Disappearing Acts (37 page)

“Doesn’t look like it,” she said, and rubbed her eyes.

The first thing we did was get a newspaper to find a place to stay. Everywhere Zora had called before we got up here was booked. The best places was in town. But we took our chances. To make a long story short, we ended up in this dumpy place that looked like the Bates Motel. We took a cab, and on the way out there, Zora was reminiscing out loud and shit, ’cause she been up here before, with some dude named Dillon, which I damn sure didn’t wanna hear about. She kept pointing to restaurants she had ate at, stores she had spent boo-koo cash in, and showed me this dark-ass road that led to some famous artist colony. She told me about the natural hot springs, which she couldn’t even think about getting in in her condition, but I told her I was gon’ check it out.

Every motel we passed had the No Vacancy lights on. Half of New York City was up here. But when we finally saw a vacancy sign, the cab pulled in. The man behind the desk even looked weird, and I almost called him Norman. Zora thumped me on my back when I started laughing, and the old man starting laughing too. He showed us the pool first, then opened our door. I could smell mildew, but I didn’t say nothing. But for forty-seven dollars a night? There was two lumpy double beds in the room. The mirror was so old it was foggy, and I was surprised to see the TV was color. And I ain’t never seen a bathtub as small as this one. It was only half a one, but deep enough to soak—if you was short. Zora turned on the air conditioner, and it sounded like a truck was going through the damn room. And since we was off the side of
some dark-ass road, about four miles from town and civilization, once we got settled, it wasn’t like we could walk down Atlantic Avenue and shit. We was in for the night. It’s a good thing I brought my own bottle.

I ain’t heard birds tweeting and crickets chirping since I was down South. One thing I do know—ain’t no way in hell you could pay me to live where there ain’t no street lights or people hanging out on a corner. What you supposed to do if you run outta cigarettes? The only thing we would probably find out in this motherfucker would be snakes and horses. But I ain’t complaining, ’cause this is really the first vacation I ever took in my life. The best part about it is I’m with the woman I love—even though she ain’t fuckin’.

*   *   *

Zora beat me up. I watched her putting on her makeup in the bathroom. When she backed up some, I saw that her ass was almost as wide as the whole door. Her titties looked like two oversized coconuts and those little bird legs didn’t look like they could stand all hundred and sixty-five pounds. “Come here, baby,” I said. She jumped, ’cause she thought I was asleep.

“Franklin, don’t do that, please. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Why you up so early?”

“I’m hungry.”

“So what else is new?”

“Do you realize it’s almost ten o’clock?”

“Get the fuck outta here? We slept that long?”

“I guess we needed it.”

I got up out the bed. I was gon’ try to hug her, but that belly of hers stopped me from getting as close as I wanted to, so I just patted it. “How’s my daughter doing?”

“You don’t know it’s a girl, and what if it’s a boy?”

“I want a daughter.”

“Anyway, it’s moving for real now, Franklin. This morning, unless I’m crazy, I saw a lump rise in my stomach.”

“Why didn’t you let me see it?”

“Because I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Well, next time wake me up. You think you gon’ be able to do all this walking we in for today?”

“I’m just pregnant, Franklin, not handicapped.”

Coulda had me fooled. But I wasn’t about to say no shit like that. She’d be in tears. I jumped in the shower and started thinking about the lineup tonight. Ray Charles and B.B. King. Shit. And Gladys and Steely Dan—which is who Zora loves. She got at least twenty albums by white people more than any black person I know—and two by Joni Mitchell, who looks like a transvestite if you ask me, and Fleetwood Mac, which she plays to death. I can’t say I hate white-boy music, but I swear to God, what makes me sick to my stomach—no, mad as hell—is the fact that most of ’em imitate black singers and musicians, but the white boys make all the fuckin’ money. And some of ’em don’t even sound that damn good. Steely Dan and Pat Metheny—I’ll give credit where credit is due.

“I
would
like to get some sun today,” I heard her say. Figures. She worse than white girls when it comes to laying out in that hot-ass sun, watching herself turn colors. But I didn’t say nothin’. I got out, dried off, and put on a pair of slacks and a shirt.

