Waiting to Exhale (19 page)

"Yes," she said. "I'll buzz him," but Bernadine was already on her way down the hall and had turned the corner when she saw John pick up the phone and put it back down. What a perfect little picture, she thought, as she looked through the plate glass. Kathleen was sitting in front of his desk. Her hair was even blonder than Bernadine remembered. When she saw Bernadine, Kathleen sprang up from the chair. John's hand went up, as if to say, You don't have to leave, I'll handle this.

Bernadine walked inside his doorway and stood stock-still. She looked in Kathleen's face, down at John, and back at Kathleen. Kathleen's face was red. Bernadine's felt redder. Past the boiling point. She was trembling so that she didn't know her arm had flailed up and slapped Kathleen in the face until she saw Kathleen fall against John's desk. Before he could get from behind it, she grabbed Kathleen by the hair and yanked her so close that Bernadine could smell her breath. "Now. Would you mind terribly if I had a few moments alone with my husband? I won't be a minute."

John lunged up, pushed his chair to the side, and tripped over his briefcase. Bernadine loosened her grip, and Kathleen fled from the room. When she turned toward John, she clutched her purse and rolled her eyes so tight they looked like slits. He stopped dead in his tracks. Bernadine felt pleased and powerful. "Don't worry. I don't have a gun," she said, and sat down in the chair Kathleen had abandoned. "And you better be glad I don't."

"You must be delirious or something," he said. "You're really testing my patience. You pull a stunt like this again, and Vm getting a restraining order. If Kathleen wants to press charges against you, I'll be a glorified witness. What are you doing here?"

"I just left the bank."

John sat down. "You're not playing fair, so neither am I."

He sounded just like a white boy, she thought, which is what he's always wanted to be anyway. "Why'd you have to do it like this, John?"

"Why'd you burn up all my things? Why'd you sell my fucking car, a car I spent years restoring, for a goddamn dollar? All I'm doing is what I was instructed to do by my attorney."

"And what am I supposed to do about money?"

"I left you close to seven thousand dollars in the checking account. You've got a job. This should tide you over until we reach some kind of settlement. You really should get a better lawyer. If she'd accepted the amount we offered, we wouldn't have to waste time and money going to court."

Bernadine was tempted to tell him she knew everything he was trying to do, that she was hip to him, but she realized she wasn'
t s
upposed to be here. And she didn't want to blow it. "Look, John. I had to pay my lawyer a five-thousand-dollar retainer."

"That's too bad. Lawyers are expensive these days, aren't they?"

"And I just paid all the March bills. I've got checks that are going to bounce. What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"Bernadine, can we be civil about this?"

"Civil? You're the one who closed the fucking bank accounts! The mortgage is due in two weeks. Who's going to pay it?"

"It's your house," he said. "If you're willing to reconsider my initial offer, I'd be happy to pay the mortgage and give you fifteen hundred a month until we settle this thing."

"Fuck you, John."

"Look, I gave you the damn house. Sell it."

"Sell it? Today? I will, as soon as I get home. I'll get right on it. Tell me something, when did you take it upon yourself to sell your half of the business?"

"Six months ago."

"Did you really think you'd get away with this shit?"

"I wasn't trying to get away with anything."

"I hate you, you know that?"

"I'm sorry to hear that, Bernadine."

"Who do you think helped build this fucking company? Did you really think you could just take the money and run?"

John got up and closed the door. "The business hasn't been doing as well as you think it has, and don't worry, you'll get something out of it."

"I'm not worried."

"Look, Bernadine. Let's not let this thing get any uglier than it already has, okay? I've already given you the house. I'll pay whatever the court tells me to to make sure my kids are taken care of. But I'd be willing to give you three hundred thousand. Today. Cash. And we can be done with this whole thing."

"You're the one who sounds delirious now. My pussy is worth more than three hundred thousand dollars. And, John, this is already as ugly as it can be."

"I'd take it if I were you. You'd be saving yourself a lot of money in the long run."

"Maybe I've been a fool for eleven years. But those days ar
e o
ver, buddy. You want to talk settlement? Have your lawyer call mine."

"Can I come by on Saturday and get Onika and John?"

"I think not."

"You can't stop me from seeing my kids, Bernadine."

"Oh, I can't? Until we go to court, I don't have to let you see 'em at all. You're the one who split. You're the one who abandoned us, or did you forget?"

"I left you. I did not abandon my kids. I hope you're not going to try to use them to get back at me."

"If I wanted to be a bitch, I could. But I'm not a bitch. Where do you want to take 'em?"

"To the movies or something; my place.

"Your place? Speaking of which, where are you staying these days? With your blond bombshell?"

"I don't want to say just yet."

"Oh, really. Well, when you get your memory back, that's when you can come and get them."

"I could be in court on Monday and have visitation rights the same day, and you know it."

"Look, John. I didn't say you couldn't see 'em, but I'll tell you one thing-you better not even think about taking them anywhere near that white bitch."

"She's not a bitch," he said, sounding just like one himself.

"Not yet," Bernadine said. Then she thought for a minute. "If I find out they've been in the same room with that whore, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"Are you threatening me?"

"What does it sound like?"

Bernadine put her hand over her purse and stood up to leave. "You could've at least picked a grown woman, John. But just wait. She may be cute now, but let her have a couple of babies and put up with your bullshit for a few years, and let's see how cute you think she is then."

"Is ten o'clock okay?"

"Honk the horn," she said. "They'll be ready." Bernadine walked over to the door and grabbed the handle, but her hand slipped becaus
e h
er palms were sweaty. Now she wished she had a gun. At least she could crack this goddamn glass.

