Something Real

by J. J. Murray

  "But they're still members," Jonas says.

  "How can they be members if they're dead, Jonas? Dead folks can't vote or tithe or take up space in the pew! Give me the list." He drops the list into my hands. I read down the list and call out quite a few names of dead members. "A lot of these folks have passed, Jonas. You even did many of their funerals right here where we're standing." I turn to Fred. "Count up the names as I call them out, Fred."

  "Seventy-seven," Fred says.

  "Seventy-seven?" I say.

  Fred nods. "Two sevens, one right after the other."

  If Fred says it, I believe it. I do the math in my head. "That leaves ... four hundred and thirty-five living, active members" I smile. "And I only need two hundred and eighteen votes my way." I turn to Jonas. "Reverend Borum, I won by six votes"

  Jonas snatches the list from my hand and gives it to Deacon Rutledge. "Add up the number of dead um, the number of those who have passed on to glory, Deacon Rutledge."

  Deacon Rutledge goes through that list three times, little sweat beads forming on his gray head, and each time it adds up to seventy-seven. "It's ... seventy-seven, Reverend Borum," he says in a small voice. "Seventy-seven"

  "Just like I told you," Fred says.

  Jonas tears the list from Deacon Rutledge's hand. "It can't be, it just can't be!"

  Most of the folks in the sanctuary are up and headed toward the door. There's no applause, no cheer, just folks leavin' church like usual. The show's over, the final buzzer has sounded, and I have won by knockout, technical though it was. I collect Tee and Dee, and we walk hand-in-hand to Jonas. "See you next Sunday, Reverend Borum"

  But in my head I'm saying, See you next Saturday, Jonas. Same spot, too. Right down here at the altar.

  Lord, it's nice to have something to live for.

  `twenty-dour

  My phone rings off the hook all week long! The folks who stood up for me call to wish me well. "I gotta come to church more often," Tonya tells me. "I never knew there was so much drama there"

  "What made you come?"

  "My friend needed me ""

  Oh, this child does my heart some good. "Have you spoken to Naomi?"

  "Girl, weren't you listening? I said my friend needed me"

  "Y'all didn't have a fallin' out, did you?"

  "Hell, yes. I called that bitch up the second I got home from church and ragged her ass till she hung up on me"

  "Why you do that?"

  "She had it comin'. Sittin' on her hands instead of standing up for you"

  "She was just voting her conscience, and even if she stood, I would have only won by seven votes. So whether she sat or not, I still would have won"

  "She did you dirty, Ruth, and I cannot forgive that"

  "I can."

  "How?"

  "Cuz ... She's still my friend. Naomi will always be a friend of mine."

  One person, though, calls me late at night on Monday to wish me hell. "You're ruining our church," a squeaky male voice says.

  I recognize the voice immediately and decide to play along. "Who is this?"

  "It doesn't matter who this is. You just stay away from Antioch, you heathen. Quit coming or else."

  I start to laugh and have to cover the mouthpiece on the phone. He said heathen? What a dead giveaway. "Or else what?"

  "Or something bad is going to happen to you. Just quit coming"

  "I just can't quit comin' . . . Jonas. Dewey makes me come with just a single kiss. He whispers in my ear, I come. He merely winks at me, I see stars. Dag, I'm about to come just thinkin' about it."

  Click.

  What some people will do when they can't sleep.

  Of course, Dewey also calls me all week-"tucking me in," he calls it and we get right nasty.

  "What you wearin'?" I ask.

  "T-shirt and boxers," he says.

  "Oooh, boxers" Never understood the concept of boxers. Are men so lazy that they don't want to unzip or unbutton something down there? Them things have to be drafty. "Is your stuff peekin' out?"

  "Might be. What you wearin'?"

  "Just my soft, silky skin." I wrap my ratty robe around me. I just have to get this phone moved into my bedroom so I can roll around with my pillow when he calls.

  "Nothin' else?"

  "Oh, just a smile. Your stuff peekin' out now?"

  A pause. "Sure is."

  "How far?"

  I hear his breath coming in short bursts. "Pretty far."

  "What you doin'?"

  He takes a deep breath. "Imagining you here."

  "What am I doin' to you?"

