I Almost Forgot About You

by Terry McMillan

  “Your art. What the hell else would you call it? It’s beautiful, it’s funky, it’s original, and it’s got the wow factor going for it. That’s what art is.”

  “Slow down, Naomi. I’m flattered, but—”

  She holds up her hand to push the air. “Just let me say this. When you get a body of work large enough to show, then we’ll talk. But for now, honey, even with this cute partition you’ve got going, you’re going to ruin this garage.”

  “I know. I might eventually need to find a little studio.”

  “You do that, and soon, but don’t make it little. Isn’t this addicting?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And it’s obvious you’re strung out. You’re not going to stop now that you’ve started. You’ll soon realize it. Anyway, let me know when I can take that stool off your hands, and BTW, I’m having a birthday party next month, and lots of my—and yes, Ms. Macy’s—friends are art people, and I’d love it if they could sneak over and take a peek at some of your work. Some of them have galleries. Shops. Anyway, you don’t have to answer right now. You have totally fucking surprised me. I kid you not,” she says, and heads back over to the garage door.

  “Thanks. But hold on a minute. I’m having a surprise birthday party next week, and you’re officially invited, but you just have to act surprised.”

  “Your friend Wanda already invited me. She’s a pistol. She put the invitation in my mailbox. I might come alone. There’s gotta be a single lesbian somewhere at your party who likes white women. I do not discriminate.”

  We both laugh as she crouches and slides under the garage door and disappears down the driveway. A moment later she pokes her head back under the garage door.

  “Hey, girlfriend, who’s going to be your date?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “There has to be somebody you can tolerate for a few hours.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It would just be fun to have an automatic dance partner. Someone you don’t have to fuck unless you want to. Bye.”

  Maybe she has a point.

  “You have a what?” Wanda screams through the phone.

  “A date for the party.”

  “Cancel it.”

  “You don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Who on earth could it be?”

  “James Harvey.”

  “I invited him to the damn party. He didn’t tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Well, everything’s already been set up. We’re picking you up in a limo. And he’s not getting in it.”

  “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

  “You wouldn’t. Hold on a minute.”

  Silence.

  “Wanda!”

  Silence.

  “There. I just texted him. He sent me a smiley face and said he understands. He’ll see you at the party. So there.”

  —

  I buy a purple pencil skirt and an orange top that goes with it. I’ve decided to show it all and be daring, since it’s my party. I can honestly say I don’t want to lose another inch. I like being a size twelve. I also get my makeup professionally done. I look like a better version of myself. I like it. My brand-new beautician insists on adding a fun bun piled on the crown of my head. I love it. It’s like a free face-lift. At first I choose pearls, but I forgot that Michael gave them to me, and if he shows up, which I’m sure he will, I don’t want him to recognize them. I scour through one of my old jewelry boxes and notice a pair of purple, orange, and green rhinestone earrings that are so long they almost hit my collarbone. I bought them at a street fair in New York eons ago. Oh, why not? It’s my birthday! To be safe, I opt for orange pumps that I know I can at least walk in. I can always kick them off if I dance.

  Beep-beep.

  Wanda’s right on time, of course.

  I run out to the limousine, grabbing the purple velvet stole I haven’t had an occasion to wear in forever, and pray there are no moth holes in it.

  “Well, you certainly look lovely tonight,” the driver says. He’s about seventyish and is striking in an odd way. His name tag says SHELDON.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Sheldon,” and I get in after he opens the door.

  “Happy birthday, huzzy,” she says, nuzzling me with a cheek-to-cheek kiss.

  “Thank you, Wanda. For everything.”

  “Think nothing of it! You sure clean up good,” Wanda says, giving me the up-and-down and round-and-around.

  “You don’t look so poorly yourself,” I say. She’s in black, which is what Wanda thinks is appropriate for every occasion after dark. “Where’s Nelson?”

