Disappearing Acts

by Terry McMillan

  Another dude spoke to both of us. “Y’all bloods know what the deal is, don’t you?”

  “No,” I said.

  The other dude shook his head.

  “We been bought and sold.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, man?” I asked, even though I sorta already knew.

  “Check it out, brothers. Look who’s being laid off. Us. The men with the black skin. They talking that contract shit, but that ain’t it. A Dream got too many of us on this site. They nervous ’cause we costing ’em too much money. Why pay us twelve or fourteen dollars a hour when they can hire some Spicks or Chinks or Polacks who just got off the boat, who most likely can’t even read or write, and willing to—happy to—work for five or six dollars an hour? Y’all figure it out.”

  I couldn’t say nothin’. This is the kinda shit that makes you wanna kill somebody—’cause you powerless. And you can’t do nothin’ about it ’cause it’s the kinda shit you can’t prove. I kicked off my work boots and put on my sneakers.

  “A black man just can’t get ahead, can he, man?” the other brother said, as he walked out and slammed the door. The whole shanty shook. I swear, if I could do something else that paid me this kinda money, I’d be doing it. But strength is my biggest skill, and you don’t need no college degree to sling bricks or dig holes. All you need is muscle. And I always hear ’em thinking, That nigger looks like Paul Bunyan. Take him.

  I put on my baseball cap, said, “Later,” to the other dude, and left. I caught the subway home, and it seemed like it was full of black men who looked mad at the world. I know I musta looked just like ’em.

  Shit. Next Friday is Zora’s birthday. Yeah, I gave her the money for her piano and shit, but I still ain’t paid for a morsel of food or helped her with the rent yet. I owed her that piano. She still practicing every night too. That’s what I call dedication. And I love listening to her. It’s like having a live concert in your house every night. I wish I could say we was living together, but we ain’t made it official yet. I’m gon’ have to do something, though, ’cause paying rent on a room I hardly ever sleep in is getting to be a little fuckin’ ridiculous.

  I still would like to get her something nice for her birthday. No cheap shit, ’cause she know the difference. I reached into my pocket and counted how much money I had. Eighteen dollars. What the fuck can a man buy his woman with this? I ain’t closing no more savings accounts, though, not this time out. Hell, I was counting on putting money in the bank on Friday. It don’t pay to project, I swear to fuckin’ God it don’t.

  Instead of going home, to Zora’s—or our—house, I decided to go on down to Free At Last, another organization like A Dream, but I changed my mind. Hell, it was quarter to eight. If you even halfway serious about working, they expect you to be there by at least seven if you wanna be part of the shape-up. Shit. Zora had already left by now, I knew that. I guess teaching takes a lot of preparation. I know one thing—it do feel good to have a woman that’s doing something constructive instead of that fleeting kinda shit. Hell, any way I look at it, her future is planted in cement.

  But look at her man.

  I had to do something, but what? When I got off the train, I just started walking down the side streets, smoking one Newport after another, but this wasn’t getting it, so I stopped in a liquor store and bought myself a half pint of Jack Daniel’s. I needed something. I took a nip every now and then and kept walking. I wish I had some alternatives. I turned the corner at my street and went up the steps. I heard music coming from Lucky’s room, so I knocked on his door. He cracked it open.

  “What’s up, dude?” he asked, peeking out.

  “Nothin’, man. What’s happening?”

  “Got a little company,” he said, grinning.

  “Sorry about breaking and entering, man. I’ll catch you later.”

  I went on upstairs and polished off the rest of the bottle. I still felt edgy and didn’t wanna spend no more time thinking about my situation than I had already, so I went back to the store and bought another bottle. When I came back, I didn’t feel like sitting in this room, so I went over to Zora’s. I used my keys. I sat down on her purple couch, and the whole room looked like a picture in some women’s magazine. Everything in here was so pretty, and nothin’ was outta place. Except me. Who was I kiddin’? I didn’t belong here. Wasn’t nothin’ in here mine. And ain’t no place in here for no sawdust.

