“Boy,” his daddy said, “all those beautiful women in California--millions of em! On a beach you can throw a stick in a crowd, knock two centerfolds upside the head. And you come back here with a goddamn orangutan!”
They--Ruth Ann, Shirley, Leonard--burst out laughing; not hee hee and haw haw, but full blown gut-holding laughter. Ruth Ann dropped to all fours, laughing so hard she started coughing and crying.
Robert Earl clutched his fist, unconsciously, as he had done that day, years ago, when his family had laughed in his and Estafay’s face.
He’d wanted to kill his daddy, put his hands around his scrawny throat and choke the life out of him. If Estafay hadn’t whispered in his ear, “Let’s go somewhere else, honey,” he might have done just that.
Estafay practically had to carry him back to the motel, three miles away, holding him up by the arm, urging him onward each step. Tears clouded his vision and he stumbled forward as if he were drunk.
Estafay walked in carrying grocery sacks in each arm, overlooking her ailing husband. He watched her put the sacks on the table and stock groceries.
Yes, Estafay was a tad on the frumpy side, more weight on the bottom than atop. The left side of her face was darker than the right, a color line zigzagging down the middle. Her large brown eyes were askew, the right a bit higher than the left, which conveyed a curious scowl.
Large nose, open-faced nostrils. Bad teeth, the uppers in exceptionally poor condition, two of which protruded out of her mouth even when closed.
She noticed him. “What happened?” she said, coming near.
Her forehead rather expansive, the hairline bordering the top of her head. He wondered how she would look in braid extensions instead of the unflattering style she favored, her short, auburn-colored hair, a tint of orange at the roots, parted in the middle and brushed down.
“What happened?” she asked again.
“The fag choked me!”
Estafay sat beside him, gently removed the towel and tenderly rubbed his neck.
She ain’t Halle Berry. Or Rihanna. But she ain’t a dang orangutan!
“Does it hurt?”
He grimaced. “Only when I exhale.”
“Why did he choke you?”
“Momma confessed to killing Daddy. I said something, can’t remember what. Next thing I know the fag snuck up behind me and started choking me.”
“Your mother confessed?”
“Sure did.”
“She didn’t do it.”
“She said she did. Why would she say she did if she didn’t?”
Estafay rewrapped the towel around his neck. “It’s just bruised. Should feel better in the morning. If not, we’ll go to Doctor Springer. You want a couple of aspirins?”
“I’ve already taken two.”
“Did Sheriff Bledsoe arrest your mother?”
“No. After Leonard and me got into it he ran us all out. A good thing ’cause I was fixin’ to wax Leonard’s ass real shiny.”
“There’s no reason to be profane.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We need to pray. Ask the Lord for strength, help us through this crisis.”
“Crisis?”
She gave him a stern look, eyes squinting, almost lining up evenly. “Yes, this is a crisis. Get on your knees.”
“Honey, my neck.”
“At least close your eyes.”
He did, though reluctantly. He didn’t like Estafay’s impromptu sanctimonious exultations, and he certainly didn’t enjoy joining in. He’d gone along with all of it--eight or nine different religious conversions--had even accompanied her to several revivals, not liking one bit all the chanting and shaking and shouting going on.
He opened his eyes.
Estafay knelt on the floor a few feet before him, rocking back and forth, hands clamped together, eyes clenched shut. She didn’t have a clue how gruesome she looked when she prayed.
“Ohhhhh Lord!” she shouted, and Robert Earl jumped. She held her hands overhead, as if waiting her chance to wave at a football game. He knew what was coming next, had seen it a thousand times, so he closed his eyes again. Estafay was convulsing, shaking harder than an overloaded washing machine. He heard a thud and forced himself to take a peek. She rolled on the floor, ankle-length white dress bunched up around her waist, revealing white cotton panties.
Rolled away from the coffee table…and then back again. Another thud. Can’t she feel her head hitting the table? Apparently not. He closed his eyes again, tighter.
Several thuds later she stopped. Robert Earl waited for her to say amen, and then he mumbled amen and opened his eyes.