  “He’s playing host. Greeting everybody to make sure they’re all there. We’ve got time.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, we have one stop to make first.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and don’t ask. Why is your car in the driveway?”

  “Because I’m painting in the garage?”

  “Did you finally finish painting that stool?”

  “I did.”

  “Hallelujah. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “You probably won’t like it.”

  “You don’t know that. My taste is changing. In fact, when Nelson and I move to Palm Springs, we’re leaving everything in the house.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You heard what I just said, didn’t you?”

  “But why?”

  “Because it’s old and outdated, and our condo is new and bright, and open and we don’t want it to look like a morgue. And they’ve got some great furniture stores in Palm Desert and Palm Springs, which you may not know are sisters.”

  “I think I do, and I think this is so cool, Wanda. But what are you guys going to do with your house?”

  “Nothing. We’re not putting it on the market, that’s for sure. We’ll let it sit there until we decide.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, everybody’s going to be there tonight,” she says, and claps her white-gloved hands. “And I do mean everybody.”

  “Don’t make me freak out, Wanda, and please don’t embarrass me.”

  “I don’t do that, and you know it.”

  “So where is this party?”

  “None of your business, now. Just relax.”

  “Why are we going this way?” I ask when I look out the window and realize we’re on a residential street, and I know who lives on it. I cut my eyes at Wanda. But then I realize it is my birthday celebration and today isn’t the appropriate time to be a bitch. And out come Violet and Velvet! I didn’t know she was coming with Ms. Thang. They’re both sparkling. Their breasts would be visible to a blind person. Violet’s in silver sequins, and Velvet’s dress is hot pink lamé. I feel like I’m dressed more for an expensive dinner compared to these two sexy huzzies.

  Sheldon opens the door, and Violet enters first, almost wailing, “Happy birthday, baby!” and then Velvet gives me a smooch on the cheek after flipping fifty of the two hundred blond braids over her shoulder and says, “Happy birthday, Auntie,” and I’m suddenly touched.

  “Thank you, ladies. You both look very pretty. Almost like sisters instead of mother and daughter.”

  They bump fists.

  Wanda calls Nelson on her cell phone. “We’ll be pulling up in less than five minutes,” she says.

  “Georgia, almost everybody knows you already know about the party, but when they yell ‘Surprise!’ just act surprised, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “But we do have some real surprises in store.”

  “I can only imagine,” I say, and thump her head, then bend over and press my forehead against her cheek. “Thank you.”

  Minutes later Violet yells, “We’re here!”

  Velvet claps like she’s at a basketball game.

  I know this country club. Niles brought me here right before we parted the sea of marriage. I knew that Wanda and Nelson were goi
ng to go all out, which is precisely why she kept it a secret. She knew I would’ve tried to talk her out of it, and I probably would have. I’m almost afraid to walk in.

  And then she exhales. Looks over at me. “We’re going to rock your birthday, girl, so get ready to have some fun. I love your ass. And even though you’ll hear more from me later, I want to take this opportunity to tell you privately, up close and personal, that at age fifty-five, your party is just getting started, baby. I think you know that already, but I want you to know that I—we—celebrate you because you’re on a brand-new journey, and I am enjoying watching how you’re continuing to improve your life and make changes some of us wouldn’t dream of doing at our age. I’m proud as hell of you and proud to be your friend, your sister. Now, let’s go party and tear the roof off this sucker!”

  I smack her for making me lose it.

  Mr. Sheldon opens my door first and says, “Happy birthday, Ms. Georgia. You must be celebrating your fortieth!” And he squeezes my shoulder like my father would. Wanda, of course, is already out of the car, almost bouncing, waiting for me to come around, and when I do, she grabs my hand and almost drags me to the double doors. After she taps on one, both open, and standing there are at least a hundred people who scream, “SURPRISE!”

  And I lose it again.

