A Day Late and a Dollar Short

by Terry McMillan

  George is crying, too. We both cry until I know for sure that our pain isn't the same. Coming from two very different places. I suppose he is sorry, but most criminals are after they get caught. I'm sorry for him. Sorry for Shanice. Sorry for me. But I'm not going to be a fool. Not take any more chances with my daughter's life. I look down at him and I simply say, "I want you out of here before this day is over. If you refuse, I'll call a few of your buddies in blue and you can explain it to them."

  "Where am I supposed to go?"

  "I don't know, George. But I hear they're looking for your kind in hell." I stand up and walk back down the stairs like I'm in a hurry. I bump into him to the point where he loses his balance. He does what he can to get his equilibrium back. But I ignore him, and head for the kitchen to straighten up, because he and everybody else knows that I like my house clean.

  Chapter 16

  Hand After Hand

  "You ready to call it a night, man?" Howie asks.

  We been at the tables since I got off work. "What time is it?"

  "Late. And I'm hungry. We ain't ate nothing in going on five hours. I need to eat something before I go home. Come on, Cecil. Let's cash in."

  I look down at my chips. Hell, what's to cash? Chump change. I ain't got but two or three hundred. Howie in better shape than me, but some nights is like this. We pick up our chips and take 'em over to the change booth, where one of my least favorite clerks is working: Betty Sue, a redneck from Reno who shoulda stayed there. She got a high-and-mighty attitude to go with that thin brown hair that look like a rat's nest on top of her head. She act like it's downright painful when a black man cash in, and right now I'm a lit tl e pissed 'cause I ain't handling more than I am.

  I don't say a word. Just watch her fingers flip through them bills like feathers. Howie get his take and we head on over to the restaurant. It ain't crowded, not this time of night. It's a Monday. No big conventions in town this week. Thank the Lord. Which mean maybe we stand a chance on making a few dollars around here tomorrow.

  We sit in a booth, where we can still see the casino and folks walking back and forth picking which slot machine looks lucky, which dealer looks like he'll give you that winning hand after hand after hand. I would love to tell these knuckleheads that ain't no lucky machines or no such thang as a good dealer. The odds is stacked against the gambler. Casinos is in the business o f m aking money. So-some days they let you win. But most days you lose. Its simple arithmetic. It shouldn't take all day to figure out which of them days you on. But, hell, I thought everybody knew that.

  A redheaded waitress comes over to take our order: she's new.

  "We'll both have the well-done steak and eggs with hash browns and white toast," Howie says.

  She looks at me and I give her a look that says, "He said 'we,' didn't he?" She turns and walks away. Her orange uniform don't look so hot with her hair that color and her skin being so pale. I wouldn'ta took this job if I was her. There's hundreds of places just like this one in this town that got uniforms that would go a whole lot better with that copper-penny color. But I'm just a man, so what do I know?

  "So how was it seeing your kids, Cecil?"

  I take a sip of my water. "It's hard to say, Howie."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Well, I thank they mad at me."

  "For not being over there with Viola?"

  "That, and for being with somebody else."

  "They just have to get used to it, then, don't they?"

  "I guess."

  Howie lights a cigarette and blows the smoke away from me. He know I'm allergic to it, but I'm so used to it now I don't know if it even bother me no more. He ain't got no wife or no steady woman in his life-just visitors, as he call 'em-and nobody but me for a friend. But he got a dog: a German shepherd he call Lassie, which I told him when he got him was a stupid name for the dog-considering-but Howie said he always loved that TV show and how much that dog could do, and he was naming his Lassie, he didn't care what I said. This Lassie's a mean son-of-a-bitch, too. The last thang he would even thank about doing is giving you his paw. This dog ain't never in a good mood, but I thank God he like me. Howie musta told him I'm his best friend.

  "Did you tell 'em about Brenda?" he asks.

  "I told my youngest, Janelle, but I betcha Viola had already heard something and probably told Paris and Lewis." "You ain't committed no crime, Cecil."

  "I know that, Howie."

