by Mary Monroe
I nodded, not looking at her. “Yeah,” I muttered, looking at the floor. “But I didn’t want to do it.”
“Well I am sure no woman in her right mind wants to do it. Like I said, a woman’s got to do what she’s got to do,” Rhoda said firmly. She slammed the kitchen table with her fist for emphasis. “I’d do it if I had to, wouldn’t you?”
“I did,” I mumbled, then held my breath.
“I know you did. Buttwright—”
“Not just with him.” I almost laughed. Rhoda looked in my eyes, and we just stared at one another for so long we both got nervous. “Right after you and Otis left Ohio, I got desperate and I guess a little crazy. I needed money. I needed a lot of money to leave home with,” I confessed, trembling so hard I dropped the knife.
“Weren’t you workin’ for the phone company?” Rhoda asked.
“I quit after just a couple of weeks and…and I got involved with some of the men that go to Scary Mary’s place.”
Rhoda stared at me with an incredulous look on her face, shaking her head. “Girl, you are full of surprises. First, you call me in the middle of the night to tell me you screwed Pee Wee. Now this?”
“Well”—I shrugged—“like you said, a woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do. Are you going to judge me?” I asked boldly, cutting up the greens hard and fast.
Rhoda turned away from me, stared at the floor and started talking in a slow controlled manner. “When my baby died my first thought was God’s punishin’ me for…what I did,” Rhoda whispered.
I stopped cutting the greens and moved my chair closer to hers. “I thought that same thing. I said to myself, God taking Rhoda’s baby was the payback for Mr. Boatwright’s murder.”
She looked at my face and shook her head. “Not that. I…I had an affair.” My face felt like it had frozen in time. I couldn’t react right away. “Right after I had Julian, me and Otis had some problems in the bedroom. That postpartum shit had me so depressed all I did was eat and walk around in the same musty housecoat all day long. He wouldn’t touch me with a stick, and the longer it went on, the more unattractive I felt. That’s why I did it.”
“Who was this other man? Do you still see him?” I wanted to know. Now I really felt bad thinking about all that time I spent up in Erie wishing Rhoda and Otis would break up. She looked and sounded so sad, I thought she was going to start crying.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “My husband’s best friend,” she said whispered hoarsely.
“What?”
“He was visitin’ from Jamaica for a couple of weeks,” she said slowly and so quietly I asked her to repeat it. “We were alone…one minute we’re drinkin’ beer, the next minute we’re…you know.”
“Oh my God!” I shrieked. “Rhoda, how could you? In your own house?”
She nodded. “It gets worse.” Rhoda paused and held up her hand. Before finishing her confession, she looked around again to make sure we were still alone. “His name was Bobby. David…David was his son.”
“Are you sure?” I thought I was going to go into complete shock.
“Oh there’s no doubt about it. Otis hadn’t touched me in weeks. I was already two months along—the doctor had even confirmed it—when I got Otis drunk and seduced him on the livin’-room couch. I waited just three weeks before I started droppin’ hints to him that I might be pregnant again. When David arrived seven months later, right on schedule, Otis and everybody believed me when I told him the baby was premature. Thank God David looked like me.”
I put the greens and the knife on the table and stood up to hug Rhoda’s shoulder.
“When did the affair end?” I asked.
“When he left. He moved to London and married some Englishwoman. He never knew about the baby.”
“Rhoda, why didn’t you tell me before now?” I looked at Rhoda like I was looking at her for the first time. Her lips were trembling, and there were tears in her eyes. In all the years we’d been friends, this was the first time I’d seen her without makeup. She was still beautiful, but in a more natural way.
“Lord knows you and I’ve got enough dark secrets. I didn’t want to burden you with another one,” she said. She sucked in her breath and shook her head.
“That’s something you really needed to talk to somebody about. You know you can always talk to me about anything.”
“I couldn’t even tell you before now because I was so ashamed. This makes up for the Buttwright thing, I guess. When my baby died, I knew then I couldn’t keep this secret to myself any longer. I had to tell somebody, and that somebody could only be you. I’m just glad you were able to drop everythin’ and come down here to be with me.”
