Disappearing Acts

by Terry McMillan

  “What are you talking about now?”

  The glass was empty.

  “You done got carried away with these extracurricular activities at school. Everything is the kids this and the kids that. You used to wanna fuck me anytime I wanted it. You used to talk to me. You used to wanna play Scrabble with me all the time. We used to have fun. You used to not mind cooking for me. Now I gotta beg for everything. Just a little attention, that’s all I want. To know that I matter.”

  He sounded so pitiful I wanted to throw up. The only reason I’d been staying after school was because I didn’t want to come home. Every time I turned the key in the door I automatically got depressed. But now I was thinking, had I stopped doing all those things? Was I making him feel like he was just another piece of furniture? I hadn’t meant to. Really I hadn’t.

  “Franklin, you do matter. But I don’t know how much I have to do to prove to you that I love you. You’re making it awful hard. How do you think I feel? Here I am eight months pregnant, living with a man who’s not only unemployed but who’s not even my husband. When we started out, you had dreams. I had dreams. You had me believing you would go back to school, get your divorce, and start your own business. And look at you.”

  “You don’t have to tell me to look at myself. What you think I do in here all day?”

  “Well, the rent’s due in two weeks, and if I pay it, then that means the phone’ll probably get turned off or the lights, or I’ll get behind in my credit card payments.”

  “That’s all you can think about is the fucking bills? What about me? You ain’t heard a word I said.”

  “What about you! Is that all you think about, Franklin? Look, let’s just stop this conversation, because it’s going nowhere.”

  “Yeah, ’cause I ain’t in the mood for no arguing. What about dinner?”

  This motherfucker must be deaf.

  24

  I got a rinky-dink job that lasted a week. I only took it to shut Zora up. She was really getting on my nerves, and I figured I better do something to break up the fuckin’ monotony. I didn’t know what I was doing, really. All I knew was that I was tired of repeating myself and getting no-goddamn-where. After a while, a man gets worn out, beaten down, and you ain’t got nothing left. No drive, no will, no fuckin’ energy. My dick don’t even get hard unless I talk to it. I ain’t saying it’s all over, and I ain’t saying I’m giving up. All I’m saying is that right now I’m tired as hell. And too many things is coming at me at once. This baby. Zora. Work. My kids. I ain’t got but ten bucks in the bank. What happened to all the fuckin’ money I made this year? Rent. School clothes. Union dues. Groceries. Rent. Sneakers. Light bill. Groceries. Rent. Derek’s dirt bike. His Prince concert. His First Edition concert. Groceries. And rent. And I’m still on foot. It seem like the more that’s expected of me, the less I’m able to do. I can’t take feeling like this either. I swear to God, I can’t.

  I’m trying not to drink, but that’s hard as hell to do too. My woman ain’t satisfying me. I ain’t satisfying myself. I’m pissed off at myself, to tell the truth. Here I am almost thirty-four years old, and what I got to show for it? A $750-a-month duplex that ain’t mine. And some wood and old tools. That’s it, when you look at it straight. Somewhere in my head is my Moms’ voice, saying, “I told you you wasn’t gon’ never amount to nothin’.” And this just makes me grit my teeth. I’ma prove her wrong, if it’s the last thing in life I do.

  I know I been a lazy motherfucker. And Zora’s right. She don’t need to be coming home from work to a nasty house. So I decided to surprise her. Clean up the place. Maybe if I put a little more energy into this thing, change my attitude, shit might pick up. We gon’ see.

  I tore the place apart. Refrigerator, oven, all of it. Picked up all the plants off the floor and set ’em on the tables, and sprayed the bathroom walls with Soft Scrub. I poured Comet in the tub and sinks, and put in a Maze tape. Them motherfuckers can sing they asses off. “Joy and Pain” was blasting, and even though it was snowing, I had the windows open. It’s hard to clean and party to this kinda music without a shot, so I poured myself a little one. Shit, I was sweating, and I musta played Maze at least three times before I changed it and put on Stephanie Mills. Now, that’s my girl. I ain’t never heard nobody so little hit so many big notes. Zora can learn something from this girl. And I seen her live once. Talk about energy. She runs back and forth across the stage like lightning, and seem like her little feet don’t even touch the damn floor. And them little hips can rock it, I swear to God.

