God Still Don’t Like Ugly

by Mary Monroe

  “And them smashed potatoes tasted like wallpaper paste. How can anybody enjoy something like that?” Daddy laughed.

  “And the toilet is enough to scare anybody into constipation,” Lillimae complained, glaring at a sirloin steak the size of a small saucer.

  Daddy snorted and shook his head. “Tell me about it. I wasn’t half done doin’ my business on that toilet before it started flushin’ by itself!”

  I sighed and shook my head. “Stop that,” I scolded. “I thought you two would like to eat out at a really nice place for a change. This place is a world away from the greasy rib joints you usually go to. This is how the other half lives.”

  Daddy and Lillimae looked at one another, then at me. “Baby, we ain’t the other half; we the ones in the middle,” Daddy told me, looking up toward the ceiling with a frown. “Now what in the world kind of music is they playin’ up in here?”

  “It’s ‘Strangers In the Night’ and that’s Frank Sinatra singing it,” I told Daddy as he rolled his eyes. “You can’t expect a place like this to be playing something by B.B. King.”

  Daddy and Lillimae looked at each other and shrugged, then they looked at me.

  “Is this the kind of music white folks listen to when they eat out?” Daddy asked, laughing some more.

  I sighed and nodded.

  Living in a cosmopolitan city like Miami for so many years hadn’t refined Daddy and Lillimae at all. As much as I loved my daddy and my sister, I loved them just as they were. Their lack of sophistication was endearing. I watched in amusement as they struggled through the rest of our meal.

  On top of everything else, our waitress was rude. Lillimae was the only one that the scowling redhead was courteous to. She smiled at Lillimae and addressed her first each time she came to our table. A lot of the Black people I knew didn’t go to Laslo’s that often because they felt that some of the servers were racist. I had not eaten at Laslo’s that often and until today I had never had a problem.

  The last straw was when the waitress refilled Lillimae’s water glass and ignored Daddy and me. Lillimae beckoned the waitress back to our table.

  “My daddy and my sister would like a little more water, too,” Lillimae said loud enough for the people three tables away to hear. With a stunned look on her face, the woman poured more water onto the table than she did in our glasses.

  Finally, she left the check on the table in front of Lillimae.

  “Well, that heifer sure won’t get a tip,” I grumbled, lifting the check, poring over it to make sure she didn’t overcharge us.

  “Don’t you leave that cow nothin’,” Daddy hollered, loud enough for the woman to hear. “Somebody need to tell that wench that we in the middle of the 1980’s—not the 1950’s! And this ain’t the South.”

  My face was burning. Not with embarrassment, but with anger.

  Lillimae shook her head and waved her hand at me, a devilish smile sitting on her face. “If you don’t leave nothin’, she’ll think you forgot. I’ll take care of the tip,” she announced, rooting through her purse. She fished out two pennies and dropped them on the table, making sure the waitress saw her. “That’s how you tip for bad service. Come on, y’all.” Lillimae glared at the waitress and all the other looky-loos as we waltzed out.

  There was not much to see in Richland, so “sight-seeing” was not an option. However, I did suggest that we take an extended drive throughout the city so I could point out our few landmarks. By the time we returned to my house, Daddy was snoozing in the backseat of my car like a big cat and Lillimae was anxious to get to my bathroom so she could use a toilet that didn’t interrupt her while she was sitting on it.

  A few beers seemed to restore their equilibrium. Sitting next to me on my living room couch, Daddy stared at the side of my head and let out a deep sigh. “I am so glad to see you again, sugar. You don’t know how glad I am.”

  I blinked hard to hold back a tear that was threatening to reveal itself. “Uh, maybe by summer we can plan a family reunion,” I said weakly.

  Daddy and Lillimae looked at one another, their faces expressionless. Turning to me, Lillimae said, “I thought we’d already done that when you came to Florida.”

  I shook my head. “I mean all of us. Amos and Sondra, too.”

  “We’ll all get together someday soon,” Lillimae told me. “If you don’t mind, I’ll give ’em both your address and telephone number so y’all can talk some.”

