by Angela Henry
As she spoke, it suddenly dawned on me who it was that I was looking down at, Crazy Frieda. Winette Barlow was right. Everyone in town, including me, did think she was a bag lady. I hadn’t recognized her without her matted hair, dirty face, and dirty clothes. She could usually be found wandering the streets of Willow muttering to herself or shouting obscenities at passersby. She was rarely without her shopping cart full of cans that she rummaged through the trash for. She’d scared me to death on more than a few occasions when I’d taken trash to the Dumpster at the restaurant.
I never knew anything about her except her name—or rather the name everyone in town called her—Crazy Frieda. No one paid much attention to her. She was harmless and most people were content to ignore her and let her rummage for her cans. She may as well have been invisible. Looking down at her now, I felt very sad. I never thought that she might have a family who loved her or had a normal life once. I never thought about her at all.
While we were looking down into the casket, an elderly couple arrived to pay their respects. As soon as I saw who they were, I was itching to make my getaway.
“She looks good, Winnie, real good,” Donna Ivory said, looking down into the casket. She looked over at me and her slightly bulging eyes opened wide.
“Kendra, I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve picked up weight, haven’t you?”
Now, maybe I’m being overly sensitive, but to me, the one thing worse than commenting publicly on someone else’s fat is to make them own up to it by asking questions like the one I’d just been asked. I had to practically pinch myself to keep from saying, “Why yes, Mrs. Ivory, I have, and you look like you’re giving the seams of that suit of yours a workout as well.” But, I didn’t. I took the high road and said, “Yes a few pounds maybe.”
She laughed a shrill high-pitched laugh as if to say, “A few pounds, my ass.”
Delbert, who had been signing the guest book, came over and stood by his wife. He had traded his geriatric pimp suit from the other night for a respectable brown cotton-poly blend that he looked like he was sweating to death in. He looked everywhere but at me and finally started making small talk with Winette Barlow, all the while glancing nervously at his wife and me. I wasn’t about to say a word. Considering who he was married to, I figured he must already be in hell.
Donna Ivory stood several inches taller than her husband and must have outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. Her eyes bulged slightly and her neck was almost nonexistent, making her look like a frog. Her thinning hair was naturally red and was teased to strategically cover her scalp more effectively. Her feet looked stuffed into the thick-soled black orthopedic shoes she was wearing. She was dressed in a shiny-black polyester suit and a sky-blue ruffled blouse that did nothing to enhance her sallow yellow skin and freckles.
“You cut off all your hair too. I about had a heart attack when I saw your grandma’s hair. I still can’t believe Estelle could do such a thing. She had such beautiful hair. I swear with all you girls running around bald-headed, I can’t hardly tell the girls from the boys. Ain’t that right, Delbert?”
“Yes, dear,” Delbert Ivory said reflexively as if he’d trained himself to give the right responses by listening to the inflection of his wife’s voice. I doubted he’d even heard what she’d said.
I’m not too bald or too fat for your husband to make a pass at, I thought nastily. Winette Barlow caught my eye over Donna’s broad shoulder and winked at me.
“I think she knew her time was near, Winnie,” Donna said, looking down into the casket.
“Why do you say that?” Winette asked with a slight frown.
“Well, the last time I saw her she was in the alley behind my house. I saw her when I was doing the breakfast dishes. She always came by every Thursday morning ‘cause I left cans out for her. Let it be said that Donna Ivory does her part to help the homeless.”
“She wasn’t homeless.”
“Of course not, dear.” Donna gave Winette a patronizing pat on the shoulder. I thought Winette was going to burst a blood vessel. Her face was bright red and her lips were tightened into a thin line. If Donna noticed, and I don’t see how she couldn’t have, she didn’t comment. I waited patiently for a chance to make my escape.
“Like I was saying, I saw her in the alley just pacing back and forth. I didn’t pay her any mind ‘cause I’ve seen her do strange things before. I looked out ten minutes later and she was gone, and she never did take those cans.”