“Did the Lord speak to you?” she asked, rubbing a spot on her head.
God, he hated when she asked him that. He nodded.
“He spoke to me, too,” Estafay said. “What did He tell you?”
“Uh…He told me to pray more often.”
Estafay stared at him for a beat. “Give Him the glory! You definitely should pray more than you do. He told me your mother didn’t kill your father.”
“Really?” Estafay shot him an icy look. He knew not to question her spiritual insights. If the Lord told her something, she’d explained a million times, then the least he could do was listen. “Uh…” searching for the right words, “…uh…did He happen to mention who did?”
Estafay stood up and brushed off her dress. “Yes, He did.”
Robert Earl waited.
Estafay said nothing, sat down in the wicker chair and picked up her Bible from an end table.
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Robert Earl very well knew but rarely voiced, Estafay’s spiritual messages were dead wrong. Once she’d been directed by divinity to invest all their meager savings in a venture called CowPatty.com, which attempted to sell manure via the Internet. What a stink!
“Well,” he said, “who do you think did it?”
“I don’t think, Robert, I know! The Lord told me.”
“Okay. Who did the Lord say did it?”
“Ruth Ann,” barely audible.
“Excuse me, I didn’t hear you.”
“Ruth Ann,” almost a shout.
Robert Earl shook his head. “Uh-uh. She’s too scary. A spider will send her into a conniption. Ruth Ann--are you sure?”
Estafay opened her Bible. “The Lord has spoken,” she said and began to read.
Chapter 10
Eric took off his wet clothes and hung them on the shower rod. Though Shirley had doused him an hour ago, his legs wouldn’t stop shaking. Stark naked he sat on the rim of the tub. He grabbed his right leg with both hands and tried to still the shaking.
Tap water! I just knew it was hot grease!
If Shirley had had an inkling the woman in question was Ruth Ann, then it would have been hot acid. His legs started shaking more than before, thighs jiggling like Jell-O.
He imagined himself in the hospital, burned head to toe, his skin shiny with butter or whatever the hell doctors applied to burn victims.
The doorbell rang. He got up and tiptoed to the front door and looked in the peephole. Darlene. He opened the door wide. Darlene gasped and stepped back. “Come on in, Darlene,” he invited, smiling.
Darlene looked stricken, not knowing where to rest her eyes. “I-I-I….” She quickly turned and skipped down the four steps, dismissively flipping her hand. “You should be ashamed,” she said. “Ashamed!”
Eric scoped the neighborhood. No one in sight except Mr. Joyner sitting on his porch.
He stepped outside. “What you come over here for? You know Shirley gone.”
She stopped, turned, flipped her braids back with a long fingernail and said, “For your bee’s wax, I came to give you a message.” Not once did she look at him, choosing to stare up at the sun, blazing hot and bright. “I’m going to tell Shirley what you doing.”
“Tell it, smell it, go downtown and sell it! What message?”
“Duane called and told me to tell you Sheriff Bledsoe is lookin
g for you.”
“Looking for me. For what?”
Darlene turned on her heels, braids fanning out behind her, and started toward her mobile home, only a few yards away.
In her doorway she stopped and looked him straight in the eye, a big smile on her face. “What rhymes with attempted rape?” she said, and slammed the door.
Eric went inside mumbling to himself, “Tempted fate…jail bait…suicide date…What the hell she talking about?”
Ruth Ann!
Sheriff Bledsoe thought he’d attempted to…He couldn’t finish the thought; the words were too ridiculous to associate with his name.
Eric Barnes and attempted rape in the same sentence--Ha! Women attacked him, not the other way around. Everyone knew that. Everyone except Sheriff Bledsoe, or he wouldn’t be looking for him.
In the bedroom he put on khaki shorts and a blue shirt. He checked his billfold. Two dollars. No better time than now to go to Little Rock and visit Uncle June. Stay a week or two.
