Disappearing Acts (17 page)

“Maybe. I want them to meet my new lady. Zora. Show ’em I’m capable of meeting a decent woman. You know Moms ain’t never liked no woman I ever brought home, not even Pam, but she gon’
have
to like Zora.”

“You think Ma’ll care one way or another? Daddy maybe, but not Ma.”

“I’m not worried about Pops. He still got half a brain. It’s Moms I wanna show, really.”

She shook her head. “Why waste your time?”

“Cause I got something to prove.”

“Who is this Zora? What a helluva unusual name. I already know she’s pretty. You always get the pretty ones, Franklin. And I know she’s got a good body. But what else does she do, besides fuck you good? That always seemed to be your number one priority—or have you grown up?”

“Fuck you, Darlene. She’s more than just pretty. She’s smart. And how she makes me feel in bed,” I
said, laughing, “is none of your fuckin’ business. She’s a singer, believe it or not. We kinda living together.”

“Not in that little room you don’t. Unless you moved.”

“I didn’t move. I live with her, right up the street from my place, in a brownstone I helped renovate. We gon’ have to get a bigger place pretty soon, ’cause right now she uses the extra room to practice her music, and ain’t nowhere for me to do my woodworking.” I lit a Newport and clinked the ice cubes in my drink. “Darlene, she ain’t one of these singers who just sings. The woman writes and reads music. Went to Ohio State University and teaches music to junior high school kids.”

“Get outta here, Franklin! How’d you luck out and meet somebody with so much going for her? And what are you giving her besides that ten inches of beef you’ve been lying about all these years?”

“Love,” was all I heard myself say. The way Darlene put it, she made it sound like all I
did
have to offer a woman was my dick. I resented this shit, because part of me felt it was true, especially today, but another part of me knew that I had more to give than that. Shit, I’m a smart motherfucker myself. Me and Zora dream together. We talk about everything. Laugh, even when we making love. We tell each other what we thinking, feeling. That shit has gotta be worth something. But Darlene wouldn’t understand this if I was to sit in here all night trying to break it down for her, ’cause she ain’t never been there.

“What about you?” I asked. “You got anybody?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to move the conversation away from me.

“The last thing I need right now is a man.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“You hungry, Franklin?”

“Only if you ordering something, ’cause if my memory
serves me correctly, you ain’t never been no Julia Child, and I don’t want you practicing on me tonight.”

“Oh, I suppose she can cook too?”

“Like a gourmet. And she’s got good eating habits too. No junk food whatsoever. The woman don’t even eat sugar, don’t drink no sodas and no alcohol.” Darlene’s eyebrows went up. “I’ve been eating food I can’t even pronounce. I’m telling you, Darlene, I finally found her. I ain’t kidding.”

“I just wish I knew what she saw in you. There’s the lights over there. Come on, Franklin, get your ass up before you get drunk. I’ll order some Chinese food.”

“I don’t get drunk. I get high,” I said. But that was a lie. I was pretty fucked up now, though not to the point where I couldn’t function. I put the lights up.

By the time we finished eating, I was bored talking to Darlene. In some ways, she’s like my Moms. Don’t have nothin’ good to say about nothin’ or nobody. She coulda sat there all night complaining about everything, but I’ll be damned if I was gon’ sit there and listen to that shit. I had enough shit of my own to deal with. And I didn’t mention nothin’ about being laid off, ’cause I didn’t come up here to cry on her shoulder. I just wanted to stop the anxiety. But I swear, Darlene didn’t help none. I drank two cups of black coffee, talked her into lending me twenty dollars, and went home.

*   *   *

As usual, Zora was on the phone when I walked in. “Hi, baby,” I whispered in her ear, then kissed her on the cheek. She acknowledged me by nodding her head.

“You’re coming to New York? When?” she asked into the phone. “That’s great! Of course you can stay here. I want you to meet somebody. Yes, it’s a man. No, he’s mine. His name is Franklin. Yes, I am. Okay. Call me. I hope to see your butt in a couple of weeks. Just let me know what you decide. Talk to you soon.”

She hung up the phone and looked at me. I was trying to look sober. That coffee didn’t do its job.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“A girlfriend I went to college with. She’s thinking of moving to New York—she may have a job offer with some hotsy-totsy advertising agency—and I told her she could stay with us for a few days, since I’m the only person she knows here. That’s okay with you, isn’t it, Franklin?”

