* * *
She opened the door to her apartment. What a tacky-ass place. Compared to me and Zora’s, this looked like the set of a old B movie. What a dump. Not that Terri ain’t clean, but you could tell she didn’t buy nothing but cheap shit. Everything in here was crushed velvet. And why she have to pick burgundy? She musta got one of them furnish-a-whole-apartment-for-under-three-hundred-dollars deals. Old rock ’n’ roll posters was Scotch-taped to the wall, and her stereo wasn’t even a name brand.
“Make yourself comfortable, while I get outta all of these heavy clothes.”
I sat down on the couch. Women sure have changed. Used to be a man had to scheme or beg for the pussy. Now if one wants your ass, she’ll just come on out and tell you not only how she want you but when and where she want you. I don’t know how I feel about this liberated shit. It takes some of the challenge out of it. But fuck it. How often do a man just get offered some hassle-free pussy?
She came back out wearing this lacy shit, and Tarzan didn’t move. Something was wrong here. For one thing, I really didn’t feel like fucking now—at least not her—but I got myself into this shit, and I’ma have to fuck my way out. I wondered what Zora was doing.
“Drink?” she asked.
“Why not.”
She turned on the radio, of all the tacky-ass things to do, and all I heard was static. “Ain’t you got no albums?”
“My turntable is broke,” she said. “Just a minute, I can get it on the right station; sometimes the antenna just needs to be moved.”
She got up and started juggling it, and her ass shook while she did it. It didn’t look as good as Zora’s. Would she really go out without me?
“Here,” Terri said, handing me a drink.
“Thanks.” Then I couldn’t think of nothing to say. “Your place is real nice.”
“So are you, Frankie,” she said, and started toward my neck.
“Wait a minute, baby. Let me get a sip of my drink first. We got time.” I drank the shit down in one swallow. The next thing I knew, that black wig was all in my face. “Terri, ease up a minute, baby. Can’t you take off that wig?”
“No,” she said, and grabbed on to it.
“Well, let me get another drink, and I’ll be right.”
She backed off and took the glass from my hand, like she was in some old Hollywood movie. “I definitely want you to feel right, Frankie,” she said, and winked at me. When she came back, I polished off this rum and Coke too, and it felt like everything I’d drunk since this afternoon rushed up to my head. Fuck it. Take the pussy and run, man. When she sat back down next to me, I just dug my middle finger in her pussy. I woulda never done this kinda shit to Zora.
Terri started kissing me every-damn-where and slid her hand down inside my suit pants. Tarzan was still limp. Obviously, she wasn’t worried about it, ’cause the next thing I knew, she had took my suit off and had them juicy lips around him. He felt like rubber. If I’m lucky, I can get outta here without having to stick it in her. Shit, I forgot. Terri likes to blow till she come, then sit on your dick and work until she come again. Shit. This could take all damn night.
She was working Tarzan steady, but wasn’t nothing happening. What time was it? In between watching her head bobbing up and down, I was looking around the room for the clock. But I didn’t see one. I put my hand on her wig and rubbed it. “Sweetheart,” I whispered, but she musta not felt the shit or heard me. “Hey,” I said louder, and then she looked up. The girl looked deranged, and for a minute, I swear, I forgot who she was. “Where’s your clock?”
“My what?”
“I need to know what time it is.”
She let out a long sigh, checked her watch, and said, “It’s only quarter after eight. Why?”
“I was just wondering.”
“You gotta be home at a certain time, is that it?”
“I’ma grown man, baby. Don’t nobody give me no curfews.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, and dived back down.
This shit was boring. Tarzan was still dead, and after what felt like hours, she started squirming and jerking, and I finally heard that damn squeal. Now I remember how it used to drive me crazy. “Frankie, ooooh, Frankie!!! I’ve missed you, baby. God, have I missed you.” She jumped up and pushed me down on the couch and tried to sit on Tarzan, but he fell over. She picked him up anyway, but he still didn’t wanna cooperate. All I wanted to do was get the hell outta here. And knowing how Zora likes to be on time, she’d probably leave by nine if she was going without me.
