Getting to Happy

by Terry McMillan

  “Nope. You’ve been quite helpful.”

  And off she goes. She sits in an empty chair, crosses her legs and prepares to people-watch. I pick my dress up and take it to another register out of her line of vision.

  “Yes, I’d like to get this dress,” I say to the new clerk, whose hair is feathered like Farrah Fawcett wore back in the seventies. I didn’t know that look was back! “I love your hair.”

  “Thanks. It’s supposed to look like Farrah Fawcett. You know, from the seventies or eighties.”

  “Well, it works in 2005, too.”

  “Thanks again. Shall I put this in a dressing room for you?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “You sure you wouldn’t like to try it on first?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it’ll fit.”

  “Okay. This is a final sale, which means the dress can’t be returned, sweetheart. Are you sure you don’t want to try it on?”

  “I’m sure. I think it’ll fit. What is the sale price?”

  “Well, you’re in luck today. This gorgeous dress has been marked down from two hundred eight to one forty-eight!”

  “Wow, that’s super! But tell me something . . .” I say, looking at her name tag “. . . Claudia. May I use this twenty-five-dollar coupon in addition to the sales price?”

  “You most certainly may! Wow. You’re quite the smart shopper, because you are now getting this lovely dress for the super-deluxe low price of one hundred twenty-three dollars. Would you like another shopping bag?”

  “No, this one’s fine.” I open my bag wide enough for her to drop the now tissue-papered dress right on in.

  “Enjoy!” she says. “I hope you’re going somewhere nice to wear it!”

  If only.

  I’ve been trying not to remind myself I got stood up by somebody I never even met. Sparrow didn’t bother to ask how it went, because she saw the look on my face when I stormed past her and went into my room and slammed the door. I also didn’t bother to mention I’d run into her trifling father. The first thing I did was wipe off my makeup. Then I took an extra-long shower and put my favorite yellow jammies on. I sat on the bed with the television off and called Dark Angel. He actually had the nerve to answer.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  “Tiger Lady?”

  “Expecting someone else? How many of us have you stood up, Dark Angel?”

  “Whoa. Wait a minute. I thought our date was tomorrow.”

  “That is so not true. That is so lame. What do you take me for?”

  “Seriously. Maybe I’m tripping, but I’ve got you in my Blackberry for tomorrow.”

  “Is that a baby I hear crying in the background?” I get up and take the portable down to my office. Sparrow had set the mail on my chair. I put it on the desk and sit down.

  “That’s my sister’s baby.”

  All of this was just a little too shaky. “Look, Dark Angel, I’m curious about something.”

  “I’m listening, baby.”

  “Please don’t call me baby.”

  “Okay, I’m listening, Tiger Lady.”

  “My name is not Tiger Lady. It’s Robin.” This was when I saw that manila envelope I sent him a couple of weeks ago. “No Such Address” was stamped on the front. I opened it, took out the copy of Selected Poems of Langston Hughes and ripped up the three-hundred-dollar check I thought might help him self-publish his book.

  “Okay, Robin, Tiger Lady, whatever works for you.”

  “Did you ever get the book I sent?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Have you had a chance to read any of the poems?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Tell me one of your favorites.”

  “I’ve got lots of them, Robin. Tell me one of yours.”

  “ ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude.’ ”

  “I loved that one, too. It was beautiful.”

  “So, Dark Angel . . . who is that I hear talking in the background?”

  “That’s my sister.”

  “Are you at her house?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “In Phoenix?”

  “Glendale.”

  “She sounds upset about something.”

  “She’s always upset.”

  “And where is it you live again?”

  “Well, I have more than one residence.”

  “Oh, really? Funny, you never mentioned that in any of your e-mails.”

  “I didn’t think it was important. So look, I’m kinda in the middle of something and I’m wondering if we can get a rain check. I’m feeling a little under the weather.”

  ”So, you can’t say thank you for the check?”

  “What check?”

  “I put a three-hundred-dollar check inside the book of poems to help you get yours published. Didn’t it fall out when you were reading?”

  “I didn’t notice it. Let me give you a different address. Maybe you could stop payment on that one and resend it.”

  “Oh, my bad. I think I’m looking at it right here. Looks like I sent it to the wrong address. So you know what, Dark fucking Angel, tell your wife and baby I said ‘Hey.’ ”

  He chuckled. “Well, this has been fun, Tiger Lady. No harm done. I’m glad you dug that poem. Good luck on your search. And by the way, do yourself a solid and stop lying about your age. You look fifty, not forty-two.”

  “Then you should do yourself a favor and stop writing such infantile, sophomoric, sentimental, corny and just plain bad poetry. In case you weren’t aware, this is not a game, Dark Angel. There are millions of women out here hoping to meet a decent man online, and if your behavior represents what’s out there, I’m bowing out now. I’d also change my screen name if I were you because I’m going to post it as one to avoid. Enjoy your life.” And I hung up.

