Revenge of a Not-So-Pretty Girl (27 page)

The daughter shakes her head, and before she can move off, I dig through my bag and find the piece of paper I wrote the old lady’s address and phone number on when I was stuck on the train. When I extend it to her, she just stares at it like it’s been dipped in poison. But I don’t give in. I don’t pull my hand away.

“It’s her information,” I say. “I won’t know what you do with it once I’m gone, but you can take it and think about everything, and then you can do what you feel.”

She looks at the paper a bit longer, then goes to take it, but hesitates a little. I keep my arm really strong, and she finally caves. She just folds it up without looking at what’s
written on it, tucks it in the pocket of her white nurse’s pants, and walks off.

I look down at my watch. It’s six o’clock exactly, and I’m nowhere near Flatbush. As I said before, despite my good deed, this is definitely not going to be a good night for me.

When I get back
to my building, Gerald is standing outside looking up and down the street. The moment he spots me, he starts waving his arms wildly.

“My mom had me come look for you. She’s real worried. Real worried. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna be in trouble,” he says once I reach him.

“Whatever,” I say. “Did my mother ring for me already?”

“Nah.”

My watch reads seven-fifteen. I thought for sure Mama would have been home by now. But I guess I lucked out. And it’s only because my journey back home was nowhere as complicated as my journey into the city, and my connections were sitting there waiting for me as I got into the stations.

“Maybe I can help,” Gerald says as he gallops behind me into the building. I stop and look at him.

“Maybe I can say that I saw these boys roughing you up. That they were practically holding you hostage and
you couldn’t even breathe, and I had to run over and save you.”

“What?” is about all I can say to him. I wait till he opens the lobby door, and I walk on ahead.

Ms. Viola carries on and fusses when I get there. She’s all “Blah-blah-blah. After seven in the evening.” And I’m thinking, Yeah, yeah, whatever. And she’s like, “Blah-blah-blah. Should have been home from study hall by five-thirty.” And I’m thinking, Okay, okay, whatever, once again. And then it’s “Blah-blah-blah. When your mother called to say she was going to be late, I told her you weren’t even here yet.” Oh boy. That’s not so good.

Gerald is standing next to me with all his giant teeth exposed. And he’s whispering, “Want me to tell her about the hostage situation?” And I’m trying to elbow him real hard so he’ll shut up. Since Ms. Viola already spoke to Mama, the half-assed excuse I came up with on the train doesn’t even matter. I just take my seat in the dining room and try to drown out the crying of the lone remaining baby. Actually,
creaking
is probably a better word for what he’s doing, since he sounds like an old door in a haunted mansion. So between the creaking and the thought of the special brand of torment I will be receiving from Mama for my latest stunt, my head starts to pulsate. And when I can’t take it anymore, I try thinking about Michael Jackson. I think about those pictures of California I’ve seen in
Ebony
—the ones with the never-ending mountains and the clear blue skies. And I think about how it will be once we’re married. I won’t ever have to worry about what time is showing on the
clock. I won’t ever have to worry about devil nuns or hurtful mothers. And I won’t ever have to worry about babysitters, unless it’s one I hire to take care of our ten pop-locking, hit-song-singing, shiny brown children.

Gosh, I just want everyone to go away: Ms. Viola, her horsey son, that little creak monster. If they knew what made me late, maybe they’d all shut up. But I’m not about to tell them. Let them continue to think I’m a sneaky, rotten delinquent.

An hour and a half of me fending off Gerald passes before the doorbell sounds. I’m pretty sure it’s Mama, who’s decided to make a special trip to collect me. Probably couldn’t wait for me to get upstairs to knock me upside the head. I take a few breaths and prepare for my fate. I’m not about to tell her the real reason I was late, so I’m pretty sure I’m in for more than a few rounds of torture.

I hear Ms. Viola walk to the door, but when she opens it, it’s not Mama’s voice that greets her.

“Hey, how you doing? I’m picking Faye up for Jeanne,” I hear Jerry say as I start walking.

“I’m not sure what’s going on with her,” Ms. Viola says. “You know, maybe you all can talk to her. If anything happens, I don’t want Jeanne holding me responsible. Because these young teenagers these days, I just don’t know.”

I want to yell out that if something happened to me, Mama would probably get down on her knees and thank the good Lord in heaven.

As Jerry and I walk down the hall, I wait for him to say something. You know, like “Faye, your mother sets up
these boundaries for a reason,” or “Seven o’clock? What could you possibly have been doing out until then, when you were supposed to be in by five-thirty?” But he doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t say anything at all until we reach the stairs that will take us the one flight up to our floor.

“Faye, sit here with me for a second,” he says as he settles onto one of the steps.

“You’re about to nag me about being late to the sitter, aren’t you?” I ask with an “I don’t care either way” attitude.

“Seeing that you’re home and okay’s all I really care about. Besides, it must be tough being a teenager and having to go to a babysitter. You’re ten times better than me. I’d be late every night. Still, you should call, just so everybody doesn’t worry. Anyway, in answer to your question, no, I’m not gonna be nagging you. What I did want to talk to you about, though, is that your mama had a little accident.”

Now, I know I should be scared or concerned or something, but the only emotion I feel from Jerry’s news is hope—hope that Mama might be laid up in the hospital and unable to manhandle me for being so late.

“She took a tumble while she was running up the stairs to transfer trains at Atlantic Avenue,” he says. “Banged her knee pretty good. But don’t you worry, Faye. She’s all right. Just a few aches and pains and a little swelling. I went and picked her up and we popped into Kings County, where the doctors checked her out. She didn’t want to, of course, but I insisted. Even after all her fussing, I’m sure she’s happy I did. Anyway, that’s why we’re a little late getting you.”

