On the Come Up (19 page)

He ain’t here.

He said he be here playing with Star.

You see he ain’t here, don’t you.

Niki shifted, looking between the two of them.

Okay, but I got to talk to him.

He ain’t here. He ain’t here. He ain’t here. Get it.

CeeCee seemed to shrink. Skinny and frail in that sweater hanging down her thighs and for a second it looked like she gonna cry.

But AnnMarie couldn’t help herself. She said, You know Darius says you stalking him. You know that, right? He says you ain’t nothing but a stalker bitch.

CeeCee tossed her head like it ain’t no thing. But AnnMarie saw her eyes narrow.

Then she said, He says the same thing about you.

AnnMarie didn’t know how she got upstairs, but there she was, on the couch, that sick feeling lifting through her chest, Niki on the floor playing with Star, saying something but all she could hear was CeeCee’s voice in her head.
You know we’s having a baby together. Didn’t he tell you?

She’d wanted to punch that girl, stick a knife in her eye but she hadn’t. She’d just stood there like a fucking retard, unable to move. Niki’s eyes on her, making the whole thing worse.

What? AnnMarie asked Niki now. What you say?

I said, She’s a dancer at Crush.

Niki stood, setting Star in AnnMarie’s lap. That’s how I know her. Crush. Remember that place Nadette work at for a while?

AnnMarie didn’t say anything.

Niki stared at her. She waved a hand in front of her face, laughing.

I’m out, Niki said.

What, where you going?

I gotta go, she said. I’ll check you later.

Before she left, Niki kissed two fingers and blew her the peace sign.

AnnMarie barely looked up. The disbelief and shock spinning itself into a mass of burning rage. Star half bouncing in her lap, batting at her face with her little hands until AnnMarie took hold of her wrists and stopped her. Stop, she said, pushing herself up off the couch. Swinging Star onto her hip, she headed for him.

He was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. AnnMarie shifted Star onto the other hip.

You know who was downstairs?

Darius didn’t answer, his eyes on his own reflection. She said, That bitch CeeCee. She’s telling me you says
I’m
the stalker. She says soon as she has her baby, you goin’ off to live with her.

Darius frowned but still didn’t speak.

Did you hear what I said?

He kept brushing.

She pushed him. Ain’t your teeth clean yet? Spit that out.

And she saw him do it. Purse his lips and spit the whole mess into her face. She felt it land wet and disgusting and she couldn’t speak she was so shocked, hearing him say, Bitch don’t
touch
me.

She walked into her room, set Star in the crib, came back at him with one of her high heels. She coulda killed him she so angry, tried to gauge his eyes out, draw blood, something. Star was screaming, watching from the crib as they spilled out into the hallway. Her mother yelling from the other room,
What is going on, why that baby crying
but Darius didn’t care, he got the shoe away and threw her down. She tried to get away, scooting back across the floor, kicking at his arms, thrashing but he got hold of her leg and yanked her forward ’til he’d straddled her, had a fistful of her hair and held her fast. The backhand slap made her eyeballs rattle but it was the punch to the nose that did it. Blood gushing and pain like nothing else, not the birth of Star, not Carlton’s belt, not the beatings from Grandma Mason. Somehow this was worse.

No one called the police. No neighbors banged on the door. Blessed barely made it out her bedroom, leaning on her cane, saying
AnnMarie … AnnMarie, what the hell going on …
Maybe ’cause it was over before it started. Darius walking out. She couldn’t remember screaming, maybe she had, maybe she hadn’t. All she knew was her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. Didn’t matter her body was battered. That last kick to the kidney, silencing her, leaving her gasping for air, she was used to that.

She woke up feeling like she’d been hit by a truck. Bruised and broken, her face swollen, ribs aching—it hurt to breathe. Couldn’t even brush her teeth her mouth hurt so bad. Got back into bed and went to sleep. Blessed stood in the door with Star in her arms. Five days, her mother came to the door, sometimes coming in to set a TV tray on the bed, or to take it out again. Five days a her saying, Why you keep taking him back, he treat you like that. It’s your own fault, AnnMarie. When you take him back.

Shut the fuck up, Ma. Please. Just shut the fuck up.

The address they gave her was 3244 Butler Place, number 34. The caregiver name was Princess Jones. That her real name? AnnMarie had asked. Family Services said, Yeah, that’s what it says.

