by Cydney Rax
“All right. I’m tired, girl,” I say and push my swivel chair back from my desk.
“I think you have enough to get started. One last thing, though—you need to post a photo.”
“Hmm, I hate taking pictures. Not very photogenic.”
“Just submit your best photo.”
“My favorite slash best photo is one where Jeff and I are standing cheek to cheek. I love that picture, but no way it’s going on SoulSingles.”
“Then take a new picture.”
“Shoot, look at my hair. I’ve got a couple of pimples on my face. Yuck. No one’s going to be attracted to me.”
“Girl, if these ugly-ass men have enough nerve to put their pictures up there—”
“You calling me ugly, Alita?”
“No, fool. You’re cute as a button. You just don’t realize it.” Alita places her hands on her hips, then smiles. “Hey let’s play a little game. But we gotta hook up with London and see if she’ll be in on it. Knowing my cousin, she’ll say yes.”
Alita gets her cousin on the phone, and they chitchat for a few. “London is in the area, actually at First Colony Mall. I told her we’ll meet her there.”
“What’s she doing at the mall?”
“Some guy gave her a JCPenney gift card. So she’s checking out jewelry They’re having a diamond and gold sale. Seventy percent off.”
“Hmm, must be nice. Let’s go,” I say, excited.
We get in my car and it takes ten minutes to get to the mall, park, and reach the jewelry department. The well-lit displays make the diamond rings, earrings, and necklaces look so alluring. We spot London immediately. She favors the singer Leona Lewis. Tall and shapely with those long Shirley Temple curls cascading down her back. She’s rocking some 7 for All Mankind wide-leg jeans, red pumps, and a black Ed Hardy T-shirt with the ugly skull graphic on the front.
Every guy that passes by does a double take. It must be the fact that her big round booty looks great in her tight jeans.
“Hey hey, now,” Alita yells. “What’s up, Cousin?”
“Oh, hey, cuz. Hi, Rachel. I’m almost finished.”
“Find anything?” Alita asks.
“Yeah, I want some more gold hoop earrings. These are perfect,” she says and asks the dark-haired female salesclerk to ring up her purchase. I notice that even the salesclerk is blushing and can’t take her eyes off London.
London beams and barely notices all the attention that people are giving her. Scattered customers standing idly nearby. Several older men who obviously were walking hand in hand with their senior wives.
“Hey, London, we don’t want to keep you long. I just wanted to say hello, and I gotta ask you for a huge favor. It has to do with my friend,” she says and nods at me. We’ve just left the jewelry department and are now walking through the busy, noisy mall.
Teen girls are hanging out, clutching tiny purses to their sides. Thirty-something moms are pushing their toddlers in strollers. Dozens of men are walking around in packs, ogling women, loudly laughing and flirting.
“No problem,” London says. “What do you need me to do?”
“Well,” Alita says, smiling. “We’ve signed Rachel up on SoulSingles.”
“Oh, cool. That site is a trip. But I’ve met a couple decent guys on there, and we still hook up from time to time.”
“Good for you, London,” I tell her. “That’s all I want. Maybe meet some guys who’ll turn out to be good friends, potential companions. I’m not exactly looking for a husband or anything.”
“You can find anything and everything on the site,” London replies.
“Anyway,” Alita says. “We’ve done everything except Rachel’s picture. I really want a photo that stands out. Do you have any old ones we can use?”
“Are you joking? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“C’mon, please. We’ll post it up there for just a couple of days. Until we take a nice picture of Rachel, Photoshop it—”
“Hey,” I say pretending to be annoyed.
Alita giggles. “No, seriously. I don’t want to deceive any guy, but it’ll be fun to see who contacts Rachel if we post your sexy photo up on the site.”
“Ya’ll are being naughty.” London smirks. “But hey, what the heck? It’s not like guys don’t post fake profiles, fake photos. Equal opportunity, right, ladies?”
I smile but feel a little uncomfortable. What if they lust over London’s gorgeous pictures, ask me out on a date, see me in person, and then get pissed off because I look nothing like my photo?
