Ariel and Javier kiss. She wears lipstick that doesn’t transfer. They take off their clothes, Ariel quite carefully. They place their clothes on the two double beds, then couple in the narrow, carpeted space between.
It is never amazing, and still, beforehand, it is often all Ariel thinks about. As soon as it is over, though, she wants nothing more than to secure her job and leave the room unscathed.
Javier flushes the latex evidence away.
She attempts small talk as she dresses. “Are you going to catch any of Mardi Gras this year?”
“Where is the time?” He pulls his knit boxers up his legs.
“Exactly.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
They finish dressing. Ariel picks up the packages of condoms. “You want to take these or should I?” In the past, he has sometimes taken them. Other times, she has carried them back with her inside her bra to her office, where she stashes them in her locked file cabinet. Since she and Javier have started what they have, Ariel wonders if there wouldn’t be a photo book opportunity based on locked file cabinets. Imagine what would appear. Open the drawer and line up the contents. Bottles of booze. Drugs. A dildo in the drawer of a banker, an incriminating Polaroid in an executive secretary’s. A strand of condoms in a hotel general manager’s. Look at what we keep locked up at work.
Javier only lifts his jaw, indicating to Ariel that she take them. So she will.
She always checks the hallway first, as casually as she can, then sends Javier on his way if it’s all clear. So far, it’s always been all clear. He grabs her ass on the way out. She’ll follow in another couple of minutes.
Cribs be one of Fearius favorite shows, fo sho. It his planning show, give him ideas how he gone deck out his house when he earn it. The cars themselfs be worth studying, Fearius think. All the music artists he hate, alongside the ones he love, they all show they bedrooms and refrigerators to the world. Usually they finish up the show with the rides. Some them have what, like a dozen cars and motorcycles and ATVs and shit. Boats. The pimp on the screen now have all his cars in the same color, the color of his hometown football team, a ugly motherfuckin green.
Taliqwa funny these days, so Fearius, he been hangin at home during his down time. He and Taliqwa talk, but it aint like they talk. She distracted. School proving difficult. She said her Baton Rouge friend worryin about being pregnant. Fearius saw a pregnant girl today, probably made only thirteen, fourteen years of age. She waitin at the streetcar stop. Her bellybutton poking forward under her sweater. She dint look like so much in the face, but her little ol legs. They just sticks. Made Fearius a bit sick in the stomach, if he had to make his feelings known.
That and he be worried Taliqwa displacing her friend pregnancy. He understand the word displacing all the way through.
“Daniel!” Moms yell from the kitchen. “Now!”
Why the fuck he hafta have dinner, Fearius dont know. He buy his food outside the house, dont ever eat much at the table. Still, sometime he like to sit with the family and chat. It a ritual and whatever. They bust up laughing most nights less Pops get angry about Muzzle or hisself. Usually, they just pretend, same as in the mornings, that Fearius in school but maybe failing or some such. It easiest, make the day easier. Pops, he just want him some peace, he always say. Want a little peace under the sun be his expression. Dont want to mess with nothing but making a honest day wage.
It the problem with Pops. Aint no such thing in the honest world. Aint no peace and aint no day wage worth how much he be toiling. No way Fearius gone become his old man.
Fearius never even really know the man he call Pops. The ol man dint never touch any of them kids in a nice way coming up, just looked at em, smacked somebody when he think it necessary. Sometimes his Pops make Fearius imagine a lion out in Africa, a animal that make babies but could eat em an not care if he decided he hungry. Usually, the old man happy enough to have the company to growl at and roll around in for a hour or whatever before he go to sleep. More often though, he go out, stay away for the night, come back before sunup. Whatever. He and Moms have a arrangement or something. It always been that way. Least they keep a house. Least they keep a roof for over the nephews and nieces heads.
Cribs flashing through one more time what the pimp done show in his house. Theys way too much green color everyplace, but Fearius like the idea of the Jacuzzi in the bedroom. How great that be to bang and then go sit in a Jacuzzi? It spell relief like Rolaids.
Klameisha walk in the room holding Kymika. “Danny, you dont get your ass up you know what gone happen.” She step a little closer and say low, “Give us a good night, lil bro. I needs it fierce. Just a little peace.”