  "So what's the problem?" he asks, scratching the top of his bald head, which is so shiny it look like a varnished hardwood floor. Howie's eyes is the same color as his head: light brown, and his skin, which always smell like stale tobacco, probably used to be a golden color, but now he done gotten older and ain't kept hisself up like he shoulda and so his face and hands-in all fairness-ain't but two or three shades above me, and everybody know I'm darker than burnt fried chicken. Me and Howie done spent so much time outside in this hot desert sun we done both changed colors, although I can't see how I can get no darker.

  "You just don't want your kids mad with you," I say.

  "Mine been mad with me for a long time," he says, putting his cigarette out and motioning for the waitress. I know he wants a drink. He usually do it the other way around, but it's 'cause we on empty, he don't wanna be stupid. Howie got a weak stomach. We learned that years ago.

  "That's different," I say.

  "Mad is mad," Howie says.

  "But it feel more like they don't like me, not that they just mad. I thank this got more to do with losing respect. At least that's what it sounded like I was hearing when we was talking on the phone. It don't feel good, Howie."

  "Well, what you gon' do, run back home to Viola to please your kids?"

  "Naw, can't do that."

  "Well?"

  The waitress brings our food, which look the sizzling-same as always, and Howie says, "Can I get a double Dewar's on ice, please? And a ginger ale for my friend here."

  She smiles and winks and says she'll be right back. She remind me of that girl on Gilligan's Island. "You ever feel like sometimes thangs is happening so fast, and even though you the one doing it, you don't know how it happened?"

  "Come again, Cecil?"

  The waitress sets our drinks on the table. Howie takes a deep sip. "I guess what I'm trying to say here is, you know how sometimes, if you blink, a whole week can pass?"

  "Sorta."

  "Well, I been married to Viola for thirty-eight years, and now I'm with Brenda, and we fixing to have a baby."

  "I been thinking about this baby business ever since you told me about it."

  "Wait, let me finish my train of thought, would you, Howie?"

  "All right, all right. I'm listening."

  "Anyway, it seem like I just blinked and my whole life done changed right before my very eyes, except I feel more like a witness to it than the person 'in it.' Do that make sense?"

  "Hell, yeah, it make a whole lotta sense. You done jumped into some new shit so fast you don't know how you got in it or how you gon' get out of it. Is that about right?"

  "Sort of. But don't get me wrong. I like Brenda. A whole lot. I might even love her. It's just that I can't believe I ain't really with Viola no more."

  "It ain't too late," he says.

  "Sometimes it is too late."

  "How you supposed to know that?" he asks.

  "I don't know for certain. But I guess when it feel like you do on your last day at work before you go on vacation, only you wish you could stay on vacation."

  "Well, can I ask you something, Cecil, and don't go getting all personally upset about it?"

  "Okay."

  "You sure that baby yours?"

  "Well, yeah. I thank. I don't see why not. It should be. Why you ask me that?"

  "She got pregnant awfully quick, don't you think?"

  "She young. It happen fast when they young, Howie."

  "Yeah, but be for real with me for a minute, now, Cecil. We done talked about this
before, and you and me both know you been having trouble in that area for some time, and I just wanna know how you able to make a baby when you ain't been with the girl but a hot minute?"

  "Its possible. But what you really getting at, Howie?"

  "She had to been with different mens before you came on the scene, don't you think?"

  "Of course. She attractive."

  "That's a matter of opinion, Cecil. But you hear where I'm coming from?"

  "Naw, I don't."

  "You got a pension. You ain't got no responsibilities. You good at the tables. I'd say you was a good catch. I'd want you to be the father of my baby if I was young and homely with three kids in the projects and met myself a middle-aged old sum-bitch like yourself."

  "First of all, Brenda ain't homely. I beg to differ with you, Howie. I'd stand her up against any of them orangutans you been known to spend time with, so shut up."

  "To each his own," Howie says, chuckling. "Just something to ponder on."

  I know he don't mean no harm. But I say, "Don't cause me to thank too much, now, Howie. I got enough on my mind. I'ma have to quit this job at Harrah's, 'cause I thank the IRS is fixin' to garnish my litde piecey check. But back on the subject: I don't thank Brenda would lie to me about something like this."