“Ladies, I dunno. I told them I’m not playing games. So maybe we should just take a thousand photos of me, and hope one turns out good.”
“We’ll do both,” Alita says. “Now, London, promise me you’ll e-mail like five photos. They can be old, I don’t care. I just feel mischievous.”
“You’re feeling naughty on my account. What if I miss out on a good man behind you wanting to play?”
“Rachel, c’mon. Just one day. Post London’s pic for one freaking day. Jeez, live a little.”
I roll my eyes and fume inside. Alita continues to nag me, tugs my elbow, and laughs uproariously, sounding so loud it’s like she’s trying to embarrass me in front of everyone at the mall. I finally say “Okay okay okay. One day only. I hope I don’t regret this.”
Alita, London, and I hang out at the mall for another half-hour, window shopping, oohing and ahhing over cute shoes, and spraying ourselves with sweet-smelling perfume at Sephora. We group hug and wave bye to London. On the way back to my apartment, Alita says says she’s gotta meet Hen for dinner and a movie. She tells me she’ll e-mail me late tonight and makes me promise to load one of London’s pictures.
I’m perched on the couch in the living room that night when I hear a clamor outside my apartment. I stand in front of the window and pull back the shade. Marlene and Aunt Perry are standing next to Perry’s cute little Mazda yapping away.
Intrigued, I step outside on the balcony. Perry points at me. Marlene turns around and stares at me, then looks back at my aunt.
“Go ahead,” I hear Perry say. “Ask her.”
Even more curious, I run down the stairs and walk up to them. “Ask me what?”
“Your knucklehead sister wants to know if you’d like to go to service with her tomorrow. It’s Women’s Day, and you’re supposed to bring all the women you can. I told Marlene I’ll go, but only if you go, too.”
“Say what?” I screech. “You’re pulling me into something …”
“It’s not just something,” Marlene says, and finally looks at me. “It’s church.”
“Jeez, I dunno. I may be busy,” I reply.
“Busy doing what?” Perry asks. “Scratching your ass? Sleeping till noon, then going out to eat at Denny’s?”
“Perry,” I begin.
“Perry nothing. As your favorite and most lovable aunt, I insist that you go.”
“What? When’s the last time you went to church?”
“It was when Brian McKnight came to sing.”
“Brian McKnight was at ST?” I question Marlene. It’s a shame I missed that event. Brian McKnight is for older folks, but I still like a couple of his songs.
“Yeah, girl. He performed at a Christmas concert. I’m telling you, we have a lot of exciting things going on there. You’d like it. For real.”
“What time shall I pick y’all up?” Aunt Perry asks.
“We all can’t fit in your car,” I blurt.
“That’s a lame excuse. We’ll take two cars if we have to. But, yeah, I think we should go. Shoot, I may even bend Loretta’s arm and get her to go. Brooke, too.”
“Yeah, right,” I heartily chuckle. “No way on earth that’s gonna happen.”
“Anyway, be ready by eleven.”
She whips around real fast, like it’s a done deal, hops in her itty-bitty car, and a minute later speeds away, leaving Marlene and me standing there looking and feeling awkward.
“What’s that all about?” I ask Marlene. We begin walking up the stairs until we’re back inside the apartment. I guess we both feel too hyper to have a seat; both of us remain standing and resume our conversation.
“Aunt Perry is on a little roll, I guess. She … sees things in the family that bother her … She’s trying to take the lead … make some things happen.”
“What brought it on, though?”
Marlene hesitates and clears her throat. “I guess now is as good a time as any.” She faces me with a scared look and yanks on her shirt so that her upper chest is exposed. “I got this tat today. Perry pitched a fit. She said I need counseling, not body art.” She laughs, then stops abruptly. “True be told, I need both of ’em.”
“Oh my God, you do need counseling!” I say in shock, tears swimming in my eyes. “Girl, that tat was a foolish decision. You haven’t known the guy that long. You don’t seem to be using your brain at all.” I throw up my hands, walk in a circle, come back. “If being with a man makes you lose sight of who you truly are, maybe you don’t need him.”
