The Interruption of Everything

by Terry McMillan

  “Stop. You’re not even close. I mean, would you try to take Leon to the cleaners?”

  “I wouldn’t try to take anybody to the cleaners. And to be honest, I haven’t actually thought that far ahead.”

  “What if he comes home new and improved but wants a divorce? Have you thought about that?”

  “Yeah. But what if I want one, too?”

  “Then we’re back to my original question. Would you want half?”

  “No.”

  “But you deserve it.”

  “Look, I’m done,” I say, grabbing my towel and hopping off this thing. “I think Leon has worked very hard all these years. He’s been a good husband. A good father. He’s invested wisely. And he’s always been a good provider. I’ve never really had to worry about money before.”

  “Well, you need to start. If the needle swings to the right or left, you’re still going to have to live, and how do you think you’re going to be able to do that without his help?”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t ask for something. But. If things get to that point, I just want to do what’s fair. I don’t want to break him.”

  “Well, this is precisely why I went to college. Even being a country girl from Mississippi my mama always told the girls not to grow up depending on a man for everything because one day when they ain’t nowhere to be found, all you’ve got left is yourself.”

  “I went to college, too, Bunny.”

  “I mean, aren’t you worried just a little about what you’re going to do if this all goes down?”

  “Yes! Now, does that make you feel better?”

  “No, it does not. I just wanted you to know that Paulette and I got your back, that’s all. Leon isn’t the only one who’s heard of Smith Barney, okay?”

  “Okay. And this is nice to know, because if the tables were turned, I’d do the same for you both. But guess what?”

  “What?”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing with my little part-time paychecks all these years? Spending them at Nordstrom’s and Neiman’s?”

  She gives me an I-don’t-know look.

  “I’ll just say this. I prefer Merrill Lynch. Enough said?”

  “Enough said. And right on. Now let’s go rob Paulette.”

  We walk in together even though we drove here in separate cars. We are surprised that no one’s in here. This is a first.

  “Yes, I’m looking for something subtle to wear to church tomorrow,” Bunny says to Paulette, who’s steaming a really nice pale-yellow-and-blue pinstriped suit.

  “You wouldn’t know subtle if it jumped on top of you,” she says. “How are you two huzzies doing? Fit, I see. And love the braids, Marilyn. They were a trip, weren’t they?”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Did they talk you to death?”

  “Yes. And I had to babysit and change a shitty diaper.”

  “But isn’t that little Lexus edible?” Paulette says.

  “You didn’t say anybody’s name is Lexus, did you?” Bunny asks.

  “Yes, it is,” I say. “And he is a sweetheart. He even asked if he could go home with me.”

  “He wants to go home with everybody that comes over there. Did he blow you a kiss?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “He’ll probably end up in juvenile hall in a few years and grow up to be a ladies’ man if his mother doesn’t change her lifestyle.”

  “Orange wasn’t doing anything strange that I noticed.”

  “Orange?” Bunny says. “I’ve heard it all now.”

  “No, you haven’t,” I say. “Her sister’s name is Blue.”

  “Oh, I’m getting them mixed up. She’s the one with the problem. She sells marijuana between doing weaves and braids.”

  “Now that I can believe, because she was talking out the top of her head. What size is that suit?” I ask.

  “It’s too small for you. They did a good job, though. I love the color.”

  “I do, too. What size is it?”

  “It’s a twelve, but they run small. Believe me.”

  “Would you mind if I tried to try it on?”

  “Knock yourself out. But if you rip one of those seams you’re going to have to hand over Leon’s credit card again.”

  “I have my own credit card, Paulette. I only use his when I’m mad.”

  “When is he ever coming home?”

  “A week from Monday.”

  I take the suit into a dressing room. I love the way she’s draped the door. And it smells so good in here. “Bunny, are you having any luck?” I yell.

  “No! All the stuff I see that I like I’d be struck down if I walked into church with this shit on.”

  “You’ve been struck down before, haven’t you?” Paulette says.

  All three of us are cracking up.

  “Oh, shit,” I hear Paulette say.

  “What’s going on out there?”

  “Here comes this bitch.”

  “What bitch?” Bunny says.

  “Is it that Cleopatra?” I ask, as I pull the skirt up slowly and with a little struggle it slides up over my hips. When I fasten the waistband, I’m happy.

  “Yeah, that’s her getting out of somebody’s car and she’s got those kids with her!”

  “Who is she?” Bunny whispers, loud enough that I hear her.

  “One of Mookie’s exes who had two of his kids and now that he’s out he’s blowing her off and she’s been bugging the hell out of me. I wonder what she’s doing coming to my store. That’s what I’m waiting to see.”

  “Where’s the blouse that goes with this?” I ask.

  “That is one homely child,” Bunny says. “And so are those kids. Are they both girls? Whatever they are why doesn’t she comb their hair? Look at them.”

  “They’re both girls and supposedly they’re my grandchildren, but they don’t look anything like Mookie to me. And you’re right, they are different.”

  I hear the door open and close.

  “What can I do for you, Cleopatra?” Paulette says while she sticks her arm through the drapes with the blouse on a hanger.

  “I came here to see you.”

