by Sapphire
“‘Shut up, bitch! We bought her. I bought an apartment overnight around the corner so we’d have a New York State address. We were living in Jersey, remember? I donated a hundred K to that fuckin’ goy orphanage so you could have dibs on a newborn white baby girl, and you go sit up and see a goddamn newscast and got to have her—’
“‘Shut up, she’s not deaf. She’s your daughter.’
“‘I don’t give a fuck what she is, don’t call me a fuckin’ liar!’
“‘You’re high. You’re getting to be a regular old drug addict, aren’t you?’
“‘Don’t try to change the subject, bitch. You don’t think me giving them dried-up old bitches a hundred grand had anything to do with you getting little Miss Tokyo?’
“‘You’re evil, evil, evil! There’s no end to your evil. How do you talk like that in front of your own child?’
“‘She’s not my child, and for that matter you’re not my fuckin’ wife. The marriage was a joke. My brother ain’t no fuckin’ rabbi. He can’t marry nobody. We were pulling your leg, you knew that. Don’t—’
“‘You said we would go to City Hall afterward.’
“‘Did we? She’s not my child, and you’re not my wife. Shit, I could pull one off here like that big-name movie director and run away and marry her. Shit, if I marry anybody, that’s what it’ll be, young pussy—’
“My mother opened her mouth, but no words came out, only a kind of croak.
“‘Shit, you think I’m too low-class to have an Asian wife?’
“‘I hate you,’ she hissed as she dropped down on the floor as if her legs had buckled under the weight of his cruelty.
“‘Stop the drama! It takes two to tango.’
“‘What the hell does that mean?’ she said from the floor.
“‘What the hell does that mean?’ he mimicked her. ‘You’re glad to get what you want when you want it, but you get mad when I remind you how you got it. Yeah, yenta, how. My money, megalomaniac drug addict—whatever you want to call me, bitch, my money. Everything we got, we got because I bought it, bitch.’
“‘I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone!’
“‘Anytime you feel enough hate to leave, you can leave, you stupid whore.’ ”
But she didn’t leave.
“‘Where would I have gone?’ she’d said. ‘We need him.’
“‘No we don’t.’
“‘Yes we do. He’s just drunk right now. Everything’ll be alright in the morning.’ ”
But it wasn’t. She could have left him, but you just don’t leave money like that, she said.
“Look, he’s all talk. If he ever really hit me or hurt you . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I wouldn’t stand for abuse.”
But he was a millionaire, the son of a billionaire, and she wasn’t his wife. She had been his secretary. His “brother” who had “married” them went to jail later that same day for possession with intent to sell.
“Listen, I’m going to read you something from Ann Landers.”
“Who’s Ann Landers?”
“A nice lady in the newspapers who gives people good advice.”
“How do you know it’s good?”
“I know it’s good.”
“How do you get it?” I asked.
“Get what?”
“The advice,” I said.
“You write a letter and put it in the mail, and she writes you back and tells you what to do. Some of the letters she puts in the Daily News, like this one I was talking about. Listen to this guy; he’s writing Ann a letter to give her some information she can give to the rest of the readers.”
A man gave his wife a million dollars. (“Like your father has, OK.”) He told her to go out and spend a thousand dollars a day. She did. Three years later she returned to tell him the money was all gone. She wanted more.
He then gave her one billion dollars. (“Now, that’s how much money Grandpa has!”) He told her to go out and spend a thousand dollars a day. She didn’t come back for three thousand years.
“Three thousand? That’s longer than a dinosaur. Why would the lady want to shop for that long?”
“She wouldn’t, honey. The man is trying to illustrate something, I’m trying to illustrate something. I’m trying to show you how much money Grandpa has.”
But he’s not my grandpa. He said, “Get it out of here now.” A question occurs to me.
“How long could we go shopping with your money?”
“Huh?”
“If we were spending a thousand dollars a day of your money, how long could we go shopping?”
“My money? Honey, we’d never go shopping. Mommy doesn’t have any money.”