“What was so strange about that?” Winette asked icily.
“I said she always came by on Thursday to get the cans. When I saw her, it was Friday morning.”
“The poor thing probably just got her days mixed up, that’s all. Stop being so melodramatic, Donna. You’re always trying to make a big deal out of nothing,” Winette said.
Donna’s eyes bulged dangerously; then she gave a smile that would have made a shark shudder.
“I know you’re just upset, Winnie. Why else would you be so rude when all I came to do was give you my support and say how sorry I am for your loss? Being a Southerner just as you are, Winnie, it’s the only proper thing to do. Ain’t that right, Delbert?”
But Delbert was no fool. When things started heating up, he beat it across the hall to the restroom, where if he was smart, he would stay as long as possible.
I took advantage of the sudden silence and tension in the room to say my good-byes and get the hell out of Dodge.
As I walked past the room where Jordan’s funeral had been, I glanced in and noticed everyone had gone. Even the casket had been removed. I spotted a flowered umbrella underneath the seat that Iris had been sitting in. It was the same one she’d arrived at the funeral with. I grabbed it so I could give it to her.
SIX
There were twice as many people at Bernie’s house as there had been at the funeral. I stood in line with my paper plate, greedily eyeing the food-laden table that had been set up buffet style in the dining room. People were still bringing food. It seemed as if the doorbell was ringing every five minutes. Much to my surprise, I saw Alex—along with Joy—bringing in meat-and-cheese trays from the restaurant.
After filling my plate, I took it and went to the kitchen to eat. It, too, was filled with people. I went out back and found a spot on the low stone wall that encircled the patio to sit and eat. I was savoring some strawberry pie when a young black man came and sat down next to me. He was about eighteen and had a short Afro, a hint of a mustache over his upper lip, and a ghost of a goatee on his chin. He was dressed casually in baggy khaki Dockers, a denim shirt, and black Filas. He was grinning at me goofily as if there was some big joke that I was missing.
“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me, Ms. Clayton. I was only your favorite student.”
“Trevor Gibson, well isn’t this a surprise,” I said sarcastically. “So, where have you been all this time? Making some other teacher’s life hell?”
“Aw, don’t be like that, Ms. Clayton. You know you loved me. I kept you on your toes, didn’t I?”
And almost made me choose another profession, I thought. “Seriously, though, how have you been? You should have just graduated from high school, right?”
“Yeah, I graduated two weeks ago. Man, I’m glad to be back. When my parents pulled me out of school here and put me in that wack private school, I didn’t think I would make it. Then when my dad died last year, I told my mom I was dropping out. She told me if I stuck it out, she’d buy me a Jeep. So, here I am. Mr. High School Graduate driving a phat Jeep Cherokee.”
“Are you going to college?”
“I wasn’t planning on it. I was gonna go to the army. But, my mom said if I’d think about going to college, she’d take my girl and me to Jamaica for Christmas. She must really want me to go to school bad to make an offer like that. She can’t stand Yvonne. She’d be happier if I’d started kickin’ it with one of those stuck-up rich bitches from school.”
I gave him a look that I hoped con
veyed my disapproval of his term for women. He gave me a challenging look, letting me know that nothing much had changed since I last saw him. I had a feeling that Diane’s desire for Trevor to go to college had more to do with keeping up with her rich friends at the country club than with wanting him to get a good education. I also had a feeling that Trevor was milking this for all it was worth. If he did something Diane didn’t like, she would bribe him into doing what she wanted. I looked at him and saw the same devilish glint in his eye that I had seen when he was in my class. He knew exactly what he was doing.
A young girl who looked to be about Trevor’s age came over to sit next to him and linked her arm possessively through his. She kissed him on the cheek and threw me a “this is my man” look. I almost laughed out loud.
