Charly's Epic Fiascos (4 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Charly's Epic Fiascos
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Brigette laughed. “Okay? Okay? Heck, someone around here has to punch a clock, and since I'm laid off, who better than you? You can clean up when you get home tonight. And you better learn how to hustle faster than you have been. How you gonna work at the plant with me making cars, if you don't? You know you ain't smart enough for college, so you might as well come with me. That is, if they call us back to work.”
Lola grabbed Charly's arm on their way out of Brigette's bedroom. “Don't worry about your math, Charly. I had Mr. Miller last semester, and I know what it takes to get a high grade. I'll do your homework for you.”
Charly wrapped Lola in a sisterly embrace. “I owe you one!” she said, then began hopping out of her pants on the way to her room. She threw them in the corner, then reached for a pair of tights. Her stomach growled. “And as long as I owe you . . .”
“Yeah. I know. I know. As long as you owe me I'll never go broke. I've heard that before, but I still only got lint in my pockets,” Lola said, picking up Charly's shoes and handing them to her. “I'll meet you at your job later. I know my moms isn't cooking. And you know I gotta eat.”
3
T
he heavy glass door pressed on the back of Charly's feet, helping to push her inside of Smax's BBQ. Charly, normally irritated by the weight of the door, was thankful for it today. She walked through the almost-empty restaurant, nodding her head at the few regulars. A crazy remix of Diana Ross, Stevie Wonder, and James Brown blared from grease-laden speakers wired to the stand in the corner where DJ the DJ spun real vinyl records. Immediately, she bopped her head. She was either an old soul trapped in a young body or she'd grown to like music from the sixties and seventies. “Hi, Rudy,” she greeted Rudy-Rudy-Double-Duty, the self-nicknamed old head who was a double war vet, and had been patronizing Smax's since it opened its doors eons ago.
“Charly, Charly? Where ya been all my life? You know nobody can slice corn bread like you,” Rudy teased.
“Yes, Charly, my dear. You're late, aren't you?” Dr. Deveraux El asked, glancing down to his heirloom watch. Dr. Deveraux El was an older gentleman around fifty, and he had the name and debonair air of a man of nobility. When Brigette met him, she had called him a younger Billy Dee Williams, and Charly had agreed, though she had no idea who Billy Dee Williams was.
“No, sir, Dr. Deveraux El. I'm on time, as always. You know I'm in school. . . .”
Dr. El nodded, then held up a cup of tea, his pinky finger in the air. “Deveraux, Charly. Just call me Deveraux.”
Charly smiled and nodded. They went through the same dance at least twice a week. She'd always address him as doctor and he'd always correct her. If only Dr. Deveraux El didn't have such a superior air, she could call him by his first name. “Okay, sir. I mean Deveraux.”
The bottoms of her bowling shoes made kissing noises as Charly walked past the counter and into the kitchen's walk-in freezer to retrieve a ten-pound bag of fries, knowing her legs would freeze in the knee-length bebop skirt she'd found at a thrift store. “Yuck.” Grease, flour, and God only knew what else was stuck to the brick-red commercial tile of the greasy spoon she slaved in for over twenty hours a week after school, but she wouldn't complain. She needed the job and liked the people.
“Charly, gal,” Smax, the owner, greeted her when she shut the freezer door closed behind her.
Charly looked over toward the grill and grinned so hard her freshly blushed cheeks warmed. Smax was a sight for all eyes. Barely four-eleven, he wore his gray hair in long finger waves, and his thick mustache was curled up and over at the ends like a ram's horns. His mouth was literally glowing, with both his widely spaced front teeth, outlined by crowned gold with diamonds in the center. Today he wore electric-blue alligator shoes and a matching three-piece suit with a yellow shirt underneath. Charly's eyes moved to the coatrack in the rear, and, sure enough, an equally bright blue Dobbs hat hung there. Finger waves or no, Smax wouldn't be caught dead without a coordinating brim to match his outfit.
“Afternoon, Smax. I made it here on time. I just had to get some fries to drop.”
