Finally, released, she felt relief.
Emma helped her mother prepare for her father’s visit, amazed that she had made it through the past two days and nights. The ball was over. Marvin had not called, but she had decorated her tree, wrapped her father’s gift, and was now in a good mood, as she anticipated his coming and Cheryl’s party later.
Her mother helped arrange the refreshments, then put on her coat. “Emma, wish your father bon voyage and happy holidays. I’ll be back in time to take you to Cheryl’s party.”
“Mama, where you going?” Emma demanded.
“Out.”
“You can’t. This is family. We’re always together at Christmas.”
“It’s not Christmas.”
“But you know he won’t be here.” Why was her mother acting this way all of a sudden? “I thought you love Daddy.”
“I do. Because he’s your father. Emma, you’ll learn there’re many kinds of love. You’ll also learn that love is an alive thing—like my plants. It needs nurturing, caring for, otherwise it dies. It’ll be good for you and your father to be alone and enjoy time together. I hope he brings Jody so that you can get to know her better, too.”
When her mother left, Emma arranged and rearranged gifts under the tree. She moved ornaments and replaced them. She was nervous. What would it be like with her father? What if he did bring Jody? She rushed to the kitchen to make sure everything was still in order: homemade bread warming; wine chilling; cheese in place; the cart with glasses; fruitcake and cookies—all homemade.
She answered the doorbell, her heart racing, her hands trembling. Her father was there, alone with presents.
“Come on in.”
“No, Jody’s waiting in the car.”
“Oh, she can come in, too.”
“Maybe, just for a minute.” He went to the car while Emma waited with the door open. She was glad she had asked them in. She wished she wasn’t so nervous.
Now Jody was carrying one of the packages. She smiled and handed the gift to Emma and said, “Merry Christmas, happy holidays … whatever.”
“Happy holidays, and welcome.” Emma placed the gifts under the tree. Jody said no when Emma asked her to take off her coat, but she did accept the invitation to have refreshments.
They sampled all the good things, and before long Jody removed her coat. She was wearing a silk shirt with a matching skirt in multicolored stripes. Jody laughed at the jokes that her husband told about Emma.
“When Emma was a little girl, around four,” he said, “she always said she wanted to get married. ‘Who’re you gonna marry, Emma?’ people always asked, and Emma would say, ‘My daddy.’” Her father laughed.
“You know better now, don’t you, Emma,” Jody said.
“Are you suggesting I’m not a good deal for marriage?” her father chuckled good-naturedly.
Emma remembered when she was a little girl and had so much fun with him. She looked at Jody, who was not as tall as she, or her mother, but Jody had long legs, which made her appear taller than she was. Her hair was cut in a shag that, apparently, she did not know how to care for; but she looked happy. She had finally relaxed and was enjoying herself.
When Emma gave them their present, Jody asked if she could open it.
“Feel free. I don’t want to open mine though, not yet,” Emma said.
They seemed genuinely pleased with the blue-and-white English wool blanket, monogrammed Jody’s Joy. As they left, Emma wished them bon voyage as her mother had asked her to do. She waved good-bye, pleased that they had stayed so long—a whole hour and a half. The time had gone quickly and it had been nice. Maybe relating to her father, on her own, just might be interesting. He hadn’t come through in her crisis, but she was willing to give him time.
Twelve
When people are happy, they look pretty, Emma said to herself as she put on makeup, getting ready for Cheryl’s party. She decided she was not happy. She would prefer to be going with Marvin, but she knew that she would have to ignore him if he showed. He would show, all right, she was sure of that. Thank goodness Allan would be there. He had called to ask if he could bring a friend who was home from Stanford for the holidays. Could it be a girl? He had better not bring a girl, with all of her friends waiting to look him over. Suppose he brought a white chick? He wouldn’t dare. Not Allan.
As her mother drove to Cheryl’s, Emma told her about her father’s visit.
“Did they like my fruitcake?”