AnnMarie wound her way through the long corridor, pushing the stroller left then right until she found number 34 at the end of the hall. Her face had shrunk back down to size and she looked herself again, could smile without nothing hurting.

Princess Jones opened the door and let her in. It was a big room with a checkerboard rug and there was bricks made of cardboard for stacking and books in the corner and a plastic kitchenette and three children, maybe two years old, playing with a plastic tea set.

AnnMarie glanced at the woman as she spoke—she was short
and squat with hair going white, combed back flat against her head. Little tendrils of gray curling by her ears, black moles scattered across her neck.

Princess Jones was saying, I have a routine I follow. Playtime, snack, outdoor play, lunch, rest, playtime, book. Some mothers need extra hours, the children stay for dinner. I give them a snack at ten o’clock, something healthy like an apple or an orange, and another snack at two. You provide lunch.

AnnMarie was thinking, Star ain’t eating no apple yet, and as if she could read her mind the lady said, You can leave baby food with me and I can feed Star that. Any formula she take, leave that too.

She reached out both hands and said, Let me hold this child. Come, Star, let’s see if we get along.

Star went into her arms easy, held on to the lady’s shirt, legs wrapped around her hip as Princess showed AnnMarie the bathroom, the bedroom where three cribs and a Pack ’n Play stood and the kitchen where a toddler’s table and chairs had been placed under the window. The rooms were bright, the floor clean, ain’t nothing bad here. Little ones playing with the tea set.

As she walked home, she thought about Princess Jones and the playgroup. Maybe she do it. Maybe she would. Time for school, get her GED. Call up Dean, make another movie.
Roll sound. Roll camera
. The director call
Action
.

Get the fuck outta Far Rock. Anywhere but here.

When AnnMarie came home, Ondine was on the phone.

Where my mother at?

Shhh, she sleeping.

Did you take her out?

She
sleeping
. Now hush. I’m on the phone.

She said, Miss Jeffers? Hello Miss Jeffers, this is Ondine Jackson. Your Avon order came in, how you want to pay for that.

AnnMarie went into the bedroom and slammed her door.

That night she dreamed of Princess Jones, woke with a start and reached for Darius. But the bed was empty and she remembered they were done.

She lay awake, staring into the darkness. The apartment quiet except for the raspy in and out of Star breathing. She thought about those car rides with Grandma Mason to the agency for the monthly check-ins. It was the only time she got cheese and crackers, her favorite snack. Flat-footed bitch. Grandma Mason coulda beat her five times the day before, but if it was agency day, AnnMarie got cheese and crackers and she kept quiet.

AnnMarie tried to block out the memory but the shame rose and fell with each breath she took. She got up, went into the living room and turned the TV on. What a fool she was, little girl six, seven years old, didn’t say nothing to her mother. They used to blindfold her, those boys. Grandma Mason’s grandsons. It was Gerome. It was Jay. Tie a do-rag over her eyes. Lift up her dress, pull her panties down. Press up against her crack. Rubbing and cumming. Rubbing and cumming. She tried to hide but they always found her.

She missed Darius all of a sudden, an ache so strong she didn’t know what to do. How could she miss him. She didn’t understand it. Wanting his arms around her right then, like a warm blanket. She wandered in and out of her bedroom, flipped on the kitchen light and stood, staring at the floor. Out the window, she saw the streetlamp flickering on the corner and a figure passing underneath.

She got back in bed, closed her eyes but there it was, the shame
like a beast mocking. You nobody. Worth nothing. Piece a dust. Speck a dirt. She sat up, crossed to the crib and scooped Star, still sleeping, into her arms. Brought her into the bed and laid her down close to the wall so she wouldn’t roll off. She put her cheek up to Star’s mouth, felt the warm air moving across her cheek. AnnMarie watched her, chest rising and falling, like waves crashing, like a star blazing across the night sky.

Push back, she thought. Push back.

It’d come to her in the night, the only thing she knew for sure—ain’t no way she leaving Star with a stranger in a strange house, no matter how neat and tidy. But when she woke the next morning a feeling of apprehension still hovered, leaving her moody and restless so she packed Star up into the stroller and went by to see Niki.

Niki’s brother Bodie opened the door and let her in. Niki was sitting on the floor, an arm laced over her knee and she didn’t look up.

What you doing, AnnMarie asked.

Shhh, I’m posing.

She glanced at Bodie who had sat back down again, a sketch pad in his lap. AnnMarie shifted Star onto her other hip, then leaned over to look.