“I didn’t ask for, neither do I want, to hear your advice, Rachel. That’s all I’ve been getting from people lately. Folks all up in my business, trying to run my life. I’m grown and I can do what I want to do. Have you ever thought about that?”
I want to say more but don’t.
Marlene continues. “I find it so hypocritical that my mama does whatever she wants and no one says much. Brooke walks around not caring about anyone’s feelings because she’s angry about old junk. And Perry, really, she has some nerve preaching to me. Her two precious kids. I mean, where is their father? She’s forty-something years old and acts like she’s lost her mind with her midlife crisis behavior.”
“And your point is?”
“All of us Draper women—”
“Merrell.”
“All of us women tend to do what we feel is right, until we find out we’re wrong. If I’m making a mistake, let me make it. You get it? You can’t live for me any more than I can live for you, Sis.”
She grimaces and her eyes glaze over, making her seem lost in thought. “God knows when you were barely a teen and got interested in guys, I tried so very hard to keep you focused on class, homework, chores. I tried to tell you right from wrong, tried to be the example, but sometimes you wouldn’t listen, remember?”
I nod, feeling frustrated.
“And when your mom would blame me for the things you did, I would feel frustrated. And who can forget the trouble that we got into because you hung out with your little friends and shoplifted little apple pies and bags of potato chips from the corner store? Loretta called your mom and told her that the store manager threatened to call the police on you. And when Brooke told her that I was in the store, too, while ya’ll did your little dirt, she had my mama put me on the phone.”
Marlene pauses with this incredulous look on her face. “I tried to explain to her that I had to go to the bathroom and didn’t witness what happened. Yet Loretta screamed at me so loud I-I thought the woman hated me. She cursed me at the top of her lungs. I was only thirteen. I didn’t understand. Her harsh words hurt me back then. The memory hurts me even now. Brooke said I ought to be more responsible when it came to you. I should have taken you into the bathroom with me. That month when she was gone made me feel like I was forced to do the things that she wasn’t able to do. Making sure you stayed out of trouble.”
“I sort of remember that. She made ya’ll put me on punishment. I thought it was unfair since she wasn’t even around back then.”
“And when I tried my best to watch you, but you still did what you wanted, I threw up my hands, had to let you go, not mother you so much. I couldn’t wait until your mom was able to resume her role, and be your mom like she was supposed to be.”
“That was temporary.”
“Yes, you’re right. She got herself together and came and got you. Raised you, all that, but for a while there, I felt like …” Marlene gasps, breaks down, falls to her knees.
“Are you okay?” I ask, still looking at my sister.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that … I just wish people would try to understand. Life is hard for all of us, even for me, Sis. I swear to God, I’m not trying to hurt anybody. No, I’m not. I’m not. I’m not,” she sobs, her shoulders bobbing up and down as she breaks down. I guess she’s referring to why she feels she must do what she’s doing with Jeff. Dating him, the tat, everything.
“Okay, stop crying, please. I hate when you do that,” I say and rub her arms.
“I’m just doing what comes natural. Looking for love. It just happens to be with someone who … It’s not intentional …”
“But Marlene … a tattoo?” I shake my head, amazed. “I remember Jeff asked me to do that for him, but I said no. We’d only known each other three months.” I stare at her. “See what I’m saying? You have no filters anymore … You’re just down for whatever, and that’s what scares me about you. And him,” I scoff. “Don’t even get me started on him. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.”
“Maybe he’s still hurting, Rachel.” She’s stopped crying. Her voice is calm, sure. “You hurt the man big-time. He might be seeking to heal his wounds. I may be the source of his healing. You never know.”
“But—”
“And if I am the source, don’t you want the best for Jeff? Let him be healed … even if it’s through me?”
I stare at her incredulously. I swear she thinks she’s the mother of Jesus, or maybe his aunt. Like she’s doing something noble and significant. This can’t be right. Feels too wrong.
Suddenly, my sister gives me a sad look, then wobbles away to her room.
