by J. J. Murray
I'm constantly surprising myself these days, aren't I, Lord? I place my hands on hers. "Thank you for coming, Junie"
"Will you please play at my wedding?"
I release her hands. "I'll let you know, and sooner than the end of the month"
"Promise?"
"I promise."
"Thank you"
I watch her walk away and feel a peace that like the Bible says, passes all understanding. The things I could have said to her, maybe should have said to her, maybe even had a duty to say to her-I didn't say. God's angels are wrestling with my tongue again. Got the one scaring the shepherds and the one standing at the tomb all up inside my mouth.
As I open the door to my apartment, I hear the phone ringing and race to answer it. "Hello?"
"Ruthie Lee, Mrs. Holland."
"Is he there?"
"Dee or Mr. Baxter?"
Busted. "Dee, of course"
"Dee isn't here. Mr. Baxter just called to tell us that his mama would be picking up Tee today." Daa-em. That's one long first visit to the psychologist. I hope everything's all right. "She did it once or twice last year. Real nice lady."
I check the clock. If I shower quick and jog, I can make it to Avery by the last bell. I start shedding my clothes. "Can you, um, hold her there till I get there?"
"Hold her? I'm sure she's got things to do ""
"Please. I just want to see her."
"You mean you want to meet her, right?"
"Ruthie Lee, I can't hold up someone's grandma just because you want to take a gander at her."
I'm stark naked in the kitchen. "Just do what you can"
I hang up and run to the bathroom ... and get no hot water again. I fight the icicles stinging down on my body, giving myself a half-assed once-over with the soap. I put on a fashionable pair of khakis and a multicolored sweater and realize that I am still wearing my visor. I can't meet Dewey's mama looking like this!
I turn on all three of my curling irons and touch them repeatedly till one gets hot. What's up with that? They should all warm up at the same damn speed! I steam and press more than style my hair into something almost regal, stacking my hair as high as I can since I know the humidity outside is gonna knock it all down. And why am I wearing a sweater? It's at least eighty degrees outside!
I finger through my closet and come up with a refined white blouse, but it's long-sleeved. Don't I have any shortsleeved blouses? Why don't I-oh, yeah, I have reverse biceps. Always been trying to hide them. I pull on the long-sleeved blouse, tuck it in, roll up the sleeves to my elbows, and-I need a belt. I drop to the floor and start pulling out belts, looking for the brown belt that matches the flats wait, I'll be walking, and those flats will kill my feet. My walking shoes! Damn, they're still wet. Shit!
I close my eyes and collapse against the closet door. What am I doing? I'm dressing up for a woman who I'm really only going to look at, not meet. Why am I killing myself like this? I look at the clock on my nightstand. I have ten minutes to get there, and this morning it took me close to thirty. I'll never make it in time.
But I've got to try.
I put on the flats and go beltless out the door, walking as fast as my knees will allow. I cut over to Sixteenth, though taking Fourteenth would be quicker, just on the off chance that-
I stop at the corner of Sixteenth and Vine. Dewey's truck is parked in front of the last apartment to the right. He's home? What's he doing home? My heart flutters. Maybe Dee had a bad time at the psychologist's. Maybe they've already put Dee on medication. That poor boy! I was a zombie that first day and couldn't function for at least two more days. Should I say hello or keep on?
Another truck, a blue, dusty, dented something from way back in the day, turns into the lot and parks beside Dewey's truck. I see a tiny woman wearing a blue flannel shirt and jeans get out, and a moment later I see Tee racing around the back of the truck. So that's Nanna. Sturdy little thing. Spry, even. She lifts Tee off the ground all in one motion and carries her to the door.
I race-walk closer and am almost even with Dewey's door when the door opens. Dewey walks out shushing everybody, his finger to his lips. Dee's asleep. Good. Boy's probably bushed. Dewey holds the door for them, they enter-
And Dewey looks right at me. He isn't smiling. He isn't frowning. He's just ... looking.
