“Look at you.” Martin releases me, his eyes taking their sweet time grazing my body. I feel naked and shy.
“Come.” He takes my hand on the front stairs, and we descend together.
Time has been good to Martin. To most men it is, but to Martin it was damn good. His hair had just enough chalk to give him distinction.
“You hungry?”
“I can eat,” I say.
“How’s Indian food?”
“Lovely.”
* * *
Martin holds the door open for me at the New Delhi Indian Restaurant on the corner of Fortieth and Chestnut.
“This is one of the oldest Indian establishments in the city. Hope you like it.”
“Sure I will.”
He shows me to a table in the corner with a view of Chestnut Street, then moves about the buffet like a person who is familiar. I have to look at each dish before I decide on the lamb vindaloo, chana masala, and a few scoops of the palak paneer.
I’m a sucker for fried Indian cheese, and my mouth is filled when the waiter comes to take our drink order.
“The lady will have a rum and Coke.” Martin nods to me and I nod back. “I’ll have the Coke.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, and I know in that moment that I will need two drinks to act normal.
Normal, Felicia, normal.
“It’s so good to see you, Faye.” He leans across the table and squeezes my hand. Oh. The sensation of his touch puddles in my belly, then settles in my groin. I cross my ankles. What the hell is wrong with me?
The waiter drops off my drink and I sip. Martin tells me how he got pinched.
“The last I heard, you were down south helping Daddy Gracious One start up a new congregation.”
“Yeah, I was in Savannah but things didn’t go as planned. I’m heading back down there in a week to resume my work. I’m really glad that you came to see me, Faye.”
“Excuse me.”
I stand up from the table, grab another plate, and busy myself at the buffet. I’m becoming swept up in his charm, and I pinch my arm hard to remind myself why I’m here. I work to revive my anger, but when I reach the table his smile makes it disappear like dust.
“Still have the same hearty appetite. Nothing nicer than watching a woman chew.”
How does he make eating sound like a compliment? The waiter drops off a second rum and Coke and I slurp.
“Long you in Philly, Faye?”
“Why would you talk to my husband?”
“I didn’t say nothing. He was the one jumping bad. But I sure can’t complain about the results, ’cause you’re here, Young Sister.” He reaches for my hand before I can pull away and kisses my fingertips. My hand concedes and he smiles.
“Fine, girl.”
The waiter interrupts. “Will that be all?”
I shake my head yes and he drops the check.
Martin places his napkin in his plate and stands.
“Pardon me.” He heads toward the men’s room. I finish my drink. The waiter is hovering around our table, so I reach into my purse and peel a bill from the five hundreds that Preston gave me. By the time the waiter returns with my change, Martin strolls over.
“You didn’t have to pay, but thanks, Faye.” His hazel eyes touch mine as he helps me from my seat.
We walk out of the restaurant onto the busy street. The sun is sinking in the sky, giving off a beautiful orange and pink hue. We round the corner, and there is a trumpet player tearing up the Rihanna song that’s played every five minutes on the radio. The air is cool enough for a light sweater, but my skin is tepid. Our conversation jumps around, and before I know it, we’ve walked seven blocks and are standing in front of an apartment building.
“Come in a minute?” he pulls a key from his pants pocket.
“Whose place is this?”
“A friend.” He holds the door.
“I better get going. Gran will worry if I’m out of her sight for too long.”
“Just a minute.”
“No, it was nice—”
“For old times’ sake. Please, Faye.”
“I guess I can come in for a minute.” My voice is soft, timid.
“Man, you really like making a brother beg.” He leads the way and I follow.
The apartment is pass-through basic and smells clean. Martin gestures toward the couch and then disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he hands me another rum and Coke and offers me a cigarette. I know what happens to me after three drinks, and I opt to focus on the cigarette. When I place it between my fingers, he leans in to light it.
