Blind Ambitions

by Lolita Files

Jackson smacked himself against the forehead, opening his mouth to speak.

  Before he could utter a sound, Sharon was gone.

  She could barely keep her eyes open as she turned from La Cienega onto Centinela, then into Ladera Plaza. Sharon pulled into a parking space in front of the Fat-burger that was next to Starbucks, shut the car off, and rested her head against the steering wheel of her bronze Lexus GS400.

  She had been driving in silence ever since she left Jackson’s office, forgoing the usual comforting sounds of soft reggae or churning hip-hop filling the car. Music would have been too much of a distraction. She needed all her concentration just to make the drive. Her lids were so heavy, it took everything she could manage to keep them open. She had dozed off during a red light at the intersection of Wilshire and Doheny. The cars behind her blared their horns in unison like a cry from hell. The noise terrified her. Sharon’s eyes popped open and she floored it, her tires squealing in surprise as they spun hotly against the baking asphalt.

  That was enough to scare her awake. She had cranked her air conditioner up high, directing the vents towards her face in a full-freeze blast, in the hopes that it would keep her conscious. The drive seemed to take forever, giving her time to ponder her situation. Her thoughts were thick and murky, filled with dread and expectation. Instead of dwelling on the good news she’d just received from Jackson, all she could picture was the face of Glen.

  It was a dour face. The one he would have after he learned that she was pregnant.

  She kept hearkening back to the photo of Jackson and Castanza in Kenya. They appeared to be so happy and Jackson’s expression was teeming with pride. Sharon ached for the feeling that seemed to rise from their images. It spoke of love and unity, something she wanted so badly and almost seemed close to getting, until this.

  Glen always treated her lovingly, but she had witnessed behavior from him with others that indicated he could be cold and aloof. If he knew she was pregnant, would he be as proud as Jackson was in the photo? Or would he respond with that steel voice she’d heard him use on the phone once with his younger sister, Kell.

  She doubted Glen would be happy and proud. He had too much going on to want a baby right now.

  If Glen knew she was pregnant, she wondered, would he even stick around? That’s when things always got shady. Other than great sex, a mutual appreciation for premier wines, Glen’s weakness for her island-style cooking, occasional sleepovers that sometimes lapsed into days, and the foot thing, they had no real foundation or ties. Not any that bound them together in a serious way.

  Sure, she made him happy. So he said. But he had never used the L word. She hadn’t used it either, not with him, but she was in it—deep—without a doubt.

  She added their age difference to the whole mix. A baby would be the real litmus test, she knew, because it would mean that he would have to decide if he really wanted to be with an older woman. He was always saying that her age didn’t matter, but it was easy to talk about what mattered and what didn’t when the situation was cool.

  The situation was definitely not cool anymore.

  She would be his baby’s mama. And, more than likely, that was all she would ever be. She couldn’t remember how many times Glen had jokingly, and seriously, talked about how he loathed the phrase my baby’s mama, and discussed with disdain the state of a society that allowed so many baby’s mamas to flourish. Whenever he saw a young single mother with a string of kids in tow, he immediately had something flip to say about it.

  Sharon vividly recalled his comments one particular afternoon, just a couple of months before. She and Glen had just left a barbecue at a mutual friend’s home in Carlton Square. They were sitting at a red light, in Glen’s brand-new silver Jaguar S-Type sedan, at the intersection of Manchester and La Brea. A young black girl—she couldn’t have been more than fifteen—was standing at the corner, waiting for the light to change.

  Her small hands tightly gripped the handle of a stroller, and her belly was round and ripe. The child in the stroller seemed barely a year old.

  “You see that?” Glen had commented with disgust. “Now that’s just straight foolishness. What kind of life does a person like that have?”

  It was then that Sharon realized just how out of touch her well-bred boyfriend was.

