Getting to Happy (5 page)

“What if I don’t want to wait in the car?”

“I just want you to chill for a minute. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me and I wish you would stop trying to act like you’re my mother. Now go pass your test. I don’t want to go in there anyway.”

She slams the door hard. She is such a Cancer. She is also a spitting image of my mother when she was young. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and park. I don’t bother turning off the engine and just stare out the window at nothing in particular. My mom and dad were married for fifty-two years, which is pretty amazing. They loved each other with a kind of urgency and grace I have never felt. I haven’t loved anybody in a long time. And nobody has loved me. It’s not the hand I thought I’d be dealt. I don’t think I really loved Russell. He was just good-looking, a good lay and more like a hard fish to catch rather than the kind of man I imagined spending the rest of my life with. I should’ve thrown his ass back. Deciding to kick him to the curb after I learned I was pregnant was a major step in owning up to just how bad my judgment had been about him. And other men. I was tired of chasing ghosts, hollow men who were outside my comfort zone, men who had nothing to give me except a rush. It was all I asked for, and all I ever got.

The one thing I’ve always wanted to do is get married and wear a wedding dress. A white one. With pearls all over it. And enough crystals to make me sparkle. I’ll be fifty in a matter of minutes and I’ve never even tried one on. My three best girlfriends have had rings on their left fingers, one of them twice. At this stage of the game, I seriously doubt if I’ll ever meet the man of my dreams, even on the Internet. I don’t know what the man of my dreams adds up to. I just know what I don’t want: losers.

Back in the good old days, I was a little loose, if I want to be honest with myself. The longest relationship I ever had was with Russell. All we did was pimp each other for pleasure. Back then I confused passion and orgasms with love. It took me years to realize the two weren’t synonymous.

Raising Sparrow made me shift my focus. I felt a kind of love for her that was better than any romantic kind. Once you bring a life into the world, your priorities change. You change. What you do becomes more important than who you are. I always wanted to be a good mother. I wanted my child or children to be proud of me. I wanted them to know I could manage my life.

Maybe I haven’t turned out to be the smartest mother. I’ve probably made things too easy for Sparrow. I’ve spoiled her, and it’s becoming obvious. Not saying no to your children can be a curse. She anticipates my saying yes to just about all of her requests: “Yes, you can go to the concert even though it’s a school night. Yes, you can stay out until midnight and when you stroll in at one, I won’t ground you. Yes, you can get a new cell phone even though there’s nothing wrong with the one you have. Yes, you can use my Visa to buy whatever it is you need at Hot Topic and Wet Seal. Yes, the housekeepers will clean the scum off the tile in your shower and get that spot off your carpet after you spilled your root beer float on it.” And the list goes on. Bernadine told me Sparrow needs a part-time job at someplace like Jack-in-the-Box. Savannah and Gloria think I’ve created a cross between a little Oprah and Annie Oakley. My daughter has chutzpah and a lot of insight for her age. She also thinks she knows everything. I’ve told her hundreds of times she can’t learn everything there is to know about life from
Real World
and
Survivor
.

I can’t hide behind Sparrow anymore. Time has run past me and now here I am forty-nine years old, with no love life and no prospects of bumping into a man that might increase my joy over the next however-many years. Add to it eighteen years of working at a job I feel no enthusiasm for, where does that leave me? How on earth do you start over? And where? I can’t ask Sparrow. My girlfriends can’t help me on this one. Savannah’s been waffling for years about whether her marriage is worth saving. Gloria is happy, content, because Marvin loves her right and has kept her smiling for more than fifteen years. Bernadine is just the opposite. She’s like a block of ice when it comes to men and love.

I could use a hobby. Besides shopping. I don’t know what I’m interested in or what I’m good at. I can’t make anything. I can’t cook. I can’t sew. In fact, I don’t think there’s a creative bone in my body. Which is why some of us do other things. I crunch numbers.