  Since then, I’ve been wondering just how common it is for these guys to manufacture a personality and a life to see who takes the bait. I don’t want to find out. I thought online dating was meant to save you time and help you get around the riffraff and avoid playing the usual games so you’d stand a better chance of meeting that special someone. Maybe I’m turning into a skeptic. I don’t think so. I’m too old for this shit. That much I do know. I’m bored on top of being tired of wading through hundreds of e-mails week after week only to realize how much time I’d wasted. It’s felt like I’ve been preparing for a test I’m never going to take, which is ridiculous. Dark Angel is my last icebreaker. I didn’t bother to erase his number. I used the remaining twenty-nine minutes, then hit the phone with a hammer a few times and tossed it in the trash. If I ever meet someone who truly is worthy, I’ll be more than happy to give him my home number.

  “Sparrow! Have you eaten anything?” I’ve just come in from the gym. The dogs, of course, rush to greet me. I forgot about their vet appointment this morning. Things have been crazy at work. Looks like there could be a merger, but no one’s saying anything. Even Norman is mum these days. Lucille is still beating everyone in. Her loyalty is sickening sometimes.

  “No, I haven’t, Mom! I’m on the phone! I’ll be down in a few!”

  I feed the dogs, and out of sheer habit, I’m about to head upstairs to log in. I stop myself. I’m not that hungry. I had a late lunch.

  “You want me to order something in?”

  She doesn’t answer. I curl up on the sofa. I don’t want to watch another stupid anything on television tonight. I look at the coffee table, which offers a few magazine options. I decide on Bark. It’s the only one free of violence and bad news.

  “Hey there, Mom. How was your day?” Sparrow bends down and lays one on my forehead. I’m surprised she’s in her pajamas already. Or, I should say, the plaid pajama bottoms she probably wore to school, over which is a T-shirt meant for football players.

  “I had a hectic day at work and then had to return a dress, which turned out to be a very smart move. It was marked down and they were nice and gave me the sale price. Anyway, what do yo
u feel like for dinner?”

  “I ate after practice.”

  “Good.”

  “You’ll never guess in a million years who I was just talking to, Mom.”

  “I can’t begin to guess, Sparrow, so spare me.”

  “My dad.”

  I sit up.

  “Your who?”

  “You heard right.”

  “He called you?”

  “No, I called him.”

  “How’d you know he was out? And how’d you get his number?”

  “You told me the approximate time, remember? I Googled him and found him in the white pages.”

  “But what made you call him?”

  “I just wanted to reach out.”

  “But why, Sparrow?”

  “Why not? Because he’s my dad.”

  “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him.”

  “That was when I was young and stupid.”

  “It was a few months ago.”

  “You know what occurred to me? That my very own father lives in the same city as I do, and I’m his daughter and I wouldn’t know him if I passed him on the street.”

  “I understand. But this is just not at all what I was expecting from you. This is quite a shock, to be honest.”

  “He’s actually a nice person who made some stupid choices and he’s paid for them. I want to get to know him.”

  “I think this is a really nice gesture, Sparrow.”

  “Gesture? His blood flows through my veins, Mom. Just like yours. And don’t worry, he’s not going to be coming over or anything.”

  “You mean you’ve made plans to see each other?”

  “Duh. Not like tomorrow or anything. He says he wants to get himself grounded and get used to the idea that I don’t hate him and that I really do want to see him.”

  “That’s touching,” I say. “It really is.” I’m trying to sound sincere.

  “You have to open your heart and learn how to forgive others when they disappoint you, Mom. Haven’t you always told me that?”

  “I have. And I subscribe to it.”

  “Cool.”

  “Just keep him away from me.”

  “No problem. So you’re really not upset about this, are you, Mom?”

  “No. Like I said, I’m just a little surprised.”

  “Good. Because this isn’t an act of betrayal. It’s just that I have two parents and I might finally get to know the other one.”

  She darts off.

  I sit here and read about more dogs. I’m trying not to think about Russell eking his way back into any crevices of my life. But my daughter is right. She should be able to find out who her father is and what parts of him she might be able to love.

  I doze off for a solid hour. I’m now starving. While I microwave a Healthy Choice chicken-something I run up and get the mail. There’s a flyer for the upcoming winter schedule for the black ski club I belong to. I’m excited. I missed out last season and promised myself I wouldn’t miss the next one. I scroll down until I find Vail, my most favorite ski area of all. After fifteen years you’d think I’d be doing black diamond runs. Not even. I ski blue. I’m what’s called a PI: permanent intermediate. I know my comfort zone. I’m not trying to win a slalom. I just like to inhale the thin air, spread my arms and shake out all the tension and stress before I dig my poles into the snow and sail down that mountain.

  Sparrow, of course, thinks belonging to anything based on race is racist. That skiing is a bourgeois sport because you need to have money to burn. I earn a decent salary and I don’t feel guilty spending a little on recreation. This is such a done deal. I eat my bland dinner and chase it with a Heineken. I go upstairs to my office but this time when I go online, it’s to renew an annual membership for something I know exactly what it is I’m going to get in return.

