God Ain't Through Yet (10 page)

I
had interviewed a lot of people in my office for positions at my company, but I didn't feel comfortable interviewing people for my husband's business on Mizelle's property and time. I had each applicant meet me at a cute little coffee shop, where I often took my coffee breaks, two doors down the block from my office building. Whatever time I used to conduct the interview, I made up for it by not taking lunch or my two daily coffee breaks.

I didn't like interviews. It didn't matter whether I was the one being interviewed or I was the one interviewing somebody. For one thing, it was awkward for me to talk to a stranger. And in some cases, it was possibly dangerous. At least it was for a collection agent. Three years ago, I'd sent a process server to a man who had ignored an unpaid bill with the phone company for months. I hauled him into court and he still refused to pay. I had no choice but to have his wages attached. What was so bizarre about that case was, the man had once worked for the telephone company! A couple of weeks later when I had to interview applicants for a vacant position, he applied for it under a different name. This was a ruse that he'd concocted so he could get me alone somewhere to cuss me out and threaten me. And it had happened in my office during lunch. I was on the premises alone with just our meek, 100-pound receptionist. As soon as I'd closed my office door, that man started cussing at me. He blocked the door so I couldn't escape; then he grabbed me and held me in place so I couldn't make it to the phone on my desk. The receptionist heard the commotion and called the cops.

Now when I interviewed for positions at my company, I made sure to keep my office door open and that at least two of my male employees and our security guard are on the premises. I didn't think I had to worry about any of that in the case of Pee Wee's manicurist position. My main concern was whether he or she could do the job. But I also had to consider their appearance, their work history, their qualifications, and so on.

Another thing was that no matter how good the applicant looked on their résumé and application, that was rarely the person you met in the interview. Not only did people lie and exaggerate during interviews, they usually told you whatever they thought you wanted to hear.

It didn't take long for me to realize that people who really didn't want to work came to interviews with that attitude. None of the ragtag group of people I interviewed seemed that interested in working for my husband. And from the indifference and slovenly appearances of each one, they probably didn't want to work for anybody else either.

The first applicant I interviewed was still employed, and for an asshole who monitored every move she made. Her lunch hour and breaks combined didn't add up to enough time for her to do an interview with me that could possibly be an hour long. She was afraid to take off any time and practically begged me to interview her after business hours. In her case, I was glad to schedule an after-business-hours appointment. Despite the fact that she had arrived on time and seemed like a good candidate, she was a huge disappointment. She chomped and cracked a wad of chewing gum during the whole interview, and even told me, “I'm just looking for something now until I can get hired at the water company.”

Another applicant admitted that she'd come to check out the job only because she thought that by working in a barbershop, she'd meet more men. The one that I'd really been interested in didn't bother to show up for her interview, or call to cancel or reschedule.

When Lizzie called to confirm her appointment, I told her to just meet me at the coffee shop. It was February and there was still a lot of snow on the ground, so it was cold enough for overcoats and boots. There was some ice and sleet on the streets, so a lot of people didn't like to drive or even walk around outside if they didn't have to. Muh'Dear had told me that Lizzie had a car, but public parking was so bad on the street where I worked I wasn't sure she'd be on time, so I arrived fifteen minutes later than the time I told her to meet me. I was surprised and embarrassed when I got to the coffee shop and she was already there.

As soon as I entered Mike's Place and saw her, I felt hopeful. I didn't know just how handicapped she was because of her leg. I wasn't even sure that that word applied to her. She had been in my PE classes all through high school and she'd done everything that the rest of us had done, including jumping jacks and cartwheels. Even when our classmates had laughed at her when we did square dances, she had done as many do-si-dos as the rest of us, and with a smile.

I had not seen Lizzie since high-school graduation night, but I would have recognized her anywhere. The poor thing. She was as plain as ever. She occupied one of the six red plastic tables with matching chairs next to the ladies' room. There was a huge smile on her face when she saw me walking toward her.

“Lizzie, it's so good to see you again,” I squealed, pulling out a chair across from her. She surprised me by rising and extending her hand. She had a firm grip for a petite woman. “I'm sorry I'm a little late,” I told her as I plopped down in my chair. “We had a small emergency back at the office that I had to take care of.” I beckoned for the waitress to bring me a cup of coffee. “Would you like a bear claw or something? This place doesn't look like much, but they are giving Starbucks a run for their money. The pastries here are fantastic.”

