“Not tonight. Tomorrow afternoon.”
“After my big exam, you mean.”
“Oh, yeah, that. Yes, after your big exam. Can you help me with Ned?”
“Doing what exactly?” She was already sitting upright on the edge of the couch.
“I need you to come with me over to Ned's to tell him he's gone.”
She jumped up. “What? Why me?”
“Because he really, really likes you. You two have a connection. And by the way, it's not just me. The whole band agrees, it'd be better if you were there.”
“Who's this new manager by the way?”
“His name is Steve Marconi. He's a good friend of the club owner, Julius. He's a real go-getter, Sonia. I know he'll do a better job than Ned.”
“I don't know, Mike.”
“Babe, you do this for me, for us, I'll treat you right…” His voice deepened.
After her exam, she ignored Harry's concerned looks and Mark's sneers and hurried over to Ned's place. She should have known better. When she arrived all the guys looked surprised at her presence. “Hey, girl. What are you doing here?” Shannon's husband Pete exclaimed.
Sonia pulled Mike aside. “All the guys want me here?”
“Sure, Babe. They've just forgotten they said it the other day. You know how brain dead they are sometimes. Anyway, here's what I want you to do…” He gave her a short list of what to say to Ned, then patted her on the back, whispering, “You'll do fine. You're good at this shit.”
Ned finished offering drinks and said, “Okay, for what do I owe this honor?”
Mike turned his eyes on Sonia and nodded. “Ah, Ned,” she started, “I just wanna say, we all think you're a great guy and how you've done so right by the band. Tried and true…”
“Why, thanks, Sonia. That's sweet of you to say that.” Ned smiled but his eyes read caution.
She took a quick breath. “Having said that, sometimes people need to—need to move on, you know?”
He glanced at Mike, then turned back to Sonia. “Move on?”
Mike gave Sonia another go-ahead nod. “Ned, you're really wonderful and there isn't a person in this room that doesn't think so. It's just the band's been feeling like they want to be more creative and sometimes when you've been with people for a long time, you tend to get stuck in a rut, you know.” Her voice had weakened to a half squeak.
“Stuck in a rut? What the hell does that mean, Sonia? And why are you telling me this?”
He turned to Mike. “You let your lady do all the talking? Why don't you have the balls to say something, Mike?”
There were several throat clearings and swigs of tequila before Mike spoke. “Okay, I will. Bottom line is, Ned, you're out. We're going with someone new. Sorry, but it happens in showbiz sometimes, no?”
Ned was as white as his lampshades. “Maybe it would have been better if Sonia had continued talking…” he muttered.
They all shuffled out, leaving Sonia behind to give Ned a real embrace. Once again, she reiterated how invaluable he had always been and how sorry she was to bring him this news, but he simply patted her on her shoulder and warned her to beware as he closed the door behind her. Down on the street, Mike nuzzled her neck and cooed, “Thanks, Babe. You're the best! ”
She couldn't erase the image of Ned and an excited, well-dressed Leroy being told he couldn't go to that white boy's party. Stumbling on the subway steps, she tapped on the handrail all the way down to the train, where people took one look at her and stayed clear, wondering why this pretty girl, who should have the world at her feet, was sitting all alone, sobbing.
When the elevator opened on her floor, she tried to move. Clang. The doors slammed shut leaving her inside. She reached over for the open button, and almost made it out the second time, but not quite. By the third time, her neurons fired up enough to put her on the move. She staggered out of the elevator and over to her apartment where her neighbor, Mrs. Sanborne stood, holding a cat.
“Hey, Sonia, you've gotta help me. My other cats won't accept Petra.”
Sonia raised her eyebrows. “And?”
“And I was hoping you could take her in with you. If I return her to the pound she'll probably get euthanized, you know?”
What else could possibly happen today? Sonia wondered as Petra was gently placed in her arms. Trusting blue eyes, gray fur like velvet, she started licking Sonia's hand with her sandpaper tongue.
“What's with the Russian name, Mrs. Sanborne?”
“Why, she's a Russian Blue cat. Not thoroughbred of course, but a good eighty-five percent I believe. I'll be right back with all her supplies. Much thanks, Sonia, you're a doll.”
