The Ugly Side of Me

by Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  “I just remembered that I usually hang out with Ivan on Wednesday nights.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Excuse me?” he said in a high-pitched voice, like I had no right to ask the question.

  “Who’s Ivan, and what are y’all doing tonight?” I didn’t stutter, and I felt justified asking.

  “Well, if you must know, Ivan is my best friend, and we’ll probably shoot some hoops or go to a club.”

  “A club?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What club, Malcolm?”

  “Probably Mr. G’s. What’s up with the third degree?”

  “Look, I ain’t trying to get in your business, okay? But how about comin’ to see me before you get with your boy?”

  “I was with you last night and the night before that. Ain’t you had enough?”

  “No, I haven’t.” I chuckled. “You can do whatever you wanna do tonight. Just come by and hook me up first.”

  By lunchtime, I was done reading. I’d managed to complete the novel I Ain’t Me No More in only four hours. Kudos to author E. N. Joy, I thought. She definitely got two thumbs-ups from me. She was a Christian fiction author, and I wasn’t too sure about reading that genre, but Anastasia had assured me that E. N. Joy’s books weren’t preachy.

  I wasn’t looking forward to telling Anastasia that she was right, because she couldn’t handle compliments coming from me. “See, Rhapsody? You should listen to me more often,” I could hear her say. I leaned back in my chair and stretched my arms and legs. I had nothing to do, but I wasn’t complaining. I loved when the CTA had perfect days.

  I suddenly realized that I hadn’t spoken with Anastasia that day. I picked up the desk telephone and called her home.

  “Hey, girl. What’s up?” She sounded chipper, as usual.

  “It’s lunchtime, and I’m tryin’ to figure out what I want to eat.”

  “Chantal and I are on our way to meet Trevor for lunch.”

  “That’s nice. Where are you meeting?”

  “I made sandwiches, and I got chips and dip, cheese, grapes, and sparkling punch. We’re gonna surprise him with a picnic in the park.”

  See, that was the kind of relationship I wanted with a man. I dared not try to have lunch with Malcolm. He would probably make me sit in Burger World and would serve me onion rings and a milk shake. “I love your life, Stacy,” I sighed.

  “Don’t let the happy times fool you. Trevor and I have our moments.”

  “Yeah, but you two never give up on one another. Whatever you’re faced with, you work it out together, and I admire that.”

  “It takes a lot of prayer, Rhapsody. Nothing worth having and holding on to comes easy. Speaking of prayer, Sunday is Chantal’s dedication at church. You, being her godmother, need to be there.”

  “Oh, I’ll be there. I promised my mother I’d come to church, and I gotta get on the altar and repent for some thangs.”

  “The baby dedication ceremony takes place after morning worship, but Sunday school starts at nine o’clock.”

  “Well, I’ll be there for morning worship. I can’t do Sunday school, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s too much church, Stacy. I’ll end up falling asleep. Besides, I ain’t tryin’ to learn about Fatback, Tupac, and the Big Negro in the diary burner.”

  Anastasia hollered so loud, she almost burst my eardrums. “Rhapsody, you are ignorant! It’s Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace, you fool.”

  “Well, heck, I didn’t know.”

  She couldn’t stop laughing at me. “Fatback, Tupac, and the Big Negro. Girl, no you didn’t. And what is a diary burner, Rhapsody?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, but I’ve been sayin’ it all my life.”

  “I just can’t do this with you today. That just goes to show that Sunday school is exactly where you need to be. God is gonna get you for that one, Rhapsody. I ain’t lying. I’ll talk to you later, girl.”

  I could still hear Anastasia laughing at me before our call was disconnected.

  Chapter 12

  On the way home from work, I decided to do something special for Malcolm. Instead of hopping into the bed right away, I thought I would feed him first. It was the least I could do.

  I stopped at the local grocery store in my neighborhood for the ingredients to make lasagna. I was glad to find everything I needed and was home before six o’clock. The first thing I did was sit a pot on the stove and boil water for the pasta. I went into my bedroom to undress and saw the light flashing on my answering machine. I pressed the LISTEN button while I changed the sheets on my bed.

