“It’ll do,” Gayle said, not wanting her cousin to get the wrong impression. Gayle refused to let the lack of a hip-hop beat dampen her celebration, and accepted that the Clark Sisters, the Mighty Clouds of Joy, and the Winans were as funky as Cookie’s stereo got. So what if they weren’t out on an all-day stroll up and down Jamaica Avenue or sitting on her stoop waiting for Troy. It was a nice ride into town.
The meeting was held in the church basement, which was packed with young people. Cookie introduced Gayle and José (whom she called Emanuel) to the cluster of kids that grew around them. Most of them were teens; some of them were college students. Every one of them was brimming with spirituality, punctuating every other phrase with “Praise Jesus!” or “Praise God!” Gayle, however, couldn’t see herself jumping into that bag, and kept her greetings simple: “Peace, yawl.”
No one could Praise the Lord as naturally and as often as Cookie. Look at Miss Cookie, working her show, Gayle thought, both envying and enjoying her cousin’s popularity. Cookie stayed fixed in the center. A queen bee. The way she reached out and touched hands or waved to jubilants across the room, you’d think they’d gathered in her honor. Cookie was actually fascinating, and could say some funny things. All she needed was a new hairstyle, a little makeup, and to burn those clothes—starting with those kneesocks—all things calling for the aid of a girlfriend.
Suddenly, before Gayle’s eyes grace turned to clumsiness. Cookie bumped into the table where the punch bowl sat, stepped on someone’s toes, then ran into the bathroom.
What was her problem? Only thing happened was a guy who was as big as an ox stood in the doorway looking for someone. Gayle recognized him: the Sneaker King dude.
Finally Cookie came out of the bathroom and stood by the punch bowl.
“Who that?” Gayle said, pointing.
“Who?” Cookie asked, staring down at the bowl.
“Stiff Wood, that’s who.”
“What?”
Again Gayle pointed. “That big dude standing at attention in the back.”
“I thought you New Yorkers were supposed to be so cool,” Cookie hissed. “And don’t point like that,” she said, grabbing hold of Gayle’s hand. “He’ll know we’re talking about him.”
“Scoop! Scoop! Give up the scoop.”
“There’s no scoop,” Cookie said. “Now keep your voice down. That’s not what we’re here for.”
“How long you been liking Stiff Wood?”
“What makes you think I like him?”
“What makes you think I’m stupid? Dog, Cookie. I may have failed math twice but I can figure. Almost peed on yourself minute he come in the place. Give up the scoop.”
“You’re not going to lower your voice until I talk, are you?”
“At least you understand me. Talk.”
“Okay. Okay.” She pulled Gayle aside and spoke in whispers. “His name is Stacey Alexander. He’s a freshman at Columbus College where Mama teaches.”
“I’m real impressed,” Gayle deadpanned.
“He works part time at—”
“The Sneaker King,” they said in unison.
“I see him there when I go into town to do my mission work. Oooh! And he’s on the football team. I’m sure he’ll make varsity next year, probably transfer to Auburn. Cousin, you should see how he looks in his football uniform.”
“Why, Miss Cookie, I didn’t know you had it in you, but I’m glad you do,” Gayle said. Cookie shushed her, but Gayle went right on talking. “So what you gonna do about it, girlfriend?”
“Do?”
“Must be an echo. I said, you like him. He must like you, the way he looking over here every three minutes. Do something. Go on over there and say ‘praise the Lord’ or whatever yawl say to get that rap going.”
Before Cookie could remind Gayle of their reason for attending the meeting, he was standing before them, showing Cookie his big dimples.
“Hello, Sister Constance.”
Okay. He fine, Gayle thought, making no secret of checking him out. And he got a deep voice. And he fills out his dungarees and shirt. Yup, she thought, I know zactly what the kiddies’ll look like.
Cookie could only smile.
“’Sup, slick? I’m Gayle.”
Gayle’s brazenness set off panic in Cookie, forcing her to find her tongue before Gayle spoke again. “This is my cousin Gayle from New York.”
“Nice to meet you, Gayle,” he said. “Baby-sitting?”
