by Mary Monroe
My plan was to make it sound like the situation with Uncle Ed had been going on for a while. It didn’t take me long to come up with a reply to her e-mail.
Hello, Lola,
I apologize for not communicating with you before now but I am currently involved in a serious family situation. My elderly uncle Ed, who lives in Chicago, is dying. He and I are very close, and I love him dearly. He called me the day after my coffee date with you and told me the bad news. A few hours later, I was on a plane. I want to spend as much time with him as possible while I still can. I’ve been busy trying to put his affairs in order and assist him in every other way. These matters are very stressful and time-consuming. I haven’t been thinking clearly, so I’ve been out of touch with a lot of people. I returned to California yesterday and his nurse called me up a few hours after I got home to tell me that he’d taken a turn for the worse. Now his days are literally numbered. I will be returning to Chicago tomorrow for the last time.
I will talk to you soon and hope to see you soon. And I enjoyed meeting you, too.
Regards,
Calvin
I was glad I had only slightly altered the truth. If Lola was a righteous woman, she’d feel sorry enough for me to put things on hold until I got back to her. I felt unbearably sad about my uncle, but my life still had to go on.
Less than three minutes after I hit the send button, Lola sent me another e-mail. I didn’t like to judge people, but her message was rife with misspelled words and unnecessary symbols. No wonder she was stuck in a dead-end job in that Mickey Mouse grocery store.
Hello again Calvin!@
It was so nice to see a message in my inbox from you. I’m hoppy to know you didn’t forget about me!@&#%. I am so sorry to here about your uncle. Unfortunately, we all have to go sooner or later. As you know, I lost both my parents wen I was very young so I know what grief feels like. Take care of yourself and your uncle’s business. If you want to see me when you return from Chicago, let me know. Lola XOXOX
I was glad that she had not included another one of those silly smiley face symbols at the end of her message this time. The ones she did include were annoying enough. I shook my head and closed her message. I played part of it over and over in my head until I went to bed. We all have to go sooner or later were the words that stood out the most. She was right! I couldn’t have said it better myself! Bitch, you’re going to go sooner rather than later. . . .
Chapter 14
Lola
I LOOKED AT THE MESSAGE THAT I’D SENT TO CALVIN AND CRINGED when I saw the clumsy sentences and typos. When I’d started typing it, I was so excited I couldn’t think straight and hit a few keys by mistake. It looked like something a third grader had composed! And I’d been so anxious to send him a prompt reply I had not taken the time to proofread it first. Well, it was too late now.
During the few moments I had spent reading Calvin’s message and sending him a reply, I’d received a message from Joan. She asked me to call her either later today or sometime tomorrow. I had promised Bertha that I’d drive to her church and a few other places and give her a perm before it got too late, so I decided to wait until tomorrow and call Joan when I got to work.
Monday morning between nine and eleven, I ducked into the restroom several times and tried to reach Joan on her cell phone. Each call went straight to voice mail.
A few minutes before I clocked out to go home that evening, I called her cell phone again, and she still didn’t answer. I assumed she was busy doing chores, on an extended shopping trip, or on a date and had turned her cell phone off. I reluctantly called her landline. I was so disappointed when her mother-in-law answered.
It wasn’t that I disliked Reed’s mother, but she was one lady who could really give you a run for your money. Joan called her all kinds of colorful names behind her back—dragon lady, battle-axe, and bad news bear were just a few. Mrs. Riley was one of those snobby, old black women who looked down on black women on my level. Her idea of a “good time” was hanging out with her friends at garden parties and political events. Just from the things Joan had told me about her and from the few conversations I’d had with Mrs. Riley, she couldn’t understand why all black folks were not doing as well as her family. Reed’s father, a retired dentist, was not nearly as bad as his wife. Except to play golf and visit his doctor, he rarely left the house, so Joan saw him only every now and then. He was mild-mannered and dull but fairly pleasant enough. The few times I’d been in his presence I could tell that he was just as uncomfortable around folks from the hood as his wife. And every now and then he said something stupid to Joan. “My son could have married a girl with more education and class than you, but he loves you, so you’ll do, I guess.” She told me that her father-in-law had made that insensitive remark out of the blue last Thanksgiving in the middle of the lavish dinner his wife had prepared for their family and a bunch of their snobby friends. Joan and Reed had laughed it off, but the other guests gasped and traded horrified looks with one another. I couldn’t figure out how Reed had ended up with such an outgoing personality and been brave enough to marry a ghetto princess.
“Hello, Mrs. Riley,” I greeted with my voice cracking. “This is Lola.”
“Oh.” Her indifference didn’t even faze me.
“Is Joan available?”
“No, she’s not here.”
“Uh, will she be back soon?”
“Only God knows. She left here a few minutes ago. She’s supposed to be on her way to a book club meeting in Oakland. I don’t remember the last time I saw her crack open a decent book. But then again, I can understand why she reads that loathsome mess she does read. . . .” Joan and I both had similar tastes when it came to books. Our favorites included Mary B. Morrison, Trice Hickman, ReShonda Tate Billingsley, Victoria Christopher Murray, and most of the other popular African American authors. The Riley family read the stale classics that we’d been forced to read in high school, and a lot of nonfiction riffraff that could bore a person like me to tears.
