God Don’t Like Ugly (11 page)

“Oh.” I had been warned by Pee Wee that Rhoda’s dead brother was something to avoid discussing in front of her. I urged her to take me to her room.

Rhoda’s bedroom was just what I expected. All pink and white. The only thing missing was a canopied bed. But she had her own TV and record player, and her closet was full of beautiful and expensive clothes. She motioned with her hand for me to sit on her bed while she stood in front of a wall mirror to check her hair. The bed felt like a soft cloud.

Suddenly, a slim, brown-skinned, brown-eyed woman, with small, delicate features entered the bedroom. This was Rhoda’s beautiful mother, Michelle Jacquelyn Nelson. Mr. Boatwright said she dyed her reddish brown hair to cover the gray. Scary Mary said Mrs. Nelson had to have had her face lifted because there was not a wrinkle in sight. Scary Mary also said that Mrs. Nelson spent most of her spare time in Miss Rachel’s, the most exclusive Black beauty parlor in town, or shopping for clothes she didn’t need. Pee Wee said she was probably having affairs behind the undertaker’s back. I liked the lady immediately and didn’t believe a word of all that gossip. She gave me a big smile.

“You’re that sweet little girl from across the street!” the pretty woman squealed. Her Southern accent was more pronounced than Rhoda’s. She tickled my chins and put her arm around my shoulder. I was so moved I had to fight to hold back my tears. This was the nicest any grown person, other than my mama, had ever been to me. “Gimme some sugar!” I almost fainted when Rhoda’s beautiful mother leaned over and kissed my cheeks with hungry little kisses. Rhoda and her mother had given me the validation I needed to feel whole and important. This validation, this attention and sincerity, as fulfilling as it was in my dreams.
I was somebody
. No matter what happened to me after this day, nobody could take away this feeling of importance I felt since meeting Rhoda.

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Annette,” I said, almost out of breath. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

“Gussie Mae’s sweet little girl. My, what a pretty smile you have,” Mrs. Nelson told me. The Rapture could not have impressed me more.

“Muh’Dear, guess what,” Rhoda said. She ran up to her mother and threw her arms around her waist. “Annette’s got a real live, peg-legged man livin’ in her house.”
Muh’Dear
. Among Black kids, that title was the equivalent of Your Highness.

“Oh, I know that saintly Brother Boatwright. How is Brother Boatwright gettin’ along, Annette?” There was a look of genuine concern on Mrs. Nelson’s face.

“He’s fine,” I said stiffly. He even had this smart woman fooled! If only she knew all the mean and nasty things he had said about her.

“I must get to the kitchen to supervise supper. Mr. Nelson is preparing a leg of lamb.” Mrs. Nelson sighed. A blanket of sadness seemed to cover me. Mr. Boatwright was cooking up another coon for our dinner. “You must join us for a meal sometime, Annette.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I managed. I was so stunned and impressed I couldn’t think straight. Mrs. Nelson seemed to float out of the room, leaving the scent of her expensive perfume behind.

“How come she’s got on a housecoat this time of the day?” I whispered, my eyes still on the door.

“Oh she’s got a bad heart and has to rest a lot. She can’t drink alcohol or dance or anything like that. It could kill her.”

“Who takes care of the house?”

“We do. Me and Jock and my daddy. Uncle Johnny helps out when he’s not in jail. And whenever Aunt Lola comes to visit, she takes over.” Rhoda was talking as she moved across the floor and flipped on a radio on her dresser. Soft classical music filled the room.

“How come you all don’t get a maid. Your daddy is rich.”

“A maid? No way. No stranger is goin’ to come into this house and start bossin’ us around. You lucked out gettin’ somebody like that one-legged man to take care of your house. What’s his name again?”

“His name is Mr. Boatwright,” I mumbled, my eyes on the floor.

“He was supposed to come live with us, but Daddy had to turn Reverend Snipes down because my uncle Johnny decided to move in with us around the same time and needed the room,” Rhoda revealed. I tried to imagine what would have happened if Mr. Boatwright had moved in with the Nelsons and did to Rhoda what he was doing to me.

“I never knew about that,” I gasped.

“Too bad we couldn’t take him in, huh?”

“Yeah. Too bad,” I mouthed.