“Oh, Mama, they sure did. But I think they liked your bread better. Daddy asked for some to take home. I gave him some cookies, too.”
“Good thinking. How’re you gonna get home?”
“Call you. Or should I take a taxi?”
“Call me. I don’t want you coming alone.”
“I’m a big girl, Mama.”
“I’ll say!” They both laughed.
Emma thought of the possibility of making up with Marvin. “If I get a ride, I’ll let you know, OK?” Then she began to worry. How would her friends react to her? Only Dee had come by during the crisis, and only Cheryl had called, just to verify Allan’s coming. Would they be glad to see her? She wished Allan had a car so he could have picked her up.
Her mother waited at the curb until Cheryl let her in. The party was underway with mostly girls. Emma was welcomed with squeals of delight. All of the girls who had been at Dee’s slumber party were there; girls from Marlborough she hadn’t seen since she’d left were there. She looked around, wondering where the fellows were. She hoped the room would not remain full of girls only.
Already Melanie was a frequent visitor to the punch bowl; and Emma learned that Cheryl’s idea of two punch bowls was working in Melanie’s favor. Cheryl had convinced her mother that a bowl of grapefruit juice would be great for those on a diet, and a heavy, fruity punch would do for the others. Melanie claimed the grapefruit juice for her flask of vodka and was happy.
The music was going and the girls were dancing en masse with those boys who cared to dance. Every time the doorbell rang, Emma’s heartbeat quickened. How would she act if Marvin came in?
“Emma, where’s Marvin?” Tanya asked.
Emma controlled the impulse to refer the question to Melanie and said, “I haven’t heard from him. Ask Cheryl if she invited him.”
“Ask me if I invited who?”
“Marvin, Cheryl,” Tanya said.
“Yes. But I’m waiting for Emma’s Manning friend.”
“That’s the guest we’re all waiting for,” Dee shouted.
Fellows dribbled in and out, and soon there were enough for couples to dance. Finally the odor of weed crept through the room. Marvin walked in and Emma’s heart flip-flopped. Immediately he was surrounded with admirers. Some welcome for one they were all mad at, she thought.
“The Bacardi for the party is here,” Marvin said and produced a bottle of rum for the fruit punch. Everybody cheered and the party took on new life.
Emma waited. She pretended not to notice-his watching her, as if he were waiting for her to make the initial move. Finally she went into an adjoining space where Linda was banging on the piano. They formed a duet and played “Chopsticks” against the sound of the record player. Then Emma felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked around. At first she did not recognize the fellow. Suddenly she squealed, “Allan! You’re so dressed up.”
He hugged her. “I didn’t know you played the piano.”
“You call that playing? We were just clowning.”
“Come, meet my friend and we’ll come back to the piano.” He pulled her through the crowd, and even before they reached him, Emma knew he was the one. He was older, and he looked so … how could she put it? Distinguished. Not the way he was dressed, but the way he stood there: in the crowd, but definitely apart.
“You’re Emma,” he said. “I would have known you without Allan. He’s told me so much about you.” He took both of her hands.
“Hey, Gary, did he tell you she belongs to me?�
�� Marvin had interrupted, putting an arm around Emma’s shoulder.
“Aw, come off it, man,” Gary said, grinning at Marvin. “You can’t claim all the beautiful women in the world.”
So this was Gary and he knew Marvin. Emma wiggled Marvin’s arm off her shoulder. “From Stanford, eh?” She ignored Marvin.
“From the ghetto, attending Stanford.”
“All right! Got it. Let’s go back to the piano,” Emma said, still ignoring Marvin.
“Let me meet some of these fine ladies first,” Allan said.
Emma introduced Allan and Gary around the room. There were never enough men at a party. Many of the girls joined them as Allan sat at the piano. Suddenly there was quiet and Emma was surprised as Allan tested the keys. “You didn’t tell me you could play,” she cried.
He grinned. “You didn’t ask me.”
The record player was no competition. Everybody wanted Allan to go on playing. Emma danced with Gary again and again. She learned he was a sophomore in pre-med. “So you’re going to be a doctor, too,” she said.