What if Shirley got her share of the money while he was piddling around in Little Rock? She might put her ass in a bag, claim he deserted her and not give him a dime. With women you really needed to be there during the pivotal period, the interval between check deposited and check cleared.
Another disastrous possibility came to mind: Shirley finding out about him and Ruth Ann. He gulped. Shit! If that happened, not only would he lose a chance at the big money, he would have to change his name to Eric Burns.
A long while he sat on the bed, chewing his thumb. Finally the answer struck him. “Yeah!”
He would call Ruth Ann and demand she set the record straight. If she refused, he would threaten to tell Lester and Shirley everything--the cheap motels, the fantastic oral sex, the little trick she did with ice cubes.
Everythang!
He slid his feet into sandals and hurried next door to Darlene’s to use the phone.
“Hell no!” Darlene said, shaking her head. “You must think I’m a lollipop, a reusable sucker. I politely came over and delivered you a message, something I didn’t have to do, and you opened the door naked. Before that I needed to gain some weight. ‘Narrow-ass, don’t come back to my house no more.’ Go use somebody else’s phone.”
“Aw girl, you know I was just joking with you. Go get the phone and stop playing.” He showed her his best smile. “If you don’t I’ll tell Shirley how I really feel about you.”
She slammed the door in his face. He was taking the steps when the door opened again.
“Here,” Darlene said, putting the phone on the porch. “Use it out here. Don’t make a long distance call on my phone.”
“Is Jamaica long distance?” She slammed the door again.
Ruth Ann’s phone rang and rang. He wondered if she had also gone to the jail.
He started to hang up when someone answered. “Hello.” A man’s voice.
In falsetto voice, Eric said, “Is Mrs. Ruth Ann there? Can she come to the phone?”
“Who is this?”
Before Eric could respond, Paul rode up on his bike. “Daddy, can I ride my bike to the store?”
Eric covered the mouthpiece: “I don’t give a damn!” Resuming falsetto voice: “Linda.”
“She’s not here. Would you like to leave a--wait a minute, that’s probably her coming in now. Hold on for a sec, I’ll go see.”
Lester, Eric thought, what a wimp. “Hey, Lester, what gives good head and has a mole on her tail? Got you stumped, Hot Lips? Here’s another clue, the answer rhymes with your wife.” He laughed.
“Hello,” Ruth Ann said.
“It’s me, Eric.”
“Oh, Linda. What a surprise. How you doing?”
“You need to call Sheriff Bledsoe and set him straight. Today. Right now!”
“Girl, you don’t know how surprised I am to hear from you. It’s a shock, I tell you, a real shock. I don’t know what to say.”
“What? Is Lester nearby?”
“You got that right. How’s your mother--”
“Tell Lester to move his ass!”
“--doing? Good. I’m glad to hear she’s doing fine.”
“I need to see you so we can straighten this--”
“No thanks.”
“Tell Lester go outside and play with hisself.”
“Girl, I couldn’t do that.” Eric heard a door shut in the background, then Ruth Ann said, “Why the fuck you calling my house?”
“Sheriff Bledsoe’s looking for me. He thinks I tried to rape you.”
“Not my problem,” and hung up. Eric called right back and she picked up on the first ring. “What is your problem? What is your problem? It’s over! Why can’t you understand that? It’s over. O-V-E-R! Understand? Stop calling my house!”
“Uh-huh. Guess I’ll tell Shirley and Lester about our little four-year fling. Wonder how Lester will react when I describe the birthmark on your yingying. You don’t think he might try to off hisself again, do you?” He paused to let that sink in.
Adopting Alex Trebek’s voice, he said, “Sorry, Lester, though you gave the correct answer to Who Gives The Best Head West of the Mississippi, you should’ve put the answer in the form of a question. Who Is Ruth Ann, my wife?”
“I will kill you, you sick sonofabitch!” Ruth Ann hissed. “I swear I will!”
“Yeah, I know you will. Let’s not forget Shirley. You remember her, don’t you? You have any idea how much she looks up to you? Always talking Ruth Ann did this, Ruth Ann did that. She wants to lose weight and be just like you one day. Skinny and scandalous. It’ll break her heart when I tell her the skills dear Ruthie has with a string of beads.”
