She's crying. Goddamnit, she's crying. This can only mean one thing. It's Mama. It's our mama. Something's happened to our mama. Tears are starting to form, and that gray is turning red. I open my eyes. "Is Mama dead, Paris?"
And she says, "Yes, Lewis. She had an asthma attack a couple of hours ago and I'm here in London and Miss Loretta just called and told me that Mama was on her way to the hospital but, Lewis, she didn't make it. Mama didn't make it!"
I wish they would open this door. This Plexiglas is getting all fogged up and it's feeling like a furnace in here. Can't they crack a window or something? I forgot, ain't no windows in here. The phone is burning my ear and I wanna drop it on the table and run back to my dorm, but I hear my sister's voice again.
"Lewis? You still there?" I wish she wouldnt'a called me. Not in here. Not like this. I wanna call Mama and tell her that there's some things I still needed to do before she died, so could she wait at least another year so I can prove to her that I'm not going to spend the rest of my life as a drunk? Can't she postpone dying a litde longer so I can show her how smart I really am? 'Cause I'm ready to prove it. I feel strong enough now. Is there any possible way she could wait and do this another time? Because this is not a good rime for her to die. I mean, fuck, I'm in jail! How the hell am I supposed to get outta here to help her? And where's my wife when I need her? Where the hell is she? Married to somebody else. Remember? That's right. I'm divorced. But I need a wife. And I wish I had one right now.
"Lewis!" Paris screams.
And then I realize I'm not the only one who just lost Mama. All of us have. All four of us.
"Yeah, I'm here, Paris."
"Lewis, I don't know what. . ."
"Are you okay, Paris? You're all the way over there by yourself?"
"Yeah. But I'm leaving in a couple of hours. Don't ask me how."
"What are we supposed to do without her?" I hear myself ask.
"I don't know," she says. "I don't know."
And then we just sit there for I don't know how long and don't say anything until, finally, the deputy comes over and knocks on the Plexiglas and asks if there's anything he can do and I just tell him no, but thanks, and he asks me if I want him to get the chaplain and I say no, but thanks, and then Paris asks me can I get outta here in time to go to Mama's funeral and I just tell her I don't know, 'cause I've never been in jail when my mama died before, and it's something I have to look into.
Chapter 29
Two of Wands, or Hanged Man, Reversed
Apparently, everybody in my family has just been waiting to see what I was going to do about George. Mama's certainly relieved, and the one thing I'm grateful for is that she didn't throw it back in my face when I told her I'd had him arrested. She just said she was glad I finally stood up for my daughter. I've already been interrogated. The police came to our home. They wanted to know why hadn't I reported it before now. I told them that I hadn't known it was going on until recently, and my daughter didn't want me to do this, but I had also recently discovered that my husband had abused his own daughters. And, much to my chagrin, I had to describe to them in great detail how I found out. I even had to show them Shanice's room. But, just like they said he would, George has already posted bail. They need concrete evidence in order to hold him, and unless Shanice agrees to be examined or is willing to be interviewed on videotape once she's home, George could be walking around loose on the streets for the rest of his life, free to do this to more litde girls. They assured me that Shanice wouldn't have to go into a courtroom if she consented. As things now stand, all we have is a court order that prevents him from calling our house and he can't come within a hundred feet of me or Shanice when she does get home.
I don't know what else to do to convince her to undergo the examination or to get her to agree to testify against him. I explained all of this to her and Mama. 1 told them that a person called a child advocate-which means they're on Shanice's side-would ask her questions that would indict George. I told her that the whole interview might only take an hour. That it would be videotaped and used in court. Without doing both, they can't prosecute him. She still won't do it.
I don't know whether I'm coming or going. And my future is so up in the air at this point that I don't know what I'm doing from one day to the next. Not knowing is not a crime, and it's also one of the reasons why I came here to have my cards read. I've heard Zina is good. Very good. She's young. Can't be more than thirty-four or thirty-five. She's Indian. And pretty. There's a red dot between her eyes. I think this means she's married. She's dressed in a red-and-blue silk sari that looks like it wraps around her at least four or five times.
