Who Asked You? (24 page)

I
absolutely love my new breasts! Sometimes I just stand in front of the mirror and stare at them. They’re beautiful. They didn’t look anywhere near this good before I had the twins. It’s amazing what money can buy. Now, if only I had someone to touch them and appreciate them as much as I do, I will have turned a major corner.

I admit I’ve become partial to low-cut tops except at work. It is not appropriate to show so much as an ounce of cleavage in a courtroom, especially if the criminal is male. They love to find a focal point when they’re on the witness stand and even more so when they’re lying. I do not want my breasts to help them make shit up. I believe even Montana may be jealous of them!

My daughter has let Trevor back into her life and occasionally into my house, but at least he has made his mark in television. He has managed to become a roll of toilet paper and a bumblebee (for Bumble Bee tuna); he got to prove how effective an insect repellent can be when you’re in the woods; and I think in the last one he drove a carpet-cleaning van. In not one of them did he get to open his mouth to utter a syllable, so he’s still not in the SAG union.

Jackson, I’m pleased to say, has been living in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, for the past two and a half years and had the nerve to make a baby with what has to be senior citizen sperm. He also has his own big rig. He has sent pictures of him and his homely wife and that little girl who already looks like she’s old enough to order a drink. Sometimes, if they’re lucky, children grow up and don’t favor their parents, or if they’re real lucky, pull just the right amount of genes from both to pass as attractive. I will pray for that little girl, whose name escapes me right now. Oh, yes, I forgot to remember, Dick. It’s Jane. It’s obvious they put a whole lot of thought into it.

Anyway, I’ve been trying to fix up the room Jackson slept in when he was here, because Max is coming home from Paris in three weeks for a week or two and is bringing a young lady he said he’s going to marry. (It’s amazing how young folks just spring life-changing events on you without any advance notice and you don’t have one minute to even digest it and sometimes you don’t even know if it’s worth swallowing.) She is Senegalese and her skin looks like brown satin. Sometimes I wish I were black. Her name is Awa. I wanted to know what it meant so I Googled it. It means she is seen as enthusiastic and passionate about anything and everything, that she is one who lives in the moment and takes pleasure in the small things. Maybe I should’ve put more thought into naming Montana. Awa is beautiful and tall and has perfect white teeth, the kind movie stars pay big money for here, but I know those are hers. She graduated from the Sorbonne (which I had to Google just to make sure I pronounced it right) in art history. I don’t know if that makes her employable over there, but she’d be shit out of luck here in L.A.

Since my cooking skills are minimal I have asked my soul sister who lives across the street and who I just realized is also my BFF (Best Friend Forever) to help her white sistah-girl out in the kitchen with a few basic meals that reflect blackness so I can impress my future daughter-in-law that I’m down on many levels. On second thought, I’ve been around black folks so long, who knows, maybe I am black and just look white? LOL. (I just learned this new acronym, too.)

So BJ is on her way over here in a few minutes. She has not said one word about my breasts. It’s been well over a month since the surgery. Although the boys are old enough to care for themselves most of the time, me and BJ work different hours these days, and I only see her a couple of days a week, especially since Lee David’s been gone. She doesn’t talk to me about a lot of what’s going on over there anymore. I know Dexter moved out and is still living with that stripper, and I wish to hell my daughter would do the same (move out, not strip) but I have not figured out how to put my flesh and blood out of my house without getting eaten up alive by guilt. Preschool costs almost as much as college these days. As it turns out, Montana has turned to her father for help without telling me. Over the last few years, Howard kept his word and reimbursed me for his half of the kids’ college fees, which is why I was surprised when he called one day to ask me if Montana still needed his help with her tuition. What tuition? I couldn’t answer that question. He is also disappointed in our daughter but basically said he didn’t want her to feel bad, because he remembered what it was like to be young and in love. I had to stop him right there.

So, Montana is back in school. This time she’s hoping to become an esthetician. If she manages to finish this program, she’ll definitely be able to finally make some money, since people in L.A. will spend their rent money on anything to make them think they look beautiful. Including men, since so many of them are now what they call metrosexual these days, which in my opinion is another word for gay. I don’t have anything against gays. From what I gather, when Montana worked at Bed Bath & Beyond over the Christmas holiday, their credit cards always got approved.

“Open this door, Martha!”

BJ knows I have watched Martha Stewart’s show over the years, but most of that shit takes too long to prepare and costs too much and I could never find half the ingredients anywhere near this neighborhood and then a lot of the stuff I did make had a peculiar taste and then you didn’t know what to eat it with that didn’t compete with the one dish that seemed to take all damn day to make. She sure makes it look easy on TV. BJ told me about some little girl named Rachael Ray on the Food Network that makes meals in thirty minutes. But now I really don’t give a damn because I don’t spend that much time in the kitchen except for holidays and when I have houseguests, like now.

“It’s open!” I yell, and make sure my apron is hanging on the hook near my little pantry. I’m wearing a yellow V-neck T-shirt that highlights my new additions, and which I will not cover up until BJ says something about them. Even if I have to put her on the spot. As soon as I know she’s in the kitchen I turn around and lean against the sink. “Did you bring some recipes?”