She was brown skinned and wore shiny pink lipstick the color of cotton candy. Her hair was braided into spaghetti-thin braids that fell to her shoulders. She had a diamond stud in her nose and was wearing a short-sleeved, white satin bare midriff top with a leopard- print miniskirt and black high-heeled sandals. I vaguely wondered if there was a store at the mall called Hoochies where one could buy such clothing. Someone had neglected to tell the child that this was a post-funeral gathering and not a house party.
“This is my girl, Yvonne,” Trevor said, proudly putting his arm around her. “Yvonne, this is one of my old teachers from high school, Ms. Clayton.” I thought I heard an emphasis on the word old.
“Hi. You can call me Vonnie,” she said, giving me a big grin that revealed dimples and a gap between her two front teeth.
“Why don’t you go hook us up some food, girl.”
“Okay, baby,” said the eager-to-please Vonnie. She got up and twisted off in the direction of the kitchen. Trevor stared at her butt as if hypnotized. Diane had her work cut out for her if she was going to try and pry those two apart.
“Did you know your aunt Bernie’s friend Jordan?”
“You mean my aunt Bernie’s gigolo. That’s what my mom called him,” Trevor said casually.
Damn, there was no beating around the bush with this generation.
“Don’t look at me like that, Ms. Clayton. Everybody knew what was up with that. Don’t act like you didn’t know.”
“How well did you know him?”
“I didn’t know him at all. I met him at my dad’s funeral last year. He was getting his hustle on all right. I think he thought he was Denzel or somebody the way he stood around flashing those teeth when aunt Bernie wasn’t around. Then acting like he was all concerned when she was around. It’s crazy, man. Now here we are about to put his ass in the ground. That’s a trip.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
I made the rounds and mingled with everyone. I was looking for Iris to tell her that I had her umbrella, but I couldn’t find her. I did have to agree with Diane on one account. Most of the people were openly gawking and making appreciative comments about the house. I knew there was no way all of these people could have known Jordan—or Bernie for that matter. I noticed that a long table that usually sat against the wall in the foyer underneath a large mirror had been moved in front of the marble staircase to prevent people from going upstairs.
I glanced up the staircase as I went by and noticed that the door to the guest room at the top of the stairs, where Jordan had been sleeping, was ajar. I stopped and looked again. Someone was in there.
I went around to the kitchen and went up the back stairway. I figured it must be Bernie. I hadn’t had a chance to say much to her so far today and was hoping we could talk in private. There was a bench positioned across the top of the steps that had been pushed aside. I walked into the room and flipped on the light, startling the person in the room who was down on hands and knees looking under the bed. But to my surprise it wasn’t Bernie. Joy Owens was looking at me with a mixture of anger and annoyance.
“I was looking for the bathroom,” she said belligerently before I had a chance to say a word.
“And you think it’s under the bed?”
She stood slowly, all the while glaring at me. For a split second I almost felt guilty for walking in on her.
“How the hell should I know where it is in this big-ass house?”
“Big-ass house or not, I don’t know anybody who has a bathroom under a bed. What are you really doing in here?”
“I said I was looking for the bathroom. My earring popped off when I walked in, and I thought the back rolled under the bed. Not that I owe you an explanation. This ain’t your house.”
“There’s a bathroom downstairs off the kitchen.”
“Whatever,” she said, brushing past me on her way out of the room. I looked at her ears as she passed me and noticed that she wasn’t wearing any earrings.
“Oh, and Joy,” I said, turning around to catch her before she got out the door.
“What!”
“If anything in this room turns up missing, I think we’ll know who to come looking for.”
“Fuck you,” she said and was gone. What a charming girl.
I looked around the room for the first time. Despite having gone to stay with Diane, Bernie had managed to find the time to clean it up. Not only was the room now spotless, but also every trace of Jordan had been removed. All of the clothes and shoes that had been scattered all over the room were gone. I walked over to the closet and opened it. It, too, was empty, as were all of the dresser drawers. Out of curiosity, I looked under the bed. Nothing. I wondered if I should tell Bernie about catching Joy in here and then decided against it. I figured there was no real harm done.
