Who Asked You? (26 page)

Y
ou are such an evil bitch,” I said to Arlene, right after she said, “I’m on my way over there and you better open that goddamn door and tell me what you meant by what you just said because if you’ve known this about my son and didn’t tell me, you’ve got some explaining to do!”

I turn the porch light on and, even though it’s getting cold, I sit on the steps and just wait for her to turn the corner. Tammy steps outside her front door. Puts her hands on her hips. “BJ, what in the hell are you doing out there? I can see your horns from here. Is this going to be on the eleven o’clock news or what?”

“It’s Arlene. Omar just told her he’s gay and she’s freaking out and coming over here to give me a piece of her mind because she now realizes I already knew. I’m ready for her ass.”

“Just don’t let it to come to blows, because you know you’ve been storing up a lot of shit to say to her. Try to stay on topic, BJ, because you know we don’t need the po-po on our block since we’ve cleaned it up.”

She laughs.

“Anyway, how are Max and Okra enjoying themselves?”

“It’s Awa. And they’re fine. Loved your meal and my pie! They’re leaving tomorrow to drive up the coast and then on to Napa to look for a place to live.”

“Good thing some folks are looking, wouldn’t you say?”

“It may come to blows over here in a minute.”

“You talk a lot of shit, Tammy, you know that.”

“I know. I’m just one long contradiction.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Anyway, I’m glad Max has his head on his shoulders, and he is sure in love with that girl. I like her.”

“That is so nice. She is so black and pretty and her skin looks like grapes. Max isn’t doing too bad either. Looking more and more like his dad.”

“Speaking of dads, you will not even believe this, BJ. You know Howard lives in Manhattan Beach? Don’t answer that. Anyway, he invited all of us out there for dinner. It was nice. And guess what?”

“What what what? Get to the damn point before Arlene gets here.”

“I felt something.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I saw Howard.”

“Well, at least you know you’re still alive.”

“He asked me out.”

“Are you serious, Tammy?”

“I am indeed.”

“And?”

“I’m going.”

“Well, nothing like a blast from the past, as the saying goes.”

“He still looks good enough to take a bite out of and he’s about to retire and . . . I think that’s Arlene’s Batmobile turning the corner! Yell if you need me to come pull you off of her. Or vice versa!”

She disappears and slams the door shut. I love that woman.

Arlene pulls into the driveway and gets out of the car. I just look at her. For someone who has money, she doesn’t dress like it. She is wearing a navy blue pinstripe pantsuit that draws more attention to the stripes than the space between them. The blouse is red. She puts her hands on her hips. “Now, what is it you think you knew about my son that I didn’t know?”

“What difference does it make, Arlene?”

“I want to know how in the world you knew my son was a faggot before I did.”

“He’s not a faggot. He’s gay, which means he’s a homosexual, and don’t use that word in front of me again.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Betty Jean.”

“Nurse Kim told me.”

“How in the hell would that ho know what my son was?”

“Because her brother is gay and she says she just knew.”

“Oh, so what is it? You need some kind of special senses or something to automatically be able to tell?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you just took her word for it?”

“I never questioned Omar about it, if that’s what you mean.”

“But you just assumed it after that? Just because he never had a girlfriend?”

“No. But maybe it was because he didn’t want one. You ever thought of that?”

“How in the hell was I supposed to know I was raising a damn faggot?”

“You need to watch your disgusting mouth! Right now! Before I slap you in it, Arlene!”

“I meant exactly what I said and I don’t know who—”

That’s when I haul off and smack her dead in her mouth. She is stunned and I give her an I-dare-you-to-act-like-you-want-to-hit-me-back look.

“It’s no wonder you don’t have any friends and you’ve never been able to find a man, let alone keep one! No, you always had to try to steal someone else’s, not caring about anybody but your damn self, Arlene. I sometimes wonder if your heart is made out of rubber, because you don’t seem to have an ounce of warmth in your entire body. Just look at what you’re doing to your own son, for God’s sake! Don’t you know that people have feelings, Arlene? It’s not always about you! I swear to God. Sometimes I wonder if we really came from the same family! I still love you and I do apologize for slapping you and swearing so much but you have really pissed me off.”

“You can keep your love to yourself,” she says, and storms over to her car, opens the door, and turns to look at me and says, “I have tolerated your weaknesses and your years of making one bad decision after another, which is why your kids are all so trifling and why you’re stuck taking care of your goddamn grandkids, who I feel sorry for since you obviously did such a great job with your own. Maybe if your dumb ass had gotten a college education you might be more qualified to offer them more than a roof over their head, and oh, what a ghetto-ass roof it is! And let’s be clear about something right now. I will never speak to you as long as I live. Have a good life.” She gets in the car, backs it out slowly, and drives off.

“She doesn’t mean that,” Tammy says, walking across the street and sitting next to me on the steps.

“Oh, yes she does,” I say. “Oh, yes she does.”

