Now, I have to tell you … that man was sweet, sweet, sweet. And gentle with me like a newborn baby. And he might be swayback and have no behind much, but that’s the only kind I want from now on. You hear me? He ain’t missin nothin he needs. I broke off three or four of my false fingernails throwin my hands out gainst the wall behind the bed and I don’t know where my false eyelashes went. He was not the wild one, I was.
I hollered, chile, I hollered. I was singin. I know #6 heard me and I started to feel shamed, but I couldn’t stop hollerin and moanin, so I, in my mind, I just said to #6, “Jog on that.”
When Roland left me the next morning he took my mind with him. Sure did. Yes, indeedy! I tried to be ashamed of how I gave myself to that man so fully, but I just kept stretchin and feeling my body and smiling. See?
Well, he just brought my Femme Fatale out! I spent a little more money on nightgowns and pretty little things to wear around the apartment. Kept some real flowers every weekend. Bought some real down love music, Ray Charles, Bobby Blubland, Anita Baker, Gladys Knight, Patti LaBelle. Love music filled my rooms and Love filled my heart.
He cooked for me, I cooked for him. He served me like I was a queen, which to me, I was. I served him like he was a king. Which to me, he was. When we made love, I massaged him, after, til he slept. He massaged me sometimes, before. I didn’t let him get up after either. I had fluffy, scented, warm towels to rub over his body, after, and something nice and silky, his pajamas I made him buy. He put on the bottom, I put on the tops.
He liked books. I read to him … love stories. Sometimes he read to me, poetry and stuff, and we talked, we talked. He liked to keep up with the news, so I read a few things out the news every day, so I could talk with him about it. I know there are magazines that say it’s dumb to do these things, not liberated at all. But remember, they are talking to single, lonely, unhappy women. With what I was doing, I was learning things myself. I began to read more books. Was more aware of things around me and in the news. You got to learn things and grow. See?
We went for long walks. Sometimes I said I was busy and didn’t see him, but I had to get a rest from all this Femme Fatale, chile. I wondered what Ms. Mimi was thinkin, but I hadn’t heard from her, so I knew she didn’t think I was makin a fool of myself.
Well, I can’t tell you everything, but three weeks more of Roland being with me every night and I decided we need to have a little talk. I told him the truth as I see it.
I said, “Listen, you coming in bout every night takin my lovin. Some of your clothes are in my closet and even my drawers. We eatin and sleepin together. Now what does all that mean? To you?” I let him know by that “to you” that I had ideas of my own.
He smiled. “It means we are very close.”
I nodded. “Close to what?”
“To each other, Darlin.”
“What do that mean?”
He smiled down at his hands. “What do you want it to mean?”
I smiled at my neatly manicured hands, my own natural nails. Said, “That’s what I am tryin to get you to tell me. See?”
He was quiet for a minute. I was too.
He finally said, “Wellllll.”
I asked, “Do you mean it when you say you love me or you just feelin good at that moment?”
He wasn’t smilin now. “Welll, I mean it … at that moment.”
I didn’t smile either, but my voice was soft and low, my Femme Fatale voice, honey. “All we are goin to have between us are moments?”
He said, “Well, Darlin, I hope not. I don’t know what to say.”
Still softly, I said, “Welllll, I do. My gramma told me … If somebody love you, they want to be WITH you. They want to marry you. See?”
Well, he frowned and gave me, yeah, a strange look. He took a deep sigh, but didn’t say nothing. So … I gave him his word back. “Well?”
He musta been ready, “Darlin, I don’t know how you expect me to make a decision on somethin as important as marriage in this little time I’ve known you. It’s … nice … what we have, but … marriage? How can you expect to talk about that so soon?”
Well, I had already thought, so I was ready. I ain’t dumb and I am a Femme Fatale and I had my gramma’s words in my head backing me up. See? I hated to say it, because I loved him now. I knew he was a good man in many ways and I … I just loved him, that’s all. His sweetness, goodness, kindness and, yes, his lovin started it all.