“Why you say ‘too’?”
“My father’s a doctor, and I’ll be a doctor one of these days.”
“So you’re not in awe of the profession. Good. I can relax and make some mistakes. Meeting you proves I’m lucky to know Allan.”
“Who doesn’t feel lucky knowing Allan? He’s my ace. How do you know him?”
“We played in a combo together before I left. He’s a way-out musician, never had a lesson. But let’s not talk about Allan. You’re far more interesting. Where will I send my messages to you?”
Suddenly Allan stopped playing. “Start the record player,” he said. “I gotta git in one dance, at least.” He grabbed Emma.
In the middle of the dance, Marvin moved in. “What you trying to do, man? You know this is my woman. You guys from the ghetto think you can just come in and take over,” he said angrily.
Allan raised both hands and laughed as if to say he was not armed. “Say, man, I don’t intend to take over. She’s your lady. I understand that.” Allan moved away.
“No, Allan,” Emma said, taking his hand. “Let’s finish this dance.”
“You come over here with me,” Marvin demanded, taking Emma by the arm.
To avoid a scene, Emma followed him into a corner. “Listen, Marvin, I don’t like what you’re doing. I am not your woman. I’m not your lady.”
“Since when?”
“Since you haven’t bothered to call; since you can feel free to do with or without me; and since you’re acting so silly. Allan is your friend as well as mine.”
“No such thing as friendship between a man and a woman. If you’re not my woman, whose woman are you?”
For the first time she was beginning to see through Marvin’s selfishness. She had known all along that he took her love for granted, unconditionally; but she could not admit it before. “I’m my own woman,” she said, trying to control her anger. “And I’ll have you know, I’ll dance with Allan, I’ll dance with Gary, I’ll dance with anybody I please.”
“Hey-y-y.” He took her hands and tried to draw her to him.
She pushed him away. “It won’t work this time, Marvin. I never interfered with you and your women because I have no claim on you. I loved you, but that gave you no claim over me.”
“No, you love me, and I love you,” he shouted, taking her hands.
“No, no, no!” She pulled away and went to find Allan and his friend.
They had already gone. She was glad she had given Gary her address and telephone number. She went to phone her mother, feeling more relieved than she had felt in a long time. There was no longer a need for her to be grateful to Marvin for nothing. The rest of the vacation should be easy. She sighed. Ahead of her was: getting back to school—and the challenge of Manning.
Thirteen
Emma moved quickly through the crowded gym, scanning names above stations to make sure she got the best teacher at the right time, for the right class. She was feeling buoyant, pleased with herself for the first time in a long while. The rejection she had faced recently had forced a retreat into herself to find what was lacking. Not beauty. Certainly not brain. Her grade report for the first semester at Manning showed a continuing four-point average. Letters and brochures were pouring in from colleges and universities. This outpouring bolstered her ego; she was sought after.
If she were lacking in anything, it was the will to do what she felt was best to do. The central fault, she realized, was that, as if by nature, she always tried to please everyone else, sometimes at the risk of her own happiness. Armed with that insight, she resolved to make this, her last semester of high school, count for her. She would think Emma, do her work, graduate, leave Manning, and start fresh in a place that wanted her.
Now with class cards in hand, she waded through the crowd looking for Mr. Wheeler, her choice for American literature. Mr. Wheeler, a young Black, had completed only one semester on the faculty at Manning. Although he was a newcomer, he was gaining a good reputation. Emma was anxious to get into his class because he was the only American lit teacher there who included Black writers in his course. Allan had warned that if she wanted him, she had better get there early.
Finally she reached his station. Teachers on both sides of him were busy signing cards while Mr. Wheeler sat drumming on the table with his pencil, a half-smile lighting his face; yet, he had a distracted look, oblivious of the hustle and bustle about him. What luck, Emma thought as she handed him her card. In the moment that he took to read her card, she was aware of his long slender fingers, his large blunt fingernails, well clipped and groomed but not manicured.
