Yolonda's Genius (8 page)

“Oh, Tiny, you're a beautiful sight,” said Yolonda's mother, hugging the great woman, too. “I hadn't realized how homesick I was till I saw you. You look wonderful!”

“Get me to that tub, Josie,” said Aunt Tiny.

But they had to wait at the luggage-go-round for Tiny's bags. Andrew got to carry her red makeup case and Yolonda pulled her big, matching suitcase on its little back wheels. Aunt Tiny held the balloons delicately. They trailed out above her scarves like a part of her costume.

“Just look at my hair, Tiny,” cried Yolonda's mother as they headed toward the car. “Nobody like you around here.”

“Now there is, Josie honey,” said Aunt Tiny. “Now you got the real thing. We'll fix you up to rave about.”

Tiny stopped to rest, leaned on a car, then she bent her head as far down as her chins would allow and took in Yolonda.

“Taller,” she said. “You're growing upwards, Yolonda. My niece is going to be tall as her daddy.”

On the drive home, Yolonda and Andrew sat in the back with all the balloons. “What're we gonna do with these now?” Yolonda asked.

“Why not let 'em go?” said Aunt Tiny gesturing grandly toward the window. “Decorate the sky — more room there than in this car.”

“Kills birds!” cried Yolonda and her momma at the same time. “Strangles them; the string does,” added Momma. “We'll have to recycle. For now, they can float in Tiny's room.”

“Well, it was a lovely surprise,” said Aunt Tiny. She reached back and plunked one of the balloons.

Surrounded by the soft thuds and squeaks, Andrew thought he'd need his pipe to make the sound of balloons. Or the sounds of their tangled, captive strings — or the flying sound of a bird.

When they got back home, Yolonda dashed from the car and was seated at the piano, playing, before Aunt Tiny had unwedged herself from the front seat.

Yolonda had decided on the Wagner bridal march. Da dum de dum.

She sang:

“She's never sometimey.

Her nails are red and shiney.

Here comes the fa-a-

A-a-mous Aunt Tiny.”

Certainly her Aunt Tiny was never “sometimey,” an expression Yolonda's mother used for a person
who couldn't be counted on. Aunt Tiny could be counted on.

That evening was a real party. They feasted on crown roast of lamb filled with buttered baby peas, honey-roasted sweet potatoes, and their momma's famous orange salad with walnuts and poppy-seed dressing.

Andrew watched from inside himself. He didn't often see his momma so happy, laughing and lively.

At one point during the meal, his momma and Aunt Tiny began to sing at the same time. “Stop! In the name of love. . .”

Andrew marveled. His momma and Aunt Tiny pointed at each other, arms stretched across the table. From their open mouths, the song had poured out like escaping twin bubbles. “Stop! In the name of love, before you break my heart. . .”

Andrew slipped his harmonica out of the case and tickled their song with some chords. . . .
before you break my heart
. . .

His playing happened easily, the way it used to, but then he heard it.
Heard
it. The sound from his harmonica didn't go forward, spinning out of him, letting him send out another curl of sound in the old way. It stopped at an invisible wall and cut back at him like splintered ice. He choked on the sound, swallowing its coldness back into himself.
The wooden holes were dry and dead against his lips — were nothing but dead wooden holes. Holes.

Yolonda was looking at him strangely. She must know about the holes. Andrew dropped his head. Carefully he placed the harmonica into its velvet bed and carefully, carefully he closed the lid so that it didn't even snap.

Later, in the living room, they put on CDs. His momma opened a bottle of champagne —
thk-pop-ssss
— and he reached again for his back pocket, but only kept his hand curled there around the fat shape. They turned the music up. It was slow and hot. “Come Rain or Come Shine.” Aunt Tiny stood in one spot and swayed to the music, then turned gently with small steps. She was wearing a brocaded robe of red and gold, put on after her bath. The robe streamed like a sunset, swirling as she moved. Then, with a sweet-breathed grunt, she reached and swooped Andrew up into her great soft arms and began to dance with him.

Andrew struggled. Aunt Tiny's embrace smothered all sound. I can do the music by myself, he wanted to say. I'm a big boy. He fought to keep from crying out.

Then Yolonda said, “Dance with me, Aunt Tiny.”

Gratefully Andrew slid down to the floor and hurried over to the love seat against the wall.

His mother began to dance now, holding her long-stemmed glass of champagne and humming, watching her feet twinkle.