Smax nodded, removing a custom-made gold toothpick from his mouth. He glanced at the clock, then Charly. “I know. I know. I keeps up with all my women.” He winked.
Charly put a hand on her hip. “Smax, remember this isn't nineteen-seventy-nothing. You're out of the game, and you have no women on the street. Especially not me!” She laughed.
“And not me either!” Bathsheba, Smax's common-law wife, yelled from the small office that also served as the supply room. “Smax ain't never pimped nothing but food. Don't let them suits fool you, Charly!” she said, laughing a smoky, sultry laugh.
Smax nodded at Charly, winking twice. “Yessir, I ain't served nothing but food as far as Bathsheba and the po-pos are concerned.” He walked toward Charly, bent slightly forward, and cupped his hands on either side of his mustache. He whispered, “Serving ribs and grilling meat cain't buy all this here, youngin'. Back in my day—”
“I can hear you, Smax,” Bathsheba interrupted. “And you ain't had no day. Don't listen to that old fool, Charly.”
Smax nodded. “If you want the truth, you better listen. I got all the answers!” he said, then laughed, patting his knee before going back to tend the grill.
Charly joined him and Bathsheba in laughter, and wished they could adopt her. As odd as they looked to others on the outside, they were more than perfect within. Smax played the part of washed-up aged-out hustler, and Bathsheba knew her role, never carrying herself as anything less than a queen.
“C'mon back here, Charly, before you drop them fries,” Bathsheba said.
Tucking the heavy cold bag under one arm, Charly winked at Smax, then went to the office. “Ma'am?” she said.
Bathsheba reached into her bra, then pulled out five twenty-dollar bills folded neatly into a handkerchief. “This here is your pay from last week. You didn't pick it up, remember? So you want it now, or you want me to keep holding it until you save for whatever you're saving for? 'Cause I know you're saving for something; that's the only time you lag on picking up your money.”
Charly smiled, then extended her hand to take the money. “I'm ready for it now, Ms. Bathsheba. It took months, but by Friday I'll finally have enough for the phone.”
“Phone?!
Phone?
You mean to tell me you've been slaving for a phone? Child, there's a rotary phone out there hanging on the wall you can use anytime. Besides, what kinda phone costs months' worth of paychecks?” She held out the money like bait, obviously not intending to hand it over until Charly answered her question.
“A cell phone—”
“A cell—” Bathsheba interrupted.
“No. Yes. But not just
any
cell phone. This is
the
cell phone of all cell phones. I can go on the Internet like I would do now if I had a computer—”
“If? What you mean
if
? I thought you bought one 'round last Christmas. Wasn't that what you was saving for last time?” Bathsheba's brows drew together and her arms crossed over her breasts.
Charly nodded. “Yes, ma'am. But Brigette . . .” Bathsheba's forehead furrowed. She'd warned Charly that calling her mother by her first name wasn't going to be tolerated at Smax's. It was too disrespectful, despite Brigette's insistence. “. . . Sorry. My mom needed it for her car.”
“Hmm. You mean your momma took it and gave it to Rudy-Rudy to install some overpriced radio in her car and put them ugly twenty-something-inch rims on her wheels. I know what be going on 'round here, even if I don't say nothing. Ain't that right, Smax?” she yelled out. “You know he's listening.”
Charly's head moved up and down again. She had no defense for her mother's constantly “borrowing” Charly's hard-earned money and never paying it back.
“The phone will also help me study for school, take the online acting classes that I need, and I can video and video conference, even submit e-headshots and résumés to talent agencies. Remember my acting.... You and Smax have been to two of my plays.”
“Four, not two.” Bathsheba handed Charly her pay. She nodded. “We've been to all four of your plays. Besides your sister and that little blond-haired, blue-eyed, red-looking girl you run with—God only knows what kinda genes that girl got. What black girl is naturally blond and blue with red skin?—well, anyway, besides them, we were the only ones there.”
Charly nodded. “Thank you.”
Bathsheba gave Charly a once-over. “Don't thank me. It seems you're the closest I'll ever come to grandchillun at the rate my girls ain't producing. Now take that money and hide it, Charly. Hide it until you ready to pay for that phone. What you need to do is what I do. I keep telling you. Fold your money in a hanky and pin it to your bra. Can't nobody steal it that way without you knowing.”
