God Still Don't Like Ugly (10 page)

Rhoda, pregnant with her third child, was in town visiting her parents and to help celebrate my return to Richland. The next evening around six she swept into the house, strutting like a peacock, flaunt-ing her yellow leather jumpsuit like plumage.

The same people who had joined Muh’Dear for Thanksgiving dinner the day before had already returned.

Rhoda dominated the gathering in the house on Reed Street that evening, showing everybody pictures of her family and home. She generated so much heat, frozen butter would have melted in her mouth. And she was as beautiful as ever, tossing that heavy mane of hair like an ox tossing its tail. Other women who looked like me would probably not have wanted to be best friends with a woman who looked like Rhoda. But it didn’t bother me. I had accepted the fact that I was probably going to be a big, plain woman for the rest of my life. But I had learned to do things to enhance my appearance. I now dressed more stylishly, avoiding plaids, stripes, and large prints, and I spent a lot of money getting makeovers. Even without all that, I knew that Rhoda would have still made me feel attractive. After she had greeted everybody else that night, she complimented my appearance profusely, making me grin like a fool.

“Annette, girl, you look beautiful.” Rhoda patted my hair. “Keep those braids, honey. They take ten years off your face. My husband swears he prefers a more mature look and that’s the only reason I GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY

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won’t wear my hair braided,” she squealed. Being a chatterbox was one of the things about Rhoda that always made her stand out so prominently in a crowd. All eyes were on her. “You should wear yellow sometimes. It brings out the earthy tones in dark brown skin. Look at me.”

Mr. Boatwright had told me once that when I wore bright colors I looked like a fag’s Easter basket. One thing I could say about Rhoda, she was sincere when it came to giving me compliments. At least I believed she was. Since she had always been the stronger one, she had nothing to gain by buttering me up with unnecessary lies. She was the only person I truly felt beautiful around.

I had no idea that this would be one of the most memorable nights of my life. After all I had been through with Rhoda, this was the night that I would make the heart-wrenching decision to sever our relationship.

What happened was this: Before Rhoda’s arrival, Scary Mary, the old madam who had lured Muh’Dear and me to Ohio from Florida, had revealed some startling information to me regarding the death of the pregnant white girl who had threatened to destroy Rhoda’s family. Standing in front of me, wearing a red wig that looked like it was about to fly right off her head, Scary Mary told me how the girl had died in Rhoda’s house, in Rhoda’s bathroom, in Rhoda’s presence.

Wiping a tear from her eye, Scary Mary said, “Poor Rhoda. Seein’ a po’lice shoot and kill her own brother was bad enough, but havin’

that girl die right before her eyes must have been downright tryin’.” I thought about how Rhoda had snuffed out Mr. Boatwright’s life when he became too much of a nuisance. Right away, I
knew
that Rhoda had to be involved in that girl’s death.

As soon as all of our other company left and Muh’Dear turned in for the night, I confronted Rhoda with the information that Scary Mary had shared with me, hoping she would deny any involvement.

Rhoda disappointed, but didn’t surprise, me. Without hesitation, she admitted with a sigh and a strange sparkle in her eyes, “I had to do it. What else could I do?”

My mouth dropped open. I was stunned beyond belief. But the horror was just beginning. It was like a floodgate suddenly opened up and all kinds of shit spilled out.

Once Rhoda started confessing, she could not stop. Not just about Mr. Boatwright and the white girl, but
two
others! The year of our 74

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graduation, Rhoda’s bothersome grandmother had mysteriously tumbled down the stairs in their house, in the middle of the night, breaking her neck in the fall. Then, the policeman who had shot and killed her older brother David died in a hit-and-run accident. I saw spots in front of my eyes because I thought I was losing what was left of my mind. I could not believe my ears. Not only had Rhoda killed Mr.

Boatwright and that young white girl, but her own grandmother
and
that policeman.

It was the most difficult decision I ever had to make in my life. I knew in my heart that it was time for Rhoda Nelson O’Toole and me to part company. The burden of carrying around the knowledge of Mr. Boatwright’s murder had been too much. I knew that I could not continue being friends with a woman who had admitted killing four people.