“Oh, no thanks. I'm trying to watch my weight,” she told me with a shy smile as she eased back down in her seat, scooting it closer to the table.

“I heard that,” I mouthed. I sucked in my stomach, not that I had to do that anymore, but out of habit. We both ordered just a cup of black coffee, decaf for her.

I sniffed and discreetly looked her over with a critical eye. I smiled and grinned a lot so I wouldn't be too obvious. Lizzie didn't look like she had to worry about her weight. I didn't see any bulges or lumps on her body. Like me, she was of average height. From what I could see, none of her body parts were bigger or smaller than they were supposed to be. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same thing about the rest of her. Her shoulder-length hair was thick and had once been jet black. Well, some of it was still jet black, but most of it had already turned gray. Her lopsided ponytail, held in place by a red rubber band, was flat and stiff. Each time she shook or bobbed her head, that drab ponytail flip-flopped from side to side like a beaver's tail.

There was no makeup on her round, almost porcelain white face, but for the first time, I realized she had nice features. In spite of the saucer-size, Coke bottle–like glasses she wore, I could see that she had nice, big brown eyes and long, thick lashes. She had a cute little nose that wiggled slightly each time she smiled. I could tell from the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes that she smiled a lot. She worried a lot, too. I could tell that from the lines on her forehead and the noticeable dark shadows beneath her eyes.

She had draped a plaid coat across the back of her chair. It was a style that I had not seen since the seventies. It had what looked like a Nehru collar and black buttons as big around as silver dollars. Her drab, pea-colored woolen dress reminded me of a long nightgown that my mother used to sleep in. I couldn't see her feet, so there was no telling what kind of shoes she wore. What I couldn't understand was how a woman her age could let herself go to the point of ground zero. By anybody's standards, Lizzie was a rag doll. She was one woman who was screaming for a makeover.

“So I hear you're looking for a change?” I began.

“I am not going to lie to you. Yes, I could sure use a change,” she responded with another eager smile on her face. “And if anybody can help me, it's you, Annette. Please don't think that I am kissing up to you, because I am not. People think that because I'm real quiet and shy that I don't know how to speak up for myself. But when I want something bad enough, I go for it.” At this point, Lizzie paused and sucked in some air.

“Have you been in Richland all this time?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we've been out of school for decades and I lost track of a lot of people.”

“I lost track of people, too. Me, I spent a couple of years with some of my mama's folks on their farm in West Virginia. I had a few problems down there because of my daddy's blood. I worked in a country deli, and a lot of those rednecks didn't want my ‘black' hands making their fried frog leg sandwiches. I didn't put up with that mess long. I came back to Ohio and went to cosmetology school, and I took a few other courses in the beauty field.” Lizzie stopped talking and let out a dry laugh as she patted her hair. “It surprises most people when I tell them that. They expect me to look more glamorous, I guess.”

“I'm sure you remember what a frump I was in school,” I said quickly with a grimace on my face.

“But you are no frump now.”

“You should have seen me about a year ago. I was almost twice as big as I am now. Back in school, I was miserable like a lot of kids. Most of them left this hick town running. I was one of them.”

“Oh yeah. I think somebody told me that not long after graduation, you took off to Pennsylvania with a man….”

I rolled my eyes. “I took off to Pennsylvania, but it was not with a man. I was on my own. I didn't even have a boyfriend then. You can't believe everything you hear in this town. Anyway, things didn't work out for me in Pennsylvania, so I came back here. I worked hard to improve my life, and I did.”

“I am not surprised that you got that high-level job at the collection agency, and that you married a big shot like Pee Wee. I remember how smart you were in Mr. Brown's debate class. All of the kids wanted to be on your team because you always made your team win. Annette, I know I said I wasn't trying to kiss up to you, but I know that what I am going to say next might sound like I am. The truth is, I want to be where you are some day. I want the same things you've got.”

“Thank you,” I said, beaming proudly.

“I hope you can help me make that happen.”

“Oh, I hope I can, too.” I gave Lizzie a hopeful look. “And my husband will treat you better than your last boss,” I assured her.

