God Ain't Through Yet (16 page)

D
espite my weight loss, and the fact that I no longer ate like a hog, I still liked to cook. My husband enjoyed the usual down-home plates that almost every other black person I knew who had southern roots enjoyed. I usually planned our meals so that I didn't have to come home from work and then scramble around the kitchen trying to decide what to cook. I was not the kind of homemaker who would fiddle around with microwave plates unless I had to. When greens were on the menu, I took the time to pick and wash them the night before. I always made sure I had thawed out a chicken in time for me to cook it for dinner, and if I was going to make some cornbread, I made sure I had all of the ingredients at my disposal. My daughter, Charlotte, didn't appreciate my hard work in the kitchen, but that didn't bother me. She was no different from most of the other kids her age. She hated almost everything I cooked, so at least once a week, if she'd been good, I ordered a pizza or took her out for a fast-food treat.

After I'd left Rhoda at the hospital, I stopped at the grocery store and picked up all of the things that I needed to prepare one of Pee Wee's favorite meals. We usually ate dinner between six and six thirty, but there were always exceptions to that rule. Some days we ate as early as six or as late as eight. It was a toss-up on weekends and holidays. Then there were days when one, or all three of us, walked around the house nibbling on something off and on all day. On days like that, I didn't even set the table. When Pee Wee had not come home by seven that evening, I set the table and summoned Charlotte.

“Yuck! Mama, how could you? Greens, squash, and pork butt, slimy okra and cornbread
again
,” she complained, frowning at the plate I'd just prepared for her. “Eyow!”

“You can ‘yuck' and ‘eyow' all you want, Miss Thing, but you'd better eat everything on your plate. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Charlotte picked up her fork and stared at the contents on the plate in front of her like she was looking at a pile of horse manure. “And where's Daddy?”

“Uh, he's working late again,” I told her. “Eat your dinner. And hurry so you can do your homework, then go wash your rusty little body.”

I fixed myself a plate, just a small portion of greens. No meat and no bread.

“Is that all you're going to eat? You making me eat all this slop, and all you're going to eat is some of those nasty greens. Mama, you know that ain't fair!”

One of the things that I didn't like, or tolerate, was a child mouthing off to an adult. Especially when that child was mine and I was the adult. I didn't say a word. I simply lunged at Charlotte with my fist poised and gently mauled the side of her head—the same way my mother used to do to me when I got out of line.

She howled and then sniffled for a few seconds, but she dug into her meal the way she was supposed to. We ate our dinner in cold-blooded silence.

Charlotte winced with each bite she took. From the looks on her face, you would have thought she was being forced to eat a skunk. I felt so sorry for kids like her who didn't know how to appreciate real food. When I was her age, a plate of greens and cornbread used to make my eyes and mouth water. And that was still true to this day. I just didn't eat as much.

Every time I heard a car outside, I ran to the window, thinking it was Pee Wee.

Charlotte swallowed hard and took a sip of her water. She still had a lot of food on her plate to eat, but she was taking her time, prolonging her agony. A few minutes ago, she'd stopped eating to run to the bathroom. A minute after she returned, she stopped eating to run outside to make sure she had put her bicycle on the back porch like she'd been taught. When she returned from doing that, she had a piece of paper in her hand.

“Mama, look at this application I filled out today,” she said, pushing the paper across the table toward me. “It's a mock credit card application. Miss Fagan said it'll familiarize us more with bank procedures.”

I gave my daughter a puzzled look. When I was her age, I didn't even know what a credit card application was. Back in my elementary school days, kids did finger painting and drew stick people on the blackboard. It saddened me to know how far I had come. And it saddened me even more not to know where I was going.

“It's going to be years before you have to worry about credit card app…applications,” I said, my voice falling apart because I was so angry about Pee Wee not being home yet. I looked at the document in front of me. I was proud to see that my daughter's penmanship was so neat and professional looking, even though the words were a blur because I had a few tears in my eyes. For the most part, I scanned the application with indifference. And then I saw something that made me laugh. In the spot where it asked for
NAME OF YOUR CURRENT BANK
, Charlotte had written:
PIGGY
.

