Something wasn’t right. As I got closer to our seats, I didn’t see her. ’cause she wasn’t there. Everybody in the row had to stand up so I could get past ’em, and now they had to stand back up, ’cause I wanted to know where the fuck she was, find out what kind of game she was playing. I got back outside and looked on the grass, which now I couldn’t hardly see shit, ’cause it was dark. Where the fuck was she? She probably wanted to make me look like a chump all along. Probably had this shit planned too. Couldn’t stop by the store I wanted to go in. Didn’t ask if it was something special I wanted to do. And the one thing I suggested, golf, she said it was too hot, yet she could lay out in the hot-ass sun and try to get black for two damn hours.
I musta stood around for at least a half hour, thinking maybe she went to the bathroom or something and would be right back. But she didn’t come back. So finally I walked back out to the entrance, where you could get a cab, and there she was, sitting on a bench. I walked over to her. “What’s wrong with you? Why ain’t you inside, listening to the music?”
“Could you please not raise your voice?”
“Oh, so now you telling me what to do?”
“Franklin, you’re drunk. When we sat down in the restaurant, I knew this was coming, but I didn’t think you’d embarrass me like this.”
“Oh, so you embarrassed, is that it? Well, whip-the-fuck-ee.”
She got up off the bench when she saw a cab pull up, and I grabbed her by the arm.
“Where you think you going?”
“Back to the motel. You’re making me sick. And what I want to know is, where’s that piece of fine young ass you so desperately thought you could get? There’s still time, so go get it, and please let go of my arm.”
“You ain’t going nowhere. I paid all this goddamn money for these tickets, and we came up here to have a good time and listen to some music. You the one who fucked it up. Whatever Zora wants to do, we do it. Even that baby was your big fuckin’ idea. Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m tired of you telling me what to do.” I pushed her in the cab and slammed the door. “Don’t be there when I get back. No, I’ll tell you what—don’t look for me tonight, ’cause I’m gon’ get me some unpregnant snapping pussy, some good pussy, from somebody who wants to give it up at night!”
The cab pulled off, and that’s the last thing I remember.
21
I hate his fucking guts.
Couldn’t just go away for the weekend and have a good time, like normal people. No. He had to show his black ass. He was deliberately trying to start a fight with me. But why? That’s what I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Did I? Franklin’s got problems and doesn’t even know it. He’s so used to being broke and miserable he doesn’t know how to relax and enjoy himself. And even though I never wanted to believe this, I think he’s an alcoholic. He can’t just have a few drinks; he’s not satisfied until he’s drunk. Since I’ve been pregnant, he hasn’t once said I was beautiful. So now the baby was all my idea, huh? Is this what happens when a man gets scared? He’s got to turn things around to put the blame on you? He never finds the good in anything. And one thing has become crystal clear to me now. He’s more like his mother than he realizes.
I wasn’t about to be at the motel when and if he came back ranting and raving like a lunatic. I cried all the way in the cab, and the baby was moving, and I swear to God, I wished I could’ve reached down and yanked it out of my stomach and thrown it out the window. What have I gotten myself into? Here I am five months pregnant by a man I love but am not married to, and have no idea when and if it’ll ever happen, or now if I even want to marry this asshole. He begs me not to get rid of it, then turns around and accuses me of tricking him. All I wanted to do was sing. Fall in love, and sing.
I paid the driver and could barely get the key in the door because I was shaking so bad. I was scared of my own man. He had grabbed my arm like I was some stranger. I threw all my clothes and toiletries into my suitcase and slammed it shut, then I counted to see how many dimes I had and went back outside to use the telephone. I kept looking up at the road to make sure when I saw a cab it wasn’t turning in here. I was prepared to run. My heart kept beating so fast, I thought I was going to have a heart attack right then and there. I bet that’d make him feel bad—coming back here and finding me and his unborn baby on the cold cement. I bet that’d sober him up. I was being too dramatic about this. Stop it, Zora. Get ahold of yourself. I took a deep breath and told my heart to slow down, relax. When it felt like it was trying to cooperate, I called to see what time the next bus was leaving. But there weren’t any more buses going to Manhattan tonight. Trains. No more of those tonight either. Then I started looking for vacancies at other hotels and motels, but everywhere I called was still booked. Shit.
I took another deep breath and convinced myself that he wasn’t coming back. Simple as that. I walked back into the motel room and locked the door. Then I sat down on the bed. This was all wrong. All of it. I’m supposed to be married. I’m supposed to be in the studio, or coming out of the studio, with my demo. I’m supposed to be waiting to hear from some producer, telling me I’ve got style and a strong voice and they want to record me. How did I get to this place? When did all this happen? I was out of tears now, so I turned on the TV and was half-ass watching it. Every time I saw a headlight through the curtains, I panicked. I decided not to put on my gown, just in case. And sure enough, I heard a key turn in the door and jumped from one bed to the other.
“Don’t jump, baby. Ain’t nobody gon’ do nothing to you.”
“How did you get here, Franklin? I didn’t hear a cab.”
