Momma's Baby, Daddy's Maybe

by Jamise L. Dames

  Stacking the china on the floor in separate piles, plates and bowls respectively, Daisy wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her white shirtsleeve. Her Jungle Fever reenactment of throwing clothes out of the window would have to wait until later. Her mouth felt like cotton.

  She headed to the kitchen and froze. Slowly she eyed the layout and the decor. It was nice, but too dark. The cold that emanated from the black marble-tiled floor soothed her injured foot. She yanked open the mahogany cabinet to retrieve a glass, then changed her mind and slammed it shut. Snatching a bottle of water from the black refrigerator, Daisy wrestled with the cap. The ridges reddened her palms. Didn’t the manufacturers know that women’s hands were too soft for the lines sharply carved in the tops?

  Standing by the large black acrylic sink, she grabbed a damp dishtowel and opened the water. She threw her head back and let the coolness of the needed liquid pass over her tongue and caress her dry throat. Leaning on the charcoal-colored countertop, she stared out of the bay window. The pool’s aqua water shimmered under the sun’s rays. It would be a welcome relief when she was finished throwing Jasper’s belongings out.

  Daisy sat on the sofa Indian-style, waiting for Jasper to come through the front door. She reminded herself of the awaiting china. She was fuming. Jasper should’ve had enough decency to call. Daisy sucked her teeth and picked up Jasper’s photo from the end table. One would think you’d want to spend every available minute with me, considering your job has you out of town four days a week. But no, not you, Jasper. That would be asking too much, Daisy thought, glaring at the picture before tossing it across the room. Daisy played with her medium-length, cinnamon-colored hair, which she had disheveled—when aggravated, she couldn’t keep her hands out of it. She stared at the glass-paned door, willing the brass knob to turn and give her what she wanted—Jasper’s head.

  The loud chime from the grandfather clock startled her out of her stone-faced gaze and onto her feet. Opening the drapes, she peered out one window and then another. Where the hell was Jasper?

  Tears streamed out of Daisy’s deep-brown eyes. Pounding her fist into her palm, she frantically paced back and forth. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t take Jasper’s disrespecting her anymore. Wouldn’t take it anymore. She picked up her Iyanla Vanzant book, which Jasper had bought her, from the coffee table. She reread the pages although she already knew them by heart. Jasper didn’t know how much of a disservice he had done for himself by buying the book. He thought he had given her something to occupy her time, but in reality he had given her something to think about. She sneered and tossed the book back onto the table.

  “A reason. A season. A lifetime. Well, Iyanla, you were right. I don’t know the reason but Jasper is definitely a season kind of man—here yesterday, gone today. I guess I missed this time. Every time. Jasper definitely isn’t here for a lifetime,” she said and began to pick at the loose acrylic that was starting to lift at the base of her fingernails, a result of her biting while upset. She’d have to call her friend Ming Li; she needed a fill badly.

  She plopped down on the overpriced, overstuffed sofa. She’d give Jasper one more hour. If he didn’t come home or call, she would change the locks. She’d show him.

  She engulfed her body in the hard cushions and questioned herself. Why did she sit and drown herself in thoughts of Jasper? Evidently he wasn’t thinking about her. The longer she sat, the madder she got at not only him, but herself. Why should she allow him to drain her of her happiness? He wasn’t God; he didn’t deserve her undivided attention. Although she had to admit that she treated him like a god. She placed him on a pedestal from which he refused to come down, and she had been punished for being the type of woman who loved completely. There wasn’t anything on the green earth that she hadn’t done for him. So why hadn’t he come home?

  Daisy took up residence on the sofa she had adorned in too many fringed throw pillows, trying to give it a Better Homes look, and repeatedly asked herself the same question for three hours. Why? She came to the realization that she could question all she wanted, but no one could tell her what she already knew. She had been cheated on before and her gut told her that Jasper was out doing something that he had no business doing. That was why he didn’t answer his cell phone or call her back after her numerous attempts to page him.

