My Sister's Ex (3 page)

“Woman, excuse me, but that sounds ridiculous. For all I know you could be trying to kill
me
,” he says with seriousness. “Hey, I’m just trying to give major props to a sista that’s getting her grind on. Listen! You drink out of your glass, I drink out of mine.”

His defensiveness makes me eye him closely. Whatever. I’ll do what he wants. This time!

“Okay chill out, Jeff. I was just trying to do it the right way.”

“When you hang out with me we’re going to do it the Jeffrey Williams way. Is that all right, sweetheart? Baby doll? Beautiful girl?”

And I smile and melt and melt again, and I agree to do things the Jeffrey Williams way.

While sitting there I feel self-conscious. What if someone who knows Rachel pops up in the restaurant? Would it be embarrassing? Would I try to act like everything is cool? I feel like people are looking at me, but I can’t help how wonderful it feels to be around Jeff. He makes me laugh; he is very complimentary; and considering how busy he is with
his job, the fact that he is using his time to celebrate with me means a lot.

As soon as we finish our delicious meal and freshen up in the lavatory, Jeff kindly pays the tab and walks me to my car, a pink Volkswagen Beetle with a cream-colored convertible top. It’s the cutest little car that any confident and flirty woman can own. I feel on top of the world every time I drive the darned thing!

“Hey, nice ride. Is this new?” he says, closely examining its body.

“Yep, I traded in my SUV for something, you know, a little more flirty and a lot more fly. Plus, I’ve always wanted a convertible. Always wanted to drive something that makes people stare.”

“I
knew
there was something I liked about you. You know, Rachel … oops, I meant to say, Marlene, I gotta drive you around in my newly purchased Mach 1. I paid cash for it a few weeks ago. Red body. Black stripes with hood pins and louvers. I named her Ella, and she’s the most important thing to me in the world, beside my rental properties.”

He was talking about his car, but I was silently fuming about how he’s mentioned my sister several times in thirty minutes. I guess her being in the periphery of his mind is something that comes with the territory. Will I be able to deal with that?

“Hey, I’m game, baby boy. I love driving, especially on a beautiful Sunday afternoon when the weather is just right. Sun shining bright, no clouds in the sky. Ooo wee!” I laugh. I want him to think that his slipup calling me Rachel doesn’t faze me.

“Sounds like a plan. Anyway, follow me and we’ll go hang out at my crib. This here is my work ride,” he says, sounding calm and confident. “I’m sure you remember my
other car …” His voice drifts off. “As you can tell, I love cars.” Jeff walks a few feet away and points at an all-white Honda sedan that is sitting directly under the parking lot lights. “It’s a good five years old but well maintained. Main thing is it gets me from point A to point B.”

I like how he’s freely sharing with me some of the things he loves most in his life. He walks me back to my car again, then enters and starts his Honda, backs out, and blows his horn. I follow close behind him as he heads for his place.

While I’m alone driving in my Volkswagen, Blinky rings me up, but I’m not really in a Blinky mood right now.

“Hey, Daughter Number One, whatcha doing, whatcha doing?”

“Hi, Blinky,” I say coolly. “I’m out and about. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh, well, don’t forget to swing on by the crib Sunday. Around two o’clock.”

“Dang, who told you?” I complain. Monday is Blinky’s birthday, but the family is getting together to celebrate one day early.

“Y’all know you can’t keep nothing from me. Shoot, I’m almost sixty, and I didn’t reach this age by being dumb.”

“No comment, Daddy. No comment.”

“Are you trying to call your daddy dumb?”

“You say you’re not dumb, but you don’t know what ‘no comment’ means? Where’s Mama?” I say, changing the subject.

“She’s bent over a sink messing with some turnip greens, black-eyed peas, and corn on the cob, and she’s about to get into some crawfish, getting them good and ready for ya.”

“Oh, wow, crawfish, your favorite. Yep, I’ll be at your little so-called surprise party.”

“Good, darling, I can’t wait to see ya. Now where’s Rachel?”

“Um, probably at home. Playing flip TV. Sleeping for hours. You know Rachel.”

“Damn shame. I hope she’s not still depressed.”

“If she is it would be all her fault for ending her relationship with a good man. Times are hard right now when it comes to men and women sticking together for the long haul. Everybody knows that. And finding a good man who’ll treat you like a queen is like stumbling upon gas that’s a dollar a gallon. Now, she’s the real dumb one, Blinky.”

