God Still Don't Like Ugly (17 page)

“Girl, that ain’t no excuse. If I had done everything my mama wanted me to do, I wouldn’t be where I’m at today. I’d still be super-visin’ that chain gang in Mississippi or helpin’ the military make bombs for a livin’. Behold and praise God that I don’t have to do no low-level jobs like that no more,” Scary Mary said with a frown, frantically dragging the broom across the carpet, concentrating on the same spot.

Two days after Daddy King’s funeral, I told Jerome that I was going to visit my daddy in Florida. He supported me one hundred percent.

“You want me to go with you, baby?” Jerome was anxious to meet his future father-in-law despite all the mean things Muh’Dear had told him about Daddy. Jerome had a lot of his things in my house that he had brought over, a few items at a time. He had on a gray cotton bathrobe and a pair of loose-fitting house-shoes that day. It was a few minutes before noon and we had just crawled out of my bed. “It might be too hard on you so soon after Brother King’s passing. I will go with you.”

“Not this time. I need some time alone with Daddy first,” I told Jerome.

I was a little annoyed at the way Jerome kept looking at my body, even though I was covered in a floor-length bathrobe. He had already fondled me a few times that day. As a matter of fact, when we were alone, he could barely keep his hands off me. But this was one time I was not interested in sex or anybody touching me. After being in Mr.

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Boatwright’s grip for so long, I was finally the one in control of my own body. I utilized that power every chance I got. I slapped Jerome’s hand and pushed him away.

“Uh, you can go on home now. I really want to be alone right now,”

I said.

Jerome nodded and got into his street clothes, but he fondled me for a few minutes before he left.

Right after I sent Jerome home, I went over to Muh’Dear’s house.

The front door was open and I found her in her bedroom, still wearing the muslin gown she had slept in the night before. She was packing Daddy King’s clothes in cardboard boxes for the Salvation Army to pick up. I blinked to hold back my tears because the scene reminded me of the day Rhoda and I had packed up Mr. Boatwright’s things when he died.

“Daddy’s not well and I want to see him before it’s too late,” I said firmly. I held my breath because I didn’t know how Muh’Dear was going to react.

At first, I didn’t think she heard me, because she kept her head down and continued folding Daddy King’s clothes. After about a minute, she sat down on the edge of her bed and let out a deep sigh, her eyes looking at the floor. Then she looked at me with a mournful look on her face.

“I’m surprised Frank is still alive with the hog-high blood pressure he had ever since I first met him. And with all the politickin’ he involved hisself with, I always thought he’d spend his last day swingin’

by the neck from a sumac tree or gettin’ barbecued at the stake at one of them Klan rallies.” Muh’Dear paused and shook her head. Even though she had just got her hair done a few days before, she had already sweated out most of her curls. Her eyes were red and swollen and without makeup, she looked ten years older. “That Frank. He was such a strong brother,” she said, speaking in a voice so soft I could barely hear her. Suddenly, her voice got loud and took on a sinister tone. “What a shame it was for him to be subdued by a white woman.”

Her eyes got big and her jaw twitched. She sniffed and narrowed her eyes at me and said gently, “So, you
still
want to see Frank, huh?”

I nodded. “He’s
still
my daddy. I’ve already made a plane reservation,” I said hotly, folding my arms.

“What Jerome got to say about this?” Muh’Dear blinked several times. And a faint but brief smile appeared on her face.

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“He thinks I should have gone down to Florida long before now.

Scary Mary feels the same way,” I replied, unfolding my arms. I didn’t like being in the same room that Daddy King had occupied. I could still feel his warmth and it made me uneasy because I had loved him so much.

Muh’Dear sighed tiredly and rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, leave a key to the house with me so I can water your plants.” Muh’Dear shrugged and finished packing Daddy King’s things. Then she gave me a big smile and a big hug. “All I want in this world is for you to be happy. Go see your daddy.”

I went home to pack for my trip to Miami.

CHAPTER 34

With the exception of Lillimae’s mother’s funeral, I had enjoyed the few days I spent in Florida. But I was glad when I returned to Richland. Muh’Dear and Jerome were glad to have me back to themselves.