I need her; she needs him, so we can go shopping. He doesn’t need us, he doesn’t even want us.
dear Annlanders,
I am having a problem with my Dad He calls me names like nigger even thogh I am not a nigger and Little Miss Tokyoe even thogh I am not Miss Tokyoe. He eats everything and is big as a house my mother says but hes not really big as a house or he wouldn’t be able to fit in one. Hes rich. He has the millions you wrote about in your newspaper and can go shopping every day for three years with a thousand dollars a day. Rmember that you wrote that??? We can go shopping a lot. My father comes in my room and puts a finger in me and covers my mouth with his hand. I can’t breeth I’m scared I’m gonna die when he does that.
Pleas get the advice to me ASP
Also I know you are not Santa Claus I know theirs no Santa Clause but I would like you to send me a skateboard I could prove to my mother there not dangerous for girls
Love Noël Wynn Desiré Orlinsky
PS Don’t forget to write back in a hurry
Love Noël (again)
“I waited every day for it seemed like forever. I was sure she would write me back with good advice. Finally I realized that, just like Santa Claus, she didn’t really exist.”
Whatever it was Snake handed out, it seems like it’s starting to take hold of My Lai, or maybe she’s acting? But she closes her notebook and crawls on her hands and knees into the middle of the circle. She’s holding up her hands as if she has something in them.
“I’m under the big table in the dining room. No one can see me because of the long tablecloth, which is curtains to my house. This is me and Barbie and Ken’s house. My mother is outside on the patio having lunch with her club. I’ve crawled under the table to play Barbie and Ken.” She holds up Barbie and then Ken. “I lay Ken on top of Barbie and move his plastic butt up and down as he sticks his dick in Barbie to make a baby. He’s yelling at her like Daddy does Mommy.
“‘You fine bitch, ohh! You sexy cunt, suck my dick, ohh! Ohh! Ohh!’
“Barbie hisses, ‘Saul, stop. She’ll hear us.’
“‘So what, are we doing something wrong? In France the whole family walks around naked!’
“‘You’ve never been to France.’
“‘So fuckin’ what, you low-class cunt? You trying to make me feel stupid? Anyway, what’d we get this fuckin’ house for anyway? Privacy!’ He answers his own question.
“Ken has all the questions and all the answers.
“‘C’mere, you, get on down there. You’re good for something.’
“‘Wait a minute,’ she says.
“I hear her footsteps walking to the door! I scramble to my feet and run down the hallway away from Mommy and Daddy and the thick smell of sex that had been wafting out the slightly ajar door of their hot room. But I’ve fallen asleep now under the table with Barbie and Ken. I wake up to the sound of my mother’s voice and the sight of a pair of fat feet with stuffed into red pointy-toe shoes that are not my mom’s. I turn my head to my mother’s legs, crossed like a pretzel, her feet in shiny silver flats.
“‘It was a punishment for sure. I was thirty and had had five abortions. Five. So I guess the Lord fixed me. I guess he said, “You hate the issue of your womb enough to kill it five times, well, I’ll fix you good.” It wa
s my husband, he’s such a mensch, who said, “Get over it, we can always adopt.” That’s when we got Noël.’
“‘Is it the same?’ Red shoes.
“‘I mean, you walk into a store and they know you’ve adopted. But, you know, as far as it being the same, it is, I think. You feed them, clothe them, love them—you’re all they know. They don’t know they’re not white. Noël fits right in.’
“‘Plus, they’re more intelligent than black kids.’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘Well, she doesn’t seem to be so far.’
“‘How so?’ Black Patent Leather Loafers.
“‘All she wants to do is play ballerina. It’s almost autistic or something.’
“‘How old is she?’ Black Loafers has a high nasal voice.
“‘Four and a half.’
“‘Well, for God’s sake, what do you expect? Calculus? Leave her alone and feed her. She’s too thin.’ Red Shoes.
“‘She hates for me to hold her.’
