Disappearing Acts

by Terry McMillan

“You make me sick,” I said when he came back.

  “Don’t get so upset, baby. It ain’t over till the fat lady sing.”

  He won, of course. Next time I won’t be so easy on him. I put the game away, and we ate and watched the news.

  “Oh, I forgot to ask you: You want to go to a brunch with me Sunday afternoon?”

  “A what?”

  “A brunch.”

  “Is it gon’ be a bunch of uppity black folks drinking white wine, eating pâté and crackers, talking about what’s going on on Wall Street?”

  “Is that really what you think a brunch is?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t mean to sound so cynical, but to tell the truth, I usually work out on Sunday afternoons, plus there’s another good fight coming on. For the title. I’ll let you know, though, baby.”

  “It should be fun, Franklin, and besides, I’d like you to meet some of my friends.”

  “I’ve got a confession to make,” he said. His face was somber now. I wanted him to tell me everything, because that would mean he trusted me, could talk to me. He turned away so I couldn’t see his face. “I’m not the person you think I am.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I know you grew up in Staten Island, you’ve got two sisters, you’re a sports fanatic, you want to start your own carpentry business one day, you’re good with your hands, smart, a fantastic lover, and you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “I killed my first two wives.”

  My throat felt like I’d just swallowed a whole cough drop. Relax, Zora, I thought. He’s kidding.

  “And I’ve been to prison for it.”

  Now I knew this had to be some kind of prank. I hadn’t forgotten what Vinney had said about Franklin being a jokester. Besides, I couldn’t possibly have fallen in love with a murderer and an ex-convict, could I? “You did what? Franklin, don’t play these kinds of games with me.”

  He just looked at me, dead serious, his black eyes shining like jet. Shit, I should’ve listened to Portia. But no, I always have to dive in heart first. I looked over at the door and was thinking about getting the hell out of here, but I couldn’t move. Here I was thinking that I’d finally found Mr. Right. How stupid could I be? And he’s been married? Twice?

  I was so busy tossing all this stuff back and forth in my head that it took a moment before I realized he was laughing, just like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Franklin had a sinister look on his face and started coming toward me, but I jumped up from the couch and ran into the closet. “Get away from me!” I screamed through the door. This kind of shit only happened in the movies, not in real life. I started feeling light-headed, but I wasn’t about to have a damn fit now. I shook my head, took a few deep breaths, and closed my eyes to regain my composure. “This is not happening,” I said over and over in my head.

  “Baby,” he said, “I’m just playing.”

  I didn’t believe him, and I wasn’t about to come out of this closet until I could figure out what to do next.

  “Come on out, baby. Can’t you take a joke? I’m just jiving with you, I swear to God.”

  “How do I know you’re joking, Franklin?” I peeked out through the crack in the door and cut my eyes at him. Then I eased the door open a little more, because he had the stupidest grin on his face. That’s when I knew he was kidding. I pushed the door open, ran over to the kitchen sink, picked up a wet dishcloth, and threw it in his face. “What a low-down, dirty, rotten, coldhearted trick to play on someone who was about to tell you that she loves you.”

  “You what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, Franklin Swift—if that’s your real name. I swear, don’t ever pull a stunt like that on me again, Franklin. It wasn’t funny. Not one bit.”

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist. You was really scared, though, wasn’t you?”

  “Of course I was scared! I was just about to get a coat hanger and beat the shit out of you! At least give it my best shot. I know one thing—I wasn’t about to act like those dizzy women in the movies who fall down in the middle of nowhere or act helpless. No siree. You would’ve been in trouble, buster.”

  “I’m sorry, really,” he said. He laughed some more, then put his arms around me. And for some stupid reason, I felt quite safe.

  * * *

  It’s been three weeks since we started seeing each other, and now some of Franklin’s clothes are in my closet. He only goes home to do woodworking and feed his fish. I still haven’t been to his apartment, but it’s to the point now where I don’t care where he lives. I can’t seem to do without his company. We never did make it to that brunch. Franklin’s throat was sore, and I didn’t want to leave him like that. I’ve been avoiding Portia ever since.

  He just walked out of the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist, and was dripping water all over the floor.

  “Franklin, please don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Drip water all over the floor like that.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. This is just a habit. I never dry all the way off. I’m a drip-dry man. These floors can take it, believe me.”

  “Can I ask you something I’ve been kind of curious about?”

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “Two things in particular.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Did you have a girlfriend when you started seeing me, or what?”

  “Nope. I told you I’d just started my vacation from women.”

  “I find that hard to believe. I mean, someone as handsome and available as you.”

  “Well, I ain’t completely available.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that even though I’ve been legally separated for the past six years, I’m still married.”

  He didn’t just say what I thought he said, but maybe I didn’t hear him good, since my ears were ringing. “Franklin, did you just say you’re married?”

  “I don’t think of myself as being married.”

  “Let me get this straight. But you’re not divorced.”

  “Not yet.”

