A Day Late and a Dollar Short

by Terry McMillan

  That's all she getting at? "It's a easy eight, Brenda." "Don't lie to me, Cecil."

  "I ain't lying, girl. You the best thang that's done happened to me in a long time. I ache for you. My feet don't hardly touch the ground when I walk, and when I do I can't even hardly feel my bunions no more. What about your feelings?"

  She take a sip of her beer, then decide to go on and finish it. She set the botde down and stands up. She do some kind of sexy stretch so her breasts rise up and then fall. Then she cup her hands over both of 'em and squeeze. "You could be on your way to being a eight, too." "What is that supposed to mean: 'on my way'?"

  "Well, we got some decisions we gotta make."

  "Like what?"

  "Well, tell me something. Since your wife didn't die, was you planning on getting a divorce any time soon?"

  "Of course I am. We over here living in sin. It ain't right. I know that. Your kids is little now, but not for long."

  "How soon?"

  "Well, I gotta let the woman get back on her feet, and I just told you, we got some financial problems we have to straighten out first. It ain't as easy as one two three, Brenda. Why you wanna know all this today, when we done talked about it before?"

  " 'Cause things is different."

  "What's different?"

  "Something done happened and I can't do nothin' about it."

  "Something like what?"

  Next thang I know, she look toward the kitchen to see if the kids is looking, and they ain't, so she lift up her light-blue top and pull both her breasts out from under her bra. "Do they look bigger?"

  "I can't say. I ain't never really looked at 'em with no ruler in mind."

  She puts 'em back and pull her top back down. "Well, they gon' be bigger than this in a few months."

  "You don't need no surgery, Brenda, if that's what this is about."

  She shakes her head back and forth. "How old is your youngest child, Cecil?"

  "Thirty-five."

  "And the oldest?"

  "I thank she thirty-eight. Why?"

  "Well, you might wanna let 'em know that they gon' have a brand-new little sister or brother sometime in September."

  "You playing with me, ain't you now, Brenda?"

  "Why would I joke about something like this?"

  "You sitting here telling ine that right this minute you got a baby growing in your belly that's got my blood?"

  "That's exacdy what I'm telling you," she says, and walks toward me. My heart is skipping every other beat. 1 feel hot. I feel young. I feel blessed. Like I'm being given another chance. A baby. A real live baby. Hot damn, Cecil. Didn't even know the old fella still had the power.

  "So," Brenda whispers in my ear and then licks my earlobe. She know this drive me crazy and I can't hardly tolerate myself. "Do you wanna be the father of my baby?"

  "I certainly do," I say. "I certainly do."

  "Then we gon' have to make some changes."

  "I know we do."

  "We need to move."

  "I know."

  "Someplace decent."

  "I know."

  "Where the kids can go to good schools."

  "Yeah."

  "Closer to white folks, is what I'm getting at."

  "We ain't gotta move with no white folks for that. They can go to private school."

  "Private school?"

  "They got some good Christian schools around here. It wouldn't hurt these kids none to get closer to God and get a good education at the same time, since don't nobody seem to go to church around here."

  "We can start doing that, too, you'll see."

  "I thank that's a very good idea, Brenda."

  "Okay, but I ain't finished."

  "I'm all ears, baby. You got my undivided attention. Do my ear again, though, please?"

  "I can't be doing too much more cleaning in my condition."

  "Don't even worry about that, Brenda."

  She makes one long stroke with her tongue on the side of my neck up to my ear, and then she blows inside it. Hot-diggety dog.

  "And my car need more than a transmission."

  "We can trade that sucker in."

  Now she do her nibbling thang on my earlobe. I like this one, too. I do.

  "I need to get this Curl outta my hair and get some braids, so I won't have to be worrying about lifting my arms up over my head when I get too big to fix it."

  "Okay."

  "And you might wanna get yours trimmed some, too, Cecil. Or maybe by the summer you might see a new style you like. We ain't got but a few pillowcases, and between the two of us, they all getting stained. And pillowcases ain't cheap."

  "I'll certainly look into it, Brenda."

