Getting to the Good Part

by Lolita Files

  I usually hung up if I heard anyone’s voice other than hers.

  Like now. When I dialed her up, some perky white voice answered the phone.

  Click.

  I was not in the mood.

  I tried my Grandma Tyler, but she wasn’t at home.

  So that left Tyrene.

  Like I said, I had to be feeling mighty bad to go that route.

  Right now, it would feel really good to hear my mother’s strong, comforting voice taking control of the situation. She was good at taking control. It was her forte; she prided herself on her management skills, both on the job and in her—and everybody else’s—personal life.

  But, just as that would be a good thing, it would also be a bad thing, for the very same reason.

  She would take complete control, say something crazy, like Bring your foolish behind back home where you belong, or she would offer me money and piss me slam off.

  And, to me, that would be like pouring salt on an already gaping wound. I would end up madder than I had started out.

  I blankly stared at the coffee table, trying to fix my attention on a dark spot on the wood until I could sink into it and forget all the shit of the day.

  My hand still felt nasty. I couldn’t get that image of Hudson sucking off that sauce outta my mind.

  “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuggggghhhhhh!!!!!!” I screamed, fighting against myself and my raging emotions.

  When the tears began to fall, I knew I was losing the fight. I cleared my throat, hoping the tears would get the hint that they were not going to win.

  Obviously, the tears didn’t care. They dropped with renewed energy as I fell over sideways on the couch and grabbed hold of one of the pillows. I pushed my face into it, muting any sounds that were even considering escape.

  I couldn’t believe I was crying. It was just something I didn’t do. No one ever saw me cry. My grandma had heard me do it on the phone, but those were rare moments that were few and far between.

  I had to get this mess out of my system. The way I saw it, tears and Reesy Snowden were like oil and water. They just didn’t mix.

  I bit into the pillow, my eyes feeling puffier and wetter by the minute.

  “I’m not gonna stay,” I said, sobbing quietly into the fluffy cushion. “I gotta go back home. I’m gonna call Tyrene and tell her. I just need to get my butt outta here, ‘cause New York is not for me.”

  I let myself consider that thought for a moment, resigning myself to it little by little.

  By the time I reached for the phone, I was ready for whatever it was Tyrene had to say.

  As long as she sent me a plane ticket home.

  I could have used one of the stipends she and Tyrone sent me every quarter, but I just refused to go that route. Besides, no matter what anybody thought, the money was not sitting around somewhere, liquid, able to be accessed by me at will. I always invested it, immediately, and there were penalties and taxes that would come into play. So I couldn’t do anything but leave it alone.

  I sat on the couch, sniffling hard. I took a few deep breaths, and then I did it.

  I picked up the phone.

  I dialed Tyrene’s number at work. Her direct line.

  Within seconds, her keen voice pierced the airwaves, reminding me of the magnitude of what it was that I was doing.

  “Tyrene,” she piped, sounding like the black shark I knew her to be.

  I paused a moment.

  “Tyrene!” she snapped again.

  “Hey, Tyrene,” I finally surrendered.

  “Well, hello, daughter!” she chimed. “A phone call from you in the middle of the day? There must be trouble, honey. Tell me what it is.”

  Boy, she didn’t mess around. She cut right to the chase.

  Just like I knew she would.

  “There is trouble, isn’t there.”

  She said this as a statement, not a question.

  Before I could open my mouth to confess to her, the phone beeped.

  “Hold on, Tyrene,” I replied, relieved. “That’s my other line.”

  I clicked over.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Yes. May I speak with Teresa Snowden, please?”

  I instinctively frowned. It was probably some damn bill collector calling me up in the middle of the day. It wasn’t like I was that late on my shit. Damn.

  My natural instinct was to confront these jerks. I never pretended that I wasn’t home. If you were bad enough to come after me for money, then I figured you had better be bad enough to put up with my shit when you asked me for it.

  “Speaking!” I snarled with a mouthful of attitude.

  “Great! Teresa, this is Gordon Stock. I’m calling about the audition this morning.”

  “Oh really?” I said flatly. “What do you want? No, let me guess. I didn’t get the part. I knew that shit this morning.”

  “I see you speak like you dance,” he chuckled.

  “Look, muthafucka, I got the point. I didn’t get the gig. But you don’t call here telling me ‘bout how I talk. I’ll come right back down there and show you just how I do it.”

  “As a matter of fact, Teresa, that’s just what we’d like you to do,” he said, now laughing.

  “What?! Come back down there for what?!”

  “To claim the part,” he chuckled. “You outdanced every woman in that room today. As you know, there were two spots open. One of them is definitely yours, if you’ll take it.”

  I sat there, frustrated, eyes wet, confused, staring at the phone in disbelief.

  “If I was so good, then how come y’all damn near threw me outta there this morning?”

  “Because we knew you were right as soon as you started dancing,” he said. “We wanted to let you go so we could concentrate on filling the other slot.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “Oh, please!” he exclaimed. “You were making the other girls look sick! They couldn’t hold a candle to you!”

  A broad grin broke out across my face.

  “Really?” I beamed.