Gayle sucked her teeth. “Do I look like I’m baby-sitting? He’s mines,” she said, thinking, Sho’nuf stiff wood.
He apologized to Gayle but without taking his eyes off Cookie. “Your solo was very moving, Sister.”
“Can’t she sang?” Gayle chimed in.
Cookie gave Gayle a look. “I sing the same solo the first Sunday of every month.”
“You don’t have to be modest,” he said.
What was Cookie’s problem? She couldn’t even go eye to eye with him, let alone keep him talking. After Stacey had said his little say he sat with some of the guys while Cookie sat far away.
Later, at the Dairy Queen, Gayle said, “Cookie, you ain’t slick.”
“What do you mean, Cousin?”
“Even have the nerve to look innocent. ‘High on the Lord.’ High on Stiff Wood is more like it.”
“I go for spiritual renewal.”
“And Stiff Wood.”
“His name is Stacey Alexander.” Cookie tried indignation.
“Was that a sigh I heard?” Gayle teased.
Cookie refused to answer.
“He take your number?”
“No.”
“He ask you out?”
“No.”
“He’s got a woman,” Gayle told her cousin. “Don’t he, li’l man?” José was asleep, his head on his mother’s chest. Gayle wiped the drool from his chin.
“How do you know?”
“He’s in college. He’s a jock. Got a job. And he’s what, eighteen? He’s got a woman.”
“You’re just saying that,” Cookie said, though it was clear she wanted to talk more about Stacey Alexander. “Isn’t he nice?”
“Nice and built,” Gayle said.
“See how you are!” Cookie cried. “I can’t tell you anything.”
“Who you gon’ tell if you don’t tell me? Your diary? ‘Dear Dead Diary,’” she drawled, “‘Today Stiff Wood said I sing nice. Then we said hallelujah and we was in heaven.’”
Cookie started laughing.
“Stick with me, and I’ll have Stiff Wood eating out of your hand.”
14
GAYLE SAT AT GREAT’S BEDSIDE with José in her lap. “Miss Great, you right.”
“Um-hm.”
“Cookie in love. Nose wide open. That’s why she acting so stupid.”
“Um-hm.” Miss Great’s eyes closed and her breathing became heavy.
“Don’t go. Not yet. Miss Great!” Gayle said, rubbing her arm gently. José liked this rubbing game and lunged forward to touch his great-great-grandmother. Gayle caught him in time and held him more securely. She resumed rubbing Great’s arm although it did no good. Miss Great had slipped off into one of her journeys and wasn’t coming back until she was good and ready.
Gayle remained at her bedside, fingers cupping Miss Great’s cheeks. She studied Great’s peaceful face, knowing that this would be her death face. The darkness that ringed Great’s eyes told all. Great would soon leave her alone in that big house with no one to talk to.
Why did Miss Great have to tire out? They were having a good long talk that morning. Gayle had presented the mason jar, holding it up to the light for Great’s approval. Miss Great praised the aroma and color of the concoction. She praised Gayle’s good sense for measuring, then praised her hands, describing them as “fine, turning, easing, midwife hands.” Normally Gayle would have been full of quips, but that morning she sat quietly and bathed in Great’s words. The last—and perhaps only—persons to list her goo
d qualities had been Troy, and before him José.
She held up the mason jar one last time to search for signs of readiness. Great said her senses were sharp. She’d be able to see the first and second changes on her own.
Footsteps marched up the stairs. Gayle froze, fearing Uncle Luther would swing open the door, catch her with “hoodoo juice,” and smash the jar on the floor in the name of God before making her clean it up. He was that mean. He would smash Great’s last joy just because it was in Gayle’s hands and he hated the sight of her and her baby.
She stopped thinking and listened. She heard not marching, but hopping, like somebody was happy. Happy? Cookie. She returned the jar to the dresser drawer and pushed it closed.
Cookie stuck her face in the room. She was one big grin.
“Cousin, Great been sleeping long?”
Gayle shook her head. “She’ll be out a good while.”
Cookie motioned excitedly. “Come see what I brought you.”
It had been a long time since someone had brought her anything. Gayle put José on her hip and followed Cookie.
“It’s in the car,” Cookie said.
“Shoot! Something good, something good.”