“I walked.”
“All the way from town in the dark?”
“I needed to walk.”
“Why are you acting like this? This is our first time doing anything fun, and you fucked it up.”
“No, you fucked it up, baby.”
“What did I do?”
“It’s what you haven’t done. Look, I wanna say I’m sorry, but I ain’t, at least not yet. Just let me have some pussy, sleep this shit off, and I’ll see how I feel in the morning.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Naw, and I wish you would stop asking me that shit.”
“What do you think I am, some kind of fucking machine or something? We go to a concert, sit on the grass, and the next thing I know, you’re checking out all the young girls and telling me how fine they are. And since you couldn’t find any, you come back here and expect me to fuck you?”
“I didn’t look for none.”
“Tell me this: What would you have done if I’d have said some shit like that to you about all the fine men around?”
“They wouldn’t be looking at you, ’cause you fat and pregnant.”
“Well, fuck you too.”
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
The next thing I knew, he hauled off and slapped me so hard my head hit the headboard on the bed. I don’t know what I saw, but something silver was swirling around in front of my eyes, and I felt the right side of my face stinging. Before I realized it, I jumped up and threw the lamp at him, but he dodged it.
“You motherfucker!”
He started coming toward me, but then he stopped dead in his tracks. I pushed myself back against the headboard, with the clock radio in my hands, ready to throw it.
“Put the radio down, baby. This is crazy. I’m wrong. I ain’t had no business putting my hands on you. I’m sorry. I swear to God, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t come near me, Franklin, or I’ll bash your fucking head in.” The baby started moving, and I had to change positions. How was I going to get out of here? This had to be a nightmare, because Franklin had just hit me. And I’d just thrown a lamp at him. This is what I’ve heard about all my life. Men and women fighting. I’ve always wondered how people that love each other find it in their hearts to deliberately hurt each other. Now I know. No, I don’t, becaus
e I don’t understand this. I was crying again and needed to blow my nose, but I wasn’t about to put the radio down. Franklin sat at the foot of the bed and put his head in his hands. It sounded like he was crying, but I wasn’t impressed. I saw a Phil Donahue show about this once, and most of the women said after they hit you, they’ll do anything to get you to forgive ’em. Crying was on the top of the list.
Then someone knocked on the door. “Is everything all right in there?”
“No!” I yelled.
“Yeah, we just knocked over a few things,” Franklin said. “I’m not gon’ touch you,” he said. “I swear to God.”
“Would you just leave?”
“I ain’t got nowhere to go,” he said.
“That’s not my problem. You’re the one who said you didn’t want to come back, so would you leave, please. I don’t care where you go.”
To my surprise, he got up and walked out the door. Then, like a damn fool, I didn’t want him to leave, but I couldn’t bring myself to go after him. That’s another thing the women on the show said always happened. All I knew was that I was confused. I got up and peeked out the curtains and saw him go sit by the swimming pool.
I couldn’t believe it. Franklin started taking his clothes off and stripped down to his briefs. Then he eased into the pool and was standing in almost six feet of water, which was just over his shoulders. He stood there for a few minutes, dunked his head under a few times, then started doing a dead man’s float. Once he reached the other end of the pool, his arms reached up and pulled, and he was moving through the water like a torpedo. He could swim! But why’d he tell me he couldn’t? He did at least ten or twelve lengths, then got out and put his shirt over his shoulders and sat down on a lounge chair.
I stood there and watched him reach into his shirt pocket and get a cigarette. He used one to light another one and must’ve done this at least six or seven times. I knew he had to be freezing, so finally I opened the door. “Franklin,” I said, “come on back in before you catch pneumonia.”
He got up slowly, and when he entered the door, I handed him a towel.
“I’m sorry, baby. I swear to God I am.”
“Look, Franklin. I don’t understand what’s going on, and right now I’m so tired I don’t know if I want to use the energy to find out. But promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’ll cut down all this drinking.”
“Looks like I’ma have to, if it’s fuckin’ with me like this.”
“And this I’m not asking. If you ever so much as raise your hand to me again, if I don’t kill you first, your ass is going to jail. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”
“I swear, baby, I ain’t never hit you before when I was mad, have I?”
“No.”
“Let me see your face over here in the light.” I walked over, and he held my face gently in his big hands. “Damn, I’m sorry.” I turned to look in the mirror, and the whole side of my face was red. He put his arms around me and held me for the longest.
“Do you think it’s possible we can enjoy what’s left of the weekend?” I asked.
“I’m gon’ give it my best shot,” he said.
* * *
In the morning, Franklin was up at six, waking me.
“Come on. Let’s go look at the horses and have breakfast at the track. I read about this boat ride up in Lake George. We can do that and be back in time for the concert. I called another hotel, not motel, in town that’ll have a vacancy later, so we can stay there tonight. I wanna make this up to you, baby.”
“How much is it?”
“Let me worry about that.”
“But what about this room? We’ve already paid for it.”
“So what? It’s only money.”