  I stood in the middle of the room and felt filthy, like I shouldn’t touch nothin’, and I didn’t. I was scared I might break something. Smudge it. Smear it. Something. It’s already got to the point where I leave my work boots in the hallway when I come home. Sometimes I even drop my jeans out there too, ’cause they usually caked with dirt, dust, or mud.

  I finished the rest of the bottle, took my clothes off, showered, and laid across Zora’s bed. I could smell her on the pillowcases, and I pushed my nose deeper into it. I fell asleep. When I woke up, I didn’t wanna be here when she got home. I couldn’t tell her I was laid off, ’cause then she’d probably think that this was gon’ be a regular thing. I didn’t want her to think that, even if the shit was true. Hell, what woman want a man around that turns out to be a fuckin’ liability instead of a asset?

  I found myself standing at the top of the subway entrance. I decided to call my sister Darlene, just for the hell of it. I ain’t seen her in damn near a year, so I knew she was gon’ be shocked to hear from me—if she was home. She don’t go nowhere but to work and school, the grocery and liquor stores. She answered on the second ring, in her usual monotone. “What’s up, buttercup?” I asked.

  “Franklin?”

  “You know anybody else with a voice as sexy as your brother’s?”

  “Please,” she said, in the same monotone.

  “What you doing?”

  “Nothing much,” she said dryly. She depresses the hell out of me sometimes, and why I picked up the phone and called her, why I was about to get on the train and ride all the way up to the damn Bronx to see her, I don’t know. Maybe ’cause she’s all I got besides Zora.

  “I wanna stop by. What you drinking?”

  “The usual. Franklin, I’ve gained about fifteen pounds, the place is a wreck, so don’t come up here criticizing me. Could you bring your drill and screwdriver? I’ve been waiting months for you to call, so you could put up my track lights.”

  “Why can’t what’s-his-name do it? Or is he history?”

  “He’s history.”

  “Well, I don’t have access to my tools right now. I’m already at the train station. But if you got a few dollars, I’ll pick up a screwdriver and a cheap drill at the hardware store.” She agreed to it. Darlene usually cries broke if you wanna borrow some money, but let her want something for herself, ain’t no such thing as she broke and ain’t nothin’ she want too expensive. She keeps a stash in the bank too. I should’ve known the only reason she wanted to see me was to get some work out of me. That’s another reason I ain’t got no phone. People used to bug the shit outta me. Everybody know I can fix or build damn near anything, and they tried to use me up. I got tired of that shit.

  I forgot. I didn’t have enough money on me to buy no damn tools, so I went over to my place, got the stuff, and trotted back to the train. After I bought tokens, I had exactly five dollars and some change left.

  When Darlene opened the door, I was shocked. Not only had she put on weight, but a few strands in the front of her damn hair was gray. I kissed her on the cheek. “Well, they say more is better, right?”

  “Fuck you, Franklin. I asked you not to say a word about how I look, so please. I’m depressed enough as it is.”

  “I wasn’t saying nothing but hi, damn. I see you still got your sense of humor. What you depressed about now?”

  “I got fired.”

  “So what else is new?”

  “This is different, Franklin. This was a good job at an electronics company, and they were paying my tuition. I don’t know what I’m
gonna do now. I don’t have the energy to start looking for another job, I swear I don’t.”

  “So why’d you get fired?”

  “Because of tardiness. Shit, I can’t help it if the trains are always late.”

  “What you got to drink around here?” I asked. I knew exactly where she kept her stash, and as quiet as it’s kept, I know Darlene is a closet alky. That’s why she probably got fired. Couldn’t wake up in the damn morning. All she do is sit up here in this overpriced apartment, watching sitcoms and reruns all night, sipping on White Label, eating junk food, and feeling sorry for herself. Don’t nobody come visit her except me. She ain’t got no friends, at least I ain’t never heard her mention none. In a lot of ways, she’s like me. Stick to herself. But this little miserable-ass world she keep living in is getting old. The girl done had more jobs, registered and dropped out of more colleges in the last two years—I swear, I can’t keep up no more. So to hear that she just got fired ain’t no surprise to me.

