A Natural Woman

by Lori Johnson

  Monica shook her head. “Not hardly. Just wait and see.”

  But as soon as Aliesha heard the intro of the Maury Povich show, she unfurled the legs she’d folded beneath herself, swiveled toward Monica, and said, “Oh, hell no! Tell me you did not have me drive all the way over here to watch some ole ‘mama’s baby, daddy’s maybe’ type of madness.”

  Rather than keel over with laughter, like Aliesha fully expected, Monica picked up her drink and with a straight face said, “I’ll have you know, this isn’t just any ole ‘mama’s baby, daddy’s maybe’ type of drama.”

  “Yeah?” Aliesha said. “What’s so special about this one?”

  Monica nodded at the screen. “See that guy right there? The Ike Turner–looking son of a bitch who is so vehemently denying he fathered any of those women’s children? Well, guess whose daddy I’m 99.9% sure he is?”

  Like Aliesha, Monica’s people on her father’s side hailed from Riverton. While Monica’s father and grandmother were still both very much alive and well, unlike Aliesha, Monica seldom expressed anything remotely resembling fondness for either. Aliesha remembered how taken aback she’d been when on asking Monica an innocent question about her grandmother she’d received an icy “Who, Bertha Wilbun? Girl, I ain’t studying that heifer or most of those other fools in South Riverton who call themselves kin to me. Except for my cousin Gabe and my aunt Gert, the only time I hear from any of them is when they need something—car note money, rent, bail, just a little something extra till they get their check or their food stamps. . . .”

  Aliesha had gleaned additional details about the source of Monica’s hostility toward her Riverton relatives one night when the two of them had been out dining with Gabe, the always dapper, smooth-talking attorney who’d provided Monica a home when at age fourteen, she’d run away from St. Louis and her abusive stepfather.

  “Oh, Monica knows she’s always been Bertha’s favorite,” Gabe said with a discernable twinkle in his eye. “Bertha was always brushing little Monica’s hair, dressing her up, and showing her off to all of her friends. I can still hear her now.” Gabe waved his fork from side to side and, with a mock feminine inflection in his voice, said, “Would you look at that hair and those eyes?! My word, isn’t she just the prettiest little thing you ever did see? My very own little China doll is what she is.”

  While he laughed, Monica said, “Yeah, and even back then I had half a mind to tell her, ‘Bitch, don’t you know I’m part Korean, not Chinese?’ But a doll is what I felt like, all right. One of those damn White ‘chosen’ dolls from Dr. Clark’s experiment in the ’40s with all those poor, psychologically scarred little Black boys and girls.”

  But Monica appeared to save the bulk of her fury for her father, Ulysses. “Not once do I ever remember him sending me so much as a crappy-ass card on my birthday. Not once did he ever call just to say, ‘Hi’ or to see how I was doing. But every year, just like clockwork, he’d turn up on my mama’s doorstep, either right before Easter or Christmas, and whisk me off to spend the holidays with him and his folks in Riverton.”

  According to Monica, after parading her around and soaking up all the praise bestowed upon him by his kinfolks for having sired such a beautiful daughter, Ulysses would disappear to drink and carouse until the time arrived for him to drive her back to St. Louis and deposit her with her mother until the next Christian holiday.

  “He treated me like I was a damn toy, a gift that he brought home on a yearly basis for his mother’s pleasure and warped amusement. And would you believe till this day, old as his ass is, he’s still pulling that same ole trifling shit? Yeah, girl, I made the mistake of going by Bertha’s house last Christmas, and who was there but him and not one but two little curly-headed, snot-nosed boys, who looked just as lost and bewildered as I know I used to be.”

  Monica turned off the program well before it ended and picked up the drink she’d barely touched. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all three of those babies were his. Hell, including me, he’s got eleven that I know of. None of them by the same women. And not a single Black baby mama in the bunch. I think that’s all part of the appeal for him. Being able to drag home to his mama all of these half-Asian, half-Latino, half-Caucasian babies with their light skin and quote, unquote, good hair that he could really give less than a shit about. Dumb, sorry-ass bastard.”