“Car seat for the baby,” Cookie blurted. “Sister Taylor said she won’t need it anymore and it’s practically new.”
Gayle squinted her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “It ain’t no stroller.”
“I thought you might want to go for a ride,” Cookie said, “and I can’t drive without a car seat for the baby.”
“Awright. Where to?”
“The mall.”
Gayle’s eyes now sparkled. “Whyn’t you say so? My pockets are empty but I’ll hang out.” She put one arm around Cookie. “Listen, Cookie, I know you got one of those credit cards. Charge me up a Walkman and I’ll pay you back.”
“Cuz, you can use my Walkman.”
“Bet to that!” Gayle fired off. “First stop, the record store for some tapes, ’cause you don’t have what I want.”
“What. Rap?”
“For starters.”
“Don’t you get tired of that? Sex, guns. People being rude and crude and proud of it. Do you hear the names they call each other? Would you like to be called a, a . . .”
“Say it, Cookie, say it. Say it, Cookie, say it!” Gayle taunted.
“Not me,” Cookie said. “You won’t catch that talk coming out of my mouth.”
Gayle laughed. “Don’t you ever feel like a bitch? I know I do.”
“No,” Cookie said.
“And I suppose you never get hot for sex?”
“Is that all those songs have to say? I don’t know if I should let you borrow my Walkman.”
“I know you’re joking. Nobody can be that corny,” Gayle said. “Now wait while I run up and get my bag.”
We rolling! Gayle thought as they left the house behind them. She wriggled in her seat, enjoying the freedom of having her lap to herself, her hands idle, as her eyes grew big with the open road. Life should always be this good. Gayle turned to see how José was getting along in the car seat. That was the first and last time she checked on him as they sailed down the highway.
“Hey! Isn’t that the mall back there? We passed it.”
“Oh, we’re not going to that one,” Cookie told her. “Crossing the line to Phenix City, Alabama.”
“Alabama!” Gayle said. “How far’s that from New York?”
Cookie shook her head, not knowing how far to take Gayle’s ignorance. “Relax, Cousin. It’s just a few exits off the highway.”
“What’s wrong with the mall in town?” Gayle asked.
“I can’t go to that one. Everyone knows me,” Cookie explained.
“Oooh, Cook-eee! Whatchoo up to? Fun at last.”
Cookie became unusually serious. “You promise not to tell?”
Gayle fake-slapped the air. Didn’t Cookie know the only person worth talking to was dying?
“If you want some condos I’ll get them.”
“Condos?” Cookie asked.
Cousin was just too slow. “Erection protection,” Gayle said. “You know about protection, don’t you?”
“Apparently you don’t,” Cookie shot back.
Gayle loved it when Cookie tried to get snappy. It was like being with the homegirls. Kind of. “Do too. It’s not my fault Troy got supersperm.”
“No such thing,” Cookie said. “I suppose José’s father had supersperm too.”
“Sho did. There’s proof,” she said, pointing to her son, who was fast asleep in his car seat.
“I’m not shopping for condoms, Cousin. Condoms. I want something else.”
“What’s in here you can’t buy at home?”
Cookie turned with a devilish grin. “Jeans. Stretch jeans.”
Gayle stared blankly. “Slow up, Cuz. They got stretch jeans at the mall in Columbus.”
“Gayle, I thought you knew. Even though the church says we can now wear pants and makeup, I can’t be the first one running to The Gap in lip gloss.”
“Why bother?” Gayle asked. “You won’t wear them out nowheres. Just a waste of money.”
“I know it makes no sense, but it’s something I’ve always wanted. Just for me. I’ll be happy to wear them in my room.”
“You lying.”
“What?”
“You ain’t buying no jeans to hang up in your closet. You buying those jeans to shake your booty for Stacey. You ain’t slick.”
“Unh-unh,” Cookie protested, though unable to hide her smile. “This is about me.”
They entered The Gap. Cookie strolled around the bins, looking but not touching. Gayle headed straight to the bins of stretch jeans and began riffling through. She picked up a pair of size fourteens and held them up for Cookie.
“Don’t you think we should get sixteens?” Cookie asked.
