Revenge of a Not-So-Pretty Girl (24 page)

“There was an incident today,” the old lady begins. “Go on, Faye, tell her.”

So, there I am, standing at the end of the long lonely hall with Ms. Downer, who Mama doesn’t seem to want to let in. I’m figuring that after Mama hears my story, she probably won’t want to let me into the apartment either.

“All of a sudden, you can’t talk,” Mama says. “What did you do now? Go on.”

“I didn’t do anything. I was in a store. And there was this security guard. And he ended up having a heart attack. The next thing I know, he’s lying on top of me like he’s dead. And the cops called Ms. Downer, so she came and took me back to her place.”

Mama stands there staring at me, her right hand still holding on to the door, her left hand now making its way from the cigarette up to her forehead. Her eyes get real narrow and her face gets all weird and contorted. But then her face suddenly becomes still.

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I thought Viola said something about extra tutoring since your finals are coming up.” Mama looks over at Ms. Downer. “And why did the cops contact
you
?” But before the old lady can speak, Mama continues.

“And nobody’s answered me yet. Who exactly is this woman?”

“She’s my friend,” I say.

“Your friend? You’re fourteen. This woman is … she’s … I really don’t know how old she is, but she probably has seventy years on you. What fourteen-year-old is friends with a senior citizen? And
once again
, why did the cops contact her? Come to think of it, why were cops involved in the first place? And why were you even in that store? Were you stealing shit again?”

JCJ suddenly comes walking out from the elevator, whistling cheerfully.

“Hey hey. Looks like a party in the hallway. What’s going on out here?” he asks.

Mama blurts out something about me causing trouble again, so JCJ tells her to invite everyone in so we can sit and talk about what happened without the whole fifth floor knowing our business.

So now we’re all in the living room. Me and the old lady are sitting on Mama’s ugly beige couch with the blooming flower print. I hate this couch. Why Mama won’t remove the annoying plastic that makes a crunchy noise and sticks to the back of my legs in the summer is beyond me. Anyway, Jerry’s sitting on one of the matching armchairs, which is also covered in plastic, and Mama just hovers there with a newly lit Virginia Slim between the middle and pointer fingers of her left hand.

“So paint this picture for me. How the hell did you two meet?”

I just shake my head and look down at the brown carpet, because it’s all about to hit the fan.

“I was having trouble with some groceries and Faye helped me out,” the old lady says. And my eyes shoot over to her. I’m so thankful she left out that tiny little part about me ripping her off and almost killing her. I think Mama must have caught my look of shock and surprise, because she then takes a puff of her cigarette and focuses on me.

“That what happened, Faye?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Hmm. Okay,” she says after another puff. “So how did
this helping with the groceries turn into you two becoming bosom buddies?”

“I made her a snack. We talked about school. I’m old. I’m not that well. I don’t really have anyone to talk to. I asked if your daughter could maybe pop in from time to time. She has.”

“We’re still talking about Faye here?”

“Yes.”

Mama shakes her head and arches her eyebrows, then takes a really long drag.

“Uh-huh,” she says. I can’t tell if she believes any of this. But it’s not a lie. It’s just a very carefully constructed and edited retelling of the truth.

“So at this store today, tell me what happened. Only, I’d appreciate a little more detail this time.”

The old lady starts saying something, but Mama cuts her off.

“I’m speaking to my daughter, Ms. Downer.”

“I apologize,” the old lady says.

“I was in there with a couple of kids walking around looking at stuff. And the old security guard who works there, well, he just up and had a heart attack. And he sorta fell on me.”

“And you didn’t provoke him any?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Lots of incredible things happening here. Let me ask you this: If it was just a heart attack, what were the cops doing there?”

“Maybe they happened to be outside walking their beat,” I say.

“And again, you called”—but Mama doesn’t say her name, she just points—“this person because …?”

“She lives nearby, and I knew she’d be home. And I know you don’t like me disturbing you when you’re at work.”

