"I was thirsty. Needed some water," she mumbles fast.
I walk over to her and she beelines it toward the room she and Janelle are sharing. "Wait a minute," I say.
"What is it, Aunt Paris?" Her back is toward me.
"Why are you in such a hurry?"
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"All right, then. Good night."
" 'Night," she says, and clashes into the hall bathroom. I hear the faucet come on and, a few minutes later, the toilet flush. In the kitchen I see a clear blue glass lying on its side in the middle of the stainless-steel basin. I place the pill on my tongue while I pick up the glass and take a whiff. It hurts when I smell that Tropical Breeze cooler, but I swallow the pill dry and go on back to bed.
I wake up to the smell of bacon and loud rap music. Mania's already up. 1 don't feel like moving, really. There's a tap tap tap at the door. "I'm up," I say.
"Can I come in?" Janelle asks.
"No, stay out there and talk to me through the door."
She eases it open and the phone rings at the same time. I hear Mama yell, "I got it!" from the kitchen. I look at the clock. It's just barely eight-thirty.
"What's up?" I ask. Janelle looks sullen, despite the white sweatsuit. Her hair is in a ponytail and she's got on dark-pink lipstick. With that against her dark skin, she looks like a Somalian Barbie. If I'm not mistaken, it also looks like she could stand to lose a few pounds. I dare not say anything or she'll freak out. "Sit," I say. "No, wait. Come on into the bathroom while I brush my teeth."
"Dingus!" Mama yells. "A girl name Meagan is calling you!"
I stop dead in my tracks and Janelle bumps into me from behind. Her boobs feel bigger.
"Paris, can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Just a second." I go over to the door to see if Dingus is still asleep. He is. Lewis is nowhere in sight. If I didn't have an audience I'd get on that phone and put this little bitch in her place and then maybe kick the hell out of my son for putdng us both in such a precarious situation. On the ride here I was too busy worrying about Mama to bring the subject up, and even though it was taking up a big chunk of my mind, I decided to wait until we leave to deal with this issue. Now is not the time or the right circumstances to mention it, because not only would Mama be heartbroken, but this kind of news could put her back in the hospital. I still give him a stiff kick in his ass. "Ouch! Ma, dag! What's wrong?"
"What's so important that this girl has to call you here?"
"Who?"
"Meagan. That's who."
"I don't know."
"You and I both know you know. And I suggest you handle it now or suffer the consequences."
"I don't have a clue about what you're talking about, Ma. Granny, would you ask her if I can call her back later, please?"
"You ain't making no long-distance calls on this phone. Period. Paris, come talk to this girl, would you?"
"No!" Dingus says. "Never mind. I'll talk to her." "What we doing today, Paris? Wanna go to the mall?" "Mama, are you supposed to be walking and doing stuff already?" "I feel good. 1 don't wanna sit in here all day looking stupid. We need to do something. What time y'all leaving?" "My plane leaves early tomorrow morning." "Please get a seat on it for your brother." "Where is he, by the way?" "Said he went to work. And don't ask."
I shake my head and head back toward the bedroom, but stop at the door when I hear Mama say, "All I know is, he better bring my damn car back in one piece."
"You shouldn't let him drive it, Mama."
"I know. But it's too far and too frigging hot to walk anywhere, and with his arthritis acting up and all." "His what?"
"Maybe he ain't been lying about it. His right knee is all puffed up, and you should see his elbows and wrists, Paris. They look like big knots. Even two of his fingers is getting crooked."
"Really? I just thought he's been faking these past couple of years. That he's just been complaining to get some sympathy and using it as an excuse so he wouldn't have to work." "I saw it with my own eyes." "Then why doesn't he go to a doctor?"
"He said he's been to three or four, but all they do is give him this medicine that messes up his stomach. He said Tylenol works, sometimes. And he took four of 'em at one time. Why don't you give him one or two of your Advils!
Is she trying to be funny? "I'll ask him if he wants to try one when he gets back. Where's Shanice?"
