by Tiana Laveen
“Donuts? Yeah, I could go for those. I don’t like the ones with sprinkles though,” Jenny said.
“I got you. I know what you’d like. You have a lot of coconut cookies in a tin. Is that your thing? I bet it is.”
She smiled at him, her expression innocent.
Gutter opened the door of Doughnut Plant on 47th Avenue, in Queens, and let Jenny in ahead of him. Rubbing her gloved hands together, she sighed with pleasure when the heat inside the eatery swathed them like a warm blanket. Her red nose and cheeks slowly returned to their natural complexion.
“Hey, what’s up.” He approached the counter when it was his turn in the popular shop. “Let me get two of your blueberry lemonade sourdough joints, a coconut cream, and a vanilla bean. Two Americano coffees.”
“You got it. Wait a minute. Are you Gutter? If not, you look a hell of a lot like him,” the Indian man behind the counter stated with a half-smile.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Cool. This is a good morning. I met Gutter.”
Zake laughed at that, then grabbed a napkin from the stack on the counter. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Ishaan.”
“Give me a pen and I’ll give you an autograph.”
“Seriously?! Hey! Jim! Gimme a pen!”
Seconds later, Zake was signing the napkin. “How do you spell your name?”
“I-S-H-A-A-N,” the guy shouted over the noise, grinning.
“Here ya go.”
“Thanks, man! Wow! All right, I’ll have your order up in a second.”
Gutter nodded, paid for the food, and stood with Jenny by the door, looking out of the window.
“I liked going to your house yesterday. You deserve that and so much more. It was beautiful… you’re beautiful.” She turned to him, looking happy as could be.
She looks good today. If it weren’t for her weight, she could fool people into thinking she was healthy.
“Good. Glad ya liked it.” He rocked back on his heels and watched the employees moving around frantically to fulfill orders. “You just don’t have good taste like your son apparently. Made fun of my rare and mint condition miniature AC DC doll collection, but that’s all right. I’m sure you feel just awful about not appreciating it now.”
They shared a laugh.
“I’m sure you’re really hurt by that,” she teased, rolling her eyes. He jumped when she wrapped her arms around his, rested her head against his body, and squeezed. He settled into the feeling, trying to memorize the moment for when he might need to remember later in life.
“Jenny…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m in love.”
She nodded, grinning wide now. “I know. See? I’m good for somethin’ after all. I got cancer just so you could meet the girl of your dreams. Win-win situation.”
“You have a morbid sense of humor.”
“Eh.” She shrugged. “It gets me through. Can’t be serious about everything all the time.”
He took into her eyes that were just like his own, then her nose and mouth. She seemed oblivious to his gaze.
“Dad said you look like Debbie Harry. That’s why he wanted you so bad. I have to agree with him. Ya do.”
She laughed lightly at that, keeping her gaze straight ahead as they waited. “A lotta people said I looked like Debbie Harry back in those days. Blondie. Not so much now, huh?”
“You still do.”
“Is she bald and weighs ninety-eight pounds? If so, I’m her twin.” She seemed at peace with her condition. “I wonder how Debbie Harry is doing nowadays?”
“I don’t know. You want me to have her call you? I could probably get her number and do that.”
“Sure. Why not?”
He spotted a woman holding a two-year-old child in her arms, piloting through the crowd.
“You talked about not being here to see your future grandchildren. That ya wished you had some. I’m sorry about that, but I want you to know that I’m not only in love, but I’m also real serious about Promise. You’ll have grandkids. They’ll know about you. I’ll make sure of it.” He looked down at her, and she blinked away tears. “I mean it. This isn’t one of my flings, Jenny, or some three-month relationship you’re used to reading about. This is different. I want this. I want her.”
“You’re going to marry that girl one day.”
“Is that what ya think?” He chuckled. “Of course, I am.”
“She’s the one for you. You came out of my body. You’d have to be a mother to understand. Even though we were estranged, I could look at ya on a television screen, in a magazine, and see if you were happy or not. I remember your smile as a little boy. That was true happiness. You’d light up when I’d turn on the radio or MTV. A five-year-old singing and carrying on. You told me once that Michael Jackson was your real father, then you learned to do the moonwalk to prove it to us. Thankfully, your dad didn’t take it personally.”
He smiled at her words. He’d forgotten all about that.
“I only saw that smile return when you and she got together. You were doing the moonwalk again, in your own special way. You’re like your father. You hide behind work, but when you love, you love hard. It’s written all over your face.”
They went quiet for a while. The way she rested against him meant the world to him, and he wasn’t certain why. Perhaps he realized in that moment, he’d never get to experience that again. They’d never be out getting doughnuts and coffee, waiting for their order while ‘Navajo’, by Masego, played through the speakers in the establishment.
“Jenny.”
“Yeah?”
“I like you.”
The woman’s lips curled.
“I like you, too. Are you surprised you feel this way?”
“Yeah. I wanted to hate you. But you were too cute, and your pink shoes were too bright to ignore.” They both laughed at that. “I came into this wrong. I saw you as an obligation. Despite what had gone down, I knew in my heart that when you called, I had to come.” He took a deep breath. “I still don’t quite understand some of your reasoning for what you did to me, Zach, and Zina, but I’ve concluded that no answer will be a good enough explanation for me. I have to make peace with that. I have to make peace with a lot of shit I don’t quite get. Shit that isn’t right.”
