“I asked if your father liked western wear.”
“Yes, actually, though he’s probably the only man in New Mexico that doesn’t own a cowboy hat. Wait! That’s it. Lair of the Outlaws is on East Central. How about it? Want to come help me pick one out?”
Later, after they had found a present for Kevin’s father, they were riding in his restored sixty-seven convertible Volkswagen Bug, having left Felice’s car (actually her mom’s car) at the mall.
“He’s going to love this thing,” Kevin said, reaching back to pat the large hatbox. “It’s about time he got something to protect that bald head of his from the sun.”
“He doesn’t have a comb-over, does he?”
Kevin laughed. “No. He used to, but I convinced him he could catch more babes without it.”
Felice paused. “What happened to your mom?”
“She died when I was ten,” said Kevin, matter-of-factly. “A drunk driver plowed into her car at an intersection and pushed her into on-coming traffic.”
She was appalled. “I’m sorry for you.”
“Thanks. Since then, it’s been just me and pops. He’s had a couple of dates in the last few years, but nothing earth-shaking. He says there’s not much to choose from.”
“He doesn’t like the little young girls?” Felice thought of how many times she had been hit on by men older than her father.
“No, surprisingly enough. I thought all those old geezers liked the young stuff. I even told him to go get one. But, he said that he didn’t like them. Too stupid.”
“Well, hooray for your dad.”
“My mom was a historian, with PhDs coming out of her ears, so I guess he’s spoiled.”
Kevin felt good. He hadn’t talked about his mother to anyone in the years since her death, not even--especially not even--to his father. Somehow, however, it seemed fitting to talk to this woman about the only woman in his life that had meant something to him.
“Gosh, I’m starved,” he said. “Hey, let’s go get some lunch...just to thank you for this idea.”
Felice started to say no, however, her stomach spoke for her. “Where?”
“How about Mexican?”
That was the end of any of Felice’s hesitation. “Let’s go.”
He watched her eat, with some admiration. Kevin was used to dating women who ate like birds, ever concerned about the extra calorie or two. It got on his nerves. This one, however, ate like a defensive lineman, and wasn’t shy about it. Felice had ordered one of the large combo plates and was putting it away. She was so slender; he wondered where she put it.
“So, what team are you going to next year?”
“Uh...I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Which team for you? Next year, I mean. You graduate this year, don’t you?”
“I’d like to go to the Niners, but so does everyone. I’ll probably get drafted high though and go to some loser team, like the Rams.” Kevin flashed her a lop-sided grin.
Felice made a face. “Yuck! The Lambs. Nobody in
L.A. likes them. They’ve stunk since Rosenbloom died. I’ve hated them since they moved out of the Coliseum, which is right in the heart of South Central L.A. Too ghetto, I guess. Maybe you could go to Green Bay. I predict that they will be the up and coming team in the next few years. Smart receivers. Perfect for you.”
Kevin looked at her with wide eyes.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Felice laughed, pleased that she had obviously impressed him. “I used to hate football just like almost every other female.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I realized that I couldn’t hate something that I didn’t know anything about. Actually, my dad made me realize that. At the beginning of one season when I was about thirteen, he challenged me to sit with him every Sunday and watch the games with him, while he explained the rules to me. He was a cornerback in college. By that end of the season, I had become a fan forever.”
“Your dad sounds like a pretty cool guy. What school did he go to?”
“NMU, but only for two years. He dropped out and went into the Army. After he got out, he finished up at Cal State L.A.”
“I wonder if he and my dad knew each other. What’s his first name?”
“Joseph.”
“I’ll ask my dad about him. So, Miss Football Expert, did you check us out last season?”
“I don’t like college ball that much. The personnel changes too often. But, to answer your question, yes.”
“So, what’s your critique of my year? Don’t hold back. Be honest.” Kevin braced himself.
Felice grinned at him playfully. “Your average has dropped some, but you’re still good...”
“Thank you.”
“However...”
“Uh-oh. Here it comes.”
“You rely on your size and speed too much and you pass to Hayes too much as well, though it’s understandable. He outclasses the rest of your passing options.”
“Are you sure that Coach Reynolds didn’t do a body trade with you? You sound just like him.”
“I’m sorry.” Felice was a little embarrassed. “I’m being a little arrogant, telling you how to run your business.”
“Hey, I asked. Besides, it’s kind of nice to talk to a woman for a change about what I love and have her love it, too.”
Felice took a sip from her third glass of lemonade.
“So, what do you love?”
Felice thought for a second. “I just recently found out that I love school. Well not school, exactly, but learning new things. I’ve got a class this term. In it, I’ve found out all sorts of things that I didn’t know about the American system of government.”
“Yikes! Now, you sound like my father.”
“I take it you’re not into school that much.”
“Not enough hours in the day. Wait. That’s not the truth. I get C’s and the occasional B. I guess I could do better if I put in more effort. A couple of my teammates manage to play well and be good students. Like Malik. Did you know that he was on the Academic All-American list this year?”
“No, I didn’t. Wow, pretty nice. He’s probably one of the few that’s on that list and the regular All-American list as well.”