  Play Areas

  Tarik and Gloria are sitting in two lawn chairs at the boat dock. Her son asked if she would meet him out here, and she agreed without thinking of how she might feel seeing that boat again. At first sight, she felt a pang in her stomach, then her chest. She fanned her face and shook out her hands and decided not to let it hold her hostage because her son’s heart is breaking. She came out here to listen, to find out if he has any ideas about how he’s going to mend it. Nickida has apparently admitted she made a mistake, that she does not want to break up her family.

  Gloria does not want to pass judgment on her—again—but she is not feeling any love for her daughter-in-law. None whatsoever. She also doesn’t want to give her grown son any advice unless he asks for it. In all honesty, Gloria doesn’t really know what she’ll tell him to do if he does ask, because she’s not sure what she’d do if she were in his shoes.

  “You want one of these Snapples?” she asks him.

  “Thanks, Ma.” He pulls the bill of his red Diamondbacks cap down to shield his eyes from the sun.

  She hands him a bottle and she takes a sip off hers. They look out at the lake, which is pretty calm for such a balmy afternoon. It’s almost five, and it’s monsoon season, so this means nothing. In fact, those thunderheads are growing taller above the mountains, which are less than fifteen miles from here. Again, Gloria and Tarik know this means nothing, that it could all change in a matter of minutes. Gloria could care less right now. She’s just waiting for Tarik to say something.

  “Ma, would you mind picking Blaze and Diamond up from preschool tomorrow?”

  “Of course I don’t mind. What about Stone and Brass?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? Brass is spending a few weeks with his grandparents and Stone’s at overnight camp for two weeks.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “He’s at space camp down in Tucson.”

  “Good Lord. He’s finally old enough, huh?”

  “Yep. He wanted to go for the entire two weeks, too.”

  “I remember when you first went to sleepaway camp. That’s what we called it back then. You didn’t want to come home when I went to get you. Do you remember that?”

  He just nods his head yes, and Gloria sees a smile emerge on his face.

  Gloria tugs on the hem of her denim capris, hoping to loosen them a little. She’s been trying to give her son as much time as he needs to say what he wants to say, but she also knows they won’t last too much longer out here before the weather breaks. “So, talk to me, Tarik. Tell me what’s going on? I don’t understand what has happened here.”

  He takes a sip of the iced tea and twists the top back on. “What has happened in my house and in my bed is my wife saw fit to entertain her ex-husband when he came to pick up his son that I’ve been caring for and feeding for fifteen days out of each and every month for the past seven and a half years, and our four-year-old daughter happened to walk into her mommy and daddy’s bedroom. Then she told her daddy what she saw.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Gloria says and covers her mouth. “Little Blazie saw that mess?”

  “She didn’t know exactly what they were doing but she knew Luther wasn’t supposed to be under the covers in her daddy and mommy’s bed. Anyway, she’s fine.”

  Gloria just sits there, wanting to ask a million questions but she will wait and listen. And while she does she begins to tap her feet against the asphalt.

  “Ma, you don’t do this kind of stuff to someone you’re supposed to love. Do you?”

  “Well, not ordinarily. But a lot of us are known for exercising poor judgment.”

  “Poor judgment? Is that what you think this is?”

  “You know, Tarik, it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s how you and Nickida want to handle it. I just want you to be happy. And my grandchildren.”

  “You never liked her, did you?”

  Shit. Now she’s going to have to lie. And Gloria is not good at it. She takes another sip of her Snapple. It’s getting warm. She doesn’t like it warm. “First of all, I do like a lot of things about Nickida. I have to admit she’s given me pause on some occasions, but I’m sure the
feeling is mutual. I just think she’s strong-willed and somewhat of a worrier—”

  “She’s a hypochondriac. I know that.”

  “But that’s not a reason to not like somebody.”

  “She’s also a bitch.”

  Gloria is shocked to hear her son say this about his wife. She’s finally glad to know Tarik has some clue that Nickida is not an easy person to appreciate. “That’s not true,” Gloria says.

  “It is true, Ma. And she’s a sneaky bitch.”

  “You know, I don’t like hearing you call her that even if she’s not your favorite person right now, okay?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just angry as hell.”

  “I know. What does Nickida have to say for herself?”

  “She’s just been bawling her eyes out, trying to get me to believe she has no idea how Luther was able to coerce her into doing something like this. That she isn’t even attracted to him, and hasn’t been for years.”

  “So how did he end up in your bed with her? Did she try to fight him off and it failed?”

  In slow motion, he begins to shake his head. “She said the kids were playing video games and she went outside and smoked a joint with him and one thing led to another.”

  “You mean as in a marijuana joint?”

  He nods his head.

  “Did that shock you?”

  He shakes his head no.

  “So you mean you knew she smoked it?”

  He nods again.

  “So does this mean she smokes this stuff on a regular basis?”

  He nods his head up and down.

  “Do you smoke it, too, Tarik?”

  “Of course not, Ma. I’m an officer of the law.”

  “But apparently that doesn’t matter to her, then, huh?”

  “She told me she had quit.”

  “Quit?” Gloria takes the last swallow of her drink, twists the cap back on tighter than necessary and sets it next to her right foot. Her sandals are under the chair. The first few sprinkles hit her red toenails. Ripples are forming in the water and most of the boaters are docking.