Counterfeit Wives

by Phillip Thomas Duck

  Oh well.

  In walked my uncle. He stomped both feet by the door, leaving a pile of dirt it was understood I would clean up, and walked past us without a word into the bathroom down the hall. Jimmy came in next. He lumbered over to the table where the woman sat, smiled at her and took a seat, plopping his big beefy frame down so hard it’s a wonder the chair didn’t crack under him. He removed his boots, then his socks, and pulled out a pocketknife. The woman’s eyes widened. She gasped. Jimmy, to his credit, noticed.

  “Be easy, shawty,” he offered with his arms out. The woman’s gaze was fixed on the knife. Jimmy pulled a dirty foot into his lap, tapped it in demonstration. “Fiddin’ to do my feet, shawty. That’s all. I’ll leave the cutting folks up to you Spanish chicks.” He looked at me briefly, then back to the woman, then back to me. “Jay, you know some of that mida-mida shit. How you say ‘lean back’ in Spanish? Let shawty know I got no beef. Ol’ girl is trippin’, Jay.”

  Jay. Jimmy was another fool that wouldn’t say my full name. My husband was one of the few to respect my wish and call me by my given name, Jacqueline. He was good to me. Until he wasn’t. That’s how it went. Men were good to you. Until they weren’t. I know that’s a pessimistic view of love. It is what it is.

  I put those thoughts aside and told my cousin, “You need to get a handle on English first, Jimmy. Then, maybe you can tackle another language. As you’d say, you’re putting the cart before the horse.” It came out nasty. Angry. That’s what thinking of my husband did to me. It changed my tone, my posture, my everything. It turned me into a different person. A not so nice person. Incredible, I’d allowed another person to have so much control over my life. Sad.

  Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you tryin’ to play me, Jay?”

  “Jimmy, why don’t you do that in the living area? Messing with your feet in the kitchen is not cool. I cook in here. We eat in here.”

  “Light ain’t hitting on nothing in the living room. You wouldn’t want me to cut off a toe figuring it for a cuticle, now would you, Jay?”

  I looked at the woman. She surprised me by saying, “Is okay.” She settled into her seat again. Then she surprised me further, silently mouthed, Esposo asshole? as she pointed at Jimmy on the sly. I laughed, shook my head. This wasn’t my asshole husband. I didn’t know where my asshole husband was.

  Jimmy turned, saw the woman looking at him and smiled. With his two missing front teeth, he looked like a hockey player. That’s if they had any Negroes in the NHL. Negro, that’s how my uncle and Jimmy described us. They hadn’t stepped into the new millennium yet. David Duke would be so proud.

  I knew I used the word, too. Hypocritical of me? No it wasn’t. When I used it, it was a term of endearment. Knee-grow as opposed to Negro. Big difference. I was full of excrement, I know.

  But I digress.

  Other than his teeth, Jimmy was a handsome guy, I had to admit. His skin was a burnished dark brown. His hair was short, but silky and curly, speaking to the Native American I’d been told was a leaf somewhere on our family tree. A big “sonvabitch” as my Uncle Roscoe would say. But it was almost all muscle.

  The woman sat quietly, looking at Jimmy, at his muscles. As if she were wondering if platanos went with collard greens. Jimmy commenced to stick the point of his knife under a toenail. He scooped out dirt and moved to the next nail. He carved off a piece of the second nail, sculptured it, and also scooped out more dirt. And here I was spending forty dollars for a pedicure at the Nail Studio, when I had the money that is. I could have just gotten Jimmy’s down home pedicure for nothing. But then Jimmy drew a spot of blood as he dug a little too deep under the next nail. “Dammit all,” he said aloud. He licked a finger and rubbed his saliva on the wound like a salve. The woman said, “Dios mio,” and made the sign of a cross over her chest. I looked away.

  That was my life.

  My uncle rejoined us, his eyeglasses hanging around his neck as he toweled off his face with a washcloth. His skin was dark, weathered. His hair was a brilliant mixture of gray and black, as if God made one hair gray, the next black, then gray, then black, and so on until He was finished. My uncle’s belt buckle was loosened, his pants falling off. His plaid shirt was unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders; a white undershirt under it struggled to hold in his large belly. Other than the potbelly, he was in great shape, lean and mean. A spot of shaving cream was on his chin and he kept missing it with every wipe of the cloth.

