by Janet Walker
* * *
That evening, Tracy returned to MacDonald Park with four glossy shopping bags in her hands. The merchandise, bought at Neiman Marcus, Lord & Taylor, and Saks Fifth Avenue, totaled twelve hundred dollars. Across her shoulder hung a soft Louis Vuitton overnight case, a gift from her second visit to the mansion. GUCCI was imprinted on the gold silk lining of her camel’s hair coat, and her sleek relaxed hair and arched brows bore the mark of a skilled stylist. On pulse points all over her body burned scented dabs of Chanel cologne, and on her wrist glittered a new 18-karat gold watch. Gingerly, Tracy touched her tongue with her lips, remembering the lipstick there, and felt tall and extravagant in her new funky flair-leg pants and platform boots. She was pretty, finally, she was! She knew it, because she had seen it in the eyes of Miz Grace and Nyeema’s and everybody they passed in the mall, and she couldn’t wait to see it in the eyes of Aunt Madge. Under the carport of the Porter home, Tracy set down the colorful bags, slipped her key into the lock of the side door, and waved at the white Jag waiting at the curb in front of the house. The Jag’s horn squeaked as Tracy turned the knob and opened the door.
“’Bout damn time!” a voice greeted.
The greeting, and the sight of her mother, sitting on the sofa in her aunt’s den, so startled Tracy she momentarily forgot her beautiful new appearance and the bags in her hands.
“Mama, what you doing here?”
Tracy stepped inside and saw her aunt, sitting in the den’s armchair. The chair sat at an angle that faced away from the door, so Tracy could not see her aunt’s entire face, only its profile and the grave set of its mouth. “Hey, Aun’ Madge,” Tracy said uncertainly, closing the door behind her. Something was wrong.
“Hi, Tracy,” Madge responded solemnly. She did not look at the girl.
Diane, wearing brown slacks and a green turtleneck speckled with lint, tilted her head to one side and looked at Tracy with feigned astonishment and demanded, “And who are you?”
Madge turned in her chair and looked. Her mouth opened in surprise. “My goodness!” she exclaimed softly.
Tracy stood near the door and basked in their stares. She blushed, grinned, held out her arms for display and turned around once. “This me!” she gushed boastfully, childishly. She waited for a response as they took in her new look. She knew they liked the makeover—had to, even though she had gotten the changes without their permission.
“Aren’t you beautiful,” Madge said sincerely, almost painfully.
Diane stood and walked over to Tracy, skimming the girl’s tall frame with mock confusion. “Where my daughter at?” she exclaimed. “Where you get these clothes? And what you do to yo hair?” she demanded. Diane reached forward to touch the hair cascading down the side of Tracy’s face, and the girl instinctively drew away, expecting to be hit. Embarrassed by the girl’s flinch, Diane retracted her hand.
“Miz Grace bought ’em for me,” Tracy announced happily. “And she got my hair done.”
“Wit’out my permission? Who the hell this lady think she is, Tracy? She cain’t be buyin’ you clothes and permin’ yo hair wit’out askin’ me! And gittin’ it cut!”
Tracy hesitated, searching her mother’s face and realizing Diane’s displeasure was genuine. Tracy looked again at her aunt, at the downcast eyes, the furrowed forehead, the grim mouth, and realized they didn’t like the new look. Or if they liked it, they weren’t happy about it. And Mama seemed to be blaming Miz Grace. There was no way to remain silent and let that happen. Tracy had to defend her friend! “I told her it was okay,” she explained.
“Oh!” mocked Diane. “You told her it was okay! I guess that make it okay!”
Tracy drew in her chin. Mama’s reaction was puzzling—and irritating, for what was the big deal when the makeover looked good?
“Yeah,” Tracy retorted. “And I like it and she like it. So why you trippin’?”
Diane flushed. “You ain’t seen me trip yet!” she warned.
“Don’t disrespect your mother, Tracy,” said Madge quietly from the armchair.
“I ain’t disrespecting her!” insisted Tracy, her voice rising with emotion. “I just don’t understand why she trippin’!”
Diane pushed a finger near Tracy’s face. “Say it again, hear?” she warned.
Tracy opened her mouth to protest but decided it wise not to. Still, her face burned with displeasure. She was confused by the women’s attack and annoyed by her mother’s belligerence—annoyed, she realized, but not as afraid as she normally would be. And what was Mama doing in Aunt Madge’s house, anyway, looking sober, no less? And why were Mama and Aunt Madge together? Had something serious happened in the family over the weekend?