“Yeah,” I said, not knowing I had some say in this kind of shit.

“So how’d your day go?” she asked.

“So-so. Went to see my sister after I got off work.” I had to lie. I didn’t feel like telling her the truth, ’cause then she’d probably start feeling sorry for me and shit. The last thing I needed right now was pity.

“Which one?”

“Darlene. I wouldn’t go see Christine if you paid me.”

“Franklin, you shouldn’t feel that way about your own sister.”

“You don’t even know her, so how can you even say that?”

“My, are we touchy tonight. Is something wrong?”

“No. I’m sorry, baby. I just had a rough day. The white boys had me busting my ass today. And Darlene depressed the hell outta me. She’s lonely as hell up there and won’t fess up to it or do nothin’ about it. She just got fired from her latest job, act like she ain’t got the energy to look for another one, and probably ain’t had no dick in years. She’s all fucked up in the head.”

“Franklin, you can be so cruel sometimes, you know that? I mean, she’s your sister, not some stranger.”

“I know that, but she still dingy as hell. I wish it was something I
could
do for her, but it ain’t.”

“Well, I still want to meet her.”

“You probably will. Maybe at Thanksgiving. We
both been invited out to my folks’ house. Darlene claim she ain’t going, but she say the same shit every year and is usually the first one to show up.”

“So I’ll finally get to meet the whole clan, huh?”

“I guess so. But don’t go getting all excited. You’ll probably wish you never had.”

“What a nice thing to say about your family.”

“You’ll see.”

“Don’t you have
anything
nice to say about
any
of ’em?”

“I can’t think of nothin’ right now. I’m just tired, baby, really.”

“Well, guess what?”

“What?”

“You know my friend Eli, who I’ve told you about?”

“The faggot?”

“Franklin! I swear, you’ve got labels for everybody, don’t you?”

“Well, he is a faggot, ain’t he?”

“Anyway, he called to tell me about this rhythm-and-blues band that’s looking for a female vocalist. He said they were top-notch, and he told ’em about me, and they want me to come hear them play tomorrow night at Wednesday’s. If I like ’em, they’ll want to hear me sing. Will you go with me?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how tired I am when I get home from work.” In the morning, I’m going down to Free At Last. The chances of me getting on somewhere with them is good, since it’s still warm outside, and as long as I get a paycheck on Friday, she ain’t gotta know where it came from. Besides, they could call me back at the hotel tomorrow. I
was
excited for Zora, but I just couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm. My shit was dragging like a motherfucker, and hers looked like it was about to move up the fuckin’ ladder.

“Oh, here,” she said, handing me a large brown envelope. “This came in the mail for you today.”

I took the envelope and saw that it was from the Small Business Association. Since Zora was standing there, I felt obligated to open it, so I did. Two brochures was inside: “How to Be an Entrepreneur” and “How to Succeed in Business.” I faked excitement and pretended like I was reading ’em. Zora went to take her shower. When I heard her singing, I threw the brochures on the table. Part of ’em slid off and fell on the floor. I just stared at ’em for a few minutes, then reached inside my jacket and lit a cigarette.

Franklin was broke on my birthday. He called me from a phone booth and said he had to work overtime and wasn’t able to cash his check. For some reason, I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t tell him that. He had promised to take me to a movie and dinner in the Village. I could hear how embarrassed he was, so I just told him not to worry about it, and went ahead and offered to lend him fifty dollars. He accepted my loan. Then I felt stupid, because here it was my birthday, and I was lending him money to take me out? And trying not to make him feel bad about it? Personally, I wanted to get dressed up and go dancing. I haven’t heard any live music in so long, and I can’t even remember the last time I rocked my hips or popped my fingers to a beat.

When he finally got home, Franklin smelled like he’d been doing more drinking than working. But I didn’t say anything. “Here,” he said, and handed me a small bouquet of flowers. “Happy birthday, baby—for what it’s worth.” He gave me a dry kiss on the cheek, then went into the bathroom. I put the flowers in water, although I felt like throwing them out the window. I sat on the couch, literally twiddling my fingers waiting for him, and after he finished showering and put his clothes on—which took forever—he
walked into the living room and said, “You ready?” I simply nodded my head and got up. It felt like I was going to work instead of out to celebrate my thirtieth birthday.