I
was so excited when I got home from the Nelsons’ house, I didn’t care what Mr. Boatwright did to me. He did attempt to have sex with me but was unable. Something about his back going out. Of course he blamed that on me, saying I was getting too fat for him to try and turn over in the bed. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and a threatening look. He headed for the kitchen, and I went to bathe.

After I ate dinner I put on my robe and waited in the living room for Mama to come home. I didn’t know what part of the house Mr. Boatwright was in, and I didn’t care. I was still on cloud nine from my visit to the Nelsons.

I met Mama at the door with a hug.

“What’s wrong with you, girl?” she wanted to know. She had never seen me like this before, and it startled her. She held me back and gave me a long, hard look. “Did you get in trouble at school today? You pregnant?”

“Oh no, Mama. Guess what? I went to Rhoda Nelson’s house this evening after school. It looks like a palace over there. And it smells like one. I met her mother and saw her mink coat and baby grand piano and everything. Mr. Nelson’s friend, that Italian man—the one who owns Antonosanti’s restaurant—was there and I met him. I even met Uncle Johnny. They were all real nice and proper. I met her big brother Jock. He…uh…now he was
kind of
mean, but Rhoda told me he’s really kind of nice when he’s not mad about something. Oh, Mama. I’m so glad we moved on this street. The Nelsons are too good to be true.” I was almost out of breath by the time I shut up. Mama was looking at me with her mouth hanging open. She didn’t seem the least bit impressed, just suspicious.

“Listen.” She sighed tiredly. She gently removed my arms from around her waist and pushed me away. This annoyed me. I wanted her to be more like Rhoda’s mother. “Anytime somethin’ seems too good to be true, it usually is. Ain’t you done heard all the talk about that family?”

“Yeah, but I don’t believe any of it. People are just jealous of them—”

“I ain’t jealous of nobody.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Them Nelsons ain’t normal like us. Scary Mary done told me all about ’em. Caleb say he think Brother Nelson is involved in all kinds of illegal scams.”

“Unspeakable! Them Nelsons think they white,” Mr. Boatwright croaked. He had slipped into the living room so quietly I hadn’t heard him “And the way they strut around, you would think that house of theirs was Graceland, complete with Elvis.” He paused long enough to sit down on the couch and drink from a bottle of beer and let out a belch. “Why, they ain’t even clean,” he said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt “One day I was over yonder and I seen a roach big as me crawlin’ up the lamp shade. They too good to ride the bus like the rest of us. They got to ride around in a Cadillac? Nelson’s supposed to be helpin’ the poor.”

“Would it help the poor if Mr. Nelson got out of his Cadillac and got on a bicycle?” I asked. Mr. Boatwright and Mama just glared at me. Mama gasped, and for a minute I thought she was going to slap me, but she didn’t. She just sat down on the couch next to Mr. Boatwright, looking at him in awe as he continued.

“I tell you, Sister Goode, them Nelsons ain’t like us,” he barked.

“They sure are not like you!” I screamed. “They are the nicest people I’ve met since we moved to Ohio. They are not uppity or gangsters or crooks and all those mean things you and Caleb and Scary Mary say—” I shouted. I knew I was probably going to get a whupping for my outburst, but I didn’t care this time.

“That boy Jock’s bound to ruin you first chance he get,” Mr. Boatwright predicted, nodding in my direction.

I glared at Mr. Boatwright and felt like I was on fire. “Jock and no other boy in this town never looked at me! The only one ever did anything was—”

“Say what?” Mama gasped. Mr. Boatwright gasped, too, and almost fell off the couch. He took another long drink from his beer bottle. His stiff gray hair seemed like it suddenly stood up on his head.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, bowing my head.

“The only one what, girl?” Mama mouthed, giving me an incredulous look. She sat with her mouth open so wide I could see the back of her tongue. “What boy been tryin’ to take advantage of you? You tell me the scoundrel’s name, and we’ll pay his mama a visit tonight. Won’t we, Brother Boatwright?” She snapped her head around fast to look at him, but not fast enough to see the threatening look he gave me.

“Uh-huh,” he said meekly. “I don’t know what the world comin’ to.”

“You ought to be up in your room praisin’ God you so blessed. Now git!” Mama advised. She dismissed me with a wave of her hand.

I
was surprised that I didn’t get a whupping for sassing Mr. Boatwright with my outburst earlier that evening, though I did have to read the Bible for twenty minutes and mop the bathroom. I ate dinner in silence, but as soon as I felt things had settled enough, I started chirping about my visit to the Nelson house again.