  “I assumed as much because you’re here. But what is it you want?”

  “Ain’t this a store?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Don’t you want to know who these kids is?”

  “I know who they are.”

  I’m trying to get this blouse buttoned so I can go see, too, but there must be at least ten of them and the buttonholes are so tight I have to push hard to get them to go through. Shit, I want to poke my face between the curtains but there’s no way I can do it without being tacky or looking nosey. Lord knows I don’t want to do anything to provoke this woman and I hope Paulette doesn’t either.

  “Go say hi, Quenella and Shante. That’s your grandmamma over there.”

  “You don’t have to push them,” Paulette says. “And just what is it that you want me to do?”

  “I want you to spend some time with ’em.”

  “Right now?”

  “Why not? You make time for your other two grandkids every chance you get, why not mine?”

  “I’m trying to run a business here.”

  “So? They won’t be in the way.”

  “I don’t even know these kids!”

  “That’s why I bought ’em over here. This is Quenella. She’ll be three next month. And that’s Shante. She just turned two.”

  “Is it now possible to make babies from prison?”

  “Why you asking me?”

  “Well, Mookie’s been behind bars for three years. Go figure.”

  “I ain’t got to justify nothing. He they daddy and he know it. He just don’t want to be bothered with ’em either.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to get to know them. I’m just not completely convinced that they’re my son’s kids. And even if they are, I don’t think today is the day nor is this the appropriate place for me to
entertain them.”

  “They ain’t monkeys.”

  The jacket fits. I walk out, hoping to break up some of this tension. “Check this out,” I say and do a little turn. “I told you it would fit!”

  It doesn’t work. Paulette doesn’t even look at me. Nor does Bunny, but again, if it looks like drama, she’s all eyes. “Look, Cleopatra. I think you need to take these kids home and get in touch with Mookie so the two of you can figure out a way to make other arrangements.”

  Bunny is pretending to be interested in a dress she would never buy.

  “I ain’t taking them nowhere.”

  “Then what are you trying to say?”

  “I just said it. I ain’t taking them nowhere. They gon’ stay here with you.”

  “No, they aren’t.”

  “Oh, yes, they is.”

  She turns and heads toward the door. The person in the car has apparently been waiting.

  “You should take these kids with you,” Paulette says again.

  “You don’t tell me what to do,” she says.

  “Well, maybe you’ll listen to the police.” And just as Paulette is about to pick up the phone, that girl takes something out of her purse and comes charging toward Paulette. Before I know it, Bunny and I are rushing to stop her and that’s when we hear a gun go off. The kids are screaming and hide behind a rack of skirts. We all freeze for a moment. But I don’t see any blood.

  “Paulette?” I yell, as I pull Cleopatra away from her and snatch that gun out of her hands so fast I don’t even realize I’ve done it. Bunny helps me restrain her, but I really don’t need it. I have her arm twisted so hard it’s almost in a knot. If she moves, it’ll break. And if this bitch has hurt my friend, I swear, I’ll kill her myself.

  “Paulette?” Bunny wails.

  “I’m all right,” she says, and gets up slowly. She walks over to the little girls and takes them to the rear of the store. She’s clearly as spaced as we all are because she doesn’t even acknowledge Cleopatra.

  “I missed this time, bitch, but I know where you live! And I know where you work! All I asked you to do was be a grandmother to your fucking grandkids. But you couldn’t do that?”

  “Paulette, get the police on the phone,” I say.

  “And who in the fuck are you?” Cleopatra turns to me.

  I do not know where my strength is coming from, and even though this girl is strong as hell and steadily trying to move, she can’t. “Say one more word, bitch, and I’m going to do to you exactly what they do in the movies. Just one more word.”

  “Fuck you, ho.”

  I can’t help it. I guess I’m on automatic response from all the anger and frustration and rage that’s been mounting these last couple of months because I take that gun and with all my might whack her dead in her goddamn mouth. She falls back against the wall mirror but it doesn’t break. Now I see blood. Bunny covers her mouth because she can’t believe what I just did. But neither can I. Cleopatra is cupping her mouth but can’t get up. The person outside in the waiting car has sped off. We hear sirens. I loosen my grip and back away from this girl and hold the gun out in front of her. Just like they do on TV except this isn’t TV. It’s so real it feels surreal. I look Cleopatra dead in the eye. She is trying to stare me down but her eyes are full of tears and they look sad, not evil. Something has been done to this girl to cause her to act like this. It’s both terrifying and heartbreaking to see so much at once in a person’s eyes. And especially a young woman. And one whose skin is the same color as mine.

  When the police arrive and Paulette explains the whole scenario, they ask if she would like to press charges. She tells them that this all happened so fast she needs time to think about the best way to handle this. For a fleeting moment Cleopatra’s eyes lose their icy glare. As a police officer leads her outside to their waiting car, she turns and says, “But what about my kids?”

  “Are you a blood relative?” one of them asks Paulette.

  And Paulette looks down at the little girls who have seen far too much horror to be able to process it and says, “Yes. I’m their grandmother. And right now, they’re in good hands.”