“The book club! Oh—that’s right! I forgot she told me about that,” I exclaimed. Joan had some explaining to do. Her joining a book club was news to me. If she had to lie to her mother-in-law about where she was going, there was only one reason: She had a date. “When she gets back, please have her give me a call. Bye, Mrs. Riley. Have a blessed day.”
“Lola, every day I wake up is a blessed day. I don’t need you to tell me that. Good-bye.” Nothing this old lady said surprised me. I was glad to end this awkward conversation. I made a mental note that for all my future calls to Joan’s landline, I’d block my telephone number. If Mrs. Riley or Reed answered, I’d just hang up.
I put my phone into my purse and waltzed out of the restroom and over to the meat counter. I picked out a large package of smoked turkey necks, a bucket of the dreaded chitlins, and a few other items that Bertha had requested. A few minutes later, I clocked out and began the five-block walk home.
My mind was in a tizzy. I was glad I had heard from Calvin, and I was anxious to let Joan know that he did want to see me again after all. I was just as anxious to scold her over not telling me about the date she was on and the “book club” thing. How did she expect me to keep covering for her if she didn’t keep me in the loop when she was up to no good? I rarely went on a date without her knowing about it!
Joan’s mother-in-law was number one on my list when it came to “bad news bears,” but my stepsister, Libby, tied that spot with her. I groaned when I spotted her car parked in front of the house when I reached my block. If I happened to be home when she came, she usually ignored me or said something unflattering about me. She usually stayed just long enough to tell her mother her latest tale of woe that always involved her needing money. In a typical month, the total amount of money Bertha “loaned” to Libby and Marshall was more than all of our other expenses combined. Bertha’s children had no shame whatsoever. They had been bleeding her dry as long as I could remember.
I was tempte
d to walk around the neighborhood until Libby left. But the grocery bag was heavy and my feet were on fire from standing all day. I dragged myself up onto the front porch like I was about to face a firing squad. When I opened the door, I was glad to see that Libby was on her way out. Her appearance was as outlandish as ever. The long, flat weave hanging off her head resembled a beaver’s tail. It was pathetic to see a lumpy woman like her in outfits like the brown jumpsuit she had on. With the red Windbreaker she wore over it, she looked like Winnie-the-Pooh.
“Hey, Lola!” she greeted with a fake smile. Then she looked me up and down with a curious expression on her pie-shaped mug, which had way too much makeup on it. “Girl, the buttons on your blouse look like they are going to pop any minute. I guess that diet you told me you started last month isn’t working, huh?” This was a strange comment coming from a woman who outweighed me by at least thirty pounds. But almost everything about me that came out of Libby’s mouth was strange.
“I only stayed on it a week,” I replied.
“I hope you find one you can stick to someday,” she sneered. Then her eyes rolled up to my hair. “And another thing, you need to go back to wearing braids so your face won’t look so pudgy. Well, gotta run! It was nice to see you. Bye!” She tapped the top of my head with her hand before she scurried off the porch.
I shook my head and stumbled into the house. I could hear Bertha banging pots and pans together in the kitchen. She didn’t even look up from the sink when I entered and dropped the heavy grocery bag onto the table with a loud thud.
“Libby should lay off those sweets, or she’ll be borrowing money from you again to get another liposuction procedure,” I commented.
“Libby is big-boned. Just like me and most of the women in my family,” Bertha said in an exhausted voice. She still had not turned around to face me.
“How much did she borrow this time?” I asked. I walked over to Bertha and put my hands on her shoulders. The look on her face was so sad. I cared about her, so when she was sad I experienced the same emotion, but not this time. Because of Calvin, I was on cloud nine. I was not about to let Libby’s rude remarks, or anything else, burst my bubble.
“Just a grand,” Bertha murmured.
“You gave her ‘just a grand’ two weeks ago. And Marshall came to get a grand three days ago,” I wailed.
I had no idea how much money Bertha had, but she was a long way from the poor house. In addition to her divorce settlement, her monthly pension, and Social Security checks, Daddy had made her the only beneficiary on his life insurance policy. She never told me how much it was, but she had given me five thousand dollars as a present when I graduated. And, according to the neighborhood gossips, forty-five years ago when Bertha’s only brother died in a helicopter crash while he was stationed in Vietnam, she received a huge settlement from the army, and most of it was still sitting in her bank. No matter how much she had, I resented the fact that her children were grabbing it with both hands.
“Lola, it’s only money. My babies need it more than I do. Besides, I am not going to live forever and I can’t take it with me.”
“Bertha, I know it’s none of my business, but Libby and Marshall are coming to get money twice as often—and twice as much—as before.”
“So what, Lola? That’s my business.”
“I know it is, but I care about you. I don’t like people taking advantage of you—especially your own children.”
Bertha dropped her head and looked at the floor for a few seconds. When she looked back up at me, I was not surprised to see tears in her tortured eyes.
“Lola, I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you,” she mumbled. “I know I’ve depended on you a lot since your daddy died. I appreciate the fact that you continue to honor the promise you made to him that you would take care of me for the rest of my life.”