"Still sleep!" Janelle screams from the bathroom. She's sitting on the edge of the bathtub when I get back, fidgeting with Mama's shower curtain with tropical fish swimming behind her. "I guess she was beat."
"I know she was," I say, and get out a brand-new toothbrush from under the sink.
"What are we going to do for Mama's birthday?"
"That's what you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Yes."
"That's it?"
"Well, not exactly."
"Then what?" I ask.
"First, do you have any ideas what we could do?"
"Well, I was thinking about asking if she wanted to come up for a few weeks, which we know the answer to that already. Plus, I might have to go to London for four or five days. She could hang out with Dingus, maybe spend a week with you."
"I'm not sure what my situation is going to be like yet."
"Don't worry about it. Anyway, what's the deal with George? Have you guys really split up?"
"Probably."
"What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm still far too pissed."
"He didn't touch Shanice, did he?"
"No," she says, dryly.
"You wouldn't lie about some shit like this, would you, Janelle, seriously?"
"No, I wouldn't. But I don't feel like talking about George right now, Paris, okay?"
"Are you pregnant?" She looks shocked by my question.
"What would make you ask that?" Her eyes are black and glassy. Like she's going to break down any minute.
"Well, you look like you've gained weight and your boobs are bigger."
"So what? Yours are, too."
"Yeah, but I bought mine."
"What?"
"I got implants."
"When? Why didn't you tell me? Let me see!" I lift up my pajama top and show these beauties off. "Damn," she says, staring. "They're humongous!" "They are not. I'm a 34-D. That's it." I cup them with both hands, then let them go. They don't move. Janelle's hands are over her mouth. "How come you didn't tell me?" "You don't tell me all your business, now, do you?" "The important stuff."
"So are you or aren't you?" I say, dropping my top. "I don't believe this, Paris. How much did it cost?" "About five thousand, and it was worth every penny. I can actually wear tank tops again without a bra."
The phone rings. "Somebody get that!" Mama yells from the kitchen. "I'll get it," I say, and walk over to the bedside table and answer it. "Hello," I say.
"Yeah, Paris. This is Lewis. I had a little mishap. Nothing to be too worried about, but. . ."
"Where are you, Lewis?"
When I hear him sigh, I know immediately something's wrong. "Where are you?" "In jail."
I switch the phone to my other ear. "What are you doing in jail?" "Driving without a license." "That's all?"
"And being under the influence." "The influence of what?" "Alcohol."
"It's only eleven o'clock in the morning, Lewis!"
"I know what time it is. I just went down to the place where the guy said he was gon' hire me, and he wasn't there, and this other guy was waiting on him, too, and he had a taste, and I started sipping with him, and then he decided not to wait and asked me for a lift home, and I gave him one, and we got stopped."
"Where's Mama's car?"
"They impounded it."
"She's going to be pissed."
"I know, but could you or somebody come bail me out, please?"
"Shit, Lewis. Mama just got home yesterday and look what you're doing."
"How much is bail?"
"Two thousand."
"Dollars?"
"All you have to do is put up two hundred. I'll pay you back, don't worry."
"Yeah, sure. I'll hold my breath. Give me an hour."
"Make it two. I have to stay here for at least four hours. They wanna make sure I'm sober, which, believe me, I am. Thanks, sis."
"And I've got nothing but love for you, too," I say and hang up.
"I heard," Janelle said. "Don't tell Mama, just go get him."
"So?" I say, looking at her stomach.
"No, I am not pregnant," she says.
"Come with me," I say.
"Okay," she says, but doesn't move.
"Can I ask you another question?"
"I'm listening," she says.
"Have you noticed anything different about Shanice's behavior?"
"I certainly have," she says. "And I'm going to get her some counseling."
"So you've caught her doing it?"
"Doing what?"
"Drinking."
"Drinking what?" Janelle asks, stunned.
Uh, oh, Paris. You and your big fucking mouth. "Well, maybe I'm mistaken, but I think she was enjoying a wine cooler last night." "You must be crazy, Paris."