Why everybody in the house want peace when all they make is the opposite? Still, Fearius oughten to listen to his sister. Not no Alphonse or nobody else gone know if Fearius decide he want to obey a woman who not his own moms right now. Fearius, he dont want a bad night neither.
Fearius stand up. “Heard ya, K.”
Klameisha hold out her hand like Fearius should dap. She so whiteified, he think. She got her two babies, a terrible burden, but otherwise, she just a nerd. When he earn his own crib, Fearius gone buy K a year at the university. Not at no Delgado neither. He gone buy her a year at UNO. She too book smart for her be wastin her life sittin at home with babies. Maybe he help her out with tuition before he have his own house. Life be short.
“Whatever,” he say and pass her by.
Moms insist they all sit in the same room, includin the babies. The adults get the table, the babies the floor iffin they in a car seat. Usually they go in the playpen in the corner. Stuff em all in with some juice bottles, shut em up for a meal. Arlet been protesting lately though, gettin trapped in there. Fearius plunk down at the table and wonder what Muzzle be eatin these days, iffin he eatin any food. Fearius aint even hear from his own blood brother since he in the hospital.
Dude on Cribs has him a snowmobile. Fearius love to ride one sometime in his life, go racin over snow. You can eat snow, Fearius understand. He wonder on what it taste like. Plain, likely, like a sno-ball with no syrup.
“Daniel,” Pops say at the table, “pass the mustard.”
“Cut the mustard?” Fearius say. “But I dont got to.”
The table bust up laughin, Fearius gift. He can always make em laugh if nothing more. The kids in the corner make noises like they tryin to laugh with the table too. Moms reach over and grab his ear an twist it, same she always done, but she do it nice. Always. Even when she know she suppose to discipline or whatever, she never hurt Fearius really. She careful not to twist off his ear.
“Not what I hear comin outta you at night,” Debutanté say, an everybody laugh again, pretending Fearius pass gas when he sleep.
What the expression? Tooshay? “Tooshay,” Fearius say.
They all dig into the fried chicken from up on Louisiana Avenue. Moms made a special trip, even heated up corn an baked biscuits from the bust open roll you whack on the counter edge, Fearius favorite. He been slippin cash into the Moms wallet the last weeks. He bein rewarded, maybe. Maybe she give up her hard position seein what happen to Muzzle. Nobody talk about him no more. Moms and Pops both make it the law in the house. It like he dead when he not even. Fearius wonder when they gone get the word about him make it true.
“Angelique AWOL again,” Pops say, not ask.
“You find her, Nate, you let me know,” Moms say. “Go walk around the parade route, please. Or, know what? She been enjoying text messaging lately. Why you dont go text message her, tell her to join her family for dinner.”
Pops roll his eyes. The white part show yellow. Fearius dont remember when they a different color. “She cant throw our money away no better?”
“She gone text back say save her some wings,” Fearius say.
“Yeah,” Debutanté says, standin to tend to Trevor who done tipped over in the playpen, not big enough to right hisself. “I eat her wings. Put em on my plate, thanks very much.”
Everybody chuckle for Debutanté, cuttin up, tryin to keep the dinner time nice. Good for D. She not always very funny.
The new maid that Ariel didn’t want to hire but the head of housekeeping hired anyway appears as the elevator doors part. “What are you doing up here, Miss Ariel?” the woman asks.
Ariel steps into the elevator, thinking as fast as she can. This new woman—Ronda? Rhoda?—was too brash for Ariel right away. Too much attitude, not enough respect. Now Ariel’s certain her initial read was right. Who asks the GM such a question? “Tell me your name again?” Ariel asks and pushes the ground-floor button.
“Rhoda,” the woman says.
“How are you enjoying the Belle?”
“It’s easy compared to the Hilton.”
Well, no shit. “How’s that?” The elevator doors refuse to close. Ariel hits the button again. “The Hilton’s bigger, of course,” Ariel says. The newbies get the crappiest shifts. Rhoda would have to stay the latest tonight. Any Mardi Gras night, the long-timers are pretty scarce. As long as the Belle has an adequate staff count across the board, Ariel lets the other managers determine scheduling in their respective departments. The elevator door finally closes.