“Like I said, the Nelsons and everything about them seem too good to be true,” I announced. I was in the living room sitting on a footstool by the front window, and Mama and Mr. Boatwright were on our lumpy old couch watching television and drinking beer. They looked toward me at the same time.

I heard Mr. Boatwright let out this long deep groan. The kind that told me he was disgusted.

“Ain’t I done told you, girl, anytime somethin’ seems too good to be true, it usually is.” Mama sighed, fanning her face with the
TV Guide
.

“Amen,” Mr. Boatwright added, with his paws up in the air and his head shaking from side to side.

“I don’t care. I still like the Nelsons,” I stated.

“I heard Jock got a girl pregnant,” Mr. Boatwright snapped, waving his beer bottle like a weapon.

“So?” I shot back. I folded my arms and crossed my legs and looked Mr. Boatwright straight in the eyes.

“Brother Boatwright here is just concerned about you, Annette. Me and him both advise you to watch your step when you over there and that boy Jock is in the mix. He might drug you with one of that Johnny’s margaritas and take advantage of you,” Mama said seriously. “Now go in that kitchen and wash them dishes.”

Two-faced, mean-ass Mr. Boatwright drank, raped, gambled, and considered himself a holy man! I let out such a deep sigh, my chest felt like it wanted to explode. Instead, I stood up. “Um…they asked me to eat Thanksgiving dinner with them, Mama. Can I?” I stood in front of her and Mr. Boatwright with a pleading look on my face. That sorry old bastard rolled his eyes at me and shook his finger in my face.

“Didn’t your poor mama here tell you she got to work on Thanksgivin’ Day, girl? Who gwine to be here to he’p me get dinner cooked?” he whined.

“You cook all the time when I’m not here—”

“Annette, you on thin ice, girl. Don’t you know your family come first?” Mama muttered. I knew that she was tired after working so many hours, and I did feel bad about that.

“Well…” I mumbled with resignation. They had won this round. There would be other holidays I could spend at the Nelson house, I told myself.

“It ain’t easy for me to hop around that hot kitchen for hours on end, day after day. What if I was here alone and stumbled and dropped a skillet of grease or somethin’ on my toe? What if I slip and fall and bust up my hip?” Mr. Boatwright knew exactly how to get his way. He reminded me of a cunning child. “What if I was to—”

“OK. I’ll stay home and help with the dinner.” Once again, I was defeated.

“You can chop the onions, brown the gizzards.” Mr. Boatwright paused long enough to give me one of his knowing looks. When he saw that Mama was not looking at him, he winked at me. Then he said, “I’ll find plenty for you to do.” Mama patted his shoulder and nodded.

I was ready to leave the room for sure then. But there was one more thing I had to say to Mama.

“Why you lookin’ at me so strange, girl?” Mama smoothed the lap of her housecoat and stood up in front of me. She slapped her hands on her hips and leaned over so that our eyes were just inches apart.

“From now on, I’m going to call you Muh’ Dear,” I told her.

“I been blessed.” Mama smiled proudly. One hand went up to her forehead. Her other hand patted my back. “Blessed.”

Not to be outdone, Mr. Boatwright grunted, and told me, “You better get them dishes done so you can get to bed. You know you got to go to that schoolhouse in the mornin’.”

I slept like a baby that night. The next morning I got up on my own and was in the kitchen making breakfast by the time Mr. Boatwright approached me. Mama had already left for work.

“You don’t watch your step you gwine to suffer, girl,” he warned.

“What do you mean?” I asked, too exasperated to really care. Hardly anything this man ever said made much sense. I spent a great deal of my time trying to interpret his ramblings. I stood in front of the stove and just stared at him. I gave him the meanest look I could come up with. And it must have been pretty effective because he had to look away. I was amazed at the way I now sassed grown folks.

“You and Jock,” he mumbled, nodding.

Next to Mr. Boatwright, Jock Nelson was the last male on earth I would involve myself with willingly. “After what you’ve done to me, do you think I’d go out looking for some other funky,
nasty
old man or boy to do even more? I hate all men and boys. I wish every last one of you motherfuckers’ dicks would rot and drop off in your funky drawers. I wish there was nothing but females on this planet. We don’t need men. At least
I
don’t. You old goat. How long do you think you’re going to get away with what you do to me?”

