The Interruption of Everything (22 page)

“I’ll wait, Arthurine, so don’t start worrying about it, okay?”

“Do I look worried? No. Do I sound like I’m worried? No.”

“Okay you made your point! What time do you need to be over there tomorrow?”

“Prezelle said the bus is leaving that parking lot at one o’clock sharp, so we can’t be late or I’ll get left.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be there in plenty of time. But let’s just say hypothetically speaking, if you were late. Do you think Prezelle would really go on without you?”

“That’s a question I don’t have the answer to and do not want to have to find out. I’m just so excited, I hope I can get to sleep tonight.”

“And you’re still planning on taking your driving test in the morning, right?”

“Of course I am. While it’s still fresh in my mind. And then can you drop me off at Prezelle’s, if that’s all right with you?”

“I said I would, and I will. We’re taking your car.”

“Why?”

“Because that car needs to be driven. And tomorrow is as good a day as any. What hotel are you staying at?”

“The Nugget. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Don’t get cute, Arthurine, or you’ll be hitchhiking down to the DMV.”

“You still ain’t heard a word from Leon?”

“Just that he had arrived.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a shame. I’m praying very hard that the love you two once shared will come alive again, you know.”

“Don’t pray too hard, Arthurine. God has already made his decision.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because He spoke to me.”

“What? When? What did He say?”

Her eyes look like glassy marbles that are just about to pop out and roll all over the floor.

“He said it’s time to get this party started.”

She recoils. “He ain’t said no such thing and you know it. Sometimes I think you trying to be witty but you ain’t a very good comedienne, Marilyn, because you don’t have no idea what’s funny. And you should not be throwing God’s name around like He’s a human being or a real person when He ain’t.”

“I’m sorry, Arthurine.”

“All is forgiven.”

She goes on upstairs and I walk over to the red table in the entry and start making the usual piles. Arthurine was right. Here’s a white envelope from the Academy of Art College with my name typed on the front. I can’t open it. Not yet. I slide it all the way down to the end of the table all by itself and continue sorting through the rest of the mail. Shit! There’s one from the California College of Arts and Crafts, too. Now I’m having heart palpitations and then it feels like I can hardly breathe. I go over to the living room and sit down on the couch. This feels like a mistake, especially if my heart wants to stop beating and I’m suffocating at the same time. I stand back up. But this time I feel light-headed, so I sit back down. Now I feel hot. I take my sweatshirt off and sit here in my underwire bra and jeans that are too damn tight. I undo the snap and the fat that I hope to lose in the near future expands causing my zipper to unzip itself. I can’t open those letters right now. I just can’t.

“Marilyn!” Arthurine yells from the top step. “Can I borrow one of your suitcases?”

“I don’t care.”

“Can I take that black one with the wheels that I can hang my things up in?”

“I said I don’t care.”

“Can you bring it up here for me?”

“Only if you come down here and do something for me first.”

“My feet hurt. I’m seriously thinking about getting these bunions cut off either right after we finish with Lamentations or before start-up with the Song of Solomon in the New Testament.”

“The Song of Solomon is in the Old Testament, Arthurine.”

“Look, you don’t need to correct me when it comes to the Bible. I may get some things out of order, but it’s all in there somewhere, so what difference does it make?”

“You’re right, Arthurine.”

“I don’t say nothing about this mishmash you make and call art, now do I?”

“No, you do not.”

“Then we’re even. Now. Whatever it is you wanted me to do, can I do it up here when you bring me the suitcase?”

“I suppose so. I’ll be right back.”

I run to the garage and get the garment bag, but by the time I get back into the house, I seem to have conjured up the courage to open the letters myself. After all, there are really only two possible answers: come or stay home. What I’m finding to be more surprising is how much this obviously seems to mean. I just don’t want to put so much weight on this that it feels like the only key that can unlock the door.

I take Arthurine the bag and turn to go back downstairs.

“What happened to your blouse, chile?”

“I was burning up.”

“Flashing again, are we? Lord, don’t I remember. So what was it you wanted me to do?”

“Never mind. It was nothing.”

“What was it? Now you done got me all curious.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Do what yourself?”

“Open these letters I got from the two colleges that will tell me whether or not some of this mess I make confuses the hell out of them, too, or if it’s good enough to get me accepted.”

“Oh, come on, Marilyn, I was just kidding with you. Oh ye of so little faith. Open them letters, girl, so we can both have a reason to celebrate.”

