“Bet.”
We both got up and shook hands. I went left. Jimmy went right—only he was still standing at the curb by the time I turned the corner.
* * *
“Room 304, please.”
“I’m sorry, sir, there’s no one in that room.”
“Check your records. There should be a Darlene Swift in that room. She ain’t supposed to be released until tomorrow.”
“She was released this morning, sir. Is there something else I can do for you?”
“No,” I said, and hung up. Now, why the fuck she tell me that lie? I picked up the phone and dialed her number but didn’t get no answer. That’s when I decided to call out to my Moms and Pops’ house. If she wasn’t out there, I didn’t know what I was gon’ do. The girl is a schizoid, I swear to God.
“Nnhello.”
Just for the hell of it, I figured I’d be nice and see what happened. “How you doing, Moms?”
“Franklin?”
“You got another son I don’t know about?” I pretended like I was laughing, but she didn’t think it was funny. Once a bitch, always a bitch.
“No, one is quite enough. You wanna talk to your Daddy? He’s right here, hold on.”
“Hello, son. How’ve you been?”
“Fine, Pops. You seen Darlene?”
“Yes, she’s right upstairs. She just got out of the hospital, did you know that?”
“Yeah, I knew it.” She’s such a fucking traitor, I swear to God. Didn’t want me to call ’em, but yet and still she picks up the goddamn phone and not only calls but goes out there.
“She’s not feeling like herself lately and needs to get some rest and relax.”
“And you think she’s gon’ be able to do that out there?”
“Your mother’s doing everything she can to make her comfortable.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
“You want to talk to her, I can call her to the phone.”
“Naw, don’t bother. Just tell her I’m glad she’s okay, and if she needs something, she got my number.”
“I’ll do that son. So tell me—”
“Later, Pops.”
All three of ’em deserve each other, that’s about all I can say.
* * *
When Zora walked in the door, I swooped her up in the air.
“What’s going on, Franklin?”
“I’m in like Flynn, that’s what.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I been thinking.”
“Again?”
“Seriously, baby. Let’s start looking for another place, something where we can both stretch out and do our thang.”
“But you just started working today, Franklin. Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a little?”
“Naw. I’ma be honest with you, baby. I ain’t never felt like this was our place. Your name is the only one on the lease, and if you wanna know the truth, I feel like I’m living with you but it’s still your pad.”
“You’ve never said anything like this to me before. Why now?”
I put her down. “Things is changing. Hell, I’ma be going to school, you gon’ be singing and shit. This place is nice, but it’s too small. I feel too damn self-conscious whenever I wanna do some woodworking. I would like to have a room where I can leave the sawdust on the floor without worrying about how the pad looks. Can you understand that?”
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“So I’ll call up Vinney and tell him we’ll be moving by the end of the month.”
“Franklin, when is Darlene coming over?”
“She ain’t. She changed her mind.”
“Is she okay, or what?”
“Yeah, she’s okay. She’s out to my Moms and Pops’.”
“So where should we look?”
“Park Slope, Cobble Hill, Boerum Hill—anywhere but around here. I’m about fuckin’ sick of these changing neighborhoods. I wanna live on a street where ain’t no damn scaffolds, for a change.”
“We’re going to have to pay for that, you know.”
“So what? There’s a price to pay for everything.”
* * *
On payday my check was $569.32. I couldn’t believe that shit, for only a week’s work. But then again, I been working overtime every single night, and gon’ keep on working it too. I mailed Pam a hundred, paid Zora her two fifty back, and put a hundred in the bank. I kept the rest in my pocket.
For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to ask Zora about that lawyer friend of hers. As much as I hated to admit it, Jimmy was on his own. I bailed his ass out, and besides, I wanna get away from all this riffraff. Maybe thisa teach his ass a lesson. That it’s time to get away from all them motherfuckers he hang out with and turn his back on dealing dope. Wishful fuckin’ thinking, I know.
* * *
During the second week at work, I noticed something funny. Out of the sixteen brothers that got put on, I didn’t see but about four of us on the site now. I wanted to know what the deal was, so I went over to this dude Juney and asked him.
“You talking to the wrong man, brother. All I know is, I’m here, and come Friday, I get paid.”
When I got home from work, I decided to call Kendricks to find out for myself.
“They didn’t work out,” he said.
“What you mean, they didn’t work out?”
“The foreman said they wasn’t doing the work, so he let ’em go.”
“And you believed that shit?”
“Look, Frankie, if the man said they wasn’t doing the work, what am I supposed to do about it?”
“Nothin’,” I said, and hung up.
On payday, Kendricks showed up.
“You trying to get ’em back on, man?” I asked.
“No. I just had some loose ends to tie up.”
They couldn’ta been that loose, ’cause they was tight enough to fit in that brown envelope he left with.
17
My instincts are telling me that this is going to be a mistake.