“‘Get a nigger nanny.’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘Don’t talk like that!’ My mother.
“‘Don’t be so sanctimonious, Sarah. You know what she meant. Get a good colored girl in here. That flip you got is depressed if I ever saw anyone depressed. You know, they think they’re too good. You know, passing through until they finish cosmetology school or whatever. Get a good girl in here, and she’ll stay put and help you with that kid. I’m telling you they’re good with kids.’ Red Shoes.
“‘Asian kids?’
“‘With kids, any kind of kids. What are you talking about, Asian kids? She doesn’t know what kind of kid she is! You want her to be more social, you have to socialize her. Some of these foreign-born can be mentally ill from being in those orphanages. I read about it in the New York Times.’ Red Shoes.
“‘Oh, my God, Eartha, don’t talk like that.’ My mother.
“‘It’s true, they had an article in the Post too.’ Hot Pink Heels. ‘Where did you say she’s from?’
“‘She’s Asian.’
“‘I know that, I’m not developmentally disabled as they say now.’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘Is that what they say?’ Black Loafers.
“‘What country is she from?’ Red Shoes.
“‘China?’ Black Loafers.
“‘I don’t think so.’
“‘What do you mean, you don’t think so? Don’t you even know where she’s from?’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘She’s a domestic adoption. She came from here.’
“By now the words are crawling over me: Asian, adoption, nigger nanny, that flip, colored, cosmetology school.
“‘Shit, excuse my French, she could be anything.’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘You don’t say? Domestic. I never knew an immigrant to give up a kid—’ Red Shoes.
“‘Yeah, kill ’em or ritually abuse ’em. Did you read that article in the Post—’
“‘Please.’ My mother cuts Hot Pink Heels off. ‘Not now, Vera.’
“‘It was in all the papers. Sarah, you can’t just put your head in the sand. But back to what Eartha was saying. I didn’t know you could get South American or Oriental kids through domestic adoptions. You know each child they have is another dollar on their welfare check. They call the kids anchors, because you drop ’em and they help you stay put. I guess they can’t deport ’em or whatever.’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘So they come illegally, pop out a few babies, anchors, and they’re set for life.’ Red Shoes.
“‘I don’t know if working sixteen hours a day as a dishwasher is exactly set for life.’ Black Loafers.
“‘Oh, quit the liberal shit.’ Hot Pink Heels. ‘You know what my husband calls them? He’s a parasitologist.’
“‘Well, OK already, what does he call them?’ Red Shoes.
“‘Chagas.’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘What the hell is that?’ Black Loafers.
“‘A bloodsucking parasite that attacks your heart. It’s from Mexico. Once you get it, you can never get rid of it. Bloodsuckers!’ Hot Pink Heels again.
“‘Are you projecting, Vera?’ Loafers.
“‘Projecting? What’s that supposed to mean? What the devil are you talking about? Why would I be doing any damn projecting? What are you, Freud or something?’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘What’s going on here? What’s this, the Ladies’ Fight Club? We’re supposed to be raising money, gals, not squabbling.’ My mother.
“Chagas? Fight Club? Bloodsuckers? What’s projecting? All these big feet. I have to pee bad, real bad. I can’t come out; she’ll get mad. I’m going to lay down and go to sleep. Some people die when they go to sleep. I’m going to die. She’ll be sorry—
“‘I smell something.’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘Stop, Vera.’ Red Shoes.
“‘Yes, it’s coming from under the table.’ Hot Pink Heels.
“‘Oh, my God! Noël! Noël! She’s asleep!’ Mommy.
“I open my eyes, feigning grogginess and confusion.
“‘Come on, wake up, come to Mommy.’
“I crawled out from under the table, my child cotton drawers sagging and soaked with urine, my head swimming with new words—and nightmares of talking feet for years to come.”
My Lai, who had until a few seconds ago been three or four years old and “under the table” on her hands and knees talking in a voice I had never heard before, turns back into now.