“Oh” is all I manage to say.

“And, uh, Faye. Couple more things. You sure you don’t want to sit down next to me?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you. I’m okay where I am.” Although, standing over him does force me to look down at the oil slick he calls a hairstyle.

“You know I care about your mom, right?”

“Uh-huh,” I say.

“I know she’s a little rough around the edges, but I really believe she’s a good woman. And, well, I’m tired of being all by my lonesome. Tired of coming home to no one there. And after this incident tonight, I think she’s seeing that it’s better for a woman to have a man around. Especially a woman who has a kid to support.” He stops for a moment.

“What are you trying to say, Jerry?” Now, I’m not trying to hurry things along so I can be confronted by Mama, but I’m all too aware that this little talk is turning into an episode of
As the World Turns
.

“What I’m trying to say, Faye, is … Well, I’m gonna be moving in with you and your mama.”

“You’re gonna be marrying her?” I ask.

“Well, for her, this’ll be a pretty big move, so we’ll go one step at a time. But between you and me, I’d love to marry her, so I’m looking at this as a stepping-stone. And she’s told me she’s finally signed those papers from your father, so I think it’s only a matter of time.”

“You’re already certain you want to marry her when you all just met at Easter? It’s only been like a month and a half.”

“Guess this is one of those things you just can’t put a time frame on.”

I honestly don’t get it. I’m sure that if Mama wasn’t as pretty as she is, Jerry would never have stuck around as long as he has. Once again, pretty trumps mean.

“Look, Faye. I understand your concern. I know it’s been just you two ladies for a while now. I want to make sure you don’t feel like I’m taking over your territory.”

Taking over my territory? I want to tell Jerry how fine I am with this turn of events. I want to tell him that never has a head full of drippy curls ever looked so good to me. With a third person in the apartment on a full-time basis, a lot of pressure will be taken off my shoulders. For a split second I consider hugging him, but, well, I suppose hugs just don’t come that easily for me.

“Well, you’re there a few nights a week now,” I say. “Guess this just makes it more official. Maybe now Mama will be happy. Congratulations, Jerry.”

“Thanks, kid. That means a lot to me.” Then he reaches into the inside pocket of his jean jacket and hands me an envelope.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Don’t know. But it came for you.”

No one ever sends me letters. I look at the front of the envelope and see that there’s no name where the return address is, only a street number in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and a zip code.

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Your mama didn’t want to have to climb the stairs to the
mailboxes, so she asked me to get the mail for her. I figure it’s from your daddy. I know he’s living down in Florida now. And since it’s addressed to you, I also figured it’s for your eyes only. Besides, I’ve seen how worked up your mama gets anytime his name is mentioned.”

I get ready to rip the thing open, but Jerry stops me.

“She’s gonna be wondering if I got lost coming to get ya. Why don’t you read it when you’re back in your room?”

I put the letter in my knapsack.

“I don’t know what’s in there,” Jerry says. “But maybe it’s best if you don’t tell your mom about that letter. She’s already blowing hot air about you coming up missing. This might be a double whammy for her tonight.”

When we get up to the apartment, Jerry pushes the door open and yells to Mama. “Here she is, Jeanne. She’s all good and in one piece. Anyway, I gotta shove off for a bit and finish up at the shop. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Then he turns to me, winks, and smiles. Only, I wish he wasn’t leaving, because now I feel like I’m heading into a raging storm without any kind of protection.

As I take those thirteen steps down our apartment’s narrow hallway, I just keep reminding myself to breathe. I know Mama’s in an extra-special mood, especially since she had to waste time, and money, probably, at the hospital. When I get to the kitchen, I see her seated there with her left pant leg hiked up above her knee, which has an ice pack on it.

“Hello, Mama,” I say quietly.

“Well, hello, Ms. Andrews. Mmm-hmm. I’m calling you
Ms. Andrews because obviously you think you’re grown. You think we’re on the same level. That you don’t have to follow any rules, and that you can come and go whenever you please.” She gets really quiet, which is never a good sign. And then she stands slowly and starts hobbling toward me.

I’m not so
broken up about having to go straight to bed. Locked away in my room, I can be alone and at peace. I clutch Daddy’s letter, waiting for Mama to go to bed before I turn on a flashlight and begin reading it. There’s a police siren wailing somewhere out there in the night. First it sounds really faint and far away, but then it gets louder and louder, like the car’s become airborne and will soon be driving through my window and crushing me in my bed. But just as the sound reaches a crescendo, it begins to trail off. The people who live in the upstairs apartment are moving some furniture around, and squeaky, scraping sounds filter down from the ceiling. Then it stops and all is quiet.

I stare at the clock as the numbers tick on by. I hear the buzz of Jerry’s robust voice when he returns. Soon, the shuffling around and muffled conversations taking place outside my door are silenced. And I hear Mama’s door slam shut.

I grab the flashlight from my nightstand and get ready
to open the letter. But then the phone rings. A few seconds later, I hear Mama’s voice coming from the kitchen. She’s obviously trying to be quiet as she speaks in whispers. She says something, then there’s a long pause, then she says something again. I figure she decided not to take the call in the bedroom because she didn’t want to wake Jerry, so I go back to my own thoughts. But then her voice suddenly begins to come in loud bursts. I get out of bed and walk over to my door, careful to open it slowly so it doesn’t squeak and alert her to my presence. And that’s where I stand listening.