  "Oh. Last thing," she says, and then she kiss me on my cheek, which makes me feel all squishy, and I squirm when I feel her lips cover my mouth. She sucks on 'em like they tangerines or something, and then she gives 'em back to me, I guess. "Hakeem and Sunshine need to go to a good preschool, 'cause I can't get no studying done with two kids in the house all day long."

  "Studying for what, Brenda?"

  "My GED. Remember I told you I wanna get it?"

  "Yeah, I do remember. It wouldn't hurt me to look at them books neither."

  "I told you we needed to make some changes, didn't I?" she say, so proud. I do like this girl. She ambitious. Everything she wanna do is about improving herself, her kids, and, I guess now, us. This is all new to me. But it feel good. And it feel right.

  "Yep. You sure did, Brenda. But we need to add one more thing to this list."

  "What?" she asks, looking a litde worried-that is, if I'm seeing her right.

  "Pour them beers in the icebox down the drain. You don't need 'em, and neither do the baby."

  "I will, Cecil. Don't even worry about it."

  "A baby," I say.

  "Yep. But it ain't coming today," she say, turning toward the kitchen. "Did you want a hot link or not?"

  "Naw. You go on and help yourself."

  I'm so happy right now I feel like I could run down the street screaming at the top of my lungs. I feel like calling Viola to tell her my good news. Woman, I can still make a baby! After all this time. Lord knows I can't let her know nothing about no baby. Can't tell my kids neither. Not yet. But hell, I need to do something to celebrate. What?

  Brenda's in the kitchen doorway, looking at the kids. They paper plates is clean. They drinking they Kool-Aid. I stand behind her and put my hands on her belly and rub in a circle. "What?" she asks. "I gotta go celebrate," I say. "Just bring me back something green, okay?" "Broccoli or collard greens, baby? Take your pick!" She stomps on my toe, right on my corn, but I refuse to feel it. "Okay!" I say, and head for the door.

  "Would you bring the kids back something sweet?"

  "Y'all want something?" I ask.

  "Yeah!" they all say.

  "Vanilla Wafers!" Miss Q says.

  "Cookie Dough ice cream!" Hakeem says.

  The baby just grins. She'll take whatever they having. When I get outside the door, I just stand there and look out at the black desert. All I see is the flashing lights of the Mirage and Excalibur and Caesar's Palace. I feel lucky. Like I done already hit the jackpot and I need to tell somebody. I run on my tiptoes all the way to the bottom of them steps. Before I put the key in my Lincoln, it hit me: Howie! That's who I can tell. He the one person in the world I can trust. Howie won't pass judgment on me. He'll be happy for me.

  I get in the car and start it up, but before I put it in gear, I push in my B. B. King tape and don't hear a word he sanging 'cause I'm grinning so hard. I can't wait to tell Howie. I know he ain't gon' hardly believe this. But, hell, he ain't the only one.

  Chapter 10

  Fish Dreams

  "I can walk!" I yell at the nurse who just insist I ride out of here in this damn wheelchair. I know the rules. I been through this before. But, hell, some rules was made to be broken.

  "I'm sure you can, Mrs. Price, but you know hospital regulations: we ha
ve to assist you out in a wheelchair regardless if you're able to walk or not. Is that your son over there?"

  Lewis is sitting in one of those lookalike chairs with his hands clasped together like he's praying hard for something he know he don't deserve. His face is shiny in a dull kinda way from perspiring and look like he need a hot shower. Why do he have to come out in public looking like he homeless or something? "Yeah, that's my son," I mumble, and Lewis looks at me like he's apologizing for it. Sometimes I wish God had made me a witch, or at least given me some magic powers. I'd start by rewiring my son, give him a clean start, put him on a wholesome path: one that lead somewhere.

  "Is he going to drive you home?"

  I look at him, hard. He ain't got no driver's license, but I let him drive my Sentra down here to bring me my dentures since Loretta s been a litde under the weather herself these past few days and ain't been able to get up here. I asked him to bring me some clean underwear and something decent to wear home-anything hanging in my closet that stretch, and please: no zippers, or buttons, or hooks and eyes. I told Lewis I better not smell a drop of liquor on his breath either, even though it'll probably be oozing out his pores, and if he even thought about driving my car anywhere but here, he best forget all about the whole idea. I'd know it, 'cause I keep track of my mileage, and if I found out he had, I'd make him walk his ass all the way down to the Strip to find his daddy. He could stay with Cecil and his young girlfriend and her kids in the luxurious projects till he wore out his welcome. Lewis promised he'd be up here by twelve even though they wasn't releasing me till one. Two of the nurses told me he been here since ten- thirty.

