“It’s what everybody calls them.”
“What is GoGo’s real name, by the way?”
“JaQuan.”
“How on earth do you get GoGo out of JaQuan and why couldn’t you simply call all five of them by their real names?”
“Six. Because they like their nicknames. Everybody does. It tells you who they really are or what they’re like. GoGo used to run everywhere when he was little. Wouldn’t walk anywhere. And he hasn’t changed. So his name fits him to a tee. Now Bean Head—”
“I get it, Sheila. Anyway, this is just one more reason why I would feel weird having your son in my home for how long?”
“Two or three short weeks.”
“I don’t know him!”
“You can get to know him. First, you need to be under the same roof and then in the same room with him. Eat at the same table and look at each other. He can talk about anything. He was getting nothing but As until he started smoking that stuff. Anyway, he’s a nice young man who just needs to get away from these thugs for a minute so he can see there’s a better way to live. That’s all I’m asking, Savannah. This ain’t for me. It’s for GoGo.”
“What are you doing right now, Sheila?”
“Why?”
“I’m just curious. If you’re busy.”
“We getting ready to go to the drive-in.”
“The what?”
“The drive-in. We take the van. Just in case you forgot, I only got two kids left at home—well, if you wanna count Bisquit—since him and his wife are on and off from one week to the next. You know they got two kids now.”
“No, I didn’t. I also didn’t know they still had drive-ins.”
“They do here. We love going. As soon as the weather change from spring to summer, we there. I fry chicken and we take potato salad and baked beans and put our drinks in a cooler and we spray ourselves with Off! and get our lounge chairs and just chill. Just like we did when we were little kids. Remember?”
“I remember.” I sure wish I could go with them. I’m curious if they have them here in Phoenix. I would love to sit in my truck—well, it’s an SUV—and recline the seat, eat a hot dog with relish and mustard and some soft French fries and slurp it down with a Diet Pepsi. I’m going to look into this. “Anyway, Sheila, does GoGo really want to come out here or are you forcing him?”
“He’s excited. Unfortunately, he’s only been as far as Philly and New York City on a field trip. Boston doesn’t count. He has never been on a airplane, which is my fault, but you know paychecks can only go so far when you trying to clothe and feed six growing kids and a greedy-ass husband. GoGo is not a hoodlum. He will not steal from you. He is respectful. I’m telling you, he can fix anything that’s broke around your house and he knows how to give tune-ups—even on foreign cars.”
“Just give me a few days to figure this out, Sheila. Seriously. I’m not trying to be funny or anything. There are a lot of things I’m trying to do right now, and that’s making it hard for me to think.”
“Have you seen Isaac since he’s been gone?”
“Once.”
“And what happened?”
“We talked.”
“Do you still hate his guts?”
“I never hated him. He pissed me off. I just wish he had closed one door before he opened another one.”
“Most men do it this way. Because they don’t know what to do on their own. Anyway, don’t you miss him?”
“No.”
“Stop lying.”
“Well, it was a stupid question, Sheila. Of course I do, sometimes. But it seems logical to miss somebody you’ve lived with for ten years. Look, I’m going to have to go. Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Did you hear about Luther Vandross?”
“What about him?”
“He died.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“What’s today’s date?”
“It’s Friday, July first, 2005, Savannah.”
“It can’t be.” I cannot believe this date has slipped up on me like this, and even though I’m saddened to hear this about Luther, today is also the day my divorce is final. I cannot fucking believe this. Just like that. I’m not married anymore. And here I am in the grocery store. I don’t feel like sharing this with Sheila right now.
“Time flies for all of us. Anyway, sis, I just want you to be happy when you get right down to it. And if Isaac can’t make your lights come on anymore, somebody else just might.”
“Okay, so back to GoGo because I’m at the checkout and I need to get home.”
“Slow down, damn. Why are you in such a hurry all of a sudden? Anyway, I told you this is a non-refundable ticket and we don’t have the kind of money to be throwing it out the window so if you don’t want GoGo to come, maybe I will. I could use a break. Think about it and let me know. Send me an e-mail. Love you. Bye.”
The thought of Sheila coming out here made my heart race. I think I’d take GoGo—whoever he is—over her, which is pretty sad to admit. I suppose we’re a lot alike when it gets right down to it. We are our mother’s daughters. Right now I can’t believe I’m officially free to do anything I want. Go anywhere I want. With whom-ever I want. Or I can do nothing at all. And I don’t have to answer to anybody. I’ve been so busy thinking about my future and now it’s here.
My cart is full of all kinds of fattening stuff I should never have even considered buying. Who am I fooling? And what does Sheila know about what I do and don’t do at my job? I have worked hard over the years to produce shows I—and apparently my bosses—considered compelling and thought-provoking. She sounds a lot like Isaac. You can’t even think about solving problems if you pretend like they don’t exist. I just try to paint an accurate picture and put it out there. It’s not like my ratings are through the roof, but I did get an award. I’ve even been asked to speak to junior and high school kids about teen pregnancy in November. I didn’t feel like telling Sheila. In fact, I haven’t told anybody. What’s the point?
