God Don’t Like Ugly (17 page)

I
avoided Florence the next few days. But a week later, I got desperate for company after Rhoda stood me up to go to a drive-in movie with her boyfriend. I let Florence come over mainly because I didn’t feel like being alone in the house with Mr. Boatwright. We sat next to one another on the couch. Mr. Boatwright sat across from us on the love seat rolling his eyes and tapping his foot impatiently. He often used a rolled newspaper to swat flies. There were no flies in the room, but he had a newspaper in his hand that he kept hitting at the air with anyway.

“I love Liz’s old movies,” Florence said thoughtfully, looking alongside the wall.

“How did you know it was an Elizabeth Taylor movie? Can you see enough to tell?”

“I can barely see the screen, but I know Liz’s voice. I know most of my favorite actors’ voices,” Florence said proudly, her chest stuck out.

“I like her movies too. She’s so beautiful,” I said longingly. “No wonder so many men fall in love with her.”

“That hot-box, Jezebel movie star goin’ to get her comeuppance sooner or later. She ain’t got no shame atall the way she be runnin’ amok all over Hollywood with other women’s husbands. It’s a wonder Debbie Reynolds didn’t whup the shit out of her for stealin’ Eddie Fisher,” Mr. Boatwright said seriously. Nobody escaped his wrath, not even Liz Taylor.

I ignored his comments.

“I can think of a lot of people who are going to get their comeuppance,” Florence said seriously. “The men who raped me are going to burn in hell.”

Mr. Boatwright gasped, and his eyes got big as he looked over at Florence. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then he shook his head and started fanning his newspaper furiously.

“I hope they burn in hell, too,” I mumbled. I cleared my throat and glanced at Mr. Boatwright. He was still staring at Florence. Suddenly he stopped fanning and snapped his head around to glare at me.

“Annette, can you go upstairs and roll my bed kivvers down,” he bleated, rubbing his fake leg.

“Now?” I asked.

“Now,” he wheezed, rising.

After I helped Mr. Boatwright to bed and returned to the living room, Florence told me, “There’s something about that old man I don’t like…something I can sense.”

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously. I moved a few inches away from her on the couch.

“I don’t trust him,” was all she said.

I let it go at that. If I had been smarter, I would have confided in her then about me and Mr. Boatwright, but I didn’t. I was just that afraid. I still couldn’t believe that I had told Rhoda.

“He is ugly and mean,” I muttered, looking from the newspaper he had left on the floor to the steps leading upstairs.

“Oh, I can’t see him well enough to say if he is ugly or not. But he feels ugly.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“What about you?”

Most of the time when Florence looked at me, her head was turned to the side so that I’d be staring at her ear.

“Can you see me well enough to know whether or not I’m ugly?”

“Oh yes. You’re a beautiful person, Annette. I can see it, and I can feel it.”

As soon as Florence stopped talking I heard a car outside. I ran to the window just in time to see Rhoda kissing her boyfriend good night.

“Um…you should go now. I have to tell Rhoda something real important,” I blurted. I felt bad about giving Florence the brush-off again. Especially after what she had just said about me.

“OK,” Florence said, rising. She felt around the couch for her scarf. It had fallen to the floor, so I ran to get it for her. “Tell Rhoda I said ‘hi,’” Florence said on her way out. After she was gone, I immediately called up Rhoda.

“Mr. Boatwright’s condom broke this evening,” I blurted as soon as she answered the phone. “All he said was ‘Oops.’”

“Don’t worry. Otis breaks condoms all the time.” Rhoda sighed. “Tonight he broke two!”

My mouth dropped open.

“You really have done
it?
”

“Well, yes. Actually, Otis does most of the work. I just lie there and holler,” Rhoda confided. The conversation was making me sick.

“What if you get pregnant?” I growled, clenching my fist.

“I don’t care if I get pregnant by the man I’m goin’ to marry,” Rhoda replied casually.

“Well…it’s late,” I mumbled, thoroughly disappointed with Rhoda. I never thought I’d live to see the day she would let sex come between us. “I guess I’ll go on to bed.”

“Me too. I still have to give myself a facial and wash Granny Goose’s hair. Oh! Sorry I canceled goin’ to the bookstore with you. I didn’t know my man was comin’ over tonight.”

“Oh that’s all right. Florence came over.” There was an awkward moment of silence.

“Florence? Florence who?”

“Scary Mary’s foster daughter, Rhoda,” I said in a harsh tone that I wanted her to know about.