  As soon as they leave, Paulette closes the shop. It takes us all a while to regroup and settle our nerves. We just sit on the floor. Looking around. At nothing. And everything. Mistakes are always made. But who ever accepts responsibility for them? Who has to bear the burden, the weight? There is blood on this jacket. I was going to buy this size-twelve suit and wear it to church tomorrow. I want so much to close my eyes and just go to sleep to undream this and start from the time Bunny and I walked in the door. I wish we could just erase this and every unwanted painful experience from our minds. “This did really just happen, didn’t it, you guys?”

  “It was real as hell to me,” Bunny says. “This was like being on the evening news except there were no cameras.”

  “I’ve seen worse,” Paulette says. “But these kids shouldn’t have had to see something like this. No child should. I have to figure this out. I need to call my husband. I need to go home.”

  “Hold it, Paulette,” I say. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to be driving anywhere. Call your husband. And you need to find Mookie and tell him what position he’s put you in because he’s not handling his business.”

  Bunny slides close and whispers to me: “They aren’t so homely up close.”

  I look at these children sitting so close they appear to be one. If I blinked they could be Tiecey and LL. I worry about them, too. What they’ve seen. How much they already know that they don’t need. I worry about what I might have to do if Joy does go to rehab for a month or what if she ends up going to prison. What will I do with these kids for six whole months? And Lovey? She’s going to need care. I don’t care what the name of her disease is. But I can’t live in Fresno. Not for a week. Not for a month. I’m going to be a graduate student. I will have classes. Maybe I could bring them up here. But the kids will still be in school. When one of the girls starts sucking her thumb, I snap back.

  “Are you girls hungry?” I ask them while Paulette makes her call.

  They nod their heads yes.

  I look at them in a way that seems to cause the fear on their faces to leave. They don’t know any of us but they know we’re not the enemy. They know we won’t hurt them.

  “What do you like to eat?” Bunny asks, bending down to their level.

  “McDonald’s,” the oldest one says.

  “What do you like at McDonald’s?” Bunny asks.

  “A Happy Meal,” she says.

  Which is probably what we all need.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning I’m so sore I can hardly move. These braids are too damn tight. It feels like they’re pulling my brains right through my scalp. I look at the clock. It’s a little past eight. I pick up the phone to call Arthurine and Prezelle.

  “Hello,” a voice that I don’t recognize says.

  “I’m sorry, I think I dialed the wrong number. I’m trying to reach Arthurine or Prezelle.”

  “Marilyn, this is Arthurine! Hold on a minute.” She starts coughing so hard I can hear her chest rattling. “Hold the line, I’ll be right back.” Now she’s blowing her nose and it must be Prezelle I hear coughing in the background now. “Marilyn?”

  “I’m still here. You sound terrible, Arthurine.”

  “I know. Me and Prezelle done caught something ferocious and we can’t hardly breathe. You didn’t catch it, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t catch that,” I say. I hate to admit it, but I’m relieved to know that I can stay home. “Can I do anything for you guys? Do you need anything? I can come over.”

  “No, you won’t. We don’t want you catch this. We’ll be all right. We just gon’ stay in the bed and rest. We got all kinda tea and plenty of soup to hold us. Sometimes people come to bingo when they know they sick and spread their nasty germs. It’s very inconsiderate. But anyway, you have a Happy Easter and call us later. If we do
n’t answer the phone, it’s ’cause we asleep.”

  “Okay, but I’m sorry you guys are sick. And call me if you need anything.”

  “We’ll do that. But the Lord knows what he’s doing.”

  The verdict is still out on Cleopatra. Paulette tells me that she managed to get in touch with Naomi, Cleopatra’s older, saner, civilized, and more responsible sister who explained that her younger sibling has quite a few serious issues, most of them unresolved. Naomi works in the biology department at U.C. Berkeley and lives up in the Oakland Hills not too far from me. Naomi also has a husband with a job and they have a one-year-old son. Paulette says she is so unlike her sister that she was tempted to ask if they had the same parents. Naomi says she was lucky. That she somehow managed to escape the lure of the streets and the pandemonium they grew up in called home. She says her sister was not so lucky. That Cleopatra is so broken she probably can’t be fixed. Naomi comes and gets the children. Takes them home with her. She says her husband will help her take care of them. That he loves children. She begs Paulette not to press charges, but to get a restraining order instead. It will work, she tells her. They always have in the past.

  I haven’t talked to Joy in days. I have this urge to call. Like I need to hear the kids’ voices. Lovey’s, too. After yesterday, I just want to know that they’re all safe.

  LaTiece answers. “Who’s calling?”

  “It’s Aunt Marilyn. Happy Easter, Tiecey.”

  “Happy Easter to you, too.”

  “Did you and LL go on an Easter egg hunt?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even at school?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did your mother make you a nest?”

  “Nope.”

  “You mean the Easter bunny didn’t come?”

  “Nope. It ain’t no real Easter bunny. Don’t you know that?”

  “I thought there was one. I saw him last night.”

  “You did? Where?”

  “Dropping off jelly beans and Easter eggs at my house.”

  “But you ain’t got no little kids.”

  “I think he left them for you and LL.”

  “Can we come over and get ’em right now?”