“I just saw Mr. Javier up here too,” Rhoda says. “Just a minute ago.” The woman stares straight ahead at the elevator doors, praying mantis jaws closing down on a suspicion.
Is this a joke? Blackmail straight out of the chute? Rhoda’s been here maybe a month, and it’s already time to try for something bigger than crap housekeeping, is it? Oh, not tonight, sweetie. Get your redneck flat ass back to Chalmette. “You’re from Chalmette if I’m remembering correctly, right, Rhoda?” Ariel’s heart beats a crazy beat beneath her shirt. She’s bothered by her own nervousness.
“No,” Rhoda says. “We stay over in Violet.”
Ariel checks out this brazen housekeeper. Her hair, what must have been a dark brown to begin with, didn’t make it all the way through a bleaching. It’s now a funny orange. She has saddlebags, and her uniform tugs across her crotch, making the mathematical signs that indicate lesser than or greater than, those sideways Vs, right at her groin. She wants something, something more than what she has. Ariel has no choice but to put her in her place.
“So a dishwasher told me a few weeks ago,” Ariel starts and waits till Rhoda actually looks at her face. It’s a test. “You know how they call the young women from Chalmette ‘Chalmations’?” Ariel stands to her full height and faces the maid straight on.
“I heard it,” Rhoda says.
The elevator dings the ground floor. “Don’t they call all of you from Violet Violations?”
The doors open, and Ariel walks out. It was stupid to jab at the girl, but what could happen? Rhoda’s going to sue? Well. Maybe Ariel will fire her first. Ariel has kids to feed.
When Ariel pulls into their driveway, she sees Ed on the porch, waiting. She’s happy they have a driveway, considering all the parked cars on the street, there for the crap bar, Ed’s new hangout. The multitudes of Tulane and Loyola parking stickers on their block give the kids away. Maybe her husband’s got his eye on a girl gone wild.
Ed raises his hand in greeting. Ariel raises hers in response. Jesus, he’s so damn dejected lately. And still, she simply can’t muster the sympathy she needs to help improve his mood. There’s something about self-pity that prompts the exact opposite reaction than the desired one in Ariel. The more Ed wallows, the less sorry she feels for him and the less she regrets her actions.
The spanking incident essentially cinched the deal for her. He sobbed about it, telling her the blow-by-blow details. But there’s simply no excuse for spanking, especially when Miles is such a decent kid. None whatsoever. She doesn’t care how bad Ed feels.
As Ariel gathers her briefcase and water bottle and purse, Ed approaches her car door. “They’re watching the boob tube,” he says, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. “I’m off to the Rose.”
He’s shortened the name of it even? “Nice to see ya,” she says.
“Don’t worry. Not that you would. I’ll be back.” Ariel watches him in the rearview. He walks down the driveway and across the street. He doesn’t look back.
He just sat there on the porch waiting for her to get home so he could leave? Unbelievable. Ariel slams her car door and locks it. At least she won’t have to look at his hangdog eyes. Go get drunk again, Ed. Just go.
Inside, Ariel hollers her hello to the kids. The TV blasts something she doesn’t like the sound of. East Coast accents. Neither Miles nor Ella acknowledges Ariel’s hello. She almost runs into the room.
Tony Soprano fucks a woman who’s missing a leg.
Ariel grabs the remote from Miles’ hand and turns off the television. Both her kids gawk at the blank screen. Ed and she have a bunch of channels blocked on the downstairs TV. Did Ed watch something earlier in the day and forget to reset it? “Hello, I said,” Ariel says to the both of them, moving to stand in front of the screen. “Hello!”
“Hello, Mommy!” Ella yells back. She stands and hops on one foot towards Ariel. “The naked lady,” Ella says as she hops, “has a plastic leg that comes off.” Ella’s mouth is stained green.
“Some people have accidents—what did you eat for dinner?”
Miles does his caught-in-the-act act. He goes effusive. He leaps up and races to wrap his arms around Ariel’s waist. “I love you, Mommy,” he says, trying out the sound of the word he gave up at the start of this last school year.
“Show me your tongue,” Ariel says, holding her son’s chin in her hand.