Ruth Ann laughed. “You’re so full of shit…so full of shit! You had me going with the threat to tell Lester. You and I both know you’re not telling Shirley a damn thing. You do and she’ll stomp your ass a hole in the ground.”
This wasn’t going as he expected. Yes, she was right, no way in this lifetime would he tell Shirley a word of him and another woman. He tried to think of a snotty rejoinder. “Uh…”
“Listen, Eric. You leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone. This is not necessary.”
“Are you going to call Sheriff Bledsoe and clear my name?”
“I’ll call him. But don’t ever call here again! Is that understood?”
“No problem. Just one more thing…meet me at the motel one last time. Please! Meet me one last time.”
“Are you crazy? Seriously, are you crazy? I said it was over and you can’t comprehend the fact. It’s over, Eric. Get it through your thick head!”
Just then Shirley drove Darlene’s car into the yard. “Gotta go,” he said, and hung up.
“Who were you talking to?” Shirley asked.
“I was trying to get hold of Sheriff Bledsoe. What happened with your mother?”
Darlene stepped outside. “Shirley, is everything all right?”
Shirley walked up the steps and handed her the keys. “Thanks, Darlene. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about it.”
“Tell me about it,” Eric said. “Tell me about it now. Is she charged with murder? Not that I want her to be--you know we need the money.”
Shirley and Darlene both gave him a look. They stepped inside and once again Darlene slammed the door in his face.
Chapter 11
Leonard and his mother sat opposite each other at the kitchen table, a half-eaten apple pie between them.
“It’s for the best,” Leonard said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “They’ll only serve as a painful reminder. I also think we should sell the truck.”
Ida groaned. “Your daddy loved his truck. Each morning he got up at five o’clock and washed it, even when it was raining.” She sighed. “His clothes, I don’t think he could stand someone wearing them.”
“Mother…Daddy is…” What’s the right word here? “He’s at rest. He wouldn’t want you keeping his stuff when doing so caused you more sorrow. Trust me, okay? I’ll handle everything.”
Ida looked at him through puffy, red eyes. “I…” she started, couldn’t finish.
Leonard crossed to her and hugged her. “This will pass, Mother. It’ll pass in time.” He held her for a while. “Come on, let’s go into the living room and watch something funny.” He helped her to her feet. “There’s a comedy show on BET I know you’ll like.”
“Is it on satellite?”
“No. Not in Chicago, it isn’t.”
“We don’t have satellite. Your daddy said cable is cheaper.” She sat on the couch and Leonard couldn’t tell if she or it sighed.
“Anything in particular you’d like to watch?”
Ida didn’t respond, just sat there staring blankly. He channel-surfed and stopped at an Everybody Hates Chris rerun. “This is funny. Have you seen it?”
She shook her head. “Turn to The Discovery Channel. Your daddy loved to watch it.”
On The Discovery Channel, three lions chased a boar into a hole. “You sure you want to watch this?”
“Yes.” Leonard started to leave the room when she said, “I thought you were going to watch with me.”
“Yes, sure, Mother.”
The lions took turns inspecting the hole into which the boar escaped. Then, squealing for dear life, the boar shot out, only to be instantly pounced upon and seized by the throat by one of the lions. The feast began.
Leonard thought he might be sick.
“Leonard, you know he loved you.”
“Who?” Leonard said, unable to pry his eyes away from the television.
“Your daddy. He loved you. He just couldn’t say it. Men like your daddy have a hard time saying I love you. He loved all his children.”
“Who did he love the--” He caught himself.
“He loved you all. He and Ruth Ann were extremely close. Ruth Ann has a way with men. Always has, even when she was a little girl. You can’t blame your father.”
“I’m not blaming him, Mother. I was just curious. Speaking of curious…” Venturing into uncharted territory: his mother and he had never discussed his sexual orientation, and now seemed a good time as any to broach the subject.
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