“And, the only African American male athlete to have both honors for ten years. Did you know he’s graduating this year? He was a year behind me. He’s probably a genius. I think he puts on that comedian/horndog exterior just because that’s what most people expect him to be.”
“Sounds like you two are pretty close.”
“He’s my best friend. You know him?”
“Of course I know of him, like I know of you. I’ve seen him around the African American Cultural Center a couple of times. I used to work there.”
“Well, now you know me.”
“A little bit I guess...what time is it?” She glanced at her watch. “Four o’clock? How long have we been here?”
“I’d say about four hours.” Felice looked around the small restaurant. When they had first arrived, it had been full. Now, the two of them were the only customers left. It had emptied out and she hadn’t even noticed.
“We gotta go!”
“Okay. Let me pay and we’re outta here.”
Fifteen minutes later, in the mall parking lot, they stood outside her car. The door was open.
“Thanks for the lunch,” she said smiling. “My mom told me not to get into cars with strangers, so I guess I should thank you for not being a serial killer too.”
“You’re welcome--on both counts.”
They looked at each other wordlessly for an instant.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you at school.” Before Kevin could reply, Felice quickly jumped into her car. Without looking at him, she drove away.
Tale of the Tigers
Chapter Three
“Hey, Mom, company’s here.”
“Adrienne, what did I tell you about that?”
Adrienne turned to Felice with a grimace as Fe
lice stepped through the doorway of the Anderson household.
“We’ve got company,” she tried again, hoping that her mother would tone herself down. As usual, it didn’t work.
“I don’t care. I told you to call me Laura months ago.”
Felice grinned at Adrienne’s exasperation. Adrienne’s mother was definitely different, just as Adrienne had warned her. Felice looked around the living room of her friend’s Santa Fe house. African, Native American, and Asian art
had made a grand, international union here. But, somehow everything seemed to fit.
“It’s the art UN in here.” Adrienne commented, reading Felice’s mind.
“Hi, I’m Laura Anderson. You don’t straighten your hair. Very nice.”
Felice turned around to see a tall, powerful-looking, whiter, older version of Adrienne, wearing Army camouflage pants and a paint-covered work shirt. Her blond hair was nearly as short as Felice’s. “You would look nice in dreads,” Laura said admiringly.
“I forgot to tell you,” Adrienne said to Felice. “Mom takes stepping into her house as an invitation to get in your business.”
“I had dreads for a little while,” said Laura.
“Really?” Felice was surprised. She wondered how a white person could have dreads.
“Hard to believe, but true,” said Laura. “Kind of scary, it was. Not that I minded scaring other people. However, scaring oneself is another matter altogether.” Felice laughed.
“Hi, I’m Felice LeCroix.” Felice’s hand was enveloped in a forceful grip.
“Well-raised, too. Did you grow up here?”
“No, Mrs. Anderson. I’m fr...”
“Well, I see you have to be indoctrinated to the rules of this house,” Laura interrupted.
“First of all, I’m never Mrs. Anderson, I’m Laura. And if you call me Miss Laura, I’m going to slit my wrists, after I kill you first. I bet you call all your parents’ friends ‘Mister’ and ‘Miss,’ don’t you?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
Laura threw up her hands. She turned to her daughter.
“I told you to train ‘em before you bring ‘em home!”
“Mom, I tried. Er, Laura.”
Laura turned her attention back to Felice, inspecting her. “So, Felice, you were about to tell me where you grew up.”
“Los Angeles.”
“Southern Cal. You don’t seem like you’re from there: too normal, too polite, too much clothing.”
“You sound like you’ve spent some time there...Laura.”
“Oh, yes, in the infamous sixties. That’s where I met Adrienne’s father. I’ve also been back a time or two, doing shows.”
“Laura’s an artist. A pretty successful one,” added Adrienne.
“Come on out back, girls. I was out there working.”
Felice followed the two through the huge kitchen and out to a covered patio, where the fifty-degree, sunny day felt exceptionally warm. Their backyard was beautiful and as varied with plant life, as the living room had been varied in art. There were lilies and rose bushes, banzai trees, peach trees, and plants that Felice didn’t know the name of. She hadn’t seen so much green since she had come to New Mexico.
“You have a nice house and a nice yard,” she said to Laura.
“Thank you. I bet I know what you’re thinking, though. Everything’s pretty eclectic. I believe in that.”
“Well, that’s obvious.” Felice winced at her own bluntness, but Adrienne and Laura only laughed.
“Don’t fret,” said Laura. “I can’t stand people who mince words.” She was working on a portrait of an old man.
“If you want some tea or juice or something, you saw where the refrigerator is. The glasses are on the upper, middle shelf on the left side of the sink.
“No, thanks. I drank a lot of water earlier on the way up here, so I’m fine.”
“Okay. Have a seat and talk to me while I work. That’s the advantage of being an artist. You can work and socialize at the same time. At least I can.” Laura picked up her palette from its stand and began to work on her creation.
