“Indian! Indian!” I heard Mr. Marcus yelling at the top of his lungs, banging on my front door. I swear I could kick his ass. “In . . di . . an! I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Let me in!”
He is fuckin’ crazy. I snatched the door open and he smiled. “Merry Christmas, Indian.” Then he ducked. “Ho-ho-ho.”
“What the hell are you duckin’ for, Mr. Marcus?”
“Well, when I went over to Sandy Jones’s to wish her a merry Christmas I told her ‘Ho-ho-ho’ and she took a swing at me. Said she was tired of folks calling her names. So, I figured when it came to you I wouldn’t take no chances.”
I didn’t even respond. I just looked at his ass.
“What? You got an attitude, Indian?” he asked, rearing back.
I took a deep breath. I wanted to slam the door in his face. “I don’t have an attitude.”
“Well I can’t tell.” He tipped his head to the side. “I can make all yo’ pain go away. If you just let me. You don’t need Youngblood, Big Daddy in the house.”
He’s a basket case. “Mr. Marcus—”
“Wait, wait,” he said defensively. “It ain’t what you think. Ain’t nobody been in your window again.”
“What is it then?!”
He handed me a long, slim red box with a white bow on top. “I’m reppin’ for the Wise Men and everything. It’s my main man, Jesus’, birthday, you know.” Mr. Marcus laughed, stepping into my living room.
I know this is some shit from the Ninety-Nine Cent Store. I took off the top of the box and my eyes popped open. It was a diamond tennis bracelet. At least three carats. I almost thought the shit was real for a minute until I remembered who it was from.
“Mr. Marcus, I can’t accept this.” I handed it back. “You really shouldn’t be giving out your wife’s jewelry.”
“My wife?”
“Yes, your wife.”
“That wasn’t my wife’s. I gave all of her stuff to my daughter.” He placed the box back in my hand.
“Where’d you get this from then, Mr. Marcus?”
“See, Indian, your problem is that you think everybody is always up to something. Nothing is ever as it seems with you. I gave you this because I love you. I’m in love with you and at one time I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Who the hell is he talking to? Me?
“I didn’t want to leave,” Mr. Marcus continued, “but I couldn’t take . . . uhmm, wait, Indian, give me a minute.” He pulled his reading glasses out of his front shirt pocket and slid them on. Each lens looked like the bottom of a Coke bottle. I can’t even lie; I was trying hard not to laugh. He reached in his side pocket and took out a note. “Now let me see what this says,” he mumbled at first, and then he said, “okay, okay, this is where I left off: ‘I couldn’t take the way you treated me. You violated my trust. After you read this, Mr. Marcus, hand her the box.’ Okay, Indian, here go the box. . . . Oh, I gave it to you already. Well, what did you think of my speech?”
“Who gave you that, Mr. Marcus?”
“Let me see the box, Indian.” I handed him the box and he looked at the inside of the top lid. “It’s from . . . Monique and Cherise Jewelers. For those who are dangerously in love.” Then he smiled. “That’s hot, ain’t it?”
Immediately when I heard “Monique and Cherise” my heart knocked. “Mr. Marcus, give me that.” I looked at the name and address of the jewelers. Wait, wait, there’s a phone number underneath the address. . . . I ran in the kitchen and grabbed my purse. I still had the number I found in Devin’s wallet. I pulled it out and read it. I can’t believe that I’m so stupid. It’s the same number. I started crying. I’ma mess.
“Indian, don’t cry.” He handed me some tissue from the box of Kleenex on my coffee table. “If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t have given it to you.”
“Mr. Marcus, please!”
“Okay, okay. Come on and sit down. Let Marcus Robinson tell you something.” We sat down on the couch. I continued to wipe my eyes. “You know I’m a little too old for you. And that Sandy Jones turned me out, so it can’t be no more me and you.”
I took the tissue away from my eyes and looked at him.
“But listen. Youngblood is a good guy. He ain’t the best-lookin’ young man, but he seems smart—”
“Mr. Marcus, he’s fine.”
“Well, if you say so. But that ain’t the point. The point is that you have to want the best for yourself and believe that when it comes, it’s real. You really hurt Youngblood and he told me that when he gave me this bracelet to give to you.”
“He was actually here last night?”
