“Are you okay?” I asked, looking down at him.
“I’m all right. Don’t worry about me. What about you—how you feeling?”
“I’m feeling okay. Let me see it, Franklin.”
“It ain’t nothin’ but a little cut, really.” He didn’t move the handkerchief but sat up straight.
I walked over to the nurses’ station.
“Can you tell me what’s taking the doctors so long, miss? My husband’s bleeding like crazy over there. This is supposed to be an emergency room, you know.” I couldn’t believe I had called Franklin my husband, but how else was I to refer to him?
“We were about to call him in now. Did you say you’re his wife?”
“Sort of,” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Either you are or you aren’t.”
“I’m not,” I said.
“Then you’ll have to wait out here.”
“Take it easy, baby,” he said. “Everything’s gon’ be okay.” Then he disappeared through a white door. I sat there for what felt like hours, wondering what he was going to say to me when we got home. I dreaded the thought. I wished we could pretend this never happened and just get on with our lives. When he finally came out, I could see even around the bandage that his chin was swollen.
“Franklin, how many stitches did you have to get?”
“Just a few,” he said.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
“You mean I still got one?” he asked.
I just looked at him. I lifted his long arm up and pulled it around my neck, then I slid my arm around his waist. As we started walking down the street, I could feel his weight falling on my shoulders. I let him lean on me.
10
Zora was singing this Billie Holiday song when I turned the key and cracked open the door.
…Wish I’d forget you
But you’re here to stay.
It seems I met you when my love went away.
Now every day I start by saying to you
Good mornin’, heartache, what’s new?
I can take a hint.
For five days I busted my nuts, tearing down a old hospital. Then I spent three days hauling rotted wood, bricks, and garbage where a park is supposed to be built. And I’m stinking like hell now, ’cause I just finished digging up a sewer, down in a cold-ass hole with rats—and I come in here and gotta hear her singing some shit like this? What I felt like doing was taking off these nasty clothes, holding ’em up under her nose, and telling her to “heartache” this. Just smell what love can make you do. Yeah, you can sing about disappointment, baby, but I’m the one standing knee-deep in it, and I’m sinking by the day. I wish I could tell you that, but all I got left is my pride.
I tried to pull off my boots, but the insides was packed with cold dirt and wasn’t budging, so I took off my gloves to get a better grip. My fingertips was stinging like a motherfucker, and I could feel the ice from my mustache melting and dripping on my top lip. And she singing about heartache? Gimme a fuckin’ break.
By the time I got all the shit off, Zora had stopped singing. When she came out to the living room, the first thing I noticed was that her hair was cornrowed. But I didn’t say nothing. I just looked at her. It ain’t that I don’t like cornrows, but damn, she didn’t even tell me she was gon’ do it.
“You like it?” she asked, spinning around so I could see all of ’em.
“I didn’t know you was getting your hair braided.”
“It was supposed to be a surprise, Franklin.”
“Well, I’m surprised.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“Yeah. It’s all right.”
“All right? I spend eighty dollars, sit for seven hours, and all you can say is ‘all right’?”
When I heard her say eighty dollars, it felt like somebody had stuck me in the head with 1,000 volts of electricity. I don’t make but fifty-six dollars a day, and she just spent eighty on some goddamn braids? “Didn’t you go to school today?”
“It’s Veterans Day,” she said.
It didn’t make sense for me to say nothing else. And she had the nerve to get those extensions put in, so her hair looked longer. Women. It musta been at least two hundred braids crisscrossing all over her head, and dangling at the end of every last one of ’em was some kind of bead. It was pretty, but I didn’t feel like telling her, so I just went to take my shower. When I came out, she was singing that fuckin’ song again.
“What you so sad about?”
“What makes you think I’m sad?”
“Cause you singing a sad song.”
“It’s not really a sad song, Franklin. It’s just a blue one.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“Leftover lasagna.”
The phone rang, and as usual, she answered it. I knew it was for her ’cause don’t nobody call me, and whenever I do answer it, I feel like her damn answering service. It’s always one of her silly girlfriends, and since I ain’t got too much to say to none of ’em, I usually let the phone ring till she get it.
“Hi, girl. No. I’m getting ready to leave in a few minutes. For my voice class. Eight o’clock? Where? Portia, I can only stay for about an hour, really. I’ve gotta get up early. Because my students are rehearsing for their Christmas performance. Why do you think? Okay, okay! Let me go—I can’t stand to be late. I’ll see you later.”
She hung up the phone and put her coat on.
“Franklin, I’ll probably be a little late tonight.”
“Why? Where you going?” I heard every word she just said, but I didn’t want her to think I was listening. That damn Portia ain’t nothing but a dickhound. Why Zora gotta hang out with her is what I wanna know.
“After class, Portia wants me to meet her at some new club. I’ll be back about ten.”
“You know, if your girlfriends had a man of their own, they wouldn’t be trying so hard to drag you out in the streets all the time.”
“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. You got a man, and all of ’em—except for Claudette—don’t. Every time I look around, one of ’em is calling here, trying to get you to go somewhere.”
