Knowing

by Rosalyn McMillan

  “Mama gave me six quarts of her homemade plum preserves to bring home to you since she knows you’re so crazy about it.”

  Ginger felt a pang of guilt. Her mother-in-law was so nice to her. Ginger remembered her preserves. She’d never tasted plum preserves in her life and couldn’t get enough of it while they were there last summer. Last year the plum trees hadn’t borne much fruit and his mother had been able to put up only a few jars. Ginger had emptied the last one before they left to go home in July. And now Hattie was sending her more.

  Deep down she loved her mother-in-law dearly. But Jackson’s overwhelming love for his mother always made Ginger feel jealous and insecure in her presence. How long would these feelings persist? Why couldn’t she understand his respect and love for his mother? Would she ever feel the same kind of undemanding love from Jackson that he demonstrated toward his mother?

  A lump formed in her throat before she spoke. “Give your mother a kiss for me, and tell her I love her.”

  “Thank you, baby. I love you so much. I’ll call you tomorrow, after you get home from work, to tell you how she’s doing, all right?”

  “Okay, sweetheart.” Looking at his empty space in the bed, she felt the sting of loneliness mist her eyes. “I love you,” she said. “You take good care of your mother, you hear?”

  * * *

  She hung up quickly before her voice broke. Knowing she needed the comfort of his body next to hers. Knowing she needed to feel his arms pulling her close. Knowing she never wanted to be without him again.

  Kim opened the door and carefully tiptoed down the hall to keep from alerting her mother to her late return. She hung her leather coat in the front closet and slipped into her bedroom. Feeling safe, she rested her head against the back of the door and let out a long sigh of relief.

  She’d taken a shower before leaving Bill’s apartment, ignoring his pleas for her to stay. Kim had only hinted about her mother’s old-fashioned beliefs regarding sex before marriage. Her way of thinking was outdated, and no matter how much Kim tried to bring her mother up to date on twentieth-century mores, she wouldn’t budge an inch on what she considered the proper morals and values for a respectable single woman.

  After brushing her teeth with mouthwash so as not to wake her mother with the squeaky faucet, Kim placed her toothbrush back inside the cabinet. She closed her door quietly once again and slid into bed. As she turned on her side, she smiled to herself. Even beneath the cool sheets, her body still felt the warmth of Bill’s lovemaking between her thighs. She curled into a fetal position and pushed her hands between her tightened thighs.

  “Girl. Don’t you have a ounce of respect for yourself?” came a raspy voice through the cracked door.

  “Mother . . .” Kim turned to see the small woman standing in the doorway. She felt a flash of resentment that passed even as it came, though she was sure she was about to hear the lecture of a lifetime. She tried so hard to respect her mother’s home. Not often, but sometimes, she had to break one of her numerous rules.

  “It’s after midnight. I won’t have you disrespecting my home like this, Kim. I just won’t have it.”

  “Oh,” Kim said. “I thought this was my home too?”

  “It won’t be for long, if you continue to sneak into this house like a common whore,” her mother snapped.

  “Mama, we shouldn’t be arguing about something so trivial as me spending some time with my boyfriend. I’m twenty-four years old, Mama. I’m not a child anymore. You can’t expect me to behave like a sixteen-year-old adolescent — I’m a woman, Mama. Can’t you see that?” she pleaded.

  She studied her mother in the shadow of the hall light. Her skin was smooth, almost slippery, as if the years had worn away all the roughness the way the wind wears away the surface of stone. She still was an attractive woman, even as she approached the age of three score and ten. Didn’t she remember being in love? Couldn’t she remember the feelings she’d shared with her husband when they were young?

  “You’ll always be a child in my eyes, Kim.” Jewel sat beside her daughter on the bed and looked into her face.

  Jewel’s eyes had a dreamy, far-away look. “I remember when your father and I were dating. He brought me home at a respectable hour. He walked me to the door, and shook my father’s hand good night. Never even kissed me until he placed an engagement ring on my finger and asked me to marry him. Your father was and will always be a gentleman.” She took a deep breath, and gazed at her daughter before continuing.