  I get on in the wheelchair and nod yes to the nurse. Lewis gets up and follows us to the counter, where they hand me a plastic bag with my personal things in it. I put it in my lap. The nurse hands me a stack of papers-a million instructions on how to keep breathing, and then a pile of tiny ones. I know what they are.

  "You have seven prescriptions that need to be filled as soon as possible. Can your son do that for you?"

  "Yes, I can," Lewis says.

  "Okay, okay. Get me outta here. I wanna go home."

  I hear him let out one of his long sighs, and I don't hardly say two words to him till we pull in my driveway.

  I can't believe it. The house is clean. Spotless. "Who did this?"

  "Me. Wasn't much to do."

  I go in the kitchen and open the refrigerator real slow. It's been cleaned out, too, with the exception of some French's mustard packages, a jar of Folger's coffee crystals, and two big bottles of Schlitz Malt Liquor. These ain't hardly mine. All of a sudden I smell the disinfectant he used, so I slam that door. The fumes alone can do me in. All I need is to go rushing back to that hospital the same damn day I get home. Wouldn't that be a kicker?

  "I fixed your car," he says, heading straight for the refrigerator. I try to guess what he's going in there to get. A fix. But, hell, I could use one, too.

  "Wasn't nothing wrong with my car," I say, as I head for my bedroom. I can see in the room where Cecil slept that Lewis done made hisself right at home. I hope he don't think he moving in. I got news for him if that's what all this fixing and cleaning is about. He should really think of my house like it's a motel.

  "Ma, when was the last time you changed the oil?"

  "What you mean, the last time? I ain't never changed the oil. That was your daddy's job, not mine."

  Lewis comes in the living room with one of my Classico spaghetti jars full of beer and sits down on my off-white couch. "No you don't!" I yell.

  "What's wrong?" he asks, looking scared.

  "Please don't sit on my good couch with them dirty clothes on, Lewis."

  "Okay," he moans, and gets up, looks around the room at two gold chairs I just had re-covered, then down at his pants, and decides to stand. "Anyway, your spark plugs were shot, and you needed a new starter, so I basically talked the man into letting me barter in exchange for some work, which is one reason why I'm so dirty."

  He looks down the hallway at me, waiting for me to praise him, I guess, so I do: "Thank you, Lewis. Glad you still use the good sense you was born with. At least some of the time." I should've left that last part off, but it just slipped off my tongue. "Work?"

  "Yep. He said he'd hire me if I wanted a job."

  "That'd be one helluva commute, Lewis."

  "I'm thinking about making some changes."

  "Well, don't think too fast. Do you realize how hot it gets here?"

  "Ma, please. You need anything?"

  "Yeah, let me have a sip of that beer." Then I stop and think about it. "Never mind, pour me a glass, would you?" I say. "Do you know when Paris and Janelle supposed to be getting here?"

  "I don't know. I think there's quite a few messages on your answering machine."

  I get up from the edge of the bed, and lean over to see a orange "4" blinking. "Why didn't you listen to 'em?"

  " 'Cause it's not my phone."

  "Well, what if it was something urgent? I've been in the damn hospital, Lewis."

  "Sorry," he says. "Anyway. What about those prescriptions? You want me to take 'em down to the pharmacy to get filled?"

  "Yeah, but I ain't got but about seventy-something dollars to my name, so ask 'em how much they gon' cost. Ain't nothin' to eat in here, is it? I'm starving." "Me, too."

  "I bet you are," I say. "I hate that I'm even thinking it, but what I wouldn't pay for some of your daddy's hot links and some baked beans and potato salad and a side of collard greens. Just a teaspoonful." "I can stop by the Shack."