  “Rhapsody, where the heck you at, girl? You think I ain’t got nothin’ better to do other than track you down? Me and Walter need to talk to you. And why aren’t you answering your cell?” Beep.

  “Probably ’cause I don’t wanna talk to y’all, Danny.” I placed the dirty sheets in the clothes hamper and got my brand-new burgundy silk sheet set from the linen closet and dressed my bed.

  “This call is for Rhapsody Blue. This is Dr. Scimeca’s office. Our records indicate that it’s time for your annual Pap test. Please call the office to make an appointment at your earliest convenience.” Beep.

  “Hi, baby girl. This is Mama. I haven’t talked to you this week. You know I get worried if I don’t hear from you. And don’t forget that you promised to be at church on Sunday.” Beep.

  “You can just call my cell like you always do, Mama,” I said to myself. I erased all three messages and went into the kitchen to add the pasta to the boiling hot water. I picked up the kitchen cordless telephone and called Lerlean.

  “Hello,” my daddy answered.

  “Hey, Daddy.”

  “Hey, daughter.”

  “How ya doing?”

  “I’m all right for an old man.”

  “You’re not old, Daddy. You’re seasoned.”

  He laughed at me. “That ain’t what your mama said today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Today she got mad at me and said that I was old.”

  “You probably misunderstood her, Daddy. What did she say?”

  “I couldn’t open a can of Spam, and she said, ‘James, your old behind ain’t good for nothin’. All you gotta do is turn the darn key backward. Take your senile behind somewhere and sit down.’ Then she said, ‘If you can find the couch.’”

  I laughed, because that sounded just like Lerlean. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it, Daddy.” The truth was I knew my mother meant every word she said to him. “Her arthritis was probably acting up.”

  “That’s her excuse for everything,” he said. “Every time she cusses me out, she blames it on her arthritis.”

  “Is she asleep?” I asked.

  “Nah. She went to the riverboat with your aunt Gladys.”

  “How is Mama able to gamble and pull the handle on the slot machines if the arthritis in her arms is acting up?”

  “Humph. That’s what I wanna know.”

  “Well, she left me a message. Make sure you tell her that I called her back. Okay, Daddy?”

  “Okay. Listen, your brothers are trying to get in touch with you. Why won’t you answer them?”

  “So they can bug the mess out of me? I don’t have time for Walter and Danny right now.”

  “They said it was important.”

  I exhaled loudly. “All right. I’ll call them when I hang up from you.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell your mama that you called.”

  “Bye, Daddy. I love you.”

  “I love you more.”

  I sat a skillet on the stove, turned on the burner, and got my seasonings ready for the ground beef and the Italian sausage; then I dialed Daniel’s number. Antoinette answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Ant. It’s Rhapsody.”

  “Hey, girl. What’s going on?”

  “Did you get that rock yet?” I already knew that my cheap bother hadn’t bought her a
ring.

  “Rhapsody, you know Danny and I are not in a hurry to get married.”

  “You’re a good woman, Antoinette,” I said. “Danny got the right woman, ’cause it sho can’t be me. Is that cheap bastard home?”

  “Ooh, Rhapsody.” Antoinette chuckled. “Why do you talk about your brother like that? Danny is a good man.”

  “He’s a cheap bastard,” I reiterated. “And the sooner you realize that, Antoinette, the better off you’ll be. You’re wasting your time on him.” I didn’t care that Daniel was my brother. I called ’em like I saw’em. I seriously doubted that Antoinette would take my advice, but I did my due diligence. If she was happy, then I was gonna be happy for her . . . God bless her.

  Without saying anything further, Antoinette summoned Daniel to the telephone.

  “What’s up, sis?”

  “You and Walter are hunting me down like bloodhounds. Y’all tell me what’s up.”

  “Hold on a second while I get him on the line.”

  Daniel clicked over to dial Walter, and I heated my oven to 350 degrees and then blended together American cheese, Colby, and ricotta cheese in a bowl.

  “Hey,” I heard Walter say.