“What are you laughing at?” she asked, snatching her application out of my hand. “This ain't supposed to be funny, Mama!”

“I know, baby. I was laughing because it's so cute. I can't wait to show it to your daddy,” I said, looking toward the window again.

Her daddy hadn't called, and he had not come home by eleven, when I went to bed.

That sucker had some serious explaining to do. And if it didn't appease me, he would have even more explaining to do!

I couldn't get to sleep because by now I was worried. First, I called up both of the young men who worked for him. “Nome, I don't know where he at,” one told me. “He left work at six like we all did,” the other one told me. I called a few of his boys, but none claimed to know where he was. And knowing men as well as I thought I did, I had a feeling that even if they did know where he was, they wouldn't tell me. I even called up Rhoda. She had not seen him either. And since she and Otis had just come from the only hospital in Richland, it was reasonable to assume that Pee Wee had not been admitted with a broken leg or a bullet in his head.

Somehow I managed to get to sleep until the phone on my nightstand rang. I glanced at the clock on the radio next to it first. It was three thirty in the morning. Even though I was somewhat disoriented, the first thing that came to my mind was that something had happened to one or both of my parents. My heart started racing, and I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. It took me a few seconds to compose myself.

The other side of the bed was still empty, but that didn't mean Pee Wee had not come home. He often slept downstairs in the living room in that old La-Z-Boy chair that he was so fond of. I assumed that's where he was until I answered the telephone.

“Hi, Annette.” It was the voice of a woman who spent a great deal of her time meddling in other people's business. Scary Mary was my mother's oldest friend and my unofficial godmother. She was also a notorious madam with a history of violence and corruption. “This is Scary Mary and I was just thinkin' about you, so I decided to call you up just to see how you're doin'. I ain't seen or talked to you in a few days. You asleep?”

“Yes, I was asleep,” I hissed, sitting up. The most recent issue of
Black Enterprise
magazine, which I had been reading before I fell asleep, slid to the floor. “What's the matter?”

“Is Pee Wee there?” the old madam cooed, her voice so sweet it made my head spin. I knew her well enough to know that this was her “up to something” voice.

“Um, he's asleep,” I said with a sniff. “What's wrong?” I wanted to know. “Are you all right?”

“I asked where your husband was.”

“I just told you that he's asleep.”

“Where at?” Scary Mary didn't have the voice of a woman her age, which was incredibly around ninety. She sounded more like a woman my age.

I softened my tone because I had always been taught to “respect” my elders, even ones as meddlesome and pushy as Scary Mary. “What do you want with my husband?” I was wide awake by now, and getting angrier by the second. “It's three thirty in the morning,” I said.

“I was wonderin' if he'd come by my place after work one day soon and take a look at the brakes on my van. I'm havin' a problem with them squeakin' like Mickey Mouse.”

“I will ask him, and I will have him give you a call.”

“When?”

“I'll have him call you back when it's convenient for him.” I scratched the side of my neck, fuming with exasperation and impatience. I knew damn well that a problem with the brakes on her van was not the real reason that Scary Mary was calling me at this hour. “He's not home,” I said finally, knowing that she'd take that piece of information and run with it.

“I was right,” she cooed.

“You were right about what?”

“Well, I don't like to spread gossip or rumors unless it is necessary, but when I see somethin' takin' place with my own eyes, I have to address it.”

“I presume you know something that involves me?”

“Indirectly. I would say it involves your husband more.”

“Pee Wee is not here, so you can't discuss whatever it is with him. So tell me what it is that involves my husband so I can get off this telephone and get back to what I was doing.” I didn't even try to hide the fact that I was annoyed. I hissed and snarled like a serpent. “And please hurry up with it.” I also didn't care that I was speaking to an elderly woman.

“Hmmm. I thought that was your husband I seen drivin' down the street a few minutes ago. And I know he wasn't on his way to the store….”

“Maybe he was on his way to the store. How do you know he wasn't?” I said, clearing my throat.

“I hope that's where he was going. Because the only places still open in this hick town this time of night is the Grab and Go convenience store and…a whore's thighs.”

I was still trying to come up with a response, when she added, “And he was drivin' that car, leanin' like a pimp. Shame on him!”