I looked at him hard. The baby started kicking. My heart was giving in, and my shoulders began to fall. “Just give me a few minutes to shower, and I’ll be ready.”
Franklin kept his word. The whole day felt like a dream, and as we sat on the deck of the Ticonderoga, I kept looking over at him to make sure he was the same person who had hit me last night. He wasn’t. He was the same tall black handsome man I had fallen in love with. We sat out there in silence, watching fifteen miles of waves and trees. When small boats passed us, the people in them waved, and we waved back.
Franklin didn’t so much as drink a beer.
We sat in our reserved seats at the concert that night. The baby danced, and Franklin held my hand. When Chaka Khan finally slowed down and sang “Stop on By,” my head was on Franklin’s shoulder. We walked back to the hotel, which was beautiful, and I saw that it cost him ninety dollars for the night, but I didn’t say a word about it. I even felt like making love, but Franklin told me to just go to sleep and rest. By the time we were on the bus home the next day, the entire weekend felt like it didn’t really happen. Nothing fit together, except Franklin’s head on my shoulder and his hands on my thumping belly.
22
The foreman called me into the shanty.
I was glad, ’cause it’s cold as a motherfucker out here now, even though it’s only the end of October. Shit, feel like it’s getting ready to snow. All I’m hoping is that he gon’ tell me, when we start the next job in a few weeks, that it’s gon’ be inside.
“Frankie, would you like some coffee?”
“Yeah,” I said. The tone of his voice was off, and something told me in a split second that it wasn’t gon’ be no next job. I been through this routine enough to know.
“Naw, I changed my mind. I don’t want no coffee.”
“Well, you know I don’t make the decisions around here…”
“Mel, get to the point, would you? Am I going to the next site or not?”
“Afraid not, Frankie.”
“What happened? Too many blacks on the job?”
“Nothing like that. The contractor’s cutting back. He’s got too many men on the next crew.”
“Yeah, right. So when do we, or should I say I, end here?”
“Two weeks.”
“And the fact that I’ve been busting my nuts, working overtime damn near every other night, ain’t missed a day, ain’t been late, and knowing I coulda probably had your job, ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, do it?”
“Frankie, you’re one of our best workers, but this isn’t my decision.”
I got up and went back outside. I put my work gloves back on and found my lunchbox.
“Where you going, Frankie?” I heard him yelling.
“Home. And fuck you too.”
I went down to my union hall and told ’em what happened. They told me I hadn’t been fired or laid off, that what I had just done was quit. “What else you got?” I asked.
“Nothin’ right now. Stay in touch.”
The union hall is just as racist as the rest of ’em. They all work together, really, and I don’t even know why I bothered going down there in the first place. But it don’t matter, ’cause I need a break anyway.
So I went home.
It was cold as a motherfucker in here too, but since this is New York, the landlord controls the heat. I was ready to fuck with somebody, so why not Sol? I went downstairs and knocked on his door.
“Come on in,” he said.
When I walked in, I swear to God, the smell was enough to knock you down. Between them nasty-ass cigars he smoke, all this old shit he calls antiques, three handicapped cats, and two mutts he calls dogs—and he probably ain’t bathed since I don’t know when—I just said, “Naw, I’ll stand right here.” I was in the doorway, with the door still open. “How about some heat?”
“What, you think it’s cold? This is gorgeous weather. It’s fall, Franklin.”
“Look, Sol, as much rent as we paying you, it’s cold as hell up there, and I’m asking you to turn up the heat. It’s forty-something degrees outside. Fuck fall.”
“Take it easy, Franklin.”
“You gon’ turn on the heat?”
I turned to go back upstairs and saw one of them damn cats. This one had white pus and shit all around its eyes and only three legs. I wanted to kick it, but I stepped over it.
When I got upstairs I poured some water in the Mr. Coffee, but before it started brewing, I knew coffee wasn’t what I needed, so I turned it off. I got the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cabinet and poured a tall one. I guess I’ma just have to go down to the union hall every single day till they put me on somewhere. And I’ll go down to the organizations too. What the fuck. This is the wrong time to be getting axed. I got a baby coming in less than two months. I got Christmas and two kids who gon’ expect me to be Santa Claus. I got a divorce I gotta pay for. And I gotta tell Zora this shit.
* * *
I felt somebody shaking me.
“What, what, what?” I asked. Shit, I didn’t know where I was, until I looked up.
“Franklin, what’s wrong? What are you doing home so early?” I wanted to answer and sit up at the same time, but a jackhammer was beating away in my head, and I couldn’t do or say nothing. The inside of my mouth felt like it was full of cotton.
“Franklin?”
She had backed away now and walked clear to the other side of the living room. Good. Now I don’t have to look at her. Her belly came to a big point, and that was Zora, all right, with my baby inside her. “I’m sick.”
“You’re drunk,” she said.
“That too.”
“What’s the reason this time?”
“I got laid off.”
“But the union can help you, right?”
“I been down to the union.”
“And?”
“Ain’t nothin’ happening.”
Disappearing Acts Page 31