God Don’t Like Ugly

by Mary Monroe

  Viola’s husband, Willie, was a frail brown-skinned man with beady brown eyes and thin lips, whom she controlled completely. Viola did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, but Willie didn’t make a move without her approval. Unlike Cynthia’s situation, Viola didn’t use violence to control her husband. He seemed to enjoy being told what to do and what not to do. “Vi, do you mind if I go over to the pool room for a while?” he asked one evening when I was visiting Viola at home. “Yeah, you can go,” Viola told him with a smile, kissing him passionately before he left.

  Even though Viola was old enough to be my mother, and we didn’t have much in common, I enjoyed being with her. We spent a lot of time shopping and cruising restaurants. One evening I went to dinner with Viola at Percy’s, our favorite soul food restaurant. Her husband, Willie, had come with us to help celebrate Viola and me getting raises at work. On our table were huge servings of black-eyed peas and oxtails threatening to slide off the plates. Viola paused and wiped her lips and chin with a napkin, and then she shook her head. “I can’t believe you ain’t got no man,” she told me, looking at me across the table. Willie sat quietly next to her, speaking only when spoken to.

  “Oh, well, I have this man in the army,” I said. It bothered me when anybody commented on my solo status. Whenever it came up, I consistently told the lie about my bogus military lover to keep them from trying to play matchmaker.

  When I wasn’t at work, church, or out with Viola, I spent my free time going to movies and bookstores alone. I missed all the people from Richland, but I was glad that the ones I missed the most, Muh’Dear and Rhoda, were just a phone call away. I called them or they called me on a fairly regular basis.

  I often ran into Levi at Kroger’s, where I bought my groceries. Whenever he was alone he asked me out, and each time I told him I had something to do, which I usually did. He always seemed to invite me to go somewhere on a night I had plans to go out with Viola.

  The weeks turned into months, and before I realized it, five years had slipped by and not once had I attempted to visit Richland. I was still working on the same assembly line sitting on the same stool next to Cynthia Costello doing the same job. It was comfortable, I got regular raises, and I enjoyed it. The rest of the women were a lot more friendly toward me now, so I always had somebody to go to lunch with or for drinks after work.

  On November 14, 1973, Rhoda gave birth to another little boy. This one she named David after her dead brother and her father. She continually invited me to come for a visit, but each time I made up some wild job-related excuse. I wanted to see her and meet her children but I knew that seeing her in person enjoying life without my presence would depress me severely. She had just as many excuses not to come visit me.

  I wrote a few letters to Pee Wee because he sent me so many and, unlike Florence, who didn’t complain when I took my time writing back to her, kept telling me I’d better write back to him more often or he was going to talk about me like a dog. I did, looking at it as one way to wean myself off Rhoda. Pee Wee was always prompt about responding. In his last letter he told me that he planned to visit some relatives in Erie soon and that if he did, he would visit me as well. So much time went by I forgot about it so I was surprised when he called me on a Saturday morning in the middle of June, seven months after the birth of Rhoda’s son.

  “Hello, Annette, this is Jerry,” an unfamiliar, very masculine and sexy man’s voice said.

  “Jerry who?”

  “Pee Wee from Richland, Ohio.”

  “How are you, Pee Wee?” I had never called him Jerry and had almost forgotten that was his real name.

  “I got your phone number from your mother.”

  “Where are you?” I asked, so happy to hear his voice.

  “Well, I’m in Erie visitin’ some of the old neighborhood gang and some kinfolks for a few days. Did you get my last letter? I told you I’d look you up if I made it here.”

  He sounded so different. I had not heard his voice since the summer after graduation. He finally sounded like a man.

  “Yeah, I got your letter. Please do come by!” I didn’t have to give him directions. He was as familiar with Erie as he was with Richland.

  I didn’t know what to expect, but when I opened my front door that Saturday evening around five, I was shocked speechless. Gone was that thin, homely boy and standing before me was a tall, well-built man handsome beyond my imagination. His uniform made him even more breathtaking. He was holding his hat in his hand.