"Cut it all off," Bernadine told Phillip. Desiree and Cindy turned to look at her. Both of them hated to see women with long hair cut it, since neither of them had much of her own, but they didn't say a word. Joseph was out on an errand, and Bernadine knew that Gloria was home sick with the flu.

"Are you sure about this, Bernie?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said, while she stared at herself in the mirror. The few folks who were waiting hadn't paid her any attention, because they were busy watching Oprah Winfrey.

"You've got a head full of beautiful hair here, girlfriend, and you know once it's cut it's cut."

"I know it. But I'm sick of my hair. It's too much trouble, and all I do is worry about what I'm going to do with it. I've got more important things I need to be thinking about besides hair."

"I hear you," he said.

"How's Gloria feeling today?" she asked.

"I told you she's got that flu, girlfriend. I had it last week, and it kept me out of commission for five whole days. It's terrible. Going to the bathroom all day long, can't keep your food down, plus a temperature, and you can hardly lift your hand, let alone your body. She's sick as a dog. Tarik's got it too, so you don't wanna be anywhere near either one of them anytime soon."

"I've gotta call her," she said, and held up the huge hairstyle magazine that was in her lap. She had marked off a cut she wanted by folding back the corner of the page. "What do you think of this one, Phillip? Can you do this?"

"Honey, I can cut your hair any way you want it, and you know it, so stop asking silly questions. Give me that magazine," he said, and snatched it out of her lap. "Yeah, I can work this," Phillip said, while he rubbed thick clods of Bernadine's hair between his fingers. "Your hair feels like straw, girlfriend. Come on back to the sink. We're gonna give you a deep conditioner, then I'll hook you right on up."

Bernadine followed him. She collapsed in the chair and dropped her head back until her neck fit snugly inside the gap. She looked up at Phillip. His face was brown and oval, blotchy even with foundation on. He wore black eyeliner on his lower lids, and that platinum hair made his head look like a furry moon. She closed her eyes when she heard him testing the water, some of which splattered on her face. He took the nozzle and pressed it against her scalp. The warm, almost hot water felt so good that Bernadine wished she could stay in this spot forever, especially after Phillip squeezed out large amounts of shampoo and started massaging her head.

When he finished smoothing the conditioner into her hair and put the plastic cap on her head, Phillip ushered her up front to a hair dryer. "Fifteen minutes," he said, and flipped the hood down. The hot air blew out like a shower, and as her shoulders grew warmer, Bernadine felt them drop. The shop was quieter than Bernadine had ever seen it, and she'd been coming to Oasis Hair for years. She could count on one hand the times Gloria actually had to cancel an appointment because she was sick.

Joseph came in the front door, wearing his usual black "uniform," and said "Hey" to everybody. He motioned to his male customer. "Just let me take one bite of this bagel, and I'll be right with you. I haven't had a thing to eat all day. Oooooh," he said, when he heard George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" come on the radio. "Turn that up." Desiree, who looked like Diana Ross today, flung her hair away from her face and said, "I'll do it."

When the heat stopped, Bernadine lifted the hood. "Phillip," she yelled, "I'm done." He was in the rear, shampooing another woman.

"Come on back to the sink, and I'll rinse you out."

Within the hour, Bernadine went from what had felt like pounds of hair on her head to a very short two- or three-ounce style. "My Lord," Phillip said. "I didn't know you were this pretty."

"I'm hardly pretty, Phillip, but I like it."

"Look, Bernie. If I say you're pretty, believe me, honey, you're pretty. You just have to learn to appreciate your own face. I think cutting it was a good idea after all, but you're gonna have to come in here at least every four weeks if you want it to keep looking like this."

"I will," she said. "And thanks, Phillip. I like it; I like it a lot."

"You got it going on, girlfriend. Don't she, Joey?"

"It's working for you, sweetheart," Joseph said, and took a sip of his coffee. Even Desiree said she liked it. Cindy asked Bernadine if she would let her do her makeup one day, and she looked at her watch, saw that she had a half hour before she had to pick up the kids, and said, "Is right now too soon?"

Afterwards, one of the manicurists said, "Now you oughta go ahead and let me do something with those nails."

Bernadine looked down at them. They were split, chipped, and of various lengths. She could use a manicure, but there was no way she could fit it in now. She'd never consider getting those fake ones. Every other day, Robin would say, "I've gotta get a fill, girl." Bernadine couldn't be bothered. "Some other time," she said, and handed Phillip and Cindy ten-dollar tips, which made their day.

She walked out of Oasis with a fresh new look. She wondered if Savannah was in town yet. She had left the answering machine on, and she knew Savannah probably wouldn't answer the phone, so there wasn't much sense in calling. When she got into the Cherokee, Bernadine tossed her purse on the passenger seat and checked herself again in the mirror. She did look better, she thought, and reached inside her purse for her cigarettes. Her American Express checkbook fell out. "Shit," she said. "I forgot all about that!" She pushed the lighter in, fumbled around the bottom of her purse for a pen, and, when she found one, wrote herself a check for sixteen thousand dollars.

"Maona, when is Daddy coming back from his trip?" Onika asked, leaning forward from the back seat. Bernadine knew her timing was all off, and she'd been meaning to sit them down to tell them, but everything was happening so fast, the time never felt right. Nor did it now, but she wanted them to know before she got out to her mother's. She had also wanted John to be there, so they could tell the children together, but that seemed unimportant today. She pulled the car into the bank's empty parking lot and turned off the ignition. John junior was playing that stupid Nintendo Game Boy.

"Why are we stopping here, Mama?" Onika asked.

"Because I need to make a deposit." She got out of the car, filled in the envelope, and dropped it down the slot. John would get the bill at his office, and when he asked her about it, she'd tell him she had taken her half. When Bernadine got back in the car, John junior hadn't even noticed they'd stopped. "Oh, no," he sighed. "I just got killed!"