“Okay, I know you gotta go and I’m almost finished. But it was a good show. And to be honest with you, Marilyn, you’re the real reason I watched it. I mean you the only woman I know in this age group. I meant to tape it, but we didn’t have no blank tapes and I was not taping over All My Children. Anyway the other group of women was the ones ready to bail out of the whole Suzy Homemaker routine and become real ho’s. Just kidding. All joking aside, these women talked about how they actually loved this stage of their life.”
“What made them say that?”
“Well, instead of thinking of menopause like it’s all downhill from here, they saw it like they was getting another chance to do some of the shit they never started or finished for one reason or another. One lady said it felt more like it was a new beginning. And when you think about it, it really ain’t the end of nothing but your damn period. Some of them went back to college. I’m talking about women in their forties and fifties! Some of ’em divorced their boring-ass husbands, but I can’t lie—quite a few of their husbands left their ass in the wind for some young tender skin. And then there was the ones who had careers—they went to college so they could do what they did—but they realized that they didn’t like doing it no more, so some of ’em just upped and quit. Went off and did some silly shit they loved, even if it didn’t make ’em half as much money.”
“Well, your memory is definitely intact, Joy. And thanks for sharing this with me.”
“You’re welcome.” We head for the front door. She’s still got that mop in tow. “Them women got me to thinking, you know.”
“I can tell.”
“No, I mean, about me maybe trying to start over. I mean, hell, I’m only twenty-six. I still got time to go to college.”
“But you need to have a high school diploma to do that, Joy.”
“I got my GED right before LL was born. I thought you knew that.”
“No, I didn’t. Right on, then. Do it. Go.”
“First I gotta get my head on straight.”
“Well, you’re not alone on that front,” I say, as I walk into the living room and give Lovey a kiss.
When I get outside, I unlock the car with my keys and then give Joy a peck on the cheek. She’s standing on the front porch even after I open the door.
“Yep. I saw it all on some cable channel. When our cable was hooked up,” she says pressing the spongy part of the mop against the top step so that the last drop of moisture squishes out.
I now have the feeling that either she doesn’t want me to leave or she’s glad to have had my undivided attention and she’s not quite finished. “Wait a minute. You mean you don’t have cable anymore?”
“Nope. We had a box and they finally came and took it.”
“I thought you didn’t need a box anymore.”
“This was a gift from a friend that let us get every channel, including HBO and Showtime, for free.”
“Nice to have those kind of friends,” I say.
“Yep, but tell me something, Marilyn.”
“What’s that?”
“Between these two types of women I was just talking about.”
“Yes.”
“Which group you fall into?”
Chapter 18
My prayers have been answered when I don’t see Leon’s car in the garage. This doesn’t tell me who all is here. The chime is still off because there’s no beep when I enter the house. I almost freak out when I hear barking. Arthurine is sitting in the family room watching a rerun of that big dog show they have every year in New York. I rented the movie Best in Show because I saw it when it came out and laughed so hard in the theater it took a while before realizing I was just about the only one who thought it was funny. When the lights came up I also saw that I was the only black person there. Arthurine barely cracked a smile during the whole twenty minutes she watched it.
“How you doing, Arthurine?”
I can tell that she was just about to smile, but decides against it. I think I already know what I’m in for.
“I’m just sitting here grieving, baby. That’s what I’m doing. How you?”
“I’m really sorry to hear about Snuffy,” I say, but I don’t want to go over to where she is because I can still see Snuffy’s disgusting matted fur bed at the end of the couch, which is where she’s sitting.
“I know,” she says, and then points down to his bed. “He was laying right there, like he always do. Just a-sleeping. I go to put his leash on and give it a little tug like I always do, but Snuffy didn’t budge. Sometimes he do this so I’ll pick him up, but I wasn’t in no mood for bending down and carrying him that morning ’cause it feels like arthritis is starting to settle in my back, so I give him a big tug and when his whole body rolled off his bed, that’s when I realized that Snuffy wasn’t sleeping.” She’s not really crying but I can tell she wishes she could drum up some tears to give her story more impact.
“Where is he now?” I ask, praying he’s not somewhere being prepped for his funeral.
“I went on and had him cremated.”
“You did?” I say, trying not to sound too excited.
“Yes. Prezelle told me that having a service for him would probably make me feel worse. And he’s right. He knows a lot about funerals.”
“Why does he know so much about funerals?”
“Because he used to be a mortician.”
“No shit? I mean, no kidding?”
“His whole family always had something to do with the dead. Prezelle owned six parlors when he retired. He sold three and left the other three to his three kids. Except one of them just died and now they fighting over who gon’ get to run that one. Dead people are the reason he can afford to live in such a nice place.”
“That’s really something,” I say. “Are you and Prezelle still going to Reno next weekend?”
“Absolutely. You can’t just keep on grieving day after day. You need relief. With God’s help, I’m getting there. And I should be all the way there by next Friday afternoon.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Is anybody else here?”
“Spencer was upstairs in his room.”
“What about his friend?”
“That little girl?”