I open them without reading them, then unfold each one and simply look at the first few words of each letter. They’re pretty much the same: “It gives us great pleasure…” and “We are pleased to advise you…” But instead of jumping for joy like I was praying I’d be able to do, I am truly humbled by these letters of acceptance. Because I finally realize that not only do I have to make a choice but that I’ve always had them.

“What do they say? I’m dying of curiosity.”

“You don’t really want to know do you, Arthurine?”

“Don’t make me snatch them letters from you. What do they say?”

“They basically say the same thing.”

She stamps her foot. Which is a bad move.

“Well, they both seem to be saying, ‘Let’s get this party started!’” I take hold of her right hand and slide my left arm behind her back and I waltz her all the way to her bedroom without even coming close to kicking her bunions.

Chapter 21

I
don’t feel like driving just yet,” is what Arthurine says right after she passes her test and I attempt to hand over her keys. She crosses her arms then squeezes them so tight that it pushes her breasts almost up to her chin. The keys hit the pavement.

“I was just thinking that you might want to drop me off and drive yourself over to Prezelle’s,” I say, reaching down to pick them up once I notice that we’re standing in the line of fire of a nervous teenager about to take his driving test. When we get over to Arthurine’s white Cadillac, I dangle the keys in front of her one more time for good measure.

“I need more than five minutes to get used to the idea that I can get in this car in broad daylight and drive right past the police without breaking into a cold sweat, plus, go anywhere I want to without sneaking like I’m somebody’s criminal.” She pivots and rushes over to the passenger side of the car and stands there.

I feel like making her wait. “You look very nice in mint green, Arthurine.”

“I do, don’t I. Thank you,” she says. “Now can you hurry up and open this door, I don’t have all day.”

I drive. As promised.

The slick silver bus is already there when we pull up. A parade of senior citizens is dragging suitcases without wheels as if they do have wheels across the concrete and abandoning them in front of the open baggage compartment. Prezelle is standing between an avocado green overnight case and a brown plaid bag bursting at the seams. It’s big enough to hold clothes for a family of four. He appears to be looking for his woman because his face lights up when Arthurine steps out of the car.

“I was getting a little worried,” he says, and to my surprise, gives her a quick kiss on her lips. Prezelle is—needless to say—decked out. However, it appears that he may have gotten his seasons a little mixed up. He’s sporting a brand-new straw hat and when he bends over to give me a peck on the cheek, I see the price tag and separate bar code still stuck to the underside of the brim. He is also camouflaging a Hawaiian print shirt that I know only comes in short sleeves beneath the tweed suit jacket that most people would consider a separate, especially when it doesn’t match the pants that happen to be brown corduroy. I’m afraid to look at his shoes.

“I passed,” Arthurine exclaims.

“I knew you would. I told you you would. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Prezelle.”

“So now you’re legal, huh?”

“I am indeed.”

“Then why didn’t you drive over here instead of making Marilyn go out of her way to bring you?”

“She insisted. Didn’t you, Marilyn?”

“I did. I wanted to see you both off and wish you a good time.”

“Well, that’s awful nice of you. Is that a new outfit you’re wearing there, Reeney?”

“It most certainly is. I can’t believe you even noticed.”

“I’ve never seen you in a solid color before, that’s why.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It is downright flattering. But I hope you brought a few of the ones you always wear that I like.”

“Of course I did. I’m planning on wearing the purple and gold one to dinner.”

“Did you know it’s a buffet? All you can eat?”

“Don’t tell me that, Prezelle. I don’t need no buffet to eat all I can.” She chuckles.

“Can I get your bags out of the trunk?”

“I only brought one,” she says.

“I’ll get it, Prezelle,” I say.

“No no no. Let a man do a man’s job.”

I smile at him as I pop the trunk open and then at Arthurine who looks like she knows she’s already hit the jackpot. Prezelle lifts the black garment bag up and starts to carry it toward the bus. I want to tell him it’s got wheels, but I just keep my big mouth shut.

He hurries back. “Come on, Reeney,” he says, reaching out to take her hand. “Or we might not get to sit together.”

“Prezelle, don’t worry yourself for no reason. We’ll be closer than a bus seat tonight and tomorrow.”

I think I’m hearing things. “Wait a minute. I mean, excuse me a second. Arthurine?”

“What?”

“Do you mean to tell me that you and Prezelle are staying in the same room?”