“Fourteen,” Gayle insisted. “You’re bricked out, but you ain’t moose size.”
“Don’t you think they’ll be too tight?”
Gayle ignored Cookie and flagged down a salesgirl. “Yo, girlie.”
“What are you doing?” Cookie was mortified. The salesgirl was speeding their way, donning her helpful smile.
“Tell homegirl sixteen is too big.”
The salesgirl immediately sided with Gayle. She brought Cookie a selection of cotton jeans to try on. “You’ll like these better. Besides, tight’s out. These are in. Try them.”
Gayle grabbed the jeans with one hand and led Cookie to the fitting room. She let José down on the carpet. He made friends with the baby in the mirror.
“They’re too tight,” Cookie said.
“Unh-unh. All we gotta do is pull. Once you get ’em on and break ’em in they’ll be good. Come on, pull,” Gayle said. “Dog, Cookie, you stacked like Jack.”
They laughed and pulled until they succeeded in getting them up all the way. Cookie sucked in while Gayle zipped. José clapped hands against the carpeted floor watching his mommy play. Biting her knuckles, Cookie peered sheepishly in the mirror.
“Go’n, girl. Strut.”
“No.”
“Go ’head,” Gayle scolded. “We sure didn’t cross two towns for nothing. Go’n. Let’s see what you got.”
Cookie wouldn’t move.
“Go ’head, Cookie. They only pants—and they not even the kind you fry in hell for wearing. These are old granny bloomers if you ask me. Go ahead. Walk. They ain’t all that tight.”
“You sure?”
“Those things so loose you could squeeze another leg in there.”
Cookie dragged her feet across the small fitting room admiring herself in her cotton jeans. No sooner had she struck a somewhat confident pose than Gayle sang out, “She’s a brick house—ow!”
“Stop that!” Cookie said, laughing.
They paid for the pants and bought a tape at the record store. Cookie guarded her Gap bag under her arm, feeling thoroughly victorious. Gayle just shook her head and thought, All tha
t for jeans to hang in her closet.
“Next thing we gotta work on is burning those kneesocks,” Gayle said.
As they drove out of the parking lot Gayle spun the tuner, searching for music with a hip-hop beat. Cookie told her it was two stations over to the right.
“Cook, you’s all right,” Gayle said.
“Why, thank you, Cuz.”
“Wait till Stiff Wood sees you in those jeans. Girlfriend, you’ll be in serious trouble.”
“Not me,” Cookie sang.
“Hmp. You watch. Stiff Wood will be asking you out.”
“Nooo.”
“See, look. Here’s how we’ll play it,” Gayle said. “We’ll go to the next church meeting. Slick’ll come over and say, Sister Constance, you sing like a angel—or some stupid thing like that. Then I’ll say, “Yo, slick. Have you seen the new Whoopi Goldberg picture playing in town? I was just telling girlfriend here it’ll make you laugh, cry, and pee all at once.”
“You wouldn’t!” Cookie gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“Don’t thank me,” Gayle said as she draped her arm over Cookie’s backrest. “Just think, Cuz. You and me, me and you. Hanging out. Like sisters on the homefront, looking out for each other.”
“And the baby.”
“And the baby.”
15
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU, CUZ,” Gayle said, brushing Cookie’s hair. “After weeks of plotting, we got Stiff Wood right where we want him and you go ’viting him over to meet Auntie and Uncle. You crazy?’
Cookie replied with an air about her, “I won’t go out with anyone who won’t meet Mommy and Daddy. Besides,” she said, admiring her new hairstyle, pulling her bangs more front than side, “I love when Daddy puts terror in their hearts.”
“But they won’t make a move.”
“Exactly,” Cookie said, beaming.
Gayle swept Cookie’s bangs off of her face. “Cuz, look in my eyes and tell me you don’t want that boy to touch you.”
Cookie raised her chin. “That’s not on my mind.”
Gayle slapped Cookie’s shoulder, then resumed brushing. Hard. “It’s on mine. I misses Troy. I could use some good sex, way yawl got me slaving. Shoot. I need to feel good,” she said. “Troy’s up there screwing around. I know he is. If I don’t get back to New York . . .”
Like Sisters on the Homefront Page 9