Dottie’s Hair Salon. The faded old-fashioned lettering on the ragged board hanging off the side of the ram-shackle storefront property indicated that Buttercup’s great-grandmother resided in a former hair salon. Reed looked around for a doorbell, finding none; he peered through a smudged triangular window pane, but couldn’t see inside. Impatient, he pounded on the heavy wooden door.
The door slowly creaked open, startling him. A wrinkled, gnarled hand with jagged, yellowed fingernails held the partially open door in place while a pair of opaque-colored, obviously confused eyes appraised him.
Reed cleared his throat. “Is Butter…I mean, is Darlene here?”
“Who?” the voice croaked.
“Darlene?” he repeated. “Do you have a great-granddaughter named Darlene?” Reed spoke in a raised voice. He assumed the old woman was hard of hearing.
“Who’s Darlene?” Matching Reed’s tone, the old woman took her volume up several notches.
With increasing impatience, Reed took a deep breath, but before he had to repeat himself for the third time, he heard Buttercup’s voice and it was music to his ears.
“Did you call me, Grandma?”
“Who you callin’ Grandma?” the old woman demanded, furious. She let go of the door and turned angrily toward the stairs that Buttercup was running down.
Reed gasped. He couldn’t help it. With the door opened a little wider, he was provided a closer look at the old woman and what he saw was beyond ghastly. The old woman was wearing makeup. Hideous, thick pancake makeup—two shades lighter than her chestnut-colored skin. Garish red lipstick was smeared across her cheeks. The same red lipstick was used as a substitute for eye shadow, but she chose a black eye pencil to draw a big round beauty mark just above the edge of her sunken upper lip.
“Why you got the door open, Grandma? You want somebody to come in here and rob us?” Buttercup chastised. She pulled at her great-grandmother’s arm, but the old woman jerked away. “Get off me, girl. Can’t you see I got me some male company?”
Buttercup pulled the door completely open, took a look at Reed, and tried to slam the door in his face, but Reed stopped the door with his foot and used his shoulder to push it open.
“What the fuck you doing here?” she demanded when Reed pushed his way inside. “You stalking me now?” She glared at Reed through narrowed, poisonous eyes.
Looking humble and repentant, Reed said, “Yo, Butter…I came to apologize.” She was wearing baggy pajamas, no make-up, and her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Reed knew he had no right to hold her appearance against her, but he couldn’t help wishing she looked more glamorous.
“Apologize! Nigga, you trippin’. I’m not fuckin’ with your sick ass no more.”
“Aw, come on Butter; don’t be like that. How long have you been knowing me? You know that’s not how I get down. I had too much to drink that night. I think somebody slipped something in my drink because I was rammin’. I just lost control, baby. Why don’t you let me make it up to you?” He pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket.” I got something for you. I want to make amends. All right?”
Trying to assess the amount he offered, Buttercup studied the knot he held. “How much?” she finally asked.
“Yeah, how much?” her great-grandmother asked, as she stepped out of the shadows.
Reed drew back reflexively. Buttercup’s great-grandmother was wearing a knee-length dirty cotton robe; dried food covered the front. She had on a pair of those black old folk’s shoes with the Velcro straps. Topping off her macabre appearance, there was a silky black ponytail pinned to the top of the woman’s short, gray knotty afro. If this kooky old woman was Dottie, the former owner of the hair salon, Reed would bet good money that she had fucked up many heads of hair in her day.
“Go sit down, Grandma.”
“I’m not gon’ sit down so you can make all the money.” She let out a snort and rolled her eyes. “I got the same thing she got, mister,” Dottie shouted. “Only mine is mo’ better,” she added boastfully.
“Come on in while I try to get her upstairs,” Buttercup said to Reed. “Come on, Grandma; it’s time for you to get some rest.” Buttercup tried to steer her resistant great-grandmother toward the stairs.
“Have a seat,” Buttercup told Reed as she struggled with her grandmother.
