“Why?” I asked. I was playing devil’s advocate because ever since he stopped working construction, he has come up with about five or six different professions, some of which he doesn’t seem to understand. I’m sure this is another one that can be added to that list, but he’s young and it takes as long as it takes to find your true path. I’m not real sure if I ever really found mine.
“Because I like movies.”
“So do I, but I’ve never wanted to make one, Kwame.”
I let out a little chuckle to lighten up.
“It just sounds exciting,” he said.
I could’ve said, “A lot of things that sound exciting aren’t,” but I didn’t want to ruin his enthusiasm.
So I said, “You’re young, Kwame, and chances are you’re going to change your mind several more times. Eventually, you’ll land where you need to be.”
“It’s nice to know someone understands,” he said.
“Are there people who don’t?”
“Folks at home. And my moms.”
“Well, I’m sure they mean well. Speaking of which, how is your mother?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I ain’t—I mean, I haven’t—talked to her in almost two months now.”
“Why not?”
“Because her cellphone is disconnected.”
“What about your cousin? Boone? Is he in touch with her?”
“He thinks my moms might be going through a rough patch.”
“Write her,” I said, which sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m sure she’d like to hear from you.”
“She knows my number.”
He sounded like Jalecia, which was why I said, “Send her a card or something. Mothers need to know their kids care about them.”
We were having Mexican food at one of my favorite spots, even though I had completely forgotten that Kwame wasn’t crazy about Mexican food.
“It’s too much stuff going on in a taco,” he had said the first time I brought him there. “I grew up eating pinto beans in a pot with juice and I don’t understand why they have to smush them all up. And rice should be white, not orange.”
The young waitress with flowers in her hair and a floral dress stood there patiently as Kwame’s eyes scrolled up and down the menu. Finally he said, “I’ll have the pizza with ground beef, but with no beans, no sour cream, and no avocado.”
“Anything else?”
“I would like to try the fried ice cream.”
“To drink?”
“I’ll have a virgin margarita.”
“What kind, sir?”
“A normal one.”
I winked at her, so she knew I wanted my regular: combination chicken tacos and chicken enchiladas with sour cream. All the combos come with beans and rice and I almost always end up taking something home.
I ate guacamole and chips and Kwame drank what was really just lemonade, then asked for another one as if he liked the buzz he’d gotten. The more I looked at him, the more he started looking like Carl, or the way I imagine Carl looked all those years ago, long before I met him. He never had any photographs of himself as a kid because their house caught on fire and although the scrapbooks were saved, the firemen hosed them and everybody’s faces had stuck to the clear lining.
“So,” I said now. “What else besides liking movies excites you about producing, Kwame?”
“It seems like it could be interesting, and you can also make a lot of money and get to travel and meet movie stars.”
“That’s true.”
“You don’t sound that enthused, Mama-Lo.”
“I think everybody should do what fascinates them, and what they enjoy. I like helping people look beautiful. In fact, I’m thinking about looking for a bigger shop, maybe even adding some services.”
This was news to me, but it just rolled off my tongue.
“Really? I think it’s so cool that even though you’re old and all—no disrespect, Mama-Lo—you’re still doing stuff like that. Don’t you ever think about retiring?”
“And do what?”
“I don’t know. But don’t people your age retire?”
“A lot of them do. But not if they’re healthy and still able to do what they love, especially if they’re good at it.”
“This is why I have so much respect for you. Your attitude is so cool.”
“Well, thank you. But back to you. You don’t strike me as having the Hollywood DNA.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“What I can’t tell is if you’re only interested in producing because you think it’s glamorous.”
“That’s it exactly.”
“But is that enough?”
He hunched his shoulders.
“Maybe you should explore other possibilities. Maybe go online and check out Pasadena City College or UCLA or the state universities and see what kind of programs they offer. Maybe one of them might appeal to you.”
“That’s a good idea. I never thought of that. Well, until then, promise me you’ll call me if you need me to help do anything around the house, including walking B. B. King.”
“I will.”
I folded my hands and leaned back in my chair. “So tell me the truth, what’s the real reason you’re not talking to your mama?”
He looked down at his empty plate as if it wasn’t empty. “She refused to talk to me when I didn’t come back to Flint with Boone.”
“Does she live alone?”
“I don’t know from one week to the next, but probably not. With all those cousins, somebody always manages to sleep on the couch or on the floor in my room, which is one of the reasons why I didn’t want to go back. They’re always just drinking and smoking and sitting around watching sports or Netflix or BET.”
“Well, people usually have reasons.”
“I know that. They’re bored, but living like that was very boring to me and it didn’t get them anywhere. I don’t want to end up like them. I want to do something with my life. This is one reason why I’m scared to drink. My moms always made it seem like once you start you can’t stop.”
“You should reach out to her.”
