your hand to me again, if I don’t kill you first, your ass is going to jail. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

“I swear, baby, I ain’t never hit you before when I was mad, have I?”