  I knew I shouldn’t have gotten these frigging individual lashes, because when I go to wipe my eyes, I feel that hardened glue scratch. I am gang-hugged by almost everybody in here, including people I know and don’t even think I know. My mother and her husband, and my daughters without husbands, squeeze me so hard I have to sit down at what is apparently “my” table in front of the entire room, on a platform, which makes me feel like I’m on a float at the Rose Parade, and behind me is a huge screen, which terrifies me. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be testimonials of people lying about why they like me, but I hope and pray there are no baby pictures or photos of me from high school or college or when I was in my twenties or thirties. If Wanda did this, I’m going to kick her ass after this party. I don’t want to be reminded of what I used to look like, because I look the way I’m supposed to look right now.

  The place is beautiful, of course, and what a view. The tables could’ve come out of a magazine. The band is playing Chaka Khan’s “Once You Get Started,” and it appears that this is a Rainbow Coalition in here. I love it.

  When the music stops, Wanda walks over to a podium and dings her wineglass to get everyone’s attention. Oh, Lord, please not a speech. If so, I’m going to slide under this table. I’m already feeling lonely up here, and I wish she hadn’t put me on a pedestal. I wish I had a husband sitting next to me, squeezing my hand, nodding at my guests while wrapping his legs around mine under the table behind this tablecloth. But it’s just me.

  “Welcome, everyone, to Georgia’s fifty-fifth birthday celebration. We don’t need to lie about our age, and my BFF for the past thirty-five years certainly doesn’t, and I say she looks good!”

  Applause.

  I’m so embarrassed I hold my head down but then remember I have an audience, so I smile and hold my head up high. I almost feel like waving, like I’m indeed in a parade on a float and I’m the homecoming queen, but then I look out, and in the middle of this sea of people I see a man, a white man, a handsome white man with mixed gray hair and mustache smiling at me. He reminds me of one of those guys on a Cialis commercial, and I swear he looks just like…OMG! It is! Stanley! I feel like I’m sliding off this chair under the table, but I’m not. I cannot move. What is he doing here? And how did he find me? I turn to look over at Wanda, and she’s winking at me and slowly nodding her head. So apparently Stanley is my surprise. I turn back to peer out at him, and he waves, then gives me a thumbs-up. What in the world am I supposed to do? I wave back like an intermittent windshield wiper, and I’m embarrassed but don’t know why, and then my daughters and my mom and the entire front row of tables turn to see who I’m waving at, and Stanley smiles and nods and winks at them, and they all wink at me, and then I check out Wanda, and she’s smiling like the Cheshire Cat. What a sneaky little bitch!

  “So to help Ms. Thang celebrate, we’re first going to watch a video of your family, close and not-so-close friends, and a few long-lost friends expressing why they love and care about you and what they wish for you on your fifty-fifth year of life. This will only take about fifteen minutes tops, because I gave everybody sixty seconds, and of course a few had to go over—you know who you are—but dinner will be served immediately afterward. So start working on your buzz, everybody, because dancing is coming up next.” She turns to the screen and says, “Roll ’em.”

  I look back out into the audience, and Stanley is staring at me. Michael is staring at me. Niles is staring at me. Grover Sr. and my mother are smiling at me, and right next to them is Dolly, who I almost didn’t recognize—she cleans up well—waving like she hasn’t seen me in years, and two grown men in white shirts and ties who must be her sons, all giving me a thumbs-up. Grover Jr. is holding Saundra Lee’s hand and grinning. Grover III is already whispering something in Velvet’s ear, and she’s blushing. Violet is sitting next to and flirting with Richard the jerk, which tells me that Wanda never told Nelson what he said, but it’s all good. And there’s Naomi pointing at Macy and hunching her shoulders and holding her palms up. I spot James Harvey, who just winks at me and smiles, because he’s figured it all out by now. Wanda seems to have missed her calling, because she would make a great private investigator. And is that Lily? Yes it is, sitting at a table farther back with Marina and Mercury and the rest of my staff, and that looks like Mona Kwon! I thought she couldn’t hang, but she’s hanging tonight. Everybody’s smiling. Everybody’s happy. I’m happy. Although I’m wondering if there are any more blasts from my past seated at the back tables!