“I wish you would wear shorts once in a while, Franklin. As hot as it is outside, and you’re wearing long pants.”

“I told you faggots wear shorts. I don’t own a pair and don’t intend to.”

“Some notions you just take too far, I swear. But if you want to burn up, fine with me. And you’ve got such pretty legs.”

“I wish I could give you a few inches.” I started
laughing, but she didn’t. “I didn’t mean that, baby. Your legs is fine just the way they are.”

Since there wasn’t no phone in the room, I went to call a cab. He said he’d be here in six minutes. So we sat outside on the lounge chairs by the pool and waited. Norman waved to us. Me and Zora both started laughing and waved back.

“Thank you for bringing me up here for the weekend, Franklin,” she said, outta nowhere. It was nice to hear, and nice to know she appreciated it.

“You’re welcome, baby. We gon’ do more of this kinda stuff too. I promise.”

Then we just sat there like dummies, looking around at all the greenery. Trees was everywhere. And flowers too. It was pretty, and we could see the mountains and shit. I know one thing—it smelled a helluva lot fresher out here than it did in that fifty-dollar room.

*   *   *

We ate breakfast at this pretty restaurant that Zora picked out. The food was overpriced, but it was good. It was hot as hell up here, and the white people looked miserable. We passed this miniature-golf place, and I wanted to check it out, but Zora said she didn’t want to. It was too hot to be doing that kind of stuff, so we took a cab straight back to the Bates. Zora got in a big bathing suit, which was kinda ridiculous, and dived in the water like a damn fool. I got a Heineken out the cooler I’d bought in town and came out and joined her. She was moving through the water like a baby whale, and I just watched. I ain’t that good a swimmer and didn’t feel like embarrassing myself, so I sat under one of them umbrellas and drank beer.

Then here come this white dude. He sat right down beside me. He musta been in his early thirties, looked like Robin Williams, and was either a alcoholic or sunburned.

“Hi,” he said.

“How you doing,” I said.

“What does this place remind you of?” he asked.

“The Bates Motel.”

He started laughing. “That’s exactly what I told my wife. You guys here for the concert?”

“Yeah.”

“We are too. From Long Island. We just had our second kid three months ago, and I swear to God, if we spent one more weekend behind closed doors, I was gonna freak out.”

“I know what you mean. Sometimes you just gotta get out the city to regroup, do it to the ole lady in a different bed.”

He started laughing. I couldn’t believe I was talking to this white dude all friendly and shit. The bottom line was, when you got right down to it, we was both men.

“Did you guys drive up here?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, look. We’re going to the same place; doesn’t make any sense to take a cab. We’re in room 16. We wanna get there around seven, so give a knock if you want a lift.”

“I’ll do that. First I gotta see what the ole lady wants to do for dinner.”

He threw his hands up in the air and then dived in the water. Zora was drying off and rubbing suntan lotion on her legs. I musta drank four beers, and the heat was getting to me, so I went to lay down for what I thought was a hot minute. When I felt Zora ease next to me and put her arms around me, my first thought was, maybe she felt like it. So I kissed her a few times and then I tried, but some of the weirdest shit happened. Not only did she not resist, but Tarzan wouldn’t cooperate.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I just had too many beers.”
I waited ten minutes and tried it again. Dead. I think I know what the problem is. It’s that big belly. It’s working against me. But I didn’t say nothing to that effect, ’cause that would just hurt her feelings. “You hungry?”

“A little. I ate one of the mangoes from the cooler.”

“What time is it?”

“Quarter to four. Let’s shower and go into town and walk around, eat, then walk to the concert.”

“Okay, but that white guy asked if we wanted a ride.”

“Well?”

“I don’t feel like getting all friendly. I came up here so me and you could be by ourself. Besides, we’ll never be able to get rid of him.”

“If he was black you wouldn’t be saying this, would you?”

“I don’t know.” I jumped up and took my shower and got dressed. Then I went and knocked on his door and told him thanks but no thanks. Told him Zora was starving right now, and he understood. Told him we might check him out tomorrow.