I hugged Rhoda again. “Our lives our beginning to sound like soap operas,” I said. “Any other sordid secrets you want to share with me?” I asked. It did make us both laugh for a brief moment.
“That’s it for me right now. What about you?” Rhoda asked.
“Well, nothing. Oh yeah there is. That first Thanksgiving in Erie, I was so lonely and depressed I got blind drunk and was seriously thinking about jumping out of my hotel window. If you hadn’t called me when you did, I would have died that night,” I said. Rhoda gave me another incredulous look, then laughed so hard she shook. It took me a moment to realize she thought I was joking, and I left it that way. Right after that, Lola, who was planning to stay another week, returned from the graveyard where she’d gone to leave more flowers on David’s grave. After a good cry on my shoulder, Lola helped us finish preparing dinner.
After I returned to Erie, the next few weeks seemed to fly by. I did not talk to Rhoda for quite a while. When we did talk, a couple of weeks later, she told me what was happening with her brother. It was a grim situation. Apparently, Jock had become too much for her aging parents to handle. Lola did as much as she could to help out when she wasn’t working at Antonosanti’s, but that still was not enough. Uncle Johnny was still having his problems with the law and spent more time in jail than out, so he was not much help.
Otis had told Rhoda that Jock could move in with them. By living out in the country like they did, Jock running around outside naked wouldn’t be so bad.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I told Pee Wee during a phone conversation.
“Why not? He’s gettin’ into all kinds of trouble in Ohio. He was in the V.A. hospital in Cleveland and roughed up an intern so bad the man had to be hospitalized. He loves Rhoda and Otis, and they’re young and strong enough to handle him better. Besides, what kind of trouble could he get in out in the country? The worst would be to set a orange tree on fire.” He snapped.
I dismissed Pee Wee’s comments. I recalled how Jock used to intimidate and beat up Pee Wee when we were kids. It was hard to believe that someone like Jock was now in the same boat with Scary Mary’s daughter Mott: mentally handicapped and totally dependent on others.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Jock was pretty crazy even when he was still sane. Now that he’s really crazy, how can they know what to expect? God I wish we were all kids again and back at home gossipin’ on the front porch,” I whined to Pee Wee, attempting to change the subject.
“Me too. I really miss you and Rhoda. And Lord knows I miss old Mr. Boatwright. What that man could do to a pot of turnip greens! I know you miss all that good home cookin’, girl.”
“Pee Wee, you don’t know the half of it,” I told him.
CHAPTER 49
“Who is this?” I muttered into the telephone. It was just a little after 7 A.M. on a Saturday morning.
“April.”
“Where is Rhoda?”
“Mr. Otis carried her to the movies, then dinner.”
“Tell her Annette called.”
“OK. You know Jock lives here now.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I hung up the phone and looked at it. Then I dialed Pee Wee’s number. I was horrified when a woman answered. “He’s in the shower,” the bitch told me. I sla
mmed the phone down, then I got under a blanket on my couch with the Jet magazine. Not more than five minutes later the phone rang.
“You called?” Pee Wee asked.
“How did you know it was me?” I said nastily, dropping my magazine to the floor.
“You’re the only woman who calls me,” he informed me seriously.
“You had company?” I continued.
“Oh yeah. That was Lena.”
“Lena who?”
“From school. The one you flattened on prom night,” he said, laughing. “She was here to get her hair trimmed, but she showed up early. Daddy let her in, then he left before I could get out of the shower.”
I got silent because I didn’t know what to say.
“You still there?” Pee Wee asked, clearing his throat.
“Uh-huh. Um…I thought that sounded like Lena,” I snarled. We only talked for a few minutes more. Things were fairly normal in Richland, and he didn’t have a lot to tell me.
I didn’t tell Rhoda right away, but I had begun to have more nightmares about Mr. Boatwright, what he had done to me, and what she had done to him.