She stops dead in her tracks. “I see them, Tammy. Everybody on the block sees them when you water the grass. When you go to the mailbox. They’re big and round and they look fake as hell but as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. What I wanna know is what did you do with all your old bras?”

“You think they’re too big?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly, even though I can’t return them and if you don’t like them I really don’t give a shit, because I love them. But what do you think?”

“I think they’d make good headlights if they light up. So, what is it you want to learn how to make today?”

“Where are the recipes?”

“I’m black, Tammy. In case you haven’t noticed. We don’t use recipes.”

“Then how in the hell are you supposed to know how much of anything to put into whatever it is you’re making?”

“You taste-test as you go along.”

“Give me an example. Say, mac and cheese.”

“I don’t eat macaroni and cheese, because I’m lactose intolerant, but I make it for the kids. Didn’t you say this young lady is African?”

“Yes, but she was raised in France.”

“So why are you trippin’, as the boys would say? She wouldn’t know soul food if you threw it at her. Make the same boring meals you’ve been making and call it a day.”

“I know how to bake a ham and fry chicken, but it’s not half as good as yours. Maybe she’s never had fried chicken. Just tell me how to make it taste like yours.”

“You got a chicken handy?”

“No, but I can get one. When is your next free day off?”

“Two days from now, Thursday.”

“Okay, then just tell me this. Can you show me how to make a sweet potato pie, collard greens, homemade cornbread, and your lasagna I like so much?”

“You know what might be even better?”

“I’m listening.”

“Has she ever been to the States before?”

“Nope.”

“Then refuse any help in the kitchen and make sure to send them out sightseeing, and how about I’ll make most of this and you can just pretend like you did?”

“But that’s just wrong, BJ, and I want to learn how to make some of this stuff.”

“Then why in the hell did you wait twenty years to ask me?”

“That’s a good question. Are you all right? You seem a little testy.”

“What would make you say that?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a while since we just sat down and chatted.”

“I don’t feel like chatting.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. Who is it you know you can always talk to without being judged?”

She points to me.

“And who is it that will listen to you when I need to be judged?”

She points to me.

“Where are the boys?”

“Luther went to run the bleachers at the Rose Bowl with two boys that’ll be on Dorsey’s football team.”

“How’d they get out there?”

“One of the boys’ dads takes them.”

“What about Ricky? What’s he up to?”

“I think no good.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“His grades are going down and the tutor says he doesn’t seem all that interested in trying to improve.”

“He’s probably smoking pot. Max went through this around his age. It’ll pass.”

“I wonder if I should just come out and ask him?”

“Are you kidding me? You think he’s going to say, ‘Sure, Grandma, I’m smoking pot. You got a problem with that?’”

“I’ll ask Luther to ask him.”

“If he is, believe me, Luther knows it.”

“Luther’s a good boy.”

“That he is, but they also don’t blab on each other.”

“I can’t handle any trouble from these kids, Tammy. I’m not up to it.”

“Don’t worry. Seriously. You’ve been doing a good job with the two of them and they know right from wrong.”

“What about you? Besides your new breasts, how are things going with Montana and Trevor?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that question.”

“You let him move back in here, didn’t you?”

“No. He does spend the night sometimes.”

“You want my opinion?”

“I already know what you’re going to say.”

“And what might that be?”

“Threaten to keep Clementine and just kick Montana out!”

BJ starts cracking up.

“But I don’t want her little ass here either! I’m beginning to wonder how I ever had the patience for them.”

“Them?”

“Kids.”

“I don’t know, Tammy. I’m beginning to think family takes us for granted because they’re family.”

“I think I spoiled Montana and she’s just lazy.”

“Hell, you work in a courtroom all day and you know what happens when there’s consequences for what you do.”

“And when there are none for what you don’t.”

I know there’s more to this than she’s letting on, so to lighten up I just come right on out and ask her. “Is there any way we can make something today? Like an apple pie or anything? I’ve got Pillsbury pie crust in the fridge and a bag of those green Granny apples just sitting over there on the counter waiting for Martha to tell me how to bake them with no soul, and then there’s you.”

She stands up. “Where’s an apron?”

I hold up two that are hanging on a hook in the pantry. One you tie at the waist. The other one slips over your head. She looks at my chest. Then down at hers. Leaves me holding the short one.

M
indy has left me, Mother.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Quentin.”

“And my practice isn’t doing so well up here. I think race might have something to do with it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, too.”

“It’s all too much to handle simultaneously.”

“Did something happen that made her leave, Quentin?”

“No.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, we’ve been fighting over money.”

“That’s it?”

“And there’s my office manager.”

“And what’s her name?”

“Caroline.”

“So, you cheated on Mindy?”

“No! Contrary to popular belief, Mother, I have never cheated on any of my wives. Mindy just thinks it because Caroline appears to have developed a small crush on me.”

“Is she blonde?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing, Quentin.”

“I’m a mess, Mother. And I miss my daughter.”

“When did they move out?”

“A few months ago.”

“What took you so long to tell me?”