Sheila knows how to get under my skin. She also knows how to dish it out but she can’t take it. Family members are the only ones who seem to be good at this. She’s one of the main reasons I’ve sent Mama tickets to come out here to visit instead of going back there so much. The way Sheila’s been struggling for the past twenty-odd years breaks my heart. She has settled for so little, it’s like she never had any dreams.
My cell phone vibrates in my hand. It’s Isaac. “Hello,” I say like I’m a detective or something.
“Hey, Savannah. Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you could do me a big favor.”
“I’ve already done it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know what today is?”
“Yeah, it’s July first.”
“And?”
“We are officially divorced. You couldn’t possibly have forgotten, Isaac.”
“Actually, I didn’t want to think about it. So, should I congratulate you?”
“Whatever. But since this obviously isn’t the reason you called, what’s going on?” I have to remind myself that he is not my husband and I am not his wife.
“Is there any way you could possibly lend me two or three—preferably, three—thousand dollars until I get the settlement?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got a gambling problem now, too?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you moved to Vegas or what?”
“Not yet. I decided to wait awhile.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Well, business has been extremely slow. Materials are going up. Gas prices affect everything, Savannah. I’ve had to lay off a few workers, and there’s only so much Enrique and Jose and I can do between us.”
“You mind telling me what you need it for?”
“I’m behind on a few bills.”
“And this is my problem?”
“Of course it isn’t. If it wasn’t serious, Sav
annah, you know I wouldn’t be asking you—under the circumstances.”
“Why can’t you borrow it from your girlfriend?”
“She doesn’t have it like that.”
“What makes you so sure I have an extra three grand to lend you, or anybody for that matter?”
“Savannah, do you know who you’re talking to?”
“I know you were the man I was married to for ten years, you mean him?”
“That’s me. I thought we agreed to be friendly.”
“Lending money to your ex-husband on the day he becomes your ex—is that how you measure friendliness?”
“No.”
“I never said I wanted to be your BFF. Be glad I don’t hate your guts.”
“I am glad.”
“To be quite honest, I think you have a lot of fucking nerve putting me on the spot like this, considering today is the day we’re no longer husband and wife and I did you a favor by even waiting to make it official. I haven’t heard a peep out of you for months and you still want something from me.”
“My attorney suggested I lie low to give you a chance to get used to your new life.”
“What new life?”
“The one without me in it.”
If only he knew. “Speaking of which, how’s yours?”
“I’m adjusting.”
“So if I agreed to do this, Isaac, how would I get it to you?”
“Could you leave a check in the mailbox?”
“You mean at my house?”
“How many mailboxes do you have these days?”
“The same old one.”
“If it’s a problem . . . wait, have you got somebody living with you already?”
“Please, Isaac. It’s been six months, but unlike you I like to wait until I finish one thing before I start something else.”
“Ouch. Even though it’s not the way you think it is.”
“Whatever. Look, it’s all water under the bridge, and you know good and well that whatever her name is wasn’t the reason we parted company.”
“No, she wasn’t. So, how do you want to do this?”
“First tell me how you intend to pay me back.”
“You can deduct it from the settlement.”
“The check is going directly to you. You should be getting it fairly soon now. Can I trust you to pay me back when you get it?”
“Of course you can. And thank you, Savannah. You’re a lifesaver.”
I can’t believe he just said that. But he did.
“I’ll mail it. Are you still living at your mama’s?”
“No, but that’d be the best place to send it. If you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind, Isaac? Is there anything else I can do to help you? Are you sure this is enough? How about a million dollars? Anyway, I hope it solves your problem.”
“It will definitely help. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
I put the phone in my purse. I do not for the life of me understand why I agreed to lend Isaac any amount of money. We haven’t been divorced twenty-four hours and he’s still able to talk me into doing something I don’t want to do. As usual, he caught me off guard, and here I am in the grocery store, at the checkout, holding up the line even though there’s nobody behind me, listening to my newly minted ex-husband ask me if he can borrow money so he can probably spend it on his new woman. But what the fuck. It could be something he’s too embarrassed about. Maybe I’m the only one he could call. Let’s just see if he pays me back after he gets that check.
I finish emptying everything from my cart onto the conveyer. “Did you find everything you were looking for?” Mary asks. She is probably my age. And looks tired. She smokes a lot. I can smell it. Her skin looks rough. Her hair could stand to be shampooed and deep conditioned. A good cut would help. There is no ring on her left finger and it doesn’t look like she’s ever worn one. Mary looks like she lives alone. I imagine she has a house full of cats because there is a film of white hair all over her olive green sweater.
I swipe my debit card. “I’m sorry, what did you just ask me?”
“Did you find everything you were looking for, Mrs. Jackson?” she asks when my name pops up on her screen.
“It’s Ms.,” I say politely. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t. What aisle are good husbands on, Mary?”
She chuckles. “I wish I knew, honey. I wish I knew.”