I took a deep breath and said, “Well, #4, I expect marriage just like you must expect us to go on doing what we’ve been doin. But, you see, I don’t have but so much loving to give in life, and if you ain’t sure what you gonna do with my love, or even if it’s worth enough for you to want to keep it, then I can’t give you any more of it. I will save it for somebody who’s gonna love my kind’a love. The staying and keepin kind.”
He reached for me and I let him hold me. He said, “Darlin, let’s don’t go so fast. We got plenty time. You know I … think a lot of you. Think the world of you. But marriage is an important step. I’ve never been married. Wasn’t married to my daughter’s mother. Cause when I do marry, I plan to stay. Make it work. Won’t be no divorce.”
I saw Roland didn’t tell all his business to Ms. Mimi. I said to myself, “Marriage ain’t no more important than my body and I ain’t gonna use up all my lovin before I find the true man I’m going to marry.” I leaned back from him, gave him my sweetest Femme Fatale smile and said, “Well, sweetheart, let’s say good night. I have some thinkin I want to do.” I let my Femme Fatale shoulder show out of my robe and my Femme Fatale leg kept appearin as I helped him up and walked him to the door. Touched him a light Femme Fatale touch on his cheek as I turned my cheek to him for his kiss good night. He left hesitantly as he went through the door. I smiled my sweet, open Femme Fatale smile as I closed that door.
Then I sat down amid my love toned rooms and cried like a fool. Why did I have to do that? Would I lose him? Was I going to end up alone … with my little money? I cried, chile. But I knew I was right and if I didn’t think enough of myself, nobody else would have to.
Then I went and gathered all his things in my apartment and at 4 A.M. I placed them neatly in front of his door. I had folded his things with love and tears, but I had to do it. Don’t care how good it is to you, if it ain’t good for you, let it go.
I got dressed for work and went and sat somewhere drinking coffee and thinkin, til 7 A.M. when I was due at work. That evenin I got in from work before he did. I didn’t answer my phone or my door.
The next few weeks I never answered my door once I got in. I knew his schedule, that’s when I went out to movies, out to dinner, even jogged again, alone. Cried sometimes, thinkin I’d have to go home to the country, alone, forever. Cause I don’t want nobody but him. Him and his daughter. Five daughters, I don’t care!
But, Femme Fatales are strong. So I fought against runnin over there and breakin down his door. I just told my body, “You just shut your mouth! It’s my brain’s turn!” Femme Fatales don’t beg! See?
Bout a week later I decided I would answer the door the next time he knocked. I dressed for him and sat and waited. Bout three nights runnin. No knock came.
I got ready to die. (You really can feel that way.) Wanted to kick myself for not keepin what I did have. And for not being something that would have let him know I was the woman for him. I played all them same blue love songs over and over, only this time, they were so sad. Ole Femme Fatale was gone.
Couple days later I was sittin on my couch, crammin some glazed donuts I had bought on the way home from work. Just’a eatin and feeling sorry for myself. Crumbs everywhere. A knock came on the door and, thinkin it was Ms. Mimi, I moaned, “Come in.” But it was Roland. And he was mad.
He walked in, put his finger in my face that was full of donuts and said, “You are drivin me crazy and you ain’t feelin shit!”
I swallowed and jumped up to cut off the record playin somethin sayin, “Please, please, PL
EASE.” Said to him, “Have a seat, sweetheart?” Just as calm as I wanted to be. Ole Femme had done come back.
He sat down, got up, walked in a circle, then sat again. Said, “What is all this shit you doin, Darlin?”
I was smiling all inside myself. “Sweetheart, I’ve never hardly heard you curse before. What is the problem anyway?”
He reached for me, I let him touch me a minute then I moved away to find a different record. He reached again. “C’mere, woman. You know what you are doin to me!”