His sister faced Aunt Tiny. Yolonda's feet were light and she moved her body only from her knees. She wove herself around her solid knees like a Chinese lantern in a soft wind. Her head was high; she didn't watch her feet the way his momma did.

Andrew felt his heart grow full. A Yolonda sound simmered there. He drew out his harmonica and played the Yolonda sound. Deeper notes, they were, slipping in and out of “Come Rain or Come Shine.”

Yolonda turned her face to him and smiled. Such a smile. What instrument could play that smile?

Then the music turned fast. Aunt Tiny sank into her chair with a gasp. His momma collapsed into another.

Yolonda danced alone. She flipped her heels saucily; her fingers flirted in the air. What instrument? What chorus of instruments could play his fabulous sister?

That night, in his bed, Andrew blew gently into his pipe, muted sounds — Yolonda's proud head on its strong, smooth neck. But that needed drums behind it. He thumped with his foot on the bed
stead. Better. He played Yolonda's knees and the sway of her body over them. He tried playing Yolonda's smile, sweet and swelling wide open, on his little pipe. It wasn't working. He paused and thought.

Maybe his harmonica? Or both together. A violin? He'd never needed another instrument before. He wished for someone else to play with him and, right then, he knew he'd have to learn how to make the black marks of the music code so that someone else, too, could play the sounds he heard in his head.

One of the great and terrifying things about Aunt Tiny was that if she didn't like your hair, she'd go after it. She cut
JAZZ
into the back of Andrew's hair and gave him a modified eraser-top.

She sat Yolonda in the kitchen and trimmed her thick mass of hair, working out of a red zippered case full of scissors and oils, curling irons and straightening irons. Yolonda sat on a stool with a sheet draped around her shoulders. She held a hand mirror so that she could check the progress every so often.

Aunt Tiny had just finished separating curly
strands all though Yolonda's thick hair and twisting each one with a fragrant oil when the doorbell rang. Yolonda's whole head was a gleaming mass of shining black corkscrews. She pranced proudly to answer the door, shaking her curls.

It was Shirley; she stared in astonished admiration. “Wow! Is that you, Londa? How'd you get your hair like that?”

“I told you,” said Yolonda impatiently. Shirley could be so dumb. “My Aunt Tiny's here.”

“It looks great!”

Yolonda tossed her head. The curls bounced and sprang.

“I can just imagine your hair jumping while we're turning ropes!”

Yolonda saw that Shirley wore a brand-new rope in loops over her shoulder. Lots of rope.

“I looked up the regulation size, Londa,” said Shirley excitedly. “They have lots of good books on double Dutch at the library.”

“No!” said Yolonda.

“No, what?”

“No ropes. No turning. No double Dutch. No
nuthin
',” she barked.

“But we were great at cake. We could be great at ropes. I feel it in my bones, Londa.” Her gruff voice cracked to a hoarse whisper.

“My name's
Yo
londa. And the cake baking was
dumb. My brother got wasted while you were hopping around our oven.”

“I didn't waste your brother, Yolonda,” Shirley said, suddenly very serious, her eyes wide and flickering. “I was the one who reminded you he wasn't there.”

“Are you telling me it was my fault?” An unreasonable rage suddenly flamed in Yolonda. “You think I let it happen? You think Andrew is ruined because of me?”

“I didn't say that. No, Yolonda. I never said that.”

“Anyway, the cake was a stupid waste of time. Double Dutch ropes are even more stupid. And besides, no dumb-body here jumps good enough to practice for. I'm not wasting my time.”

Shirley drooped, loops of rope sliding. But, doggedly, she continued, “You saying you don't want a friend? I thought we were going to be best friends.”

“Best friends?” Yolonda bit the words, slicing them with scorn. “I got enough problems all by myself. I don't need a best friend, too.”

“Everybody needs a best friend, Yolonda Blue. You, too. But it won't be me. It's certainly not going to be me.” Shirley straightened her skinny little body and walked off the porch, pale hand holding the loops of rope against her shoulder.

Yolonda stood in the doorway, her rage dissolving about her. Well, she thought in miserable satisfaction, now I don't have any distractions. That Shirley girl was too much distraction. Still, the bad feeling grew even thicker.

Aunt Tiny looked at her curiously when she returned to the kitchen. “That a friend of your's, Yolonda?” she asked.

“She's a white girl,” said Yolonda.