Reed didn’t want to risk offending Buttercup, but there was no way he was sitting down. The place had the musky smell of piss and liniment. The old-fashioned sectional sofa was covered with hard, torn plastic. Reed strongly suspected that Grandma had peed all over everything.
“I’m straight,” he responded, standing erect with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes did a quick, disgusted sweep. Cobwebs clung to corners near the ceiling; faded wallpaper was peeling off every wall; yellowed and curled newspaper photos of both President Kennedy and Martin Luther King hung crooked on the walls in dusty old frames.
In the kitchen area, he saw a mouse shoot across the floor and after experiencing a quick case of the willies, he abruptly shifted his focus back to his own reflection in his polished and shined shoes.
Buttercup tugged on her great-grandmother’s arm, but the old woman escaped from her grasp. With unusual speed, she raced toward Reed and quickly tore off her robe to show off her goods. Rolls upon rolls of slackened flesh drooped from her body. A flap of flesh hung over big bloomer-sized panties. Her shriveled bare breasts hung like two used teabags.
Reed recoiled. “Damn, Butter. Come get your grandmother.”
“Leave him alone, Grandma. Come on, now. Why you always gotta act up?”
But her grandmother flatly refused to leave Reed alone. Grinning toothlessly, she rotated her pelvis enticingly as she tottered toward Reed.
Staggered by revulsion, Reed took an unsteady step backward. “Yo, Butter. Take your grandmother upstairs.”
“I’m trying,” Buttercup said as she draped her grandmother’s robe across her shoulders. “You shouldn’t have pulled out that money in front of her.”
“Why not?” Feeling repelled, he really didn’t want to know the answer.
“My grandma used to trick.”
“That old lady used to turn tricks?” He asked with an expression of astonishment.
“Uh-huh. A long time ago, before she went legit and opened her hair salon. My grandma used to be real pretty. She stayed wearing fly gear, and always kept her hair laying. She was something! I can show you pictures…”
Reed found that very hard to believe, but declined seeing the photographs.
“But now she got this dementia and something else called sundowners.”
Perplexed, Reed screwed up his face.
“Sometimes she don’t know nobody; she even forgets her own name,” Buttercup explained. “Then when the sun goes down; she really starts to trip. She starts thinking she’s still back in the 1950s when she used to live in Chester. Back then, she used to work in a whorehouse owned by some lady named Miss Addie Mae. She called herself a sportin’ girl,” Buttercup said with a giggle.
“I am a Sportin’ Girl!” Dottie insisted. “And Miss Addie Mae don’t like a whole buncha talk with the customers before they hand over the money,” Dottie continued with her horribly painted lips poked out. She struggled some more and tried to pull away from Buttercup’s strong grip.
“See what I mean?” Buttercup said, laughing. Then, turning serious, she said, “It’s so hard to control her. I have to hide my lingerie and shit because she’ll start messing in my stuff when she thinks it’s time to start trickin’. But mostly she’s all right in the morning and afternoon. She can be real sweet and pleasant.” Buttercup smiled warmly at her great-grandmother.
The old woman didn’t return Buttercup’s smile; she rolled her eyes and muttered, “Bitch!”
Reed just shook his head. He was ready to get out of there. Everything in the house was old and dusty; he wanted Buttercup to hurry the hell up. The creepy dusty house was causing him to itch. A few more minutes
in this hellhole and he was going to start coughing and sneezing and carrying on.
“Look, why don’t you just leave her for a little while. I gotta get some air. You wanna go out and take a ride with me?”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know, anywhere. Just hurry up,” he snapped, no longer feeling the need to be polite.
“Okay, just let me get her upstairs. If I don’t lock her door, she’ll start rampaging around this house like you wouldn’t believe. Come on, Grandma,” Buttercup coerced sweetly and placed a comforting arm around her great-grandmother.
“Okay,” the old woman replied, suddenly docile. Looking weary, she began to shuffle toward the stairs. Then, in mid-step, she changed gear and dramatically threw off the robe. Reminiscent of an old James Brown move, Dottie slid across the floor, wiggling and shimmying her way back to Reed.
