Once Upon a Project (32 page)

Chapter 52

 

P
at cleared the table, assisted, as always when her parents were over for dinner, by her mother. She liked to have them come over every now and again. They enjoyed visiting her condo, which was only a few miles from their apartment on 67th Street.

“You're a good cook, Pat,” Moses said appreciatively, patting his protruding belly.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“I wish I could take credit for your skills in the kitchen,” Cleotha said. “Those stuffed pork chops are fabulous. Of course, when you kids were coming up, pork chops were for special occasions, like birthdays. And we could never afford chops thick enough to be stuffed.”

“You taught me the basics, Mama. That's where good cooking starts. I just expanded on it a little.”

“You're so sweet, Pat.”

Cleotha straightened up after stacking plates in the dishwasher. The hand she placed on her lower back told Pat she shouldn't have been doing that, but she'd insisted, and Pat knew how futile it would be to argue with her.

Still, she thought about the bending required to shelve books at the library. How tired her mother must be. And how like her never to complain. “Mama, I can take it from here. Why don't you sit down?”

Cleotha didn't disagree. After she returned to her seat she said, “Pat, Daddy and I were hoping your friend would be here today so we could meet him.”

“Yes, your new boyfriend I've heard so much about. The one with the deep pockets, who brings you to expensive restaurants where the bill comes to more than I used to pay for my car,” Moses echoed. “Where's he hiding today, anyway? Surely he's not afraid to meet your old man.” He smiled as he talked, as if he enjoyed the idea of still being threatening to Pat's suitors.

“Of course not, Daddy. This is his weekend with his daughters.”

“He's divorced?” Cleotha asked.

All Cleotha and Moses knew about Andy was that he was a partner in a law firm and that he'd brought her to Galena and then to L.A. for the weekend. They only knew that much because she'd left town and felt they should know about it in case of an emergency. She'd deliberately left them in the dark for the most part, but the time had come to tell them about him, including his race. “Yes. He has two daughters in their teens. It's not an unusual background for an unmarried person almost fifty.
I'm
the odd one out, having never been married and not having any children.” She watched as her parents exchanged glances. “You don't think I'd be involved with someone who's married, do you?”

“No, that's not it,” Cleotha said. “Come sit down, Pat. Your daddy and I want to tell you something.”

Pat dried her hands on a paper towel and tossed it in the trash before sitting down at the casual square laminate-topped table, which she always dressed up with a tablecloth and candlesticks when she had guests. “Is everything all right?” she asked. She felt fortunate to be nearly fifty years old and still have both her parents alive and well. Grace had lost both her folks, Elyse's father was ailing down there in Tennessee, and Susan's father, a recovering alcoholic, had plenty of bad days. Her parents had been a little younger than those of her friends, but age didn't determine how long a person would live.

“Nothing's wrong. Your mama and I were talking, and we decided there's something we need to tell you,” Moses said.

Pat still felt uneasy. Her father had suddenly gone ill at ease, continually shifting in his chair, as if he couldn't get comfortable.

Cleotha took over. “I told Daddy about my little talk with Miriam at the luncheon, Pat. How triumphant she sounded as she talked about Ricky, and that smug smile on her face when she asked about you.”

Pat's shoulders stiffened, and her throat felt constricted. She'd done her best to lock the past away and toss the key like a gum wrapper, but she still hated to be reminded of what happened with her and Ricky. Grace confessing her affair with him had hurt and would probably sting for some time to come, but at least it helped Pat see how futile it was to harbor feelings for him after all this time.

She thought that after her mother's report about her encounter with Miriam at the luncheon she'd never have to hear Ricky's name again. Andy was her present and her immediate future, and it was him she wanted to talk about, but for some ungodly reason both her parents felt they needed to discuss Ricky and his mother again. Would she ever be free of their long shadow?

“I can't imagine what Ricky and his mother have to do with anything now,” she said slowly.