  By the time “The Love Connection” was almost on, I was finished with everything except waxing the floors, and since I wanted everything to be nice when Zora got home, I said fuck “The Love Connection” today.

  She had went out and bought all this baby stuff. Spent a goddamn fortune. She didn’t seem to be too worried about the rent, when it came to that baby. I think she’s going a little overboard, really. You should see the kid’s room. You’d swear we was rich and white. I didn’t bother cleaning in there—cause needless to say, it wasn’t dirty.

  I figured I’d watch “The People’s Court” while I changed the sheets. Then I would cook, so it would be warm by the time she got home. Judge Wapner don’t give a motherfucker a break, I swear. It was real stupid today. Some people was arguing over a damn dog. I turned it off and got myself another little drink. Shit, I forgot. Tonight was her Lamaze class. She don’t talk to me about it, ’cause when she first asked me if I’d go with her and I got so drunk that all I did was stand outside and look up at the window ’cause I was too depressed to participate, she cussed me out, and now her white girlfriend, Judy, is gon’ be her coach.

  I wasn’t even high yet, so Zora wasn’t gon’ be able to say nothing to me about being drunk when she got home. I decided, since I had at least a good two hours to kill, to go into my woodworking room. Now, this was a mess, and I wasn’t about to clean this shit up. Not today. As a matter of fact, the worse it looks, the better I like it. Make me feel like I’m accomplishing something, although I ain’t finished nothing in here in I don’t know when. That’s what I need to do. Concentrate more on my wood. We could use a real bookcase, not bookshelves, to put all these damn books. Most of ’em was still in boxes. And that bed we been sleeping in ain’t never been big enough. Maybe I’ll make a new frame king size. But that takes money too. Shit.

  I was moving some of the big pieces of pine over in a corner, when the phone rang. I hope it ain’t none of Zora’s sorry little girlfriends. I don’t feel like talking to none of ’em. It was my Pops. I shoulda known it was gon’ be bad news. Darlene done had a nervous breakdown and was in Bellevue. He ain’t even been up to see her ’cause he working on the basement ’cause my Aunt Delilah is coming up from South Carolina. Big fuckin’ deal, I thought, but I didn’t feel like saying it. I told him I was about to be a daddy in a few weeks and he couldn’t understand why I hadn’t told him before now. I wanted him to think about why. I told him Merry Christmas and hung up.

  It was too late to think about getting on a train going up to Bellevue tonight, but I called. Darlene didn’t have no phone in her room, and when I asked how she was doing, the nurse just said she wasn’t able to give that information out over the phone. When I asked what time was visiting hours, they said she didn’t want any visitors. “But I’m her brother,” I said.

  “She’s given explicit instructions not to allow any visitors whatsoever. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Well, when is she getting out?”

  “You’ll have to talk to her doctor about that.”

  “And what’s his name?”

  “Hold a minute while I get her chart.”

  I poured myself a drink while I waited. No visitors. Darlene is taking this shit too far. When the nurse came back, she gave me a number for Dr. Pavlovich.

  “Thank you,” I said, and hung up.

  Well, tomorrow I’ma call him to see if he’ll tell me what the real deal is. That’s my sister
up there falling apart. I know my shit is raggedy, but I’ll be damned if I’d let anybody or anything wear me out like that. I guess the word for her is “vulnerable.” She’s too goddamn vulnerable.

  I was kinda fucked up by the time “Wheel of Fortune” came on, and believe me, I was trying not to get like this. Sometimes there’s just too much empty space that’s anxious for something—anything—and the only way I know how to numb it is with a few drinks. I know I got a problem, but I ain’t no alcoholic. These is just rough times.