Taken off guard, Reed threw up both hands defensively. Buttercup grappled with her grandmother and dragged her to the stairs.
Having seen and heard more than enough, Reed hollered, “I’ll be outside in the car!”
“Okay, but I have to get myself together before I come out. I don’t want to get you worked up and acting crazy, so I’m gonna put on some makeup and grab one of my wigs.”
“Yeah, all right. Get yourself together, but please…hurry up.”
He waited patiently for a few minutes, but feeling antsy, he decided to pass some time by patching things up with his wife.
There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let Dayna drag him through a divorce. He knew how to handle her. All he had to do was serve her up some good dick, talk some shit about starting a family, and she’d be walking around on cloud nine, buying baby clothes and changing one of the spare bedrooms into a nursery. And most important, she’d cut out all that diet bullshit and start cooking some real food.
He pulled out his cell and cleared his throat. It was time to sweet-talk his bitch of a wife.
Chapter 15
Dayna didn’t have high hopes that Reed would do the honorable thing and vacate their bedroom. So instead of allowing him to deplete her energy with an emotionally charged argument, she decided it would be less stressful if she made the move herself.
By quarter to seven that night, however, she was still plowing through her clothing and personal items. Progress was being made very slowly and it appeared that it was going to take a few more days to transfer all her things to the spare bedroom.
The spare room wasn’t nearly as large as the master bedroom and it didn’t have a private bathroom. What she liked about the room was the canopy bed, which was draped with sheer white fabric. Beyond that, having her own private space more than made up for the lack of extra perks.
Dayna filled a large plastic container with shoes and dragged the container into her new bedroom and left it sitting in the middle of the room. At seven o’clock, famished and exhausted, she decided she’d done enough for one night. She’d start fresh tomorrow after work. Hopefully, she’d be asleep by the time Reed got in. She’d left the master bedroom in shambles. Her new bedroom was in a state of chaos and disarray as well, but she was too tired to finish straightening up. She decided to eat a quick meal, put in the yoga DVD, do some stretches for about a half-hour, spend another hour or so grading papers, and then call it a night.
She padded down to the kitchen and stuck a Lean Cuisine in the microwave. As she waited for the quick meal to heat, she reminded herself to take a sleeping pill before she retired to ensure a deep and undisturbed sleep. She was not in the mood to listen to Reed rant about the mess she’d made.
Dayna sagged into a kitchen chair, emotionally drained. She’d invested so much into her marriage; it hurt to have to accept that she’d been wrong about Reed. He was not the man he appeared to be.
It was Reed who had wanted to rush into the marriage. That should have raised a red flag, but instead she chose to be flattered. Even though she had wanted to delay the ceremony for a little while longer so she could plan a really extravagant and unforgettable wedding day, he told her he couldn’t wait. He was too much in love. Looking back, she realized that planning a wedding was a pleasant distraction from the pain of her parents’ breakup.
While she thought she was being swept off her feet, she was actually being hustled by a fast-talking smooth operator who needed the legitimacy of marriage to get the things he wanted in life. Marriage to the daughter of a prominent attorney was definitely a step up for Reed.
But their marriage was based on lies. Dayna now knew that Reed had never been accepted to Wharton’s business school. Emotionally blinded by their own rocky relationship, her parents were charmed by Reed and it was easy for him to persuade them that he was the right choice for their daughter.
My husband never loved me. Those words had become a mantra she had to keep repeating in order to stay focused. Deep in thought, she chewed the food without tasting it. Reed, with his self-serving behavior, fit the profile of a sociopath. She’d studied personality disorders in college and had taken a refresher course a couple years ago. At that time, she didn’t recognize any of Reed’s characteristics because she was focusing on the students she taught. Teaching emotionally disturbed children was challenging. The refresher course provided her with a deeper understanding of the numerous wounded children she was responsible for educating.
Dayna recalled how she recognized sociopathic characteristics of a sociopath in one of her students of whom she was quite fond, an eight-year-old named Preston. He was a beautiful child who came to school tardy and unkempt. He was being raised by a grandmother since his own mother was in prison. Getting teased by his classmates was a daily occurrence in Preston’s life, causing him to routinely lash out and fight his classmates. Dayna always rallied to his support like a mother lioness, offering him comfort and chastising his tormentors.