Jerome wanted to get married the week of Christmas.

“We can celebrate Christmas and our anniversary at the same time every year,” he told me. He had picked me up from the airport in Akron and decided to spend the night with me. We had just finished another dull romp in bed, with him flopping around on top of me like a seal, trying to arouse me with his fingers and tongue. As usual, he had ejaculated way too soon, but I was used to that by now. “Was it good, baby?” he muttered in my ear. “Tell me it was good.”

“It was good,” I said dryly. I had just faked my second orgasm that night. I had not experienced the real thing since my last rendezvous with Pee Wee.

Jerome didn’t have to tell me, but I already knew that our celebrat-ing two important days of the year at the same time would save him even more money. I agreed to get married on Christmas Day of that year.

The closest friend that I had at work my age, a secretary named Jean Teresa Caruso, hosted a wedding shower for me that first week in GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY

135

December. Jean had recently moved into a house two doors down from me and we took turns driving each other to work. Jean was so nice and persistent, I couldn’t turn down her offers to go shopping and out to dinner. She was divorced and had a six-year-old daughter named Piatra, that we called P. She was going to be my flower girl. It was going to be a small wedding with just a few friends from work and church. With Scary Mary as my maid of honor, I couldn’t wait to get it over with. With great reluctance, Pee Wee had agreed to give me away. My upcoming marriage symbolized another new beginning for me as well as another ending. Because of it, my relationship with Pee Wee would never be the same again. Now we really would be like brother and sister and that was all. Even though our relationship had been pretty much that anyway since I’d met Jerome, I fiercely missed Pee Wee’s lovemaking.

“You think it’s fittin’ to have a white girl in your weddin’ with so many little colored girls around here?” Muh’Dear whispered. She still liked to whisper when she talked about white people with me.

Especially over the telephone, like now. “What about one of Deacon Brewsters six granddaughters?”

“This is not about color and it is
my
wedding. Besides, I promised P.

she could be my flower girl and she’s really looking forward to it,” I whispered back.

P. was a cute, plump little Italian girl with long, curly brown hair and big, beautiful brown eyes, but she was particularly quiet for a child her age.

She reminded me of myself when I was her age. Like I did when I was a child, P. seemed to enjoy the company of grown folks more than she did kids. I didn’t mind baby-sitting her when Jean wanted to go out and I did it for free because I liked P.’s company. When P. came to my house we usually made cookies, watched cartoons, and I read children’s stories to her. But what she enjoyed most was going to the mall or the movies.

A few days after my bridal shower, a Saturday afternoon, P. stumbled up on my front porch and started pounding on my door. Jerome had just called and wanted to come over. I agreed, only if he would take me to the movies that night to see
The Color Purple.
It was not playing at either of Richland’s only two movie theaters yet, but it was playing in Canton, a twenty-minute drive from Richland. Jerome had 136

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compromised and agreed to take me to the movies only if we could go to a matinee and get in for half-price. I had opened the door expecting to see him.

“Oh, P., you can’t come in today. I’m waiting for my boyfriend and we’re going out,” I explained, looking over P.’s bare head, hoping to see Jerome’s car. P.’s coat was unbuttoned, she didn’t have on her snow boots, and her cap was in her hand.

“Can’t I come, too?” she asked in a trembling voice.

I shook my head. I didn’t like the downside of having a close relationship with this child. I had allowed and encouraged P. to expect too much from me.

“Please, Annette,” she begged, tugging at the tail of my blouse.

I laughed dryly. “I’m going out on a date with my boyfriend. I don’t think he would like to have two girlfriends. Wouldn’t you rather spend the day with your mama?” There were not that many children in our neighborhood close to P.’s age. And most of the ones that were, were boys. Even though P. liked to play with boys, she still pre-ferred to spend most of her time with adults.

P. dropped her head and started shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“I don’t like it at home no more,” she told me, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. “It’s . . . bad.”

I was already cold standing in the doorway without my coat, but P.’s words and demeanor suddenly made me feel even colder. I chose to ignore some thoughts that had popped up in my head.