“What’s in the bags, Tracy?” Madge asked calmly.
Tracy looked at her aunt, momentarily disoriented. Why were they questioning her this way? A moment ago she was the happiest girl in the world—looked and felt and smelled better than she ever had in her life, thanks to Miz Grace, who was wonderful and beautiful and generous. And now this.
“She asked you a question!” snapped Diane.
Tracy recoiled, frowning. A dot of spit, ejected from Diane’s mouth, had landed on Tracy’s lip. But in the face of her mother’s unpredictable anger, Tracy hesitated before raising a finger to wipe the spittle away.
“Answer her!” Diane shouted.
“Clothes,” Tracy replied immediately, looking at Madge, her jaw tight. She did not look at Diane but felt hatred for the green eyes that glared close by.
“Clothes?” repeated Diane. “All these bags?” she questioned and began tugging on the mouths of the bags to peek inside. She reached inside the bag from L&T, extracted the box of shoes, removed the sexy pumps and held them up for Madge to see. The women exchanged knowing looks.
“This some expensive shit, Tracy,” Diane commented. “Why this woman spendin’ this kinda money on you?”
Tracy stared at her mother and opened her mouth to respond, but she did not know what to say.
“Hm?” persisted Diane. “Why she doin’ that?”
Filled with exasperation, Tracy couldn’t contain sarcasm. “Maybe she thought I needed some new clothes, Mama, I don’t know. Not like you buy me any.”
Diane’s hand jerked upward, halted, trembled in mid-air and became a fist.
“All right, Tracy,” warned Madge.
The fist became a strong pale finger that pointed at Tracy’s face. “You got one mo time to git smart wit’ me t’night!” Diane warned.
“I wasn’t getting smart with you!”
“You gittin’ smart wit’ me now!”
Tracy sighed deeply, nervously, and decided to remain silent. She hated Mama, and what the hell was their problem with her hair and clothes?
“And where you been?” Diane demanded.
Tracy looked at her mother queerly. “With Miz Grace,” she replied, in a tone that meant, Why would you ask such a stupid question when you already know the answer?
“Damn right you been wit’ Miz Grace!” commented Diane. “Every weekend for a whole month! You ain’t got no home no mo?”
Tracy’s confusion deepened. Why this attack when they had given her permission to spend the night with Miz Grace? She looked at her aunt for an explanation. Madge Porter’s face was a cool, unreadable plane. Tracy looked again at Diane. “Aunt Madge told me I could spend the night with Miz Grace,” the teen explained.
Diane lifted a finger to indicate the number one. “One time, Tracy!” she clarified. “Madge said you could spend the night wit’ Jazz Nelson wife one time! You wasn’t s’posed to move in wit’ the lady!”
Tracy’s mouth fell open in genuine surprise and she looked at her aunt for rescue. “I thought everything was okay,” she explained.
Madge let out a heavy sigh. Her hands were folded in her lap. “My understanding was what Diane just said, Tracy,” said Madge, speaking softly, “and that is, that you were supposed to spend one weekend with Miss Grace. That’s what she told
me the first time we spoke on the phone. She said because you were her best player, she wanted you to come over to meet her husband. That was Thanksgiving weekend.”
Tracy boiled with frustration and confusion. What, really, was their problem? Were they upset because she let Miz Grace buy her new clothes and put a perm in her hair? Or did they want her to pick up the old routine of going home to Area Place every weekend, and is that why Mama was there? Tracy shuddered. She hoped not. Because even though Miz Grace had promised to put an end to the weekend visits, what if she were unable to do so? What if Mama somehow kept the right to make her, Tracy, return home on Saturdays? The thought of giving up the wonderful weekends with Miz Grace, talking and laughing with the woman, being hugged and praised by her and hanging out in a mansion and riding in the Jag and feeling like the spoiled child of a beautiful rich woman—the thought of giving all that up so that she could return home to Mama and Charles and Area Place was more than Tracy could bear. And realizing that her mother and aunt had the power to make this nightmare happen frightened Tracy so much she relinquished her defensiveness and sarcasm and softened into humility. “I-I ain’t know it was a problem,” she said apologetically to Madge.
“Well, it has become one,” said Madge. “And what time is it, Tracy? What time did I tell you to be back here on Sundays?”
Tracy hesitated. Somewhere in her memory was a shadowed recollection of a rule she had never really obeyed. “Um, three o’clock?” she asked.
“That’s right,” said Madge. “And what time is it now?”