One day Preston arrived at school crying inconsolably. Through his racking sobs, Dayna was able to determine that he’d had a birthday the day before and no one in his family had acknowledged it.
Determined to spare the child further damage to his self-esteem, Dayna ran out during her lunch break and bought a sheet cake. It was decorated with a toy truck and the words Happy Birthday Preston were written in blue icing. Giving Preston an impromptu birthday party, Dayna bought ice cream and party hats for him and his classmates to wear. Her heart swelled with pride as she watched the scorned child enjoy being the center of attention. For that one day, instead of being the butt of every joke, Preston was a hero.
“Can I take the rest of the cake home to my grandmother?” Preston asked at the end of the day.
“Of course,” Dayna readily agreed. What a sweet child to want to share his cake with the grandmother who had ignored his special day. Tears stung her eyes as she watched Preston leaving the classroom proudly carrying what seemed to be his very first birthday cake.
A few days later as she was going through Preston’s records, she noticed his date of birth: July 6, 1996. How could that be? He’d just celebrated his birthday two days before. Mystified, Dayna scratched her head. Thinking it a mistake, she had the secretary check his birth date on the computer. Sure enough, Preston was born July 6.
Dayna was stunned and as soon as Preston arrived to school the next day, she pulled him aside to privately ask him why he’d lied about his birthday. To her utter astonishment, Preston jerked away from her. “Don’t be pullin’ on me. Get your fuckin’ hands off me, you stupid bitch,” he snarled, his face twisted in rage. “Fuck that cake; I’m not kissing your ass over no dumb birthday cake.”
Later, when she hauled him off to the principal’s office and insisted he be seen by the school psychologist, it was determined that Preston hadn’t been invited to a cousin’s birthday party and needed to feel some type of satisfaction. Had Dayna never caught on to his scheme, Preston would have continued to show her his sweet side only.
It had been a chilling experience for her and throughout the duration of the school year, Preston h
ad continued to waver between being an absolute angel when he wanted something and the worst demon from hell whenever he was disappointed. When Preston chose to be an angel, Dayna found him nearly impossible to resist.
She now realized that Reed suffered from the same disorder. He was incapable of giving or receiving love and incapable of feeling remorse. He was an emotional shell and emulated feelings only when it benefited him.
If Reed’s personality defect was influenced by genetics, she could only thank the Lord that she hadn’t conceived a child with him. The mere thought of giving life to his unholy spawn sent a shiver down her spine.
The telephone rang. She looked at the caller ID. It was Reed calling from his cell phone. “Hello,” Dayna said in a tone that would let him know his call was not welcome.
“Hey, sweetheart. How ya feeling?”
Dayna didn’t bother to respond.
“Oh, so you’re still upset with me? Okay, well, look I know I haven’t been the best husband, I’ve been putting the PBP before you but all that’s about to change. I don’t want to lose you. You hear me? Nothing is more important than our relationship and I’m willing to take full responsibility for everything that’s going wrong in our marriage.” He spoke with warmth in his voice. Dayna hadn’t heard him speak in that tone in months. If she were the same idiot she’d been in the past, she would have instantly believed him.
With her guard up and bolted in place, she responded, “To answer your first question, I’m fine. Nothing has changed; my mind is made up. I don’t want to talk about what you could have done in the past. Our marriage didn’t work, I’m really sick of it, and judging by your frequent absence here, I can only assume that you want out of this marriage as much as I do.”
Reed winced and then spoke in the same soothing tone. “I’m confused. I never said I wanted to end our marriage. I’m cool. Look, it must be that time of the month or close to it. You know how you get,” he said with an uncomfortable chuckle.
“Don’t go there—blaming my hormones as if I’m emotionally unstable.” She switched the phone to her other ear. “Reed, listen to me. I want a divorce and my decision is final.”
Dangerously In Love Page 9