  "You ain't known her that long to say no shit like that, Cecil-now, come on."

  "Well, she got a good heart, though."

  "We ain't talking about nobody's heart right now."

  "I know. But it could be my baby. I thank."

  "How pregnant is she?"

  "I don't exacdy know."

  "Well, watch the calendar, is all I gotta say about it. Don't be no old fool, now, Cecil, you hear me?"

  "I hear you." "What your old ass gon' do with a baby, anyway? That's what I wanna know."

  "I don't know. What every man do with one: raise it and love it."

  "You might be dead before you get a chance to do much raising, but you didn't hear it from me."

  We both get a chuckle outta that one. I take a few sips of my ginger ale. It's good. They even put some lime in it.

  "But tell me something, man," Howie asks, hunching over, like I'm about to tell him a secret or something. "What's it like getting it from a youngster?"

  "To be honest, it all feel the same, Howie. Just a few different moves and a younger face."

  "That's all?"

  "From what I gather."

  "Then you ain't doing it right."

  "How can you sit there and tell me how I'm doing it?"

  "Okay, wait a minute. Now, looka here. We all know that Viola's a big woman."

  "That's putting it nicely."

  "She ain't fat. She just husky," Howie mumbles.

  "She fat," I say.

  "Okay, you said it, I didn't. But Brenda don't look like she got a drop of fat on her. Don't that make some kinda difference?"

  "Not really. Well, wait. I'm lying. I'll be honest. I like the cushion a body like Viola's provides. But in me and Brenda's case, I'm the one providing it, so it all average out."

  "You feel like you really in love, Cecil?"

  "You mean the way I loved Viola when I loved Viola?"

  "Yeah."

  "Naw, this love is different. It's smoother, easier. I ain't crazy this time."

  "You think?"

  "I know. But whatever kind it is feel pretty good. Better than the war I been in for the past few years at my house. I hope the old broad is feeling better, though."

  "Check on her from time to time, man. Ain't nothing wrong with that, is it?"

  "Naw. I don't guess."

  We sit here for another ten minutes, scraping up all the yolk with the last of our toast. For five dollars, you can't get a better deal. When I get to the employee parking lot, I unlock my car and sit inside. I let the engine run for a few minutes. I need to call my kids. Just to touch base. To make sure they know I still love their mama and let 'em know that if there's any way we can ever get back together and be happy again we'll find it. It may not be today. May not be tomorrow. May not even be ever. But if it's meant to be, we'll find our way back there. In the meantime, I just want them to bear with me and try to understand that this is the first time in a long, long time that I can say that I'm what you might wanna call happy.

  Chapter 17

  Throbbing

  I ain't doing nothing but laying here watching In the Heat of the Night, 'cause I spent my last seven dollars on a forty, a fish fillet, a quarter- pounder with fries, a quick-pix lottery ticket, and a pack of Kools. It's been raining off and on all day, and since my car still ain't running and the bus service out here in Lancaster is pretty much nonexistent, it's too hard trying to go visit somebody. In my condition, I can't walk too far, plus, I don't even know where Luisa live. I remember her saying it wasn't far from me, but, shit, where's that? Besides, I owe her some money, so I really don't need to see her today. All the other women I know-damn, right now I can't think of a single solitary one of their names-live within walking distance, but I don't feel like being bothered with no female bullshit tonight, which is why I decided to stay in and watch some TV. At least till the rain lets up. And, besides, this is free.

  Damn! I remember that Denise Nicholas chick from Room 222! She's still fine. I wonder what ever happened to that show? I take a sip from my botde and just lay here without moving. I need a shower, but since I ain't going nowhere, I take my blue jeans and T-shirt off and throw 'em on the floor and get under the covers. After a few minutes, I realize I ain't the least bit interested in what's going on on the TV, but I don't feel like getting up to change the channel either. Times like this is when I wish I had a remote control. I saw a nineteen-inch one with a VCR in it for under three hundred at Circuit City. I wonder do they have layaway? Shit, I know I'm bored when I'm entertaining thoughts about how I can get a remote control- when that's as deep as I can get.