“I will, ma'am,” Charly assured her, taking the money and stuffing it into her pocket. Then she walked out the office and pivoted toward the huge walk-in freezer. She needed to drop the fries for the early evening rush of customers.
“Charly?” Bathsheba called again.
Charly about-faced, then retraced the few steps she'd taken to leave the office. “Ma'am?” she said, popping her head back into the room.
Bathsheba raised perfectly arched brows, then shook her head and tsked. “Ya know it's a doggone shame the way your momma keep stealing your money. 'Cause that's what it is—thieving. Now get that money out your pocket and pin it to your brassiere.”
Charly zigzagged back and forth behind the front counter, refilling coffee cups and water glasses, then completed her usual maze to the small, square, dining tables situated around the dance floor. “All right,” she urged on Betty and Louie, two heavy-eating regulars who visited from the nearby assisted-living facility so they could grub and mingle. They were doing their rendition of bebop, barely moving, and hooting their respective fraternity and sorority calls. Charly nodded, hoping she'd be as lively as they when she reached her seventy-fifth birthday.
She was bussing a table when she heard her name. Without turning, she knew it was Lola. Lola always came into Smax's like she owned the place, eating and drinking for free, and with good reason as far as Charly was concerned. Smax was rumored to be Lola's biological father, and if put side by side, no one could deny what Lola's mother and Smax so vehemently did. Lola was Smax's love child. Point blank. Period. Even Bathsheba, though she hated to admit it because she and Smax had been a couple longer than anyone could count, had to agree there must be some truth to the gossip. But like everyone else could deduce, some truth was like someone being a little bit pregnant—either it was or it wasn't. There was no halfway point. And Lola was Smax's.
“The usual?” Charly called out to Lola, her back still turned to her friend. “Half slab, coleslaw, two slices of white bread, and cobbler?”
“Charly! Charly!” Lola answered, her breath coming out in spurts.
Charly turned to face a frantic and approaching Lola. Immediately, she stiffened. She hadn't seen Lola so distraught since she'd discovered that Smax—“the old pimp with a limp,” as she'd called him—was her daddy. “What's wrong? You okay?”
Lola grabbed her by the arm, snatched the towel out of her hand, and threw it on the table. “We gotta go. Now!”
Charly snatched away. “You know I gotta work. What is it?”
Lola put a hand on each of Charly's cheeks. “Look at me. We. Gotta. Go. Now. I just ran into Mason, and he's coming here. After he drops off his new dog to the pet salon so you can help groom it. Did you tell him you worked there?”
Charly shook her head. He must not have heard her clearly. She'd said she'd applied, not that she worked there. Her jaw fell. Lola was right. She had to leave immediately. “Smax isn't going to let me leave. You know that. Can you ask him?”
Lola shook her head. “Nope. He said I can't get nothing from him but free food, which you know is a dead giveaway that he's my pops because he doesn't give away a plate. He said if I asked for one more thing, the food'll stop. I guess I'm supposed to eat all the back child support he'd owe if my mom grew a spine, 'fessed up to the affair, and took him to court. I love you, Charly. Love you like a sister, but I can't and won't give up my free meals for you.”
Charly nodded. She'd gone hungry many nights because her mom was just as lowdown as Lola's. “Okay.” She picked up the towel, threw it over her shoulder, then excused herself. If Lola couldn't ask him to let her off early, she would have to do it herself. But how? She put her hands on her hips while she thought.
“I got an idea,” Lola offered. “It's so not the truth, but it'll get you off.” Lola walked over to her, then whispered her saving grace in Charly's ear.
 
Pushing open the half door that led to the kitchen, Charly looked left and right to see if Bathsheba was anywhere in sight. She exhaled. She didn't see the first lady of Smax's anywhere near the grill. Relief moved through her. What she was about to do was going to go straight over Smax's finger-waved head, but Bathsheba was sharp, and Charly knew she wouldn't go for it.

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