Yeah, yeah. I'm a doll all right, Sonia nodded, taking her new child into her lair. “This is it, kid. Might as well get used to my insanity,” she said, knowing Grandma Rose would never have had one of these in her house.
Even with the kitty litter box in place under her bathroom sink and beyond exhausted, Sonia still had trouble letting go. She kept petting the cat's sensory-laden face with special knuckle rubs, and each time Petra performed in the litter box, Rose's granddaughter stood over her, the scooper poised for cleanup.
The next evening, sandwiched between The Girls, Sonia leaned back, drink in hand, to enjoy Grand Elbow being in top form. There was Shannon's husband Pete, the bass player; Will, the drummer; Snooky on keyboards; lead guitarist, Jonathan, and finally, rhythm guitarist Mike, whose husky, emotional vocals could still send her chills.
After a while, she switched her gaze towards the crowd, gathering a panoramic view. At the front entrance was her Psych group. Mark looked around like a kid in a candy store, Ana and Pamela were riveted on the stage, Harry was staring straight at her.
She motioned them over. “Wow. You're all here,” she managed, not quite able to look at Harry directly.
Just then the set ended and working his way through shoulder pats and kisses, Mike joined them. Pamela and Ana instantly gravitated to his side, oohing and aahing themselves silly, Mark commenting nonstop on how electrifying the club and all the beautiful girls were. Harry just watched.
“Drinks all around?” Mike grinned, suddenly magnanimous, in spite of thinking the psych students were such a waste of space, Sonia mused. Laughing and joking, the university group was soaking up being in the spotlight of the band, their women, and Sonia's guy. All except Harry, who leaned in toward Sonia.
“How are you? ” he said, his eyes searching her face.
It was unnerving how he seemed to sense whenever she was holding something back, she thought as the new manager, Steve, swaggered over, drenched with gold chains. He placed his arm around Mike, explaining to the entire group to get ready, they were in for a great ride with him. In fact, he was going to take this group to the moon and back. Everyone looked starry-eyed, particularly Mark, but one glance at Harry's narrowed eyes and Sonia knew she had an instant ally.
Throughout the night, Will, Snooky, and Jonathan looked cheerful. Pete did not. Another ally? Sonia wondered as Julius the club owner came over, giving Steve a quick hug before turning to the group. Uni-browed and sweaty, he was obviously in the midst of receiving hair replacement implants to cover up his Male Patterned Baldness. He talked about the band as if they were his own private entertainment center and when Steve mentioned they were going places, he immediately brought it all back to him and how he got the group started. Then he looked down at his watch.
“Hey, fellas, last set,” he grumbled, then promptly smiled to offset his toughness.
When the band went back on stage, Harry leaned towards her. “You don't like him, do you?”
“No. I don't like him and I don't like Steve. I just don't get it.”
But by night's end, Mike again played the perfect host. He invited the entire psych group to come backstage, to see how a band breaks down and go over their performance notes. Mark and the girls were excited, Sonia preferred to stay with the pregnant Shannon. “Okay, guys,” Steve ordered, “let's
go off and get some things straight before we break down.”
Mark and the girls followed obediently, delighted to be included in this group tête-a-tête, Harry less so. “Okay, Jonathan, you're great, but you kind of took over the last two songs. Hang back a little, man. Snooky, we could hear even more from you. Will, okay job, man, thanks! Pete, where are those bass notes coming from, man? Are they even part of the right scale? Mike, perfect. Just perfect. All right! Let's break down and go home.”
Amidst the babble of talk and high five's, Harry noticed Pete was not smiling.
“Hey, girls. Would you like the grand tour of the equipment room?” Steve was on a roll.
Pamela and Ana both nodded, giggled, and traipsed after him, Will, Pete, Jonathan, and Snooky. Mike was left with Harry and Mark.
“Hey, man. You are so lucky to be around all these beautiful girls at the club!” Mark exclaimed.
“Mark! He's practically married to Sonia, that's not cool,” Harry said, scoping Mike out carefully.