“Hey, Pretty Girl, don’t be talking smack about your younger sister. She needs you right now, needs you to be in her corner, not talking her down to people.”

“Well, if she doesn’t wanna get talked down, she’s gotta stop with the dumb stuff. I mean, jeez, any strong, intelligent woman knows that. I’ve known so many women who kicked out their boyfriends and are now crying for them to come back. She should’ve thought about the consequences of her decision before regretting it a week later.”

I guess my bad attitude is my way of justifying the fact that I’ve sneaked and gone out with her ex. If she didn’t want him, isn’t he free to find a woman who will?

“Pretty Girl, you’re not acting too pretty right now. Humph, I didn’t see you taking your own advice when you were down in the dumps after your failed relationships.”

“Blinky, you can’t compare me to Rachel, now can you? Nope, don’t answer, because you can’t. I hate when you do that.” He always defends Rachel. I’m not sure why.

“You ain’t any better than her, so get off your high horse.”

“Blinky, she owes me two hundred dollars—”

“Ha,” he laughs. “Girl, you better kiss that money goodbye. You know how Rachel is. Treat it like a gift instead of a loan. And how did we get on the subject of someone owing someone money?”

“Blinky, from six A.M. to six P.M., you’re always taking her side, but she doesn’t deserve it.” I have always been overly sensitive about how my daddy defends my sister.

“Okay, Pretty Girl, I can hear you getting all upset. I’ll back down,” he says quietly. “But frankly I don’t see how you two live in the same apartment with the attitude you got, Marlene.”

“My attitude? Ha!”

“Why you yelling, huh?” Blinky asks, and I realize it’s in my best interest to calm down. It wouldn’t be cool to go to Jeff’s place in a rotten mood.

“No, we’re straight, Blinky,” I say and dab at the corner of my eye with my finger. A twinge of guilt gnaws at me, since my daddy doesn’t know I’m following behind my sister’s ex, going over to hang out at his place. I attempt to keep my voice reassuring and strong. “For real, you shouldn’t be overly worried. Everything is okay between us, and if it’s not it will be. Nothing we haven’t been through before.”

“Your voice sho sounds funny.” I don’t say anything to him. He continues, “And where you going so late at night?”

“Blinky, how you know I’m in my car?”

“Daughter Number One, do I sound like I was born yesterday? I know things. I always know things.”

My daddy has always been able to sense things about me and my life and has no qualms speaking his mind; he rarely backs down from putting me in my place. I guess he and I are alike when it comes to that. We don’t mind facing what scares us.

One thing I’ve learned in my twenty-six years of living is that even if you are scared out of your mind, sometimes you gotta act on your fears. You gotta be brave enough to walk out on that long diving board and take the plunge. Because that’s the only way you’re going to get anywhere or gain
anything worth having. Playing it safe doesn’t belong anywhere in my life. And all that scared-acting stuff is not the right move for Marlene Draper. I guess I inherited that attitude from our daddy Vaughn Draper, aka Blinky I’m told he was given that nickname because as a baby he blinked all the time like something was caught in his eye. The name stuck. Well, this man is not a baby; he is an experienced man who will take a risk even if it damn near kills him. And so far death has escaped him, because, in our family, living to see sixty is a major accomplishment. I plan to follow in his footsteps. Taking chances and living life in such a way that it helps me get what I want. And I want a chance to be with Jeff.

When Rachel and I were little girls, her mother, Brooke, would always try to make sure that her daughter was dressed in outfits that were newer and prettier and better tailored than mine. At first I didn’t understand, and I hardly paid attention to Brooke’s shenanigans. But as I got older, I started to retain certain events more and more.

I was eight; Rachel was four.

“See Rachel’s new shoes, Marlene? Aren’t they cute?” Then she’d stop and blankly stare at my shoes, which had holes in the bottoms and soles that were falling apart so you could see what color socks I had on. When Brooke would interrogate me like this, I’d blink my eyes several times trying to stop the tears from spilling and soaking my face. But I’d always nod my head in agreement with Miss Brooke only because she was my elder, even though I barely wanted to. “Yes, ma’am, Rachel’s shoes are so pretty. I have some just like them at home. I’m wearing these old shoes now because I don’t want to mess up my nice ones.” Rachel’s mom would smirk at me, and I’d turn away feeling ashamed. I’d glance
down at my shoes and hope that when I got home, I’d really find a pretty new pair waiting on me.