Rhoda was stunned and disappointed to say the least, but I had made my decision and I intended to stick by it. She didn’t even have to warn me, because I had no intention of sharing this startling information with anyone else.

“Good-bye, Rhoda,” I said, my voice cracking. She didn’t respond.

When she calmly walked out of my house that night, she didn’t look back, but I watched from my window until she was out of my sight.

CHAPTER 19

Rhoda had been so much a part of me, now that she was gone, I felt like I had lost an appendage. But other “handicapped” people got along okay so I knew I would, too. Somehow.

While I was trying to get a grip on myself, I spent a few weeks hanging around my stepfather’s restaurant. The Buttercup was a large, family-oriented place, nicely decorated with plush maroon carpets and tables covered with starched white tablecloths. It was located in the center of town in one of our most popular strip malls.

I wasn’t ready to work anywhere yet. I lived on money I had saved over the years. But I often helped out at the restaurant anyway, bussing tables and taking orders. Muh’Dear had pretty much taken over Mr. King’s life. She was his head cook and she took care of his books. This relationship had empowered my mother in a way I never thought I would see. Not that Muh’Dear had ever been shy or the kind of woman to stand in some man’s shadow. She didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. Especially with me.

“Annette, how do you expect to get decent tips walkin’ around up in here with that long face?” Muh’Dear asked as I stumbled around like a wounded soldier, dropping trays and delivering orders to the wrong tables.

“I don’t really work here. I don’t expect to make any tips,” I reminded.

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“Well, if you goin’ to do what my other waitresses do, you better get paid for it.” Muh’Dear gave me a critical look. “Why you wastin’ your life anyway? I ain’t never seen you look this miserable.” Muh’Dear paused and patted her hair which she had braided and pinned on top of her head. With the exception of a few annoying strands of gray hair and a few wrinkles on her forehead, nature had been good to Muh’Dear. She had gained a couple of dress sizes, but other than that, she was still a striking woman.

“I’ve never been this miserable,” I replied, smacking on some French fries that a customer had left on his plate.

Balancing a tray, Muh’Dear pulled me into a corner in the steamy kitchen and felt my forehead. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled. “Uh, the couple at table five said the food here is better than anywhere else they’ve eaten.”

Compliments had a way of diverting Muh’Dear’s attention. “Well, my job is to keep everybody happy. Now how about a smile from you?

Your happiness means more to me than anybody else’s.”

I wore a fake smile the rest of that day. Even when the other waitresses glared at me for prancing around the dining room, keeping them from making tips and “socializing” with some of the good-looking men who ate at the restaurant on a regular basis. These hard-up men, hungry for something other than the fried chicken and waffles the restaurant was famous for, even flirted with me. They made suggestive remarks like, “Miss Buttercup, can I get a
cup
of your
butter
?” I ignored them all. Romance was the last thing on my mind. I couldn’t even get a toehold on life, let alone a new lover. And the way my life was going, I was beginning to think that I’d never feel another man’s arms around me anyway.

I didn’t like using my status as the boss’s daughter to help pacify myself. When I got tired of receiving so many dirty looks from the real waitresses and leers from the male customers that day, I left the restaurant and drifted down the street to Pee Wee’s barbershop. Why I decided to do that, I didn’t know. Pee Wee had a real life and I had been reduced to the status of a peripheral acquaintance.

Even though the inside of the house Pee Wee shared with his ailing daddy looked like a train wreck, he kept his barbershop nice and neat. On one wall was a poster of John Lennon, left over from Pee Wee’s Beatlemania days. There was a huge green plant in every corner. Pee Wee kept himself looking nice and neat, too. He was a casual GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY

77

dresser and being a barber, it behooved him to keep his hair looking nice. He kept it short with a few finger waves on the sides. He had recently grown a sexy goatee that he trimmed and washed every day.

Every time I looked at Pee Wee, I thought about how lucky some woman was going to be someday when he married her. Oddly enough, marrying somebody was one thing Pee Wee never discussed, at least around me. And I never brought it up. A lot of people assumed it was because of his daddy. Old Caleb rarely left the house except to go to church. He was a fussy old man, too. I couldn’t see any woman in her right mind putting up with that. And, I couldn’t see Pee Wee leaving his daddy to go live with some woman.