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeves and stood up, spilling some of her drink in the process. “I’ll be back. I need to replenish this.”

  Aliesha leaped to her feet. “Oh, no, you don’t. Trust someone who’s recently been there and done it, that’s not the remedy for what’s ailing you.”

  “Yeah, well, what would you suggest?”

  “I don’t know. Umm, let’s see, how about shopping?!” she finally said.

  “Please, you hate shopping,” Monica said.

  “Uh-huh, with a passion,” Aliesha said. “But you don’t. And I think it might do us both some good to spend some time outside of our own miserable little worlds. So I’m willing to let you drag me from one overpriced boutique and shoe store to the next if you’ll let me choose the movie we see afterward.”

  Since Aliesha wanted to change and freshen up and Monica needed to run a quick errand, they decided to leave for the mall around six PM. Monica, who insisted on designating herself chauffeur, drove over and picked Aliesha up. They’d been walking, talking, laughing, and trying on shoes and outfits for a couple of hours when Aliesha finally convinced Monica they needed a break, if only to grab a bite to eat.

  They were in the food court, waiting to place orders for cheese-steak sandwiches, when Monica nudged Aliesha and whispered, “Uh-oh, girl. Would you get a load of this hunk of well-done beefcake that’s got my mouth watering and my heart trying to skip a beat? Think you could muster up an appetite big enough to handle all of that?”

  Aliesha turned in the direction Monica was grinning only to have her eyes descend upon familiar territory. She turned away. “Not only do I think so, the truth is, I already have. That’s Kenneth.”

  “What!” Monica screeched. “I thought you said he was in his fifties?”

  “He is.”

  “Please, all this time I’ve been imaging dude as some Grady geezer from Sanford and Son. He doesn’t look a day over forty. And how come you didn’t tell me he could pass for Michael Jordan’s twin? Oops, hold on, ’cause he’s headed this way and he’s bringing some long, tall Sally of a sister with him.”

  “Hell, like I really need this,” Aliesha grumbled. But she turned and smiled ever so graciously when she heard Kenneth call her name. “Aliesha?”

  “Kenneth,” she said before nodding a greeting at the tall, attractive, well-dressed woman on his arm.

  “Aliesha, this is Donna,” Kenneth said. “Donna, this is Dr. Aliesha Eaton, a professor at Wells and one of my old church members.”

  Wow! One of his old church members? She felt a rush of anger, but then thought, I don’t guess it would be entirely appropriate from him to introduce me as his former lover . . . or the woman he nearly accidentally killed one night . . . or the woman whose heart and dreams he’d left crushed.

  After Aliesha introduced Monica, they all exchanged a few benign pleasantries before uttering their smile-filled good-byes.

  “You okay?” Monica asked on their rejoining of the sandwich line after the hand-holding pair disappeared.

  “Of course. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m over Kenneth.”

  “I guess until one of us actually believes it,” Monica said. “If it’s any consolation, you’re a whole lot better looking than his new Ms. Thang.”

  Aliesha laughed. “Right. She’s freaking gorgeous and you know it.”

  “Okay, fine then. So you’re a whole lot smarter and no doubt ten times the Christian soldier.”

  “Shut up,” Aliesha said with a Tamara-like roll of the eyes.

  “What?!” Monica laughed. “I’m just trying to help you feel better.”

  At the e
nd of their meal, Aliesha and Monica set out for the movie theatre. The film Aliesha had selected was some quirky, independent feature that ordinarily she would have thoroughly enjoyed. But after the encounter with Kenneth she’d found herself barely able to concentrate.

  Far from jealousy or even anger, what rose up in Aliesha whenever her thoughts settled on Kenneth was something more akin to remorse and sadness for what they’d lost, for what they might have been, if only . . .

  It was close to midnight when they arrived back at Aliesha’s house on their return from the movie theatre. Needing to make use of the facilities before her drive back home, Monica accompanied Aliesha inside. On depositing her shopping bags on the sofa in the den, Aliesha noticed the red message light blinking on her landline. She picked up the receiver, dialed her voice mail, and listened as Kenneth’s voice said, “Seeing you tonight really messed me up. I know it’s not what you want to hear, baby, but nothing’s changed. I still love you and I’m still not ready to stop trying. My seeing another woman or even your seeing another man isn’t likely to change that.”