I exhale my thank you. He fires up one for himself and then turns to me through the smoke. “So, Young Sister, what have you been doing with yourself?”
I had already told him the bones of it on the phone, so I add in a few years of college life in New York City for color.
“I played a few gigs in New York,” Martin ashes. “I wonder if it was around the same time.” We go back and forth but our time in New York City doesn’t match.
My cell phone starts ringing. I clunk around in my bag until I find it. Home flashes on my screen. I stand.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Mama.”
It’s Rory. The spell is broken. “Honey, hang on for two seconds, okay?” I push the mute button. “Martin, I have to go.”
He’s on his feet, walking me to the door. “Promise you’ll come back tomorrow evening. I’d love to make you dinner.”
I undo the locks and turn the knob.
“Beef or chicken?”
“Beef.” I call over my shoulder.
“Rory, sweetie.” I shove the phone against my ear and he’s crying.
“I miss you so much. When are you coming home? Daddy won’t tell me,” he whispers.
“Soon, baby. Where are you?”
“In the closet. I didn’t want Grandma Juju to know I was calling you.”
“Why?”
“Because she said I can’t call you every time something doesn’t go my way.”
“What happened?”
“She yelled at me because she told me to make up my bed and clean my room. I did, but she said it wasn’t neat.”
My heart burst. I want to get into my car and drive home. I want to hug him. “Rory, do you trust Mommy?”
“Yes.” He whimpers.
“Just be a good boy and listen to Daddy and Grandma Juju. As soon as I can come home, I will. Write me a letter.”
“I don’t know the address.”
“Do you have a pen?”
“No, I’m in the closet, remember?”
“Okay, write the letter. Tell Two to draw me a picture and call me tomorrow with a pen so I can give you the address. I love you, sweetie, even when we are not together. Don’t ever forget it.”
“I love you more.” He hangs up.
TWENTY-SIX
The Mountains Are High
The tears fall freely on my drive back to Gran’s, and the effect of the alcohol wearing off adds to my torment. What type of mother am I to leave my cubs?
But Preston told you to go.
So fucking what? I’m no better than—
Your mother?
Shut up.
I take Belmont Avenue through Fairmount Park, drive past the plateau, the spot Will Smith describes with fond memories in his famous song “Summertime.” It was where the famous “Greek Pic Niks” used to take place every July. Gran would never let me go, because before the weekend was over someone always got shot and some girl got raped. Crystal went behind Gran’s back and would come home with long tales, and rolls of 35mm shots of the freakiness that went on.
I put my blinker on, turned onto the Strawberry Mansion Bridge, and then over to Cumberland Drive. It’s easy to get from West Philly to North Philly through the park, and when I make a left onto Ridge Avenue, I see the Dell Music Center. It makes me think of my mother, and how she used her pretty to get us into the amphitheater to see Diana Ross perform. My mo
ther, Lanette Hayes, was always a great flirt. So when she opened her eyes fully, turned them onto the burly man at the gate, with her Louisiana accent exaggerated, he was a victim of her will.
She balked, “Some horrible man pushed me down on the ground, held his hand to my throat, and then snatched our tickets.” She ran her fingers through her hair with her bony wrist, like she was pulling herself together.
“Come with me, ma’am,” said the man wearing the black security polo. Mommy kept squeezing my hand as he escorted us past all the people and up to the front row.
“For your troubles, ma’am.”
Mommy patted his wrist and gave him her eyes again as a thank you.
I was so close to Diana that I could see her Adam’s apple bob. She sang all of my favorites, “I’m Coming Out,” “Missing You,” “Love Hangover.” My mother lost her mind when she sang the theme from Mahogany. “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” was next, and that’s when she tugged on my ear and whispered,
“Ain’t no mountain high enough to keep me from you, baby. I’ll always be here for you. Never forget it.”
Two weeks later she was taken away from me on an ambulance stretcher.
