“So are you saying that the sharks could like eat them or kill them?”
“Exactly.”
I stare at the crew on the boat. There must be at least twelve of them. They are all men. They are all white. They are all crazy in my estimation because it is apparent as I watch them holding up their maps and plotting their course that there is no way I’d be out in the middle of a fucking ocean diving for some old ship that may or may not have any treasure on it while sharks down there could possibly eat me up. “Black people would not be out there searching for some sunken ship unless they knew for sure that it had at least a gazillion dollars on it and even if it did no way would they be diving down there with the wrong jumpsuits on that sharks could like chew right through. Black people don’t like this kind of danger.”
Quincy scrunches up his shoulders. “But Mom, this is exciting to these guys, you have to give them that much—come on.”
I am shocked to hear him say this because he certainly is not as black as I was when I was his age. As a matter of fact, we would be dissing these people right now, calling them fools and yelling at the TV just like we used to when we turned our heads upside down on the floor so we could see under the skirts of those square-dancing ladies, laughing at them for not having anything close to rhythm, for looking ridiculous, and then during horror movies when the monster would come after the blond bombshell and she always fell down we would get mad and yell, “Get up, dummy!” and when she was too slow or broke her stupid high heel and we wondered what she was doing in high heels when she was at a picnic or at a campsite or when she finally fell into a hole or a ditch or whatever or was dangling from a branch or something we would stand up and scream, “Kill that clumsy dummy, Swamp Man! Go ahead, eat her bootie up!”
I sit here without once getting up not even to go to the bathroom which I really need to do but I made a promise to myself that tonight I would watch an entire show with Quincy. I’ve been trying to do this on a regular basis since we’ve come back from Jamaica, at least when I’m able to catch him.
The show goes off and of course the guys had put two and two together and realized that the ship had to have come from Saudi Arabia based on x, y, and z and shoot, after I studied the map and backtracked the route it led straight from the Indian Ocean on up to the Arabian Sea and I could’ve told them that but it has been very nice sitting here watching anything with my son who turns to me on this sofa and says, “Mom, I like it when we do this,” and I peck him on his forehead and say, “I do too, Quin. And we’ve only just begun.”
He is just about to hop up from the sofa.
“Wait a minute, Quincy. We need to talk.”
“Again?” he asks and flops back down.
“Again.”
“What did I do now?”
“Nothing.”
“Is this gonna be a lecture?”
“No.”
“How long will it take, do you think?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because Ren and Stimpy’s coming on in a few minutes and then Are You Afraid of the Dark?, and Mom, can I stay up until eleven-thirty to watch The State?”
“The what?”
“It’s on MTV.”
“Is it as ludicrous as Beavis and Butt-head?”
“Not at all. Ha ha ha, didn’t think I remembered that word, did you?”
“I know you’re smart, Quincy, but I just want you to keep proving it to yourself, because I’m already impressed. You see, I was generous in that delivery room and I told the doctor to make sure you got some of my best brain cells and a few of your dad’s and apparently you wiped out most of his supply but anyway I’m convinced that you’re more intelligent than the two of us put together and ten times brighter than you think you are. You’ll see. You know, I used to play a game when I was little.”
“What kind of game?”
“I constantly tried to amaze myself.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, first of all, being dumb was never a goal of mine. I knew a lot of ignorant people and I wanted to be smart, smart enough to live an interesting life when I grew up, so when I was in junior high school I used to pick a letter for the day like say B and read as much as I could in the B encyclopedia and I would circle words in the newspaper I didn’t know and look them up and write sentences using them and give them to my mother at the end of the week.”
“And?”
“And I’m all off the track. See what you made me do—you made me lose my train of thought.”
“I didn’t, Mom! You always do this and you know it.”
“Do what?”
“Start talking about one topic and then end up talking about a different thing. You should stick to your topic sentence. I learned that way back in fifth grade, Mom. Stick to your topic.”
“Okay. You know when Winston gets here some of the neighbors might be a little curious about who he is.”
“Yeah.”
“And they might not understand.”
“Might not understand what?”
“Well, first of all that he’s a lot younger than I am.”
“Mom, remember: age ain’t nothing . . .”
“I know, but some people don’t feel that way.”
“But you do, don’t you?”
“I try, but our neighbors are pretty regular folks and they might not get it and they might want to ask you about Winston.”
“But it’s none of their business, is it?”
“No, it isn’t, but we don’t exactly want to come out and say that because it would be kind of tacky and just rude really.”
“So what kind of questions do you think they’ll ask?”
“Well, like who is he, for starters.”
“And what should I say, Mom?”
“Well, I don’t want you to lie. Say that he’s our friend and he’s visiting from Jamaica.”
“That’s the truth.”