  “Pee Wee? Is that you?” It was hard to believe that a man could change so much in less than six years.

  “In the flesh.” He grinned. He had even grown a mustache.

  I motioned him to a seat on my living-room couch, where he eased down and placed his hand on his knee.

  “You’ve got a nice place,” he said, looking around, nodding at my entertainment center, the first thing I had purchased with my first paycheck.

  The furniture that came with the apartment was nice. I had a black-leather couch and matching love seat, two large beige lamps on smoked-glass end tables and a glass coffee table in front of the couch. I had purchased the imitation Monet paintings on the beige walls myself.

  “Uh…you’ve changed” I muttered and shrugged. “My God—you’ve changed.”

  “I sure hope so. The military can make you or break you. In my case, the military remade me.” He smiled. “And I’ve been into weight trainin’ for about four years now.”

  He told me about his Vietnam experience and his plans for the future. He was going to finish his commitment, go move back to Richland, go to barber school, and work with his father. “Daddy’s plannin’ to add two more chairs and will need my help.”

  I told him about my job and my new friends, but I was reluctant to talk about my future; everything still seemed uncertain at this point.

  We drank a few glasses of wine and laughed and talked about some of the people from our old neighborhood. Around eleven, he looked at his watch.

  “What time do you have to leave?” I asked.

  “Well, the last plane back to the base tonight leaves in a couple of hours. If I miss it, the next one leaves in the mornin’ at eight.”

  “When do you have to be back on the base?”

  “Oh I don’t have to be back for another two days.”

  “Why don’t you just stay the night then. I would love to have your company,” I told him, making a sweeping gesture with my hand.

  He stayed and we enjoyed more wine and a late fried chicken dinner I had delivered from Percy’s. I made up the couch and around midnight, I went to bed, leaving him up watching TV. I don’t know what time it was, but during the night I woke up and found him standing at the foot of my bed. I don’t know if it was the wine or if this was something that was bound to happen sooner or later. No words were needed. He smiled. I returned the smile, and then I threw back the covers.

  What he did to me and what Mr. Boatwright had done to me for years were two different things. And as far as the men from Scary Mary’s were concerned, I couldn’t even remember what sex had been like with them. It seemed so unreal when I recalled any of it, which was every day. The shame of prostitution as part of my work experience was overwhelming. He offered to teach me things, telling me, “We got all night.” I did everything he told me to do. Afterward, when I shared his joint with him, I couldn’t stop grinning. I waited until I was sure he was asleep before I climbed out of bed and ran to the living-room phone to call Rhoda.

  “Do you know what time it is?” she barked.

  “I know. I just wanted to tell you…Pee Wee is here and we…you know. I just wanted you to be the first to know we did it!”

  “Did what?!”

  “Pee Wee and I had sex.”

  “Our Pee Wee? You have got to be kiddin’!” Rhoda screamed. She was wide-awake now.

  “I am not kidding.” I laughed. “And do you know what? I liked it. Now I know why you and Otis were always sneaking off to motel
s.”

  “This is too much,” Rhoda replied.

  “Tell me about it.” I laughed again.

  We got quiet for a few moments but I wasn’t ready to get off the phone. I never got tired of talking to Rhoda.

  “Well, what now? Does this mean you and Pee Wee are an item or something?” Rhoda asked.

  “He’s leaving in the morning to go back to the base. He’ll be discharged in a few months, then he returns to Richland to go to barber school so he can work with Caleb.” My voice was now low and hollow. My mind was whirling with confusion and a strange sense of joy. My crotch was still tingling. I had finally found out what all the fuss was about.

  “I see. So this was just a one-night stand?” Rhoda said accusingly.

  “I guess so,” I answered, disappointed because I was thinking the same thing.

  “I figured that. You know how men are.” After Rhoda said that, I felt cheap and used. Now I was ready to get off the phone.

  I felt really sad after my conversation with Rhoda. I missed Pee Wee already, and he had not even left. I went back to sleep and when I woke up, planning to fix him breakfast, he was gone. No good-bye, no nothing, just gone! I got depressed all over again. If I could have, I would have kicked my own ass for letting a man make a fool out of me the first time I let my guard down.