“So? What’s wrong with that? They’re my friends, Franklin, and I don’t see any of ’em that much anymore.”
“If they had a man, you think they’d be calling so much? It’s ’cause they lonely as hell—and everybody know misery loves company. I betcha they drill you. Wanna know if I’m finally making any money, or how good I’m fucking you, don’t they?”
“Franklin!”
“Don’t give me that Franklin shit. I know women. I’d bet you a hundred dollars right now that Portia probably know how big my dick is. Don’t she?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Tell me something, baby. Are you as lonely as she is—is that it?”
“Franklin, please. I’m just meeting her for a drink.”
“That’s what you want me to believe.”
“You know something—you’re changing, Franklin. I’m starting to notice that every time I get ready to go somewhere without you, you start pouting. Why make such a big deal out of nothing? Now relax, and I’ll see you later.”
“You’re the one who’s changing. In the beginning, you didn’t hardly wanna leave my damn sight. Now it seem like whenever you get a invitation to do anything—and especially without me—you jump at the fuckin’ opportunity.”
“Half the time you never want to go when I do ask, and besides, there’s some things I like doing by myself or with my friends. You just don’t like ’em—why don’t you go ahead and say it?”
“It ain’t that I don’t like your girlfriends—I don’t hardly know ’em—but one thing I do know is that when one woman ain’t got no man, and their girlfriend do, they can’t stand it. You just too blind to see what they trying to do.”
“Which is what?”
“Pull you away from me.”
“Your imagination is running too wild,” she said, and gave me a empty kiss, like it was just a habit instead of a feeling. She didn’t even say bye.
And fuck you too, I thought.
How high was I supposed to turn up the oven to heat up this shit? Who knows? I put it on 500. I watched “Wheel of Fortune” and won a trip to Hawaii, some patio furniture, and a new stereo. When I smelled the food burning, I jumped up to get it. By the time I scraped out all the burnt noodles, I had missed the damn bonus round. I wanted to try for that car, even though it was a Oldsmobile.
I needed a drink. But I didn’t want one. I been drinking too damn much the past six months, and I know it. I don’t want alcoholism to sneak up on my ass. I done put on five or ten pounds since the summer, and on top of that, Zora’s cooking is hard to turn down. Two twenty-five is as big as I ever wanna get. Alcohol blows you up. I poured a glass of this weird juice she gets at the health food store, and to my surprise, the shit was good.
Wasn’t nothing on TV worth watching, and since I ain’t read a decent book in a while, I looked over the shelves until I spotted one called Tragic Magic. I took it down and opened it, read a few pages, and knew I was gon’ like it. There was a beat to each sentence that I ain’t never read before. And the author, who I knew was a brother—Wesley Brown—can write. I took the book in the bedroom and laid across the bed. Twenty more pages, and I was into it. This dude went to prison instead of going to Vietnam. Now, this was my kinda man. I swear, Zora got some good books around here. I wondered if she had read this one, or was it just collecting dust?
Hell, I was up to page 106 when I looked over at the clock. It was quarter to eleven. Where the hell was she? She said she’d be back by ten, didn’t she? I hope ain’t nothing happened to her. But then again, she’s with that wild-ass Portia, so ain’t no telling. I read a few more pages but couldn’t hang. Around eleven-thirty, I guess I fell asleep.
When I felt her easing in the bed, I pretended like I was just turning over, but what I did was glance at the clock. It was almost one o’clock! “So you finally decided to come home, huh? What happened? You got lost, or you met somebody?”
“Franklin, please. The music was good, and I danced like a mad-woman. I just wasn’t paying any attention to the time.”
“Well, next time pay attention to it.”
“Look, I didn’t know I was going to get the third degree when I got home—I mean really. Being a little jealous is one thing, but expecting me to punch in and out is another.”
“Ain’t nobody said nothing about punching in. And I ain’t jealous of nobody.”
“Well, what are you saying? That you’re giving me a curfew?”
“Did you hear me say that? You the one who said you’d be back by ten, and it don’t look like ten o’clock to me.”
“Look, Franklin, I’m a big girl.”
“Yeah, but I was worried as hell about you. I didn’t know if something had happened to you or not.”
“All right, already. Nothing happened, okay? Next time, if it looks like I’ll be later than I said, I’ll call. So let’s drop it. I’m tired.”
“I bet you are,” I said, and rolled over as close to the wall as I could get. She stayed on her side of the bed and didn’t put her arms around me the way she usually do. I betcha she met some-fuckin’-body.
* * *
Darlene called the day before Thanksgiving. She musta got Zora’s number from directory assistance, ’cause I didn’t give it to her.
“You going?” she asked.
“You?” I asked her back.
“I will if you go, but I’m not going out there by myself. No way.”
“What the fuck,” I said.
“You’re bringing Zora, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Be prepared for some kind of drama, Franklin.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll check you later.”
Zora was excited as all hell about going to my folks’ house. We took the ferry over there, and I warned her. “Don’t expect to have no fun, and just give me a wink or something when you can’t stand it, and we can leave.”