Mama turns to Ms. Downer.

“Is this what happened?” she asks.

“I only got there at the very end,” the old lady answers.

Mama doesn’t offer Ms. Downer any tea or even some water, which I think is pretty awful. She’s old. Old people need to drink lots of liquids. But JCJ has some manners, and he brings her some orange juice. Ms. Downer is in the middle of saying something when Mama suddenly mashes her unfinished cigarette into an ashtray and claps her hands together.

“Thank you, Ms. Downer. It was very enlightening meeting one of Faye’s … friends. Jerry, please show Faye’s guest out. It’s getting late.”

I continue sitting on that couch, listening to the wooden beads as they knock together, listening to the two sets of footsteps as they recede down the hallway. I try not to look up because I can feel Mama’s electric glare. I hear the front door shut behind the old lady, and as if that triggers her, Mama starts going off.

“You call some old random white lady instead of your own mother,” she hisses at me. She’s standing over me all tall and strong and threatening.

“Come on, Jeanne,” Jerry says as he walks back through the wooden beads, causing them to sway and clack together some more. “She’s a kid. She was scared. Probably didn’t want to worry you.”

“You don’t know how sneaky she can be, Jerry!”

“Jeanne—” Jerry starts to say.

“You’re. Not. Her. Father. She doesn’t have one. Maybe if she did, she wouldn’t be acting like this. Maybe if that father cared enough to keep the family intact, none of this would be happening.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m not her father,” Jerry says quietly.

“And maybe you should go on home tonight,” Mama says. “I need to have some time with my daughter.”

If eyeballs were able to make sounds, mine would be screaming. I’m shooting Jerry the most pleading of looks, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Not my place to get in the middle of family,” he says. “So I guess I’ll see ya, Faye. Good night, Jeanne.”

Jerry walks back through the wooden beads. His footsteps get quieter as he makes it farther down the hall. Then there’s an opening and closing of the front door. I keep staring at the beads as they move slower and slower and then come close to knocking into one another. I want to run my hands across them and have them make noise again, because with Jerry gone and Mama staring at me with fire in her eyes, everything feels so ominous and still.

I try to look up at Mama, but it’s like looking directly into the sun. Her eyes are just too intense. I try to move past her, but she doesn’t give any ground. She doesn’t move back or forward or step out of the way. I try to step around her, and that’s when I see it. But it happens so lightning fast, I have no time to react. Mama uses her left elbow to
connect with my jaw. And suddenly, there’s this ringing sound in my ear.

*  *  *

I know how to make sure it doesn’t hurt as much. I just close my eyes and stand real still. The thing is, if you move around a lot, she has to move around a lot. And the extension cord might slip out of her hand. And as she quickly grabs it back up, she might catch it at the wrong end, and you risk getting the part with the plug on it across your face. And if you keep your eyes open, it makes your heart skip a beat every time you see it coming at you. So I stand there real still and hold my breath. And I make my brain drift somewhere far away. And soon, I’m not even in my bedroom anymore. I’m not naked. I don’t even really feel the lashes across my back. I feel like a jet plane, flying against the wind. The wind is hard and it beats at my back, but it’s not so bad. And I fly above the birds. And pretty soon, the wind becomes just a breeze. And if I keep holding my breath, I start feeling so light. Now I’m no longer a jet plane. I am one of the birds, flying in V formation. The breeze ruffles my feathers, but only a little. I’ve almost reached where I’m going. And soon, I’ll be able to land in a meadow full of flowers. I’ll be warm again, and I’ll be free.

It’s ten degrees
cooler today than it was yesterday. I think on Eyewitness News two nights ago, Storm Field said it was going to be around sixty-two, but it feels even lower than that to me. I’m glad the park bench the old lady and I are sitting on is out in the open, with no trees shading it. That way, I can soak up as much of the sun as possible. Its warmth feels so comforting against my face.