  “I’d like that,” I said gently. “I’d like for us all to get together soon. I want all of my family together.” A stiff look on Daddy’s face told me he needed some clarification. “Not Muh’Dear, Daddy. Just us for now.”

  Lillimae gave me an address and some telephone numbers so I could contact my other half-siblings at the military base in Germany where they were stationed. But for some reason I knew in the back of my mind that I would not make the first move. I had to handle things a little at a time. I had to deal with Muh’Dear and Daddy’s reunion first.

  I wanted to see some more closure in my family before it was too late. One thing I felt I didn’t have was a lot of time. Muh’Dear and Daddy were not getting any younger. As far as I knew, they were both in fairly good health and I realized they could both probably outlive me because I was not getting any younger, either. But time was still not on my side.

  While Daddy was snoozing again on the living room couch, Lillimae and I attempted to watch television. I had moved from the couch to the floor and curled up on a throw rug with my head on one of the throw pillows from the couch. Lillimae had stuffed herself into one of my wing-armed chairs across from me.

  I don’t even remember what was on television because we spent that time talking. She did most of it. She shared with me her concerns about her rocky marriage, her love for her sons, her disgust with her weight, and the fact that the other children her mother had given birth to lived right in Miami and she couldn’t spend time with them.

  “And I am so sorry about your weddin’ bein’ called off. Maybe that Jerome wasn’t the man for you, after all. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I have a feelin’ he was a scoundrel in the makin’. So many men are,” Lillimae told me with a smile. “But I know in my heart there is another one out there more suitable for you.”

  “I am sure there is,” I said sadly, wondering what Pee Wee was up to.

  To make our conversation more interesting, I told Lillimae all about Scary Mary and her sordid activities.

  “I figured that old sister had a hidden agenda that first time I met her. The way she didn’t look me straight in the eye when she talked and all,” Lillimae laughed. “Well, anyway, that Scary Mary woman still sounds like a good friend to you and your mama.” Lillimae sighed and turned her head to the side, staring off into space. “Bosses, co-workers, they come and go. Next to family, friends is the most important individuals in a person’s life. I hope that in time, you and I will be both to one another.” Lillimae paused and ran her tongue across her lips. There was a faraway look in her eyes as she continued. “I got a few girlfriends. Sisters from the church, co-workers, neighbors. But I don’t feel that close to any of them. I don’t really feel as comfortable talkin’ to them as I do with you. I feel like I can share anything with you. I hope you feel the same way about me.”

  “I do,” I said. And I meant it.

  I wanted to open up my entire life to my sister and I knew that one day I would. I knew that I had to tell her about Mr. Boatwright and what he had done to me. I knew that I had to tell her about Rhoda and what she had done for me. And when I did, I would leave no stone unturned. I had not seen Rhoda since I’d seen her standing in Jean’s front yard. And with everything going on with P., I couldn’t pump Jean for information about Rhoda yet.

  The only person in my life I wouldn’t give Lillimae too much information about was Pee Wee. I didn’t want her to know how weak I was when it came to him and how weak he was when it came to me. As mysterious as my relationship was with tha
t man, there was something sacred about it and I wanted to keep it that way.

  Like Lillimae, he was another wild card in my life.

  CHAPTER 54

  T

  hat Sunday when I got up after a restless night filled with nightmares, Pee Wee called to say that P. was still missing. Now, I also planned to use my time off to help look for P. I didn’t have to do that, though. Around noon, Pee Wee called my house again.

  “I…I guess you done heard about poor little P.” His voice was low and labored, which was rare for Pee Wee. I had not seen or heard him cry since his sissified, teenage years. He had cried like a baby and fainted when President Kennedy got assassinated. He was crying now so I knew what he had to tell me was bad.

  I braced myself. “Did they find her?”

  Pee Wee composed himself and let out a deep sigh before continuing. “So you don’t know.”

  “Know what?” I was getting impatient. “Did they find the child or not?!”