“Of course we are. What a stupid question, Marilyn.”

“What’s so stupid about it?”

“I don’t think it’s a stupid question,” Prezelle says. “I can see how you might wonder why we would choose to go this route.”

“And what route is that?” she asks, looking at him.

“We save eighteen dollars in a double.”

“That ain’t the reason we talked about, Prezelle.”

“Look, I’m not implying that there’s anything wrong with the two of you…I mean, it’s your business and you’re both consenting adults. I just didn’t know it was going down like this.”

“Well, it is going down like this and we gots to go,” she says, this time grabbing Prezelle by the hand and pretty much dragging him over to the bus entrance. “Bye, Marilyn,” she says, as he helps her get up that first step. “Try to have a good weekend without me.”

“That’s impossible,” I say. “I miss you already.”

“Bye-bye,” Prezelle whispers to me.

Part of me wants to wait until they’re seated safely on the bus and long after it disappears from sight, I’d stand here a few more minutes to make sure that if they forgot something that would cause them to have to turn around and come back, I’d be here to go get whatever it was they needed. But Arthurine and Prezelle are not on their way to camp and they are not my children. Every tinted window on this bus has a smiling senior citizen behind it, two of whom are waving to me like they’re leaving for their honeymoon.

I didn’t call to tell anybody about my news yesterday. I wanted the reality of it to sink in first: I’m going back to school. Just like my children. I needed to really weigh what this is going to mean. I also have no idea if Leon will pay the tuition or if I’ll be taking out a student loan. This even sounds odd: me taking out a student loan for myself. But I’ll do whatever I have to do. I’m going.

I meet Paulette and Bunny for a shopping lunch in San Francisco. Bunny—much like Prezelle—doesn’t seem to know it’s the end of March and not August. She’s in a tight, white, hip-hugging sweat suit that you wouldn’t dream of sweating in, even though there’s a matching jacket that doesn’t quite reach her waist, and under it she’s wearing a white satin camisole that’s obviously too small. Paulette, on the other hand, looks like a grown-up having lunch on Maiden Lane on a sunny spring afternoon. Her braids look unbelievably good, which tells me that her daughter didn’t do them. She’s in black leather pants, black boots, a white shirt with a great collar, and a red blazer. I’m not commenting on what I’m wearing. But I’m presentable. I also don’t bother telling them my news until after we order. Neither one seems surprised to hear it.

“I don’t mean to be a pessimist but just because you got in doesn’t mean you’re actually going to go,” Paulette starts in.

“I’m going,” I say.

“I won’t believe it until I see it,” Bunny says.

“I’m going,” I say.

“When you walk through the doors and sit your behind behind a desk, that’s when I’ll believe it.”

“Look, I can’t lie. I’m scared as hell.”

“Scared of what?” Bunny asks.

“That my life is about to change.”

“Hallelujah,” Paulette says, after she finally swallows what apparently is very doughy sourdough bread. “But all change is scary. Like it’s supposed to be.”

“Why should it have to be scary?” Bunny asks on my behalf.

“Because there’s safety in sameness and predictability. But when you’re not quite sure what’s around the corner it gives rise to a little trepidation. Some people freak out and get stuck right there. But like they say: ‘Opportunities just don’t keep knocking at your door.’ Especially when you get to be our age.”

“Whose age?” Bunny says, looking over the top of her tinted sunglasses even though there’s no sun in here.

“I’m doing this. I swear I am.”

“I believe you,” Paulette says, and leans back in her chair. “You’re long overdue, girlfriend. The biggest debt you owe is to Marilyn.”

I nod while trying to convince myself that I’m enjoying this Caesar salad when what I’d really like to do is snatch a few of those fries off the guy’s plate sitting at the next table and ask if I could just take the first bite out of that thick juicy hamburger he’s about to bring to his mouth. “Did Aretha braid your hair like that, Paulette?”

“You know Aretha can’t do this. So don’t be cute. This girl in Oakland did it and she’s cheap. I can get you her number.”

“Great. I could use a new look.”

“Took you long enough to realize it.”

“Bunny, you should chill with the negative comments.”

“I’m just trying to be a motivating instigator. How’s Leon doing in Costa Rica by the way?” she asks.

“I’ll be honest. I want to know what the deal is, too,” Paulette says. “I mean I’m not trying to get all into your Kool-Aid—yes I am—but you gave us a sip and now we want to drink the whole glass. What’s the latest word?”