Mike laughed. “Not really.” Turning to Mark he added, “You have no idea how good it can be! Tail whenever we want it, man!” Exploding with laughter, he and Mark gave each other an expansive high five.
Back again, Mike was all over Sonia, nibbling on her ear, stroking her hair while she scouted the exit. There was Harry staring at her again. He gave a little salute before ducking out and she swore, in the dark, from a distance, he reminded her of Leroy after the Harlem Riots, slipping out of sight.
“Mom, Dad, I had the most amazing time the other night.”
“Yeah? What happened?” Sam quizzed.
“Well, I was invited by this new guy in my psych group, Harry, to come to a birthday party of an old childhood friend of his. Her name is Martha and she has cerebral palsy, and it was really beautiful the way he interacted with her.”
“So, who is this new guy? This Harry? And what about your other guy…” Sam asked.
“Mike?” Lily interjected.
“Yeah, Mike. No mention of him at all. Are we moving on already?” Sam snorted.
“He's just a friend, Dad!”
“Well, ladies, I'm off to bed. I feel like reading tonight…” Sam declared, ignoring Sonia and looking pointedly at his wife.
While her parents did their Help-Sam-to-Bed ritual, Sonia stayed in the living room. There was a battered copy of The Best of Robert Frost Poems on the coffee table, transporting her back to when she was very young, listening to Lily read each of his poems out loud, not really understanding, but just loving the sound of her mother's soft voice. Flipping through the pages, she stopped at The Road Not Taken.
I remember this one she thought and started to read it out loud. Forks in the road…decisions…glad he took the one less traveled…that made all the difference…
“Hey, honey! Since when have you gotten into poetry?” Lily entered, looking pleased.
“Oh, I'm not. I just thought I'd read this while I was waiting.” Sonia quickly put the book back. “What road has Dad taken that he's glad about?”
Lily saddened. “Come on, Sonia. You know your father's not glad of anything.”
“But he's alive, isn't he? He has you, hasn't he?” She pictured Martha.
Lily looked away. “Let's go upstairs, okay?” She tried a smile, but it was more of a grimace and Sonia wasn't positive, but it seemed like the corner of Lily's right eye had moistened.
Rose's box was color-coordinated to the nth degree, with four slim journals in varying shades of pink. Both women laughed at that as Lily put several other objects on the inside trunk top: a framed, Rotary Club Best Business Man Of the Year, with Peter Hanson stretched across its middle, a White Plains house Bill of Sale, a reel-to-reel tape, rubber-banned with a folder marked “The People I Love.”
“Wow. Look at this award! I didn't know Grandpa did so well.”
Lily frowned. “Yeah, he did. Never mind that he was hardly there for me or my mother.”
There was a newspaper ad for a CAL-DAK folding table, a business letter from a Mrs. Smithen and an employment application with Bimmy Robinson on it.
Lily continued diving into the trunk, then held up a pair of pearl pop beads.
“I remember those from your childhood chapter! Wow! They do look kind of real. How about that?” Sonia laughed, immediately popping them apart in various places.
“Careful, careful,” Lily mused. Finally, she handed Sonia her mother's journals. “It doesn't have everything in it, of course, just her stuff, but you can get a sense of what I was up against.”
“Hey, Mom, what about Bimmy, Sadie, and Leroy?”
“Funny you should ask,” Lily replied, handing the reel-to-reel tape and folder combo over to her. “I interviewed them for a senior high school project, then years later, I worried the tape might disintegrate, so I had their words typed up for posterity, turning them into little personal stories instead.”
“Wow,” Sonia murmured.
“Yeah, I even inserted their narratives into your Grandma Rose's journals, so you can get the full flavor of the three women's lives. That's why you have all those attached sheets saying either Bimmy's Story or Sadie's Story. ”
“Mom. You missed your calling. You should have been an editor!”
Lily was laughing when the hand-held monitor crackled loudly. “Lily! Lily! Get down here immediately!” Sam's cutting voice broke through.
“Scrambling, the women hustled, replacing the items in their special niches and trotting downstairs, with Sonia clutching her grandmother's materials in the crook of her arm.