  “Turn on Channel Two news.” Pee Wee let out another sigh, then he hung up.

  Richland, Ohio was not a crime-free city. We had our share of barroom brawls, domestic disturbances, and burglaries, but murder was something that didn’t happen in our city that often. The year before, we had had only one murder. An ex-con had returned to exact revenge on the person who had sent him to prison. That crime didn’t garner that much attention. But what we had to deal with now was the worst thing that had ever happened in the history of our city.

  The television reporter could barely get the story out without stopping to clear her throat. In a raspy voice, she revealed that before dawn, a homeless woman had discovered P.’s body on the ground behind a Dumpster in an alley just six blocks away from Jean’s house. P. had been dead for several hours. In addition to being strangled with her own knee sock, she had been raped and beaten. I was on the floor sitting with my knees held against my chest when Lillimae entered the living room from upstairs just a few minutes later.

  “Annette, what’s the matter?”

  “Somebody killed a little girl from down the street,” I said hoarsely. “Somebody killed that child and threw her away like she was a piece of garbage.”

  “What little girl?” Daddy asked, weaving his way down into the living room. “Who was her peoples? This the little missin’ girl y’all was talkin’ about last night?”

  I nodded. “My friend Jean’s daughter.”

  Lillimae stumbled to the couch, clutching her chest. “Lord have mercy! Do they know who did it?” As soon as Lillimae hit the couch, she started fanning her face with her hand. Living in Florida, she didn’t own much heavy clothing. She had not been prepared for our winter weather. She had one of my sweaters on over a muumuu that she had slid into.

  “No,” I said, turning off the television, forcing myself to keep my opinions to myself. It was too soon for me to say what I was thinking. But as soon as I had heard the news, I believed in my heart that Vinnie Gambiano had had something to do with that child’s murder.

  I immediately called Jean’s house. When Vinnie answered, I hung up the telephone so fast and hard it fell out of its cradle.

  I grabbed my coat and started down the street with Lillimae and Daddy running along with me. When we saw all the police cars in front of Jean’s house, we decided to delay our visit. With long faces, we returned to my living room, where Lillimae sank to the floor, with Daddy struggling to pull her up.

  “I feel for that child’s mother. I don’t know what I would do if somethin’ happened to one of my boys,” Lillimae sobbed.

  “Children is the most precious gift the Lord gives us,” Daddy said. Looking in my direction he added, “I know that now.”

  In the meantime, I stumbled to my kitchen and spent a few minutes on my wall telephone talking to Muh’Dear. P.’s murder and other heinous crimes dominated the conversation for the first five minutes.

  “I don’t know what this world is comin’ to. Why men rape is beyond me. I just read about some demon out there in California that they say had raped three teenager girls. Some shyster of a lawyer got him off and then that same demon up and raped another woman,” Muh’Dear hollered.

  “I guess he got off for that one, too.” I sighed.

  Muh’Dear cleared her throat and sucked her teeth. “Yes and no,” she said gruffly. “That last woman he raped was burnin’ up with that new disease they can’t cure. AIDS. Now he got it. See, there. When somebody act ugly, God treat ’em ugly, ’cause He done showed us he don’t like ugly.” Muh’Dear paused and sniffed hard. “Too bad P. didn’t have a deadly disease.” Muh’Dear sighed. I was glad when she changed the subject. “Uh, your daddy ask about me?” Her voice cracked, but I didn’t know if it was because of P. or Daddy.

  “You know he did, Muh’Dear. He knows you don’t want to see him, but Daddy still wants to see you,” I told her. Daddy had entered the kitchen and was now standing right next to me, listening. He frowned at the mention of his name. Muh’Dear quickly diverted the conversation back to P.

  “Ain’t nothin’ but a devil would do that to a child. I hope when they catch him, they slice his nuts off before they send his ass to hell.”

  “I feel the same way, Muh’Dear,” I said stiffly. As far as I was concerned, whatever punishment they gave the perpetrator, it wouldn’t be harsh enough.