I look down at the sidewalk and see that I'm not moving anymore. Why have I stopped? I cannot play this off by looking for something on the sidewalk. I look up, smile, and wave.
At a closed door.
`re n
I can't help thinking about the significance of that closed door as I tear into a greasy fish sandwich from Dude's (where they have oil in the vats as old as me) and gulp a twentyounce root beer. I know I shouldn't be eating anything greasy or drinking so much sugar, but I can't be properly depressed on an empty stomach. If I had a half gallon of rocky road ice cream, I could be depressed in style.
I just can't get that scene out of my mind. I know Dewey saw me. He had to. There isn't anything else to look at on the other side of Sixteenth except for a vacant lot full of broken bottles and the remains of a house. It's possible that he saw me but didn't recognize me with my hair up, but ... I should have waved sooner, maybe even should have crossed the street to speak to him. No, that would have been too obvious.
Lord, how am I gonna get to know this man?
I dial Tonya since she knows white men better than Naomi does. "Hey, girl," she says. "What you up to?"
"Nothing. You busy?"
"Not as busy as I want to be"
Girl always has sex on the brain. "No firemen tonight?"
"No," she says with a pout. "They're all on call."
"All? As in more than two?"
"Yes"
I will never understand this child. "Listen, I need your advice."
"Why don't you come over? I'll get Naomi over here, and we can pop some popcorn, play some cards"
I start to salivate. "Will the popcorn be buttered?"
"It always is."
Damn. I've already set myself back a week with the fish sandwich. "I shouldn't."
"Come on. The walk over will work it off before you get here"
Gee thanks. Feels like I've walked to West Virginia and back already today. I hang up and change for the fourth time into some ratty jeans and a T-shirt. They'll give me shit for my outfit, but I'm used to it. I'm sure they have a special section in their closets for "popcorn-eating and card-playing clothes."
I will myself five blocks down Vine and climb Tonya's steps. Both she and Naomi got nice old places, red-brick four-squares built back when Vine Street was a beautiful place. Wide porches, porch swings, plants hanging everywhere, pansies spilling out of box planters, even green strips of lawn out front dotted with more pansies. I tap on Tonya's screen door and enter, the aroma of popcorn drawing me to the kitchen where I find Tonya standing in front of the microwave.
"Naomi here yet?"
"No" She eyes me up and down.
"Don't you say a damn thing."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes you were"
The microwave beeps. "No I wasn't." She takes out a bag of popcorn and shakes it. "Not this second anyway." She pours it into a bowl. "I plan to wait till Naomi gets here to tell you how tacky you look. I'll have to close all the drapes"
"Thanks a lot. But till she gets here, I need your advice."
"On what?"
"On men" She smiles like I knew she would. "On white men"
She blinks at me, and the smile disappears. "You interested in a white man, Ruth?"
"Yes, but you can't tell Naomi."
"Why not?"
I lean against the counter. "You know how she feels about you messin' with them, and she acts like she's my mama half the time, so I just don't want her to know."
She hops up on the counter and sits Indian style. Lord, if I could do that again, I wouldn't need to have this talk with one of Your fallen angels. "What do you wan
t to know?"
"Everything you can tell me"
"Everything?"
"Everything"
"Are you sure?"
"Positive"
She points at a portable phone. "Gimme that"
I hand it to her, and she hits redial. "Naomi, girl, I'm PMS-ing like a bitch. Tonight isn't a good night ... Yeah, I already called Ruth ... I'll be all right. See you tomorrow." She hands the phone to me. "Okay, let's get started"
"You just lied to your best friend!"
She shrugs. "I do it all the time. That's what best friends are for, girl. C'mon, let's get cozy."
I follow her into this interesting little room that has no windows, a low ceiling, and a love seat. She calls it her "necking room" A man cannot escape her in this room, and I almost check the love seat for stains as I sit down next to her, the bowl of popcorn between us.
"So who is this man, Ruth?"
"Someone I met"
"He got a name?"
I wince. "Dewey."