Sam was fit to be tied. Something about having lost a special pen of his. An italicized Billy R. pen, his good friend had given him on one of their Post Vietnam visits. “One-of-a-kind!” he kept insisting as Lily used her soothing voice.
“We'll find it in the morning, Sam, I promise,” she coaxed. “It couldn't have walked away. We'll find it.” But he wasn't buying. The good times were over.
“This house is always a mess! Nothing is organized,” he ranted as Sonia eyed his overly tabulated room, the pill bottles and Depends lined up in strict formation.
Lily had already started stroking his back, doing her shushing thing and within seconds, Sonia could see his shoulders drooping by degrees, his tense cheek muscles softening, and with some pillow propping and gentle words, he closed his eyes and eased into a light snore.
The two women tiptoed out of his room and into the kitchen. “What was that all about, Mom?”
Lily drew a deep breath. “Sometimes he has bad nightmares, and with all the drugs he's taking, he gets disoriented, that's all. I know how to handle it.” But she looked sad and once again, Sonia thought of The Road Not Taken.
She placed Rose's padded journals in her backpack and retreated to the front door. “Sorry, Mom. You don't deserve this, do you,” she said, giving Lily an extra big hug.
“Your father's behavior I can understand. Just read your grandmother's journals,” was her only comment.
Chapter 8: According to Rose, Sadie, and Bimmy
“Never has a whole people spent so much money on so many expensive things in such an easy way as Americans are doing today.” - Fortune magazine 1953
“We'll bury you!”- Nikita Khrushchev 1956
Rose's Journal:
Saturday turned out to be a magical day. Lily was sent off to her room with her own tray, and between twelve and one p.m., all you could hear were women gossiping about things that mattered. Who was wearing what at the Rotary Club that month, didn't Mamie look divine in her Sally Victor inauguration hat, and what school was your child attending out here in White Plains? Then Mrs. Smithen arrived with boxes upon boxes of Tupperware products.
We hung on her every movement as she carefully set up her array of Tupperware on top of my dining room table. Containers of every shape and size with their coordinated tops. Her voice was clear, confident, as she explained how these tubs were made out of polyethylene, by the DuPont Company.
�
�Remember, ladies,” she beamed, “the DuPont Company's motto is: Better Things for Better Living…through Chemistry…”
Naturally, we all applauded, but when she held up her index finger, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Her timing was impeccable. Just the right number of beats passed before she slowly, dramatically, locked down the lid of a round tub so that it made a small squoooosh sound, “to lock in flavor and lock out air.” And when the crowd echoed a collective ooooooh, she held up her finger again. Yes, she was a master show woman, well worth all the effort it had taken to get her to come to my home.
Well done, Rose! I remember thinking. Not just anyone can get a Tupperware presentation at their house. Mrs. Smithen consented to come to me, and now I can get my mystery present from old Mr. Tupper and more importantly, a signed certificate from Mr. Tupper's Number one Saleswoman, the great Mrs. Brownie Wise.
The prize was delivered a few weeks later. It included a beautifully wrapped Max Factor gift pack with a gracious note and certificate from Brownie herself. I floated on cloud nine for a couple of days, even though Sadie made fun of me, Peter rolled his eyes, and Lily tried to dive into my new cosmetics kit when I wasn't looking.
But I guess I got the last laugh. I ignored Sadie's snide comments, sent Lily off to bed without supper, and when Peter switched off his bedside lamp and whispered across the air space between our twin beds in that special Saturday night husky voice, “Rose, Rose, are you awake?” I pretended to be fast asleep.
Bimmy's Story:
Growing up in Harlem, Bimmy learned early about life—how hard it came for some, for others, a gift from Heaven. Like the time she was six years old, playing with her doll and out of nowhere, her mama loomed over her. “Go get the bagpipe, ‘chile, and do the floor—it's time yo’ learned,” she ordered, pointing to their vacuum cleaner.
Her Papa was there, trying to walk steady after goin’ ‘round a bender, with his “S'quze me, princess, while I make a ‘lil trip to da bank t’ make a deposit,” in front of her, her mama, and their neighbors, before wobbling to the communal toilet as her mama hung her head.
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