After coming back downstairs, I finally spotted Iris. She was standing by the buffet table talking to Miguel Ruiz, the literacy center’s English-as-a-second-language instructor. Miguel is from Mexico and reminds me a little of Benjamin Bratt. He taught high school Spanish by day and English at the center three nights a week. He was looking sexy as ever in his black jeans and white shirt. He’d loosened his tie and was holding a food-laden plate, which he kept looking at longingly while Iris chatted. She was practically in the poor man’s face and had seriously invaded his personal space by at least an inch.
Everyone at the center knows what a big crush Iris has on Miguel. But then again, most women at the center have had a crush on Miguel at one time or another, myself included. Iris’s crush is one of the more enduring ones. Even though Miguel is newly married, Iris is still hoping that one day he’ll come to his senses and fall in love with her.
“Hola, Kendra,” said a relieved-looking Miguel after spotting me. I felt for the man. Iris is as sweet as she can be and a very efficient secretary, but having a conversation with her can be a trying experience. She has no tact and is not afraid to talk about anything. I still remembered her cornering me at last year’s Christmas party and talking to me for almost an hour about the consistency of her dog Cupcake’s bowel movements before and after being dewormed. I felt then the way Miguel was looking right about now, queasy.
“Hey, you two. What’s up?”
“Oh, Kendra, I was just telling Miguel about my awful bout with stomach flu. I thought I would just die. I mean the way it kept running out both ends of me. It was so draining. Just when I thought I had nothing left in me, here would come another onslaught. Poor Cupcake didn’t know what to think. I’m sure she thought her mommy would never get well.”
“Miguel, I think your wife is looking for you,” I said, looking him in the eye.
“Thanks for telling me.” He gave me a relieved, knowing look and took his plate and what was left of his appetite and rushed out of the room.
Iris watched him go with longing. I decided I better get straight to the point before she started telling me about her recent illness. I’d already eaten, which would make the story even worse.
“Iris, I’m glad I caught you. You left your umbrella at the funeral home. I brought it with me. It’s out in my car.”
“Oh, I didn’t even realize I’d left it! It’s not even mine. It’s Bernie’
s umbrella. This is the very reason I can never keep an umbrella. I’m always leaving them someplace.” Iris’s face had reddened, giving her a rare burst of color.
“I’m sure you just forgot because it didn’t belong to you, and you weren’t used to having it. I always do that when I borrow stuff from other people. It’s a wonder anyone will lend me anything anymore.”
“I didn’t borrow it. Bernie left it in my car last Friday. You know how Dorothy gets this time of year. She was ranting and raving because someone forgot to go pick up the programs from the printer. I wasn’t feeling well. If it hadn’t been for the recognition program, I wouldn’t have even come in that day. Bernie was such a sweetheart. She piped right up and offered to go pick them up for me. I let her use my car because she didn’t have hers that day. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”
Warning bells were going off in my head. The blood was pounding so hard in my ears that I almost couldn’t hear.
“Yeah, that was really nice of her. You remember about what time that was?” I asked breathlessly.
“It was during the morning session. Maybe around nine o’clock. I don’t think it was much after I got to work that morning,” she said, her brow creased in concentration. “I don’t remember exactly. Why?” She was looking at me strangely. “Kendra, are you okay? I hope you’re not coming down with what I had because, let me tell you, it was no fun. I...”
I politely stood and listened to Iris tell me about the dirty details of her illness. I probably would have thrown up if I’d been focusing on what she was saying and didn’t have other things on my mind. Bernie had been away from the center around the time of Jordan’s death. She never even mentioned it to me. I wondered if anyone else knew. Dorothy probably thought Iris went to pick up the programs. It had been a madhouse last Friday. It wouldn’t have been hard to slip away unnoticed.