  The more upset she got, the more she raked her eyes around the room. The room wasn’t even her. The house wasn’t her; it was Jasper. It was all Jasper. He had been the one who wanted rooms too pretty to sit in. “Posh” was what he had called them. Daisy grimaced. She’d throw out the sofa too. She just didn’t see the point of having furniture that couldn’t be sat on. As a matter of fact, I’m getting rid of all his stuff. I’ll have a moving sale, that’s what I’ll do. But it won’t be one of those Waiting to Exhale sales. Uh-uh, I’m not selling anything for a dollar. I want all that I can get, she thought.

  The furniture had cost a lot of money. More than what she would’ve paid for it if she could’ve afforded it. But Jasper had wanted it and paid for it. Too busy with work to get out and get it himself, Daisy had to purchase it. She smiled. The receipts, all of them, were in her name.

  There was one thing that she refused to get rid of—the grandfather clock. It had accompanied her through the night and hadn’t missed a beat. She would keep it to remind herself about the wake-up call that she had finally answered. The same call that told her to put Jasper where he belonged—out with yesterday’s trash.

  The clock chimed again. One hour had turned into four. Time to make the doughnuts, Daisy thought as she reached for the phone. She called the locksmith and then forwarded her calls to a local psychic hotline. Jasper had really taken it too far.

  Daisy imagined the look on Jasper’s face when he found his things scattered across the lawn. He would be beyond pissed. Hell, the locksmith had better hurry. She couldn’t have some deranged man running up in the house trying to kill her. Not that Jasper had ever laid a hand on her, but she knew if he had thrown her stuff out, she’d take it back to junior high school, complete with Vaseline on her face and a ponytail tight enough to make her eyes look Asian. Please, she might do that anyway. Just jump on him at first sight. And he didn’t want that.

  It had been almost an hour since she called the locksmith. How many people needed locks changed on a Sunday afternoon? Didn’t people go to church anymore? She looked out her window and saw all the neighborhood kids and decided that church attendance had definitely declined. Where was he? Now she was waiting on two men, Jasper and the locksmith. She shook her head. Now wasn’t that a trip? It was bad enough that she was going to have to pay a surcharge because it wasn’t normal business hours. In the phone book the ad claimed to have the speediest service in town. Please, she had seen turtles move faster. But she was patient, she could wait. She’d been waiting almost seven years for Jasper to act right, so waiting a few more minutes for the locksmith would be a breeze, unless Jasper made it home first.

  “I’m getting my Mace,” Daisy said and turned toward the stairs. There was no way she was going to try to fight a man fairly. She was twenty-nine, too old to be fighting, but never too old to defend herself. She knew Jasper would flip, and she was going to be ready for whatever came next.

  Her weight sank into the thickness of the tightly woven rug and her brown-sugar-complected feet blended in with the harmonious colors of sage, tan, and earthy reds. She scrunched her burgundy-painted toes deep into the intricate patterns, wishing she could just dive and disappear in the inviting colors. She hated having to face the loss of seven years of her life. She’d given him so much, too much.

  The doorbell rang. Her heart raced. Jasper? No, he had a key. She calmed herself, tried to fix her wild hair in the in the large cherry-wood framed mirror which hung next to the front door, and let the locksmith in.

  Three hundred dollars and five changed locks later, Daisy was even more pissed. There went the new outfit she wanted.

  Slowly she walk
ed up the stairs, counting every pewter-framed picture of her and Jasper that hung on the wall in stair-step succession. There were seven in all, one for every year they had been together.

  Daisy removed the picture that was hanging at the top of the stairs and traced her finger over it. They were the ideal couple when they had posed for it. She remembered being young and newly in love. Jasper had been her days and nights. Now the bastard didn’t even know how to come home, or he just didn’t want to. A tear rolled down her tired face. I should’ve known better. You didn’t deserve me. Huh, and just think, I thought you were the world, she thought. “I can’t believe I played myself for this long,” she said aloud. “Seven years. Seven whole years and not once did you propose. And you thought that I was going to give you a child? You must’ve been crazy. What kind of fool did you take me for, telling me to have your baby first and then you’d marry me? Hell, I could’ve had just about any man I wanted, and I settled for your tired behind.” Daisy smashed the photo against the others, shattering them to pieces. She stared down at the pictures scattered on the stairs. She had been so happy then; they both had.