Terri managed to get him in, and was pumping her ass off, when it occurred to me that I wasn’t doing the fucking—she was fucking me.
“Hold it, baby,” I said, and lifted her up by the waist.
“What’s wrong, Frankie? It’s not good. Let me make it good.”
“It ain’t that. It’s just been a long time,” I said.
“So what?”
“So people change.” I sat up.
“You wait until I’m ready to explode and got the nerve to push me away and then tell me that people change? What kinda shit is this?”
“You see this?” I grabbed my dick and flipped it back and forth. “He ain’t felt nothing, and I don’t want you to take it personally, baby, but I gotta go. Really.” I started putting my clothes back on, and I swear I wanted to take a shower, but not here. She crossed her arms like she woulda kicked my ass if she coulda, and after I got my coat I couldn’t bring myself to kiss her.
“I’m sorry, Terri.”
“Fuck you,” she said.
I let myself out.
* * *
Why she had to move way the hell over here where you can’t hail a cab, I don’t know. I ended up walking eight cold blocks to the subway station, only to find out that the train was outta service. I couldn’t believe this shit. It’s ’cause I didn’t have no fuckin’ business over here, that’s why.
I stood outside for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do. It couldn’ta been no more than ten degrees. I took my leather gloves—which Zora had gave me for Christmas, and I still ain’t got her nothin’—outta my pocket and put ’em on. I looked up and down the street. At first it was just dark and deserted—lined with beat-up-looking brownstones—but then folks started coming outta doorways, all dressed up and heading for the subway. “It ain’t in service,” I said, I don’t know how many times. I wanted to call Zora, but I didn’t see no phones. Somebody told me the closest train station was six blocks away. I started walking. By the time I got there, my lips and fingertips was numb. All I wanted to do was get home, take a shower, and put my arms around my woman. I damn sure didn’t feel like dancing, didn’t feel like dealing with no mob of people, and didn’t wanna have to wait on another train to do it.
By the time I turned the key in the door, it was after nine. I smelled perfume. Luther Vandross was singing “A House Is Not a Home.” Why she have to play that? I closed the door. “Zora?”
“I’m in here,” she said from the bathroom. I was kinda scared of what I was about to see, and my feet stopped in their own tracks once they got inside the doorway. She was dressed up, all right. Wearing a tight purple leather dress that showed off everything she had to show off. Her legs was covered with black crisscrossed stockings. Her high heels was the same color as the dress. Damn, even her ankles was sexy. She was leaning close to the mirror, putting on some pink lipstick.
“You look nice,” I said.
“Thank you.” She creased her lips, then stood back to look at herself.
“Where you going?” I asked. All of a sudden, my head was killing me. I shouldn’ta mixed bourbon and rum, and I knew it.
“Out.”
“What you mean, ‘out’?”
“Just what I said.”
“What would you do if I said I didn’t wanna go out?”
“I’m going anyway.”
“Without me?”
“Without you.”
“So it’s like that, then, huh?”
“Franklin, look. You’re the one who got all duded up, boozed it up all day, then left, and now you come strolling back in here three hours before midnight and expect what?”
“I don’t expect nothing but a little consideration.”
“Consider-what?”
“You don’t even try to understand what I’m feeling, baby—and today ain’t no different.”
“Explain what you mean by that, would you?”
“Let’s face it, baby. The only reason you all geeked up and wanna run out on New Year’s Eve is ’cause the white man says that’s what we supposed to do. Most of the people going out tonight is only going ’cause they ain’t got nobody at home to be with. You got me. And on top of that, you wanna spend a couple hundred dollars that we don’t have to do it. For the first time in months, I got a few dollars in my pocket, and I don’t wanna give it all to the white man in one night ’cause they say it’s a fuckin’ cause to celebrate.”
“That’s how you see this?”
“Yeah, that’s how I see it.”