Tracy shrugged a shoulder dumbly.
Madge tilted her head at an angle and said, “Why don’t you look at your new watch?”
Tracy looked at her wrist, at the new gold-plated timepiece, and then glanced with blushing embarrassment at her aunt. At the same time she realized her hands were empty. At some point she had released the shopping bags.
“Miz Grace buy you that?” Madge asked.
“Yeah.”
Diane reached forward and roughly grabbed Tracy’s forearm. “That’s a expensive watch, Tracy!” she charged. To Madge, she explained, “A watch like this cost at least five hundred dollars. What she doin’ buyin’ you that?”
Tracy stammered. “She just, um…” She paused, for Diane was regarding her with studied interest and Tracy did not know why. Finally, Diane stepped away, pacing and thoughtful. Uneasy and weary because of her mother’s persistence, Tracy looked at the other woman in the room. “Aun’ Madge,” she said, “I’m sorry I got home late. That’s all I can say.” She bent over and grabbed the bags and shrugged. “And Mama, I don’t know what you want me to say. I mean, I don’t even live with you no more, so…”
Tracy’s head was bowed as she retrieved her bundles, so she did not see Diane’s reaction. But she heard it and looked up just as her aunt sprang from the armchair and intercepted Diane’s lunge toward the girl.
“Diane!”
Madge inserted herself between mother and daughter and firmly pushed against Diane’s straining body.
“Who the hell you think you talkin’ to!” Diane demanded as she leaned around Madge’s arm.
“Diane, stop it!” warned Madge.
Diane quit struggling against Madge’s restraint but continued to sulk. “How she gon’ say some shit like that to me? She don’t live wit’ me no mo,” she repeated. She addressed Tracy with renewed anger. “So what that mean? You don’t owe me no explanation for what you do? You better remember I’m still yo mama, I don’t care if I live five hundred miles away!”
Tracy stood aright now, bags in hand, surprised and frightened by her mother’s attempted attack. She never expected Diane to have the courage to hit her in front of Madge. “I ain’t do nothing!” she whined in protest.
“Go to your room, Tracy,” ordered Madge.
“But I ain’t do nothing!” the girl repeated on the verge of tears.
“See there!” accused Diane. “That’s her problem! Don’t never think she do nothin’ wrong! Lemme go—I ain’t gon’ hit ’er!” Diane yanked free of Madge’s grasp and walked over to Tracy. She raised a lecturing finger in the girl’s face. “See, you done been wit’ rich folk so much you think you grown!”
“No, I don’t,” Tracy denied.
“Oh, yeah, you do,” said Diane, nodding. Her expression became sly. “Unless,” she added, “sump’m else got you thinkin’ you grown.”
Tracy frowned, confused. “What?” she asked.
“All right, Diane,” warned Madge.
“‘All right, Diane’ what?” snapped Diane. “She need to hear it!”
“Hear what?” asked Tracy, looking at her aunt and mother in confusion. What were they talking about?
Diane opened her mouth to answer Tracy, then changed her mind, pressed her lips together, and looked expectantly at Madge.
Madge looked at Tracy with concern. “Tracy. Your mother and I…just think that…you’re spending too much time with Miss Grace. We both agree you need to be home on the weekends. With your family.”
The shopping bags dropped to the floor.
“Why? I like being with Miz Grace! I have fun with her! I don’t have no fun in Area Place! Sit up in that room all day! Nothing to do! House dirty! No food! Men all up in there!”
Diane’s raised voice was a hoarse complaint. “Don’t nobody care how you feel ’bout it! If I say you comin’ home, you bringin’ yo ass home! Plus, we wadn’t just talkin’ ’bout Area Place! You s’posed to be here Friday and Sunday, and you ain’t even doin’ that! So don’t be ackin’ like it’s just my house you wanna stay ’way from!”
Tracy twisted her head from left to right to ease the tension in her neck. When her head came to a stop, she was looking at her mother. Down at her mother. She suddenly relished the fact that she was taller than Diane. Taller and younger and, because of the training she had received as a Grace Girl, probably stronger now, too. This realization emboldened Tracy so much that when Diane returned Tracy’s stare, the girl did not avert her eyes. Mother and daughter were looking at each other when Tracy heard her aunt begin speaking.
“Tracy, whether you want to be here or not is irrelevant. The bottom line is you won’t be spending the night with Miss Grace anymore.”
The spell of defiance was broken. Tracy threw a horrified gaze at her aunt. “What?” she asked breathlessly.