I
could tell a lot about a person by the way they sat in a chair. And from the stiff-backed way Lizzie was sitting with both hands wrapped around her coffee cup, she was not comfortable with a lot of things. Another way that I could tell she was uncomfortable was the way she looked. She kept blinking her eyes, fiddling with her hair, and licking her lips. From the movies I'd seen and some of the things I'd read and heard, I had decided a long time ago that being biracial was not a picnic for some mixed-blood people. My half sister Lillimae was biracial, but she was the exception to the rule. She was one of the most confident and well-adjusted women I knew. Lizzie looked and behaved like a frightened deer. Her mother was a rather plain-looking white woman, and her biological father was a pure-blooded Jamaican with skin that was so black it looked purple in certain light. However, Lizzie had inherited her mother's European features, which she could have used to her advantage if she lived in a big city where people didn't know her ethnic background. Living in a small town like Richland, where everybody knew everybody else's business, she could not have passed for white successfully for long; no matter how hard she tried. I just found it hard to believe that in this day and age she'd lost her job because of her mixed blood, like Muh'Dear had told me.

“Do you mind telling me why you quit your last job?”

“I didn't exactly quit….”

“Oh. Lizzie, I don't know if what I heard is true, but it doesn't matter to me.”

“What did you hear?” she asked, looking me in the eye without blinking. She suddenly seemed defensive.

I shrugged. “I heard a rumor that some of the white customers had a problem with you doing their nails?” I put it in the form of a question.

“I don't know if that had anything to do with them asking me to leave. Everybody was always so nice to me, especially the customers. But the real reason is because my boss's baby brother—a beady-eyed so and so with no teeth—came on to me.” Lizzie paused and gave me a wan look. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but I couldn't control my thoughts about what she'd just said.

“You're kidding,” I wailed, looking at her in disbelief.

“No, I am not kidding.”

Sexual harassment was one phrase that I couldn't fathom being used in regard to Lizzie. She was the last person I'd expect to have to worry about somebody trying to get into her panties. One of our former classmates, an ugly, pimply-faced boy at that, had once told her in front of me and several other classmates that she was as appealing as an enema, and that he would not fuck her with a dog's dick. I didn't like what I was thinking. If anybody should have known better, it was me. Sex was not always about how somebody looked. One of my mother's former men friends had taught me that. During the ten years that Mr. Boatwright raped me, he had me convinced that because I was so black and ugly, nobody else would want to fuck me. Therefore, he
had
to do it because he felt sorry for me.

Apparently, that old pervert's convoluted opinions had rubbed off on me.

“I'm sorry to hear that, Lizzie,” I said, apologizing more for my thoughts than I was about what she'd just told me.

“When I rejected him, he made a lot of noise about me having black blood and thinking I was better than ‘real' white folks. It caused such a disruption my boss thought it'd be better for me to work someplace else. He also said something about a ‘conflict of interest.'”

“Was it the baby brother's word against yours?”

“Yeah. He came after me one evening when I was the last one in the shop. I was waiting on a cab when he practically forced me to get in his truck so he could give me a ride home. He started talking nasty before he even turned on the motor. That's when he told me about a bet he'd made with his friends to see which one of them could get me into bed first. The winner was to get twenty dollars.”

“Oh?”

“Twenty dollars. That was all I was worth to him. Can you imagine what that did to my self-esteem?”

“I can imagine….”

“He even tried to…pay me to…you know. For
ten
dollars.” Her face tightened, and she seemed to be anxious and even more uncomfortable now. “He had the nerve to tell me that I should be flattered that a man like him would want to, excuse my language, ‘fuck a douche bag' like me,” she said with a smirk. “I'm not that desperate,” she insisted. “I care a lot about myself, Annette. I want a man that I can be proud of. I know I don't look it, but I am not the type to let people walk all over me. I am not a pushover, and if you hire me, you will see that right off the bat.”

I nodded. “So you're telling me that you got fired because you made your boss's toothless brother mad?”

“That's about the size of it.”

“Lizzie, I know it was not easy for you to tell me your story, but I appreciate you being honest. I won't bother to call your former boss to verify what you just told me. I already know he will have a totally different version of the events.” I winked at Lizzie. This gesture put her more at ease. The tight look disappeared from her face and she smiled again.

We spent only a few minutes discussing her qualifications and expectations. Then we spent the next half hour reminiscing about our junior high and high school days. For each horror story she shared about a bully-related incident that she had survived, I had one of my own.

“I was so beaten down by the time I graduated from Richland High, all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and stay here,” she told me with tears in her eyes. She went on to tell me that other than her mother, her stepfather, and a few friends and relatives, she didn't associate with a lot of people. She drove a Ford station wagon that she referred to as her “baby.” Now that was pathetic. I had heard of people referring to their pets like that, but this was the first time I heard somebody use that word in reference to a car. Lizzie seemed to like talking about herself, so I encouraged her by listening with wide eyes and nodding at the appropriate times.