She laughs. "Dewey? He got two brothers named Louie and Huey?"
"Not that I know of."
"Sounds like a real country boy."
"He is." "
"He's big, then"
14yep „
"Big feet and hands?"
I know where she's going with this. "Let's talk about the sex part later. I just want to know how to get him to notice me."
"Where's he work?"
"What has that got-"
"I am the expert here," she interrupts. "Now, where does he work?"
"Calhoun Steel."
She grabs a handful of popcorn and shakes it in her hand like dice. "Doin' what?"
"Loading and unloading trains."
"Yeah? Is he ripped?"
"He's strong. Built like an ox. But what does-"
"Shh," she says. "I know a few guys who work at Calhoun Steel, and they will do anything for me"
"Huh?"
"All I have to do is to tell one of my guys to tell your guy
"That is so childish."
She tosses a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth. "But it works. Men never outgrow that junior high shit. They hear a lady is interested in them, and they jump"
Will Dewey jump? I can't see that man getting off the ground. "What if he don't jump?"
"You don't think Dewey will jump?"
"No"
"Well, that means he ain't married. You don't ever want one of those"
This child amazes me. She can be so smart sometimes. "How you know Dewey ain't married?"
"Cuz married men jump the highest, the farthest, the fastest, that's why. They tired of the same old pussy, want something fresh"
"You nasty."
"Just keepin' it real, girlfriend," she says, waving one hand and snapping her fingers.
"Real nasty." I eat a single piece of popcorn, letting that buttery taste roll around my mouth till the piece dissolves. I will eat these one at a time ... nah. This shit tastes too good. I stuff my face full and talk while I'm chewing. "Far as I know, Dewey has never been married, but he has two kids with some sister he had been kickin' it with."
"Well, that's in your favor, Ruth. He already has a hunger for dark meat."
"Why you gotta put it that way? Maybe he loved her."
"He didn't marry her, did he?"
"No" I wonder what the story is there? He seems like a sweet, sensitive man. "But lots of folks in love ain't married." And lots of married folks ain't in love. "Anyway, he's now raising these two children by himself."
"Cute kids?"
"The cutest"
"And you want in."
"I want in."
"You want to kick it with a country-ass white man who likes chocolate women and has two Oreo kids."
The way she puts things! "Yes. And they ain't Oreos. They look just like me, freckles and all."
"Two little pennies, huh?"
"Yes" Big Penny and her little pennies. I like the sound of that.
She flicks a piece of popcorn onto the couch. "You ain't just after some dick?"
I blush again. "NO." She stares at me. "Really." She sucks her teeth. "Okay, okay. Some dick would be nice, but I want more than that"
"More than some dick?" I nod. "Oh" She munches on a handful of popcorn. "Then, this is serious."
"Yes."
"How old is he?"
I look away. "Thirty-four."
"A younger man?" She whistles. "Daa-em. You tryin' to take my action?"
"No." I turn back. "I just want some action with this one man, Tonya. Just him."
She whistles again. "I don't think I can help you, Ruth"
"What you mean? You claim to know everything about white men"
"I do, but not when it comes to kids." She pulls her knees to her chest. "I ain't goin' down that road ever."
"Why not?"
She kicks out her legs and rubs her hands down her chest and sides. "And ruin this? Uh-uh, honey. I want to be this size for as long as I can" I growl. "No offense"
"Offense taken" I sigh. "Well, tell me what you do know."
She smiles that wicked smile of hers, her tongue lightly licking her bottom lip. "I know how to satisfy them, know how to make them beg for more, know how to make them want me more than anything or anyone they've ever wanted"
"That's what I want, too, but I ain't got the body you been blessed with."
"Maybe he likes big women. You know what his exgirlfriend looks like?"
From Dee's drawing, she looks right pretty. "No, but she ain't his ex-girlfriend no more. She died a few months back"
Tonya doesn't move a muscle for the longest time. "You're in love with a country-ass, thirty-four-year-old widower?"