“I will. Soon.”
“Send her a gift card. I know they have Target and Walmart there.”
He nodded.
“You can buy a card and put any amount you want on it. Even twenty dollars, but probably fifty would be more helpful. I’ll pay for it the first time.”
“She’ll probably just sell it.”
“So what? She’ll still know you were thinking about her.”
“That’s true. I could do a few more Uber shifts.”
I reached inside my purse and handed him two fifty-dollar gift cards from each store, which I had planned to give to Cinnamon and Jonas for the babies.
He looked at me and smiled. “You are a thoughtful and caring person, Mama-Lo, and I see why my father loved you. Thank you.”
This made my heart feel like a warm wet sponge being squeezed, as corny as that sounds. It also made me think that his mother did something right.
“So, are you going to eat the last of those chips?”
“No,” I said. “How is Parker doing?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“You mean you guys broke up?”
“Yes, we did. He wasn’t looking for anything serious. I guess you could call him—what do they say here in California? A free spirit.”
“Well, there are plenty of young men out here to choose from.”
He just smiled and insisted on paying the check.
* * *
—
“You’re going to like my church,” Sadie said, when I called to tell her I wanted to come. I decided it m
ight be time to keep at least one of my promises, and Sadie had been the most diligent about reminding me.
“It’s been seven months since Carl passed and you have not set foot in my church once. Shame on you! What would Carl think?”
I wanted to say, “Oh shut the hell up, Sadie! You adulterer!”
But I didn’t. I’m waiting for the right time, though. I’m just glad to know she’s not the saint she wanted us all to believe, even though I never quite bought into it. Sadie was sneaky as hell in high school, but she put on a goody-two-shoes front until even she started believing it.
“I’ll be there on Sunday,” I said, even though I really wanted to tell her to stop fucking with me! But I’ve been trying not to swear so much, especially when it’s directed at someone I love.
The truth is, I have lost a lot of respect for Sadie because not only is she an adulterer, she’s also a hypocrite. The day after she realizes this minister was not heaven-sent but just a man who cheated on his wife and stood on the pulpit under a robe every Sunday, lying to—and in front of—God and all of his parishioners, I’m going to call her ass out for being so damn stupid and selfish. We all will. But we have to plan it. We don’t want to lose Sadie as a friend because we still love her. What I really want to know is: What does she pray for? And, does she lie to God, too? Has she even bothered to imagine how she’d feel if she was the minister’s wife? Does she think about what this affair says about the minister? That son-of-a-bitch’s feet should catch fire every time he walks inside the church.
“And we have a really good choir,” she said.
“Nothing like a good hymn to lift you up,” was the best I could do, because Sadie’s in the choir and had recently been promoted to choir director, which I’m sure was one of the perks of her relationship with the unhappy minister, especially since we all knew Sadie could not carry a note with a single melody inside it.
I begged Korynthia to come with me.
“I pray all day every day, but Sadie’s church is too much for me.”
And Lucky: “I’m not an atheist, but I don’t like going to church because I don’t like being preached to. And plus, you know I have never been all that crazy about Sadie.”
Once a bitch, was all I was thinking.
When I called to tell Poochie my dilemma, she said, “Girl, just go and pray like you mean it, and stop being so wishy-washy. Sadie knows she’s doing wrong. But she needed to get it out of her system. This thing with the minister won’t last, but our friendship will. By the way, I’m working on our cruise and we’re all going to be on it, and I think we should go to Mexico. Bye now.”
Lord, why did she have to mention that cruise? It made me seasick just thinking about walking up that ramp or whatever it’s called.
Sadie asked if I wanted to ride with her.
“No,” I said. “Because I might be babysitting the twins.” Of course I was lying. I didn’t want to be in a car with Sadie because I wasn’t prepared to talk about her situation all by myself. It wasn’t a very good lie, though, because I wouldn’t know what to do with two babies at once, and Sadie probably knew that. They are very nice babies, though. The last few times I saw them I think I only heard them cry twice. They looked like they were already trying to roll over, or at least Handsome did. Pretty just waved her arms.
“Well, please find me after the service, because I would like to introduce you to the minister. His wife will be standing by his side, so please don’t act like I am anything but a close parishioner, okay?”
“I won’t. But you are a close parishioner,” I said and laughed a phony laugh. Sadie didn’t.
* * *
—
When Sunday came, I had to admit, love and sex were doing wonders for Sadie. Even the adulterous minister, Reverend George Washington (did his name have something to do with his arrogance?), who was not attractive, looked a little spry. He looked like a bird—a hawk, actually. I could tell he dyed his hair black because it was too black, and he was short and pudgy. I also don’t know why he wore a white suit. I could not tell what any woman might see in him.
But some people see what you don’t see.