Miles sticks out his tongue. It’s neon green.
“What did you eat for dinner?”
Ella wraps her arms around Ariel too. “Noodles,” her daughter says.
“Noodles and what?”
“Just noodles,” Miles says and reaches up to try to pet Ariel’s hair, his toddler habit that got him to sleep.
“Miles,” Ariel says.
“And butter,” Ella says. “I love you too, Mommy.”
“I love you both very much.” She rubs their backs and runs her hands over their heads. Buttered noodles are Ella’s favorite, but they’re not any kind of dinner alone. Ariel kicks off her heels. “Okay, okay. Let your mommy get changed.” Ariel gives Miles the look that says, I know what you’re up to, and I’m going to let you off the hook for now. She sees he understands perfectly.
Ariel takes the remote control with her. “No TV till I get back down,” she says, and Miles nods vigorously. Both the kids have adopted that frantic nodding. She’d like to squelch it soon.
Ariel’s skull fills with gunk as she changes as fast as she can. She can smell Javier on her skin. What is Ed doing? What the hell is he doing? It’s Mardi Gras, and he’s across the street partying with college kids. He’s serving their own children buttered noodles for dinner—and what else? She’ll search the trash. Ariel’s guessing green popsicles or candy. He’s unlocked HBO.
Her panties are damp from earlier. She puts them in her bathroom sink and runs water over them. Miles didn’t seem as confused as she would have hoped watching Tony Soprano and his mistress. He seemed very, very interested. Miles has yet to turn eight, never mind Ella. Ariel pulls on a pair of old jeans worn through at the knees. Would Ed have purposely left the lock off the cable to try to teach her a lesson? Ariel, despite her anger, can’t imagine it. He loves the kids above all else. He wouldn’t let them see what they shouldn’t. She puts on an old T shirt.
If she can smell Javier, can Ed? Not that she ever really gives him a chance to sniff. Warren says men have a more consistent sense of smell.
“Is it time for popcorn?” Ariel asks, heading down the stairs. She wants some. She could use some bolstering for the talk she gets to give, helping Miles and Ella to understand what can happen between adults.
Alphonse ring Fearius new cell when he already asleep. His hours different than the bossmans. Fearius scramble for his phone. “Yo.” Not one other soul
have the number yet, so it gotta be Alphonse.
“The time here, solja.”
“How that?” Fearius ask.
“We get there. First, Fear, yo bro motha fuckin sick, I swear. He sick in the head an sick in the body. He just fuckin gone. I stepped out on some tree limbs to check his whereabouts and what all, ya heard? Took me some work cause I a person who care. Yo bro, he a twig with a limp, friend. You best tell your moms or whatever you need.”
What Fearius suppose to say? “That fucked up, A.”
“Dont think you know the half of it, lil man.”
An now what Fearius suppose to say? He dont wanna know what all Muzzle done. Fearius his own person. He aint just a lil brother.
Alphonse sit and wait, dont say nothing more on the other side the phone. Fearius sit and wait too. Eventually Alphonse say, “Never mind yo bro. Time to step up. You got yo first job.”
Whoa na. Sellin Avon and doin jobs dont have one thing in the common. It aint right. “How that?” Fearius ask.
“You due.”
How the fuck Fearius due? He dint buy into no fuckin killin game. Whoa na. Fuck him fuck him fuck him. “How you see that, A?”
Alphonse laugh so loud on the other end Fearius hold his phone away from his ear. And then, like of course, Alphonse done laughing completely. He go silent. “It your turn. You steppin up.”
Fearius dont have a answer but the one Alphonse make him give. “Bring it.”
18
Prancie dresses for a night out during Carnival season. She has no certain recollection of when she did this last. She would venture a guess of fifteen years at the very least.
Only half an hour ago tonight, she rose from their marital bed beside her sleeping husband and entered her closet to change into something appropriate for the outing.
This morning, Joe’s overseeing physician claimed that all preexisting tumors have been successfully removed with no additional signs of new polyps. Prancie cannot ‘wrap her head around’ such a notion. She holds on to the hope that the scourge has simply moved to a new and more lethal place of residence in Joe’s body that the doctors have yet to detect.
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