“He called to say he got there, but that’s it.”

“Get out,” she says.

“Aren’t you just a little paranoid about this whole thing? I mean, come on, Marilyn. Four wife-free weeks in the Caribbean with his buddy?”

“I’m not really worrying too much about Leon these days if you want the honest to God’s truth. It’s weird, but I don’t even miss him.”

“Then I’d file those papers and put them into his sunbaked hands as soon as he walks in the house. Sort of a welcome home present,” Bunny says.

“You can be one cold broad,” Paulette says, “which is one reason you’re by yourself. And it’s not that simple.”

“Sometimes you have to be cold to make your point because they certainly go out of their way to make theirs, don’t they? And if you happen to get your feelings hurt while they do it, sorry Charlie, tuna’s not for cats. That was a bad analogy. Forget I said that.”

“Consider it forgotten,” I say, “whatever it is you think you just said. Anyway, who’s on your plate these days, Bunny? We haven’t heard you spit out his credentials or possessions so you must be on empty.”

“Thank you very much for reminding her, Marilyn.”

“I’m in the early no-name stage. Don’t worry. You’ll know when it’s time to know.”

“What
did
you just say?” Paulette says.

“Nothing,” Bunny says, leaning on her elbows and staring at me. “But I have a different bone to pick with you, Marilyn Manson.”

“What now?”

“What’s the big idea coming to the club and signing up for membership when I wasn’t there?”

“I didn’t know it was your day off. And I don’t want to go to the same gym as Leon.”

“I could’ve gotten you a discount, but you’re not going to come anyway. You should just call the business office and get your money back.”

“Are you PMSing today or something?” Paulette asks.

“No. But Marilyn’s been talking a lot of shit about all the stuff she was going to do after her kids left for college and I haven’t seen her start—let alone finish—a doggone thing. So to think she’s actually going to go back to college
and
go to the gym, too, it’s just hard for me to believe.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” I say. “I’ve been looking over the schedule but was hoping you’d help me with a course of action. I’m serious. I need to do this.”

Bunny holds out her hand, palm up. “How long do you think you’ll last?”

“I’m making a lifestyle change, Bunny. I’m not going on some little stupid diet so I can lose twenty pounds in six weeks and kill myself at the gym to get into a string bikini. I want to make exercise be a regular part of my day-to-day life so it’s just as important as breakfast.”

“But it
is
as important as breakfast, girl. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you lazy Negro women for years.”

“Don’t look at me, Bunny. I walk three times a week around Lake Merritt and lift my grandbabies at least twice a week, and plus I still do my Jane Fonda tapes.”

“She’s serious, you know that, don’t you?” Bunny says to me.

“Jane still works.”

“Anyway Marilyn. I don’t mean to be so cynical, but here’s the deal. The first thing we need to do is get you a fitness evaluation.”

“I’m out of shape. I already know that.”

“We measure your entire body and determine your body fat.”

“I can show you where the fat is right now.”

“Seriously. We can tell you what your target heart rate zone is so when you do any cardiovascular work—like running, spinning, jogging, the treadmill, climber…”

“Okay,
WE GET IT
!” Paulette says. “Now get to the damn point would you, Bunny?”

“Anyway if you…”

For the next ten minutes, Paulette and I eat and watch Bunny exercise her lips.

“…and let me just give you something to think about until our consultation.”

Paulette’s eyes are going up in her head and I kick her under the table. But it’s not her leg, it’s Bunny’s.

“See I told you, you aren’t serious! I’m going to Neiman’s to find something pretty to sleep in.” She raises her hand for the check.

“Okay, I’m sorry. What should I be thinking about until we meet?”

“Set yourself a goal and write it down. Not your ideal weight. Say you’re a fourteen and you want to get back down to a ten. Is that a realistic goal, you might ask?”

“Yes, that is the question.”

“Go to hell, Marilyn. You have any important stuff coming up that you want to look good for?”

“Divorce court.”

“Aren’t you going anywhere this summer?”

“I hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead.”

“Well, since your husband’s taking four long ones, you should give yourself at least a week’s worth of vacation and so you won’t feel lonely, Paulette and I will be more than happy to go with you. Let’s say around the end of August after you finish your class.”

“We haven’t done that in a long time, have we?” Paulette says. “We’re overdue.”

“Sounds good to me,” I say.

“And by then you should be able to slide into a size ten swimsuit without rupturing those thighs.”

“A twelve will suffice.”