  And men? She can’t keep one. She always end up finding so many things wrong with ’em that the minuses outweigh the pluses, which makes ’em “intolerable,” as she put it. Darlene wouldn’t know a good man if one was staring her in the face. The real deal is, she don’t trust nobody, except me, and even that’s questionable. To tell the truth, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t sleeping with women. She got all the symptoms of a lesbian. And hell, although I don’t go for that kinda shit, she might be better off. I just don’t want nothin’ fucked up to happen to her. The girl is suicidal, she done proved that already. And the way she sounding, like she ain’t got nothing to look forward to, and the way she looking, like walking death, maybe I need to come see her more often. What’s sad about all this is that underneath all that pain, my sister is smart, and pretty as hell. This is just the end result of all my Moms’ love.

  Darlene sat down on the couch. “So you heard from Ma and Daddy?” I knew she knew I had. She talks to Christine all the time, who talks to my Moms every day, and Christine repeats everything she hears, only she adds shit to it so that she ends up telling a different version from the way shit really happened.

  “About a week ago, I guess. They stopped by—can you believe that shit?”

  “They’re good at surprises. Ma tell you about Christine’s new house?”

  “You know she did. The bitch. You think she could stand not rubbing that shit all in my face? Be serious, Darlene. You know Moms better than that. She ain’t changed.”

  “I’m not going out there for Thanksgiving or Christmas. You?”

  “Maybe. I want them to meet my new lady. Zora. Show ’em I’m capable of meeting a decent woman. You know Moms ain’t never liked no woman I ever brought home, not even Pam, but she gon’ have to like Zora.”

  “You think Ma’ll care one way or another? Daddy maybe, but not Ma.”

  “I’m not worried about Pops. He still got half a brain. It’s Moms I wanna show, really.”

  She shook her head. “Why waste your time?”

  “Cause I got something to prove.”

  “Who is this Zora? What a helluva unusual name. I already know she’s pretty. You always get the pretty ones, Franklin. And I know she’s got a good body. But what else does she do, besides fuck you good? That always seemed to be your number one priority—or have you grown up?”

  “Fuck you, Darlene. She’s more than just pretty. She’s smart. And how she makes me feel in bed,” I said, laughing, “is none of your fuckin’ business. She’s a singer, believe it or not. We kinda living together.”

  “Not in that little room you don’t. Unless you moved.”

  “I didn’t move. I live with her, right up the street from my place, in a brownstone I helped renovate. We gon’ have to get a bigger place pretty soon, ’cause right now she uses the extra room to practice her music, and ain’t nowhere for me to do my woodworking.” I lit a Newport and clinked the ice cubes in my drink. “Darlene, she ain’t one of these singers who just sings. The woman writes and reads music. Went to Ohio State University and teaches music to junior high school kids.”

  “Get outta here, Franklin! How’d you luck out and meet somebody with so much going for her? And what are you giving her besides that ten inches of beef you’ve been lying about all these years?”

  “Love,” was all I heard myself say. The way Darlene put it, she made it sound like all I did have to offer a woman was my dick. I resented this shit, because part of me felt it was true, especially today, but another part of me knew that I had more to give than that. Shit, I’m a smart motherfucker myself. Me and Zora dream together. We talk about everything. Laugh, even when we making love. We tell each other what we thinking, feeling. That shit has gotta be worth something. But Darlene wouldn’t understand this if I was to sit in here all night trying to break it down for her, ’cause she ain’t never been there.

  “What about you?” I asked. “You got anybody?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to move the conversation away from me.

  “The last thing I need right now is a man.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  “You hungry, Franklin?”

  “Only if you ordering something, ’cause if my memory serves me correctly, you ain’t never been no Julia Child, and I don’t want you practicing on me tonight.”

  “Oh, I suppose she can cook too?”

  “Like a gourmet. And she’s got good eating habits too. No junk food whatsoever. The woman don’t even eat sugar, don’t drink no sodas and no alcohol.” Darlene’s eyebrows went up. “I’ve been eating food I can’t even pronounce. I’m telling you, Darlene, I finally found her. I ain’t kidding.”

  “I just wish I knew what she saw in you. There’s the lights over there. Come on, Franklin, get your ass up before you get drunk. I’ll order some Chinese food.”