“You heard me.”
“Aun’ Madge!” Tracy pleaded.
“No.”
“You can’t do that! I got to go to Miz Grace’s house!”
“Got to?” questioned Madge.
Diane whipped a knowing look at her sister. “See there? See how she ackin’? Talkin’ ’bout she gotta go! Like it’s a fix!”
Madge remained firm. “No, Tracy,” she repeated.
The denial ignited Tracy’s anger. “I don’t care what y’all say, I’m going!” she announced.
Madge stiffened, surprised by the open defiance. “Not if we say you’re not!”
“Yes, I am!” replied the girl. “I don’t wanna be here all the time! Go to the boring Kingdom Hall! I don’t wanna live like that—I don’t wanna be you!” She looked at Diane. “And ain’t no way I’m living with you no more! You crazy and I hate you!” she screamed, snatching up the shopping bags again.
“Hate me?” Diane repeated. She laughed harshly. “I got news for you, honey. The feelin’ might be mutual!”
“Diane!” Madge reproved angrily.
Tracy dropped the bags, looked triumphantly at her aunt, and indicated Diane with a gesture. “See there? She say things like that all the time! That’s why I’m gonna stay with Miz Grace!”
“Oh, really?” challenged Madge. “Has Miss Grace asked you to stay with her?”
“Nope. But she’ll let me! At least she like me for who I am! Don’t try to make me be what she want me to be!”
“You sure ’bout that?” questioned Diane knowingly.
Tracy did not reply, for she did not understand th
e implication of her mother’s question.
“And since we on it,” continued Diane, with mock inquisitiveness, “how do she like you, Tracy?”
Tracy frowned again. Another strange remark she didn’t understand. She swung her head to the left and looked at her aunt. Madge lowered her eyes with embarrassment and was silent—and for Tracy, something about her aunt’s reaction revealed the truth. Made everything make sense, suddenly. The averted eyes, the uncomfortable silence, the serious face and adamant objections, Mama’s strange comments and final question. Understanding came crashing down on Tracy Sullivan with a weight so shocking it left her speechless. She stared at her aunt in disbelief, then looked at her mother in the same way. A sudden sick feeling crept into her stomach. Unable to respond any other way, Tracy calmly bent down, picked up the shopping bags one more time, and headed for the door that led to the living room.
“Tracy,” pleaded Madge.
Tracy ignored her aunt’s voice and kept walking.
“Tracy. Wait.”
Tracy halted, scowling and silent, tears slipping down her cheeks. She stared at the floor because she couldn’t stand the sight of the two women.
Madge walked over, her eyes compassionate, her manner gentle. “We’re not accusing you of anything, baby. It’s just that Miss Grace has done some things that—well, that worry us.”
Tracy stared at the floor, did not wipe away the tears.
“For instance, Tracy, how old is she? Thirty? Thirty-one? Why would a woman that age want to be friends with a sixteen-year-old girl? That’s not normal. And why didn’t I meet her properly, in the beginning?”
Tracy tossed a meaningful sidelong glance at her aunt and then resumed her watch of the floor.
“I know: You introduced us before you went to see her husband play, and we’ve spoken on the phone, but that’s not how mature adults meet the guardian of a child they want to take home. She has never even spoken to your mother! And the first time she came to pick you up, and every time since then, she comes here and gets you and does not have the decency to step out of her car and come inside and greet me properly. That worries me, Tracy. It’s rude. And it makes me think she has something to hide. Do you understand? No, you don’t, because you’re young and you still have a lot to learn about people, baby. Now I know you really like Miss Grace, but your mother and I are older, and we just might see some things you don’t see at your age.”
Tracy gritted her teeth and pressed her lips together. Everything Aunt Madge said had a simple explanation: Miz Grace was shy—even Jazz Nelson had said so the night Tracy met him at the Summit. Shy, and didn’t like meeting people, and that was why she never came inside the house. And like Aunt Madge had said, Miz Grace had met her before the Majestics game, even if it was in the driveway, so there really shouldn’t have been a big deal. But despite thinking all this, Tracy remained silent. Her head was hot with anger and hatred and she did not trust herself to speak.
After a moment, Diane’s voice sounded on the other side of the room.
“And you ain’t gotta come home on the weekend. Long as you here and not at that lady house.”
Tracy did not acknowledge the words. Rather, with her back to her aunt and mother, she hesitated long enough to make sure the lecture was over, and then she secured her grip on the shopping bags and walked out of the room.
