Knowing

by Rosalyn McMillan

  “I’m not an overachieving martyr like you. If someone would just let me explain —”

  Mink turned away. “It’s cold in here.” She retrieved her purse and moved downstairs to the living room.

  Sterling followed a few feet behind her.

  “Go on, I’m listening,” Mink said as she moved toward the fireplace and sat down on the hearth. Carefully, she hoisted two logs into the fire, reviving the smell of burning hickory. Warmth quickly filled the cozy room.

  As Sterling talked, she took in the finely detailed interior of the room, remembering how Spice had carefully chosen the black suede wall panels that were framed by cream gilded floor and ceiling mouldings. In one fell swoop, her mother had purchased the two nineteenth-century Chinese chairs, a pair of chic ebonized gilded stools and several Chinese porcelain figures. A week later there were matching Chinese cinnabar lacquer baluster-form vases to be placed on top of a midnineteenth-century black lacquer Chinoiserie floral and gilt cabinet. As the girls matured, it became increasingly obvious to both Sterling and Mink that all of Spice’s fussed over “junk” was worth a lot of money. Sterling sometimes wondered if it was such a good thing that Spice and David had made it big. Once she had received a spanking for toying with one of the Ming dynasty vases. Ever since then, she had hated this room.

  Nothing’s changed, Sterling thought. She’d been talking for the past five minutes with no response from her sister. As usual Mink hadn’t been listening. No one ever listened to her. Suddenly bored, she moved to the piano bench and began toying with the keys. In a piece of music, there were separate notes broken up by air. Sterling felt there was a lifetime of stale air between herself and her sister. As she started in on “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” Mink startled her with a question.

  “You’re forever talking about how painful your relationship is with Spice. What you don’t realize is that the drugs are causing you the pain. Not Spice. Can’t you see that they’re destroying your life?” Mink asked her sister.

  “I enjoy drugs the same way you enjoy professional status,” she stated calmly. “Can’t you see what that game is doing to your family?” The corner of her lips curled up in a knowing smile.

  Mink scowled. “You ain’t doing nothing but burning up brain cells that you’ll never be able to recover.” Mink shook her head. “Why do you put yourself through this? Why do you put Spice through this? Whatever problems you have, drugs aren’t the answer. You’re high right now, aren’t you? You don’t have to answer. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  “Can’t you be honest for once. I’m your sister, Sterling, for God’s sake. I’m trying to help.”

  “Why don’t you try being honest for a change. You hide behind that pilot’s uniform, but underneath you’re a whore just like the rest of us.”

  “Where in the hell did you come up with some stupid shit like that?”

  Sterling stopped playing and swung around to face Mink, laughing. “And the funny part! What’s really funny is that you’re so jealous of me it’s pathetic!”

  “You must be outta your mind, girl,” Mink said, rising.

  “The fuck I am. You bring your ass over here and I’ll show you who’s crazy.”

  “You don’t know who you’re fucking with, girl.”

  “Come on big sista.” Sterling started to laugh again. “Come and get some of this,” she said, rotating her open hand into her chest and bobbing her head forward. Sterling started shadowboxing as she moved toward Mink. She stopped for a moment and said with a smirk on her face, “Oh, by the way, Mink. I have worked today. The only kind of work I plan on doing — on my back.” She paused, sneered, then sniffed the air. “I still got dick juice on me from this morning.”

  “You lowdown slut —”

  “Slut?” She walked towards her. “Who the fuck you callin’ a slut? . . . ol’ bitch-ass trick!”

  Sterling screamed as she grabbed Mink’s lapel and swiveled her torso and right arm back in preparation to slap her. Sterling’s open palm was half-way to her sister’s face, when Mink caught her wrist with her right hand, then clutched Sterling’s chin in the crook of her left elbow. She felt Mink’s arm slide down her neck and apply pressure on her throat and larynx, cutting off her air. Sterling struggled, trying to weave her petite body from Mink’s tight grasp, then managed to loop her foot around Mink’s calf and tugged. Surprised by Sterling’s strength, Mink lost her balance and slipped on the thick pile, bringing Sterling down with her.

  “Lemmego muthafucka!” Sterling yelled in Mink’s ear as she tried to break free.

  Neither would relinquish her tight grip. Struggling for leverage, they moved like serpents, their curved bodies sliding, rolling on top of each other along the black carpeting. Thump! Crash! The girls were clawing and scratching each other, returning blow for blow and tearing the room apart while they fought. Sterling grunted and let out a loud moan just as one of the Ming vases fell from the mantel and cracked. The papier-mâché chairs were knocked on their backs as they tumbled over them without noticing. Mink pushed in Sterling’s face with her one hand and snatched a clump of her gold tresses with the other. “Ouch!” Sterling hollered, trying to shake her hair free from Mink’s grasp.

  Scrambling to her knees by the buffet table, Mink tried to pull herself and Sterling to their feet, but before she could, Sterling managed to grab one of the Russian china plates and break it over Mink’s head. Mink winced, but didn’t shout as the plate connected with her skull. Far too much adrenaline was flowing through her system now to feel pain.

  Mink’s suede heel caught on the edge of the tablecloth as she tried to stand and an avalanche of gumbo, rice, eggs and meat in warmed chafing dishes came tumbling down.

  Layers of rice stuck in Mink’s hair like maggots. Clumps of lobster slid down between her breasts. “I hate you,” shouted Mink as she grabbed a fistful of Sterling’s angora sweater.

  Together, they rolled over, and over, through the porcelain shards and food, struggling for position. Finally, Mink managed to get her foot at Sterling’s crotch. She pushed hard, pumping her stockinged heel against Sterling’s pubic bone, until she saw tears forming in her sister’s eyes.

  “Now that was some ho shit!” Sterling shouted between clenched teeth. She managed to break away from Mink and scrambled to the other side of the room. She snatched a bottle from the top shelf of the bar. Cracking the neck open on the side of the baby grand piano, she wagged the top half of the broken bottle toward Mink as she licked the drop of blood from the side of her mouth with her tongue. “Now you come and get some of this,” she hissed.

  “Spice is going to kill you,” Mink said, pointing to the broken glass.

  “Fuck her! Fuck you. Fuck all y’all mutherfuckas.” Sterling dropped the broken bottle, turned and started throwing bottles of champagne and cognac at Mink.

  Mink ducked and dodged the battery of bottles aimed at her. A bottle hit the toe of Otis’ shoes just as he entered the room.

  “Ouch! Dammit, Sterling,” Otis shouted. “What the fuck is going on in here?”

  Sterling froze.

  “Good God,” Mink said, surveying the destruction of the room.

  “Go home, Mink. The party’s over.” He grabbed Sterling’s arm and released the unbroken bottle from her grasp.

  Quietly, without a glance in Sterling’s direction, Mink gathered her things and left.

  Otis released the inside button of his elegant black and white houndstooth Versace jacket and steered Sterling to the sofa. Turning over one of the chairs, he sat across from her as she busily brushed food fragments from her hair.

  The sharp smell of cognac and champagne grew stronger as it seeped through the room. “Damn, it stinks like hell in here.” Otis snatched a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off his shoes.

  “Maybe it’s your cologne,” Sterling offered with a snide smile.

  “You breathe trouble,” Otis said, straightenin
g his lapel, “you know that?”

  Sterling’s gray eyes were slippery with tears. The evil look on her face didn’t represent her true feelings. She wished that her Uncle Otis, or someone, would just wrap their arms around her and say “everything’s going to be all right, baby.”