“Yes, it is. And when and if anybody asks you how long he’s staying you can say just a few weeks but he might actually be coming back to go to graduate school here, you’re not sure.”
“What’s graduate school?”
“College.”
“Is he?”
“I don’t know, Quincy.”
“Mom, are you lying about this stuff?”
“No! And if anybody, anybody at all, happens to ask you where he’s sleeping, what do you think you should say?”
He hunches up his shoulders, because he’s not sure what answer I’m looking for.
“Just tell them he’s sleeping with your mom which is why she’s looking so good, whistling and smiling so much more these days.”
“Okay, if you really want me to,” he says.
“I’m just kidding. I wanted to see if you were listening. Turn that stuff down.”
He presses the volume control on the remote a few times.
“Anyway it’s nobody’s business where Winston sleeps, and if anybody asks you you tell them to come see your mom.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” he says.
We are silent for a while. I watch a few minutes of Ren and Stimpy. These are two sick puppies. “I wish he’d hurry up and get here.” I sigh.
“Me too,” Quincy says.
“Why?”
“Because I like hearing him talk and you just act a lot happier when he’s around and plus I bet he likes playing Sega and Super Nintendo.”
I don’t touch this.
• • • •
I haven’t talked to Winston in four days. I’m kind of freaking out about it because now that we have decided to see each other on my turf my domain my soil it is dawning on me that maybe I was set up or something. Maybe he is a real gigolo like Richard Gere was in that movie, and Winston did conveniently sit down at the table behind me, didn’t he? He’d probably been watching me waiting for me to do something that would prove I was some gullible middle-aged lonely broad from America who hadn’t been fucked in months and would probably droo
l at the sight of a fine young man such as himself. Maybe he sensed it. Maybe he had his little friend Norris steal my records from the hotel files and he found out all about me, like how much money I made, where I worked and how well I lived. So maybe he already had the rundown on me when he gave me that sexy sneaky grin that day. And now that I think about it, he was sort of following me around, wasn’t he? Everywhere I turned, there he was. And he certainly took to me quickly. Too quickly if you ask me. I know if some foreigner sent me an airline ticket I’d have to know every single detail about her before I got on a fucking airplane and flew to another country to see her. He must know somebody. He could be a fucking serial killer for all I know. I wonder what it is he really wants. I mean it’s not like I could end up being his girlfriend or something. So what could he possibly want from me, a woman old enough to be his mother?
I’m tripping too hard again so I decide to go on and call him even though I don’t like calling him so much because I don’t want him to feel pressured and I want him to feel good about this whole thing in general. I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night lately wondering if I really did send him a ticket and if he really is coming and will I roll over and there he’s going to be right next to me right in my very own bed. I get a little charge when I think about it but when he comes on the phone I hear a catch in his voice. I knew it I knew it I knew it. He isn’t coming. I can hear it. I knew this was too good to be true. Knew it knew it knew it. “Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Well, sort of,” he says.
“What’s wrong, Winston?”
“Well, my parents are kind of giving me a hard time about this.”
At the sound of “parents” I am reminded that he was still living at home before he got this job. Boy. When was the last time I lived with my parents? “A hard time about what?” I ask.
“About my coming there.”
“But Winston, you’re just visiting, not moving here.”
“I know that.”
“Well, what exactly did you tell them?”
“I told them that I met someone whom I really like and care about and that she is American and she sent me air fare to come visit and I’m taking a leave from my job and I’m going to California in five weeks’ time to see her.”
“And did you tell them how old this friend was?”
“Yes. Thirty-four.”
When he hears me laugh he laughs. “Thank the Lord,” I say and I do feel relieved because if he were my son I’d be a little skeptical about his traipsing off to America with a forty-two-year-old woman he’d only spent a few days with. Really.
“They’re worrying if maybe this isn’t some kind of scam.”
“What do you mean, a scam?”
“Well, my mother in particular can’t understand what it is you see in me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. She says I have no money or anything so what could you possibly want from me?”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I didn’t know what to tell her.”
“Don’t you know, Winston?”
“I think I do.”
“And what do you think it is that I want from you?”
“Me?”
“That’s right. But let me tell you something. This morning I made you out to be a serial killer! I’m scared too, Winston, and I’ve been worrying whether you’re interested in me only because you have some sneaky self-serving reasons.”
“Stella, what could I hope to get from you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a green card.”
“But how would I go about doing that?”
“Never mind, Winston. Do you want to know what I see in you?”
“It would help.”
“You really want me to tell you, right now?”
“Yes,” he says and his voice is softening, becoming more at ease, more the Winston I’m used to hearing.