The First One’s Free
I can’t believe it. I’m actually going on a real date. With Dark Angel. Finally. Ten long hours from now. Actually, we’re just having a cappuccino at a Starbucks not far from my house, which of course he doesn’t know. It still feels like a date. I actually took the day off so I could make sure I look as snazzy as possible. I want his mouth to water when he sees me in person, since he liked my pictures so much. Today is all about preparation. I already bought something jazzy to wear but I might change my mind at the last minute. I’m getting a new set of acrylics and you can never have too many pedicures. I’m also going over to Oasis to let Joseph tighten up my weave, since baby birds might be nesting on the crown of my head for all I know.
Right now, I’m giving myself a rejuvenating clay facial and whitening my teeth with those strips. I think I need to get waxed, too. Romeo and Juliet just ran out of here because the blue mask scares them. Sparrow just ran downstairs to back my car out of the garage so I can get out before the exterminators get here. They have to park their truck in the driveway in order to pull the hose around the back of the house. Then she’ll drive herself to school since, by the grace of God, she finally managed to get her driver’s license. She also came to her senses. Instead of that Prius, she decided on a black Honda Civic hybrid—which is pretty hard to say.
Sparrow isn’t exactly psyched about my date with Dark Angel. She is excited I’m finally meeting him so I can hurry up and put him on the Never in This Lifetime list and move on to someone who doesn’t write bad poetry. I pay her no mind. In fact, when she realized I was serious about not having a birthday party, she decided not to have one, too. I told her she could have a few friends over if she wanted to, but she just said, “It was only a passing thought, Mom. No big deal. I’ll live.” Well, we both did.
Oh hell, here we go again: hot flash #I,000! The clay was just starting to get hard! Shit shit shit. Broiling from the inside out with no warning off and on all day and night had gotten on my nerves so bad I finally begged my doctor for some hormones. I just started taking them a few days ago but it would sure be nice if they kicked in sometime in the next few minutes. I want my memory back. I need help unscrambling some of the puzzles that aren’t really puzzles. I do not for the life of me understand why God had to make menopause so complicated. I mean, what was the point of dragging it out and making you feel like a mental case. Why couldn’t He or She have just picked a date for your period to stop and then let us move on with our lives? As if bleeding once a month for thirty-five years wasn’t bad enough.
My first stop this morning is the dentist. I hope I can sit in that chair for forty-five minutes without squirming. It feels like I’m getting ready for my prom or something instead of just having a cappuccino. I’m getting impressions made for those new invisible braces, since my teeth have started moving because I’m getting old and I’ll be damned if I’m going to die with spaces between my teeth. Of course, I don’t feel like going today but he charges a fifty-dollar cancellation fee if I don’t give him twenty-four hours notice.
I feel a little cooler as I walk over to the window hoping the mask can now finish hardening. I’m tempted to stick my head in the refrigerator, but Romeo and Juliet would freak out for sure. I can tell by the cluster of dark clouds that the monsoon season is shifting into third gear. I love the heavy winds. The dust storms. The loud thunder. The yellow and violet lightning. But mostly the rain. I love the way it smells, the sound it makes pounding on the clay roof and how it gushes out of the gutters like narrow waterfalls. Although it can sometimes be dangerous if you�
��re driving near a wash or a gully, I love the way the flooding forces me and Sparrow to stay inside. We often curl up on the sofa, get a pizza—out of the freezer, since delivery is often out of the question—and watch stupid movies: a romantic comedy and we both cry, or a horror movie and we both scream while munching on microwave popcorn. She most likely will have an Arizona iced tea and I usually nurse a mojito. Or two.
I hear my cell phone ringing. I hope it’s not Norman calling from work. He’s such a worrywart. We did get our bonuses last month like we always do, which is how I was able to pay cash for Sparrow’s new ride. Everybody knows corporate does not like to give away free money if they don’t have to. I pull the strips off and wipe my teeth with my fingertips. “Hello,” I say with my mouth half closed.
“Good morning, Robin, it’s me. Fernando.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.”
“Then why are you calling me at home on my cell?” I grab a tissue and wipe all of the foamy stuff off my teeth so I won’t have to swallow it.
“Well, I meant to call you last night, but I didn’t get a chance. I was wondering, since things have finally slowed down, if it would be possible for me to take a half day.”
“And what time would that be, Fernando?”
“About eleven.”
“That’s not a half day. It’s almost eight o’clock right now. What’s going on?”
“Well, my cousin Lupe is getting out of prison today at eleven-thirty and I offered to pick him up. He wants me to take him to play a round of golf.”
I just look at the phone. I know damn well I couldn’t possibly have heard him right. “Did you just say he wants to go play golf?”
“I did.”
“And how long has Lupe been in prison?”
“Just two years. A few too many DUIs.”
“So, did they have a driving range at the prison he was in or something?”
“No, that’s funny, Robin.”
“Well, this might be even funnier. If you think taking your ex-convict of a cousin golfing as a welcome-home gift is a good reason to ask your boss for time off—and on the same day, no less—then you have lost your damn mind, Fernando. Maybe you should consider taking—what’s his name again?”
Getting to Happy Page 19