  “My parents didn’t raise us like that,” he said. “We knew better than to be messing around with hoodrats who spread their legs for any- and everybody. Girls like that have three and four kids, all with different daddies. Their life is nothing but a series of paternity tests, child support—which they probably don’t ever collect—Pampers, and Jerry Springer. What kind of dismal way is that to live? Most of these girls don’t even know there’s a whole, big, baby-free world going on around them.”

  Sharon had remained quiet as he spoke, studying the girl, wondering what her life was like, and what she would ultimately become.

  “When I was in high school,” Glen had ranted, “I wasn’t even trying to get caught up in that mess. There’s just too many things I want to do with my life.”

  The light changed, and Glen sped off. Sharon glanced back to see if the girl had been able to safely cross the street. She saw her pushing the stroller towards the opposite corner.

  Who was he to call her a hoodrat? That young girl could have been anybody, she imagined, with circumstances that had just ballooned out of her control.

  “It’s really not nice to judge situations you don’t understand,” she had said to Glen. “That business about walking a mile in a man’s shoes is true. That girl could be a gifted artist. You’re coming to a conclusion about her based solely on what you think you see.”

  “Yeah … ,” he exclaimed, “I think I see a hoodrat! I’m trying to tell you, Sharon, the ghetto is taking over everything. You’d better listen. You’ve got to protect your neck. There’s a certain standard of living that I refuse to step down from. I’m not trying to have the hood encroaching on my backyard, baby’s mamas hanging all off my fence and dirty-diapered crumbsnatchers dangling from my satellite dish. Baby’s mamas need to stay in the ghetto with their baby’s daddies, where they belong.”

  Welcome to the real world, Glen, she mused now, bitterly. Where baby’s mamas aren’t just in the ghetto anymore.

  Sharon gently butted her head against the steering wheel in an attempt to scramble her thoughts.

  She was startled by a rap at her window. She struggled to raise her head. It seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

  Desi was standing there in a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a white T-shirt, a look of concern on her face. She gestured for Sharon to let down the window.

  Sharon opened the door and got out instead.

  “Are you okay?” Desi asked, searching her face. “Why were you just sitting there like that, banging your head against the steering wheel?”

  “I’m fine, Dez,” Sharon said in a dragged-out voice. “I’m real tired and hungry, though. I’m gonna get something from Fatburger. Maybe some fries or something, and take it with me into Starbucks.”

  Desi grabbed her by the arm.

  “You look terrible!”

  Sharon smiled weakly.

  “Thanks. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

  “I don’t mean it that way,” Desi said. “I mean you almost look as though you’re ill.”

  Sharon triggered the remote for the Lexus’s door locks and security system. She stepped up on the curb and stumbled into Fatburger, Desi close on her heels. Once she got inside, she sat down at the first table she reached.

  “Could you do me a favor and order me a large fry and a burger?” she asked weakly.

  Sharon zipped open her purse to retrieve the money, but Desi, now genuinely worried, had already gone to the counter and was placing the order. She returned with the food and set it in front of Sharon.

  Desi watched in amazement as Sharon’s lassitude was replaced by ravenous hunger. She stuffed fries into her mouth five and six at a time, barely catch
ing her breath. She packed the chewed potatoes in a ball in her jaw, savoring the sensation of munching as many as she possibly could before allowing herself to swallow.

  Desi pushed a large cup of Coke in front of her, hoping she would wash the food down. Sharon kept stuffing fries into her mouth until her cheeks were puffed circles and there were no more fries to be had.

  She reached for the Coke and sucked desperately on the straw. She gulped, drank, gulped, drank, and gulped again until her mouth was empty. Sharon was panting, a dazed look on her face.

  Desi remained silent, watching her friend decimate the meal.

  Sharon snatched up the burger and went to work. She took enormous bites, but still didn’t swallow, chomping and chomping until the burger was half gone. After a few more sips of Coke, and a couple of quick gulps, she began again.

  A young man in running pants passed by them, cutting his eyes at Sharon as she ripped into the food.