This was a nondenominational church, which has become quite the ticket to getting more folks to come out to worship. I was baptized Methodist though I never went to a Methodist church because my cousin Josette was Pentecostal, and her church was livelier. It was like going to a play, with lots of shouting and people running up and down the aisles and praising God, even though it wasn’t clear if that would help God hear them better. I always tapped my feet and secretly popped my fingers under my dress, which I’d spread out like a fan on the seat if Josette wasn’t sitting next to her latest boyfriend.
I noticed there were a lot of white people in Sadie’s church and it was very modern. I think the only cross I saw was outside on the side of the railing. Where was Jesus? He wasn’t hanging anywhere here.
I sat at the end of a row that looked more like the United Nations, with more ethnicities and colors and hues than I was used to. It made me happy that I had sat there. My black pantsuit was too tight, though, so I couldn’t cross my legs.
The minister was not that good at preaching. In fact, his sermon was all over the place. I thought they were supposed to have a topic or a theme or at least a point, but not Reverend Washington. I guess he really did believe in free will.
When it was time for the choir, Sadie stood up, proud, in her red robe and she motioned the twenty members to stand. They stood, except for one woman in a wheelchair. I opened my eyes wider as they started, because they sounded quite good. That is, until Sadie turned to the congregation, lowered both palms to belt out a verse, and her voice was so rough it scratched my throat. It was obvious she loved her singing more than everybody else did because when I turned to look at the folks in my row, they all had kind of a stoic look on their faces. It was a long verse and when Sadie finally finished, the congregation was so quiet you could have heard a fan drop. Sadie stood there a second too long, as if she was waiting for applause. She didn’t even get an “Amen.”
I decided to stop by the Pasadena shop since it had been months since I had even stepped foot inside it. I had driven by just to make sure the sign was still on the door. The window behind the bars was dirty. I had to push the door open with my hip and I inhaled so much dust I started to sneeze. Boxes were everywhere. It looked more like a warehouse instead of a beauty supply. This place was ugly and old now, the way I’d been feeling lately.
I did wonder if my customers had gotten impatient and sought out my competitors. I didn’t care. But I did. I was also wondering if grief could last forever. And if I ever stopped thinking about Carl, would that mean I didn’t miss him anymore? What I’ve also been wondering: What if I’m just bored selling beauty products?
When I heard the bell on the door, I jumped off the stool I’d been sitting on behind the counter and put my hand on my pepper spray because sometimes transients come in not realizing what kind of store this is, although most of them are harmless.
“Someone here to train me?” I heard a familiar voice ask.
“Korynthia, what are you doing here?”
“Out of habit I drive by here when I go to my boring real estate office—and before you ask, no, I have not even sold a condo. I think I really just wanted to prove I could pass the damn test. Anyway, I saw your sexy Volvo parked out front, so I made an illegal U-turn and beelined it in here to see why you didn’t bother to call me to help you get this shit organized. But it looks like what you could really use is a moving truck.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” I said and moved a box of eyebrow pencils and horsetail shampoo out of the way so we could hug.
“You need to move this store. It’s too small and it’s old. And I have never liked this street or this neighborhood.”
“Well, like us, it wasn’t alw
ays old.”
“Speak for yourself, huzzie. I went on a date.”
“A what?”
“You heard me. A date.”
I pulled out two Twizzlers from my secret drawer by the register and tried to bite off about three inches, but they were so hard I instantly regretted it.
Korynthia snatched them out of my hand and threw them on the floor. “You know damn well you’re not supposed to be eating these nasty things, Lo. Hand me the rest of them.”
I whipped out the clear package. “They’re stale,” I said with remorse.
“Have you been checking your levels?”
“Sometimes.”
“So, that’s a no. I’m not stupid, Lo. You need to take this more seriously.”
“I know. I’ve cut back on a lot of stuff.”
“When were you last tested?”
“About a month ago.”
“And what was your level?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I haven’t heard back from my doctor.”
“Then call the bitch! Look. I’m only asking because too many people in my family had diabetes—and yes, I said had, since they’re gone now because they didn’t take it seriously. You can’t do that.”
“I’m going to call her tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong with today?”
“Just tell me about the date, Ko.”
“I’ve actually had three dates. I was gonna wait until our next dinner to tell you, but anyway, the first two were scary old men who had so many wrinkles it looked like they had been in the pool all day. The third one was round and had droopy eyes, which he had photoshopped out of his photo. Scared the hell out of me when I saw him sitting in the window at the Cheesecake Factory, but I didn’t want to be rude so I texted him and told him I broke my leg. He looked disappointed but then he looked a little wacko.”
“Aren’t you afraid? I mean, these men are strangers.”
“These old fuckers are harmless. They’re not serial killers or rapists. Plus, I tweaked my profile.”
It's Not All Downhill From Here Page 11