  She paused at the top of the staircase. Every door in the hallway was closed. After all the time and effort she had put into decorating the rooms, he insisted the doors stay closed. “Too much dust,” Jasper had said. But he wasn’t the one who cleaned the house, she was.

  Daisy threw open the first door. The citrus scent from the guestroom greeted her. She inhaled the tropical-mango freshness that she’d carefully chosen to match the colors of the room. The queen-size bamboo canopy bed covered with a salmon-colored duvet and matching sheers draping the posts looked inviting. Daisy was tired; her soul had become heavy. Her feet sank in the plush lavender pile as she strode across the room to the closet. She knew not to open the door, but was tempted. Just the sight of what it contained would irritate her, and the last thing she needed was to be face to face with hurt. She grabbed the gold knob and hesitated. She had cried enough. She walked out of the room and closed the door.

  “This is one door that needs to stay closed,” she said. “But the rest will stay open, and I mean it!” Daisy yelled, walking down the hall, thrusting doors open. Tripping over one of Jasper’s ill-placed shoes, she fell, crushing her face into the carpet. She sobbed, “I can’t. I just can’t . . . take this.” She pounded her fist and pushed herself up. Daisy rolled her eyes. Day-old makeup left faint traces of color on the blanket of white carpet underfoot. “Who puts white carpet in a hallway, anyway?” she mumbled and snatched up Jasper’s shoe.

  Daisy started rummaging through her top drawer looking for the red lace panties that matched the bra she planned to wear. Her phone rang. She picked up the receiver and no one was there. My cell phone, she thought.

  “Hel-llo,” Daisy snapped.

  “Day-um, what’s wrong with you? You okay?” her best friend, Gigi Mitchell, asked.

  “Yes. I mean, no. Jasper didn’t come home last night.” Daisy clasped her panties in her hand, slammed her drawer shut and walked into the bathroom.

  “No? Are you serious? Girl, you are having all kind of trouble today—men problems and phone issues. Did you know something was wrong with your phone? ‘Cause I just tried to call twice and some lady who claimed to be psychic kept answering . . . had the nerve to ask me which credit card I’d be using. I told her since she was psychic she should be telling me.” Gigi rambled.

  Daisy laughed. “I forwarded my calls there just in case Jasper decides to call. Since they’re psychic maybe they’ll tell him that he doesn’t have a home,” Daisy said, spreading Noxzema on her face. “So what’s up? You feel like going to see Ming Li?”

  “Sure. I’m not doing anything else, and Marcus won’t be over until later. So I’ll meet you there in about an hour?”

  “Yeah, I should be there by then. Make it an hour and a half. I have to stop by the ATM first. Oh, and Gigi?”

  “Yeah?”

  “When was the last time you talked to Marcus? Did he come over last night?” Daisy quizzed.

  “We had lunch yesterday, and he stopped by last night around nine and left around midnight. Why?”

  “Just asking. Listen, if Marcus calls you, don’t say anything, okay? I’ll see you at Ming Li’s.”

  Daisy couldn’t believe her ears. Jasper was slowly digging his own grave. The night before, around ten o’clock, Jasper strolled into the den looking scrumptious. His Gucci cream-colored silk blazer and matching cream silk twill pants highlighted the twinkle in his slanted bedroom brown eyes. His chalk-white teeth brightened up the room when he smiled and announced that he was going out with Marcus. He looked Gucci good and smelled Gucci fine. Daisy shook her head. It was terrible when a woman had a man who looked and dressed better than she did. She should’ve never let him go out without her. But she had always prided herself on her security. This had been the only time that it had betrayed her.

  Daisy stood naked in front of the mirror and studied her body. She still had it together thanks to years of working out. She refused to give in to gravity. She cupped her full breasts and gently squeezed them. Still firm and upright. She turned her backside to the mirror, checking her behind. She ran her hands over the roundness and shook it. It jiggled just a little. Not as tight as it should be, with a dimple here and there, but it was tight enough. I’ll show you, Jasper. You wanna play games, huh? Okay, I still got everything that attracted you to me, plus more, she thought.