  Within a week, things were back to normal for me. I put Pee Wee out of my mind and concentrated on my life in Erie.

  For the next few weeks I didn’t call Rhoda. I felt too ashamed after what Pee Wee had done to me. When Pee Wee returned to Richland he wrote me a brief note and apologized for leaving me the way he did. I wrote him back and told him not to worry, we were still friends. We began to write to one another on an irregular basis.

  About three months after I’d slept with Pee Wee, my telephone rang one Sunday night right after I had gone to bed. I figured it was Muh’Dear calling, but it was Rhoda.

  “I need you. I need you here with me real bad!” she said as soon as I spoke. Something was dreadfully wrong. My first thought was she had confessed to Mr. Boatwright’s murder and she was calling to tell me that our gooses were cooked. My heart started beating so hard I was afraid it was going to pop out of my chest.

  “Did somebody find out about Mr. Boatwright?” I hollered, out of breath. The long silence that followed scared me even more. “Rhoda, are you there?”

  “My son David is dyin’,” she rasped. “He has a hole in his heart just like Muh’Dear.”

  “What did you say?” She repeated herself, and her words were like a sledgehammer slamming against the side of my head. All of a sudden, my problems didn’t seem so big anymore. “I’m on my way.” I left the apartment with just the clothes on my back and my purse.

  The taxi got me to the airport in record time, but the next flight to the Miami area, where Atwater was located, wasn’t for another three hours.

  I arrived in Miami the next morning at 10 A.M. after a two-hour stopover in Charlotte, North Carolina. A gypsy cab took twenty minutes to get me to Rhoda’s country place.

  Even though Rhoda had told me all about her house, I didn’t know what to really expect. The cab let me out on a dirt road, then I had to walk through some woods for about five minutes to reach a clearing. Surrounded by orange trees was the cutest little white cottage I’d ever seen. A truck and a jeep were in the front yard, along with some hens and a coon dog. A young white girl of about twelve was sitting on the front porch steps crying. Sitting on her lap was a young Black boy, who was a miniature version of Rhoda’s husband, sucking his thumb. She had sent me lots of pictures of her older boy, so I knew that this was her son Julian. He whined when I reached out to touch him.

  “He’s afraid of strange people,” the girl informed me.

  “Is this where Rhoda and Otis live?” I asked, knowing that it had to be.

  The girl gave me a suspicious look, then nodded and stood up. The boy hid behind her.

  “Are you April?” I asked.

  The girl nodded again and started wiping her nose with the tail of her flowered dress. She was a pretty child, with milky white skin, huge brown eyes, and a single blond braid.

  “Where is Rhoda? Where is her husband?”

  “Mr. Otis is in Jamaica with his daddy. They’re on the way back home now. Miss Rhoda is on the back porch with the baby. She told me to keep this boy here with me so she could tend to the little one.”

  I snatched open the front screen door. Not being familiar with the house, I didn’t know where to run once I got inside. Just as I expected, Rhoda had decorated her home nicely, with wicker furniture, lush green carpets, large white lamps, an elaborate fish tank with an assortment of exotic fish, and a library in the living room that contained hundreds of books.

  “I’ll show you.” April grabbed my hand and led me through the house to the kitchen. Outside on the back porch sat Rhoda in a rocking chair, holding David. Her right nipple was in his mouth, and she was rocking him and humming. Tears came to my eyes when I noticed a squirrel with a white paw like the one I had played with as a child perched in a corner on the porch looking up at Rhoda. I blinked hard to contain myself.

  “Rhoda, is he going to be all right?” I asked softly, moving toward her. She looked at me with red, swollen eyes. Smiling sadly, she stopped humming and shook her head slowly. Then she looked away and started humming again.

  April tugged on my arm. “Lady, he’s dead,” she whispered. “He died last night.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Since I’d left Erie with nothing but my purse, I took a cab back into Miami the same day I arrived to pick up a few items I’d be needing during my stay at Rhoda’s house. The most difficult purchase was a simple black dress to wear to the baby’s funeral.