“Not what I asked,” said Aunt Tiny. There was a pause, heavy in the quiet of the kitchen. Yolonda wiggled uncomfortably. She had to admit she hardly ever noticed anymore that Shirley was white. Sometimes she thought they might look ridiculous in public — Goliath and David, big and little — a great, queen-sized girl with a skimpy little toy poodle of a friend. But she didn't think “white girl.”

“No,” said Yolonda finally. “I don't have any friends in this burg.”

“Too bad, honey,” said Aunt Tiny. “You could have asked her in. You could have done her hair while I do your mother's.”

For a brief moment, Yolonda considered running after Shirley. Catching her. Yolonda remembered her straight little body marching off. Apologize? Yolonda remembered the thin droop of Shirley's mouth, her sadly whirling eyes. I'd look like a fool she thought.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she told her aunt. “I got to practice some Mozart.”

But she didn't go in to the recently dusted piano. She leaned against the kitchen counter, watching, allowing herself to be drawn away from the bad feeling by her aunt's magical skill.

Tiny was doing what she called “a gorgeous number” on Yolonda's momma. She had unpinned the neat thick bun and brushed her momma's long hair into springy strands between her fingers. Then Aunt Tiny cut and straightened a slice of bangs across her mother's high, clear forehead so that one eye peeked out naughtily. She cut and layered one side short and perky, leaving the other side a bit longer. It made her mother look very flirty.

Yolonda was offended. Her momma was a mother and a businesswoman. She didn't flirt. She had
had
her day. What was she doing peeking out of bangs? How lonely was she?

Tiny didn't let Yolonda's momma look in the mirror as she combed and snipped. Momma's eyes were half closed in bliss. Yolonda was sure she would be upset or, at the very least, embarrassed when she woke up and saw how silly she looked.

Then Tiny wove layers of thin, glossy braids high up in the back and long, long down the back. Here and there, among the braids, she set little jet beads. More flirting.

Look at that hair thought Yolonda, with those little beads winking away. She was mesmerized by the nimble movements of her aunt's fingers.

“Oh, Tiny,” cried her mother when she was finally handed the mirror. She was not embarrassed at all. “Is that me? I'm
beautiful
!” She jumped up and hugged Aunt Tiny.

“Get me to my chair,” said Aunt Tiny, wiping her face with a little embroidered handkerchief.

“Girl, that's work.”

At Trend salon, Tiny hardly ever did any of the customer's hair anymore. Only special customers. Stars. She hired the best hairdressers she could find to do everyone else and she just walked around making suggestions, chatting with folks, checking to see if they were pleased.

“Girl, that's work,” she repeated. “Not many people can get me to work that hard anymore.”

“We'll let Yolonda bake you another cake — one of her specialties, Tiny. What kind shall it be?” They had polished off the welcome cake the night before.

“Well,” said Tiny. “That's good. We can eat it later. But you're looking so fine we should hit the night spots this evening. First, maybe go out for dinner with the kids.”

Yolonda liked eating at restaurants. But, disapprovingly, she watched her mother's excitement grow.

“I haven't been out in ages, Tiny. Not since Chicago. I can wear my black chiffon and my gold bracelets.”

Yolonda sniffed. Probably lots of Giorgio, she thought grudgingly.

But when they tried to plan the evening, her mother's enthusiasm dwindled. There was no place to go in this town.

“There's a disco downtown, but most people wear jeans unless it's a holiday. Our only grand hotel has a rooftop restaurant, but” — here her momma giggled — “it overlooks the railroad yards and the Buick dealership. The food is gourmet frozen.” She giggled some more, and Aunt Tiny joined her.

“Let's crash the country club,” said Aunt Tiny. “You got a country club?”

“I look too fine for that place, too,” said Yolonda's momma. “I look too good for anywhere. I need some elegance.” She groaned unhappily.

“Elegance?” Yolonda snorted. “In this burg? This is a nowhere place.” Yolonda began to feel better, superior. Everything was wrong with this place. Her bad luck had started here. She'd relaxed her guard here. In Chicago she could deal with stuff. She began to feel her Chicagoness, her fast-track sophistication. The inadequacies of this town made her sneer.

“You can't get roasted chestnuts on the street
corner,” she scoffed. “You can't get a Dove Bar from a jingle wagon — just junk here.” Yolonda was on a roll. She sensed Aunt Tiny on her side. “Kids listen to mostly dumb music in this burg. They don't do double Dutch with any kind of style.”