  When she finished, there was only paper, a few crumbs, a splatter of ketchup, and a half-finished soda. Sharon was still panting. She drank more of the Coke, pacing herself, and, gradually, her heightened breathing began to calm.

  “Man!” she said. “I was sooo hungry! I don’t think I’ve ever been that hungry in my life!”

  Desi’s lips were pursed and her brows were knitted.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Sharon asked.

  Desi was still frowning.

  “It’s no big deal, Dez. I just needed to eat something.”

  “You need to take better care of yourself.” She leaned in closer to Sharon, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I swear, I just don’t get it. It’s like you’re walking around in a daze. What are you doing, starving yourself? Is that how you plan on dealing with the baby?”

  “Nooo … ,” Sharon replied, wondering how Desi’s mind worked. “It’s really not that hectic. The day just got away from me. I’ve been caught up with Jackson since noon.”

  “Was he too cheap to take you to lunch?”

  “I didn’t expect to be there that long.”

  Sharon took another sip of Coke, not at all pleased with the way Desi was grilling her.

  “You should see yourself,” Desi reprimanded.

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a palm-sized mirror, then aimed it in Sharon’s direction. A large mustard stain had tap-danced down the front of Sharon’s white blouse. There was ketchup on her left cuff. Desi raised the mirror a little higher so that Sharon could see her face.

  Her eyes seemed lifeless, and there were dark sunken hollows beneath them. A few errant crumbs had gathered around the edges of her mouth. Sharon had to admit, if only to herself, that she looked rather ill. But that was her issue, not anyone else’s.

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  Desi put the mirror away.

  “If you’re not going to take care of yourself,” she scolded, her voice once again low, “you should at least acknowledge the baby. It deserves better than this.”

  Desi had already decided that Sharon was having this baby. In her mind, there was no other option or discussion necessary.

  “Do me a favor, Dez. Stop with all this ‘the baby’ shit, alright? You’re speaking in hushed tones like I’m a leper or something. I’m not even sure I’m pregnant. I haven’t taken a test yet or anything.”

  “You know you’re pregnant.”

  “Whatever,” Sharon replied, annoyed. Now that she had eaten, she was beginning to feel much better, but Desi’s pointed attacks threatened to bring her down. She was determined to reroute the conversation. “Did you hear back from Randall and his partner?”

  Desi knew why Sharon was changing the subject. She didn’t want to take the conversation any further than it had already gone. Desi went along with it, thinking her good news might help the vigor return to her friend’s face.

  “I’m going to do the show,” she announced, sitting back. “I like the terms they presented, and they’re giving me a nice amount of money up front as a signing fee.”

  “Now, see,” Sharon exclaimed, “that’s really good news! So there’s no reason for you to be sitting across from me with your face twisted, all up in my business, when you should be running up La Cienega right now, doing the Humpty-Hump.”

  Desi grinned, relaxing a little.

  “The Humpty-Hump is so played out.”

  “Well, if I was you, I’d be running up the street doing something. The Freak, the Spank. Ooh, I know! You could just break out and do the Running Man. People would think you’re jogging.”

  “Or having an epileptic fit,” Desi said, giggling at Sharon’s unexpected silliness.

  “Go ’head, girl,” Sharon insisted, her energy level rapidly rising. “Get out there on that street and do something. Bust one good split. Show the Lord you appreciate all the hard work He’s done for you.” She reached across the table, semiseriously nudging Desi to get up. “Go on. I’ll get everybody to watch. La Cienega awaits. Go bust a move for the people!”

  “Stop it!” Desi squealed. “Have you lost your mind?!”

  “Shiiiiiit,” Sharon droned, sounding completely like her old perky self again. “If I wasn’t so drained, I’d be out there doing splits right behind you.”

  She burst into song.

  “Well, we’re movin’ on up!”

  A couple of heads turned their way. Desi smacked Sharon gently on the hand.

  “Stop it, I said,” she said with a laugh. “You act like you’re on Prozac!”