  I pointed to my chin in demonstration. “Missed a spot of shaving cream.”

  He stopped and squinted. “Oh you did? Well let me get it for ya. That’s good, you finally shaved, though. I’ve been meaning to tell you to run a razor over that stubble on your chin, Jacqueline.”

  My mouth fell open. I rubbed a hand over my chin. I didn’t feel any stubble.

  Jimmy cackled. The woman looked at him longingly but remained silent. My uncle stared at me for a moment and then laughed himself. “Just poking fun, girl,” he said. “You the only one around here can put folks down, make fun, and call it harmless? Taste of your own medicine, is all.” He moved to me, handed me the washcloth. I took it, begrudgingly, and wiped away the shaving cream smudge on his chin.

  “Thanks you,” my uncle said.

  I almost corrected him with Thank you, but left it alone. There was no use.

  “You fixing Esperanza some food?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Hooked up some of my famous egg salad, gonna put it on wheat bread since it’s so rich. I don’t want God or Dr. Ian Smith mad at me for contributing to the obesity epidemic with our people.”

  “That all sounds lovely, Jacqueline. Throw me and Jimmy boy something in the pot, would ya?”

  “Sandwiches,” I stressed, “no pot.”

  My uncle narrowed his eyes, looked at me. “Same thang, Jacqueline. You know what I mean. Just like if I called you Jackie, probably give you a conniption, but you’d know I was talking to you.”

  “You got a point there, Daddy,” Jimmy said.

  “We kin, Jacqueline,” my uncle Roscoe continued. “Why don’t we act like it? ’Specially in front of the lady here.”

  I nodded, embarrassed, ashamed. I’d yet to accept my relatives’ country ways. And who was I to judge? I’d come to them without a pot to piss in, as my uncle would say. My husband had destroyed me, and my uncle Roscoe and cousin Jimmy restored me.

  My uncle turned to Esperanza, our little exchange forgotten. “You have the money, young lady? I’ve got my traveling expenses.”

  I was prepared to try and translate for Esperanza, but she stuck a hand in her bra and pulled out a wad of money. Jimmy hooted. I’m not sure if for the money or the quick peek of a small brown breast. Like I said, Jimmy was a good-looking guy, but I hadn’t seen a female around in the seven months I’d been there. That worried me. Especially when I noticed his gaze linger on me a bit too long as I moved around the kitchen and did other household chores. I’d found myself bending over and turned to see Jimmy quickly look away.

  Esperanza peeled off what looked like about fifty twenties and handed them to my uncle. I hunched my eyes in surprise and then quickly moved to the sink. Tried to make myself look busy, as if I wasn’t all up in their Kool-Aid. Outside, the small brown man was by Uncle Roscoe’s truck, looking intently at the house. I’d forgotten about him. I wondered why he hadn’t come inside. I wondered what was happening inside. I was there and didn’t even know.

  “Told you hundreds,” my uncle said. He raised his voice as if that would translate the word for him. “Hundreds, Esperanza.”

  She said, “Is okay?”

  He grunted and pocketed the money. He turned to me. I turned on the sink and ran my hands under it for no reason except to appear uninvolved in their situation. But my thoughts weren’t far from the handful of twenties in my uncle’s pocket. My husband had taken all of my money. Cleaned me out. Before that, I’d never been beholden to money. But not having any made me realize how much money mattered.
I was a mess. First, it had been in Todd I trust. Then, it was all about the Benjamins. Neither situation worked. I got on a Greyhound, headed to my uncle’s. Lost. Confused. Torn. Broken. The woman who sat next to me reading her Bible gave up reading it for herself after a while, slid it in my hands. At first I rebuffed it. Then I took it. Then I started to read. It wasn’t long before she was handing me a package of Kleenex to wipe my eyes.

  I’ll never forget the passage that had me boo-hooing.

  Proverbs 18:22.

  He who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favor from the Lord.

  And obtains his wife’s entire life savings, too, in my husband’s case.

  Oh well.

  My uncle had a pocket of twenties from a strange Latina. My thoughts swayed back on that. Money was still a demon in my life, still had a hold on me.

  My uncle said, “I’m making a run to Tennessee, Jacqueline. Jimmy’s gonna tag along and help me drive. ’Spose to storm while we gone. You know if it does we’ll lose the phone, maybe even electricity.”