“That blind girl? Are you still draggin’ around with her? Didn’t I tell you not to get too involved with a handicapped person? She’s goin’ to drag you down to her level of depression, talkin’ about her blindness and all.”

“Rhoda, Florence is not depressed. She’s the most upbeat person I ever met. She only talks about her blindness when I bring it up. It doesn’t even bother her.”

“She’s the reason I had to wrestle Granny Goose into the bathtub by myself the other night. Because you were with her you forgot to come to my house in time.” Rhoda let out a deep breath. Uncle Johnny, Rhoda, and her daddy took turns giving Granny Goose baths. Like a fool I had volunteered to help Rhoda when it was her turn, and now she depended on me. It was a chore I regretted volunteering for immediately. The first time I’d helped her bathe Granny Goose, the old woman bit my hand. “What do you have in common with her?”

“Rhoda, you stood me up tonight to be with Otis. The night I was supposed to help you bathe your grandmother, you took off with him, too.”

“I asked what you had in common with that blind girl?” she snarled.

“That blind girl, she’s…she’s been molested, too, by three different men.”

Rhoda’s silence made me nervous.

“Rhoda, you still there?”

“Yeah.” Her voice suddenly seemed weak and small. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She sighed deeply. “That’s all the more reason why you should avoid her. Don’t tell me she won’t depress you when you guys start comparin’ rape stories.”

Rhoda was right. When Florence told me her abuse history, it depressed me.

“Did you tell her about Buttwright?” she asked in a whisper.

“Not yet.” I sighed, rubbing the side of my thigh.

“I don’t think you should, Annette.”

Three weeks later I left home with my coat on over my pajamas. I had been waiting for Rhoda to return from a date with that Otis boy.

“You look like you seen de devil,” Otis told me as I rushed into the Nelsons’ living room, where he was all hugged up with Rhoda.

“I feel like it, too,” I mumbled, pulling Rhoda into the kitchen where Mr. Nelson was fixing tea for Mrs. Nelson, who was in bed with God knows what.

“Girls, would you like some tea?” he asked.

I shook my head. As Rhoda grabbed a cup, I stood back and looked her over. She was flushed, her eyes were dilated, and her makeup was smudged. Her hair was matted, and there were still leaves on the back of her head, telling me that she and Otis had been rolling around on the ground.

“I gotta talk to you,” I whispered across the table. Mr. Nelson was standing over the stove with his back to us.

“Annette, how is your mama and Brother Boatwright?” Mr. Nelson asked. He sat down at the table and looked me up and down and frowned when he saw the bottom of my pajamas hanging below my coat.

“Um…they both are OK,” I said impatiently. “Excuse me, Mr. Nelson, but I need to talk to Rhoda in private—”

He shrugged and started to rise.

“Oh no, don’t leave.” I held up my hand and smiled. “We can go to Rhoda’s room.” Rhoda looked over my shoulder at Otis and Jock entering the kitchen. Jock avoided me whenever I visited the Nelsons’ house since the night I had pulled a knife on him in our kitchen. When he did look at me, it was just to roll his eyes.

“Got anyting strong to drink?” Otis asked. He didn’t see Mr. Nelson right away. Rhoda tried to warn Otis by clearing her throat. Jock covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

“There’s plenty of strong cider in the refrigerator,” Mr. Nelson said. “Jock”—he turned to Jock and waved his hand—“pour this boy some cider.”

Rhoda pulled me out into the hallway leading upstairs. “What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you in your room.” I started to cry before we even got to the top of the stairs. Rhoda gasped, grabbed my arm, and pulled me to her room, where she quickly slammed the door shut. Before we could sit down on the bed someone came banging on the door, then snatched it open before Rhoda could answer. It was the grandmother. She had wandered from her room next door, naked.

“Oh God!” Rhoda grabbed the old woman’s wrist and pulled her into the room. She led the woman to her bed, where she snatched off her white chenille spread and wrapped it around Granny Goose.

“I can’t find my clothes, Rhoda,” the old woman whined. She ignored me completely. “I think the dawgs got ’em.”

Rhoda gave me an apologetic look and took her grandmother back to her room. I could hear the old woman fussing and cussing. Rhoda was yelling back at her. After about five minutes, I could hear the whole family in Granny Goose’s room trying to subdue her. Rhoda was gone for ten minutes.

“Bitch!” Rhoda spat when she returned and joined me on the bed, rubbing her hand. “She bit me.”

“Poor old Granny Goose.” I mumbled, shaking my head. Right after I said that I heard Jock cry out in pain and cuss at the old woman.