  By the time Monica entered the room, Aliesha had listened to the message twice and still had the receiver against her ear.

  “Something wrong?” Monica asked on noting the look on her friend’s face.

  Aliesha mashed the button that allowed the message to be heard via the phone’s loudspeaker. After listening, Monica narrowed her eyes and she said, “Maybe you oughta call the police.”

  Aliesha made a face. “The police? It’s not like he threatened me.”

  “No?” Monica said. “Well, if a brother tried to choke the living daylights out of me, the last thing I’d want to hear is a message like that on my phone late one night.”

  “It didn’t sound like he’d been drinking,” Aliesha said. “Besides, I’m not afraid of him.”

  Monica walked over and peeked out the window. “Yeah, I know, Ms. Fearless, your ass ain’t afraid of anything. That’s half your damn problem. But remember what you told me Kenneth did to that fool who asked you how much your boy was paying to hit it?”

  Aliesha thought about poor Skip, the man Kenneth had assigned as her escort back to her room on that disastrous evening in Vegas. After Kenneth’s return from Riverton, he’d insisted he and Aliesha meet for dinner so she could tell him everything that had happened that night. Most of it, he claimed, he couldn’t remember. So she’d recounted the events for him, including her unpleasant exchange with Skip, after which Kenneth had calmly driven her over to Skip’s house. Without a word, he’d exited the car, banged on Skip’s door, and when the man, clad in nothing but his undies, had answered, there had been a brief and heated verbal confrontation. Sensing what might come next, Aliesha had opened her car door, but before she could exit the vehicle, Kenneth had already pummeled the half-naked Skip, broken his jaw, and was headed back to the car.

  “And your point is?” she asked Monica.

  Monica said, “As hella fine and sexy as your friend Kenneth is, he’s also both unpredictable and capable of violence. So, anyway, do you happen to keep a gun around?”

  A chill swept over Aliesha. “A gun?! Are you outta your mind?”

  Her face bearing the same mix of seriousness and outrage Aliesha had seen on it earier when she’d been talking about her father, Ulysses, Monica said, “Well, I’ve got one at home and I’d be more than happy to let you borrow it.”

  CHAPTER 27

  A gun? She’d dismissed Monica’s fears and told her it would be a cold day in hell before she ever considered keeping a gun in her house or on her person. Before she left, a smug Monica had advised her to keep her overcoat on standby.

  A shudder snatched Aliesha from her trance and she looked up at the clock above her office door. Twenty minutes past six. Another long day had slowly wound to an end. She rose and started collecting the items she intended to take home with her. She’d nearly finished stuffing everything into her bag when the phone on her desk rang.

  Ignore it. If it’s important enough they’ll leave a message, she told herself. But before the phone could roll over to voice mail, she thought about Kenneth’s old habit of calling and leaving messages for her when he knew she wasn’t likely to be in her office.

  She picked up the phone and uttered a tentative “Hello?” “Yes,” a male voice said. “May I speak to Professor Eaton?”

  “Speaking.”

  A pause followed before the voice said, “I bet your head’s starting to look awfully doggone raggedy.”

  Aliesha frowned. “I beg your pardon? Who is this?”

  There was another pause before the caller said, “I’m sorry. Did I reach you at a bad time?”

  Aliesha circled her desk and fell into her chair. “Dante?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Can you talk?”

  Her heart began to race. “Umm, sure . . . What can I help you with?”

  “Well, why don’t you start by telling me why you stopped coming by the shop?”

  She winced at her unsettling memories of the evening at Nelson’s and later on her porch. “As if that weren’t rather obvious. I made such a fool of myself the last time I saw you. . . . Frankly, I’ve been too embarrassed to show my face around there again.”

  “Well, as much as I appreciate your honesty, there’s really no need for you to be embarrassed. As far as I’m concerned, what happened that night stays between us.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “Uh-huh, like you and Yazz don’t talk.”

  “No, Yazz talks,” Dante said in a voice that sounded deeper and sexier with each passing second. “That’s why I don’t tell him anything anymore, particularly where it concerns you.”