* * *
Dauphin Street leads me all the way to Fifteenth, and then I have to come back around to Sydenham Street, since it’s a one-way. As I lock up my car, I’m rubbed with how this separation will damage the children. I’ve worked so hard to make them issue-free by watching them with hawk eyes, giving them all that they need. And now this will be their issue. My mother was a liar, and now so am I.
I push open the front door. The house has a hum to it. Gran is already in bed. I want to call Preston, but I’m afraid of what hearing his voice will do to me, so I take a Schlitz from the fridge and carry my phone out to the front steps. The steps are smooth and cold against my dress. The street is quiet. None of the kids that I grew up playing with live here anymore, except for Precious down the street. But we don’t have anything in common, haven’t since I fled. I instant-message Preston.
How are we going to do this?
Two minutes later he replies.
You’re a liar.
And you’re perfect? The kids miss me.
I know.
I want to come home. We need to talk. Call me.
That’s not a good idea.
I’m angry.
Why are you acting so over the top?
Our whole marriage is built on a lie.
I’m coming home.
Please stay where you are, for the children’s sake. Let’s not make this ugly. I’ll call you when I can. Good night.
I stare at the phone until my vision is blurry and then power it down. The tasteless beer is finished and I feel restless. I suddenly wish Crystal had left me a joint. My mind finds Martin and calms. It was amazing how for just those few hours that we were together my discomfort had retreated. He has the same ability he had when I was fifteen. Underneath Martin, in the back of the car, in his bed, the sting of losing my parents disappeared. The potholes were filled and I’d forget that my life was a blistering sore, if only in those moments.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The Runaround
Angst chased me all night in my dreams. I woke up feeling like I wanted to stay with the bedspread over my head until the nightmare that was now my life lifted. The only reason I threw my legs over the side of the bed was because I didn’t want to answer to Gran. She had a dislike for lazy. My hands cup my breasts. Liv’s milk didn’t come in as heavily as before, and I know it’s because I’m drying up. I’m an old prune. I can’t think about anything but home, and I bite my knuckles in attempt to get myself together.
But this is what you wanted. Freedom.
Not like this.
I throw on a robe and head downstairs. I dial the house, but it rolls to voice mail. I leave a message for the kids. My voice is a fake cheer.
“Hi munchkins, it’s Mommy. I miss you guys and I hope you have the best day ever. Please don’t forget to put your toys away and brush your teeth. Call me tonight so I can sing you a bedtime song. Love you.”
I try Preston’s cell phone but he doesn’t answer. Why won’t Preston talk to me? How the hell are we supposed to work things out? I hear Gran on the steps and I chase away my feelings by percolating her coffee and boiling two eggs.
“Morning.”
“Hey, Gran,” I call from the kitchen. When I carry her cup and plate into the dining room she is sitting in her chair, pressed out and polished.
“Where are you going all dolled up?” I ask. She’s wearing a red button-down sweater with a feathered broach, her hair is in pin curls, and she even has on blush and lipstick.
“To the doctor’s office. And then this evening Mr. Scooter coming by to take me to the All You Can Eat Buffet. They just built a new one up on Roosevelt Boulevard.”
I hand her the brunch I’ve made.
“No eggs for me today, just the coffee with no sugar and a lot of cream. I don’t want the doctor to say my cholesterol is too high. I’ll save all of my eating for the buffet.” She laughs, and I see that she’s put her teeth in. Gran looks pretty and happy today, and I borrow a little of her sunshine and force a smile back.
“You ready to talk yet?” She looks through me like I’m made of Plexiglas.
I shake my head no.
“Always been like that, walking round here like you ready to bust. Ain’t good. Better when you get stuff off your chest, gal.” She gives me her Gran look.
I shift my weight.
“Planning on going to see your mother?”
“How are you getting to the doctor’s office?”
“You going to take me. So run along and get dressed. Should be dressed anyway, it’s almost ten.”