  Sharon might as well have been. Her attitude had done a complete one-eighty. Her eyes were no longer wan and lifeless. Now they crackled and popped with a girlish playfulness. All she’d really needed was a bite to eat, she realized, and everything was alright again. Even her gloominess and the dark brooding about Glen seemed to have faded.

  She was also genuinely happy for Desi. She’d watched her struggling for breaks for a long time.

  Being happy for Desi made Sharon give herself permission to celebrate her own good fortune.

  “Jackson just got a green light for a film based on the life of Bob Marley,” she blurted.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yep. It’s got a thirty-million-dollar budget. This is going to be the one that does it for him, I just know it. He’s been talking about it for years. Anyway, he wants me on the project.”

  “Oh, Sharon!” Desi squealed, reaching across the table and grabbing her friend’s hands. “That is so awesome!”

  Sharon realized that, indeed, it was.

  “I’m pretty pleased about it,” she said. “Funny, when I was in his office, I couldn’t muster up the energy to get that excited, but you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Being around you is actually making me get a little bit hyped.”

  “Good!” Desi replied. “You ready to go bust those La Cienega splits?”

  “Hold on … I’m not finished,” Sharon said in a conspiratorial voice as she leaned in towards Desi. Their hands were still together. “After I tell you this, though, you might want to bypass La Cienega altogether and go bust a string of splits on the 405.”

  Desi leaned closer, her eyes bright with excitement.

  “What? You and Glen are getting married?”

  Sharon froze.

  “Now where did that come from?”

  “I don’t know,” Desi replied, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m a hopeless romantic. Forget I said it.”

  “I already have. Anyway, get this: Jackson wants you to play Rita Marley. It’s one of the leads. He said the role is yours if you want it. No audition necessary.”

  Desi’s eyes were locked with Sharon’s, but she gave no response.

  “Did you hear what I just said?” Sharon asked.

  Desi nodded, unable to produce even the tiniest sound. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

  “Does the fact that you seem catatonic mean that you’re happy, or that you just don’t give a fuck?”
/>   Sharon saw the glimmer in Desi’s eyes at the same time she noticed that her hands were trembling.

  “Oh, no … wait. You’re not crying, are you?”

  Two ripe teardrops fell onto the table. By the time they landed, Desi burst into full-scale tears, completely confusing Sharon. She covered her face with her hands. Fatburger patrons began to take notice.

  “Dez, what’s up?” she implored. “I thought I was giving you good news.”

  “You did,” Desi said, grinning broadly through her tears. “I just can’t believe this is happening.” She picked up a napkin and wiped at her nose. “I never talked to you about this, but, Sharon, girl, I was just about to go broke.”

  “Oh my goodness, Desi, are you serious?”

  Desi nodded.

  “About as serious as you can get. Just a couple of days ago, I was seriously thinking about taking a job at a department store, or going back home to Jensen. Then this show Ambitions comes up, and now there’s Jackson’s movie.”

  Sharon didn’t know whether to be sad at not knowing what had been going on with her friend, or happy at the positive turn of events.

  Tears were still falling from Desi’s eyes.

  “It’s okay now, Dez,” Sharon said softly, her voice reassuring. “Things are starting to look up for both of us.”

  “I know,” Desi replied. “This is just such a blessing. Girl, I had been praying like a fiend, asking God not to send me back home. I feel like, after all this, I’ll never doubt Him or lose faith again.”

  Sharon smiled, wishing her shaky faith was as strong.

  “Jackson was afraid you were going to turn down the part.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “He wasn’t sure if you were mad at him about what happened with Flatbush Flava.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Desi said, waving her hand. “What happened happened. If anything, I was angry at him for offering me all those bit parts. I don’t think he ever considered how insulted I felt.”

  “I don’t think he meant any harm,” Sharon said. “It’s so hard for black actors to get work, and Jackson is so hell-bent on changing all that. He probably thought he was doing something nice by offering you those roles.”