  * * *

  “Franklin! You cleaned the house?”

  “Dinner is ready for you too, baby.”

  She looked so surprised and so damn happy, I couldn’t help but thinking that maybe I shoulda been doing this all along. Maybe it woulda eased some of this friction. Our shit has got so thick you could cut it with a knife. It sure felt good seeing a smile on her face.

  She walked over and put that big belly against me and wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. That was all I needed. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  “The rice stuck a little bit, and maybe the chicken still got some blood in it. Matter of fact, I know it do, but it was brown, so I took it out. If you don’t eat it, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

  “We can put it in the oven for twenty minutes, and it’ll cook on the inside. Don’t worry about it.”

  “So how was your day, baby?”

  “Good. A lot of the teachers threw me a surprise baby shower, and, Franklin, you won’t believe all the stuff they got for the baby. A bassinet, one of those little seats, a changing table—you know how much those things cost?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Me either, but they’re expensive. And I got so many sleepers and undershirts and five boxes of newborn Pampers. Will you go out there with me one day next week and help me bring it home?”

  “Yeah. That was nice of ’em to do that.”

  “Sure was. So how was your day? I see you were real busy. This was thoughtful of you, really, and I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. I just been down, baby. So down I can’t even explain it to you. I know I been fuckin’ up, and I know I ain’t been the easiest person to live with, but shit is about to change. I’ma do something, but don’t ask me what right now, ’cause I still ain’t figured it all out yet. One thing I do know is that I’ma have to figure a way to get outta construction. The money is good, but you only as good as the day you working. And with the baby and everything, I need something I can count on. Bear with me, would you, baby?”

  “I’m trying, Franklin. That’s what I’ve been doing, is trying.”

  “Sit down. Relax.”

  I told Zora that my Pops had called, and what he said. Zora was surprised, but not shocked. We was about to sit down and eat when she told me that she was going out to Claudette’s on Sunday and it was for women only. Didn’t hurt my feelings none ’cause a game was coming on. I told her to have a good time.

  * * *

  The next morning, Zora went to the laundromat and I called this doctor. They musta had me on hold for damn near ten minutes, but I wasn’t hanging up till I found out what the deal was.

  “Yeah, Dr….” I looked at the little piece of paper to get his name straight, but he beat me to it.

  “Pavlovich.”

  “Yeah, right. I’m Darlene Swift’s brother and I was told by the nurse at the hospital that she’s under your care, and I just wanna know what’s wrong with my sister and if she’s gon’ be all right.”

  “Well, there’s only so much I can tell you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “She’s suffered from what I like to call an emotional imbalance, which caused her to experience a temporary breakdown.”

  “So she had a nervous breakdown is what you’re saying, right?”

  “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that. Your sister has a very low self-image. From what I gather, she’s been depressed for a very long time. I’m going to try to get her to talk to me, to see if we can get her back on her feet.”

  “You a psychiatrist?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, when she gon’ be able to come home?”

  “Sometime soon, but I’ve advised her that she shouldn’t be alone for a while. I spoke with your father just this morning, and he’s agreed to let her stay at home until she’s more confident and strong enough to handle everyday affairs on her own.”

  “Is she suicidal?”

  “I can’t answer that question.”

  “You gon’ dope her up?”

  “She’ll be given antidepressants, if that’s what you mean.”

  “One last question, Doctor. Is she gon’ be all right? I mean, she ain’t crazy, is she?”

  “No, she’s not crazy. If she’s amenable to treatment—being open about her difficulties—and if she’s willing to confront what may be bothering her, that’ll be a beginning.”

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  I went straight to the dictionary and looked up “amenable.” All I can say is if she ain’t, she better be.

  25

  When I walked into Claudette’s house, the first thing I saw was crepe paper everywhere. Then a group of women—half of whom I didn’t even know—popped through another doorway and yelled “Surprise!”