  I jumped right in and addressed both of them. “Listen, before the two of you try to stick me like y’all did the last time we gave Mama and Daddy an anniversary party, I’ma tell y’all right now, I ain’t doin’ it.”

  “Well, hello to you too,” Walter said with an attitude.

  I coated the hot skillet with nonstick cooking spray and browned the meat. “Look, I got a date. Y’all better say what you gotta say real quick.”

  Daniel called himself mocking me. “A date? When did you get a man?”

  “Screw you, Danny, and before you say anything, Walter, screw you too.”

  “What the heck are you cussin’ me out for? I ain’t said nothin’.”

  “Walter, I ain’t forgot that crack you made on my answering machine last night. And why is it so hard for y’all to believe that I can have a man?”

  “Because nobody wants to put up with your evil behind, that’s why,” Daniel answered. “When was the last time you been to church?”

  I drained the noodles. “It ain’t none of your business when I was in church last. When was the last time you shopped at a reputable grocery store? You still watching the sale papers and cutting out coupons? Y’all got sixty seconds to tell me what you want. I got thangs to do.”

  “You tell her, Walter,” Daniel said.

  “Why can’t you tell her?”

  “Because you’re the oldest.”

  “She’ll probably listen to you,” Walter said.

  Click. I hung up.

  By 8:30 p.m. the lasagna was sitting on the cooling rack. I had cleaned the kitchen and taken my bath. I lay across my bed, dressed in a short pink lace and chiffon teddy. I didn’t know what was taking Malcolm so long to get to my house. I called his cellular telephone and was immediately greeted by his voice mail.

  “Yo, this is Malcolm. Hit me up after the beep.” Beep.

  “Malcolm, it’s Rhapsody. It’s gettin’ late. Where are you? I expected you to be here an hour ago. Call me.” I disconnected the call and glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand. Eighty forty-two p.m. I lay down on my bed and dozed off.

  When I woke up, it was 11:45 p.m. It took me a minute to focus and look around my bedroom and realize that Malcolm hadn’t come by. I got pissed when I thought of all the trouble I had gone through for him. I mean, I didn’t even cook for my own self, let alone somebody else.

  I went into the kitchen and looked at the lasagna I had made for him. It cost a lot of money to make lasagna. You got to buy the pasta and the spaghetti sauce and the ground beef and the Italian sausage and the ricotta cheese and the Colby cheese and the cheddar cheese and all the darn seasonings to make it taste good.

  Just who in the heck did Malcolm think he was? I got pissed even more. I was so mad, I began to sweat. I dumped the entire pan of lasagna into the garbage can. I called his cellular phone again and got his voice mail. I felt my blood begin to boil. I stormed into my bedroom and looked at my brand-new silk sheets, which I’d paid an arm and a leg for. On an impulse, I went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet and found my shears. I stormed back into my bedroom and sliced the sheets, pillowcases included. I sat down on the floor, breathing heavily.

  “Rhino face . . . bbbbbarf bag!” I stuttered and shouted uncontrollably. My neck jerked back and forth, as though I had a bad case of constant hiccups.

  Obviously, Malcolm had chosen to hang with his boy rather than be with me. I thought about that and got more pissed than I already was. I rocked back and forth. While I was sitting on the floor, boiling, I remembered something.

  What club, Malcolm?

  Probably Mr. G’s. What’s up with the third degree?

  At midnight I was on Interstate 290, heading east. At Eighty-Seventh Street, I exited from the Dan Ryan Expressway and turned right, driving toward Ashland Avenue. I turned left into Mr. G’s parking lot and couldn’t find a parking spot. The lot was filled to capacity. Even with my windows up and my air conditioner blowing at a high speed, I could hear the bass coming from within the club.

  One fool walked past me, wearing a bright yellow cape made out of rayon over a white satin button-down shirt. He had on bright yellow pants that matched the cape. On his head was a canary-yellow top hat with a white satin feather stuck in the white satin band. I almost ran into a parked car when I saw the yellow cane with a brass handle in his hand. The fool’s pants were so long that I couldn’t see the heel of his shoes, but I could imagine that he wore platforms to complete the ensemble. You couldn’t call what he wore a suit or an outfit. It was an ensemble. If you took the cane away and put a wand in his hand, he would be mistaken for a magician.