  “Really.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “As well you should be,” he replied. “Could you be back down here by three this afternoon?”

  “Sure, yeah, no problem!”

  “All right, then. We’ll see you at three.”

  “And I definitely got the part?”

  My voice shook nervously as I asked this. It was just a little too freaking good to be true.

  “The part’s all yours,” Gordon confirmed. “You just make sure you bring the same kind of energy this afternoon that you let loose on us this morning. Judging by the way you handled this phone call, I don’t suppose that will be a problem.”

  “No, it won’t!” I laughed.

  “Good-bye, Teresa,” he chuckled again, and hung up the phone.

  I sat there, stupefied, the phone in my hands. I was grinning from ear to ear, braid to brow.

  It took a minute for me to remember that I still had Tyrene on hold.

  “Oh, snap!” I exclaimed, clicking over to the other line. “Ma?!”

  “Ma?!” Tyrene exclaimed. “Oh, now I know something’s wrong!! What are you doing, calling me Ma? And you know better than to leave a person on hold that long! We raised you better than that, Teresa Snowden! You won’t get far in life handling your business like that!”

  I sat there, the phone in my hand, just grinning, while Tyrene went on her tirade. I let her go off like that for a few more breaths.

  “Tyrene, look, let me call you later.”

  “Later?!” she huffed. “What did you call me for in the first place? Something must be wrong!”

  “Everything’s great,” I said happily. “See… look at you. Always expecting the worst. I was just calling to say hello.”

  “Teresa,” she warned, “don’t you lie to me.”

  I wasn’t going to let her get to me.

  “I’ll call you back, all right? Tell Tyrone that I said hi.”
r />   Before she could gather up a comeback, I hung up the phone.

  I leaned back on the couch, drawing up my knees and hugging them close to my chest.

  Hot damn! I just got myself a bona fide dancing gig!

  I squeezed my knees so hard, it made me laugh out loud. I rolled free, onto the couch, lying on my back. I closed my eyes and began to sing. Loud.

  “Start… spreading… the… news. . .”

  I kicked my feet in the air rhythmically, à la Liza Minnelli.

  “… New York, New Yooooork!!”

  GOOD NEWS TRAVELS LAST

  so you got the gig?!”

  “Yeah,” I replied flatly. “I got it.”

  “So?! Why you sound like that? You should be bouncing off the ceiling!!”

  ’Cause you’re a day late and a dollar short, I thought to myself.

  “Been there. Done that.”

  I was stretched out on the couch with the phone in my hand and my sock-covered feet perched high. I stared out the window into the pitch of the night and the shimmering skyline around Central Park.

  “I left you a message at the office,” I said accusingly. “It’s probably sitting on your desk right now. You know, a small piece of pink paper with my name and the word urgent written on it. I also paged you. I never heard back.”

  “Girl,” Misty sighed, “it’s been crazy here today. This job is kickin’ my behind.”

  “So you can’t return a page?”

  “The afternoon got away from me.”

  Her lying azzzzzzz.

  She tried to keep her voice upbeat. Tried to keep me from going down a road I knew, and she knew, we were destined to travel.

  “Well, it don’t matter,” Misty chirped happily. “Girl! I’m so proud of you!! You went out there with no experience, shook your booty like only you can, and claimed your space!!”

  “I have experience.”

  As much as I wanted to let go and be giddy with my best friend, I couldn’t. The moment for that had passed.

  When I was running around the house, naked as a jaybird, dying to spread the news, she was nowhere to be found.

  I tried to track her down and tell her. I wanted to share my joy with her. I wanted to tell her about that shit with Hudson-the-fingersucker at China Grill. I wanted to tell her everything.

  After all, she was my favorite person in the whole wide world.

  But no. Sistah-girl was ghost.

  But if it had been that nigga calling…

  “I know you have experience, boo,” she said quickly, trying her best to keep me cool. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Say what you mean then,” I snapped.

  Misty let out a heavy sigh.

  “Look, I’m sorry I forgot to return your page. I was in meetings all day. Sometimes I just can’t juggle it all.”

  “That’s obvious. Tell it to the white folks, not to me. You’re the one who wants everybody to think you’re Superchick.”

  “I’m not Superchick, Reesy. I never said I was.”

  We let the silence hang between us for a minute before either of us spoke again.

  “Awww,” Misty cooed. “My baby’s mad at me, ain’t she?”

  You know, it’s one thing to dis me on the regular. It’s another thing to insult my intelligence, to boot.

  And what was with all this baby and boo shit? These days, I was always her baby. So was everybody else, probably. Now that she was all pushed-up with broham, she was doling out love to the world, yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.

  I, personally, didn’t appreciate that patronizing shit.

  “You mad at me?” she pressed.

  “You need to get your priorities straight.”

  “Oh really?” she snickered, catching me off guard with her own piece of attitude. “Well, I thought I was doing okay.”

  “Think again.”

  “Reesy. Just because I don’t hop when you say so…”

  “I never asked you to,” I snarled, getting madder by the minute.

  “Then don’t cop an attitude with me because I’m not where you want me to be when you want me to be there. I do have a life, you know!”

  “Hmph! For your sake, I’m glad you finally got one!”