“Well, let me tell you how I see it. I think you’re just being cheap. If my Daddy hadn’t given you this money, you wouldn’t have had any. Before I met you, Franklin, I always had it, and didn’t spend half my time worrying about it either. I never go out anymore, because we never have any money. All we do is fuck and play Scrabble. Well, I’m sick of it—to use your favorite phrase, really fuckin’ sick of it. And whether you like it or not, I enjoy putting on a dress and high heels and perfume and makeup and going out for dinner and dancing. If I can’t do this with you, who can I do it with?”
The phone rang, and she snatched it off the hook. “Hello. I’m on my way,” she said, and slammed the phone back in the cradle. Damn, she’s so pretty when she’s mad.
“I can understand your feeling this way, baby. But you ain’t asked me why I’m trying to hold on to this five hundred dollars, have you?”
“Go ahead, tell me. I’m just dying to know.”
“You can cut the sarcasm, baby.”
She made her fingers clip the air so it looked like she was cutting something. I’ma let this go. For one thing, what she said was too true, but I still didn’t feel like being chumped off. “I wanna buy us a car.”
“You wanna buy a what?”
“You heard me. A car.”
“What kind of car do you think you can buy in 1983 for five hundred dollars, Franklin? Tell me that.”
“I was hoping you’d put your five hundred with mine.”
“Oh, is that what you were hoping?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, my five hundred is gone.”
“Gone?”
“I had credit cards that were past due, remember? And a phone bill and a gas bill, and—”
“Look, if we had a car, it would make finding and getting to work all that much easier. We could go anywhere we wanted to when we wanted to. I’m working now, baby, so I can save a few extra dollars in a couple of months and get us a decent ride.”
“Knock yourself out.”
She went over to the closet and got her coat. Shit, she was serious. She was going without me. “Tell me something, baby. How you getting to your destination?”
“By cab.”
“And you gon’ walk down this dark street at ten o’clock at night on New Year’s Eve by yourself with all these dope fiends and shit on the loose?”
“Franklin, please, that one won’t work.”
“I hope you ain’t planning on doing no drinking.”
She cut her eyes at me.
“Well, you know what they say, don’t you, baby?”
“About what?” she said.
“That whoever you spend New Year’s Eve with is who you gon’ spend the rest of the year with?”
“Who said that?”
“I don’t know who said it, but what difference do it make? Just think back over the past few years. Who’d you spend yours with last year?”
“I’ll ponder over it while I’m dancing.”
“Then you have a good time, baby.”
“I will.”
“We got any popcorn?”
“I don’t know. Go look.”
She went to get her purse and keys, and was just about to put her coat on. I walked over and stood right in front of her. “I’m not trying to mess up your New Year’s, baby, I swear I ain’t. All I wanna do is be with you, that’s all. We got the rest of our lives to dance and party. And we gon’ do that, I promise. You know how many more New Years I wanna spend with you? All I’m trying to do now is get our constitution down, build us a solid foundation, so in the future when we do go out and party, we ain’t gon’ have to worry about how much it’s costing us. Can’t you understand that?”
She opened her eyes as wide as she could get ’em, and I saw the tears working their way inside the rims.
“Can I at least give you a New Year’s kiss before you go?”
Zora wiped her eyes, and that black stuff smeared underneath both of ’em. Then she leaned back on one of them high heels and started biting her bottom lip. She looked up at the ceiling and back down at the floor. Then she looked up at me. Her eyes looked sad. She let out a long sigh, then walked toward me and stood on her tiptoes. Her breasts pressed against my chest and collapsed. By the time her lips found mine, I felt her coat drop to the floor.
13
“Bitch! You said you and Franklin was coming, and me and Arthur sat there and sat there, and waited and waited, and your asses never showed up! I shoulda known he wasn’t gon’ let you out the house. What are you, his prisoner or something?”
Portia leaned forward on both elbows and put her face inside her palms. Something told me she had taken our not coming too easily over the phone. She’s been holding it all in, just waiting for the right moment, so she could throw it directly in my face.