* * *
Getting Gran to the doctor’s is no easy feat. I’m driving the Nissan, which is ten years old and low to the ground, so just getting her into the car is an ordeal. When we arrive at Temple University Hospital, she wants me to drive her to the front and then meet her upstairs, but she doesn’t tell me where upstairs. Then, of course, she doesn’t answer her ancient flip phone until I call for the eighth time.
“Where are you?” I’m exasperated.
“Gal, I thought something was wrong. I told you fourth floor.” And she hangs up without saying good-bye, like I’m inconveniencing her.
My thin blouse clings to my sweaty skin, and I am flipping through Lucky magazine when Gran shuffles out. She is smiling and the doctor is behind her.
“This here is my grandbaby. Down from New York City. She’s an actress. Had a commercial run in the Super Bowl.”
“Oh, you’re the one your granny is always bragging about.”
I go pink and take Gran’s arm. “Nice meeting you.” I stretch my hand. His is chapped and calloused.
“See you in six weeks, Ms. Hayes.”
As we walk out, I look back to make sure we haven’t left anything, and everyone is looking at me. I bet they are thinking, is she really famous? I smile as big as I can, and let them wonder.
In the elevator, Gran leans against the back wall.
“Are you tired?”
“No, just catching my breath from all the poking and prying. I’ll be fine. I need to make a few quick stops before we go home.”
Of course she does, and I wonder again how she does all of this when I’m not around.
By the time we get home, the sun has meandered to the other side of the street. Gran and I have only been in the house for five minutes before the front door drags across the wood floor. Crystal walks in, singing.
“Friday night, just got paid.”
Behind her are my young cousins. They’ve sprouted up like cornstalks. I hug them both and try ruffling their hair, but Crystal’s oldest boy is taller than me.
“How old are you now?” I eye him.
When Derell answers, his eyes smile same as when he was a boy. “Just turned twenty-one.”
I slap my hand across my foreh
ead. Damn, time flies.
“Mike-Mike just turned eight, not that you sent him a birthday gift,” Crystal snares at me. “You can give him a few bucks now. I mean damn, Faye, don’t be so cheap. He’s a kid, for Christ sake.”
“Crystal, stop all that mess, you hear?” Gran calls from her spot at the dining room table.
“Mama, why you always taking up for her?”
“Girl, hush, I say.”
Crystal crosses her arm over her big breasts and stomps her foot. Her weave needs combing, and her jeans are too tight because her gut is wiggling under her red shirt.
“Why you running round here in them little clothes?” Gran asks.
“I be back for Mike on Sunday. I packed his church clothes. Derell just stopped in to say hi to Faye. You listen—”
“Where you going?” Gran holds onto the dining room table and lifts herself up.
“I axed you on Monday if Mike-Mike could spend the whole weekend.”
“No, you didn’t. I’m going out with Mr. Scooter in a few minutes. I wasn’t expecting him till Saturday night, same as always.” She looks at me.
“I have dinner plans, too.”
Crystal looks back and forth between us. “Well, Derell, you goin’ have to hold it down until Gran get back. Mama ain’t gonna be out long.”
“We might go to the casino afterward,” Gran reveals, lowering herself back down.
“That’s cool,” said Derell. “I didn’t have plans.”
Gran huffs. “Y’all can stay, but don’t be tearing up my house.”
Derell moves his cap to the back and leans into me for a hug. “Nice seeing you, Faye. How long you here?”
“She ’ont know,” Crystal answers for me.
The boys head down into the basement. I haven’t been down there, but I assume that’s where their video games and other boy toys are. I’m sure it’s the coolest place in the house because Gran still doesn’t have an air conditioner. The one fan blowing out hot air and one fan blowing in cool air aren’t working, and I am a sticky mess.
“Mama, you always keep Mike-Mike for the weekend for church. Don’t get new ’cause Faye’s here.”
“I’m going up to take a shower. Gran, have fun.”
Second House from the Corner Page 16