Dang Bodie, tha’s good. I didn’t know you could draw, when you start drawing?

Tha’s ’cause he gay.

AnnMarie start to laugh, then realized Niki wasn’t joking.

Cedrick don’t let him draw. Think it make him more gay.

Oh, AnnMarie said.

Cedrick was their foster father. Bodie and Niki weren’t related by blood, just by Cedrick.

You like boys, Bodie?

Duh, Bodie said, his tongue coming out, stabbing at his lip in
concentration. His eyes on Niki’s face, hand moving across the page.

You hear, Bodie? Niki said. AnnMarie’s going on a airplane. To a movie festival.

AnnMarie caught the edge in her voice, and for a second she was surprised. When she first told Niki the news, she’d acted happy—they’d spent the day talking about it, AnnMarie on cloud nine, Niki right there with her, dreaming about stardom and the path to get there. She wondered when the hate start brewing.

AnnMarie said, Ain’t no thing. I still gotta get a job. Get my GED.

Niki tsked. Why you need a job. Roll out the red carpet. You a movie star now.

Bodie glanced up from the drawing. Shut up, jealous. You should be glad for AnnMarie.

Niki didn’t say nothing, just sat there, her face empty of expression. Which crushed her, a feeling like loneliness sweeping through the room. A line dividing them. AnnMarie glanced at the drawing. All shade, no lines. It was Niki alright, looking mad beautiful.

Then she heard Niki say, You should draw Star next.

Bodie shrugged. I draw her, but she got to sit still. Can’t be climbing all over the place.

So Niki helped AnnMarie strap Star in the stroller, gave her a bottle to suck on, took her down to the street. AnnMarie singing a little melody soft under her breath as Niki walked along beside her, their shoulders brushing.

Niki said, You know I watch Star for you.

AnnMarie looked at her. What you mean.

When you go to Utah, Niki said. You know I’ma help Blessed out.

AnnMarie smiled. You know I’ma bring you something.

Like what.

A souvenir.

Like what.

How ’bout snow.

Niki bust out laughing. Took four times around the block, but they did it, got Star to fall asleep.

Nine in the morning, she finally got past the busy signal and got someone on the phone. The man said, You don’t need an appointment. Welfare open eight a.m. to five p.m., Monday to Friday. You want food stamps you go to Room Number 3. We at 219 Beach 59th Street, first floor.

The night before, Star had woke up crying. AnnMarie dead tired, third night in a row, Star’d been fussy. Doctor had told her, Get her a teething ring. She teething. So AnnMarie’d gone into the Thriftway, walked the aisle, slipped one into her pocket. She’d used it each night, Star sitting up in her lap, drooling as she gummed the soft plastic.

Star finally fell asleep again, but she hadn’t. She made a list. Formula, quarters for laundry, baby detergent, baby food, diapers, wipes. Star need clothes, onesies stretched tight, had to cut the toe part off to give her room. Coat. Pair a boots. Snow boots. Scarf. Gloves.

By nine forty-five, AnnMarie got Star fed and bundled up, ready to go, put the slip of paper with the address in her pocket. Went back for the teething ring, made Star clutch it with her fingers. Down the elevator, out the doors and fuck all if Darius ain’t out front, talking to his homies, pretending he don’t see her but soon as she go past, he followed.

Where you going.

She kept her mouth shut. Fuck that. She kept her eyes forward, hands on the stroller, pushing it along over the uneven sidewalk, then she stopped, stood for a minute, pulling her sweater cuffs down over her hands. Darius kept walking, not even realizing she ain’t there and inside she smiled at that little stupidity until he turned, raising his hands like,
Come on now …

He stood there ’til she caught up, then he reached over and put a hand on the stroller.

Hol’ up now. Hold up and let me talk to you.

No, Darius. Let go the stroller.

What you mean
let go
, this my child. You gonna beef wit’ me on the street, that what you wanna do?

AnnMarie didn’t answer.

But she dropped her hands from the stroller, left Star there for him to push and walked away. She didn’t have to turn around, she could tell he was right behind, the stroller wheels squeaking as they rolled over the frozen sidewalk, all the one-way streets circling, Brookhaven to Grassmere, taking one turn after another until she found herself in front of the kiddie park that’d been closed for construction. Darius came up behind her, tucked the stroller in next to a bench and sat down. Hunched up against the cold, AnnMarie waited.