“Well, for starters, one of the things I find intriguing about you is that your eyes aren’t stale yet.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It means you haven’t been around long enough to have a warped and cynical view of the world and people or at least women and your way of looking at things is fresh and it is rubbing off on me and it is the way I used to look at things, at life, at people, and you’re not scared of the future and I am sort of regaining my virginity, if you get my drift. You’re still fascinated and overwhelmed by things and I find you refreshing and I’m glad I met you, in fact I’m grateful.”
“I’m grateful to you, Stella. I mean you are the one person I can actually talk to about anything and you don’t bite your tongue and I don’t have to pretend to be something that I’m not with you and you make me feel really good about being who I am. And you make me laugh. Not very many people, girls, women, can make me laugh.”
“I’m not finished,” I say.
“No?”
“No. I like the fact that you’re not worried about everything, that you’re still unsure of yourself but not plagued by insecurity. And I think you’re beautiful and I love looking at you with your clothes on and off. I love your voice. I think you’re sexy. I love your smile your laughter your shiny black eyes your bushy eyebrows and those thick beautiful lips of yours.”
“I’ve always hated my lips.”
“I know. I’ve hated mine too. But look at how things turn out. The very things we were teased about as kids—these big lips and round cheeks and full noses and everything—have turned out to be our best features.”
“You think so?”
“Well . . .”
We laugh.
“I love the way you kiss me, Winston, and I’ll tell you right now that no one has ever kissed me as good as you have.”
“I know that’s not true, Stella.”
“I speak the truth. And I’m not finished. I like the fact that I don’t know what you’re thinking all the time. You keep some things to yourself. I like that mysterious stuff.”
“Really?”
“Really. And I like the fact that you don’t know your own power.”
“What power?”
“That’s my point.”
“Are you finished?” he asks.
“Well, I like that even though you don’t know for sure what you want to do, you’re testing the waters.”
“Yeah, because I’m not totally convinced that I want to be a chef, you know?”
“No problem, Winston. But take it from me, if there’s ever going to be a time in your life when you can afford to take risks and chances and make mistakes it’s now, when you’re in your twenties, because you can always change your mind and go in another direction and the world won’t stop if you err.”
“See, that’s what I mean. No one ever talks to me like this except you, Stella.”
“And I like the fact that for some reason I don’t understand, you seem to be overlooking my age, and that you like me and not what I represent.”
“Your age is not an issue for me.”
“Well, go tell your parents all this stuff.”
And we burst into laughter again.
“They’re really getting on my nerves, to be honest, and I don’t understand why they’re making such a big deal about it.”
“Because they’re your parents, Winston, and they love you and they have a right to be concerned. Be glad they are. But the real question is this: What’s your biggest fear?”
“About coming over there?”
“Yes.”
“That you might not like me as much as you think you do.”
“Oh, really.”
“Really.”
“Well, let me put your mind at ease, Winston. I’m having trouble sleeping because I’m so excited.”
“Join the club.”
“I miss you a whole whole lot and it takes so much effort for me not to think about you I’m just getting to the point where I’m able to admit it openly.”
“And what about your sist
ers, Stella? How do you think they’ll receive me?”
“Well, Angela is pretty much on the same wavelength as your parents, but not to worry, you won’t be spending much time with her. Now my other sister, Vanessa, she’s got a nineties attitude, so she’s all for this and can’t wait to meet you.”
“And Quincy?”
“He’s geeked. He just wants to know if you’ll play Sega and Super Nintendo with him.”
“Sure I will, but tell him I’m not very good at it.”
“It doesn’t matter. But understand this, Winston. I don’t want you to think I want you to try to pretend to be his dad or anything.”
He snickers. “How could I when I’m barely ten years older than he is?”
Now I snicker.
“When does he start school?”
“In a few weeks.”
“And how will he get there?”
“I’ll drive him to the bus stop.”
“Could I take him sometimes while I’m there?”
“Sure. But Winston . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a driver’s license?”
“Of course I have a driver’s license.”
“Do you know how to drive on the right side of the street?”
“Yes. It’s just like driving on the left side.”
“And have you had any dental work done lately?”
“I have no cavities, Stella. What is this about?”
“What about fatal diseases? Any that you know of?”
“None that I can think of offhand.”
“Ever had an occasion to kill anybody?”
“Only twice, but I served my time for those crimes already.”
“That’s good,” I say.
“That should cover everything, I hope,” he says.
“Wait. One last thing.”
“What now?”
“Are you handy?”
“What’s that?”
“Can you fix things?”
“I can fix a lot of things,” he says.
“Name two things you know how to fix.”
“Just two?”
“Okay, three things.”
“Well, I can fix cars and bicycles and pretty much anything that moves, including you.”
“Okay, Mr. Smartypants.”
“So does that mean I can get clearance?”
How Stella Got Her Groove Back Page 28