You would have thought that Satan had appeared in person right in front of him the way he whimpered and fell into a chair at the kitchen table, shaking his head. Then his whole wretched body started shaking, and for a moment I thought, and hoped, he was having a heart attack or something equally devastating. He babbled incoherently at first. Then he stuttered, “Blood of Jesus…I…I…thought…I thought…” He stopped, closed his eyes, and started shaking his head slowly from side to side.

“You thought what? That I liked it? You must be crazy. You nasty thing you!”

After he opened his eyes and stopped shaking, he wiped sweat from his face with the back of his hand and continued in a normal voice. “I guess Scary Mary was right when she told me about you,” he said casually. He sucked in his breath and gave me a peculiar look. “Caleb told me the same thing,” he teased.

“What did Scary Mary and Caleb tell you about me?” I had a big spoon in my hand that I didn’t even realize I was waving at him like I was going to hit him until he told me.

“Stop wavin’ that long-handled spoon at me, like you goin’ to bop me. I ought to call the juvenile authorities. They got a place for big old strappin’ teenage girls that attack disabled elderlies. Special homes.” He lowered his head and started looking at me with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

“What did they say about me?” I dropped the spoon back into the big pan of grits I had cooked.

After he swallowed a few Anacins he croaked, “It don’t matter. I bet it’s true.”

“Forget Caleb and Scary Mary. All they do is gossip and tell lies about people. What do they know about me?” I attempted to leave the kitchen, but he grabbed my arm.

“You ain’t goin’ no place ’til I’m through with you.” He paused, narrowed his eyes, and whispered, “You…you unnatural they say. You and that Pee Wee.”

“Funny? Scary Mary and Caleb think I’m funny?” I said in a low voice. According to everybody I knew, homosexuality was way up there on the list of sins. It was rarely discussed out in the open, and even then in whispers. Suspected of being homosexual was the reason Pee Wee had no friends. I didn’t mind having unnatural thoughts about Rhoda as long as nobody else knew. Especially Mr. Boatwright. The thought of somebody like him having that kind of information about me made my flesh crawl. Did I look funny? Did I act funny? It had to be the comments I’d made to Mr. Boatwright about hating males and the gossip he said he’d heard. “Well, you and Scary Mary and everybody else that says that is wrong.” I couldn’t and wouldn’t say any more on the subject. Whether I was funny or not, it wasn’t something I was ready to share with the world yet. News like that would destroy Muh’Dear. I left the kitchen and ran to my room to finish getting ready for school. I didn’t even shut my bedroom door because I knew that he would join me.

“How could you even think about a female with
a man like me
in this house, girl?” he rasped with a smug look on his face as he entered my room. His sweaty age-spotted hands were already tugging at my clothes.

I was tired, so very, very tired. This was one time I didn’t feel it was worth it to fight with him. I eased myself down on my bed. Before he got inside me, I told him, “I’m not funny, Mr. Boatwright.”

After he was done with me, he escorted me to the front door as I was about to leave for school like nothing had happened. He patted my shoulder and hugged me, then opened the front door and walked me out to the porch.

“Feel like we might get our first snow today, huh?” he observed, looking around, scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled.

He gasped and patted my shoulder again. “Don’t you move, I’m gwine to get your snow boots—”

“Oh no, that’s OK. It won’t snow that much, if it does snow. I don’t know where my left boot is anyway,” I told him, grabbing his arm.

“Well, you come straight home after school this evenin’ and we’ll hunt that left boot.” Right after he finished his sentence, the Nelsons’ front door opened and Mrs. Nelson came out onto the porch, followed by Mr. Antonosanti. They waved as they walked toward Mr. Antonosanti’s car, a big shiny gray Buick.

“Queen of Sheba and Al Capone,” Mr. Boatwright clucked, rolling his eyes.

“Who?” I asked.

“Yonder there across the street. You ain’t blind. Brother Nelson better keep his eyes on that sneaky Jezebel he married to.” Then he yelled, “How y’all doin’ over yonder?”

“Mr. Boatwright, you’re so mean,” I said boldly. I knew that I could sass him and get away with it at this point. I was on my way to school, and he would not have time to whup me.

His eyes drifted, then focused on me. “Mean? I ain’t mean. Who said I was mean?” he whined.