“Well, he is a grown man, so he can drive his car any way he wants to drive it, and he can stay out as long as he wants to. I trust my husband.” I couldn't believe how weak my voice had become in the last few moments.

“But don't you think this is a strange time for him to be out in the streets? He's a married man.”

“What's so strange about it?”

“Well, this is a small city. It's hard to do dirt here and not get caught. Remember when you was bootyin' around with that young piece last year? I caught y'all together more than once, and I wasn't even tryin' to. You better get on the ball, girl.”

“L
isten, I just told you that if you've got something to say about my husband, just go on and say it, so we can end this conversation and I can go back to sleep.”

Scary Mary gasped. “You sassin' me, girl?”

“No, I am not sassing you!” I toned down my voice. “I would never sass you.”

“Then you better get a grip.”

“Get a grip on what? What are you trying to imply?”

I awaited the old madam's response in agonizing silence. My heart was beating against the inside of my chest like a bongo drum.

“I love you as much as I love my own daughter, and I don't want to see you get hurt.” She followed that statement with a rumbling cough. “Especially by a man. I been operatin' a…uh…hospitality house for more years than you been on the planet. And believe me when I tell you that if runnin' a whorehouse don't make you a good judge of people, nothin' will. Shit. I know more about human nature than Sigmund Fraud.”

“Freud,” I corrected.

She ignored me and continued her convoluted rant. “I didn't make it far in school, but I know a whole lot more than most people.”

“I am sure you do,” I agreed.

“You take time. The misuse of time is the worst thing a person can do. A lot of people say that the love of money is the root of all evil, but that's a dumb man's interpretation. People like me, we know better. You can have a zillion dollars and lose it, but you can always get another zillion dollars. But if you waste time, you can't never get it back. Tomorrow ain't promised to nobody. Even Jesus had to go when He had to go.”

Scary Mary's philosophical comments made a lot of sense. But I still didn't know where she was going with this clumsy conversation.

“I agree. Time should not be wasted,” was all I could think to say.

“I don't want you to waste your time with your head in the sand. Don't close your eyes and mind to what's happenin' around you. You followin' me, girl?”

“Yes, ma'am.” She had lost me, but it didn't take long for me to follow her drift.

“Is Pee Wee havin' an affair?”

“Of course not! Why in the world would you think something like that? You know what kind of man he is….”

“Let me tell you somethin', sugar pie, honey bunch. Don't you never think you know more about men than me. They ought to give me a master's degree in Penisology. If Pee Wee got a
good
reason to be out runnin' wild in the streets at this hour like a pimp, that's your business. But if he out here mishavin', it's my business. I ain't gwine to let nobody make a fool out of you if I can help it.”

“Tell me, why do
you
think some men cheat?” I asked in a detached voice, knowing I had no choice but to listen to Scary Mary until she decided to release me.

“Honey, they cheat because they are men. It's as simple as that. That and the fact that they don't know what else to do with them dicks they got danglin' below their vile loins like bananas.” She chuckled. “I bet they wouldn't be so randy if they were the ones that had to squeeze a newborn baby out of their holes. Buttholes in their case.”

I was so exasperated that I couldn't even think or see straight anymore. All I wanted to do was end this conversation and go back to sleep. “I want to thank you for being so concerned about me, but I don't need your help,” I said, trying to sound as cordial as possible. That was not easy. I was fuming. More because of what Scary Mary had said than I was about Pee Wee “out runnin' wild in the streets like a pimp at this hour.” I sniffed and attempted to sound nonchalant. “I'll tell Pee Wee to call you about the brakes on your van.”

“Huh? Brakes? My brakes? What about the brakes on my van, honey?”

“You said you wanted him to come take a look at them because they're squeaking,” I reminded.

“Oh, that's right. All right. Bye, baby.”

I didn't go back to sleep right away, but I did eventually. And when I woke up again, Pee Wee was on the other side of the bed, snoring like a moose.

He was gone by the time I got up to get ready for work.