"Janelle, Mama smelled beer on her breath yesterday." "And what the hell is this supposed to mean? Mania's been giving all of her grandkids a sip off her beer for years. So maybe she took a little sip. All kids experiment. Big deal."
"Is something going on at home that could be bothering her?" "Well, her dad's gone."
"George is not her dad, and everybody knows she can't stand him, Janelle, so I doubt if his leaving would throw her off kilter."
"Well, it's nothing the two of us can't handle," she says. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes." When she gets up, Mania's shower curtain pops out from three of the loops. I guess I just must look stupid to her.
"Ma, can I go with you to get Uncle Lewis out of jail?" Dingus asks from the living room.
"Shut up," I whisper loudly. "Where y'all going?" Mama asks. "To get something at the mall." "I said I wanted to go, too."
Shit. Shit. Shit. I look at Dingus and make a motion like I'm slicing his neck off. "Okay, Mama, but first Janelle and I need to make a quick stop, and you can't come with us because it's a surprise."
"What kind of surprise?" she asks, coming into the living room, wiping her hands on a yellow dish towel. She's already dressed, in her pink cotton slacks and pink polo shirt, white leather Keds. Her hair is a mess. Square patches of dry braids fill her head, and she doesn't have on any makeup. She's probably been waiting for me or Janelle to do it. "If we told you, it wouldn't be one, now, would it?" "I love surprises," she says.
"We all do, Mama," I say, "we all do." And on that note, I decide that we will rush to get our stupid brother out of jail and get her car out of hock and then find out where that Thomasville furniture store is and get her stuff" out of layaway and hope they can deliver it sometime today, and then maybe we can look for a black beauty shop that will deep-condition and maybe cut and perm her hair, and we can come back and take her to Red Lobster for lunch before we hit the mall, and who knows, if we have any time left, maybe we can take her to test-drive something new.
Chapter 12
Liquid Jesus
Okay. So I messed up. I shouldn'ta never took a squig off Kirk's bot- de. Plus, I didn't even know the dude. He could have a disease. Many diseases. What the hell. Now I gotta get ready for my sisters to lecture me all the way back to Mania's. They don't understand. And ain't no way for me to get them to understand. I don't want to have to drink, but while I was out here waiting for this dude all I was thinking was that here's an opportunity for me to make some money, I don't care how much or how little, but enough so that I won't have to ask nobody . For nothing. Especially my family.
I don't like to beg. Which is all borrowing really is, when you get right down to it. 'Cause I ain't got it, and somebody else do. The way it usually goes down is that the chances of you ever getting an opportunity to pay it back are slim, 'cause once you start borrowing it's like getting behind in your bills: you hardly ever catch up. First you have to keep track of who lent you some money and how much. But just say one day you get lucky and run into a few extra dollars (which ain't likely). Shit, by that time you've probably forgot how much you even borrowed and who you still owe (unless the person won't let you forget, especially if it was some real money, like over a hundred dollars), and if that's the case, since you can't in good conscience decide who to pay first, you just avoid all of 'em for however long it takes you to pay everybody back: never. Of course this means your relationship is damaged forever, because in the back of their mind, you fiicked them, showed no respect, took them for granted, or just can't be trusted or depended on. Which also means that when you get into another jam, you can't even twist your mouth to ask for so much as a quarter. This is the reason why I try not to borrow. I'll go to the pawn shop first. But I've done that so many times that I don't have nothing left worth pawning.
As a man, I don't care if I am handicapped, I still want to maintain some level of dignity. Have to set standards for myself, even if I don't live up to 'em. Which is all I'm trying to do. It's just hard. A part of my mind knows exactly what I need to do to get on track, and another part wants to do it. Just the way the first part's laying it out. I mean, it's crystal-fucking clear. But. There's another part-and, sadly enough, a very small part but it's the piece that seems to have the most power-that says: It's too hard. You're too scared. You ain't never going to amount to nothing no matter how hard you try, no matter what you do. You ain't never going to know what real success feels like. Won't be able to inhale it. Exhale it. Puff on it. No. That little section screams the loudest: You're fucked up, Lewis. Twisted. Far from crazy, but just got too many ideas and not enough of what it takes to execute them. You don't even really know where Point A is any-fucking-way. And how do you know when you reach Point B? Sometimes you don't even realize that one step ain't even a whole step. You just thought you was moving, but you been standing still. I know I ain't been making much progress, so, to stop all them red-hot wires from short-circuiting my whole mind, I shut it up with a drink.