  Daddy folded me in his arms as soon as I hung up the telephone and started leading me back to the living room. “God sure was good to me. He didn’t let no harm come to you all them years I wasn’t there to protect you,” he said.

  I smiled and nodded.

  I finally made it to Jean’s house that evening around six. The police were gone, but the house was full of other neighbors, friends, and relatives. Vinnie, gadding about with no shirt on, was in tears the whole time. Poor Jean was inconsolable. A doctor had sedated her and sent her to bed. I didn’t get to see her at all.

  About an hour after my arrival, old Mr. Antonosanti showed up, accompanied by his male nurse and three ferocious, stout Italian men. According to Scary Mary, Mr. Antonosanti had been sick for years and was dying from a rare liver ailment. The three stout men and Mr. Antonosanti were all dressed in black. Stomping across the floor in their heavy black shoes, huddling together, they reminded me of a herd of bulls.

  “I won’t die until the monster that killed my little Piatra is dead,” Mr. Antonosanti vowed in a weak voice.

  Harming a child was the one sin even I could not forgive. I wanted to see the person responsible suffer.

  Jean had never explained her relationship to the Antonosanti family to me. But I learned from a woman who identified herself as one of Jean’s cousins that Jean’s mother and Mr. Antonosanti were first cousins. Knowing the connections and the money the Antonosanti’s had, I knew that the police would make P.’s case their highest priority.

  However, Richland was a small city with not many resources. The cops in our little Mickey Mouse police department spent most of their time writing out speeding tickets, chastising drunkards, locating missing pets, and kicking back. I didn’t expect them to solve this hellish case quickly, if at all. And even if they did, I couldn’t see them administering a punishment that fit the crime.

  That was why—as much as I hated violence and people taking the law into their own hands—I hoped that the Antonosantis got to P.’s killer first.

  CHAPTER 55

  I

  could not imagine the pain Jean was experiencing, but I was feeling like hell myself after hearing the news about P. I could hardly eat or sleep. Being an outsider and feeling the way I did was one thing. But to a parent, losing a child to murder had to be unbearable.

  During some of my loneliest days, I fantasized about having a child of my own someday, whether I had a husband or not. I had even considered adopting at least two. While I was in my senior year in high school, my social studies class went on a field trip to our county orphanage. Ironically, it was located across the highway from our county asylum. I had learned
from the orphanage director why some of the kids had ended up in the orphanage. The reasons varied. Some of the kids had severe physical and mental handicaps; some were incorrigible and it had been too much of a hardship for their families to keep them. But the saddest ones to me were the ones nobody wanted because of the way they looked. One cone-headed boy in his late teens was transferred from the orphanage to the asylum, the same day of our field trip.

  I knew right then and there that if I ever did adopt children, I’d take the ones nobody else wanted. I didn’t care how severely handicapped or incorrigible they were. After learning the history of some of our local orphans, my own painful childhood seemed like a picnic. Mr. Boatwright was still in my life at the time of my field trip. I had come home to him that day, grateful that he was the only evil in my life.

  But then there were also days when I was glad I was childless. Just the thought of someone brutalizing a child of mine made me temporarily blind with rage. It was a horror I knew I would never get over. The truth hurt and the truth was: no one could protect a child. Not the parents, not even God.

  According to the newspaper report, P.’s face had been battered beyond recognition and her arm had been broken in two places. Jean’s daddy had made the painful trip to the morgue to identify P.’s body. I had been told that the old man had fainted immediately afterward.

  Jean was not doing well at all. Two more days went by before I was able to talk to her. By then, she was practically out of her mind, staring at me through glazed eyes. It had only been four days since the murder, but Jean had already lost weight from not eating. Her face was already gaunt enough that I could see her cheekbones for the first time since we’d become friends. Those pretty violet eyes of hers that I admired so much were bloodshot and almost swollen shut.

  Vinnie sat next to Jean on the plush blue couch in her living room with his arm around her shoulder, gripping her like he was afraid she’d break loose. But then every time Vinnie attempted to rise, Jean pulled him back down and guided his arm back around her shoulder.