Femme Noir (27 page)

“No, ma’am, I am…
was
Michelle’s lover,” I said.

“Oh.” The woman brightened. “Come in, have a cup.”

Bewildered, I went in, looking once more at the back lawn that seemingly continued for miles, dotted with trees and graceful hills like an immaculate national park. In the distance, a pristine pool sparkled, crisp and empty and perfect.

“Poor people use every inch of their property. Do rich folks even enjoy all this? You never see anyone around but service people. That pool is going to waste,” I dared to say, the glass back door slamming behind me.

The maid ignored my comment and said, “I’m Mabel Harris. Everybody calls me Miss Mazie. Please sit.” Miss Mazie took the flowers and put them in a cut crystal vase. “Just beautiful, thank you. I’ll put them in the dining room.”

I sat, looking at everything. The kitchen was immaculate. It was large and expensive and custom-built featuring every tool and gadget made. There wasn’t a crumb or hair or smell to be found.

Miss Mazie returned and poured two coffees. “Slice of cake?”

“No, no, I brought that for the McKerrs.”

“Well, we appreciate it, but Charles and Claudia don’t eat dessert. Cream or sugar?”

“No, thanks, I take it black. Well, I wanted to give the cake to them just the same.”

“And I’ll tell them you did, don’t worry. In the meantime, why don’t you and me enjoy some of this?”

“Sure, I guess.”

A boy came running up to the back door. “Miss Mazie, Miss Mazie, Levi told me that Sonny was here.”

“No, child, he’s not here yet. Go tell old Levi he was mistaken. This girl’s a stranger.”

I smiled at the boy who stared at me bug-eyed through the door.

“Scat!” Miss Mazie said. The boy ran off. “Pardon him, but you look something like my boy Jefferson.”

“How much like?”

Miss Mazie put her hands on my jaw and turned my face this way and that. “Identical,” she pronounced.

“Really?” I smiled, embarrassed. I sipped coffee for something to do and burned my tongue.

Miss Mazie sat with two slabs of cake on saucers. Her voice was soft. “Though I think you look more like Felicia.”

“Who’s Felicia?”

“My daughter. Dead now.” Miss Mazie pulled a locket out of her bosom and snapped it open to show me. I was relieved to see no resemblance at all between myself and the teenager in the photo.

“I’m so sorry, how did she die?”

“Cancer. Went at sixteen.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I felt helpless. “I am so sorry,” I repeated, touching Miss Mazie’s arm.

“Well, the Good Lord takes us when he wants us,” Miss Mazie said with a sigh and snapped closed the locket and returned it to its soft, dark hiding spot. “Where are your people from?”

“Los Angeles. Grew up in Rio Seco, but now I live across the ten near the college where I coach,” I answered, thinking about my lonely old apartment and how I suddenly wanted to move. Maybe buy a little house? “Before that, the South. Before that, Uganda.”

“What college?”

I was surprised and pleased. Miss Mazie was the first person to ask me this. “Mooreland University.”

“Mmm, I’ve heard of it. Quite distinguished academically and athletically.”

I ducked my head. “Go Wildcats.”

“What’s your name?”

“Nora Delaney.”

“Any kin to the Carolina Delaneys?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Oh, if you were, you’d know it. What’s it like to coach?”

“Oh…” I was overwhelmed by this woman’s matronly kindness. I wanted to hug Miss Mazie and be held by her. If Miss Mazie had asked me to stay for dinner, I would have. If Miss Mazie had asked me to stay the week, I would have. My heart ached with longing for my mother, my grandmother, my father, my siblings. I was tired of hurting and being lonely. I was impatient about emotional pain. I realized that I needed to be near family and I flew through my mental Rolodex. There was one person who stood out: my cousin Ellis, also known as Hambone, who lived in New Orleans. I had not seen him in a while. I swore to visit him immediately. I felt uncomfortable under Miss Mazie’s sharp gaze and realized I had not responded to her question. I cleared my throat. “It’s the perfect job for me,” I answered.