Her homesickness overwhelmed her, blotting out the newfound favorite things: the good library; Mr. Johnkoski, the best teacher she'd ever had; Shirley, her newly lost friend; Stoney Buxton; and her victory over the Dudes.

Grimly she thought of the lost joys of living in Chicago: the busy streets, the gorgeous shops, great Lake Michigan with its giant hotels rimming the shoreline. The beaches, the boats. Grant Park with its flame flowers and roses. And the fountain there, the most sensational in the entire world. At night it was a spectacle of colored lights playing over palisades of lacy water. And, oh, the food! Cheap, too, if you knew where to go. No great food in this burg. And lots of nuthin'.

“And Momma, they've got drug pushers here too, just like in Chicago. . . .”

“
Not
like in Chicago, Yolonda Mae,” said her momma, suddenly sobered. “In Chicago, a boy the size of Andrew would be bullied, his lunch grabbed, his tennis shoes stolen.”

His harmonica broken, thought Yolonda, her appetite fading quickly.

But her momma continued. “In this town, you
can jog in the mornings without carrying mace or a billy club tucked in your belt. You can breathe the air here; your nostrils stay clean inside.”

Aunt Tiny interrupted. “Josie, you're due a visit to your hometown. Why'n't you come back for the blues festival in June?”

Yolonda felt, for the first time in a long while, a leap of happiness and hope. “Oh, Momma, say yes, Momma.”

“I don't know . . .” Her momma hedged.

“You need some Chicago-style nourishment, hon,” pronounced Aunt Tiny. She laughed. “You need to breathe that fine, dirty air.”

Yolonda's momma stood and walked to her garden window. “It's true,” she said. “I'm starved for some fashion! I want to hit Neiman's spring sales. I want to walk through Saks Fifth Avenue. I want some Chicago pizza.” She turned to Tiny. “I want breakfast outdoors on Rush Street Sunday morning with all those pretty people. I want to sit on the steps at the museum of art with the yuppies and hippies and art students. I want to feel that sweet envy of the Jaguars and the long limousines with their windows all dark.”

Yolonda's momma paused. She looked at Yolonda. She said, “And then — I want to come back here.”

When their momma was dressed for the big
evening she didn't look like their mother anymore. The black chiffon draped in soft layers from her small, neat waist. She wore a black satin belt with a sparkling buckle. Her hair flirted, the beads winking.

“No jeans, Yolonda Mae,” she said. “You can wear pants if you like. How about those Mexican ones with the stripe down the side? And my big pirate shirt.” Her momma was on a roll “And get out Andrew's dress shirt. He'll wear his good pants.”

Yolonda loved the pirate shirt with its great flowing sleeves and yoked back. Her momma let her wear it for special times. In the mirror she admired the large girl with the shiny corkscrew curls. She was adorable. She lifted her arms and the pirate sleeves fell in folds. The adorable girl smiled back.

Aunt Tiny draped a half-dozen scarves in red and gold over a vast, loose white dress. Her bracelets clinked and jingled. “Can't let all you beauties cut my grand entrance,” she said.

Not to waste the splendor of how special they looked, they decided on dining at the hotel rooftop restaurant.

“You're safe with a steak or the lamb chops or the whitefish,” Yolonda's momma told Tiny. She didn't even open the elegant tasseled menu.
“They'll be fresh. Forget the fancy. It'll be frozen.”

Yolonda noticed that three men in handsome suits, dining at a nearby table, were looking admiringly at her momma and speaking in low voices. There had been a man on the elevator, too, who'd kept trying to catch her momma's eye. The maître d' had smiled hugely at her momma and kept on smiling at her while he seated them. He had come back to ask her if the table was “to your liking, madam.” He came back again to whisk her napkin into her lap for her. Her mother was glowing, without even smiling.

The three men all paused in their eating to watch their table. The problem with being admired when you looked great was that people kept trying to horn in. And their momma looked the greatest. She wasn't even acting like their mother — or anyone Yolonda recognized. Their mother had become a beautiful stranger, leaving them all behind in her glory. Like Diana Ross, thought Yolonda.

Yolonda excused herself to go to the ladies' room. As she passed the table with the three men, she leaned toward them and said, “She's a mother. The one you're looking at. She's a mother and a businesswoman. She hardly ever looks like this.”

Without waiting for a response from the three startled men, she walked sedately into the hallway
where she'd seen the door marked
POWDER ROOM
.