  "Where you been? Ain't no more Shacks," I blurt out and then start flipping through a pile of mail next to the phone. Lewis just shakes his head, and guzzles up the last of his beer. All this is too much for him to digest, I guess, but that's what he get for always thinking everybody except him is always doing so good. That everybody else are so goddamn happy. I don't know no really happy people. Not the kind that makes you walk around humming. Maybe a short verse every now and then, but that's about it. So-could be this family news flash might snatch him out of this fantasy world he been living in. "Just get me a Big Mac and some large fries and two hot apple pies. No. No apple pies. And make that a small fry. I forgot. I'm on a diet."

  "Should I drive or walk?"

  I feel like throwing something at him for asking such a dumb-ass question. He was smarter when he was a teenager. "Get there whatever way you think makes the most sense, Lewis."

  He thinks about it for a minute. Sighs. Takes a couple of steps toward the front door, then says, "I guess I'll drive, then. Would it be okay to get a pack of cigarettes?"

  "Add it to your tab and go straight there and come straight back, and Lewis, don't even think about smoking in my car or this house, you got that?"

  "I don't consider it an option," he says.

  After the door slams shut, I realize I forgot something important: "Lewis, get me two quick-pick lottery tickets!" Sometimes he's just as smart as I hoped he would be, but then other times I can't figure out how he graduated from high school.

  The first message is from my dizzy sister Suzie Mae, wondering if I'm still in the hospital. If she wanted to know so damn bad, why didn't she call one of my kids to find out? Then I can't hardly believe my ears when I hear Charlotte's voice. At first it don't even sound like her, she sound so mellow, and I can tell she was calling from a pay phone, 'cause I hear that mall music and a lot of noise in the background. Something must be going on at home, otherwise she wouldn'ta called me like this. At least she called. I ain't exacdy shocked that she ain't coming out here. I wonder what kind of vacation Al's going on. Maybe he got a big job on his rig or something. Oh hell, not Cecil? Says he found out I was coming home today and he'll stop by later to make sure I'm okay. Plus, he say he got some news. I hope he paid the IRS. This would mean I can move when I want to, not 'cause I have to. It just dawned on me, where in the hell will I go if I have to move? I'm living on a fixed income, which seems to keep me in on
e fix after another all right. I'm meditating on this when I hear Essex, the head of our bowling league, saying they ain't heard hide nor hair from me, and "We lagging behind without you, Vy. You better hurry up and get your big butt down to the alley. Where you been hiding? You still alive, ain't you? Don't die on us before the tournament next month, gal. Chuckle. Chuckle." Is that a knock at the front door? I do not feel like getting up to answer it, especially if it's Cecil, or Loretta, 'cause I just barely walked in the house long enough to catch my breath. I ain't hardly in no mood to be chitchatting yet. I peek through the curtains and, sure enough, it's Loretta. She done dyed her hair again. Now it look lavender. She ought to stop. You can see her pink scalp and straight through her hair 'cause it's so thin, but she got enough mousse and hairspray on it that it look like cotton candy spinning on over her head.

  "Viola, are you in there, sweetie?"

  Oh shoot. I can't lie to Loretta like this. I knock on the window to get her attention and she walks over and stands there. "Hi, Loretta. Thanks for stopping by, honey, but I just got home and I'm supposed to stay in bed at least until tomorrow."

  "Okay. But do you need anything? I'm on my way to the supermarket and I could get you something if you want."

  "Thanks, but my son already went for me."

  "Oh, your son is here. That's nice."

  "Yep. My other kids will be here today, too."

  She looks hurt. Like what is she supposed to do now. "Who did your hair, Loretta?"

  "Got it done down at Vivacious."

  "It looks fabulous, honey."

  "Thank you, Vy. Well, I'll head on home, but you call if you need anything. And let me know when you're up for bridge."

  "I will. And you're feeling okay?"

  "Depending on what day it is. Diabetes can play havoc with you. But I'm thankful to the Almighty just to be here."

  "Join the club. See you later, sweetie."

  She smiles and waves, turns, and leaves the porch. Loretta is so frail and pale. Hard to believe she lives in Las Vegas. She don't have no family to speak of, but, from the looks of things, I guess that would be me.