About fifteen or twenty candles are burning in this small white room, which has a window that looks out to a little courtyard. The smoke from the incense smells like jasmine. Zina has just unwrapped her cards from what looks like a Chinese silk pouch. It is purple and orange. The edges of the cards are quite bent, probably from so many readings. I'm sitting direcdy across a table from her. She shuffles for quite a few minutes.
"Take a few deep breaths and center yourself," she says. "Breathe and watch my hands while you think about the questions in your life, your hopes and dreams and aspirations and confusion, and try to focus, even as confusing and as difficult as it may be, and when you want me to stop shuffling the cards tell me to stop."
"Stop," I say.
She pushes them over for me to cut the deck, which I do. I've already told her why I'm here. I'm just waiting for her to lay down ten cards, which she is doing now. I watch closely. The first card is a Ten of Cups, reversed, which shows a happy couple with two children dancing under a rainbow. The second one is a Ten of Wands.
"All right, Janelle," Zina says, looking at the first two cards and then straight at me. "Clearly there's a lot of strife and difficulty here. You said you're already familiar with the cards, but if you don't mind, I'd like to tell you what they mean today, in this specific context, okay?"
"Okay." One thing I do know is that when a card is reversed it's somewhat messed up.
"The first card-the Ten of Cups, reversed here-indicates that something in your home life has gone very wrong, and there are some violent feelings here: anger and deceit. Would you say this is true?"
"Yes I would."
"And card number two, the Ten of Wands, represents your obstacles. The figure on the card is carrying a heavy load: all the burdens of the situation, you might say. Conflicts and problems. What could this figure do?"
I know she's not waiting for my answer, so I just continue to sit still, and listen.
"Well, he could throw his burdens behind him and try a new direction. Or, on the other hand, if he does, if he throws the sticks down and tries to pass over them, he'll stumble over them all over again. We've got a negative situation in your past. Great strain from holding up all the things you have been trying to hold up. So-the question is: are you going to do things differently? As always with the Tarot, your own choice is bound up with what your destiny will become, so your choices are important."
I just nod as if I understand, and I think I might in fact be beginning to.
"I see some resistance, though. Look at the card below these two, which relates to the foundation or basis of the situation-the Two of Cups reversed. To me, this suggests a relationship that has gone bad, in which there never was equality, or a split between what you do and what you feel. Now, take a look at this card, which represents yourself as you see yourself: the Five of Cups. There's a man in a cape, with his back turned. What do you think he's turned his back on?
"I don't know."
"He's staring at what he's lost, not at what he still has."
"Well, I've lost my husband. I don't have a job. My daughter's been molested. And I don't know what's next for me."
"But what do you still have, Janelle? What two cups are you not looking at?"
"My daughter."
"But there are two cups there. What's in the other cup?" "I don't know.
"
"Then that's the one thing you need to think about."
I think about it so much I hardly hear what she has to say for the next few cards. I'm waiting for her to get to that nine card. That's the one I want to hear, because it's the Hanged Man reversed, and this was the card I got the other time, and when I saw it I just had to get up and leave. When I see her finger touch it, I feel myself blink and my ears are at attention again.
"... indicates being who you are even if everyone else thinks you have everything backwards. So is there some part of you, Janelle, that is not completely accepting of your reality right now? Are you just battling what you know is true?"
"I don't know."
"Well, the Hanged Man can lead you to the real source of your fear, and, whatever it is, deal with it and stop denying it."
All I can say is, "I'll try."