  “I don’t get drunk. I get high,” I said. But that was a lie. I was pretty fucked up now, though not to the point where I couldn’t function. I put the lights up.

  By the time we finished eating, I was bored talking to Darlene. In some ways, she’s like my Moms. Don’t have nothin’ good to say about nothin’ or nobody. She coulda sat there all night complaining about everything, but I’ll be damned if I was gon’ sit there and listen to that shit. I had enough shit of my own to deal with. And I didn’t mention nothin’ about being laid off, ’cause I didn’t come up here to cry on her shoulder. I just wanted to stop the anxiety. But I swear, Darlene didn’t help none. I drank two cups of black coffee, talked her into lending me twenty dollars, and went home.

  * * *

  As usual, Zora was on the phone when I walked in. “Hi, baby,” I whispered in her ear, then kissed her on the cheek. She acknowledged me by nodding her head.

  “You’re coming to New York? When?” she asked into the phone. “That’s great! Of course you can stay here. I want you to meet somebody. Yes, it’s a man. No, he’s mine. His name is Franklin. Yes, I am. Okay. Call me. I hope to see your butt in a couple of weeks. Just let me know what you decide. Talk to you soon.”

  She hung up the phone and looked at me. I was trying to look sober. That coffee didn’t do its job.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “A girlfriend I went to college with. She’s thinking of moving to New York—she may have a job offer with some hotsy-totsy advertising agency—and I told her she could stay with us for a few days, since I’m the only person she knows here. That’s okay with you, isn’t it, Franklin?”

  “Yeah,” I said, not knowing I had some say in this kind of shit.

  “So how’d your day go?” she asked.

  “So-so. Went to see my sister after I got off work.” I had to lie. I didn’t feel like telling her the truth, ’cause then she’d probably start feeling sorry for me and shit. The last thing I needed right now was pity.

  “Which one?”

  “Darlene. I wouldn’t go see Christine if you paid me.”

  “Franklin, you shouldn’t feel that way about your own sis
ter.”

  “You don’t even know her, so how can you even say that?”

  “My, are we touchy tonight. Is something wrong?”

  “No. I’m sorry, baby. I just had a rough day. The white boys had me busting my ass today. And Darlene depressed the hell outta me. She’s lonely as hell up there and won’t fess up to it or do nothin’ about it. She just got fired from her latest job, act like she ain’t got the energy to look for another one, and probably ain’t had no dick in years. She’s all fucked up in the head.”

  “Franklin, you can be so cruel sometimes, you know that? I mean, she’s your sister, not some stranger.”

  “I know that, but she still dingy as hell. I wish it was something I could do for her, but it ain’t.”

  “Well, I still want to meet her.”

  “You probably will. Maybe at Thanksgiving. We both been invited out to my folks’ house. Darlene claim she ain’t going, but she say the same shit every year and is usually the first one to show up.”

  “So I’ll finally get to meet the whole clan, huh?”

  “I guess so. But don’t go getting all excited. You’ll probably wish you never had.”

  “What a nice thing to say about your family.”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Don’t you have anything nice to say about any of ’em?”

  “I can’t think of nothin’ right now. I’m just tired, baby, really.”

  “Well, guess what?”

  “What?”

  “You know my friend Eli, who I’ve told you about?”

  “The faggot?”

  “Franklin! I swear, you’ve got labels for everybody, don’t you?”

  “Well, he is a faggot, ain’t he?”

  “Anyway, he called to tell me about this rhythm-and-blues band that’s looking for a female vocalist. He said they were top-notch, and he told ’em about me, and they want me to come hear them play tomorrow night at Wednesday’s. If I like ’em, they’ll want to hear me sing. Will you go with me?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on how tired I am when I get home from work.” In the morning, I’m going down to Free At Last. The chances of me getting on somewhere with them is good, since it’s still warm outside, and as long as I get a paycheck on Friday, she ain’t gotta know where it came from. Besides, they could call me back at the hotel tomorrow. I was excited for Zora, but I just couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm. My shit was dragging like a motherfucker, and hers looked like it was about to move up the fuckin’ ladder.