  I listen to all the reasons that people like me and, in some cases, love and respect me. Marina is the most hilarious, because she tells how much fun we had getting drunk together, as if we did this on a regular basis. My mom is as sentimental as ever. Same with the daughters. And then Violet tells how much she admires and respects me and that she’s done a few things to violate my trust and how she hopes I will forgive her. Of course I do. She’s my fucking BFF. And then up come the exes. Oh, no! Michael just says how glad he was to have spent six years of his life with me, even though it was only five, and his daughter is lucky to have such a great mother. Niles pretty much says the same thing. And then to my surprise there’s Stanley, on the screen, who says that he and I were good friends in college and are in the process of rekindling our friendship and how proud he is of all that I’ve accomplished, and that he hopes I remember him, because he sure hasn’t forgotten me.

  Even though I’m up on this stage, it’s impossible to hide the fact that I’m blushing.

  And then he winks! And he gets some serious applause! What exactly is going on here? What I remember most about Stanley happened under the covers, and that was a one-shot deal! Well, it was really quite a few shots, since I didn’t go home for seventy-two hours. And I lied to Wanda. Stanley made my heart swell. But it was my little secret. I look out at him now, and he’s looking back at me with that same smirk Ryan Gosling had in Drive, and I suddenly feel like someone needs to open a window. Fast. When I finally hear Wanda’s testimonial, she pretty much says this:

  “Georgia, I know you’re probably wishing this party was over, because you’re good at doing for others but you have yet to figure out how to accept, or I should say receive, except tonight you don’t have a choice. I have loved being your friend, your sister, your confidante all these years and want you to know how much I respect your bravery, your sense of delight and fearlessness about life. You’re not getting older, you’re just about to reach the next plateau. You inspire me. Continue taking risks. Take that frigging train ride you’ve been postponing for too long, and Nelson and I hope that when you finally disembark, you get off at the right stop. Happy birthday, sis. P.S. Yes, I went over t
he time limit!”

  The room is all laughter and applause and good spirits and even tissues zigzagging across cheeks. Plates start being set on tables, and there’s not a dry chicken breast in sight. I walk down the three steps and out into the room to accept hug after hug and see Stanley standing there, on the sidelines, waiting patiently for his turn.

  “So you’re supposed to be going on a train ride?” he asks as he sits down next to me, crosses those long legs, and then puts his arm around the back of my chair. I’m wondering if anybody’s watching us, but everybody’s on the dance floor, and of course Wanda and Nelson are shaking their booties, but she’s got her eyes on me and Stanley with a smile, and when I glance over at my mother’s table, everybody pretends to be looking at the lights on the Bay Bridge.

  “I was. Am. What on earth are you doing here, Stanley?”

  “Well, it’s nice to see you, too, Georgia. Happy birthday.”

  And he smiles. Please don’t smile at me like that. I shake it off and regain what I suppose would be called composure, even though I don’t remember losing it.

  “Thank you. One more time: What in the world are you doing here, Stanley?”

  “I was invited.”

  “I know it was Wanda. But how?”

  “She tracked me down on Facebook and gave me the update on you and what you were doing.”

  “But how’d she find you?”

  “It wasn’t that hard. Which tells me you’ve never tried to find me in all these years.”

  “I forgot your last name.”

  “What a liar you are. How could you forget DiStasio? I’m offended.”

  “Okay, so I didn’t forget. I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

  “I know. I’m just trying to get you to relax.”

  “I’m not relaxed. I’m shocked. What exactly did Wanda tell you that made you want to come out here?”

  “That you were looking up old friends—is how she put it, but I’m not stupid—and she didn’t know if I’d made the cut, so she thought it would be nice for me to reach out to you, since you obviously never took me as seriously as I took you.”