  Lord, not a married man, and a liar too. Right this minute, I had lockjaw. I mean, I’ve been tricked before, but never by a married one. So I guess I’m not supposed to care because I’m in love, is that it? I wanted to walk over and knuckle his damn ears.

  “That’s why I’m glad I got this new job. I can probably get in the union, and then I can afford to pay for the divorce. In the six years since I left, I just never met a woman that made me even think about going through with it, until now.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth, Zora, I swear. I wouldn’t lie about some shit like this, really.”

  “You’ve been lying to me all this time, Franklin.”

  “I haven’t lied to you about nothin’; I just didn’t tell you the whole truth. There is a difference. I was gon’ tell you when the time was right.”

  “Which would’ve been when?”

  “I guess when we got to where we are right now.”

  “Which is where?”

  “I love you, and you know it.”

  That much I did believe. Being legally separated wasn’t quite the same as being really married, was it? Before I got comfortable with the idea, I wanted to find out all the details. “How long were you married?”

  “Six years.”

  “I know you’ve got kids, right?”

  “Two”

  “Two?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How old?”

  “Thirteen and seven.”

  “What are they?”

  “Two boys.”

  “Do you ever see ’em?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You haven’t seen ’em since you’ve been seeing me, that much I know. That’s not right, Franklin.”

  “I’ve seen ’em a few times. Whenever I said I had to m
ake a run, that’s usually where I was going.”

  “So why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want to scare you away.”

  “Kids don’t scare me, but a wife does.”

  “I’m telling you, she ain’t been my wife in six years. I can’t even stand to be in the same room with her.”

  Faith. That’s what I needed about now. Something was telling me he wasn’t lying, but the last thing I want to be is a fool.

  “I want to meet your kids,” I said, without even realizing I was going to say it.

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re your kids, that’s why. Why not?”

  “I’m not used to this, that’s all. Ain’t no woman never wanted to meet my kids before. I guess you’ll meet ’em one day.”

  “I said there were two things I was curious about. What college did you go to?”

  He got the most agitated look on his face, and then he took the towel and started drying himself off, although it was clear that he was already dry.

  “I didn’t go to no college. I thought that was obvious.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Franklin. As intelligent as you are?”

  “College ain’t got nothin’ to do with intelligence, Zora.”

  “But some of the words you use in Scrabble? You’ve got a comment about everything we listen to on the news. You beat me at Baby Boom Trivial Pursuit, “Wheel of Fortune,” “Family Feud,” and you’re standing here telling me you didn’t go to any college whatsoever?”

  “If you wanna know the whole truth, I didn’t graduate from high school either.”

  This was too much to digest for one night. Shit, I needed some air. I stood right in front of the fan, then turned it on high. “Do your homework, girl,” Claudette had said. Homework. I took a deep breath and looked at him. “Why didn’t you finish high school, Franklin?”

  “Couldn’t stand the pressure.”

  “Just how long were you able to stand the pressure?”

  “Eleventh grade.”

  “Eleventh grade?” I immediately thought about how little I knew when I was in the eleventh grade. I couldn’t believe it. I had fallen in love with a lie. If he wasn’t so big, I would’ve kicked his ass, I swear it.

  “I know what you thinking, baby. That you way outta my league, right?”

  “I don’t know what I’m thinking, Franklin.”

  “I did get my GED.”

  I flopped down on the couch. GED?

  “I’m trying to get into this trade school, seriously. I told you about it. But now that I started this new job, I don’t know when I’ma be able to check it out.”

  “Really?” I looked at him suspiciously. He looked sad.

  “So I guess that what they say is true,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “That money and status and education and all that shit counts more than what people feel about each other, right?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “No, but you thinkin’ it.”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said. I put my hands under my chin and just looked at him. Franklin looked scared. Really scared. For some stupid reason, I started thinking about the yardstick friends like Portia and women’s magazines used to measure a man’s worth. They measure wrong. I mean, standing right here in front of me was a man, and a man who loves me, who just opened himself up and took a chance by telling me the truth. How many of them have told me the truth? And when was the last time I met a man this smart, this sexy, this gentle, this strong? How long has it been since any man made me feel this special, this beautiful? How many of ’em have made me laugh so much? How many of ’em have had opinions about everything? And how many of ’em have made my body say yes with just the touch of a hand? I looked at Franklin some more. Damn, not only was he black as midnight and my kind of handsome, but it just hit me that he’s my man. I love him. I don’t care if he never goes to college. I don’t care how many kids he has. As long as he makes me happy, makes me feel glad I’m a woman, and as long as he keeps his word and gets his divorce, I’ll be here forever. So far, he’s been the only man I’ve seen beside me when I have dreams that happen twenty years from now.

  He lit a cigarette and took two drags before he exhaled.

  “Franklin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want you to know something. I don’t love you any less now than I did fifteen minutes ago. I’m going to trust you, and hold you at your word as far as the divorce goes.”

  “It’s in the works,” he said, looking more relaxed.