How long could this stupid test take? I’ve been waiting out here now for forty-five minutes with the engine running, since there’s a serious chill in this January air. I decide to go check on her, but as soon as I open the door, my cell phone rings. It’s Norman Nielson, from my office. We’re both senior underwriters, VPs. He’s a real senior. Norman is over sixty and should be retiring soon. I don’t think he has plans for the rest of his life outside the office. We’ve worked together forever: like eighteen years. “Hi, Norm. Did everybody forget I was coming in a little late this morning or what?”

“No, not at all. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about something.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure, but a deal that was supposed to close yesterday fell through without much explanation.”

“And?”

“Well, you know this is unusual, Robin. Plus, there’s a buzz going around that we may be getting bought.”

“This wouldn’t be the first time, Norm.”

“You never know how it might work for or against us in this industry.”

“Remember the last time? They just changed the terms of some of our benefits and what have you. Until something actually goes down, we should just keep doing what we’ve been doing. By the way, is Fernando in yet?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“He’s pushing his luck. Just because he’s smart he thinks it’s his ace in the hole. I might shock him and let him go if he keeps this up. Dare I bother to ask if Lucille has given you the printouts?”

“She has indeed. I think there must be another dance coming up soon, because she’s got a stack of tickets on her desk.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“I might go to one, one day, Robin. Do you know how many tickets I’ve bought from her over the years?”

“I think I do, Norm.”

“I’d probably stick out like a sore thumb. Being white. That would be a hoot.”

“You’d be surprised how many white folks are at these dances.”

“You’re funny, Robin. See you soon.”

Since my calendar is clear this morning, as soon as I drop Sparrow off, I think I’ll head over to Macy’s. They’re having a one-day sale. I can beat the crowd, plus I need to return a pair of sandals I got at the Mills Outlet a few days ago. They looked good on me in the store but not when I got home. They’re still in the trunk, which is where I store a lot of my returns. The outlet stores are my drug of choice—and in and around Phoenix they’re everywhere. And good ones. I’m talking Saks, Bebe, Nieman’s, Nordstrom’s, and even Victoria’s Secret. I find a reason to shop at least two to three times a week. The best rush in the world is getting something at 80 percent off. One day I’m going to say no to myself. But not today. I’m going to try to limit how many times I whip out Mr. Visa or Ms. Gold American Express, and I promise not to buy Sparrow another anything.

I turn on the radio and what’s her name who won American Idol last year—Fantasia—is singing her new song “Free Yourself.” I kinda like it but her voice is a little too high-pitched for me. Hell, if the company does get sold, this could be a good thing. Sometimes these takeovers can mean a raise or a promotion and new career opportunities, even though I doubt it. But I can’t worry about any of this stuff right now. My baby girl is about to start driving.

Shake, Rattle & Roll

Bernadine was lying in bed watching
Jeopardy!
when the phone rang. “Hello,” she said after noticing the number was blocked on the caller ID. She prayed it wasn’t a telemarketer. If so, as soon as she heard the unfamiliar voice ask for her she would do what she always did and hang up.

“Is this Bernadine Wheeler?” a woman who was obviously black asked. She also had a southern accent. Bernadine had relatives all over the south. Maybe this was one of them.

“Who wants to know?” Bernadine asked. She sat up straighter and pressed mute on the TV remote.

“Belinda Hampton.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Well, you do now. You might want to sit down, honey.”

“Why?” Now Bernadine was beginning to feel curious along with suspicious.

“I just want to know how long have you been seeing my husband?”

Bernadine didn’t think she’d heard her right. She couldn’t have. “You
must
have the wrong number. I’m a married woman myself. Goodbye.”

“Hold on a minute! Is your husband’s name James Wheeler?”

“Yes it is, and I’d really like to know who you are and how you got my number and why you’re calling my house.”

“He’s both of our husbands, sweetheart. I got your number off of one of his cell phones last night right after he called you. He did call you last night, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.” Bernadine pressed the OFF button on the remote, swirled her legs off the side of the bed and stood up. She didn’t think this shit was funny.

“From D.C.?”

“Yes. But what business is it of yours?” Her voice dropped an octave.