Franklin just had to open his big mouth and tell Vinney we’d be out of here by April 1, and Vinney rented the place just like that. So who was the one who had to rush around looking at places because Franklin hasn’t had time? Me. It’s been three and a half weeks now, and not only did he join the union but he’s gone overtime-crazy. I know I shouldn’t complain, because I’ve never seen him so confident and full of energy. But on the other hand, I can’t help but worry about what’s going to happen if he gets laid off. All this time I was under the impression that once he joined the union, all our problems would be over, but I found out that that’s not the case. All the union does is guarantee health benefits and a retirement fund. He can still get laid off.
At any rate, I found something nice in Boerum Hill. It was two floors of a brownstone with two bathrooms—thank God—and cost $750 a month. “We can handle that,” was what Franklin said when I told him. He didn’t even want to see it. “You got good taste, so I know it’s probably more than decent.”
Our new landlord—a fat, white-haired Jewish man—didn’t even bother to check our references. He was more impressed by the fact that I’d been to college, was a teacher, and was able to bring him back a certified check for fifteen hundred dollars the same day. Although Franklin proudly forked up over a thousand, it broke my heart to withdraw all but two hundred of my studio money. I’m beginning to wonder if maybe it’s not the time for me to pursue my singing, because all kinds of roadblocks keep popping up to prevent it. We’ll see.
“What kind of work does your husband do?” Sol asked, as I signed my half of the lease.
“He’s not my husband, but he works construction,” I said.
His bushy white eyebrows rose up, and I wanted to tell him that this was the eighties, so don’t act so damn surprised.
The day before we were moving in, Sol finally met Franklin. “You look like a football player,” he said.
“I ain’t never played no footbal
l,” Franklin said, while he signed.
“Basketball?”
“I watch it on TV.”
“There won’t be any loud parties, hey?” he asked.
“Why?” Franklin asked.
“Oh, I was just wondering. Nothing wrong with a party every now and then.”
Franklin slammed the front door and left Sol sitting on the steps, chewing his cigar and tapping his cane on the sidewalk.
When we got upstairs, he said, “I can already tell that I don’t like that motherfucker.”
* * *
We bought every kind of cleaner and disinfectant you could think of. I told Franklin that I couldn’t put our food and stuff into this refrigerator or these cabinets until I knew they were my kind of clean. Sol had said there weren’t any roaches, but I knew that was bullshit. This was New York, and as soon as I opened the cabinets, I saw their eggs in the corners.
There are two things I hate doing: cleaning the oven and cleaning the refrigerator. Franklin said he’d do it. I swear, I love that man. My job was the cabinets and bathroom. Before I got started, I decided to go to the corner and get us both something to eat. I was starving. When I came back, Franklin had all the burners sitting on the windowsill and the shelves from the refrigerator in the sink, and he was singing “Billie Jean” along with Michael Jackson, blasting on his boom box.
I sprayed some stuff inside the medicine cabinet and on all the bathroom tiles, then I sat down and ate my sandwich. The combination of Comet, Fantastik, and ammonia started making me feel dizzy and light-headed, so I walked back into the living room. It wasn’t any better out there. My roach spray and Franklin’s Easy-Off fumes felt like they were caught in my throat, and all of a sudden I thought I was about to throw up.
“Franklin, I’ve got to get out of here for a few minutes. We’ve got too much stuff going in here, and it’s making me sick.”
“Go on, baby. This shit is starting to get to me too.”
I heard him opening the windows, but I still had to leave. I went downstairs and sat on the front steps. My head was spinning. The cool spring air helped, and after ten or fifteen minutes I felt better, so I went back upstairs. Now he had the boom box blasting on WBLS, and he was singing “Baby, Come to Me,” along with Patti Austin and James Ingram. After another ten or fifteen minutes, I started feeling nauseous all over again.
“Franklin, I can’t take this.”
He turned the volume down. “What’d you say?”
“I said, these fumes are really getting to me.”
“This shit is strong, ain’t it? Look, I can do the rest of this shit. As long as I got some music, I can clean all day. Why don’t you go on back over to the other place and finish up the rest of the packing.”
He only had to tell me once.
* * *
It took us about two weeks to get the place in any kind of order, but finally we had everything where we wanted it and some space to ourselves.
Franklin was watching “60 Minutes,” I was cooking dinner, feeling great, and singing “Sweet Dreams” by the Eurythmics, and I happened to look up at the Sierra Club wilderness calendar. A herd of elephants were coming toward me, and that’s when it hit me. I hadn’t gotten my period yet. “Shit,” I said.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Franklin yelled from the living room. He was working on measurements for the wall unit he was going to build us.
“Nothing,” I said, and flipped back to March. Three baby lions were squirming and fighting for their mother’s nipples. This was impossible, I thought. Like always, I circle the day I’m due, which was supposed to be the twenty-eighth. I turned the calendar back to April and stared at the eleventh, which was today. That’s when I remembered the night I’d come from Marie’s and was so hot and bothered that I never got around to putting my gook in. How stupid. How fucking stupid.
“What’s going on in April that you gotta be staring at it?” Franklin asked, walking up behind me.
“Franklin, my period’s two weeks late.”
“So I guess that means we having a baby. Good thing we moved, ’cause at least we got someplace to put it.”
“Are you crazy?”
“What makes you think I’m crazy?”