  She smiled. “That’s awfully considerate of you, I think.” “So—when are you coming back?”

  Her eyes snapped open and she sat up straight. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess this coming Wednesday,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as eager as she suddenly felt.

  He said, “Is that a promise or are you just saying that to get me off the phone?”

  She laughed. “No, I’ll be there, same time as usual, if that’s okay.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”

  She didn’t bother to bring up Dante’s call or the appointment she’d made to see him in her next conversation with Monica. She had a fairly good idea of how her friend might respond. Not that she cared. She’d decided that barring death, weather catastrophe, or some other unforeseen act of God, nothing and no one would keep her from going back to the shop and seeing that man.

  In anticipation of her next visit and her need to make amends, she contemplated stopping by Nelson’s and buying Dante a couple slices of the pound cake he’d raved so much about. Then she got an even better idea. Why not just make him one?

  Cake in hand, she arrived at Wally’s Cool Cuts at the appointed time and determined not to allow anything or anyone, including Yazz, faze her. Yazz being Yazz, as soon as he spied her, he leaped from his barber’s chair and launched into a series of silly and provocative dance moves. After exchanging nods with Wally and Gerald, Aliesha continued on to the rear of the shop.

  “Do you ever actually cut anyone’s hair?” she asked Yazz, who brought his dance routine dangerously close to the lemon-flavored pound cake she’d cut into individual slices and arranged on one of the cake plates she’d inherited from her Big Mama’s collection.

  “You brought us dessert?” Yazz asked, before attempting to pry open the plate’s plastic lid and sneak a peek.

  “Careful,” Dante said on coming over and pushing Yazz aside in his attempt to assist Aliesha with the item. He smiled. “You made this? I mean, from scratch? Not out of a box with the instructions on the back?”

  She gave him a look. “Yes, I made it. Why is that so hard to believe? You think girls with book smarts can’t cook?”

  Yazz said, “Oh snap, D., man. Babygirl can cook, teach, talk smack, and she’s got a PhD? Man, you’d best jump on that for
real, dog!”

  As Yazz clapped and howled over his own joke, Dante leaned toward Aliesha and whispered. “Thanks. And don’t worry. I won’t let him have any.”

  “Be nice,” Aliesha scolded with a smile.

  “See, I knew in time you’d grow sweet on him,” Dante said as he placed the cake in a clean, safe spot on a shelf high above his work area.

  Umm, there’s only one man up here I’ve grown sweet on, Aliesha caught herself thinking while seating herself in Dante’s barber’s chair. And it damn sure ain’t Yazz.

  Dante started picking out her hair. On moving in front of her, he tilted her face toward him and said, “I’m glad you decided to come back.”

  She felt the onset of a blush, but managed a quiet, “I’m glad you thought enough to call me and ask.”

  “Hey, hey, hey! Cut out all that whispering,” Yazz said. “Y’all keep that up and you’ll have folks ’round here thinking something’s going on between the two of you.”

  Dante winked at Aliesha before he moved behind her.

  With Yazz spouting off every few minutes, Dante and Aliesha weren’t able to engage in much by way of conversation. Even the pair’s trip to the utility room to wash her hair coincided with a contractor’s visit and a demonstrative exchange between Wally and the work crew about the room’s planned renovation.

  But Aliesha didn’t really need to hear anything from Dante. His body language told her everything she needed to know. You can relax. All is forgiven.

  On their way out, Dante grabbed a piece of her cake and brought it outside with them. “You were right. It’s good,” he told her as they stood in their usual spot in front of the shop. “Almost as good as Nelson’s.”

  “Almost, my foot!” she said, and reached for his dangling earbuds. He grinned and helped her insert the buds.

  She looked away from him while immersing herself in the smooth, sensuous blend of Luther and Martha Walsh’s voices on the classic “I (Who Have Nothing).” When she returned the earbuds, she saw something in Dante’s eyes she’d never seen before, something she couldn’t quite name. But it didn’t deter her. “So how come you’re willing to let me off so easy? If memory serves me right, I was pretty rude that night.”