And when I did arrive and the shoes I dreamed of wouldn’t be there, I’d search our house, going from room to room looking for Blinky That’s when he was jobless and extra cash was scarce. Mom was going to school and her job didn’t pay much. So Blinky spent a lot of time holed away in the dark den; the windows would be covered up with pages from an old copy of the
Alexandria News Weekly
(he was born in Louisiana). Blinky would be propped up on his La-Z-Boy with an unlit cigarette bobbing from his mouth. And he’d be wearing his usual sleeveless undershirt and some raggedy-looking slacks that had holes in them from countless accidental cigarette burns. I’d grab his big arm and crawl onto his lap, whining. One day I told him, “Daddy, Rachel got some new shoes. Where mine at? I want some, too.”

“You can’t have everything your sister has.”

“Did you buy them for her?”

“I don’t have any money. Brooke’s ‘friend’ got them for her.” I knew it meant another man who was sweet on Brooke and would try to impress her by giving Rachel presents. “Get away from me, Pretty Girl.”

“Don’t call me that. Miss Brooke says I’m ugly. Am I ugly, Blinky?”

“Pretty Girl, you’re not ugly. Why do you think I call you Pretty Girl?”

I shrugged my shoulders, confused.

“Then why Miss Brooke say I’m ugly? She always says Rachel is prettier than me. And Rachel has nice pretty dresses, too … and shoes … She
is
prettier than me.” It’s like I discovered the truth on my own. And I loudly burst into tears and covered my face with my chubby fingers. Blinky patted me on the back. Then he reached in his pocket and
handed me a crumpled five-dollar bill, which, at the time, felt like a hundred dollars. I couldn’t buy a new pair of shoes with the money, but knowing he cared enough to stop me from crying managed to calm me down for a moment.

The next time I saw my little sister, Rachel, I flashed my five-dollar bill in her face and stuck out my tongue. She raced to her room and came back holding a couple of crinkled five-dollar bills, plus a quarter. I guess Brooke’s friend gave her that money. I burned with jealousy shut my eyes closed, and waited for my sister to disappear. But she never did.

Jeff turns into the driveway of his modest, one-story frame home. Within seconds, the garage door automatically opens. Jeff pulls in next to another car whose body is completely cloaked with a sheet of light blue fabric. He jumps out of his car and waits for me, then walks over to the covered vehicle.

“Even though I have a garage, I still gotta protect Ella with the indoor car cover; it’s actually called WeatherShield fabric, and it’s great at protecting my baby from nicks and scratches.”

“Ahh, so she’s special, huh?”

“You better believe it. It’s a classic that I enjoy maintaining. Ella is the kind of car that everyone knows is mine whenever I take her out for a drive.”

“Well, let me see her.”

“Of course.” Jeff grins at me and reaches in his pocket. He retrieves a set of keys and inserts a tiny key inside a lock that is attached to the car cover. The lock pops open, and Jeff completely pulls the fabric off his Mach 1.

“Hey, this is so cool.”

I extend my hand toward the hood.

“Don’t touch it. I got it waxed recently and …”

“Oh,” I say, embarrassed. “Well, she looks wonderful, and I can’t wait to ride with you, Jeff.”

He quietly nods then rushes to refasten the cover again.

Jeff says, “C’mon, let’s go inside.” I follow Jeff as he unlocks the side door that leads to the house. We enter his place, first passing through a tiny room that has a washer and dryer, and then I find myself in the kitchen. Leftover dishes are sitting on his dinette table. I notice half-eaten sandwiches sitting on napkins, and bottles of soda with missing caps line the kitchen counter.

“Excuse the mess, beautiful. It’s not usually like this. I haven’t cleaned up in at least two months; been too busy hustling and trying to make that paper.”

“Oh, no problem,” I say with an encouraging smile, but inside I am disgusted. I am not very tidy myself, but it’s only because I get so busy I don’t always have time to straighten up. I do a halfway job of cleaning at least once a week, though, which is better than nothing. I am not sure if Jeff’s excuse is the real reason, especially since he invited me over. Well, I’m no shrink, but I have an idea.

The signs of depression aren’t that hard to figure out. Quiet as it’s kept, men get depressed, too, and I’ve learned it takes a man much longer to get over a breakup than it does a woman. I mean, it’s only been a couple of months since Rachel broke off the engagement. So it is possible that he still … no, I won’t let my mind go there. I am not about to be anybody’s rebound woman.