  Even though I was pissed at Malcolm, I couldn’t help but laugh at this fool, who obviously thought he was superfly. He looked like a broken-down Huggy Bear from Starsky & Hutch. Whoever was still sewing crap like that for folks to wear needed to be put behind bars for life. It was just stupid.

  I searched the parking lot for Malcolm’s Toyota Camry and found it parked in between a metallic gold Ford Mustang GT and a candy apple–red GMC Envoy SUV. Both automobiles were late models. As a matter of fact, when I looked around the lot, I saw that Malcolm’s car was about the cheapest one in the entire lot. I parked my Mercedes-Benz directly in front of the Camry and got out.

  There was a long line of pimps and hoes standing outside the club, waiting to get in. I saw teal-green suits, powder-blue suits, and burgundy suits holding hands with women wearing fishnet bodysuits and sheer blouses and skirts. One chick wore her jeans so tight, they looked like they were taking her blood pressure.

  I stormed right up to the bouncer. He was a big black bear–looking man, but I didn’t care. I was at the club on a mission, and it was gonna get accomplished, even if I had to whup the bouncer’s butt. When I cut through to the front of the line, I heard, “Oh, no she didn’t.”

  I ignored the prostitute-looking broad who was standing behind me. I guess she thought she was cute. Obviously, she didn’t own a full-length mirror, ’cause if she did, she’d have never stepped foot outside. Her double D boobs showed through the dress, which looked like Saran Wrap. I mean, why wear a clear plastic dress? She should’ve just come to the club naked, since all her body parts were exposed, anyway.

  “You gotta get to the back of the line,” the bouncer said to me.

  “My sixteen-year-old son is in there,” I lied effortlessly. “And if you don’t want the PoPo here, I suggest you move out of my way.”

  The bouncer proved what had been said long ago. Black folks were afraid of the police, and that was because we were always doing some crap we ain’t got no business doing. He stepped aside and allowed me entrance. Inside the club the cigarette smoke was so thick, I could hardly see in front of me. What happened to the no-smoking policy? Or maybe that di
dn’t apply to clubs. I couldn’t say for sure. I hadn’t been clubbing in quite a while. I was more laid back, a lounge kind of chick.

  To my immediate right was the DJ, and to my left was the bar. Every bar stool housed the booty of a tramp who was wearing too much make-up, too much weave, and way too much silicone. And why did broads always try to squeeze their big booties into way too small clothes? If you wore a size twenty-four wide, you didn’t buy a size twelve petite. And women had the nerve to get an attitude when someone frowned at them or made a comment. Women should buy their right size. They would look better, feel better, and breathe better.

  The way I was eyeing the heifers sitting at the bar was the way they were eyeing me. Unlike their hoochie mama attire, which was obviously the norm in that club, I had on a navy blue jogging suit and K-Swiss gym shoes. I was there to kick some butt, not to show mine.

  I searched the dimly lit club, trying to be careful not to let Malcolm see me first. I didn’t wanna give him time to react when I rolled up on him. I found him sitting near the back of the club, at a round table, with another man and two women. For about thirty seconds I observed the chemistry at the table. That was enough time for me to conclude that Malcolm was very friendly with the broad sitting next to him. She seemed to be hanging on every word he was saying in her ear. She was sitting so close to him, she might as well have been sitting on his lap.

  I guessed that was the famous Ivan sitting across from Malcolm, with his arm around the other broad’s shoulders. As she smiled and talked to Ivan, his eyes were focused on her chest. Apparently, he thought she communicated with her overexposed cleavage. The halter top she was wearing wasn’t supportive at all. The eighteen-hour bra she wore was on its nineteenth hour. So, again, I asked myself the question, Why not just come to the club naked?

  Between the four of them, I saw nine drinks on the table. Malcolm kissed the cheek of the chick next to him, then whispered something in her ear. She giggled and moved her hand from the table and placed it on his thigh. I watched her hand make its way up toward Malcolm’s groin. At that point, I had seen enough, and I walked right up to the table.