  Drawing back the shower curtain, she stepped into the oversized Roman tub. She turned the lever, opening the bib-cock, enjoying the warmness of the water as it gushed out, kissing her feet. Lifting the shower gauge, the water rushed from the showerhead, baptizing her and relinquishing her of all her deadly thoughts.

  * * *

  Daisy sat patiently next to Gigi as she waited for her nails to dry in Ming Li Nails of New York and smiled as she absorbed her surroundings. Gold-framed authentic African art adorned the celery-green walls and custom carpet of a similar green and pale pink inscribed with Ming Li’s name covered the floor. New York’s Hot 97 filled the air while the televisions broadcasted BET. So much for stereotypes, Daisy thought as she admired the afrocentric decor in what would’ve been mistaken as a typical Asian nail salon by its name.

  “Gigi, can you do me a favor? Would you look in my purse and hand me a fifty?” Daisy blew her nails.

  Gigi raised her eyebrows. “For what? Don’t tell me Ming Li’s gonna start charging us now. I mean, business is business, but fifty dollars—”

  Daisy covered Gigi’s mouth. “Girl, hush and stop worrying. It’s for a bet. And it’s not like you can’t afford to get your nails done.”

  Gigi fanned her face. “Oh, okay. What did you two bet on this time? Not the Lenox Lewis fight? Don’t tell me that you lost your money betting on—”

  “Please. I won. This is Ming Li’s change,” Daisy said, carefully holding the fifty up that Gigi had retrieved for her. “She already put the salon’s money in the drop box. If she had bet on Lenox she could’ve dropped this cash in the bank too,” Daisy whispered and walked away laughing.

  Ming Li confidently strutted toward Daisy, grinning. Her light-mocha complexion complemented her slanted hazel eyes, which lit up a room when she smiled. She ran her hands through her waist-length blue-black hair and pointed her long finger at Daisy. “I know your nails aren’t dry yet. Don’t mess them up again.”

  Daisy frowned, then smiled. “Now you know better than that. Do I look like Gigi to you? You know I’m careful with my nails.”

  “I don’t know. Do you?” Ming Li laughed and patted her pockets. “Damn.”

  “Need a smoke, huh?” Daisy tried to suppress her smile.

  Ming Li pulled her pearl-pink cigar case from her back pocket and waved it in Daisy’s face. “A drink too. Care to join me?” She bared her top and bottom teeth, forcing a smile. “Just give me my damn change and leave me alone. I don’t bother you about your bad habits, so don’t bother me about
mine.” Ming Li winked.

  “Leave Jasper out of this, girl.”

  Ming Li licked the tip of her unlit cigar. “I never said Jasper’s name, you did, sweetie. Remember that!”

  Daisy playfully pushed Ming Li, and they both laughed then swapped money as Gigi approached.

  Gigi placed her hands on her hips. “I know you two heifers aren’t talking about me. I don’t purposely try to mess up my nails,” Gigi said, snatching the fifty from Ming Li.

  Ming Li flung her hair, bit her top lip, and gave Gigi a quizzical look.

  “Uh-uh,” Daisy muttered.

  Gigi smacked her lips, straightened the fifty-dollar bill, and jerked her head back. “Ming Li, don’t even try it. You know you bet me too.”

  Ming Li dramatically rolled her eyes at Gigi and turned to Daisy. “So, Daisy, what do you think now that the renovation’s finished? You like it?”

  “Yes, it’s nice . . . real nice.” Daisy raised her eyebrows and nodded, admiring Ming Li’s taste.

  Gigi’s jaw dropped. “Nice? As much time as Ming Li and I put into this place, all you can say is nice? Come on, Daisy, you know it’s more than nice. You love it, admit it. You’re going to have to excuse Daisy, Ming Li. She’s having man problems.”

  Daisy shot Gigi a dirty look, then smiled at Ming Li. Ming Li and Daisy glanced at Gigi and laughed.

  Gigi exhaled loudly. “What? What’s so funny? I helped pick out the colors.”

  Ming Li patted Gigi on the back. “Daisy, you tell her.” Ming Li retrieved a golden flask from her pocket and took a swig. “I’m going to find my lighter.”

  Gigi crossed her arms. “Well?”