  “He’d want your beau to give you the same respect he’d shown me.” She patted Kim’s hand. “I know he would.” She started to rise, until Kim whispered her name.

  “Mother. Do you hate me that much to use Daddy against me?”

  Kim saw tears form in her mother’s eyes. “Child, you’ll never know how much I love you. You’ve never had a child so you couldn’t possibly understand how it feels to bring the gift of life into the world. A gift that I will always treasure. Your father and I had given up the idea that we would be blessed with a child when I started going through the change — but there is a God up above. A God that can create miracles.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. “You were a vision of love that we had prayed so faithfully for. And I’m so thankful that I received the answer that heaven sent down to me.” She paused, catching her breath. “I worry so about you, Kim. If your father doesn’t make it . . . you’re the only token I have of our love. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” her voice broke.

  Kim hugged her mother and kissed her on her smooth, wet cheeks. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Mother. I won’t come home late again.” They rocked together, sharing their fear of losing a loved one.

  * * *

  “Randall, I’m telling you the truth.” Kim twisted her college ring around her finger, looping it over the tip of her blood red, manicured nail. She rocked back in her chair. “I was all set to tell her off and tell her I was moving out.”

  “So what stopped you?”

  “Guilt. It would kill my father if I left my mother alone, at her age.” She put the ring back on her finger and steepled her hands together. “I can’t make her understand that I’m a grown woman, and every now and then I need a few hours of exotic, raw sex. Can you see anything wrong with that?”

  Randall walked around her desk, his long jet black ponytail swaying as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek. His turquoise eyes studied her face. “You’re a beautiful woman, Kim. After four years of sitting next to you in accounting and economics classes, I know you didn’t keep that three-point-eight-seven average by copying off someone else’s paper.” His tanned hands pulled her to her feet. “Nevertheless, you don’t use the brains you were born with.”

  “Meaning . . .”

  “Meaning you should have Bill come over for dinner and have a heart-to-heart with your mother, since your father is unavailable. Have him give her a spiel about how much he loves you and respects her. You know — make his intentions known.”

  “But I’m not sure what his intentions are.” She rested her buttocks against her desk and faced him. “He loves me. I know he does, but I’m not sure that translates into marriage at this stage in his life. I’ve told you about his plans for opening the clinic.” She folded her right arm under her breast, balancing her chin with her left palm. “I don’t think the timing is right, either, with Daddy being so sick in the nursing home. I couldn’t dream of planning a wedding without him being there.” She looked downcast at the floor.

  Randall lifted her chin and gave her a brotherly hug. “You don’t have to worry about —”

  George Cameron stood in the doorway, watching with obvious condemnation. He puffed his El Producto impatiently. “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten that this is a place of business, and not a hotel room.”

  Kim straightened her suit, and her face, before replying. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron, we were just talking.”

  “I won’t tolerate displays of sexual behavior in my agenc
y. Is that clear?” They nodded. “Randall, don’t you have an office with a pile of work?”

  Smoothing the sleeves of his steel gray Armani suit, Randall straightened his tie, turned up his nose at his boss’s wrinkled attire, and walked out of the office, giving Kim a conspiratorial wink before closing the door. “I’ve got a few questions to ask you while you’re here about the King account.” She sat at her computer and retrieved the file. “There’s a discrepancy on their statement they received last month. Mrs. King seems to think . . .”

  George Cameron closed and locked the door and closed the blinds while she studied the figures on the screen. He kissed the back of her neck — she stiffened. He reeked of cigar smoke. His fat white hands reached around to fondle her breasts.

  “Don’t! I told you not to try that again,” Kim said, pushing his hand away.

  “There was a time, not long ago, when you begged me to kiss ’em.” He spun her around in her chair, pulling her face close to his. She closed her eyes, bracing her hands on the padded arms. He kissed her on the mouth, bruising her breasts as he knelt in front of her.