Exhausted, I go to my own room, shut the door, and collapse on my bed. But I remember that I need to check my e-mail. I drag myself to my desk, click on new mail, and open an attachment from Alita.
London is wearing a deep-orange bikini. She’s grinning, looking confident, beautiful, and alluring.
What kind of attention will I get with that picture? I feel a little guilty for wanting to do this. It seems wrong, naughty, but what’s the worst that can happen?
I download her picture to my hard drive. Log in to Soul-Singles and add the photo. I go back to bed fantasizing about the changes that can potentially renew my life. I cannot wait.
— 12 —
MARLENE
Not Too Proud to Cry for Help
My favorite accessories are stylish hats that I can pull over my forehead, so that my hair can be neatly tucked underneath. I also adore big black sunglasses, which are back in style. When I clothe myself with both of these fashion necessities, I feel so powerful. Protected. In control.
That’s how I choose to dress this Sunday morning. Women’s Day. I’m a woman, and today is my day. Forget Rachel. Forget Perry. Even Loretta. I need to hear words that soothe my soul and piece together my spirit. All this yada, yada, yada stuff is getting old. No matter what my female relatives say to me today, if it’s funky sounding, I am going to tell them to talk to the hand.
I complete my look by whisking my favorite double-breasted skirt suit from my closet. It’s purple and has a fake fur collar that looks good on me. I shower and dress, then head for the kitchen. My sister has already started the coffee and is making some grits. I can hear the grease popping from the bacon that’s in the oven.
“You look cute, Marlene.”
“So do you.”
She smirks, knowing I’m kidding, because she still has on a striped bathrobe. “You are still coming with us, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll come. But I tell you, I’m not enthused. I’m doing this as a favor to Aunt Perry.”
“Oh, boy, then God’s really gonna bless you,” I respond with glee. “Wait and see.”
“Can’t wait.”
It feels good that my sister and I are communicating better, rather than constantly arguing. That’s how we are sometimes. We can be yelling, screaming, and th
reatening each other one day, and borrowing each other’s jewelry or purses the next and talking as if nothing bad ever happened.
“You’re welcome to breakfast. There’s enough for everybody. Aunt Perry and Kiki should be here any minute.”
A knock at the door signals their arrival. I rush to open the door, scoop my cousin Kiki in my arms, and press my lips against her little cheek. “Uh yuck. Don’t kiss me, ’Lene.” She’s always had a hard time saying my name.
“You look adorable,” I tell her. I smudge lip balm off her face with the tips of my fingers.
“Hey Auntie Perry.” I whirl around and proceed to drop some bread slices into the toaster.
“What up, what up?” Aunt Perry says. She looks fabulous. Her tailored black suit perfectly fits her tiny body. “Let’s get our church on,” she announces, then looks about her surroundings, giving us proud stares. “Wow, this is feeling kinda nice. I am so excited to be with y’all, you just don’t know. Usually on Sunday morning, I’m l-a-y-i-n-g with some m-a-n,” she whispers and nods conspiratorially at Kiki, who’s staring at her mom with a blank look. “But for once I’m starting my week off right. Praising the Lord, getting into the word, and spending time with my family.”
“Amen, Auntie,” I say. I start humming a song by CeCe Winans and finish overseeing the toast, spreading strawberry jam on everybody’s slices. Soon we all sit at the dining room table together with our plates full and eat breakfast.
“What you got up today after church, Niece?” says Aunt Perry to Rachel.
“Nothing much … I’m waiting to see what jumps off,” she replies.
“And you?” Perry asks, nodding at me.
“Um, gotta take care of some business … with you-know-who.”
“Jeff? You can say his name. Like I told you last time, I don’t care what y’all do,” Rachel says.
“Whoa, are you fu—oops—are you effing kidding me?” Aunt Perry asks Rachel.
“Nope, not kidding. I’m moving on. Not that it’s easy, but it’s the better thing, the right thing to do.”
“Hmm, this I gotta see. It’s not easy getting over a relationship.”