Of course I’m sorry for slapping my sister but I can’t take it back. I’ve called her but she won’t answer when she sees my number, and over the past few weeks I’ve left quite a few messages apologizing for the mean things I said but I didn’t take back any of it. I skipped over that part mostly because I meant it. Arlene said some pretty cruel things herself. Some of what she said was true but I’m not going to hold it against her for the rest of our lives. I just wish there was a way we could disagree without being so disagreeable. Maybe I need to learn how to keep some of my thoughts to myself and stop telling her so much of what goes on in my life. I might have to put Venetia on the same list because she tells Arlene everything I tell her and then they discuss and debate about my problems, as if they have the remedy for them. Which they don’t. Just like I can’t fix theirs.

I wave to my neighbor, the one who lives on the left of Tammy. His name is Eli Heaven. A weird last name for a black person if you ask me, but after all these years, he barely says two words to me, and none that I know of to Tammy.

“How are you?” he says, and almost gives me a heart attack.

“I’m fine. And you, Mr. Heaven?”

“Fair to middling. After a hundred years, I think it’s okay if you call me Eli.”

“Okay then, Eli. I haven’t seen your son in quite some time. How’s he doing?”

“Against my wishes, he joined the U.S. Marine Corps last year and is on his first tour in Iraq.”

“I suppose it’s okay for me to say I’m sorry to hear that and I’ll pray that he stays safe from harm.”

“I appreciate that. I was sorry to hear about your husband passing a while back. I put a card in your mailbox. Did you not get it?”

“Not that I remember, but thank you for your thoughtfulness, Eli. You know there was a lot of theft going on around that same time, remember?”

He nods. He’s a giant of a man, and if it weren’t for his soft voice he could scare you. I always understood why Tammy never complained about all those damn avocados, lemons, and olives that fell over the fence into her yard. There’s only so much guacamole you can eat.

“How are your grandsons doing?”

“How do you know they’re my grandsons?”

“Because it’s obvious, Mrs. Butler.”

“You can call me Betty Jean.”

“Okay, Betty Jean. Are they good boys?”

“They are very good boys.”

“That’s good to hear. You know how much influence these streets can have over these youngsters, which is why I sent my son to private school.”

“If I could’ve afforded it, I would have. But they take the bus up to Baldwin Hills.”

“Good. So, what’s going on with your house?”

I turn around to look at it. “What do you mean? I know it could stand to be painted and those front steps need to be redone and maybe new window frames, but other than that . . . Do you see something I don’t?”

“I’ve noticed those things, too,” he says with a little chuckle. “But I was also curious about what’s going on with the space over the garage.”

“Oh, that. My son, Dexter, he moved out a while back, and I haven’t been up there since.”

“You interested in turning it into a real rental?”

“Well, of course I would, but I can’t afford to do any improvements right now. Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he says, and turns to look at his house, which is one of the best-looking homes on the whole block. “Since I’m retired, I’ve got a little extra time on my hands and wouldn’t mind lending a helping hand. You’ve been a pleasant enough neighbor all these years.”

I don’t exactly know what to say. I’m wondering if maybe he’s suddenly hitting the bottle or something. He has never been this friendly, and I can’t wait to tell Tammy. No. Wait. Maybe I shouldn’t. But she’s nosy as hell, which means if there’s a way Eli can do something to my house, Tammy will notice it and we may have another racial issue going on, and I don’t know if I want to start anything after all these years.

“That’s very kind of you to offer, Eli, but would you mind if I mulled this over a little while, because I’ve got so much going on and these boys are costing me a pretty penny?”

“Take your time. But please understand that I own a small construction company and I would be more than happy to do this at my expense. It’s a small space. Anyway, you think on it. And have a nice day.”

“You do the same, Eli.”

I get the mail and walk back into the house in slow motion because it feels weird that my neighbor would make such a kind and generous offer after all these years. We’ve seen him doing things to improve the looks of his house over the years, but we didn’t want to make comparisons. Personally, I was just glad to look at it. Tammy’s house is an eyesore and she could stand to put a few more dollars into it provided she doesn’t spend any more on plastic surgery.

The phone rings as I’m flipping through the mail, and when I see
LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT
appear on the caller ID, my heart drops to the floor. It feels like I just got a phone call like this one a few weeks ago. But the police department is a long way from middle school. I’m just praying it’s not something tragic. Or that no harm has been done to Ricky, or none caused by him. I know this is about Ricky because Luther doesn’t give me any cause to worry. I went through this mess with their mama and with Dexter, and I told both of them a while ago that I was not going to tolerate bad behavior and I meant it. “Hello, this is Betty Jean Butler,” I say like I work in an office or something.

“Hello, Mrs. Butler. This is Officer D’Agostino and I’m calling from the Los Angeles Police Department’s downtown division to advise you that your grandson, Ricky Butler, was detained here for allegedly being in possession of a controlled substance.”

“What kind of controlled substance?”

“An officer confiscated approximately six grams of marijuana from his backpack after witnessing your grandson accept ten dollars in exchange for a portion of the marijuana.”

“You mean he was selling it?”

“The officer said that allegedly this is what appeared to be occurring. Look, ma’am, this call is to advise you that after processing your grandson, because we have no facilities here to house a minor, he is being transferred to Juvenile Hall, which is located around the corner from here. I can give you that number. He will be there soon.”

And he does. And I call. And I speak to someone who tells me that he has been processed, has a court appearance before a judge two days from now, but since Ricky has no prior offenses, I am welcome to pick him up and take him home within seven hours. “What if I can’t pick him up?”