“Horrible mothers create amazing sons. Happens every day.” A tear ran down her smiling face. He swiped it away, then kissed her forehead.
“You’re not horrible to me right now. That’s gotta count for somethin’.”
“I hope it does. With you, as well as your brother and sister. Zach could barely look at me at Christmas. Zina looks amazing, finally away from that loser. It was nice havin’ Promise come. What a joy. She’s got great energy. Doesn’t she remind ya of like, I don’t know, a pistol, but it shoots out glitter-covered bullets that smell like roses?”
He cracked up.
“Where do ya get this shit, Jenny? You’re so strange. I love it…and I love you.”
Their order was called, and he walked over to retrieve the items.
“Hey, that’s Gutter!” someone yelled from the back of the restaurant. “Hey! Gutter!”
He waved to the guy popping up in the back, almost spilling his coffee.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
“You, man! That’s what’s up. Keepin’ it Gutter!” the guy yelled enthusiastically.
“That’s the best way to keep it, man. I gotta go.” He waved to the fan as he walked towards the front door with the bag of sweet treats and two cups of hot coffee. Jenny joined him at his side. “Have a good day, all right?”
“Will do, man! Who’s the lady?”
“Oh, her? This sexy fox?” He pointed at Jenny with a smirk. “This is Debbie Harry, AKA, Blondie. She’s my mom…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Last Night a DJ Saved My Life
“I’ve got you. Relax.”
UB40’s, ‘Red Red Wine’ played from the kitchen as Gutt
er carried his mother in his arms, past the Christmas decorations of gold, silver, and red tinsel hanging from the walls. The twinkling Noel lights and tiny glowing Santa hat made the colors dance against her face. Once he reached her bedroom, he laid her down in her neatly made bed and covered her body with a light blanket.
She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes half-closed and her mouth downturned. She’d had a hard day, riddled with pain. This time, it wasn’t exhaustion after her doctor’s appointment, but her body had simply had enough. She’d lost a bit more weight, despite drinking Ensure and eating high calorie foods per the doctor’s recommendation. Jenny was skin and bones, her size six clothing now hanging off her like vibrant curtains.
“I’m… fine,” she said with a weak smile, tapping his hand with her cold fingertips.
“You’re not fine. You have terminal cancer. I’m not leaving until you are resting. I’m going to get you something to drink, okay? Do you want warm or cold tea?”
“Warm.”
“You got it.”
Back in the kitchen, he pulled out her old, battered tea kettle from a lower cabinet. The scent of lemon Pine Sol filled his nostrils. She’d placed the bottle there with the pots and pans and forgot to put the cap on. He took care of that, wiped up a few spills on the counter, then turned on the faucet to fill the teapot.
Just then, her doorbell rang. Who is that? He made his way to her front door, figuring it was a delivery person, or perhaps her neighbor who always seemed to pop over at the wrong time. Nah, too early for the neighbor. Probably a delivery guy. Jenny had been ordering a lot of art supplies lately. When he looked out the small window in the door, he caught the side profile of a beautiful woman dressed in a bright parakeet yellow flowy dress and large matching hat, as if she were going to one of those big African American churches filled to the brim with elaborate fedoras and cheerful tambourines.
Her diamond teardrop earrings glistened in the sunlight, and she looked a sight in white lace gloves and yellow high heels that tied at the ankle. She was holding a white leather bag—not quite a purse, but a large satchel of sorts. Her head was turned, and he could barely make out her features, but he’d recognize that posture, disposition, energy, and those lips from anywhere. He opened the door, and without a word, Promise walked past him, her chin held high. Smelling of expensive perfume, she headed straight towards his mother’s bedroom as if she not only knew the layout but owned the place.
“Jenny, I’m here,” she stated.
He followed her and stood in the doorway, watching.
What the hell is going on here? And why does she look like the man in the yellow hat from Curious fuckin’ George?!
His mother smiled up at her, her dark eyes strained and then grew moist with tears.
“You look beautiful, Promise! Thank you for coming… I’m sorry I called you in a panic like that.”
“Of course, I was coming, and you don’t need to apologize.” She called her in a panic? “You said you love the color yellow, so I put this on to cheer you up. Surprise!” Promise waved her arms about, causing the bell sleeves of the dress to shimmy to and fro. “I hope it makes you happy.”
“It sure does. Your complexion really brings out the color. You’re so damn pretty! And smart, too… I just love you, Promise.” Jenny dabbed at her eyes, ridding them of tears.
The two women looked at each other like they were the best of friends, and though they were speaking English, he felt like an outsider, like something was going on that he could barely understand. It was a woman’s code, a feminine domain—something foreign that he sensed was none of his business. It was as if he were eavesdropping on the ladies, and yet, he couldn’t turn away.