One night I woke up with my gown soaked with sweat and the insides of my thighs throbbing. Another time I was thinking about him while I was cutting up a chicken and I took the knife and started stabbing the chicken all over. There were times when I showered seven, eight times a day trying to wash away the pain and anger he had caused me. Rhoda was still the only person I could talk to about Mr. Boatwright.
“I’m sorry to be calling you this late,” I told her one night after midnight. “I was having another nightmare about Mr. Boatwright and I needed you to get me through the rest of tonight. Please.”
“I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.” Rhoda listened to me babble for a whole hour.
“Before I hang up, I just want you to know, I would do anything in this world for you, Rhoda. All you have to do is ask.” I meant it. If she had asked me to give up Erie and move to Florida to help them run the farm, I would have. “Do you hear me, girl?”
She mumbled something under her breath.
“Huh?” I said.
“I was talkin’ to Jock,” she told me. “He is so fucked up in the head sometimes we have to tie him to the bed so we can get some sleep.”
“Wouldn’t he be better off in one of those army hospitals?” I asked.
“He would. But he is my brother. I promised him I would take care of him until the day I die.” I could hear Jock yelling obscenities. “Annette, I caught Jock and April together in the cornfield the other day.”
My whole body tensed. Suddenly, my Mr. Boatwright nightmares didn’t seem as bad as they seemed before.
“Oh no. She’s just a child! A white child in Klan country!” I roared.
“She’s fifteen goin’ on twenty-five and looks it. She wears a 36DD bra and has hips wide enough to balance saucers,” Rhoda told me in a low flat voice.
“How could Jock mess with that little girl?” I asked, out of breath.
“Sex is like dope to some men. You were a lot younger than fifteen when Buttwright jumped you. It must be their fuckin’ nature, pardon the expression,” Rhoda said nastily.
“What Jock is doing is slow suicide. You’ve got to stop him before her family finds out,” I wailed.
“I couldn’t have said it better,” Rhoda said gently.
“What are we going to do?” I was ready to do whatever it took to help Rhoda straighten out this mess. “You want me to take Jock off your hands for a while?”
“Oh no, that’s out of the question. I wouldn’t dump a burden like that on you.”
“Well what else can you do?” I hollered.
“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it,” Rhoda assured me.
CHAPTER 50
Seven months after Rhoda’s son’s funeral I finally agreed to go out with Levi Hardy. He approached me after Easter Sunday church service.
“I seen you at the Blue Note the other night.” He grinned, his eyes all over me. He had on a plain gray suit that was too big. The legs of his pants were dragging the ground, and the sleeves on his jacket almost covered his hands. I was feeling good and looking good. I had on a cream-colored two-piece suit that made me look ten pounds lighter, with matching shoes and hat. Being large didn’t bother me half as much as it had when I was a schoolgirl and the only girlfriend I had was a size four. Leaving Richland and the limited life I had accepted for so many years was one of the best decisions I ever made. Viola and half of the Black women I came in contact with since moving to Erie were just as big as I, if not bigger. They were popular and happy, and now, so was I. I had tried several diets, including a liquid diet, a rice diet, a grapefruit diet, and a few others, but none had worked. “Girl, God didn’t mean for every woman to be a size four. If he did, you wouldn’t have so much trouble stickin’ to them diets. Pass me the potato salad,” Viola told me one day over a barbecued chicken dinner at her house. It wasn’t that I couldn’t stick to a diet. I did follow them, and still didn’t lose weight. Once on a liquid-protein diet, one so extreme I experienced fainting and dizziness, I lost eighteen pounds in three weeks. As soon as I went off the diet and started eating my beloved fried chicken again, I gained the eighteen pounds back plus five more. I told Viola, “You’re right. If God meant for me to be a big woman, no diet in the world is going to work for me.” I gave up dieting and continued to eat like I always had.