“You wanna go to the racetrack next weekend, baby?” he asked, as we got on the subway.

“Why not,” I said. I’ve never been to a horse race before. It sounded like fun. The train shook and rattled along. We were both quiet, and this was pretty unusual. Franklin almost always has something funny to say.

“You know”—he sighed—“I don’t know why you wanna see this movie.”

This threw me off. I’ve been talking about
An Officer and a Gentleman
all week long. Even Portia and Marie said it was dynamite. “Because it’s a good movie, Franklin,” I said. But I felt like saying, “Shit, it’s my birthday, and I should be able to see any movie I want to see.” But I didn’t. The evening already felt like a flat note, and I didn’t want to spoil the rest of it.

“I hate movies about war,” he said. “War depresses me, and since it’s your birthday, I don’t feel like being depressed.”

“It’s not a
war
movie, Franklin. It’s about two men who’re in the service, but it’s really a love story.”

“Forget I even said anything,” he said. “I need to stop by the liquor store first.”

It figured. “Franklin, the movie’s starting in a few minutes.”

“They always show previews. You won’t miss nothing but the credits.”

He bought a bottle of something strong, and there went eight of our fifty dollars.

When we got inside the theater, the movie had already started. This pissed me off. I hate missing the beginning of a movie. We walked down the aisle, looking for two empty seats, but the place was packed.
“There’s two,” I whispered. Franklin knows I like to sit in the back, but he kept walking. He likes to sit close to the front. I followed him. He spotted two seats all the way in the middle, which meant a whole row of people had to stand up so we could get by. “Excuse me,” I said, but Franklin didn’t open his mouth. We hadn’t been seated a minute when I heard the twist of the bottle cap. He put his arm around me for ten minutes, then pulled away. About forty minutes into the movie, Franklin started getting fidgety. When I looked at him, he wasn’t even looking at the screen. He mumbled something under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“This is bullshit,” he said loudly. “I told you I didn’t wanna see this damn movie.”

“Well, I do,” I said, and pushed my behind deeper in my seat.

“Then I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, and got up. The people in our row looked annoyed. I sat there a few more minutes, then I got up too. I was fuming now. The people I had to pass stood up again, and each of them exhaled, then gave me an irritated look. I had to trot to catch up to Franklin, who was now standing outside the lobby door, lighting a cigarette.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I said. He rolled his eyes at me.

“You ain’t never been in the service, having some white man telling you what to do, when to get up, when to go to sleep, how many sit-ups to do, talking to you like you ain’t shit, and you can’t say two words back to ’em or you’ll get your fuckin’ teeth knocked out. So don’t tell me how bad it ain’t.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me this before we spent ten dollars?”

“Because it’s your birthday and you wanted to see the damn movie, that’s why.”

He started walking down the street without me. For September, it was cold and windy, so I fastened all the buttons on my jacket and caught up to him. The heels of my cowboy boots clicked. I didn’t know what his problem was, but I sure wished he’d get over it. I slid my arm through his—as a sort of peace gesture, I guess.

“When were you in the service?”

“When everybody else was.”

“Which was when, Franklin?”

“Look, do we have to talk about this now?”

“No,” I said. I really felt like slapping the shit out of him, and if he weren’t so big, I probably would have.

“Good,” he said. “I hear the train. Let’s go.” He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down the stairs with much more force than was necessary. Something was obviously bothering him, but I didn’t have a clue as to what it might be. Then I thought maybe it was Pam or one of his kids. But if he wanted to tell me, he’d tell me. I wasn’t going to beg him for any more information. Not tonight. Hell, it’s my birthday. And so far, it’s the worst one I’ve ever spent with a man.

We got off at West Fourth Street and went into one of my favorite restaurants. There were lots of lush hanging plants and stained glass, even some lively music in the background. We sat by the window. In the summer I have sat in this same spot, but they slide the glass back so you feel like you’re sitting outside. Franklin ordered a double Jack Daniel’s before I could even think of what I wanted. When the waiter came with the menu, I realized Franklin didn’t have enough money left for both of us to eat. I couldn’t bring myself to go into my wallet one more time. Franklin ordered another double. He was puffing on a Newport and looked quite comfortable—like he could sit here all night. My left temple was jumping,
fluttering, and I knew I was getting depressed. Something wasn’t right about this whole night—this whole day—but I couldn’t put my finger on it.