  “Stop. I asked you to stop,” she said, pushing him away again.

  “I’m not gonna wait much longer for you, girlie. I enjoyed that black pussy anytime I felt like it — now you’re trying to tell me it’s off limits?” He pinched the tips of her breasts. “I don’t think so.”

  “Please, Mr. Cameron. I told you I’m not like that anymore,” she begged. Tears formed in her eyes when she thought of those ugly scenes in his office after everyone had left for the evening. They had had sex at least twice a week on the leather sofa in his office. It didn’t take him long to discover her weakness, and he had given her oral sex at their first entanglement. Now he dropped the cigar in the glass ashtray on the desk, freeing both his hands to grab her.

  His thumbs flicked around her breasts. She wiggled to free herself from his grasp, though she knew she was only fueling his desire with her fruitless efforts. He ripped open her panty hose with a quick yank, prodding his fingers into the center of her womanhood.

  “Please, Mr. Cameron . . . I’m begging you. Please stop.”

  Feeling the warm juices coat his fingers, he knew it was only a matter of seconds before she submitted. “Ain’t never had a woman get so wet like you, honey. Good Lord, I can’t wait to taste that sweet cream between your legs.” He knew her body’s responses to his expert touch. Her head fell back slowly as she echoed a helpless whimper. He slid her forward to the edge of the chair and lifted her skirt above her hips.

  He repeated vulgar French words in her ear, tore off her panty hose, and cast aside her flimsy panties. He pulled her forward to greet his elongated tongue, eager to taste and explore. Her hands clutched his head, pressing him closer. Within seconds he unzipped his pants and held his pulsating penis in his hand. His breathing came in rasping shudders as he felt her dark lips contract.

  Positioning himself above her, he thrust his penis between her legs and emptied his seed. Minutes later he threw her panties on the desk, and he wiped his mouth and dripping organ with a white handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Don’t you think for a minute that you can ever stop me from tasting that sweet pussy.” Placing the cigar butt in his mouth, he left the room with a smug smile on his face.

  As Kim adjusted her clothing, tears stained her beautiful red silk suit. She closed the door to her office behind him and relocked it. Who did she think she was kidding? He had her number and he knew it. He gave the best head she’d ever had. He had threatened to fire her on several occasions when she’d refused him. She acquiesced, not just out of fear of losing her high-paying job, but because he had also sworn to tell any future employer about her, so they in turn would expect the same thing.

  She bowed her head over her desk and cried. Cried for not being strong enough to challenge him and quit. Cried because his filthy talk had turned her on. How long was she going to let him use her? If her mother ever found out her little girl was indeed a whore, it would kill her. She had to find a way finally to end it, once and for all.

  9

  Ask the Lonely

  Ginger held the two pieces of leather rear cushions together and placed them evenly under the foot of the machine. She inserted a plastic J-strap at the appropriate notch, lockstitched both ends, then stacked them in the half-filled cart near her sewing machine.

  Unable to sleep after Jackson had phoned, she’d watched the numbers changing on the clock, knowing that time was running out to get a decent amount of sleep before work in the morning. She missed the warmth of Jackson’s body.

  Driving to work, she had even turned from her favorite soul station to News Radio 95— Jackson’s idea of what a working person should listen to every morning. The thirty-one-mile trek to work alone was something she didn’t want to get used to. Since they’d been married, Jackson always drove them to and from work, and they discussed the news. She enjoyed his comments, and his easy knowledge of history. As the reporter covered the latest news in Germany or Russia, Jackson always had a piece of information to add, to help Ginger better understand the total picture. She confessed to Jackson that the moment she had left high school (with a B+ average in history), she’d forgotten everything she’d been taught, figuring she’d never visit any of those places, so why crowd her brain with useless information. She also thought remembering north from east or south from west was useless and let that slide from her mind after completing her geography requirements in the eighth grade.