  I think I'll stop here. The things that man has me doing to him just cannot be repeated in polite company. Let's just say that I enjoy what he says I'm doing to him, too.

  What some people do when they can't sleep together.

  Why can't we sleep together? For one thing, he's working extra hours because it's the holiday season, and the trains are fuller than usual. But the main thing is my job. Diana's overflows all week! So many folks come to hear the play-by-play from the showdown that I can't get home at a decent hour. I also can't get away to Avery to work with Dee on Tuesday or Wednesday. But now that he's back to "normal" (whatever that is), he's back in the regular classroom and doing well, and the tips I'm making are going toward Dewey's ring, and-

  I don't normally gush like this, but I've got a lot to gush about. I am an oil well that's just sprung loose, and I ain't about to be tapped any time soon.

  Instead of bowling, I have Kevin over to my apartment to hear him play "The Wedding Song" And after hearing it only once, I decide that I won't have to sing it, chant it, rap it, or even accompany it because Kevin has a golden voice, and that song is far too beautiful to add a huge pipe organ to it.

  "I want you to sing and play it all by yourself at the wedding, boy."

  "I don't know," Kevin says. "I ain't never sung in public before"

  "There's always a first time."

  He shrugs. "I might."

  "You will."

  On Friday night, I finally have a chance to see Dewey and the kids for more than a few minutes because I have been invited to dinner. It isn't much of one-Dewey picks up a box of chicken and some home fries from a convenience storebut the dessert is wonderful: strawberry shortcake with Sue's strawberry preserves and a heap of real whipped cream. A thousand calories a bite at least. I am halfway through, barely tasting each delicious bite, when I feel three sets of eyes on me.

  "What?"

  "Nothin'," Tee says quickly.

  They haven't touched their desserts yet. Where are my manners? "Sorry," I say, and I wipe my lips with a napkin. "This is just so good."

  I wait till they begin eating theirs before I dig my spoon into all that deliciousness and-

  Clink.

  I'm using a foam bowl, and there's something-clinkmetal at the bottom of my bowl. I'm eating soft, mushy, sugary food, and there's a hunk of metal-clink. I look at Dewey, my heart beating faster, my pulse racing. "What else you got up in here, Mr. Baxter?"

  He shrugs. "Special ingredient."

  I can't swallow, I can't breathe, I can't move. "Is it ... golden?"

  "Uh-huh," Dee says with a giggle.

  "And is it round?"

  "Sure is!" Tee yells.

  Oh, Lord Jesus, to find a ring at the bottom of a foam bowl of strawberry shortcake-Of course, You already knew about this, right? What a script You have written for my life!

  I move a bit of shortcake and a large strawberry aside, and ... There's the ring! Sweet Jesus! It's gold, and round, and plain, and covered with strawberry syrup, and it's more beautiful than a sunrise and a sunset combined! Instead of digging it out and rinsing it off first, I look hard at Dewey. "You're supposed to put it on me, Mr. Baxter."

  "I am?"

  Oh, yeah. He's new at all this. "Yes"

  "Okay." He reaches across the table and digs his hand into that goop, lifting the ring out of the bowl. I will not be finishing my desser
t tonight.

  "Yuck!" Tee cries.

  I shoot out my left hand. "Ain't nothin' yucky about a wedding ring, girl."

  Dewey smiles and cups his other hand under the ring, strings of syrup dripping down. "Ruth, will you marry me?"

  "Oh, yes" He slides it on, strawberry goo oozing out all over my finger.

  "Eww!" Dee cries.

  I lick the syrup off. "I am never taking this off," I say. "Never."

  "How am I gonna put it on you at the wedding, then?"

  "You ain't. This is my ring forever" I take Dewey's slimy red hand with my right. "Thank you, Mr. Baxter."

  He leans over the table and kisses me. "Thank you, Mrs. Baxter."

  Mrs. Ruth Lee Childress Borum Baxter. That's too much of a mouthful. Ruth Lee Borum Baxter? Ruth Lee Childress Baxter? Maybe I'll just be Penny Baxter. No. Sounds too white. Ruth Baxter? Sounds like a TV name from way back in the day.

  "A toast!" Dewey hollers, raising his plastic cup of milk. Tee and Dee raise their sipper cups. "A toast to the future Mrs. Baxter."