"Now, the tenth card is the Two of Wands reversed. This card speaks very strongly to someone who has lived in a very unsatisfying or unpleasant situation and decides to make a change. It's about leaving behind safe situations and entering into the unknown and the emotions and energy that are liberated when this happens, but the fact that the Hanged Man is reversed suggests that you're afraid to liberate that energy that's going to come about when you leave behind your old, unsafe safety net. It's going to mean being alone, like the Hermit-which is your strongest card in this spread. You see, he's holding up the lamp, so he has something to light his way. We know that the Hermit is a wise man, so you are heading toward your own wisdom by leaving behind what was once secure but was really not secure at all."
And ain't that the truth, is all I'm thinking as I give her forty dollars even though her fee is thirty. In my heart, I think I already knew everything she just told me, but I needed to hear someone else say it.
"Thank you so much, Zina."
"My pleasure," she says. "And good luck."
I walk outside. I'd almost forgotten that I was on a quaint litde street lined with all kinds of specialty stores, boutiques, and one-of-a-kind shops. I'm not even sure how I found this area, because its not my usual place to shop. I pass a day spa, a small but packed exercise-equipment store, a pet- grooming place, a lingerie shop, a gorgeous leather-goods store, one of those new Starbucks coffeehouses, and then I come to a gourmet-sandwich- and-soup deli, but what really gets my attention is what's next to it. The store window alone looks like my own private fantasy. It's called Elegant Clutter and is full of colorful artifacts of all shapes and sizes, and I can't believe it when I walk in: there are candles and lamps and bookends and hand- blown goblets that swirl and twist and curve in purple and gold; and then I turn and see things bronze and brass, onyx and sandstone, oranges and purples; all kinds of hand-carved boxes and shelves of lotions and oils and aromatic mists and statues and stone fountains with real water trickling through them. And the walls. They're covered with a stunning selection of ethnically diverse paintings. This is great. I don't believe it when I see an entire glass case of black figurines like I have at home. And this place smells so good. I could stand in here forever.
"May I help you find something in particular?" a woman's voice asks.
I'm surprised to see a redheaded black woman about my age standing behind me. She's just as beautiful as everything else. I want to ask her how long she's been working here, if she could use some help, and if so, how much they pay. But that would be tacky, and I don't have the nerve, so I just say, "I'm just looking. What a lovely shop. Everything in here is just perfect."
"Thank you," she says. "Let me know if I can help you find anything. We're technically closed, but I'll stay open as long as you like, and please don't feel obligated to buy anything. Take your time."
That was nice of her. I have my eye on something that has Mama's name all over it. It's a bunch of gold grapes sitting in a black lacquer dish. She loves this kind of stuff. I look at the price tag. I can actually afford it. I take it off the shelf, and as I pass another one, filled with lotions, a scent catches me. That's when the woman comes back over. "That's Fig Leaf, isn't it wonderful?"
"It certainly is."
"It comes in a lotion, shower gel, and aromatic mist. There's also a candle."
I look at the price. Reasonable again. "I'll take the lotion, shower gel, and the candle."
"I'll wrap those right up for you. Are you new to the area?"
"No. I live about forty minutes from here."
"So do I."
"I live way out in Palmdale."
"So do I!"
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"Where? What street or avenue?"
"Well, I live right up on the hill."
"Quartz Hill? It's nice up there. What street? I know a few people up there. Their kids go to school with my daughter."
"Well, right now I live in Goode Hill Estates."
"Oh, then you live in the upscale part of Quartz Hill for real. I know that's a gated community."
"I'm not exacdy upscale by a long stretch, honey, and if I don't find a partner soon, I'll be moving into an apartment."
"A partner for what?"
"My shop."
"You mean this is your shop?"
"Yes. It surprises a lot of people. I don't even mention it to the white folks. Don't wanna scare them off!" She starts laughing, and I find myself joining her, even though my brain is clicking like ticker tape.
"Why do you need to find a partner?"
"Because I'm going through a divorce and I have to buy my husband out and I can't afford to run the shop alone. Know anybody?"