“I can’t have a baby right now.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, we’re not married and you’re not even divorced; and second of all, I’m just on the verge of going into the studio; and…what would we do with a baby?”
“Love it.”
“Love it?”
“I’ll have my divorce before it’s born. I promise.”
He must be losing his fucking mind. “Franklin, let’s be realistic.”
“I am being realistic, baby. I want you to have my baby.”
“Simple as that, right? Look. You never know how long a job is going to last, and we just moved into this expensive apartment. Just when things are starting to look good, you want me to up and have a baby?”
“You done already got rid of one of my babies. And I ain’t letting you kill this one. But I guess now ain’t the time to bring that up, is it?”
“Go ahead, lay a guilt trip on me.”
“I’ll work two jobs, if that’s what it’ll take, baby.”
He looked so sincere I actually believed him and felt like saying okay. I wished it was that simple. What would I tell my Daddy? And Portia and Claudette and Marie? And the school? “First let me get the test and make sure. It could be that I’m just stressed out from moving and everything.”
“You pregnant, baby,” he said.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Remember when we was doing the cleaning in here?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew you was pregnant then, and that’s why I made you get out the house. I’ve told you and told you, baby: I know when your period is due. Anyway, I want a daughter.”
“Franklin, stop it! I’d be crazy to have a baby now, and you know it.”
“Okay. It’s your body. Do whatever you want with it. Be selfish. Don’t think about me. I mean, all I did was stick my dick in you, right? I ain’t gotta have the baby, right? So whatever you decide to do is okay with me. Really.” He looked at me while I checked the rice. “Really,” he repeated. “I’m going to the store. You want anything?”
“Nothing I can think of.”
I didn’t put enough water in the rice, burned the lamb chops, scorched the zucchini, and put too much salt on the salad. When Franklin came back, he had already opened his fifth of Jack Daniel’s. He hasn’t had a drink since he started working.
“Dinner’s ready,” I said anyway.
“I ain’t hungry,” he said, and picked up his boom box, walking toward the door with it and his bottle. “I’ll be back.”
“Where you going?” I asked.
“Nowhere,” he said, and slammed the door.
I heard the music outside the front window and walked over and looked out. He was sitting on the stoop, smoking a cigarette and sipping from the bottle, which was inside a brown paper bag. I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt him. But this was my life too. I sat down on the couch. My picture of “Running Men” was crooked, so I got up to straighten it. All of a sudden, I wished I had some grass to water, or a mother to call.
Was I being too cold and selfish about this? The truth of the matter was, I was just scared. Confused. I want to do the right thing, but this isn’t how I dreamed it. I’ve always wanted things to be right whenever I did have a baby. To be married to the man I loved. To have made my mark in the music industry. To…
I put my hand over my belly, which felt thick. There was some kind of throbbing going on, and it felt like my period. But I’d been feeling like this for at least a week now. Okay, Zora. Calm down. Be realistic. You’re just trying to find a way to justify not going through with it. You’re good at justifying things you can’t deal with, aren’t you, Zora? But just remember, this would make four. Shut up. You’ve gotten off too easy as it is. Wou
ld you just shut the fuck up! You’re a selfish little bitch—go ahead, admit it!
“You coming to bed, baby?” Franklin asked.
I didn’t hear him come in the door, and I jumped. Somehow I was sitting at the dining room table, even though I don’t remember walking over here or sitting down. He set the half-empty bottle down in front of me. “In a few minutes,” I said.
I turned out all the lights and then took a fifteen-minute shower. I was hoping he’d be asleep by the time I got out, but he wasn’t. I got under the covers, and he put his arms around me. I collapsed inside his arms and buried my face in his chest.
“Please don’t kill my baby, Zora.”
“Franklin, don’t start, please. You’re drunk.”
“What makes you think I’m drunk?”
“You’ve drunk a pint of bourbon, that’s why.”
“I still don’t want you to kill my baby.”
“I don’t want to kill your baby.”
“Then why you doing this to me? I love you and want you to be my wife, and I want you to have my baby.”
“Franklin, didn’t you say earlier that it was my body?”
“I was lying. I mean, shit. You taking this fuckin’ intellectual approach about a emotional situation. At first I figured I’d go along with it. But fuck it. I had to get high to tell you what I really felt. What you talking is a bunch of crap. It ain’t never gon’ be no perfect time to have no baby. But I do know one thing. That’s my baby you carrying inside you, and I don’t want you to kill it. And you may think I’m drunk, and maybe I am, but I swear to God, I’ll get my divorce, and I’ll bust my nuts and work three jobs if I have to to take care of y’all. Look at me, Zora.”
God, he was making this so hard. I broke away and looked up at him. I loved him. I wanted to have his baby. But why now, God? That’s all I wanted to know.
“You won’t regret it, baby. I swear you won’t.”
I didn’t want to say anything I might regret later, so I eased away from him and put my head on my pillow. “Can we just sleep on this?” I asked.
“Why not?”
In the morning, I felt his lips brush across mine, but I pretended to be asleep until I heard the front door close. When I got up, I saw a note Franklin had left me on the kitchen table. “I want us to be a family.”
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