“Yes.”
“I think she up there with him. I haven’t heard nobody come and go.”
“What about Leon? What’s the latest on him?”
“That’s what I want to know. Is something wrong with him that ain’t nobody telling me about, Marilyn?”
“What would make you say that?”
“Well, at first he acted like he was coming down with a cold, but I waited and waited and he didn’t cough not once and his nose never did run, so I asked him what he thought could be ailing him. And you know what he said?”
“I’m listening.”
“He said he needed to get away to do some soul-searching. Did I hear him right?”
“I think you did.”
“I told him it wouldn’t kill him to start going to church again. This way he could hear God’s word every Sunday and he wouldn’t have to search. All the answers would be right in front of him. I told him I’m lucky because I go to Bible study twice a week, which is why God speaks to me more often.”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘He speaks to you,’ Arthurine?”
“I’ve heard God speak.”
“And what does God sound like?”
She cuts her eyes at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what exactly does God sound like? Does He have like a Southern or British or New York accent? A deep or high-pitched voice? What?”
“You trying to be funny?”
“No. I’ve just always wondered about this when people say God spoke to them, that’s all.”
“I can’t describe it. Plus, he don’t always sound the same way. All I want to know is how in God’s name is Leon supposed to find his soul in Costa Rica?”
“I don’t know, Arthurine.”
“Are you two having mar
ital difficulties?”
“I think we’re reevaluating the strengths and weaknesses of our marriage.”
“Then that means yes.”
“Not necessarily. Anyway, do you know where he might be?”
“He said he was going to the mall to get some things to take on his trip. Said he didn’t have no island-wear.”
“He really said that? Costa Rica is not an island.”
“I’m telling you that’s exactly what he said. I’m not Lovey, sweetheart. How is she, by the way?”
“She’s doing fine, actually.”
“Good. Does she have that dreaded disease or not?”
“We won’t know for a while. But she’s in good hands.”
“I know she is. We all are. Some of us just don’t know it.”
I go up the stairs but stop dead in my tracks when I reach the top step because I can’t remember what I was coming up here to do. Before I have a chance to backtrack or try to gather my thoughts, coming from Spencer’s room at the end of the hall I hear that tiny girl moaning and groaning like a three-hundred-pound woman. I can’t believe it when I find myself standing outside his door and actually listening. I think I’m waiting to hear what sound my son makes when he hits his high note, but all I hear next is her squealing in loud short bursts like I did in my Lamaze class years ago. I hope he’s not like his father—Quick Draw McGraw—because after Brianna dies off, I don’t hear so much as a squeak from behind this door. I just hope he had enough sense to protect his wrist.
As I walk down to our bedroom, it occurs to me that I can’t remember the last time I had sex, never mind an orgasm. I could certainly use one now. And then I ask myself: what’s to stop me? I forgot all about that battery-operated penis I have hidden in my drawer that I’ve never used. In fact, besides ordering eight inches of chocolate rubber, the clitoris stimulator also caught my eye in the catalog, so I bought them both.
Four or five months ago, Leon was on one of his long business trips and I was tired of pretending I had no sexual urges just because he wasn’t here. I’d never really given myself pleasure like I’d heard so many other women talk about—including Paulette, but especially Bunny—so one night I decided to watch the adult channel. I was amazed at what I saw. I ordered the video hoping we could watch it together to get some ideas for pumping up the volume in our dwindling bimonthly and very rapid sex life. He fell asleep before I had a chance to put the thing on pause so we could imitate the couple on the screen.
A catalog came with the video. In it was an assortment of sex toys. It was either this or cheat. I used my own credit card, and was assured that they would come in a nondescript package and would show up on my bill as something “normal.” Of course who got the mail the day the package came? Miss Nosey Posey. “What’s this, Marilyn?” she’d asked, shaking it.
“I don’t know,” I said, snatching it from her.
She stood there waiting and waiting and I just kept flipping through every piece of mail, making piles for junk, bills, me, Leon, personal, and when I finally handed her the AARP newsletter she snatched it and quickly rolled it up and started tapping it inside her open palm.
“It’s personal, Arthurine,” I finally said.
“Is it some of those sexual innuendos? My husband used to get them same brown packages. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Well, Arthurine, if it is sexual in nature, wait about fifteen minutes and stand outside my bedroom door!” I turned and ran upstairs. I was shocked when I touched the dark brown penis and felt how lifelike it was. It even had simulated testicles, which were softer than I ever imagined. But before I had a chance to decide which one to try first, Arthurine knocked on the door and said the furnace repairman was here and she didn’t know where the control panels were. So I put the package in a drawer and haven’t touched it until now.
To make this penis operate I need a D battery. Which of course I don’t have in here. The clitoris stimulator is an odd-looking thing. It’s a pink translucent rubber suction cup in the shape of an oval and right in the middle is a cluster of five or six soft tiny tendrils. They look like an anemone you see swaying from the current in a saltwater fish tank. For this type of stimulation I’m going to need two AA batteries. I opt for the clitoris device because I don’t feel like running downstairs past Mrs. Shaft to look for a D battery when I know there’s something in here I can take two AA batteries out of. I look around the room. I spot the little miniature reading light I use on those nights when Leon’s trying to get to sleep. It only has one.