I liked Pee Wee’s daddy, but for my own selfish reasons, I was glad he was old and ailing. I figured that as long as he was around, I’d still have Pee Wee to myself, one way or another.

One of the most disturbing thoughts I had these days was knowing that sooner or later, Pee Wee would have no reason to stay single.

Even I knew that there were women in Richland sitting around like spiders, waiting to drag a man like Pee Wee in front of a preacher. I just hoped that it woudn’t be one of the gold-digging hussies I knew.

Before I reached the barbershop, one of those very wenches pranced out with a grin on her face that annoyed me so much I wanted to slap it off. I stopped and pretended I was looking in the window at the bakery next door. As soon as she disappeared around the corner, I rushed into the barbershop, slamming the door shut so hard the window rattled.

It was late in the evening and Pee Wee had put the CLOSED sign in the window. He was alone, sweeping up hair and chewing on a toothpick. I could tell that he had eaten barbecue for lunch even though I couldn’t see any evidence. Even over the smell of shaving lotion, pomade, and whatever else men smeared on their faces and hair, I could still smell barbecue sauce and there were a few specks of it on his white smock.

“Was that old Grandma Foster I just saw leaving?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“That was her granddaughter, Grace.” Pee Wee laughed, flipping the toothpick into a trashcan.

“Oh. I didn’t recognize her without her mustache,” I muttered, standing in the door with my hand still on the knob.

“Well, I hooked Grace up with that new hair-removal crème I or-78

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dered from France. Now she don’t have to worry about no upper-lip hair no more.” Pee Wee took a deep breath and stuck out his chest.

Which was almost twice as big and defined as it used to be. “What you got planned for the rest of the evenin’, girl?” he asked, wiping his hands on his smock. He stood up straight and leaned on his broom. A few specks of sweat dotted his forehead.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, speaking to him over my shoulder as I glanced out the window. Turning back to Pee Wee, I said, “Why don’t you surprise me.” I thought that the least Pee Wee would do was to ask to take me to a movie or ask if he could come to my house to listen to some jazz and share a bottle of wine. I was in for a much bigger and better surprise.

Pee Wee dropped his broom and slid onto one of his two swivel chairs and pulled me down onto his lap. Before I realized what he was up to, he kissed me long and hard. “Wanna take a walk around the corner?” He motioned with his head in the direction of a motel.

“What for?” I asked dumbly. “I mean . . . uh, yeah.” It seemed too easy and too good to be true. I planned to get as much mileage out of it as I could. I didn’t know when I’d get lucky with him again. At the rate I was going, it could take another few years.

He locked up his business and escorted me to the motel in question. As soon as we got into a room, he started nibbling on my ears, fondling my breasts and butt and telling me over and over again how glad he was that I had returned to Ohio.

“You sure haven’t been acting like you were glad I came back,” I snapped, enjoying his touch as we peeled off our clothes. Either he didn’t hear my comment or he was too caught up in the moment to respond. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter now. Just having a man I cared about, and who cared about me, was enough.

Even if it was just Pee Wee.

“I don’t want to come here anymore,” I said, before we got any more involved.

Panting, Pee Wee agreed. “I know this ain’t the most romantic place in the world.” He laughed. “This bed look like it’s on its last leg but it’ll have to do. I don’t think I could last long enough to get you to your house . . .”

He didn’t know the half of it. This was the same motel and the same room that Rhoda and Otis had fooled around in during high school. And as old as the bed looked, it was probably the same bed, GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY

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too! Maybe it was my imagination, but I was convinced that Rhoda’s smell was still in this room. But then she was still in my blood and that scared me. With Pee Wee on top of me, I tensed up and pushed him away.

He lifted his head and looked at me with a confused expression on his face. “Look, if you don’t want to do this again, I understand.”

“That’s not it. I . . . I’m just feeling really funny right now.” I didn’t want to tell him that Rhoda was the reason I was feeling so uneasy so I let him think what he wanted.