  I didn’t plan to return to Erie until the weekend. I called Viola from Rhoda’s living room phone to tell her where I was and why. “Annette, don’t you worry about nothin’. I’ll call the shift supervisor right away and tell him where you at and why and that you won’t be back to work for a few days,” Viola told me.

  Right after I finished my conversation with Viola I called up Muh’Dear to tell her about David’s death, but she already knew from the Nelsons. “And did Rhoda tell you about that brother of hers? That mannish boy Jock.” Muh’Dear whispered.

  “What about him?”

  “Since he been back from Vietnam, he’s been real strange. Shell-shocked, Mr. King called it. Chasin’ cars, spit-tin’ on folks. He went up to Scary Mary and slapped her so hard her wig flew off,” Muh’Dear told me.

  “Rhoda didn’t tell me about Jock,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder. A doctor had sedated her, but she was up and about anyway.

  “Well don’t bring it up at a time like this,” Muh’Dear pleaded.

  “Rhoda’ll be fine. I’m going to to help her prepare dinner,” I said, glad Muh’Dear got off the phone right away.

  Rhoda’s kitchen was larger than one would expect. So was her living room. The three bedrooms, all neat and brightly furnished, were small, which made them seem congested. “April keeps this place neat as a pin.” Rhoda laughed. She was standing over the sink washing collard greens when I joined her after my conversation with Muh’Dear. I was sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea. Before I could speak Otis popped into the kitchen, looking tired and beaten down. While Pee Wee had blossomed so to speak and turned into a real hunk, Otis’s good looks had started to fade already. At twenty-five, he looked ten years older.

  “Hi, Otis. How are you feeling today?” I said, trying to smile. The funeral had been the day before. His eyes were still red and swollen.

  “Oh, I’m getting along as well as can be expected,” he mumbled. He went to Rhoda, brushed her lightly across her face, whispered something in her ear, and then excused himself. Rhoda sighed and came to the table with a dishpan containing the greens. Without a word she handed me a knife, and we both started cutting up the greens.

  “Men,” she huffed. “He’ll come back smelli
n’ like a beer garden and finish drivin’ me crazy.” Rhoda seemed like she was talking more to herself than she was to me.

  I cleared my throat. “Um…whatever happened to your white cousins Alice Mae and Mae Alice? I was suprised they didn’t come down for the funeral,” I said.

  Rhoda chuckled first. “Oh didn’t I tell you? Alice Mae ‘married’ a woman and is living with her in Detroit.” Rhoda bowed her head and looked at me with a strange expression on her face.

  “She’s a lesbian?” I gasped.

  “Always has been. I said I’d never tell you this, but she had the hots for you. The minute she met you when Granny Goose died, she told me and her twin. I told her not to waste her time or yours.”

  I was stunned. So stunned I didn’t know how to respond to Rhoda’s news. “What about her twin? Where is she?” I was taking my time cutting up the greens. I wanted to savor my moments alone with Rhoda.

  “Sellin’ pussy all over the state of Alabama like Aunt Lola did for so many years. And the killin’ things is, Aunt Lola’s the main one tryin’ to talk her into quittin’. I don’t judge anybody. I say do what you gotta do. All women use their pussy in some kind of way to get what they want. That’s how my mama kept my daddy under control. That’s what’s made Scary Mary so much money.”

  “Yeah. I got a feeling that’s how me and Muh’Dear survived,” I mouthed.

  “I know for a fact it is,” Rhoda said, looking directly into my eyes. “Scary Mary told me your mama used to turn a few tricks on the side when you guys were real down-and-out,” Rhoda paused and looked me in the eyes. Neither one of us blinked. “And everybody knows about your mama and Judge Lawson. They’ve had a thing goin’ on for years. Now she’s got that Buttercup restaurant man, Mr. King, in her hip pocket.” Rhoda’s voice got real low, and she looked around before continuing. “And remember those times you’d do it with Buttwright without a fuss, just to get money to go to the movies and stuff with?”