Promise sat at the side of Jenny’s bed, crossed her long legs, and clasped her jeweled hands around the older woman’s. “I know you’re in a lot of pain today, and although I’m not a licensed nurse anymore, it’s like riding a bike—one never forgets. If you trust me, I’ll help you get some sleep. You haven’t had a good night’s rest in days. Would you like that?”
Jenny nodded.
Promise stood slowly and helped his mother sit up, propping her head on a plumped pillow, and repositioning her limbs for added comfort. The way Promise moved her hands with both strength and gentleness reminded him of how he played his guitar. He crossed his arms, feeling a bit uncomfortable when she reached for his mother’s shirt and began sliding it off over her head.
“Hold up. Should I leave?”
“No… you stay right there,” Promise answered while still keeping her eye on Jenny.
She removed the older woman’s navy-blue leggings and gray socks, leaving her in a cream bra that was entirely too loose, and baggy beige panties that looked more like satiny shorts. Jenny’s skin was hanging in some areas, the muscle tone gone, the flesh pale and sallow.
“Zake, get me a warm cloth, please. Wring it out so it’s not dripping,” Promise requested.
His stomach fluttered, and his brain felt as if it were swelling within as he looked on. He broke his stare and did as he was asked. When he returned, Promise had the radio on in Jenny’s bedroom, and 10 CC’s, ‘I’m Not in Love’ was playing at low volume. Several small white tea-candles were lit, and Promise’s big yellow hat was gone, now lying on a small desk in the corner of the room, amid old paint brushes, a tube of lipstick, and yellowed New Yorker magazines from the 1990s. Her black, bone straight hair was pulled back in a long, sleek ponytail, and she’d removed her dress, now wearing a black tank top and leggings that resembled a dancer’s leotard. She got to work, crossing Jenny’s hands over her chest. His mother closed her eyes, her breathing even. Finally resting.
He handed Promise the warm cloth, and she began to tenderly pat the woman’s face with it, looking like some angel of mercy. She knelt over his mother and massaged her, starting from her scalp. The woman barely had any hair left, but with careful hands, Promise ushered the few strands she had out of her face, whispering how pretty, powerful, and magically made she was.
She kept rubbing oils, fragrant emollients, and ointments that she dabbed on her fingertips from small glass bottles into the fragile, papery skin of the woman who’d brought him into the world. A lump formed in his throat as he thought about that. No matter what Jenny had done, the choices she’d made and the things she’d said, in some way, somehow, she’d been chosen to give him life. Promise kneaded the balms into the flesh, adorning it with life, making it shine as if it were young again. When she reached Jenny’s feet, she stood at the foot of the bed and massaged her toes first, while uttering the sweetest, kindest affirmations.
Jenny was now asleep—there was no doubt about it—but Promise spoke as if the woman were fully alert and hanging on to her every word. He’d never seen anything like this in his life. The sight moved him in ways she’d never understand. She’s a natural healer…
When she was finished, she quietly crept towards the head of the bed and placed a kiss on Jenny’s cheek. She pulled the sheets up around her and brushed her hair away from her face once more. She fluttered about like a butterfly, snuffing out the candles, one by one. As she hummed to the music, she cleaned her hands with an antibacterial wet wipe.
“Keep her feet elevated with a pillow, and make sure she stays warm. An extra blanket or two would help turn up the heat a notch. Her body fat is pretty much nonexistent, so she isn’t able to regulate her temperature efficiently. Before you leave, give her more of her prescribed pain medication, along with the liquid ibuprofen that she told me she has on hand. You don’t have to wake her. Wait about thirty minutes, when she is in deep REM sleep, open her mouth, and give her the ibuprofen for the inflammation with a dropper—about ten to twelve drops. Then, slip the pill under her tongue. Let it dissolve instead of waking her and having her swallow it. It’s more effective that way, too. Sleep will help her. She’ll feel better in the morning and have more energy. You got all of that?”
“Yeah.”
She turned around, put her
regal attire back on, grabbed her satchel, and left him with a peck on the lips, heading back out the door…
…Several weeks later
“It’s Christmas Eve. I just want to stay in the house and have some spiked eggnog,” Promise teased. She enjoyed the coziness and warmth of her apartment, especially when she was all wrapped up in her soft margarita print pajamas. Outside, there were several inches of snow on the ground. Thankfully, she’d taken that Friday off and was looking forward to an extended weekend. The death toll always rose around the holidays. After the holidays it was even worse. Suicide rates would skyrocket.
“Come on, Promise! We told you about this party last week and you said you’d go!” Aria whined on the other end of the line.
“I changed my mind.”
“Why? Is Gutter there?”
“I already told you—no. Gutter’s ass is in Miami. Didn’t even ask me to come. The rest of us are freezing our asses off, while he’s basking in the sun.” She sipped her drink and settled against an oversized pillow on her couch.
“In Miami? I thought he wanted to stay close to his mother?”
“Well, he is. He’ll be back in the morning. It’s literally a one-day trip for some contract he got. He had to go in person.”
“Oh, I see. Well, come on, girl! That’s all the more reason to live your best life. Just for a few hours. Besides, I have a Christmas gift for you, and I want to give it to you tonight.”
“What is it, Aria? The sweater you borrowed from me last year and never returned?” She grimaced.