  I sip my milk, but I ain't in the mood for making a toast. "So ... When we gettin' hitched, boy?"

  "Soon."

  "How soon?"

  "Soon, Ruth, soon"

  I don't press him for an exact date, though I really should, tardy as he is about everything. "I don't want no long-term engagement, Dewey."

  "It won't be"

  "Promise?"

  He sighs. "I knew this would happen"

  "Knew what would happen?"

  "I knew that the second I put that ring on you, you'd want to get married."

  I sit back. "So if you knew, why'd you give it to me?"

  He looks at his hands and shakes his head. "So you'd know that my intentions are good, that's all."

  The apartment's too small and it's too cold outside to have the children leave us to our conversation. "We'll have to reserve Antioch quick. Lots of folks there like to have Christmas weddings."

  He rubs his eyes. "Yeah. We'll have to do that."

  Dewey ain't soundin' too serious. "You think I'm kiddin'? Black folks in Calhoun been jumpin' the broom around Christmas since slave times." Might have something to do with taxes, too, but I'm not real sure. "Now, are we gonna be married by Christmas or ain't we?" I look over at Tee and Dee, who are watching this conversation very closely. "Be a nice Christmas present for your children, right? You'll be gettin' them a mama for Christmas."

  He reaches out his hand to me, but I ain't takin' it. Not till he says we're gettin' married by Christmas. "Okay."

  "Okay what?"

  "Okay, we'll get married by Christmas."

  While the children cheer, I go over and sit on Dewey's lap, praying that the stool will hold us while I kiss the hell out of him. The stool holds, Dewey holds me, and two warm and wonderful children join in, kissing and hugging me. I slide off the ring and put it in Dewey's hand. "I trust you with this, boy. Don't lose it."

  "I thought you said '

  I put a wet, sloppy kiss on his lips. "I know what I said. I was just kidding. But understand this: when you do put it on me for real that first time, it ain't never coming off. And neither will yours." I stand. "Now, I got to get me some sleep cuz I got a wedding to do tomorrow."

  "Will we see you tomorrow?" Dewey asks.

  "Doubt it. I intend to participate all the way in this wedding, and I probably won't be back till late."

  Dewey pouts. "We'll miss you"

  "You better." I hug Dee and Tee to me. "I'll pick y'all up for church nine o'clock sharp on Sunday morning." I dig a finger into Dewey's chest. "And you, Mr. Baxter, will go with us"

  He smiles. "Okay."

  "And puh-lease wear something decent this time. Go out tomorrow and get yourself a suit from this century, okay?"

  "Okay."

  I go to the door and put on my coat. "Call me later?"

  He nods, his hands jammed into his pockets.

  "Kiss me"

  He pecks my cheek and looks down at the floor. "Bye" I lift his chin. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothin'."

  Nothin'? Uh-huh. "Then, kiss me properly."

  He drapes his arms around me and kisses me hard on the lips. "Have fun tomorrow."

  I hug him tightly. "You know I will."

  But will Jonas?

  `twenty-dive

  I call Tonya early the next morning. "I'm gonna need your help today."

  After she cusses me for waking her, she asks, "What you need me to do?"

  "I'll tell you when I get there"

  I bust up into her house ten minutes later, don't find her downstairs, and have to literally pull her out of bed in her upstairs bedroom. I look around at all the mirrors and melted candles. If these walls could talk. "Time to get up, Miss Lewis"

  "Leave me alone, Ruth!" she says, and she tries to crawl back into bed.

  I drag her back to the floor where she tries to snuggle up with her comforter. "We got work to do, girl."

  "It's my day off. I ain't doin' a damn thing today"

  "The hell you ain't! We got us a wedding to get ready for."

  She blinks. "Whose wedding?"

  I almost say "mine," but that can wait. "Junie's"

  She buries her head in the comforter. "That ain't till seven o'clock tonight, wench."

  I yank on one end of the comforter, spilling her out onto the floor. "Get up, Tonya"

  "Why?"

  "Cuz you gotta make me the most beautiful woman there"

  She sits up. "How am I gonna do that? How can just one person make you beautiful?"

  I act like I'm gonna hit her and sit on the bed. "I need a new dress"

  She stands and stretches her back. "Get one, then"

  "And shoes"

  "So buy some, dag"

  "Don't have no money."