  “Yeah.” I was numbed by curiosity. I hardly heard a word he said.

  “Got candles in that top left cupboard, as you know.”

  I said, “I’ll be fine.”

  “If you entertain any gentlemen friends, don’t mention how far I’ve gone.”

  That got my full attention. I turned and looked at him. “You know I won’t be having any men over, Uncle Roscoe.”

  “That Alexander boy been sweet on you forever, Jacqueline,” he said. “Boy works at the slaughterhouse. He’s got a strong back on him. I know you gals love a man with a strong back.” He laughed until he coughed.

  I said, “Got a strong back on him…and one eye three times the size of the other. Looks like a Picasso painting. No thanks. I’m at my best alone, Uncle Roscoe. I don’t mind. Really I don’t.”

  “You can’t let one monkey stop your show, Jacqueline. You gotta get back on the horse some time.” He meant my husband. Todd. Still can’t believe how he cleaned out all my bank accounts, disappeared on me. Totally stopped my show. And yet, if he walked through the door then, with a good explanation, I’d have taken him back.

  Money wasn’t my only demon. Love was another curse. Like many women, I loved to love. Loved being in love.

  I pulled myself together, said, “You know you’re in the country when all the mother wit involves an animal.” I smiled to let him know I was joking. Then I eased into what I really wanted to know. Eased in slowly. “I’m not gonna let that monkey stop my show, Unc, you can believe that. I’ll be fine.” Cleared my throat. “So. What do you have to do in Tennessee?”

  My uncle smiled back at me. Shrugged and said, “Cat got my tongue on that one, Jacqueline. Cat got my tongue.”

  Jimmy cackled.

  Esperanza looked at my uncle expectantly, ready for her trip to Tennessee for God knows what. I moved to prepare their sandwiches, thinking about the money Esperanza handed my uncle. I asked, “What about Pablo outside? Should I make him a sandwich?”

  My uncle said, “Nah. He’s straight. If I start feeding him, he might take his eyes off the ball.”

  I looked outside at the little brown man. He was standing stock-still by my uncle’s truck. His eyes were fixed on the house still. His only movement: wringing his hands.

  I said, “If I yell out ‘border patrol’ will this guy stop staring at the house?”

  No one answered.

  CHAPTER 3

  DAWN

  I’d fantasized about my sister’s husband. More times than I cared to admit.

  Had dreams where my body was coated with sweat as I lay naked with my brother-in-law. Corey. His name alone was sexy to me. If you coupled the name with the actual man, you had something special. My sister, Tanya, didn’t know what she had, didn’t appreciate the blessing that Corey was. I’d never seen even the slightest appreciation in her eyes when she looked at him. I never heard it in her voice when she talked about him, on the rare occasions that she actually did. How could she not appreciate all that he was? So many women, given her blessing, would be thanking Jesus on a minute-by-minute basis.

  Corey had a seductive build. He was tall, with broad shoulders and an impossibly thin waist. Kept his hair cut close and shaped perfectly in clean and sharp lines. It was so close it looked like a five o’clock shadow. There was a hint of waves in his hair that made my knees buckle. His face was clean-shaven, but I always imagined him with a goatee because I liked facial hair. His lips were absolutely luscious, full and a startling brown-pink. His teeth were perfect except for the one tooth on his bottom row that was chipped. Even though, I must admit, the chipped tooth added a bit of character to his smile. He had a wide, strong nose, the type you saw in pictures of authentic Africans in National Geographic. His eyes were dark. There were always lines in his forehead. He was intense like that. Smelled like warm crackling wood. Had an excellent sense of humor. And his intellect rivaled any man’s I’d ever known, barring my husband’s. His voice was deep. He could be a radio host with that voice and a television host with that beautiful body and face. I could go on and on about the man that took my sister to be his lawfully wedded wife. But for that moment, I was just happy to make Corey moan. His seductive moan was music in an otherwise quiet room.

  I cooked dinner that night. Chicken cutlets with herb seasonings, mashed potatoes loaded with a sinful amount of butter, cabbage with bacon strips. Iced tea made from real tea and fresh squeezed lemons and sugar. A sweet potato pie if we had any room left for dessert.

  “Mmm,” Corey moaned.