  “Claudette,” I said, when I spotted her, “you didn’t have to do this, and you know it.”

  “It took me long enough to get your behind out here. We’ve had this planned since October, girl.”

  She introduced me to nine or ten of her girlfriends, and they knew all about me. The dining room table was stacked with gifts, and a stroller sat right next to it. I really couldn’t believe this. And Claudette’s house was gorgeous. It’d been so long since I’d been out here.

  “Zora?” This voice came from behind me. It couldn’t be who I thought it was.

  “Marie?” I said, turning. This kind of affair wasn’t her style at all, but it was Marie, all right. And she looked good.

  “How goes it, Miss Z?”

  “Fine. But what about you? You’re the one who’s looking like a million dollars.”

  “Well, girl, so much has happened since the last time I saw you. I’m gonna be in a movie! For real. And I’m not drinking, either. Don’t look at me like that—it’s the truth. It’s been sixty-two days, I swear to God. Anyway, I haven’t felt this good in years. And to make a long story short, I’ve got gigs coming out of my ass. My material has gotten so much better—I can’t believe it. And I’ve been meeting some dynamite people, one in particular I’d like you to meet. As a matter of fact, she’s here with me. Her husband is a big record producer, girl, and I told her about you and I told her you wrote music, and her husband would like to hear your demo. I’m not bullshitting. That’s the least I can do, considering.”

  “Are you putting me on, Marie?”

  “He’s produced all kinds of people. I’ll tell you all the details later. But let me just ask you this: Does Columbia Records ring a bell?”

  “Get out of here.”

  “I brought something for the baby, but this is yours.” She reached in her purse and handed me an envelope. “All eight hundred. Thanks, Zora.”

  “Are you serious, Marie? Are you sure you can afford to do this now?”

  “I’m telling you, Z, things have been happening. Nobody is more surprised at this shit than me.”

  It couldn’t have come at a better time.

  “Come here, girl,” Claudette said, pulling me by the arm. “Let’s get a look at this belly. Somebody get the camera. Lord only knows when I’ll ever see this girl in this condition again.”

  “First, I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Ladies, how many of you remember those days?”

  At least ten of them yelled out, “I do!”

  “When you come back,” Claudette said, “I’ve got a surprise for you, so hurry up.”

  When I came back out, everybo
dy was sitting in the living room like they were waiting for something. “What’s going on?” I asked, and sat down too.

  “Nothing, bitch!”

  Portia! She walked into the room holding this little bundle in her arms, and I couldn’t believe this shit. “Portia? Is that really you?”

  “No, it’s your fuckin’ imagination.” Then she started laughing. It was easy to see that she wasn’t a size seven anymore, but the girl still looked good.

  “What are you doing here? When did you get back from Nashville? What did you have? When did you have it? Why didn’t you call me? Let me see!”

  She opened the blanket and the eyes of a cute little brown baby in pink were squeezed tight. She looked so new.

  “She came early. Her name’s Sierra. Six pounds six ounces, and I didn’t stay in Nashville ’cause I’m getting married.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Let me sit down.”

  “You’re already sitting down.”

  “You’re getting what?” I said.

  “Married. To Arthur.”

  “But I thought…never mind. Congratulations! Does this make you happy?”

  “Very. I was bullshitting, girl. I love the motherfucker, but I was just scared, and since he was, you know…But hey, he was at the hospital and everything, he was right there, and I ain’t used to nobody being there for me, and by the time she got here, his papers was final.”

  “Get out of here!”

  “I’m serious, girl. I’m serious. He’s a good man, and I just didn’t wanna admit that I was all strung out and shit over no you-know-what. You get my drift?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “So how’s Franklin?”

  “So-so.”

  “He treating you right?”

  “As well as he can.”

  “What about his papers?”

  “He hasn’t gotten ’em yet, and I’m not pressing him. So much has happened that I’ll have to tell you about it another time. Not now. I can’t believe you’re here, Portia, and I’m so glad you’re back. I swear I am.”