Rhoda started to laugh at Jock’s outburst but stopped after a few seconds. She turned to me. “Why were you cryin’ a while ago?” She put her arm around me and smiled.

“I’m going to have a baby…by…by Mr. Boatwright,” I wailed.

T
he day after I revealed my pregnancy to Rhoda, I hid in the Nelsons’ kitchen closet and cracked the door open just enough to peep out while Rhoda talked to Jock.

“Say there, Jock-o. Um…what if somebody was to get pregnant and didn’t want to have the baby. You must know um…certain types of individuals that could do somethin’ about it. For a generous fee, of course. There must be some greedy doctor or nurse around town that could use a few extra dollars on the side,” Rhoda began.

“That foreigner get you pregnant?” Jock roared. “I’ll kill him! I warned that motherfucker!” Jock slammed his fist against the wall so hard utensils crashed to the floor.

“Shhhhh! Shush up.” Rhoda grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to the closet. I closed the door about an inch and tried not to breathe so loud. “It’s not me. It’s this girl from school.”

“Oh.” Jock seemed relieved. He snatched open the refrigerator and started pulling out things to make a sandwich. “What girl?”

“Some new girl from Cincinnati. A white girl.” Rhoda followed him to the counter and was all but standing on his foot.

“Tell her to drink some vinegar down straight. Like she would a shot of gin.”

“Vinegar? How much vinegar?”

“A big glassful.” Jock slapped some meat on a piece of bread and started to eat. I could see that he was anxious to get away from Rhoda, but she blocked his way.

“Is that all it takes? A big glass of plain vinegar?”

“Yep.”

“How do you know it’ll work?”

“Um…I know this girl at school that tried it when she got herself pregnant. Some dizzy white girl. She said one of my boys did it.” Jock paused and took a big bite from his sandwhich.

“Uh-huh. But what if that doesn’t work? Don’t you know some shady doctor or somethin’? You’ve been hangin’ out at that pool room since you were a kid. Or, what about this coat-hanger trick I heard about?”

“Uh…that coat-hanger thing is dangerous. Uh…this white girl I told you about, I um heard that she tried that first and got real infected. Now there is this other girl…I um heard about down at the pool room. She drunk a whole bottle of hundred-proof whiskey while she was settin’ in a bathtub full of hot water.”

“And that worked?”

“Yep. That’s what I heard,” Jock said quickly. “She was white, too.”

“Can I talk to this white girl? I won’t tell her you told me.”

“What’s wrong with you, girl?” Jock dismissed Rhoda with a wave of his hand. Rhoda was determined. She refused to let him out of the kitchen. She grabbed the tail of his shirt to stop him. “This girl, she’s real shy and maybe even a little retarded or somethin’ like that,” he said “Tell your friend to try that whiskey in the bathtub trick. It’s quick, and she won’t get no infections or nothin’.”

“So that’s what the white girl did, huh?”

“You deaf? What did I just tell you, girl? My man that got her pregnant, he seen her do it. Now get out my way.” Jock pushed Rhoda to one side and strutted out of the kitchen chomping on his sandwich. As soon as I heard him stomping his way upstairs, I flew out of the closet.

“Get ready for one hell of a hangover, girl,” Rhoda told me.

The next day was Sunday. I was already awake when Muh’Dear eased open my door and walked softly over to my bed and sat down at the foot. I lifted myself up on my elbow. “What time is it?” I asked, yawning.

“We got a little problem with Brother Boatwright, and we need your help,” Muh’Dear told me.

I pressed my lips together and looked in her face. Mr. Boatwright was the last person on earth I wanted to help resolve a problem. “What is it?” I asked, my heart racing. With him it could have been just about anything.

“As you know, he attended Judge Lawson’s poker party last night. Well, you know how he is. He won a little money and got mighty reckless with his drinkin’. Somewhere along the line he misplaced his…dentures.”

I sat up straight, my eyes still on Muh’Dear’s face. “He lost his teeth?”

“Uh-huh. Now I know they somewhere in the judge’s house. I’m gwine to wake up the judge, have him come pick us up, and we’ll go hunt ’em,” Muh’Dear said.

“Why can’t Mr. Boatwright go. They’re his teeth,” I wailed.

“Well, he’s too embarrassed to go out the house without his…dentures. He don’t want to miss church service today on account of this little problem here.”

“I don’t believe that man!” I said through clenched teeth. If Mr. Boatwright wasn’t screwing me one way, he was screwing me another.