  Jackson had been all over the United States. Visited Africa twice, Spain, England, Mexico, and stopped briefly in Brazil. He’d told her of his traveling exploits numerous times, yet she never tired of hearing them. He promised they’d travel the world someday — she was still waiting.

  “Ginger! Yo Ginger!” called Veto, breaking her thoughts. The roaring of seventy power sewing machines blared loudly around them.

  Standing on tiptoe, she looked over to see an exaggerated grimace on his face. “What is it, Veto?”

  “Come up here for a minute.”

  Before she closed the thirty feet that separated their machines, she could see her mistake. “This whole pile is like that.” He pointed to the stack of cushions piled behind him. “Let’s check the work on your cart, and see if the rest of ’em are like these.”

  “Damn, I can’t believe I did this,” said Ginger, tearing down the cushions. Veto helped her rip apart forty-eight black leather rear cushion seats, which she’d absentmindedly sewn together with the wrong color carpeting.

  After trimming the needle holes, she resewed the cushions, using the appropriate facings. She checked her watch. It was ten past twelve. She’d lost ninety minutes fixing her stupid mistake. After stacking another twenty jade cloth cushions on her table, she reached into one of the buckets under the next row of machines and picked up the small bundles of jade carpeting.

  A sharp pain whipped around her head. Her veins throbbed along her temples. Standing erect, she pressed the tips of her fingers along her hairline. She felt as if her head were going to explode, the pain was so intense. Dropping the carpet pieces, she headed for her chair, when another spasm sliced across the nape of her neck.

  Another worker, sitting across the aisle, called their supervisor when she noticed Ginger’s agony. Ginger tried to call Veto’s name but, suddenly feeling weak, she could only manage a whisper. Black dots shot into her vision, dots that turned red, purple, and then black again. Her fingertips tingled and dizziness overcame her. Her weakened body crumpled to the floor like a marionette.

  She woke minutes later with a cold compress pressed to her forehead. Looking up into inquiring eyes, she felt humiliated and embarrassed. “Everybody get back to work, she’s okay,” said her boss, waving them off.

  Lying on a gurney in the medical department, Ginger welcomed the nurse’s various tests. The nurse eased the thermometer out of Ginger’s mouth, waving it back and forth before charting her findings. She told Ginger to call some
one to pick her up — they were sending her home to see her doctor.

  “I can’t understand what happened, Mama,” Ginger told Katherine, who was steering Ginger’s minivan onto the freeway. “I’ve never fainted in my life.” Her mother had packed a satchel of clothes and hitched a ride from a friend in Port Huron. Forty-four miles, barely fifty-five minutes later, Katherine Lee entered the medical department of Champion Motors in Troy, Michigan.

  “There’s always a first time for everything.” Katherine glanced back and forth from Ginger to the freeway. “You don’t look like yourself. Is something wrong with you that you’re not telling me about?”

  Ginger tilted her head, and smoothed her hair. She pulled down the sun visor and looked into the mirror. She turned her head, cupping her face with her right hand, and stared into her mother’s pained eyes. Katherine knew without being told what was wrong with her daughter. Ginger was losing her hair . . . again.

  “Uh-huh, she’s upstairs laying down. I called her doctor. He’s squeezing her in tomorrow,” said Katherine, sipping on a tall glass of Miller, the last one of the six-pack of beer left by Jackson. Her taste buds felt the bitter difference between her regular Colt 45 and this.

  “So you’ll be here until Sunday or Monday, you think?” Jewel asked her sister-in-law. She hoped she’d have time to visit with her for a few days. It was lonely being without Ollie to keep her company. Kim was always busy, going to the spa after work, or eating out with Bill.

  “Probably. I brought enough clothes with me for a week.” Katherine looked in the refrigerator for something to snack on. “Damn, I’m hungry. This girl ain’t got no pickled pigs’ feet” — she poked through the drawers— “no hog-head cheese. Nothing.” She slammed the door and went back to her beer, switching the phone to her other hand.