“Yeah, you are. Those people haven’t done anything to you to make you talk about them so bad.”

For once he was speechless. He just stood there with his hands on his hips, glaring at me, trying to come up with an appropriate response. I knew that whatever it was, it would be something mean.

“By the way,” he began slowly, his head bobbing, “pretty girls like Rhoda across the street yonder, they just hang around with mud puppies like you to make them look better. They don’t like no competition. Everybody in town talkin’ about y’all. Callin’ you and her Beauty and the Beast. Have a nice day.” I didn’t even respond to his comments about Rhoda, but I was hurt and concerned. Concerned because I wasn’t sure if what he said was true. Most of the pretty girls in my school
did
have plain best friends.

I saw Mr. Boatwright peeping out of the window after I left the house to go across the street to pick up Rhoda. I rang her doorbell just once before Jock snatched open the door and greeted me with, “What’s wrong with you, girl? Makin’ all this goddamn noise! You wake up my granny, and I’m goin’ to kick your butt halfway across town!” He was a good-looking boy, but his hostility was overwhelming.

“I’m here to pick up Rhoda,” I said firmly. If I could stand up to Mr. Boatwright, I could stand up to Jock. I told myself that if Jock got too mean, I’d run.

“Oh,” he said. I couldn’t believe how fast he softened. His scowl disappeared as he opened the door wide enough for me to enter. “She’ll be down in a minute. You know how she is with all that makeup and shit. You want some hot cocoa?” Mr. Boatwright would have died if he had heard that. Almost every morning he served me this deadly concoction called pot liquor, which was the juice from turnip, collard, or mustard greens with hog fat and chunks of some kind of meat stirred in. Each time, he groaned about not being able to afford cocoa but once a month.

“Cocoa?” I mouthed.

“Yeah. We drink it every mornin’,” Jock informed me.

“Uh…no thanks.” I was startled by his sudden gentleness. He excused himself, very politely, and left the room. Moments later, Rhoda joined me in the living room.

“Greetings!” she said to me, displaying her award-winning smile.

“Do you want me to be your friend because I’m ugly and it would make you seem even prettier?” I blurted.

“What?” Rhoda gasped. She even stumbled back a few steps. She picked up her book bag from the coffee table, not taking her eyes off me. “What in the world are you talkin’ about, Annette?”

“Well, somebody told me pretty girls don’t like competition.”

She stared at me with a look of confusion on her face. “Listen here, I don’t know who you’ve been talkin’ to, but I want you as my friend because I like you. And who said you were ugly?” She motioned for me to follow her to the door.

“Oh some old busybodies. They call me and you Beauty and the Beast.”

Once we got outside, we stopped on the porch for a moment. Mr. Boatwright was still peeping out our window. He was so tacky, he didn’t even try to hide it. Not only were the curtains moving, his whole face was in full view.

“Horsefeathers.” Rhoda laughed, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand. She tried to hide it, but there was a look of concern on her face. “Fuck whoever told you that shit. Why should we care what they say or think? You’re my friend because I want you to be. And as far as you bein’ ugly, well my brother Jock said you were cute.” She smiled at me.

Either I had lost my mind and slipped into a fantasy world and this relationship was all part of my imagination, or God had finally taken pity on me and made Rhoda part of my life. Either way, I now had the best friend in the whole wide world, and I would do anything to keep her. I wanted to grab her and kiss her hand and then hug her and kiss her on the jaw. But I didn’t want to overdo it. Instead I just smiled back at her.

“Jock-the-Ripper? Your nasty, mean big brother? He said that about me?” I was concerned and flattered at the same time. Not only was Rhoda telling me I wasn’t ugly, but a handsome, popular boy like Jock said I was cute. Boy or not, compliments like that from him went a long way with me. I couldn’t wait to rub this information in Mr. Boatwright’s face.

“Uh-huh. Jock-the-Ripper said that about you, girl,” Rhoda told me.

“Oh. Well, I heard something else about you, Rhoda. From that same person that said you like me around because I’m ugly.”

Rhoda gave me a thoughtful look, then she bit her bottom lip before speaking. “I don’t want to hear any more of this mess,” she said, shaking her head with disgust. “I don’t give a shit what that person thinks. Let’s haul ass, girl.” We started walking. I turned around to see Mr. Boatwright standing on our front porch with one hand on his hip.