“I’ve filled my lit class,” Mr. Wheeler said, handing her back her card.
“You wouldn’t kid me now, would you, Mr. Wheeler?”
He laughed. “I most certainly would not. I’d be delighted to enroll you.”
“Aw! Can’t you take just one more?”
“Sorry about that. Now, Mr. Kooner may be able to take you.”
Mr. Kooner sat right next to Mr. Wheeler. He glanced at Emma with a noncommittal look, then went on signing cards. Emma had a feeling he didn’t want her any more than she wanted him. She must find Allan and get some advice.
Allan knew most of the teachers there by reputation. He could tell her what to do. Disappointed, she went looking for him. The crush was terrific. People were wall-to-wall. There was no escape from the odor of bodies, gym lockers, and shower stalls. Where was Allan?
She finally gave up and stumbled outside where the cold air was refreshing. Near the water fountain, Allan was having a hilarious time with Brenda and her friends. She hailed him. “There you are. I need you for a minute.”
“Can’t y’ see we talkin’ t’ Allan?” Brenda demanded harshly.
“Excuse me. I was talking to Allan.”
“I told y’, we talkin’. Now if y’ can’t wait, then go on ’bout y’ business.”
Emma looked at Brenda. Brenda was indeed attractive. It was her fire, her eyes—big, black—in an oval, velvety-smooth black face. She was small, but had an ample bust, and the real hips that some girls at Marlborough bought to give that full-rounded look in jeans. How could such a pretty girl be so mean?
“Cool out, Bren, we aren’t talking about nothing. Let me give Emma some time,” Allan said and joined Emma.
Emma soon discovered that she had only two choices left for American lit: Mrs. Dohling and Mr. Kooner.
“Kooner is a dog,” Allan said. “Why you taking lit?”
“I have to. It’s the only required subject I haven’t had. I saved it for now because it’s easy. I want nothing to worry about this last semester. I’m juggling my schedule, Allan, trying to get a good lunch period.”
“Fifth is best,” Allan said.
“Can’t have fifth.”
“Then sixth. Whatever you do, don’t take seventh. That’s a drag.”
“I won’t get anything if I don’t hurry,
” Emma said and rushed back to the gym.
The crush was even greater now as she pushed through to the English Department station, only to find that she was minutes late for Mrs. Dohling’s class. It had just been filled. Oh, darn, she thought as she had to give in to letting Mr. Kooner sign her card.
To her dismay, his class was offered only at sixth period, forcing her to take seventh for lunch. At that time of day the food was like leftovers. Just to find space to stand and eat was impossible, and the sea gulls were then controlling the grounds. Despondent over her fate, she made her way toward the girls’ rest room. Just outside she heard familiar voices and loud laughter.
When she walked in, there was a hush. The room was filled; Brenda, Liz, and the others were in the crowd. Brenda sat on the floor. The room reeked with tobacco and weed. Emma felt the ominous silence.
She washed her hands and had begun to comb her hair before the silence was interrupted.
“Some people ’round here think they such hot stuff they can come and call y’ man while y’ talkin’ to ’im,” Brenda said.
“Who tryin’ to burn you, Brenda?” one girl asked.
“They know. Think they can come down here from the hills and take over.”
Emma tossed her head as she combed her hair, trying hard to control the anger rising in her. She must not let Brenda get to her. She calmly took out her makeup.
“Aw, Brenda, you just making noise.”
At that pronouncement, Emma glanced around and saw that the girl confronting Brenda was Carrie. Carrie was wearing a soft pink-and-white sweater dress, just above the knee, with a single strand of pearls that came almost to the hem of the dress. Her pearl earrings were also extra long. Exotic was the word for Carrie. Tall, thin, but big boned, Carrie could wear silver-streaked hair, silver nail polish, silver shoes, and white stockings and get away with it well.
“You stay outta this, Carrie,” Brenda retorted.
Because We Are Page 8