“Patty-cake,” her father said, using the pet name he'd given her as a child, “your mama and I decided a long time ago that we were wrong. We knew about Ricky, about how he'd made good. The
Tribune
did an article on him some time back, when he opened his place downtown. It said how he already had a little lunch counter by the factories and how his move into a more upscale market seemed to be working. We talked about how he could have been our son-in-law and the father of our grandchildren.”

Her old resentment embraced her like the welcoming arms of an old friend. “And I'm sure you talked about my still being single as well.”

“Pat, please don't be angry with us,” Cleotha pleaded.

“We thought we were saving you heartache. And we were so afraid.”

“You never even told me about the article.”

“We didn't want to open an old wound that we hoped had healed,” Moses admitted.

“When we lost Melvin”—Cleotha stopped speaking for several moments to compose herself—“it brought back so many old memories of Jacob.”

“Mama, it wasn't the same thing. White men didn't kill Melvin. He was killed by street punks.”

“I know. But when you're grieving, your emotions don't always make sense.” Cleotha looked down for a moment. “I'm afraid we wanted to blame someone, anyone, for what happened to Melvin.”

Moses spoke up. “But there's no relieving your pain, no matter what. Even that prison sentence that gang member got for shooting your brother didn't help. Nothing would, short of bringing Melvin back.”

“We're so proud of you, Pat,” Cleotha said. “But I'm afraid we did you a disservice by sending Ricky away. I felt we ought to tell you as much.”

“But we did it for your own good,” Moses said, citing a well-worn parental refrain. “To tell you the truth, we always thought you'd meet another young man, fall in love again, and get married.”

Pat shrugged. Her parents' long-overdue apology did make her feel better about what they'd done. She hadn't realized how much of her resentment stemmed from their never saying another word about the part they'd played in changing the direction of her life. “I thought so, too,” she said quietly. “But it never happened, did it?”

“But we're so excited that you've met someone special,” Cleotha said. “We're looking forward to meeting him.”

“So he has teenage daughters,” Moses said. “Do they live here in the city, too?”

“No, they live with their mother up in Buffalo Grove.” Pat began to feel better. After her parents' apology, they'd have a hard time refusing to accept Andy.

Moses whistled. “I always knew there were more and more black folks with money all the time, but I never thought I'd have anything to do with them.”

Pat took a deep breath. The time had come to let the proverbial cat out of the bag. She opened her mouth.

“What's his name, Pat?” her mother asked.

“Andrew Keindl. I call him Andy.”

Cleotha nodded approval. “A nice, sturdy, biblical name. I like that.”

“I knew some Kendalls that lived out in the west suburbs,” Moses said. “I did handy work for them years ago. Nice people. Could they be a relation?”

Pat hadn't expected this reaction. She thought that once her parents heard Andy's last name they would realize he wasn't black. She'd forgotten that in the Anglicized pronunciation Andy favored it could easily be confused with a similar, more American-sounding name.

“No,” she said. “Andy's last name is spelled ‘K-e-i-n-d-l' and technically pronounced ‘Kindill.' The first syllable rhymes with ‘mine.' ”

“That's an odd name,” Cleotha said. “Is he—what do they call it now?—biracial?”

“No, Mama,” she said quietly. “He's American, but his background is German.”

Moses looked stricken. “He's
white?
” he finally sputtered.

“Yes, Daddy, he is.”

“What's with you, Pat? Don't you ever come in contact with any black men?”

“Plenty. And many of them want to get closer to me. The problem is, they're all married.”

“It's all right, Pat,” Cleotha said quickly, although her eyes were on Moses. “We just weren't expecting that. You can't blame us for being a little surprised.
Can
she, Moses?” Her question held a warning.

“A German,” Moses repeated. “I don't believe it. Do you know what the Germans said about the black athletes at the Berlin Olympics back in '36? Then Jesse Owens took to the track and shut them all up. But I swear to God, if they'd won the war we'd all still be working in the cotton fields.”