Miss Mazie nodded and smiled. “So you were Michelle’s girlfriend?”

“Yes, ma’am, for three years. We split right before she…she was killed.”

“She loved my Felicia. Doted on her. They were playmates. Grew up together, closer than sisters. They went to different schools, but they did homework together, went shopping and to the movies together. When Filly took sick, Michelle was there night and day. Wouldn’t leave her side until the doctor insisted. Michelle wouldn’t eat unless my Filly did. Filly forced herself to eat to keep Michelle alive. Oh, the talks they had. Late into the night. Michelle slept with her too. Michelle lost weight just like Filly. She didn’t leave Filly’s room for months. Her parents forced her to go to school, and that might’ve been the start of her break with the family. She and Charles and Claudia would have screaming fights about allowing her to be around Filly so much. When Filly died in her sleep, Michelle went wild. She accused her parents of killing Felicia because Michelle could’ve saved her if she had been there every minute. She went plumb crazy. I thought we’d lose her too. And now we have.” Miss Mazie dabbed her eyes with a linen napkin.

I soaked all this in. Never, never had Michelle mentioned any of this.

“I suppose that’s why she became an oncology nurse,” Miss Mazie said.

A nurse? Michelle? Good God in heaven, what else was there to know? I reeled. The Michelle I knew couldn’t keep a plant alive.

“Of course, we wanted her to become something else like a doctor or a specialist. Maybe a cancer research physician. But she was determined to reject us. She said she needed to be hands on and to do the real work of care. Not be isolated in a laboratory. So she insisted on nursing.”

“Reject who?”

“All of us. The McKerrs and the wealth and the life and the traveling and the charities and the luncheons and the business of being rich.”

“Are you rich too?”

Miss Mazie laughed. “Law no, honey, not like this. I’m very comfortable, but nothing like this. Hardly anybody lives like
this.
”

“Right on,” I said, chewing cake. It was moist and rich and reminded me of Max. Everything did.

“Michelle and Felicia latched on to each other, the only girls in the family. I have four sons and the McKerrs have two. Then, when Felicia died, Michelle and I latched on to each other. I was closer to her than Charles and Claudia were. Then she latched on to you. And I can see why.”

“We weren’t that close, apparently.” I was a little hurt, not knowing anything at all about Michelle or her life.

“She was a hard one to love sometimes.”

I twirled the coin bracelet around my wrist. “I’ll say.”

“We all are,” Miss Mazie said with pride. “Some more than others.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I suspect things. Things about this family. They must get right with God.”

“I’ve heard some pretty bad stuff.”

“I’m not saying any more. Especially not to an outsider.”

“Listen, I know about the race riot thing. I know about their staunch Methodism; their extremely conservative values and that one is governor and another is trying for the Senate. I know that Michelle thought they were ripe for—”

“Stop right there,” Miss Mazie sniffed. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

Having been brought up with manners, I did as I was told. “Look, just tell me one thing. If you feel they’re such bad sinners, why do you stay here?”

“Because I was born here. Because I don’t know anything for sure. This is my home. I’m old. And because they love me and I love them. They put all my boys and my grandchildren through college and set them up in business. Because we’re family.”

“Is Mrs. McKerr at home? I’d like to pay my respects.”

“No, child, unless you have an appointment with her, she is never here. But I’ll tell her you stopped by. And that you brought the flowers and cake.”

“Good. Thank you.” I stood to leave and extended my hand. Miss Mazie took it and we smiled at each other.

“Oh, I must read your palm. Sit down, let’s see what I can see,” Miss Mazie urged.

Wordlessly, I sat and let my hand be unfolded. Miss Mazie’s strong old fingers traced lines as she murmured. Finally, she looked into my eyes.

“Girl, you were born for trouble and you didn’t even know it, did you?”

“What?”

“Says right there. Born for trouble. That right?”

“No, other than coming to Tulsa, I have no trouble.”

“Your trouble is just starting.”