Then I see the alarm clock! I pop them out and put the one back into the small light. It doesn’t really occur to me until I put the batteries into this thing what I’m really about to do. I decide to pretend I’m not me. I’m an actress. In a major movie. And this is a crucial love scene except the man is invisible. I close my eyes and fall back on the bed and turn the dial until I hear the thing buzzing and then I find the spot it was meant for and do what I think I’m supposed to do since I didn’t read the instructions. I increase the current and the next thing I know I’m starting to shiver all over and I lose my will and I forget the script and the actress screams out Gordon’s name. I’m almost embarrassed when I hear myself declare out loud: “Damn, this thing really works!”
What is sad is that Leon has rarely made me reach this level of unrehearsed, unpretentious ecstasy, and especially in such a short time. My fear now is that because of the urgency and immediacy and ease with which I achieved this pleasure that I might prefer this gadget to a real man because it seems like a sure thing. I believe this is probably how most drug addicts get started. I decide to test it again in a few days just to see if it is consistent.
Knock knock. “Marilyn? Who you yelling at in there?”
“Nobody,” I say. “I was singing.” I open the door like it has springs in its hinges. “I’m fine,” I say. “Have Spencer and Brianna made an appearance yet?”
“They went to see a movie and said they’d see you later.”
“Okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Take your time. You go on back in there and finish singing. You sound happier than you did when you got home and Lord knows my spirits need to be lifted so I’m gon’ stand out here a minute or so and listen to the melody to see if I know the words to this song so I can sing right along with you.”
Leon likes to repeat himself, so it’s Vietnamese food night again. I don’t inquire about his shopping spree, even though he came in with only one bag from Macy’s and one from Sears, which I know probably has floors and floors of tropical wear. If I were to open the trunk of his car, I’d bet big money that it’s full of things he doesn’t want me to see.
I tell him what happened in Fresno and I spend a great portion of the evening in my workshop sanding that rocking chair. When I get tired, I call Paulette and fill her in. I admit to her that I’m scared for everybody I love, but also for myself.
Paulette just listens. And then I listen to her fill me in on her son who has just gotten out of prison. She doesn’t trust him in her house, so she has rented a small apartment for him. He resents her for it. Her husband offers him a job, but he said he needs time to adjust to the outside world before he can even think about falling into another routine. She doesn’t know how she gave birth to such a bitter child. She cries.
I sit in one spot and listen to an entire Diane Reeves CD, waiting for Leon to turn off the bedroom light that I can see from here. I am also waiting for Spencer and Brianna to come home so I can remind them about our farewell dinner tomorrow. I call Simeon but get his voice mail. I call Bunny and get her voice mail. I get out my old phone book and starting with the As, go down each entry looking for someone, anybody I haven’t talked to for a long time, someone I went to college with—even a long-lost relative—anybody I used to really connect with or once felt close to but by the time I get to the Ds I’m ready to give up. So much for that resolution.
After going through tons of cookbooks, I come up with
the menu for tomorrow’s dinner:
Mixed Green Salad
Fried Chicken (mostly to take home)
Thai Prawns, Scallops & Mussels in Coconut Milk
Angel Hair Pasta (forget recipe, cook in chicken broth)
Stir-fried Collard Greens in Olive Oil & Fresh Garlic
Sweet Hawaiian Bread (direct from Safeway)
Bread Pudding, with some kind of sauce or sorbet
By midnight, I can’t hold my head up anymore, so I go on upstairs and ease into bed as close to the edge of my side as is humanly possible. Thank God Leon sleeps like he’s hibernating. In the morning, I’m up before everybody. Even Arthurine. I don’t even shower, just brush my teeth and wash my face, slip on a pair of sweats. I make a pot of decaf, and turn the chime back on as I leave for the grocery store. When I get back I must have ten or twelve bags. It’s not even nine o’clock. Just for the hell of it, I pop open Leon’s trunk. It looks like a grave for shopping bags. I shake my head and chuckle. But don’t touch a single one.
The house is still quiet, but I don’t want to wake Spencer up just to help me lug these bags in, so I carry them in one at a time. The same way I unload them. I hear someone coming down the steps, moving too fast to be Arthurine.
“Good morning, Marilyn,” Leon says, appearing in the kitchen in what look like workout clothes.
“Good morning, Leon.”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine. And you?”
“Fine.”
“You need any help?” he asks.
“Nope. I’m managing okay.”
“Well, I’m going to head off to the gym.”
“Have a good workout,” I say.
“I will,” he says. But just stands there.
“What’s wrong?”
“Is this how we’re going to do this?”
“Look, Leon. Let’s not start so early in the morning, okay? I just want to make sure I have everything I need and then I want to find out if my sister’s still sober and if so, I’m going to take a long hard walk and figure out how I’m going to learn to live without you.”
The Interruption of Everything Page 21