“Daddy, that whole Aryan-supremacy thing came from the Nazis. Not every German was a Nazi. Many of them were victims.”

“Is his family Jewish?” Cleotha asked.

Pat found her mother's hesitant expression almost laughable. She could accept her daughter dating a German man as long as he was a Protestant. “No, Mama, they're not.”

Moses sneered. “What do you know about how his parents feel about black people? Have you ever met them?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But nothing. You haven't met them because he's got no intention of presenting his black girlfriend to his parents.”

Tears pooled in her lower lids. “Daddy, that's not fair. And it's a complete turnaround from your saying you're sorry you stopped me from marrying Ricky.”

“That was different, Pat. We knew Ricky. A fine boy he was, ambitious and hardworking. I admired him for that. Many times I wished your brother Clarence had Ricky's ways instead of getting hooked on smack the way he did. Plus, we knew Miriam. And she knew you, from the time you were an infant in your carriage. She always thought highly of you. . . .”

Pat's lower lip dropped. Was this actually her father speaking, the man who'd called Ricky a “burrito boy” way back when? Now he made him sound like he'd been the catch of the fucking day. What a hypocrite.

Moses continued his rant. “But these people, strangers, and Germans to boot! They'll think it's bad enough you're black, but once they learn you grew up in the projects they'll raise a real ruckus.” He shook his head. “Cleotha, I think we can forget about this new relationship of hers amounting to anything. This Andy dude may be giving her the rush, but eventually he'll get tired and move on.”

That ripped it. Pat turned angrily on her father. “Daddy, I'll thank you not to talk about me like I'm not here.”

Again Cleotha jumped into the breach. “Daddy didn't mean it. I can't say I'm not concerned myself, Pat. I don't want you to get hurt. What if his people don't approve of you?”

“You mean, just like you didn't want me to get hurt if I married Ricky, and just like
you
didn't approve of
him.
”

“I didn't think Ricky would hurt you, Pat. I know he loved you. We were worried about the discrimination you would face as an interracial couple, plus the hard life you might have if Ricky's dreams of owning a successful restaurant didn't come to pass. There might be mixed-race couples all over the place now, but you didn't see a whole lot of them thirty years ago.”

“Susan Bennett's parents lived right there in Dreiser.”

“Yes, and her father became a drunk. I heard he came from a good family who disowned him when he married Frances, and he couldn't get back into their good graces afterward, which sent him down the road paved with gin.”

“That was just gossip, Mama. David Bennett's family might have disowned him, but they didn't have a whole lot of money. Susan told me that herself. I think Minnie Johnson started that rumor because it made for a good story.”

Moses spoke up again. “Yeah, well, the Bennett family might not have had a lot of money, but I'll bet none of them lived in the projects.”

“Enough about the Bennetts. We're not talking about them; we're talking about Andy and me.” Pat cleared her throat. “Mama . . . Daddy, I'm going to do now what I should have done thirty years ago and was too weak to. I'm sorry about what happened to our family. I don't think there was anything you could have done to prevent it. You always said it was no crime to be poor as long as you did your best. We're not the only family to have lost members to gang violence and drugs.

“And I don't know what's going to happen with Andy and me. We might break up next week. And it's true, his parents might not like his getting involved with a black woman. But I can tell you this: This is a happy time for me. For years I've dreamed of being courted the way I am now. And regardless of what you say, Daddy, I know that Andy genuinely cares about me. I'm not just a bed partner to him.” The more she spoke, the stronger she felt. “I'm going to see this thing through, wherever it takes me. If it goes all the way—and I'm not saying it will—and the thought of having a white son-in-law doesn't sit well with you, well, I'm very sorry. I'll have to work it so that I see you alone.” Her speech over, she folded her hands in front of her on the table, enjoying the rush of exhilaration. She felt almost serene. God, why hadn't she said this years ago?