“Well, thanks. That’s bullsh…that’s psychic friend nonsense, but thanks.” I tried to pull my hand away and leave. Miss Mazie held it tightly, her eyes deep and sad.

“Tell me about her, just a little,” Miss Mazie said.

I relaxed. “Okay.” I thought and thought, trying to find some nice story to tell. I wanted to be kind to this woman who had loved Michelle so. And I wanted to be kind to the memory of that Michelle I never knew. “Well, Michelle could make any baby stop crying. I don’t know if it was witchcraft or what, but she had a way with babies.”

Miss Mazie laughed and nodded.

“She loved hot tea and doing cartwheels in the rain and red tennis shoes and toast with orange marmalade. She loved bright floral sheets and card games and ironing. Did you know that? She actually loved to iron. She hated the cold, she loved hair ribbons and crossword puzzles and math story problems.” I said all of these facts from our relationship that I had always trusted were true and now, for Miss Mazie’s sake, I hoped were true. Then I realized it didn’t matter, so I embellished. “She loved baking cookies. Peanut butter were her favorites, but she could do all of them. She donated blood every month; she volunteered at a women’s shelter; she loved poetry and real bubblegum and she hated driving. I don’t know why she ended up in Los Angeles if she hated driving, but there you are.”

“To meet you,” Miss Mazie said simply.

I shrugged, not buying it. I pitied Miss Mazie’s mistaken idea that Michelle and I had been soul mates and that we had had a big big love. It just wasn’t so. We loved each other, but it wasn’t anything special. I continued, “Michelle hated fireworks and she was scared of water. She hated heights and she had claustrophobia. But you know what she said once? That she loved me so much that if I needed her to, she would go into a box full of firecrackers held high above the ocean. Can you believe that?” I was struggling to swallow my lump again, even though at the time, I believed Michelle had said it to escape my wrath in some argument or another. Miss Mazie’s eyes were watering. “Michelle didn’t like novels or movies, but would watch the news any time and loved documentaries. She used to coach me before a game and get me all fired up. And after the game, she would hold me until I came down again. And if we lost, we’d sleep together. She hoped it would take my mind off it.”

Miss Mazie cleared her throat, averting her eyes.

I nodded, unembarrassed. I knew what to say next, so even though it was a lie, it was a lie for love, for virtue. “And Michelle always regretted leaving here. Leaving you. She was always sorry about breaking with the family. And home. She loved you so much. She spoke of you often.”

Miss Mazie began weeping. “Thank you. I…thank you. I knew it. I knew it. I told my baby she could come home no matter what, but she was too proud.” Miss Mazie seemed lost in her own memories.

“Thanks for the cake and coffee.” I closed the back door quietly. I waved to the men in the yard and drove away.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I turned in my rental car and ran for the terminal. Once on board the plane, I reflected on Tulsa. All the bizarre situations and all the comely women, each with her own lies. Pathetic Jhoaeneyie, annoying Darcy with the over-licked lips and ragged cuticles, cold, bitchy Ava-Suzanne, the gruesome twosome Lila and Reese, the flaky Amber, the super smooth Sloane, sad and funny Jack. And Max. I felt my tongue go fat with longing. Max. The airplane began to taxi.

Oh, Jesus, get me home. I twirled and twirled my bracelet. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the seat, exhaustion overtaking me. Overhead, I turned the air valve on high. I was sick of being funky all the time. Get me home.

I began thinking about Max…Max pink and ripe like a cherub, her russet hair flowing over her breasts, her pelvic bowl bursting with promise, and her ass. Lawd, Lawd, her tribal mother drum ass with food enough for all the world in its curves. The drum I was born to pound. The sacred songs I would compose. The songs it sang to me without me ever having touched it. The whispers that would slide into my ears and nasty little fantasy fingers that would haunt me forever left the ground with me, becoming airborne, clinging to my brow and body like a fever.

The flight attendant smiled at me. “Can I get you something to drink?” She laid down a napkin and a prim package of pretzels.