I looked serious and concerned and I wasn’t acting. “I thought I gave you what you said you wanted … your freedom, time …”
He pulled me to him again. Beautiful, warm things exploded in my body, in my heart. He said, “Okay, okay, I been free. Thank you. Now.” He held me away from him, looked into the slightly smiling, inquiring face of a Femme Fatale. I didn’t say anything. Hell, we were playing hearts and it was his turn to play.
Finally he spoke. “I can’t stop thinkin of you. Rememberin all those wonderful days and nights and the sweet things you do to make a man feel necessary and at home. (I felt wonderful, chile.) No matter who I am with (you ever feel good and bad at the same time?) I think of you. No one is as soft, as thoughtful, as smart, as sweet and loving as you are. When a woman touches me … now … I don’t like it because it is not as soft, gentle as your touch. If a woman cooks for me, she just put it on a plate. It’s not planned, colorful, balanced and beautifully served like yours. After we make love? (I nodded, slowly.) You massage me, hold me, love me. They sometimes throw you a towel, or tell you where the towels are. (They? How many is they?) They don’t speak softly at the right time. They curse. I couldn’t, wouldn’t bring my child around them. They want to go out allllll the time. They don’t know how to stay home sometime and play and read and talk or just take a walk. Baby, nobody seems to be like you. They couldn’t make me forget you. Baby, you are, you are so much woman.”
I started to smile at him and wrap my arms around him, but he wasn’t through.
He frowned, said, “But you know, all my friends say all that changes after you get married. It all goes away.”
I thought I should agree, because that is exactly what happens in a whole lot of marriages otherwise the divorce rate wouldn’t be so high and I wanted a good marriage. I didn’t want any divorce either. So, I said, “Roland, you are as good to me as you say I am to you. We BOTH do for each other. You don’t lay back and order me to do things for you like you are the master and I am the slave. We both love making the other person happy too. That is what makes things different for marriages that work. Maybe your friends didn’t put enough into their marriages to get anything out.”
He just looked at me, pulling me close to him. Then he whispered in my ear, “We’ll just have to make a plan so we can keep what we’ve got … til death do us part.”
I asked, whispering, “Is that a proposal?”
He whispered back, “That’s a proposal.”
I laughed seductively (I didn’t know I had donut sugar around my mouth). “I’ll take it, I’ll take it.” THEN I let him kiss me and he licked all the donut sugar off as we laughed together.
Well, that was two years ago. Yes, we got married and we left our city jobs and moved back here to the country in these hills. I packed Gramma’s travelin shoes up and brought her back with me, of course. There’s her bronzed shoes over there by the fireplace. We got his daughter, our daughter. He made the store larger. Built all he needed himself, chile. He raises chickens and eggs for sale and breeds dogs because he always wanted to. See?
On Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday, I am a wife and do all the things that keep my house runnin smooth and clean. I pamper him every day. I have no set rules for him because I like the rules he sets for himself.
Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday, I bathe, pamper myself, go to the beauty shop if I want to, whatever. He cooks. I lounge around in lounging clothes. I take care of my own nails and things now. (I kept breakin the other kind off.) I am a Femme Fatale every day, but especially on those days. See?
We are good parents. We are expecting another child in about four months. I am happy. I think he is. I think our child is.
But … on any day, I can be a Femme Fatale if I feel like it. Roland put a bell out here by the window so I can ring for him when I need him. So, see? I’m just gonna lean out the window and ring this bell. He closes up and comes right on in.
Look, here he come now.
See?
Do-It-Yourself Rainbows
You know, a human being can be a strange thing. Sometime they don’t know which way to go. Heart saying one thing, brain saying something else. They always hoping. But if you can get that mind and that heart working together, you really got you something. It got to be right though. Brain got to have some sense. Sure is hard to get, sometime, when you get older, cause it’s the evenin time of your life. It’s usually when you get older cause Life takes Time, and the Livin ain’t always easy.
Alberta Marie was born here in this city to a mama who just had too many kids for any one to get as much attention as they needed and the mama still get all the attention she needed for herself. Alberta, I rather call her Berta, was fairly good at getting food off the table and stealin clothes from her older sisters so she would have something to wear to school. Her sisters probably stole them from somebody else. They use to beat her up about them clothes, but that just all seemed like part of life to Berta.