“No, I am not his prisoner. Franklin got sick, and I didn’t want to leave him. By the time I called you back, you’d already left.” Now, why’d I just tell that barefaced lie? And to Portia, of all people? If I told her the truth, all she’d do is accuse me of being too gullible—I know how she thinks. But why should I have to defend how I feel about my man?
“What was wrong with him?”
“Why?”
“You’re lying, Zora. I can see it all over your face. He talked you outta coming, didn’t he? Tell the truth.”
“No, he didn’t talk me out of anything, and I wish we could skip the subject. Are you ordering or not?”
“Since I got stuck with a hundred dollars’ worth of fuckin’ tickets, you’re paying for this. It’s a good thing Arthur ain’t cheap, or I’da had to fork up the cash myself.”
Portia looked up and down the menu, and I stared out the window at people trudging through the snow. All of a sudden, I felt like getting up from this table and walking and walking until I ended up in a place that was totally peaceful. It’s so hard trying to please everybody. They just keep pulling at me. Franklin expects this. Portia expects this. Reginald expects me to practice more. Breathe harder. Then lighter. Make a record. Sing. And school: Miss Banks? Miss Banks? Miss Banks? Can you be on this committee? That committee? No, not this week. Next week? Yes. Remember your responsibility to the children. To the school.
Up to now, I’ve done a pretty good job of dealing with things. Faking it is what I’ve really been doing. Pretending that nothing is wrong. That Franklin’s being married hasn’t bothered me. That his being out of work hasn’t bothered me. That his not having a formal education hasn’t bothered me. But it’s getting too hard, this acting. I’m scared of what the outcome of everything will be. Me and him. My friendships. Teaching. Singing. Me. And now the thought of these damn fits. Right this very minute, my head feels like a hot-air balloon. I’m beginning not to trust myself.
I put my purse in my lap and searched inside until I found the bottle. I’ve been carrying it for months, thought of it as insurance. I twisted the top off and took one tiny
pill out and popped it into my mouth. Portia didn’t even notice.
“I’ll have the shrimp scampi and a glass of white wine,” she said.
I took a sip of water. “So. Will this Arthur last until Valentine’s Day, or what?”
“Maybe, maybe not. He’s nice as hell, and he ain’t stingy, so that’s two things working in his favor.”
“What’s working against him?”
“He’s married.”
“Oh, is that all.”
“You know, Zora, why you so damn sarcastic today? What’s going on?”
“Nothing, girl,” I said, and started fidgeting with my water glass.
“Are you pregnant again?”
“Pregnant? Be serious. What would make you ask that?”
“Well, something is on your mind. And you just ate four pieces of French bread. Come on, spill it.”
“I’m just getting nervous. Next week Reginald wants to start working on songs for the demo. I’ve got a few originals, but I don’t know how good they really are. This whole process is kind of scary, if you want to know the truth.”
“He thinks you’re ready, right?”
“Yeah. He’s almost more excited about it than I am.”
“You can’t sit here and tell me that you ain’t excited about this shit.”
“Of course I am. It’s just that I don’t know if I’m as ready as I thought. It feels like it was only yesterday that I had my first lesson. I’m really just getting used to singing on a regular basis. And now we’re getting ready to go into the studio.”
“Ain’t you the one who been saying how tired you are of teaching?”
“Yeah.”
“So I don’t get it. The time is now, and you getting cold feet, girlfriend?”
“It’s not that. I’ve just got so many other things on my mind, I don’t feel focused enough, like I’m not in a position to give this my all.”
“Meditate more, girl. You the one who said that shit gets you ‘clear’—correct me if I’m wrong.”
“You’re right. But I haven’t meditated in ages. Since Franklin moved in, it’s felt weird sitting in the middle of the room chanting, knowing he’s in the bathroom shaving. And lately it’s been hard enough trying to drag myself out of bed to get to school on time.”
Disappearing Acts Page 23