“You know, Franklin,” she said, “you really should give your parents more credit. So you don’t agree with every little thing about ’em—big deal. You’re not the first person who wasn’t thrilled about the way they were brought up. You’re thirty-two years old—I mean really. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive ’em for whatever it is you think they did wrong?”
“Skip it,” I said. She just don’t understand what it feels like to know your own Moms never loved you, treated you like shit, and your Pops was so damn weak, he was too much of a chump to do anything about it.
“Franklin?”
“What?”
“Will you do me a big favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Be nice?”
“You look beautiful,” I said.
“Thank you, Franklin. Do I look nervous?”
“Naw, and you ain’t got no reason to be.”
I need to check myself. Today is a holiday, and I’ma try to make the most of it. Zora looked dynamite. Sexy as hell. Times like now is when I’d like to just take a bite outta her. Those braids looked pretty, dangling around her face. She was wearing this fuzzy orange sweater, cut to a V in the front, but not so low it’ll give my Moms reason to whisper in Christine’s ear. Her lipstick even matched it. And since I’m always complaining that I don’t never see her legs—except in bed—she wore a skirt for me. I felt proud as hell bringing her home.
My other sister, Christine, and her nitwit husband, Jessie or Jesus—whatever it was—beat us there. Their station wagon was parked in the driveway behind my Pop’s Oldsmobile. Zora was squeezing the hell outta my hand as I knocked on the door. Since nobody answered, I let myself in. Christine’s boys was sitting on the sun porch, watching the end of the Macy’s parade, and the TV was turned up so loud I don’t think they heard me when I said hi. Then I saw Darlene sitting at the dining room table, and it was obvious that she been here all damn day, ’cause she already looked lit up.
Pops walked out of the pantry with a glass in his hand. He had on his uniform: plaid shirt and khakis. My Moms and Christine was back in the kitchen. The house smelled like Thanksgiving, and one thing I can give my Moms credit for is that she can cook her ass off.
“Happy Thanksgiving, everybody,” I said, but didn’t nobody respond.
“So you’re the mysterious Zora I’ve heard so much about, huh?” Darlene asked.
“Hello,” Zora said to her. “You must be Darlene.”
“How’d you guess?” Then Darlene started laughing.
“I’m Felix, sugar. So nice to meet you—have a seat,” Pops said, and held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Swift.” Zora shook his hand, giving me this I-thought-your-hands-were-big look.
“Call me Felix, baby. We’re not that formal around here. Come on and make yourself comfortable.”
Zora sat down at the table, and Moms and Christine came out the kitchen. Both of ’em was wearing aprons. My Moms was wiping her hands on hers, and looked at Zora like she couldn’t see outta her glasses. She don’t wear glasses.
“Well,” she said, with a sigh.
“Hello, Mrs. Swift,” Zora said. I could tell she was nervous.
“Call me Jerry if you call me anything,” she said.
“I’m Christine, Zora. Nice to meet you.” Christine gave her a Stepford Wife smile. If I had brought home a prostitute, she’d act the same damn way.
“You want a drink?” my Moms asked. Her eyebrows went up, ’cause she wanted to find out up front if Zora was a alky like she thinks everybody who takes a drink is.
“A glass of water or soda would be fine.”
“Darlene, what you sitting there for—get this girl a drink.” She turned back to Zora. “So I hear you some kinda singer and music teacher. That true?”
“I do teach, but I’
m working with a voice coach, so I don’t actually sing yet.”
“Uhn hun,” she said.
“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Swift. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“I can just about imagine what Franklin done told you,” she said, and started walking back to the kitchen. “And I said to call me Jerry.”
Pops called me out to the sun porch, since the parade was over and the football game was starting. What’s-his-name was sitting out there too now. He didn’t say hi like normal people, he grunted.
“She’s a fine-looking young woman,” Pops said to me.
“Thanks. That she is.”
By the middle of the first quarter, I was sweating like hell, ’cause this damn plastic on the couch was sticking to my back through my shirt. My Moms got this shit on everything—it’s been like this as long as I can remember—but ain’t nobody in here now to tear nothing up but her and Pops. Even the damn flowers and plants was plastic.
“Get yourself a drink, son.”
“I will, in a minute.”
From where I was sitting, I could see Christine and Moms in the kitchen, busy as little bees. Darlene was leaning on the table, and Zora was sitting across from her. They was talking, and I heard ’em both laugh. I looked over at what’s-his-name, and the fool was out cold. He just as dooflus as Christine, I swear to God he is. They make the perfect couple. He works his ass off—two jobs, one in some factory on Long Island and as a mechanic or something. He’ll do damn near anything to please my sister. Christine wanted a new house—Christine got a new house. Christine wanted a new car—she got a new car, a fuckin’ station wagon, no less. But she always did get everything she wanted, even when she was living at home, so marrying this high-yellow chump just kept up the momentum. I turned my eyes back to the game, then toward the dining room again. My Moms and Christine was both sitting down now.
“You know,” I heard Zora say, “you guys make a handsome family.”
“Well, thank you, honey,” I heard my Moms say. She always start out on the right foot, but I didn’t know how long this front she was putting on was gon’ last. It would be a miracle if we could get through this day without some kinda bullshit going down.
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