“Now you know Brother Boatwright would do it for you. He’d do anythin’ you or me asked him to do, and you know he would. If you’d rather, you can get Rhoda to drive you to the judge’s house and she can he’p you hunt them dentures. You got to hurry so you can get back in time to eat and get ready for church.”

Just then the phone rang. I left Muh’Dear sitting on my bed while I ran to the hallway to answer it. It was Rhoda. “It’s not time yet,” I whispered. “They haven’t left for church yet.” We had planned to perform my “abortion” as soon as Muh’Dear and Mr. Boatwright left for church.

“I know. I know our plan, but that’s not what I’m callin’ about.” Rhoda was serious.

“What is it?”

“Buttwright and Uncle Johnny used the Ford to go to the judge’s poker party last night. Daddy said nobody who has been drinkin’ can drive the car. Uncle Johnny and Buttwright got too drunk to drive, so Uncle Johnny called me at 3
A.M
. this mornin’ and told me to put Jock in a cab so he could drive them home. Well, Jock all but bit my head off when I woke him up. I called a cab and went myself. This mornin’ when I went to move the car out of the driveway, these nasty false teeth rolled off the backseat!”

“Mr. Boatwright’s teeth,” I breathed.

“I figured that. They’re not mine, and Uncle Johnny’s are real.”

“Muh’Dear thought he had lost them at the judge’s house. She was just telling me I had to go look for them.”

“I’ll bring them with me when I come over to do…you know,” Rhoda whispered.

“No! You have to bring them now. He can’t go to church without them,” I told her. I got off the phone and went back to my bed, where Muh’Dear was still sitting, looking toward the door with an anxious look.

“Who was that on the phone?”

“Rhoda. Mr. Boatwright left his dentures in their car last night. She’s bringing them right over.”

Rhoda delivered Mr. Boatwright’s false teeth in a plastic sandwich bag. As soon as she dropped them off, she left. “Tell Rhoda I owe her a quarter next time I see her. She left here so fast I ain’t had time to pay her,” Mr. Boatwright said. He was in the kitchen rinsing his dentures in the sink, his body wrapped up in so many bedclothes he looked like he was in a cocoon.

Muh’Dear had started preparing breakfast. “Thank God we didn’t have to wake up the judge.” She sighed, dropping a huge chunk of margarine into the simmering pan of grits. “Annette, you got plenty of time, but you should start figurin’ out what you gwine to wear to church.” Muh’Dear sat down at the table with a groan.

“Um…I’m not going to church today,” I said, backing out of the door. Muh’Dear and Mr. Boatwright gasped and looked at me at the same time.

“You gwine to miss Brother Boatwright’s solo? Reverend Upshaw consented to let him do one on this Sabbath on account of one of the Hawkins boys gettin’ baptized today,” Muh’Dear told me.

“Um…I got the cramps,” I lied, placing both hands on my stomach. I stopped in the doorway, looking from him to her.

“Cramps is the Lord’s way of chastisin’ you for somethin’ you shouldn’t have done…” Muh’Dear accused, popping a piece of crispy bacon into her mouth and looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

“You ain’t never had no cramps before in your life,” Mr. Boatwright said in a loud voice, clamping his teeth together to secure them in place. His dreaded fleecy white suit looked stiff enough to stand up by itself. He had on a black tie that looked more like a baby’s bib.

“Well, I got them now,” I yelled back.

“Girl, don’t you raise your voice to a grown man again on the Sabbath as long as you live on this planet,” Muh’Dear warned. She looked good in the blue-silk dress Judge Lawson had given to her for Mother’s Day. “Brother Boatwright the only daddy you’ll ever know. Ain’t that right, Brother Boatwright?”

“That’s right,” he said, grabbing a piece of bacon with one hand, hitching up his pants with the other. His suit coat was open revealing a pair of plaid suspenders from Judge Lawson for Father’s Day.

“I’m going back to bed,” I said impatiently.

“And you better still be in that bed when we get back from church services,” Muh’Dear warned. Mr. Boatwright didn’t add anything, but he gave me a threatening look. Right after they left, the phone rang.

“Hello, Annette. It’s Florence. I was wondering if—”

“I’m busy, Florence!” I snapped. Just looking at the bacon left on the platter made me nauseous.

“I just heard from your mama that you not feeling well. Is there anything I can do? Is there anything I can bring you?” she asked. I had expected Rhoda on the other end of the line.

“No! Uh…I’m fine,” I answered impatiently.

“I’ve got plenty of Midol and ginger tea. That always helps me when I have cramps,” Florence said sweetly. It amazed me how my rudeness never seemed to bother her.

“No, that’s all right. Rhoda’s bringing me some,” I told her firmly.