“I was hoping it was just temporary.”

“Has she said anything about filing for divorce?”

“Not to me. Not yet.”

“Do you want a divorce, Quentin?”

“Absolutely not! Why would you ask me that at a time like this? Can’t you hear the desperation in my voice?”

“Well, this would be a first.”

“I’m lonely being in this house all alone. It’s too quiet in here.”

“Well, where’d they move to?”

“She’s renting a condo in Sausalito, a really expensive condo.”

“Where is Sausalito?”

“About fifteen minutes from here. It’s a ritzy, touristy town right on the water. The harbor is filled with sailboats and yachts. Great shops, art galleries, and the best restaurants. You can take a ferry to San Francisco that goes right past the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“I thought you said once you all got settled you were going to invite me and the boys up there for a visit? Ricky loves the water. I love bridges and have never been to San Francisco.”

“Could we possibly have this conversation another day?”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

“I love Mindy.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard you say this, Quentin?”

“As a matter of fact I do. But Mindy’s different.”

“I’ve heard this one, too. But I have to admit that Mindy’s got more personality and spunk than the rest of them and she was the only one who seemed to have your number.”

“And what number would that be, Mother?”

“Why don’t you think about that one?”

“I would much rather you come on out and say it, so that I might learn something I obviously don’t know about myself.”

“Your intolerance.”

“Could you be more specific, please?”

“Why don’t you give it some thought during this alone time?”

“Anything else I’m missing?”

“I didn’t say you were
missing
anything, but you might have what some call tunnel vision.”

“That is so not true. I consider myself to be quite open-minded.”

“Well, look, Quentin. I’m your mother, not your wife, so you don’t have to worry about pleasing me anymore.”

“I couldn’t disagree with you more.”

“Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it, but let’s not go there today.”

“No, let’s not.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? I really liked Mindy and I was hoping to get to know my granddaughter.”

“Would you call her?”

“Call her and say what?”

“I don’t know. Tell her that I love her and promise to be a better person, a better man, a better husband.”

“Why didn’t you tell her that?”

“She didn’t believe me.”

“Then why should I? Never mind. What’s her number?”

“So, you’re really willing to do this for me, Mother?”

“I just said I would, didn’t I?”

I give her Mindy’s cell phone number.

“She absolutely adores you, in case you didn’t know it.”

“I do know it. How’s Miss Margaret handling all of this?”

“To her, it’s an adventure. Will you call me back after you’ve spoken with her?”

“Absolutely.”

“I love you, Mother.”

“Then wish me a happy sixtieth birthday,” she says, and hangs up.

With so much on my mind, it’s hard to remember even the most important things. I order a hundred-dollar exotic floral arrangement that I hope will make up for my forgetfulness.

After I haven’t heard from her in six long hours, Mother finally calls back. “Did you talk to her?”

“Talk to who?” a young male with a changing voice says. I know this must be Luther.

“Luther?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Where’s Mother?”

“Well, my grandma is taking a nap because we had a surprise birthday party for her at her favorite Mexican restaurant.”

“Who is we?”

“Ricky, Auntie Venetia, Auntie Arlene, Miss Tammy and her daughter and son, Max, who brought his fine Senegalese girlfriend from Paris. Uncle Dexter came with Miss Skittles, and Ms. Lorinda from her job.”

“That was nice.”

“Yes, it was.”

“So, are you calling just to tell me that Mother’s napping?”

“Oh, no, Uncle Quentin. It’s a lot deeper than that.”

“Is something going on I should know about?”

“That’s why I’m calling you instead of her.”

“I’m listening.”

“And please don’t cut me off, because I have to say this. Since you haven’t shown your mother and our grand
mother
any respect since we’ve been here, I wanted to personally call and tell you what a fucked
-up son you are for not being of any use or any help to your own mother and for being such an Uncle Tom. You aren’t the first black man to make it in America that came from the hood, but you act like you’re too good to come back. In case you forgot, this is where you were born and this is where your family lives. I am also sick and tired of you missing our grandma’s birthday and sending her these weak-ass flowers. She doesn’t need flowers, she needs gas money and some new furniture and a vacation because of all she’s done for my brother and me. Every time you call her she gets depressed after she hangs up. All you seem to think about is yourself, Uncle Quentin. And from what Grandma said, Mindy is smart, which is why she’s leaving, and I just wanted to call and let you know that she called Grandma back and said she does not think she can take you back because you’re a cheater and a liar and if she’d known you were going to pretend like you were white and not show your own parents any genuine love and respect she never would’ve married you. So all this is to say that the next time you call
our
house, you better have nothing but good news, because I’m telling you right now, when I graduate from college and regardless if I get drafted into the NFL or not, Grandma’s not going to have to rely on you for anything, because my brother and I will take care of her, just like she’s been doing us.”

Click.

I am at a loss for words. And I have no idea where he gets his information. But it is wrong. It is so wrong. Talk about disrespect? He’s a teenager and shouldn’t speak to any adult in this manner. Perhaps it might be in everyone’s best interest if I backed off for a while. Give them all a chance to come to their senses. I just hope Mother liked the flowers.