We’re down at the edge of the lake, near this little gazebo.

“I just want to apologize,” I say. “For what I did at that store. It was stupid. It was just me not really thinking again. And I also want to apologize for Mama.”

“Were you punished?”

“Not really Mama’s nature to punish. She’s more of a ‘deal with the situation right then and there’ kinda person.”

Ms. Downer doesn’t say anything for a while. “Well, you don’t have to apologize to me for her. You can’t control what other people do or how they act. Besides, I think it’s understandable that she was upset.”

“What about my apology?” I ask. “Do you accept that?”

Instead of answering, Ms. Downer stands slowly and starts walking toward the lake.

“Ms. Downer,” I call out after her. But she keeps walking. I stay on the bench and watch her for a moment.

She finally stops once she reaches the water’s edge. I pick up her purse, which she left where she was sitting—I mean, we are in Brooklyn—and walk over to her. A group of ducks floats by a few feet away. I stand there listening to them quack. From behind us I can hear voices get louder, then trail off.

“Faye, I know I haven’t always been as forthcoming as I could have when you’ve asked me questions about certain things in my life. But it’s because I’m ashamed of some of the things I’ve done.” She lets out a big breath of air.

“You know, my mother thought I was foolish saying I was going to Hollywood to be in pictures. She said I’d just be hurt and ridiculed, and that my soul would be beaten down. And then there was the fact that I was married, with a young child. But there was something so strong inside me that was driving me.

“Nowadays, all the films seem to have big explosions and special effects that leave you speechless. When I was a little girl, there wasn’t even sound. Just a little music to accompany the action. I would save all my money and go to those silent pictures. And once the lights went down and the music started … I can’t explain what it did to me. Then one day, I saw this movie called
The Homesteader
. There was the most exquisite woman with this wealth of energy carrying
that picture. She had beautiful light brown skin, which really stood out to me. I mean, the only people you saw with brown skin in pictures those days, well, they were cleaning the white man’s house or shining his shoes. And she moved as gracefully as the wind. She completely mesmerized me.”

I hear a rustling sound behind us and turn to see a fat jogger stuffed into a silver sweat suit. He looks like an oversized Jiffy Pop popcorn container. As he huffs and puffs on by, I start wondering where the nearest pay phone is, in case there’s going to be a need to dial 911.

“I always knew there was something else for me in life. Something bigger. Something better. Now, I had taken theater classes, and I could sing,” Ms. Downer continues. “I could dance. That’s where I met my husband, doing a show up in Harlem where I was the lead performer. But I always felt there was a ceiling … a limit to what I could do and how far I would be able to go. But then through fate, or divine intervention, I had a talent agent approach me right at the corner of Thirty-Third Street and Seventh Avenue one day and tell me I was pretty enough to be in front of the camera. I took a chance, with my husband’s blessing, and I went to Hollywood. We figured that within the year, we would take stock of things, and if I was working and making good money, he would quit his job and relocate with our daughter. But things happened so quickly for me, in a way I never planned; in a way it only ever happens in the movies. I was a bit of a novelty. ‘The Bolivian Bombshell’ was the term they were using.”

“I didn’t know you were from Bolivia,” I say.

“Never been there in my life. But I was just exotic-looking enough to have them intrigued. There was a fine line then. Too exotic, and you could scare off the masses. Just a little exotic, and they went crazy over you. Someone said I had a Bolivian mother and an American father, and everyone believed it. And I didn’t say anything different. Anyway, there was an instant buzz, and people started to invest in me. They believed I could become something very big. I believed it too. And I got a taste of a fairy-tale life. It was all my dreams coming true, from when I used to sit in the back of those theaters wishing I could be up on the screen. Within the first year, I had small parts in two movies. And they started talking about a starring vehicle for me. Something else happened within that first year. I fell in love with someone—a man who was not my husband. A producer named Sam, who was helping shape my career.