“Uh . . . we can go to the mall tomorrow,” I suggested.

“I don’t want to go tomorrow. I want to go today!” P. said sharply, stomping her foot, poking out her bottom lip.

Any other adult would have scolded the girl and sent her home, but I stood there for five minutes arguing with a child. I probably would have stood there longer than that if the telephone on my living room end table had not rung.

It was Jerome and he was canceling our date.

“Sister Hawthorne slipped on some ice and sprained her ankle so she can’t take Mama to play bingo today,” Jerome explained, talking in a low voice. I could hear his bothersome mother mumbling in the background. “Mama said if she wins, she’ll owe it all to you.”

“I didn’t even know your mama played bingo,” I said stiffly, curling the telephone cord around my finger. I heard my front door close. I GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY

137

turned around and P. was strolling across the floor with that same pout on her face. She stopped right in front of me, staring at my face with eyes that looked like they belonged on a puppy.

“Yeah. Mama’s been playing bingo for years.” In a whisper Jerome added, “You know how old folks can be. They can be just like kids when they want something. They don’t stop ’til they get their way.”

“Jerome, I know just what you mean.” I sighed and rubbed the top of P.’s head. “Call me later on . . . if you can,” I said in defeat.

Now that Jerome was not going to come over, I had a lot of free time on my hands. I took P. with me to the mall to exchange a see-through negligee that Jean had given me for a flannel bathrobe.

After P. and I spent an hour window-shopping and admiring the Christmas displays, she started whining to go to the toy store on the other side of the mall. It took me ten minutes to talk her out of that notion and that was only after I promised her that Santa Claus was going to bring her enough toys for Christmas. It was true in a way. I had already purchased and wrapped for her every one of the same toys that she wanted to go look at. She had a slight cold and looked so peaked I felt sorry for her so I compromised by taking her for pizza instead.

“That’s your third slice now. Finish that and let’s go,” I told P. as we shared a booth in Francisco’s Pizza Parlor across from Ernie’s Record Store. There was loud disco music coming out of the record store and flashing colored lights from a strobe on a card table right outside the entrance. My trip to the mall usually included a visit to Ernie’s, which is where I planned to go after the pizza. I needed to replace several Bob Marley tapes that Pee Wee had borrowed and not returned and I wanted to buy a few new ones as Christmas gifts for Pee Wee, Jerome, and his family. As snooty as Jerome’s mother was, she had a passion for reggae music and had even told me which tapes she wanted.

“I don’t want your mama mad at me for spoiling your appetite for dinner,” I added, wiping sauce and root beer from P.’s chin with a napkin.

“Oh, she don’t care how much I eat. She let me have some Gummy Bears this morning,” P. told me, talking and chewing at the same time. “And some cherry pop.”

“Well, I’m not your mama and I don’t think you should be overdoing it,” I said firmly, wishing my mother had curtailed my eating habits when I was a child. I couldn’t count the thick biscuits and pork chops 138

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my mother had charmed me with to keep me happy. According to Muh’Dear, she had breast-fed me and had weaned me off of her milk with pork sausages before I was a year old. Thirty-five years later and I was still sucking on pork sausages, two and three at a time, every chance I got.

Even though it was the middle of winter and we had just had one of the severe snowstorms that Ohio was famous for, the mall was so warm inside I had removed my heavy wool coat and rolled up the sleeves of my thick angora sweater. When I got up to go get more napkins to wipe sweat off of my face, I casually glanced out of the window and noticed something that made me almost lose the five slices of pizza I had consumed. Prancing like a reindeer out of the record store was a petite Black woman wearing a navy blue jumpsuit and high-heeled, black leather boots. She was holding a black leather coat in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. There was a proud look about her.

She held her head high and her shoulders back. Her silver hoop earrings sparkled like diamonds.

My tongue felt like a big rock threatening to slide down my throat.

For a moment, I knew what it was like to be paralyzed. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare and blink my eyes.

I was looking at Rhoda, the woman who had killed the man who had raped me throughout my childhood.