"You can't be a widower if you weren't married, Tonya"
"Same thing." She crunches on some popcorn. "Damn, girl, you really know how to pick 'em."
"Thanks"
"Bisexual preacher, then widowed, younger, redneck father of two mixed kids. There ain't a talk show on earth that couldn't have a show devoted just to you."
I start to get up. "If you ain't gonna help-"
"Hold on, now, girl. I have an idea."
"What?"
"You could invite him to church with his kids."
I could just bring the kids, but ... "Remember that white man who came in a while back? That was one of the few services you've been to lately."
"Remember him? Man had absolutely no fashion sense. He wore tube socks, for God's sake. And if his suit jacket had been any shorter, you know we'd have seen us some butt crack" She laughs and looks at me, and I ain't laughing. "Oh shit! That was Dewey?" I nod. She smiles. "You two were made for each other. Neither one of you can dress yourselves for shit, but maybe if you dressed him and he dressed you?" I throw a handful of popcorn at her. "I have just got to get you this hookup, Ruth. What you done so far to get him?"
I tell her about the haircuts and my volunteering at Avery, and she nods often. "I just ain't gettin' anywhere with the daddy, though"
"You've made a good start, girl. Gettin' the kids to love you first seems like a good plan. I'd never do it, but it could work. You ain't gonna be the baby-sitter he messes with, are you?"
"No»
"Heard that can work. I know, you could cook for him."
"Out of the blue? 'Scuse me, Mr. Baxter, but here's your dinner."
"Not like that. He's new to the neighborhood, right?"
"Pretty new"
"You'll just be the Welcome Wagon"
"I live five blocks away from him. We ain't exactly neighbors."
She rolls her neck. "Do he know that?"
"No" This might work. "No, he doesn't. But what do I fix?"
"For a white man? You fix meat and potatoes and more meat and potatoes with a side order of meat and potatoes and for dessert
"More meat and potatoes, right?"
"Right. Don't make him no casserole with noodles, and don't make him anything he can't pronounce or identify. Just give h
im a slab of steak medium rare and a pile of fried potatoes and onions."
I can do this. I could cook it up tomorrow after my shift at Diana's and take it over tomorrow night. But what if Nanna's already done the cooking? "I don't know. His mama might be cooking for him." I tell her about Dee's problems.
"That's so sad. Maybe you should make some cookies or a cake. I know, make him one of your famous pound cakes"
"I would, but the oven at my place don't cook 'em even. Half of it is cooked, and the other half is gooey."
"Cook it in my oven, then" She jumps up. "And I probably got everything you need already here, girl."
"You got flour, eggs, milk, sugar, sour cream, three sticks of real butter, vanilla, and lemon extract?"
"Yeah"
She's joking. "You even got a cake pan, a sifter, and a mixer?"
"Yeah"
Say what? "You don't bake, Tonya. Hell, you barely cook"
"I know. I just want folks to think I do. Gotta put something in my cupboards so folks don't talk bad about me." She pulls me off the couch. "Besides, I've always wanted your recipe."
"Ain't no recipe. I just make the cake"
"I'll take notes, then"
So, I make a pound cake with Tonya writing everything down that I let her see. This is, after all, my recipe. No skinny-bitch heifer gonna steal the recipe to my trademark cake. While the butter gets soft in a large bowl on top of the warming stove, I sift the flour into one bowl, then separate the whites from the yolks into a second bowl, dropping the yolks into bowl number one.
"Why you do that?"
"I just do. Now be quiet and write."
"Put yellow parts on flour," she says as she writes.
"They're called yolks." "
"Whatever."
I add the sugar and the sour cream (and a couple drips of milk Tonya can't possibly see) to the second bowl and mix that bowl till it's creamy.
"How much milk did you add?"
I don't know."
"C'mon, Ruth"
"Really. I don't know. The spirit just moves me"
"Estimate"
"A couple drips." I add the softened butter to bowl number one and mix it up. This is the longest, messiest step, and Tonya steps back.
"Why not mix it all together in one bowl?"