  Ooh. Reesy. Girl, that was kinda mean.

  But inside, it felt damn good. And knowing Misty the way I do, I knew she took my statement to mean just what I meant by it.

  “So you’re saying that I think I have a life now, now that I’m seeing Rick?”

  “Well? You certainly didn’t seem to think you had one before him, even though you clearly did.”

  I could hear her breathing silently on her end. I knew the pace and pitch of her breathing well. From the way she sounded now, I could tell that her feelings were hurt.

  Good, I thought.

  Not that I got off on being mean to her, but she had been being pretty mean to me of late. Maybe mean was the wrong word. More like selfish. Misty was never there anymore when I needed her. She had practically dumped me for something that she felt was obviously better.

  How would you feel, knowing that you had been a stand-in for years, just killing time, until Mr. Right came along and gave your best friend something worthwhile to do?

  I didn’t like being treated that way. I don’t play second fiddle to anybody, and if someone tries to do me like that, I don’t take that shit lying down.

  “Why are we fighting?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Is that what we’re doing?” I shot back sarcastically. “I thought we were just having a little chitchat. I talk to you so infrequently these days, I don’t know what’s what anymore.”

  “I don’t wanna fight,” Misty said. “Today is supposed to be a happy day for you. Reesy, come on. You just landed a gig in an off-Broadway show. Do you know how big a deal that is?”

  “I know,” I said, unrelenting. “The question is, do you? You didn’t even care enough to return my pages. You even forgot that I had the audition today.”

  “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” she asked.

  “I don’t like being handled like this.”

  “I’m not trying to handle you, Reesy.”

  “Then act like a friend.”

  I was being hard. I knew it. But why did she have to kick me to the curb just because she was getting some dick on the regular?

  “I’d like to celebrate this with you,” she said.

  “I have my doubts about that.”

  “You get off on this, don’t you?”

  “Get off on what?”

  “Negative feelings. Bad energy. For all the damn nam myoho renge kyoing you do, and the meditating and questing for personal growth, you sure know how to beat a dead horse and dwell on the dumb shit.”

  Her words knocked me for a loop. I couldn’t say a thing.

  “Tell you what,” Misty said, her attitude backing off. “I’m going to pretend we didn’t even have this conversation. We should be celebrating something really wonderful that just happened for you. Despite how long it took me to call you back, and regardless of how long you can hold a grudge.”

  I sat on my end, feeling smaller by the minute.

  “I’m going to hang up the phone,” she instructed, “and I want you to hang yours up, too. Then, I’m going to call you right back, and we’re going to start this conversation all over again. Cool?”

  I sat there, listening to her. She was taking charge, just like that, telling me how she wanted things to go. Like my feelings or opinion didn’t count.

  “I’m hanging up now,” Misty said. “Hang up the phone, okay?”

  I didn’t respond. My grip on the grudge zone was too tight and too comfortable to shift in the slightest.

  “Hang uuuuuuuuuup!!” I heard her singing, her voice growing fainter as she spoke to me while placing her receiver back in its cradle.

  For a few fat seconds, I sat there with the receiver in my hand, feeling a mean streak coming on. I was determined not to have Miss Divine
dictate the situation.

  She’s probably dialing right now, I thought.

  Let her wait, my mean streak sneered.

  Girl, stop tripping, my conscience broke in.

  I placed the phone back on the hook.

  Immediately, it began to ring again.

  I listened to it ringing.

  One ringy-dingy.

  Two ringy-dingies.

  Three ringy-dingies.

  Make her ass wait.

  Four ringy-dingies.

  My phone was set to roll over to my service after four unanswered rings.

  Just how mean was I? Just how crucial was this grudge?

  “Hello?”

  “Heyyyyyy girl!!” Misty sang. “Congratulations! I got your message! So you’re gonna be in Black Barry’s Pie! I’m so proud of you!”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled sheepishly. This was kinda weird.

  “Does your mama know yet? Oh, who cares! All that matters is that we can share this moment! Girl, you know what?”

  “What?” I asked quietly, feeling a tad bit silly going along with this ruse.

  “I love you soooooooo much!” she gushed in an exaggerated tone. “You are my one and only sistah! You make me proud of you every time you turn around! You’re so strong, so determined. There ain’t nuthin’ you can’t do!”

  Instantly, upon hearing those words, my attitude melted away. I felt my face splitting down the middle. Cheeks forming. Pucker in place. Turning into a genuine booty.

  “You hear me?” Misty asked. “I love you, Reesy!! I’m so proud of you right now, I could break down and cry!”

  “Now you’re getting carried away,” I giggled, all resistance gone. “You were going good there for a minute, but you got a little raggedy at the end.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. Strike the part about crying. Girl, I’m so proud of you right now, I could take you out to dinner and get drunk over a few dozen Amaretto sours!”

  “That’s more like it!” I laughed. “I could deal with drunk tears. Just don’t cry for me right now, Argentina.”

  “So where you wanna go for dinner?” she asked. “On me.”

  “Of course it’s on you!” I exclaimed. “That goes without saying!! This is my good news, not yours!”

  “True dat,” she replied.