A lump formed in my throat. That wretched “promise” was my least favorite subject. Before I could say anything else, Bertha said the last thing I expected to hear from her. “You know, a woman your age should have a love life.”
The comment was unexpected and bizarre. It made me so lightheaded you could have knocked me over with a feather. I didn’t know how to respond. “Huh?” I croaked.
“You’re pretty and you’re smart. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why you haven’t had a real boyfriend in years.”
Chapter 15
Lola
BERTHA’S MEMORY WAS NOT AS SHARP AS IT USED TO BE. TWO OR three times a week she misplaced her keys, went out of the house without her false teeth, and she even forgot the names of people we’d known for years. Apparently, she also “forgot” how often she had sabotaged my relationships with men.
“A real boyfriend? What do you mean by that?” I asked dumbly.
“Well, I’m an old woman now, but I remember what it was like to be young. I’ve noticed that you haven’t had much of a social life in quite a while. You were pretty fast when you were younger. But you’ve slowed down so much in the past couple of years, it doesn’t seem, uh, natural.” Bertha dipped her head and peered at me with her eyes blinking rapidly. “You’re not, uh, I mean, you still like men, don’t you?” I didn’t know how to interpret the look of pity on her face. In all the years I’d known her, this was one of the most peculiar conversations we’d ever had.
I couldn’t decide if she was asking me if I was a lesbian or not. I promptly answered her odd question. “Yes, I still like men. But it’s been a long time since I met one I really liked.” I paused because I was stunned by her insinuation. “You’re wrong if you think I suddenly turned into a lesbian.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. With you not showing much interest in men lately, I guess I got a little confused,” Bertha said, giving me an apologetic look.
I had to hold my breath to keep from laughing. Last month I hooked up with three club members. And last night I finalized my plans to spend time with a businessman from Connecticut in a few days. Since I couldn’t bring any of my club member dates to the house, Bertha didn’t have a clue about my very active social life with men. It was no wonder she thought I had “slowed down so much.” Unless my dates took place on a Saturday or Sunday during the day, I went out only at night, after she had gone to bed.
“I know that some man, like that truck driver you met at the mall and had coffee with, is going to sweep you off your feet one of these days.” Bertha paused, sniffed, and gave me a pleading look. Then she continued talking in a weak, hollow voice that almost brought tears to my eyes. “I just hope you don’t let any man come between us. . . .”
I knew her well enough to know that she was fishing for another major, life-altering “promise” from me. I was still in a mild state of shock because of the one I’d made to Daddy, so there was no way I was going to make another one if I could help it. To this day, I still couldn’t believe that I’d been coerced into making a commitment that had become more and more difficult for me to keep. I hadn’t even told Joan, but I had told myself that the next time I fell in love with a man who wanted to marry me, I was not even going to tell Bertha about it until the wedding plans had been finalized. That way, she would have no choice but to go along with whatever my new husband and I offered if she was determined to continue clinging to me. Ironically, I hoped that my future husband would accept Bertha as an extension of me so she wouldn’t have to live alone, go into a nursing home, or fall back on her useless children. As morbid a thought as it was, I reminded myself periodically that Bertha was not going to live forever. . . .
I gave her a tight smile, but I remained silent.
She blinked her eyes a few more times and continued. “When you get married, I can rent out the house. You, me, and your husband can move into an apartment for a while—unless he’s got his own house. I’ve lived in this house since my first marriage, and I know a change of scenery would do me a world of good.”
Bertha never ceased to amaze me. Very few things she said surprised me anymor
e. “It could be a whole lot of years before I get married. But if you need a change of scenery and want to live among people your age, you can move into that new senior citizen complex on Grimly Street. My bosses just moved there, and they love it.” I couldn’t wait to see her reaction.
She gulped, and her mouth dropped open so wide, it looked like a manhole. She looked so terrified, you would have thought she’d just been handed a death sentence. And, in a way, I guess that’s exactly what it was as far as she was concerned. “With the rapists and other criminals breaking in on senior citizens every time I turn around, I know you don’t think I would want to live in a place all by myself! If a crazed maniac kicked my door down one night, I wouldn’t have a chance in hell. Are you telling me you don’t want me to live with you when you get married?”
“No, I am not saying that. You know I’m going to always have your back. But the way my love life is going, I may be old enough to move into a senior citizens place myself before somebody marries me.” I was dead serious, but I forced myself to laugh. The irony of my last statement was that it was true. Even though I had men coming out of my ears, I was no closer to marriage than I was ten years ago. Or was I?
“What about that truck driver? I could tell by the way your eyes lit up when you first told me about him, that he might become special to you.”
“Uh, I have to get to know Calvin better first. His first marriage ended in divorce, so I don’t know how he feels about getting married again. Anyway, he gave me the impression that he likes being single for now.” This was a smart comment to make in case my relationship with Calvin didn’t go beyond a bed in a hotel room—if that.
“Humph. I guess you can’t expect too much from a man who is brazen enough to walk up to a strange woman in a mall and get friendly enough with her to buy her a cup of coffee, right?”