Berta was kinda shy in school. Shamed I guess. Cause one day them sisters came to the school and took them clothes right off a Berta and left her standing in the school yard in a raggedy under slip. I guess that’s what survival is all about, but I wouldn’t a done my sister, or nobody else, like that.
Well, the mama died. Some seriosiss of the liver from alcohol. She just took her last drink tryin to forget all her problems, and fell over dead. Problems all gone. Course, them problems landed on all them left behind.
Didn’t no relatives step forward. Didn’t none of em have a steady step. The younger kids was farmed out to them foster homes. The older kids just took off on their own cause they already knew how to do that anyway.
Sometimes a foster home can be worser than a whole lot of things. A kid goes to one when they ain’t big enough or experienced enough to know how to live as things come up, and they learn the hard way. It’s pitiful what a child has to go through to get to be grown. That goes for some of them rich ones too. But poor ones? … Can’t look out for themself? Lord have mercy on all of em.
Anyway, Berta was in four or five of them foster homes til she was about fifteen, sixteen years old. The last one was in my community. The home was run by a woman, Ms. Esther, who was a nice enough woman, just didn’t have her own man and was always lookin out for one.
A man bout thirty-five, Spencer, lived right next door to me, asked could he court Berta. Now, Ms. Esther needed the money from them foster home people, cause she was raisin a group of her own kids on it. But Ms. Esther forgot about that and resented Berta for bein young and gettin a man that Ms. Esther thought should be after her own self.
Ms. Esther started slammin Berta around and callin her sluts and tramps and even a whore. Bad ugly ones. Bad ugly words. So Spencer asked, no, he told, Berta to come live with him and be his wife and like a child, she did. Her head hangin down and her feet draggin.
Later she told me, “I didn’t know how to call them people and tell them to find me a new home and I didn’t have a nickel for the call noway. And I was scared of what the next home might be like. They put me in a house with a woman cause I had been had trouble with the men before already. I had done some little dreamin about my future, what I wanted, what life could be like. But I didn’t never have no real big dream or plan cause I didn’t know how to do nothin to make no big dream come true. I dreamed of havin my own family. I wanted a … happy … home. I wanted kids, even then, so I could treat them better than I was treated. Love em. I knew there had to
be more to life than what I was livin. Being hungry. Dirty. No clothes that wasn’t secondhand. Housework all the time. Takin care kids I didn’t even know and they didn’t know me. We tryin to love each other, but don’t know how cause we ain’t never seen it bein done. Sure, we dreamed about the end of the rainbow. I KNEW there was somethin better. But I didn’t know how to go about gettin to it. Everything was out of my reach. Spencer put marriage in my reach. A little house in my reach. A home. So … I went with Spencer. I was scared. That’s all. Scared. So I went.”
Now all this happenin in my own community right up under my face, and you might say I had to see these things. And I saw when Berta went to live with Spencer, he didn’t rush as fast to get down to the marriage license bureau as he did to get to the bed. I thought Berta might be makin a mistake, but I couldn’t help her, I didn’t have nothing and my husband said “no.”
I knew Berta was gonna be getting the short end of the stick, both ways. Spencer was a nice enough man, I guess, a good man, but there had to be some reason that he didn’t have a wife. For one thing, he was a little man. Had a little car, a little job and a little apartment. Seem like everything he had was nice, but it was always little.
I know it wasn’t none of my business, but she was a child, bout five years younger than me. I noticed everybody else who was payin any attention, which was Ms. Esther, was not hopin for happiness to be in Berta’s future. So I went over to see Spencer and asked him when the weddin was goin to be.
He say, “Well, I reckon it will be by and by.”
I said, “Well, you know Berta is very young and I think it is against the law for you to be in there with her if you are not married.”
He say, “Well, the law ain’t got no business tendin to my business.”
Some Love, Some Pain, Sometime Page 4