“Where's Daddy now?” Charlotte asked, walking into the kitchen just as I was about to dial the number to his shop. I was pleased to see that she was already dressed for school. “He knows I like the way he prepares grits better than you. You and that ole nasty low-fat butter! Mama, please go back to being a great big fat lady. You were so much more fun then! And it was so much fun to sit on your squishy lap!”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Charlotte's reference to my former weight was endearing but painful. “He had to leave early today,” I explained, wondering why that was so. “How about some cereal?”

I didn't know what I was going to say to Pee Wee when, and if, he answered the telephone at the shop. Whatever it was, I didn't want Charlotte to hear it. I fixed her a bowl of Fruit Loops; then I rushed upstairs and dialed the number to the shop from the telephone in my bedroom. He answered right away.

“Hello, baby. I didn't want to wake you up when I got in last night,” he started. “It was real late.”

“What time was that?” I asked. I didn't bother to remind him about all of the other times he'd come home late and woke me. He knew me well enough to know that something like that would not have bothered me. And he certainly knew me well enough to know that I worried about things a lot less serious than him staying out all night.

“To tell you the truth, I didn't look at the time,” he said, speaking with hesitation. “But everything but the Grab and Go convenience store was closed when I drove through town. That's about the only thing still open that time of night….”

That and a whore's thighs,
I thought to myself. It was on the tip of my tongue but I managed to keep it there.

Then he started speaking so fast I had a hard time keeping up with his words. “I ran into Jesse Smart and a couple of our old army buddies. They said there's a rumor of another war brewin' somewhere. Another war is just what we need. Thank God I've passed the age to be of any good for this one! Anyway, we ended up at my home-boy Jesse's place guzzlin' beer and playin' poker, and reminiscin' about all the shit we experienced in 'Nam. Would you believe that Jesse got two different women—in the same family—pregnant before we left Saigon? Them Vietnamese chicks couldn't get enough of us brothers.”

The last thing I was interested in discussing was what went on between American men and Vietnamese women during the war. It was beginning to feel like I had a “rumor of a war” on my hands, and I needed to be ready for it.

“Why didn't you call me to let me know what was going on?”

“Because I was so pissed off with myself that I couldn't even think straight! I lost everything but my citizenship in that card game. I know you didn't want to hear about that.”

“It would have been nice to hear that you were not in a ditch somewhere with your head bashed in, like Jade's husband.”

“Oh, now I heard all about that! It's already all over the grapevine how Jade beat that poor boy to a pulp.”

“Let's stay on the subject,” I suggested. “I wish you would let me know when you're going to stay out late.”

“Baby, I'm sorry. My bad. It won't happen no more. Things happen, and if anybody knows that, it's you. Look how many times you've had to cancel havin' lunch with me,” he pouted.

“I know and I am sorry about that. But I will get over there, hopefully within the next few days.”

 

As usual, if it wasn't one thing, it was another that kept me from visiting Pee Wee's work. Last Monday, just before lunchtime, a disgruntled debtor showed up at my office with a baseball bat. He was upset because we had sent a process server to his house with a notice that he was being sued for not paying an outstanding credit card bill that had been past due for eighteen months. Not only did we have to involve the police, but two people had to go to the hospital because of injuries they suffered during a scuffle with the individual.

The next day, Charlotte fell off the monkey bars at school, and I had to run over there to make sure she was all right. She was so upset that all she wanted to do was go home. So I had to take off the rest of the day and tend to her. Other more minor events kept derailing my plans, but Pee Wee took it all in stride. “Baby, don't worry about not makin' it over here to have lunch with me. I know how busy you get,” he said.

I felt a bit slighted because he didn't seem to be as disappointed about it as I was. But I didn't complain. Now that he was in such a good mood, I didn't want to rock the boat. Not only was he paying me a lot of attention in the bedroom lately, he was even bringing me flowers and other gifts almost every day. On the third day in a row that I received flowers at work, one of the women who reported to me made an ominous comment. “When a woman receives flowers from her husband every day, three days in a row, it can only mean one of two things: either he ran into a hell of a sale on flowers or he's up to no good….”

I had laughed off her comment, but I didn't forget about it.

Another week went by before I made it over to Pee Wee's barbershop and when I did, I was stunned speechless by what I saw and heard.