Felice looked at the furniture. Instead of standard patio fare, Laura had placed several upright futons on her patio. The cushions, however, were upholstered with standard, weatherproof patio fabric. Felice sat.
“So, do you have a boyfriend?” asked Laura. Felice looked at Adrienne who was sitting on another futon. Adrienne just shrugged her shoulders. I told you so.
Felice looked at Laura’s back. “No I don’t.”
“An attractive girl like you probably has a lot of guys chasing her.”
“Not really.”
“Of course with that situation you were involved in with the Taus, your social life has probably diminished somewhat.”
Felice whipped her head around at Adrienne, who now held her own head in both hands. Her mother had promised that, when she met Felice, she wouldn’t mention that she
knew about Felice’s problem. Adrienne should have known better.
“Well, I...uh...yes, yes it has.”
“Sorry, Felice.” Laura turned from her canvas. “My daughter tells me everything. Mostly because she knows that I am the all-wise sage who has the answer to all the problems that exist in the world.” Laura flashed Felice a beatific smile.
“I suppose I should thank you for coming to Adrienne’s aid at the expense of your reputation. Thank you, child.”
She put the palette down, came over, picked Felice up from the futon and gave her a hug. Felice was startled at first. Then she smiled and hugged the woman back. Somehow, she didn’t seem so angry at Adrienne anymore. It seemed as though touching Laura had a calming effect on her. It was like hugging Grandma Anna.
“I forgot to tell you that too,” said Adrienne. “If Laura likes you, you automatically become one of the family. If she doesn’t, she’ll put you out and warn you never to darken her door again. I’d say she likes you.”
“Thank you, daughter dearest, for explaining the enigma that is me,” Laura said sardonically as she released Felice.
“So, your name is mud now, at least among black people, right?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t run away. That shows some character. I’ll assume that your parents know nothing about this.”
“No!” Felice shuddered at the thought.
Laura laughed. “Afraid your father will go up to that place and defend your honor?”
“Exactly right,” Felice said.
“Well, you’re probably right, especially since you know the man and I don’t. I bet you thought of quitting school, too. But, you’re still there...impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you thought of getting some vengeance for your lost reputation?”
“Actually, no. I figure it would just make things worse. Then they’d get back at me, and then I’d do the same. I’d just like it to be over.”
“The vicious circle. You’re right about that, at least if you were to employ most conventional forms of vengeance. But, there’s a way you can get your revenge without them being able to do anything about it. A very simple method.”
“How?”
Laura’s back was turned again. She was putting the finishing touches on a weatherworn hat on the man’s head.
“By being successful in any undertaking placed before you and by embracing love,” she said almost absently.
“I tried that once and it backfired on me...”
“Yes. Daniel, wasn’t it? Adrienne told me the story. However, when I mention love, the word ‘trust’ is implicit in it. I find it almost superfluous to say when I speak of love. Did you trust Daniel? Did you tell him about yourself?”
Felice didn’t answer at first. Laura turned to her, looking at her patiently.
Finally, Felice understood. “I’d have to say that I didn’t really trust him. If I had, I would have told him about what I had done.”
“Give this student an ‘A.’” She turned back
to her canvas.
“You didn’t love him and you knew instinctively that he didn’t love you. So, you kept an integral part of yourself away from him, believing that if he saw it, he’d run away. How did he break it off?”
Felice looked at Adrienne. “So you didn’t tell her about this, eh?”
“I thought it would be a more interesting story if it came from you.”
Felice turned to Laura’s back. “He had a naked girl in his room at a time when he knew that I would visit.”
“Sadism, instead of love. It was a white girl, undoubtedly.”
Felice shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”
Laura turned to her again. “That would be one of the most painful ways for a black man to hurt a black woman, of course.”
Felice’s surprise was evident. Who was this woman?
“Don’t worry, child,” Laura continued. “I know you and most other black people think of me as a white woman. But, I’ve had nearly twenty years of being the mother of a black child to think about this subject.”
Laura continued. “Did you know that appellations ‘black’ and ‘white’ are artificial and were created to justify and facilitate slavery and imperialism? Before that dubious undertaking, there was no such thing as race. To use the word ‘race’ implies that you and I are of different species. It also gives the implication that one of the species is superior to the other. From this, all sorts of things have arisen, most of which you know about, undoubtedly.”
Adrienne, who had heard this story before, knew that the history lesson was on its way. “I’ll get us something to drink, in case you change your mind, Felice,” she said as she got up. She went into the kitchen.
“When the Europeans recognized that the Africans’ genes were dominant,” Laura began, “they became fearful of being genetically annihilated. And since men generally initiate sexual contact, they demonized the African man, turning him into the mythical, archetypal rapist all of us nice white girls grow up hearing about. White womanhood became a thing to be glorified, cherished, and protected, especially from the inferior, evil black rampaging beast. White women eventually came to be considered the most beautiful, desirable women on the planet because of this. Conversely, her most polar physical opposite, the black woman, became the counterpart of the black man: beastly, doltish, and utterly lacking in what was (and still is) considered the most treasured quality in a woman: physical beauty.
Tale of the Tigers: Love is Not a Game Page 4