  "Oh."

  "And I'll need you to do me a makeover, fix my hair, put the makeup on right."

  She sits next to me. "You should have come by a week ago, girl. We ain't got enough time to do all that today."

  I punch her hard in the arm. "Get dressed. We goin' shoppin' with your credit card"

  Instead of going to the mall and most of the stores I used to shop at the plus-size places with the skinny salespeopleTonya takes us downtown, parks in an alley, and hustles me down the sidewalk to stop in front of Silhouette's, a chic little boutique.

  "I ain't never been in here," I tell her. I check out a silky maroon pantsuit on the mannequin in the window. "They ain't gonna have my size."

  "They will," Tonya says.

  We stand there a few more moments. "Ain't we goin' in?"

  "We are. I'm just workin' up the proper attitude."

  "Huh?"

  "You'll see"

  And I do see and hear-Tonya Lewis, who grew up in the 'hood, turn into a diva with a white voice.

  "Tonya, darling," a pale, dark-haired woman says as soon as we hit the door. She leaves her glass-topped counter and extends both arms. Tonya must be a regular.

  "Greta, darling," Tonya says, and she kisses Greta on the cheek. I ain't doin' that. I don't know Greta that well. Tonya steps back. "You look wonderful."

  "So do you," Greta says with some strange accent. She German? What she doin' in Virginia?

  Tonya pulls me by the elbow to stand next to her. "I am not here today for me, Greta. I am here for my friend, Ruth. She needs our help."

  Thanks a lot, bitch!

  Greta walks around me, touching me on my back, my ass, my shoulders. What the hell?

  "And what is the occasion?" Greta asks.

  "A wedding."

  "Ahh," Greta says.

  "Her ex-husband's wedding."

  Greta clucks her tongue. "And we wish to look better than the bride, yes?"

  At least Greta ain't dumb. "Yes, ma'am," I say.

  "Call me Greta, Ruth. We are going to get to know each other very well." Long as you don't touch me on the ass again, we might. "Come, come," she says, and we walk down a hallway into
a larger room where three mirrors almost surround a little pedestal. "Take your coat off and stand there," Greta says, pointing at the pedestal.

  I look at Tonya. "She serious?" I whisper.

  Tonya nods.

  I ain't never been up on a pedestal before. I toss my coat on an armchair and take my place, checking out my ass in the left and right mirrors. Even though I'm in a pair of faded jeans and a green sweatshirt, I ain't lookin' too shabby. Got to get me some mirrors like this at the apartment. Dewey might like them, too.

  For the next ten minutes, Greta and Tonya sit in matching blue armchairs and stare at me, whispering things back and forth like "princess-line, empire, or a-line?" They have me turn to one side, then the other, and spend a whole lot of time looking at my ass. Then Greta starts draping different colored fabrics on me, stepping back, crossing her arms, turning to Tonya and shaking her head. In a matter of minutes, I look like a damn Maypole, fabrics snaking off me every which way.

  " 'Sense me, y'all," I say. "Is there a point to all this?"

  "We are seeing what colors are best for you," Greta says, removing orange, red, and yellow and leaving me with burgundy, dark brown, and black.

  "The burgundy, I think," Tonya says.

  "Yes" Greta removes the dark brown and black. "Yes. Burgundy is you"

  I think they're finished, so I step down. They ain't finished. For the next excruciating half hour, Greta measures the hell out of my body, writing everything down in centimeters on a yellow legal pad. I hate the metric system. My chest is eighty-eight centimeters, and my waist is ninetysomething!

  "You may step down now," Greta says. "I will have it ready in two hours"

  "Have what ready?" I whisper to Tonya as we walk out.

  "Your dress."

  "She didn't even ask me what I wanted"

  "I know. Isn't that neat?"

  We walk out of Silhouette's and head toward the center of the city. "Neat? Girl, she don't know what I like to wear. She don't know my style."

  "You ain't got a style, Ruth. Greta will give you a style that will amaze you"

  "How a, what, German white woman know what looks good on me?"

  Tonya laughs. "Greta a Cajun, girl! Shit, she at least a quarter black."

  I look back. "Her? She was pale as a ghost!"

  "She's only a shade lighter than you, Ruth."