“I didn’t understand most of what my mother said, except one thing I understood and was sure she’d made a mistake on—I wasn’t ‘playing’ anything, I was a ballerina!” She laughs, sitting back in the circle with her notebook in her lap. She turns to look at me, “Yeah, but other than a ballerina, what was I?” Her eyes still on me, “At least you knew.”
Oh, so now she’s had it harder than me? I don’t respond. I don’t want to get in her shit. I feel a crackling in my brain, a noise, a clak-clak-bang-bang. I haven’t felt this way in a long time, so angry I could spit. At least you knew, I mock her in my mind. But I’m not going to be dragged into this shit in front of everybody. She knows how I feel since “the incident.”
We were rolling a couple of weeks ago, and she comes up with this wack shit. I’ll never forget it. She’s trying to live it down now, play high and all that. Fuck it for now. Let me hear this out, and I’ll think on that later.
“So that’s what happened: My mother listened to her friends and got me a black nanny. It was like a lot of stuff in my life, one of the best things that happened to me precisely because it was a total disaster. After my father got this Haitian woman—who barely spoke any English to them—pregnant, we were in real trouble.
“I was in my house under the table with Barbie and Ken one morning when they were talking about Eruzulie.
“‘I’ll tell,’ she said.
“‘Tell what, you stupid cunt?’ my father snarled.
“‘Eruzulie says you raped her.’
“‘Fuck that nigger.’
“‘No, fuck you, you bastard. You want her to press charges?’
“‘She’s lying.’
“‘Have you ever heard of a paternity test, Saul?’
“‘You’re in it with that nigger.’
“‘Saul, that nigger is going to have your kid, how do you like that?’
“‘I like it fine, bitch. And don’t try to blackmail me, you—’
“‘I’m not trying to blackmail you. I’m trying to get you to act like a human being and take responsibility.’
“‘Like hell you are. Arf-arf, dog-ass bitch. I’m not giving you one more dime.’
“‘Yes you are. And you’re going to marry me too. I have enough to put you away for the rest of your life.’
“‘And I’ll put you six feet under.’
“‘No you won’t!’
“‘Try me, bitch.’
“‘I’m not trying shit, Saul. We get married or I go with Eruzulie to the police.’
“‘You are crazy,’ he h
issed.
“‘That’s not all I know, Alondra, the flip, her daughter, Saul! Her daughter—’
“His fat bare white hippopotamus feet flew across the floor and stepped in to her.
“WHAM! He slapped her.
“‘I love you, Saul!’ she screamed.
“I shot out from under the table as he punched her hard.
“‘I love you, Saul!’ I screamed. Is that what he wanted? Is that why she said it? Would it make him stop beating her? I would say it too.
“‘I LOVE YOU, SAUL!’ I screamed.
“‘Jesus Christ.’ He groaned like he was the one being hit.
“‘Would you stop with the Jesus!’ my mother screamed.
“‘Would you shut up!’ he said, and slapped her again. ‘My mother’s Catholic, I’m half Catholic, bitch.’
“‘JEEZUS CHRISE JEEZUS CHRISE!’ I screamed over and over, my head turned up to the chandelier’s light glittering from the ceiling. He lurched toward me and grabbed me up by my braids.
“‘I’ll cut off your feet, you little monkey-ass chink. See how much dancing you do then,’ he sneered.
“My eyes grew wide, wide enough to take in my whole little world and me in it with no feet. I could feel the hairs on my head separating from their roots as I swung from my braids in the grip of his big hands. His piss-smelling sweat was running down his arm onto me.
“‘Put her down, Saul,’ my mother begged.
“‘I love you, Saul,’ I croaked.
“When he dropped me, I collapsed on the floor, praying, ‘Jesus please don’t let him cut off my feet Jesus please don’t let him cut off my feet.’”
“WE WENT TO BED that night, battered, me wrapped in her arms that seemed like warm clouds around me. But I knew that, like the clouds, they wouldn’t protect me, and as I drifted off to sleep, I knew that she knew it too.