“Well, I hate to lay so much on you at once and completely out of the blue and everything but I have not been able to figure out a decent way to tell you this: his name is Jesse Hampton.”

Bernadine inhaled but couldn’t breathe out. She started fanning herself to generate some air, even though the ceiling fan was whirring on high right above her.

“You still there?”

“Is this some kind of prank?” Bernadine asked after finally being able to exhale.

“What would I get out of it?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t believe this bullshit. Maybe this is some kind of scam. What is it you really want?”

“He’s the scam artist, honey, not me. I just accidentally found his other wallet under the front seat of the car when I took it to the car wash, and there was the name James Wheeler on all kinds of credit cards. So, I realized this son-of-a-bitch has been playing me, too. How much has he hit you up for and how long have y’all been married?”

“You know, I don’t have time for this,” Bernadine said as she got up from the bed and started walking around in circles. Her head was beginning to feel like it was full of cotton. And what if she just hung up? She flopped back down on the edge of the bed, dug her toes into the pale gray carpet and decided to listen, if for no other reason than entertainment.

“How long have you been married to him?”

“That’s really none of your business. Why don’t you tell me, since you seem to know so much about us.”

“Not
us,
him,” she said. “I can prove this is no childish prank, sweetheart. Ask me something about him. What’d he tell you about his family?”

Bernadine thought about this for a minute, but it was all too surreal. If, however, this woman
was
telling the truth, then she really did want to know. Even still, Bernadine was praying this was just one big misunderstanding and in a minute, she was going to get to the bottom of it, cuss this woman out for wasting her time and playing a game that wasn’t even close to being funny. But for some reason, she heard herself spew out: “He takes care of his elderly mother because his five brothers are all trifling and in prison.”

The woman actually started laughing. “What a dirtbag. First of all, Jesse’s mama’s been dead and gone since I988, okay? And all
six
of his brothers are college-educated and some of the most well-respected black men in D.C. Jesse’s the black sheep.”

Bernadine felt a lump the size of a walnut forming in her throat. This had to be somebody else’s nightmare she’d been dragged into. But she was beginning to realize it could in fact be hers.

“Bernadine?”

“Yes,” she said, more to let this woman know she now had her undivided attention even though Bernadine was becoming fearful of just how much personal information this woman had about her and her husband.

“You mind if I call you Bernie?”

“Yes, I do mind. I don’t know you. Do you mind if I call you Billy?”

“No, I don’t mind. In fact, that’s what my friends call me.”

“Are you almost finished, Belinda, because I’ve got things to do.”

“Not make dinner for your husband, that much I do know. I’m sorry. That was mean. Anyway, what’d he tell you he does for a living? I’m dying to hear this.”

“He’s a civil rights attorney.”

“Right. Well, let me tell you this. He not only isn’t anybody’s lawyer and has never been to anybody’s law school, Jesse didn’t even finish college.”

This was almost too much to handle all at once, but now Bernadine’s curiosity had been aroused and she wanted to know just how much this Belinda did know about James. If she could cause her to stumble, then Bernadine would know this was some kind of premeditated scam, even though she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why a grown woman would want to pull something as heartless as this. “What about his wife who died from cancer? The white one.”

Belinda laughed again. “Jesse doesn’t even like white people. Girl, he really had you believing all this mess, didn’t he?”

“I guess he did.”

“Well, he’s a charmer, that’s for damn sure. And he’s good at getting people to believe just about everything he tells them. He’s a pathological liar, and I think they call people like him psychopaths or something. What’s really sad is he’s got genius genes that just got all mixed up. Which is why he’s probably like this. It’s still no excuse for what he does to other folks, but especially women. I’m a hard bitch to fool, and you sound like you could be smart, too, but smart doesn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

“And how long have you been married to him?”

“Five years, and I’ve got two of his kids to prove it.”

“You know, I’m having a real hard time believing this. You have some nerve just calling my house out of the blue with this kind of outrageous bullshit, and this isn’t funny.”