She told me that when she was at home, she watched TV with her parents and spent the rest of her spare time in the bedroom she shared with her dreams, doing crossword puzzles and reading romance novels.

It was hard, but I forced myself not to give Lizzie too many pitiful looks. “How come you never got married?” I asked dumbly.

A panic-stricken look promptly appeared on her face. “Married? Who me? I have never even had a boyfriend or a date. Except the times I go line dancing with my cross-eyed cousin, Lawrence.”

“Oh, that's too bad.”

“Well, I am not dead yet. And I'm not that old, so there's still a chance that I will find a man and get married. I've had fun along the way, though.” Then she gave me a mysterious look. “Did you know I went to Woodstock?”

Now that was a shocking piece of information. “You? No, I didn't know.”

She nodded. “And during the summer of '69, I spent a couple of months in Berkeley, too. I have some distant cousins out there.” She paused and a faraway look appeared on her face. Her voice sounded disembodied as she continued speaking. “We happened to be in L.A. for a folk music concert that August when the Manson murders occurred. I couldn't get back to Berkeley fast enough. I stayed high on acid for the next five days.” She must have noticed how my face stiffened, because right after that admission, she said, “I haven't touched drugs since! Not even weed.”

It was hard for me to put drugs and Lizzie in the same thought. But I didn't like to judge people. I didn't even want to think what my straight-laced boss, and some of the people from church, would think or say if they knew I'd occasionally smoked weed with Pee Wee. Or worse yet, the fact that I'd once worked as a prostitute. I was proof that it was possible for people to change for the better.

“You've come a long way,” I said.

“I had to. Woodstock and Berkeley were too much for me. The drugs, the wall-to-wall sex…”

“Oh. Uh, did you meet anybody interesting during that time, or any other time?” I didn't want to get too personal. I wondered if she was still a virgin like my mother had implied. Not that it mattered, but after some of the things that Muh'Dear had said about Lizzie, I had become quite curious about her.

“I haven't met anybody interesting recently, but back in the sixties when I was in Berkeley I got caught up in that hippie thing.” Lizzie suddenly shut down. Her mood changed and she didn't seem as animated as she'd been a few minutes before. “If I hadn't come back home when I did, I might not be here today.”

“Well, I am glad you are here today.”

A sad look appeared on her face and she locked eyes with me. “Mama is so worried that after she dies I'll grow old alone,” she bleated. It sounded almost like a cry for help. “I've been ready to settle down for a long time.”

“Tell me about it. I didn't get married until about ten years ago,” I told her.

“You know, I hate it when people bring up that subject.” She gave me a misty-eyed look and I wanted to crawl under the table.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought…”

“I understand, Annette. I brought it up this time, and only because it might influence your decision,” she said, holding up her hand, drawing my attention to her nails. She had small, slender hands like the kind you see on models on TV and in magazine ads. But her nails looked like a dog had been gnawing on them. That was not so unusual. Most of the women who did my nails at the various shops I went to neglected their own. I had decided a long time ago that raggedy nails had to be a job requirement in some nail shops, so that was one flaw in her that I could overlook. “I know what you mean, and I know you are not trying to hurt my feelings. That's more than I can say about some of the people I know. Most of the people I come in contact with think that a woman my age has done something with her life, and I have. I usually get jobs I like, I live in a nice house, and I have plenty of food to eat, and I've got my health.” She tilted her chin up and stuck out her chest, which was almost as flat as her ponytail. “I enjoy spending time with my mama, and that's more than a lot of people can say. And as far as the romantic side of my life goes, well…” Lizzie paused and shrugged. “I truly believe that there is somebody out there for me.”

“Lizzie, let me assure you that there is somebody out there for you. It took me a long time to find my soul mate.” I laughed. “And the funny thing about it was, he was right up under my nose all that time. We'd been friends all along!” It had been a long time since I'd had such a “girly” conversation with a woman other than Rhoda. And even though Lizzie could never compete with Rhoda, she was a refreshing diversion.

“That's right! You and Pee Wee were friends all through our school years.” Lizzie and I both laughed. “Well, like I said, I believe there is somebody out there for me. And my soul mate might already be right up under my nose, too, huh?”

“He sure could be, girl,” I said. I had no idea how prophetic my statement was.