That particular Easter, Viola and most of the congregation were going home to eat ham with all the fixings. She had invited me to her house, but I’d declined. I was still uncomfortable socializing with people and their complete families. Viola’s holiday dinners included her four children, her three grandchildren, her parents, and a few other assorted relatives. With each passing year, having only Muh’Dear and Aunt Berneice concerned me tremendously. Knowing that once they passed on I would have absolutely no blood family left saddened me to a point where I fantasized about finding a man and deliberately getting pregnant. I didn’t want to grow old alone and end up hopeless, helpless, and dependent on strangers, like Mr. Boatwright. Odd as it seemed, even to me, more than once I regretted aborting Mr. Boatwright’s baby. As close as Viola and I had become, I could not tell her about the sexual abuse I had endured. The main reason was whenever rape entered our conversation, unless the victim was a female infant, an invalid, or a nun, she usually said something like, “She probably brought it on herself.” We had a few things in common, but in many ways Viola and I were as different as night and day. We liked the same movies and TV programs, but the only things she read, other than her Bible and the daily newspaper, were Black publications like Jet and Ebony. I read everything from the classics to the current best-sellers to the Enquirer. Viola, wearing a voluminous, floor-length cotton dress with so many flowers she looked like a parade float, was standing next to me listening and looking at Levi like he was talking to her.
“Viola and I go to the Blue Note all the time,” I told him. We were standing outside in front of the church along with about a hundred other members of the congregation all dressed for the occasion. Typically, most of the women had on loud outfits similiar to Viola’s and garish hats that included feathers and more flowers. The men were dressed more conservatively in dark, neutral suits.
It was a warm, sunny day, but foul fumes coming from the nearby factories made it hard to breathe. There was a lot of coughing going on, and people were wiping smoke from their eyes. Kids of all ages were running amok. Viola’s plump stepfather, Reverend Jackson, was still roaming throughout the crowd shaking hands and hugging babies. Viola had ordered her husband, Willie, to go get the car, which was parked a block away. Viola hated walking more than a few yards at a time and did it only when she had to. When we went shopping, she had to sit down to rest, catch her breath, and fan every few minutes. I thought about Mr. Boatwright almost every day of my life anyway and how some of his habits had annoyed me. Viola’s problem with walking was so much like his, I
thought about him even more.
“I been meanin’ to ask you, you wanna slide through the Blue Note one evenin’ for a beer and listen to the band?” Levi continued.
“Well.” I bowed my head for a moment and glanced at my feet, frowning at the grass stains and dust on my new beige pumps. Since my passion-filled night with Pee Wee, I had been with several other men I’d met while out with Viola in bars, restaurants, and parties. One Monday morning when I got to work, Viola started teasing me before we’d even had our first cup of coffee. “Willie told me he seen you and that truck driver we met at the Blue Note a couple of weeks ago comin’ outta Percy’s holdin’ hands. I know he the reason I couldn’t reach you at home all weekend.” I told Viola how I’d spent the weekend in Pittsburgh with Ernest Stamps. I liked Ernest, and we got along real good. Every time he returned from one of his cross-country hauls, I would be waiting for him with a home-cooked meal ready. After a few weeks, the relationship fizzled out, and I moved on to a security guard who worked at Erie High School. None of my relationships ever went too far, and I didn’t think one with Levi would either. I had lost everything I had to lose, so there was no reason not to accept his latest invitation. “Uh…when did you want to go?” I glanced at Viola; she smiled and nodded.
“What’s good for you is good for me. I’m pretty flexible.” He laughed, dancing an exaggerated jig. “I’d like to go tonight if you ain’t got nothin’ to do.”
“I don’t have any plans for tonight,” I lied. I had planned to pick up a dinner-to-go, call Rhoda and talk to her for a while, then watch TV. “We can go tonight if you want to,” I told him. We agreed that he would pick me up around seven and we’d go to the Blue Note for a few drinks.
Two years earlier, Levi had moved into a three-bedroom house on Lutz Street, a few blocks from me. He had invited his elderly mother, Clara, to leave the South and move in with him. Before going to the Blue Note, we went to his house to eat the Easter dinner his mother had prepared. Clara was a few years older and heavier than my mother, but she looked a little like her, with the same light brown skin and features. She wore horn-rimmed glasses that she looked over the top of when she talked. Like Muh’Dear she was totally devoted to the Lord.