  I'm glad that's all I'm thinking about, considering my current situation. But it ain't nothing I can do about none of it right now, which is why I ain't thinking about how pissed Mama and 'nem probably are at me for leaving the way 1 did, or the fact that they probably gon' put a warrant out for me in Vegas since I failed to appear, and if Woolery don't hurry up and pay me the three hundred he owe me I won't be able to pay my rent, get my car fixed, or send Donnetta at least a hundred dollars for my son. Shit, I forgot all about the child-support hearing coming up, and if I don't show up for that I'm in deep shit.

  But I don't want to think about none of this right now, which is why I bend over and get my tube sock from under the mattress and politely put it on with my left hand, then use my right one to slide it up and down my penis until I see myself expanding, filling it up. The friction is getting it warm. Now warmer. I kick the covers ofF, 'cause it's starting to feel like somebody turned the furnace up all of a sudden. I need this: The heat. The friction. The juice. All of it. So I close my eyes and completely erase this nasty-ass apartment and everything in it.

  "Yeah, baby."

  I knew Halle Berry wanted to suck my dick the minute she laid eyes on me. But why wouldn't she? I got a pocketful of money, credit cards falling outta my wallet, and my Benz is parked out front. Shit, I smell good. And look even better than 1 smell. "Come on, Halle. Take it." And don't she take all of it?

  "Oh, hell, yeah!" That's my girl. Halle, you working it, baby. Goddamn! She can perform miracles with those lips, I swear to God she can. I'm feeling smooth and hot, like a blister getting ready to pop, like the bristles of a hot soft brush is tickling me only it ain't funny but I'm grinning from ear to ear 'cause . . . Watch out, Halle! Toni Braxton said she can suck it better than you! Move over, girl, and let Toni do her thang. She told the whole truth and nothin' but truth!

  I wanna look down, but I don't wanna open my eyes. I feel her stroking it like she's familiar with it, like she in love with it, like she been waiting to kiss it, touch it, hold it, and stroke it all her life. I whisper, "Take your time, baby." I'm starting to tingle.
It's spreading through every single one of my veins, all the way out to the curve of my fingertips. Damn. My dick i s t hrobbing. It wants to scream and cell the world how good it's feeling right now. Now I'm icy hot and some kinda electric current is shooting through my body and working its way down.

  "That's it, Toni!"

  I love the way she's singing to it.

  "Work it, baby." It's moving to her beat. "Come on, Toni, hit any note you want to. Make it jump. That's it! Yeah yeah yeah, Toni, that's IT!"

  I feel the sock getting wet and my body sinks into this raggedy-ass mattress, since I'm now back in the real world, but I can't open my eyes until I at least kiss Toni and Halle and lick their pretty nipples and thank 'em for being at my service tonight. They thank me. They wanna curl up here and spend the night, but I say, "Y'all both can't stay. It wouldn't be right." What a jam I done got myself into, but, hell, I can't choose, 'cause I love 'em both.

  While they fighting over it, a knock on my front door makes 'em both disappear. I pull my sock off and toss it under the bed. I'll get it later. But I always say that. I wonder who the hell that is. As long as it ain't no more Clearing House Sweepstakes motherfuckers, or Luisa, I almost don't care.

  "Hold on a minute!" I holler, as I put on a pair of clean sweats and walk out to the door. "It better be important. Who is it?"

  "It's me, Jamil," a small, crackly voice says, "your son."

  My son. Goddamn. I look like damnit to hell. Shit. My son. What is he doing here? I didn't even know he knew where I lived. Open the fucking door, Lewis. "Just a minute," I say, and run to put on a clean T-shirt.

  "I can come back later," he says through the door.

  "No! Don't go nowhere. Just give me one second! I'm coming!" I run and put on a light-blue T-shirt that ain't hardly got no wrinkles in it, grab my cigarettes and some matches, and limp back as quick as I can to the door. I open it. I'm shocked as hell when I see a miniature version of myself staring back at me. I can't believe this. "Hi," I say. "Come on in."