“I see. Well, when you see Rhoda tell her I said ‘hi.’” Even though Florence knew Rhoda didn’t like her that much, she always told me to tell her hi. I hung up abruptly, sorry that I was being unnecessarily rude to Florence.

Rhoda was hiding between some boxes on our back porch waiting for Muh’Dear and Mr. Boatwright to leave. As soon as I let her in the kitchen she ran to the refrigerator without a word. She had to open one of Mr. Boatwright’s root beer pops and take a long swallow first.

“What took you so long to answer the door?” she barked, shaking the pop bottle at me threateningly.

“I was on the phone with Florence—”

“Again?”

“Well yes—”

“I squatted down on your dusty, musty back porch on my knees in a pair of twelve-dollar tights waitin’ for you and you were on the phone talkin’ gibberish with that Florence?”

“Stop it, Rhoda! She hasn’t done a thing wrong for you and Mr. Boatwright to talk about her so bad every time I mention her name. You’re beginning to sound just like him! She’s always telling me to say ‘hi’ to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Rhoda said contritely, bowing her head “I truly am sorry. I don’t mean to trash the girl. She is a sweet person. I don’t even know her that well.” Rhoda blinked hard and took another swallow. “God knows I don’t want to sound like Buttwright.”

“Florence can’t help being blind. No more than I can help…being the way I am,” I mumbled.

“When you see Florence…tell her I said ‘hi.’” Rhoda smiled. She put her arm around my shoulder, and we walked upstairs to the bathroom next door to Mr. Boatwright’s room.

“How long will it take?” I asked between gulps of whiskey as I sat naked in a bathtub full of hot water. Rhoda had brought over a whole bottle of her daddy’s best whiskey. As expensive as it was, it tasted awful. It took me the longest time to get it all down without throwing up, and I got drunk as hell. I could not imagine what the cheap whiskey tasted like.

“I don’t know,” she answered. She was standing over the bathtub, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She didn’t even remove her coat. I figured she wanted to be prepared to run if something real bad happened.

I don’t remember much. All I remember is Rhoda helping me from the bathtub and into my gown and saying, “Gee, I hope you don’t get alcohol poisonin’.”

I woke up in the city hospital two days later. Muh’Dear, looking like she had not slept in a week, and a blank-faced Mr. Boatwright were standing over me.

“Who done it?” Muh’Dear whispered, glancing over her shoulder toward the door and wringing her hands.

I closed my eyes and groaned. Now was as good a time as any to pretend I was too sick to speak.

Muh’Dear asked me over and over, “Who done it? Who done it?”

Mr. Boatwright was frighteningly silent. He looked away every time I looked in his direction. He looked at the floor most of the time, twitching and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat and in a low, meek voice, told me, “Annette, I’m prayin’ for you. With God’s help, we gwine to pull through this mess unscathed.”

I was not in that much pain but I was weak and disoriented. All I could do was remain still and listen. Finally, I spoke, “I don’t know who got me pregnant,” I said. What else could I say?

Muh’Dear gasped and threw up her arms. She fell back against Mr. Boatwright, almost knocking him down. “Lord, it’s worse than we thought, Brother Boatwright. The girl done fooled around with so many, she don’t know which one got her in this mess.” Muh’Dear had to fan her face and catch her breath before continuing. Her face had become a mask of rage. “Bride of Satan!” she shrieked.

“Sister Goode, we just gwine to keep a tighter hold on the girl, that’s all. She runnin’ with the wrong kind of kids,” Mr. Boatwright added, humbly.

I saw red. I pulled myself up and glared at him. There was a burning sensation in my nostrils, and my flesh crawled. “I don’t care what you do to me, I am not going to stop being friends with Rhoda,” I said evenly. Muh’Dear was stunned. She threw her arms around Mr. Boatwright.

“The girl ain’t responsible. It’s all that medication,” he mouthed, fumbling with his shirt pocket, reaching for his handkerchief so he could fan his sweaty face.

“Rhoda is my best friend. The only friend I’ve got.” I started to cry. The hospital room was cold and impersonal, but I was glad I was in it and not in my room, where I’d probably conceived Mr. Boatwright’s baby.

Muh’Dear let out a weak sigh and looked at her watch. “I got to get my tail to work. Judge Lawson will think I skipped out on him.” She paused and looked at me, shaking her head so hard her scarf came untied. “Where did I go wrong? I’ll tend to you when you come home,” she said, as they prepared to leave.

I was propped up in bed watching TV when Rhoda arrived and handed me a get well card later that day.