Zora wore this white dress and looked like a black angel. Big belly and all. The cab was there in no time. When we cruised into town, the streets was packed. We got out in front of this knickknack store, and for the next hour and a half, I was bored to death. Zora had to walk into every single store we passed. Finally, I said, “Look, we ain’t gotta see everything that’s for sale, do we?”

“Franklin, don’t be such a drag. How often do we get to see this kind of stuff? Relax.”

She just had to whip out one of her credit cards. To make me look like I couldn’t afford to buy what she wanted. She already starting to call all the shots, and it ain’t like I don’t want her to have fun, but damn, I feel like her help, ’cause all I’m doing is carrying
her bags. This weekend ain’t starting out on a good note, I can see that already. She just bought some kinda picture for ninety fuckin’ dollars. I guess it was pretty—most of the shit she usually buys is—but I didn’t even wanna look at it. Since we wasn’t going straight back, the lady said she’d hold it there until tomorrow.

“I want to get some T-shirts,” she said, when we walked in front of a T-shirt store. At least it was something I use.

I followed her in, just like a damn kid, and when she spotted this yellow one with a red and orange horse on the front that said “Saratoga Springs” on top, she turned to me.

“What do you think?”

“What difference do it make?”

“Franklin?” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Get it.”

When I heard her ask for a extra-large for me and a medium, I cleared my throat. “When you think you gon’ fit into that?”

“After the baby, when do you think?”

“Yeah, right.” I wanted to say, keep dreaming, but I didn’t.

“I’m about starving now, are you?” she asked, after we got outside.

“There’s a store we passed that had some wood sculpture in the window, and I wanna go back and check it out.”

“Right now?”

“Why not now?” I asked.

“Franklin, I’m hungry. Why didn’t you say something when you first saw it?”

“Forget it,” I said.

“No. Come on.”

“I said forget it. What you got a taste for?”

“Seafood,” she said.

We walked down a few doors and saw this place called Vivian’s, and they had a special on prime rib. I always wanted to try that, so I said, “Let’s go in here.” To my surprise, she didn’t object. There was stained glass everywhere, and plants hanging from the ceiling, and everything was made outta wood. Once we was seated, the waitress asked if we wanted anything from the bar. Zora said no. I asked for a double Jack. She just gave me this look.

“Why you looking at me like that?”

“I was just thinking that if it’s a boy and he looks like you, how handsome he’ll be.”

“And if she’s a girl and looks like me, then what?” My tone was nasty, even though I was trying hard not to sound like it.

“Franklin, why are you getting so cynical all of a sudden?”

“Am I? I didn’t mean to sound cynical, baby. You right, I’m just a little hyped up, I guess.”

“Don’t you think we should start thinking about names?”

The waitress came back with my drink and took our order. I got the prime rib and Zora ordered lobster. Just ’cause I told her she could eat anything she wanted to this weekend, she had to get the most expensive thing on the damn menu. “Yeah, but not today.”

“Franklin, are you getting a bug up your ass about something?”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Diana if it’s a girl, and you name it if it’s a boy.”

“Diana? Are you serious? Why not Pollyanna?”

“Look. You asked, so I told you. I like that name and always have.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I couldn’t even imagine looking at a baby of mine and saying, ‘Hi, Diana.’”

“Fuck it, then, Zora. If you can think of one better,
lay it on me and I’ll tell you what I think. I’m sure you’ll have it all figured out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing.”

By the time the food got there, I had had two more drinks. We ate with hardly no conversation between bites. The prime rib was dynamite, and even though I can put it away, I couldn’t finish all this meat. I knew Zora was gon’ eat every drop of hers, which she did, and didn’t even offer me none. I got a doggie bag and paid the check, which came close to sixty fucking dollars. I couldn’t help but thinking how much that would buy at the grocery store. Damn. This weekend look like it’s gon’ cost me close to three hundred bucks. I see why people don’t take vacations. All I’m gon’ have to show for it is a damn T-shirt when it coulda been my down payment on a ride.

When we got outside, Zora looked at me. “You look awful handsome tonight, Franklin.”

“Thank you, baby,” I said, trying to lighten things up. “You got the tickets?”

“I thought you had ’em.”

“They was on the dresser, and I thought you put ’em in your purse. Goddamn.”