I didn't come all the way to Vegas to go to jail. I just wanted to see if Mama was all right. Say hi to Daddy. Shit, I'm facing a court date here, and possibly more time when I get back to California. I'ma have to stay here with Mama to see when I have to appear and if they put me on probation or make me do a few months in the county jail, but fuck me if they find out about those other DUIs, in California. Shit. This technological age is good for some things but not when you've got a record. They can find out the history of your entire life in a matter of minutes.
I need to send Donnetta a little something. A token. Enough to be symbolic. But she won't understand what being a litde short represents. She could care less what it means to a man's ego when he can't take care of his kid. It's too hard trying to get her-or other people-to understand. So you stop trying.
Damn, there they are. Why did Paris have to bring Dingus? I don't want him to see me anywhere near this kinda place. It don't matter whether I'm a criminal or not. It's still jail, any way you look at it. But, sadly enough, most of these dudes in here ain't criminals. They're just stupid. Like me. Behind bars for committing crimes against machines, businesses that rip people off, or ourselves. Hell, I didn't do nothing to nobody. I was just driving under the influence. I wasn't even close to being drunk, but I'm glad I didn't hurt nobody, even though I don't ever get so drunk I can't drive. I'm not that stupid.
The redheaded guy with steel-blue eyes hands me my stuff in a plastic bag: my beat-up black wallet; my Casio watch that's got a memory and a calculator; a high-school class ring with a red stone that this girl gave me as proof of her love; a crushed-up pack of Kools with three bent cigarettes in it; two red-an
d-yellow Tylenol Extra Strength; and ninety-two cents in change. The dude that gives me the bag look like he's waiting for me to thank him, but I don't. He ain't doing me no favor.
There's a long buzz, and I push the beige metal door open, which I take my time doing. Paris got her hands on her hips, but she lets one side drop. I guess she's trying to act like she ain't too pissed. Janelle looks like her mind is somewhere else and she just came along for the ride. I could be anybody. Dingus walks over to me and puts his arm over my shoulder. "What up, Uncle Lewis?" He breaks into a smile, showing off those silver braces. Handsome boy. Smart. Not sure if he knows what the real deal is, living in the world he lives in, but regardless, he's a good kid. He's got the rest of his life to learn what's happening in the streets, or avoid 'em altogether.
"I'm all right. Glad to be outta there."
"I hear you," he says.
"Well, at least it's a nice building," Janelle says, looking around at this sterile-ass place. "It doesn't look anything like I thought it would."
I don't bother to respond. I just follow behind them. Paris doesn't say a single solitary word until we're outside, standing next to her blue rental car. It's a Cudass. I ain't drove one of these in years. "How far away is Mama's car?" she asks.
"Don't worry, Paris," I say, "I'ma pay back all your money. Don't even worry about it."
"I'm not worried, Lewis. I never worry about when you're going to pay me back. Who's keeping tabs? Answer my question, please." "I don't know. But it can't be that far," I say, and light a cigarette. "You know you can't smoke that thing in the car, so hurry up," she says. I take two more long drags and then get in the back seat, next to Dingus. Paris whips out her cellular phone and gets directions to the place. It's only a few blocks from here. As usual, she takes care of everything. Janelle follows us in Mama's car. I can see Paris s eyes in the rearview mirror. She is totally disgusted with me, but it ain't her I'm worried about, it's Mama. It's a for-sure lecture. In a few minutes, I'ma have to be fourteen all over again.
A Day Late and a Dollar Short Page 17