  Tanya looked at him, pursed her lips. Then she looked at me, pursed her lips even deeper, and shook her head. She was embarrassed, on the verge of anger. Her man was enjoying himself, and she was acting as if that were a crime. As if he’d committed a misdemeanor or a felony. She had so much to learn about love. She looked at Corey again, started to say something, but sighed and picked at her food instead. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time at the beginning of our meal cutting her chicken into the tiniest of pieces, and then she speared one with her fork. She eased it into her mouth and chewed and chewed and chewed. She wiped her mouth carefully with a real linen napkin, placed it back in her lap, carefully of course, and then speared another piece of cutlet to repeat the ritual. After that swallow she took a sip of iced tea, wiped her mouth again, and then looked at Corey, who was still enjoying his meal out loud. She sighed yet again and I noticed her jaw muscles tense. I wanted to tell her that her husband enjoying a good meal was no great offense. But I didn’t.

  She was going to lose Corey. I can’t say that would have made me sad.

  Corey shook his head, completely oblivious to Tanya’s disdain. “This food is incredible, Dawn. Incredible. Rachael Ray doesn’t have anything on you, girl.”

  I smiled. Tanya looked at Corey impassively. Corey’s words were the first uttered in that depressingly quiet dining room since he’d said grace. He insisted we pray before we ate, bowed and gave thanks, asked God to bless “the hands that prepared it.” I’d never been one to pray over a meal, or anything for that matter, and Tanya hadn’t been, either, but Corey’s grace was calming, comforting, and something I looked forward to every time we sat down to eat. I’d even begun saying my prayers before I went to sleep at night. Corey had been a positive influence in my life. He was more than just a beautiful man.

  “Thanks,” was all I could manage to his praise. My stomach did flips. I might have even batted my eyes and tilted my head. I’m not sure.

  “Where did you learn to burn like this, Dawn?”

  Before I could answer, Tanya cut in, saying, “It’s just some chicken cutlets and cholesterol-raising cabbage. Goodness, stop acting as if you’re partaking of filet mignon with cranberry-chestnut sauce and string beans with a butter glaze.”

  Had she been reading Bon Appetit, I wondered.

  Corey said, “Partaking?” and wrinkled his nose. “When did you become the Queen of England?” He smi
led. She didn’t.

  Tanya mocked, “Where did you learn to burn like this, Dawn?”

  It was about to get ugly. I knew how it started and ended with my sister. Knew all too well. I sat and waited.

  Tanya placed her napkin and fork on the table. Her posture stiffened even more than usual. She sat in a seat like a concert pianist sat before a grand piano. Her hands found her lap. I knew the gesture. It was our Korean mother’s gesture, a warning of a rising storm. When Jo Min blew, it was devastating. Devastating enough to cut our father Clarence, a strong black man, down to size.

  “Forget I said anything.” Corey raised his hand in surrender. Evidently he knew the gesture, too.

  Tanya shook her head. She couldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t let it go. That was a Jo Min trait, too. Our mother held grudges forever. Tanya said, “Burn? What is that, Corey? Are you trying to be hip now that my sister is staying with us? I’ve never once heard you say I burned after one of the meals I’ve cooked.”

  Corey smiled at his wife. “Oh, you’ve burned plenty of meals, Tanya.”

  Tanya cocked her head, her eyes narrowed. She balled her hands in fists and placed them on the table for everyone to see. She said, “Are you making fun at my expense, Corey? Please tell me you aren’t. I hope that you wouldn’t intentionally demean your wife in front of guests.”

  Corey said, “Guests? I only see one person besides us at this table, Tanya, and she’s your sister. Dawn is not a guest in my home.”

  “Oh, I see,” Tanya said, “this is your home now?”

  “I’m just saying, Tanya. Dawn isn’t a guest to me. You shouldn’t consider her one, either. She’s family.”

  I was a voyeur. I couldn’t move. I ate on as if nothing was happening. I was so happy Corey considered me more than a guest. I loved how he said my name. I loved the way it rolled off his tongue. He didn’t say Tanya’s name with anywhere near the same intensity. That’s what I convinced myself of, at least. Prepared myself so I didn’t feel any pangs of guilt when I eventually made my move. And I knew I would. I’d offer him my nectar one day. And since he was a praying man, I’d tell him to drink ye all of it.