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “I would hope so.”

  “To be perfectly honest, I’ve always wanted a man I could grow with, you know. I mean, we’re sort of starting from scratch.”

  “You a few steps ahead of me, baby. Let’s not kid ourselves.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion. But tell me, is there anything else I should know?”

  “No, baby,” he said. “This is me, butt naked.” He put out his cigarette. “Now what about you? You holding any cards under the table?”

  I took a deep breath. Being married was one thing—he could get a divorce and solve that problem. But telling him about the epilepsy might just shock him. Besides, it may never come back. I’ll tell him when I’m absolutely positive that it won’t make any difference. And since being fat was no longer an issue, why mention it? So I said, “No,” and tried my best to look sincere.

  6

  Zora bought me one of those Sunset Books on how to be a carpenter, plus she sent away for all kinds of information from the Small Business Association on how to start my own business. I wish she wouldn’t do that shit. As soon as my constitution is stronger—when I can send Pam some money every week for the kids, pay for my divorce, get a few dollars in the bank, and be driving somethin’—I can do all this shit myself. I know she trying to be helpful and everything, but I gotta get her to understand that I gotta do things in my own way and in my own time frame. Right now the timing just ain’t right. Hell, I ain’t been working but a month. They paying me thirteen a hour, and since it ain’t under the table, the IRS is eating my ass up in taxes. It’s been a long time since I had this much money in my pocket on a Friday, and I swear, it feels good.

  All I been doing is playing catch-up. I was two months behind in the rent on my room, and hell, sixty dollars a week adds up. After I cleared that up, paid a few other outstanding debts, I mailed Pam enough money to keep her off my back for a while. I didn’t feel like looking at her. I still been able to put at least fifty dollars a week in a savings account. Today, though, when I cashed my check, I didn’t put nothin’ in but withdrew a hundred instead. I got a surprise for Zora. She been gone all day, getting her lesson plans in order. School starts next Monday, and her voice classes start the week after that.

  She’s nervous as all hell. Been eating like it’s going out of style. Just as long as she don’t start getting fat, I ain’t saying nothin’.

  I decided to cook dinner tonight. I can burn when it comes to broiling steaks. I made some gooey-ass Rice a Roni and a dynamite salad. Forgot the vegetable, but Zora didn’t say nothin’. She ate everything I put on her plate. Afterwards, we watched the news, which should really be called “Showtime,” since they spend more time interviewing movie stars and rock ’n’ roll stars these days. But this is New York City, and they can’t help but squeeze in all the fucked-up shit that’s going on before they ask some old-ass actress why she decided to put all her—and everybody else’s—fuckin’ business in a book.

  They gave the homeless about forty seconds.

  “That’s a damn shame,” Zora said.

  “I agree,” was all I said. I just knew she would be able to tell something was up, ’cause she know I always got plenty to say when shit like this come on the news. Hell, sometimes we miss the rest of the show ’cause we end up debating half the night about something that was just covered, when we coul
d be fuckin’. If Zora got a position, she holds on to it. I really like that shit. Sometimes we get loud. Tonight, though, I was too excited to debate, and couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when I gave her her surprise.

  “Koch should be ousted,” she said. “Wasting the taxpayers’ money on those nasty hotels when they could probably build a damn housing complex and put those people in real apartments, you know. Twenty-five hundred dollars a month for a room? With rats and roaches and no heat? Give me a break. I mean, really, Franklin, does this make any sense to you?”

  “Naw, but what they supposed to do when they ain’t got nowhere else to go?”

  “Don’t they have families?”

  “Probably. But shit, a lotta their families probably living in the same kind of nasty-ass, cramped-up tenements they just got burned out of. You saw them people. Did it look like they had relatives on the Upper West Side or in Westchester somewhere?”

  “It still doesn’t make an ounce of sense. People living on the streets, and with kids! And here I am, living like a princess or something. There’s just something immoral about all of it.”

  “Well, ain’t no sense in you feeling all guilty ’cause you taking care of yourself. Let’s face it, baby: In this world, there’s the haves and the have-nots. Actors and reactors. But this shit here is all about bureaucracy. Everybody know how that shit works. You pay somebody and they pay somebody and they pay somebody to keep the circle moving inside the circle. The city don’t give a shit about those people. They don’t wanna solve the homeless problem ’cause it’s too goddamn profitable. Motherfuckers gotta keep up their mortgage payments in Sag Harbor and shit. You saw what color most of ’em was, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, anybody can see that, but I swear. I’d never even heard of this kind of stuff until I moved here.”

  “Well, it’ll get worse before it gets better.” I had already said more than I had planned to. And don’t nothin’ piss me off more than talking about something I can’t do nothin’ about. The mood was getting too heavy, and I wanted to lighten it up some. “You feel like a game of Scrabble, baby?”

  “Not tonight, Franklin.”

  I got up from the couch and pulled her by the hands to her feet. “What are you doing?” she asked, laughing.