"I wish I could say me," I hear myself say. "But I'm probably going to be going through one, too, and right now I don't have anything to invest, but can we talk? I mean, can you give me a general idea how much it would take to become your partner? No, wait; don't tell me. I don't want to know right this minute. May I have your card? My name is Janelle Porter, I mean Janelle Price. I don't know if I'll get anything out of my divorce, but I'll get my name back at least."
"You always get something out of it, honey," she says. "But it's usually not enough to jump up and down about, believe me."
"And your name is?"
"Orange Blossom. And, yes, it's my real name. My mama was tripping, like so many others. But here's my card," she says as we take my things over to the counter and she wraps them in layers of orange-and-gold tissue paper and even puts some kind of litde twigs with buds on the end inside the bag. I look at her card. Her last name is Snipes. Of course I wouldn't dare ask if she's any relation to Wesley. She doesn't look like she could be. Oh, who cares? She walks around the counter and gives me my bag. "You'll be hearing from me soon, Orange Blossom. Do you have a deadline or anything?"
"It's June now. I'll be okay until about October, November on the outside. By then I might have to start sending some of this stuff back."
I scrunch up my shoulders. "Okay. Give me a general idea of how much we're talking about? Just an approximate, vague idea?"
"Between sixty to seventy and you're in like Flynn."
My shoulders drop and I turn back to look at her. "Thousand?"
"Yes. It's a lot for most folks," she says.
"It is." However, I feel like saying that cliche, "I'll be back," but I don't. "Well, I hope we can talk more about this real soon."
"Whenever you're ready. In the meantime, do come back. Let's have lunch or dinner or something. Do you work out?"
"I do, although I haven't in weeks, but I'm dying to get back to the gym."
"Then let's do it. Regardless of what happens. Just so you know, my lawyer and accountant will be happy to show you our profit-and-loss statements for the last five years."
"You've been here for five years?"
"Been in business for five, but in this space three and a half years. We outgrew our other store. Business is good. I love what I do, which is another reason why I don't want to give it up. This store was my first baby."
"Did you ever have a second?"
>
"Nope. Probably too late for that now."
"You look like you're about my age."
"Which would be?"
"Thirty-five."
"Try forty-five."
"I want to go to your gym," I say, and we both laugh. I'm one step away from jumping up and down and kicking up my heels when I get outside. Just the thought of actually doing something like this is enough to get my adrenaline going. I do have about twenty to twenty-five thousand in stock, thanks to old Georgie Porgie, and depending on what kind of settlement I get, who knows? But I'm not going to take this too far. Not right now. Even still. I mean, what are the odds of me running into an opportunity like this? And why today of all days? I feel like running back down to Zina and giving her a big hug.
I don't feel like going home. It's only sixish, and I decide to do something I've never done before. Eat out alone. Which is exactly what I do. I go to an Italian restaurant and have lasagna and salad. Afterwards, I do one more thing I've never done before: go see a movie all by myself. In fact, I watch two. By the time I get home, I fall asleep so hard, I assume I'm dreaming when I hear the phone ring. But I'm not. The clock says three-forty-five. Something's wrong. I'm afraid to pick it up, but I know I should. "Hello," I say with so much fear and hesitation that it probably sounds more like a question.
"Ma, this is Shanice and they took Granny away in an ambulance to the hospital and I'm scared!"
"Shanice, slow down! Where are you?"
"At the hospital."
"How'd you get there?"
"I drove."
"Drove what?"
"Granny's car?"
"You did what?"
"They took her, and Miss Loretta was looking for Auntie Paris's number in London, and . . ."
"Where is Miss Loretta right now?"
"She's standing over there, outside that curtain where they have Granny. I'm scared, Mom. What if something happens to Granny? Can you please come now? Please?"
"Yes I will, baby. You just stay right there with Miss Loretta, you hear me? Can you ask her to come to the phone?"
"Miss Loretta, my mom wants to talk to you."
A Day Late and a Dollar Short Page 34