“Yeah, he came through. He drove his dad’s car, because he didn’t want you to come outside and see his car parked there. Now you do what you want, but sometimes in life, we meet the one for us and we chase ‘em away because of our own foolishness. But you ain’t got to listen to Mr. Marcus.” He got up to leave. “I’m out, Indian. I’m trying to get up on this honey and set everything up for the new year. You’re welcome to attend if you’d like.”
“Mr. Marcus—”
“All right, Indian, maybe next time. Anyway, you better go on and call Youngblood before he be slamming somebody else on the counter.” He winked his eye and shut the door.
I dialed Devin’s cell number at least three times before I finally let the call go all the way through. His voice mail came on and I hung up.
I called Tracy. When Ju-Ju answered the line, I tried to hold it in but I couldn’t. I started crying. “Stuck-up, that’s you?” Ju-Ju said.
“Put Tracy on the phone!”
“Wo, slow yo roll, homes. Merry Christmas. You know what I’m sayin’? I’m Santa up in this ma’fucker. This is my goddamn North Pole, you just a broke-ass elf who’s callin’ my crib at eight o’clock on Christmas morning. Besides, you would wanna be talking to me. ‘Cause Ju-Ju got the 411.”
“On what?” I snapped.
“On Joan.”
“What about Joan?”
“She was on her way over there last night to kick . . . yo’ ass.”
“What?”
“Sho’nough. Ju-Ju ain’t gon’ lie. She was so mad that she told Tracy as soon as you opened the door, she was gon’ put you in a choke hold.”
“Tracy told you that?”
“Naw, not really. Joan thought I was Tracy when I answered the phone. I was able to fake her out. You’re the only one who ain’t never fell for the shit. But don’t worry, we got it straight. I told her that he was grown and that overall you was a decent broad. Good job, no kids, you ain’t had no man since I could remember, so I couldn’t imagine you being a jump-off.”
“Excuse you?”
“Hell, I was trying to help you out.”
“Don’t help me! Now put Tracy on the phone.”
“Ungrateful ass! Tracy! Cryin’ ass on the phone!”
Tracy picked up the phone. “Merry Christmas, girl! Jasmine got a lil’ gift for her Aunty India. When are you coming over?”
“Tracy,” I started crying again. “It’s over. I was wrong, and now I’ma chain-smoking, horny old maid.”
“Calm down, India. Don’t cry. I talked Joan out of bustin’ yo’ ass, for now. But I need you to know that she thinks you’re messing with her husband. I tried to tell her it wasn’t so, but Ju-Ju had already fucked it up with the shit he said. She didn’t want to hear any more after that.”
“What?!”
“Yes, she swears it’s you. She said that she found a diamond tennis bracelet last night, and when he left, it left. She refuses to believe that it has anything to do with D.J. She said that she rode all over Newark looking for her husband and something told her to check out your spot, and when she did, Devin Senior’s truck was sitting right there in your parking lot.”
“It was Devin Junior. He drove his father’s car over here, when he gave Mr. Marcus the gift.”
“Oh well,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Better keep an eye on the bushes. You know
that heifer is crazy.”
“I’ma call her right now and straighten this shit out. I don’t want her husband. It’s her son.”
“And what part of that do you think will make her feel better?”
“I can’t believe this. She should know me better than to think I would sleep with her husband. I have to go Tracy.” I started crying again. “And by the way, Merry Christmas.”
* * *
Thank God Christmas is over! I felt like a complete ass yesterday, but now I’m determined to be a big girl about the situation. Hell, I’ve been without a man before and somehow I’ve managed to stay alive. I mean really, I won’t die just because the big dick picked itself up and left.
I turned on the CD player and placed Aretha Franklin’s Respect on repeat. It was four o’clock in the evening and in between bouncing my shoulders, chanting “R-E-S-P-E-C-T,” chain smoking, eating three slices of chocolate cheesecake, and a tub of Cool Whip, I was determined to get my party on.
So, I was wrong about Devin and maybe the way I treated him was fucked up, but that was life and worse things happen every day. Better to cry now than to cry later. Plus, I’m thinking about never speaking to his mama ever again. Tracy called this morning and told me that Joan uninvited me to her Kwanzaa celebration. “I hate to be the one to break it to you,” Tracy said, “but Joan told me that if you step foot in her house, she would take her Kinara and shove the seven principles up yo’ ass!” I couldn’t believe it. At first my feelings were hurt, but then I figured fuck her too.
Who the hell was I fooling? I was downright miserable. I was trying to convince myself that what happened between Devin and me was for the best; but it didn’t feel like my aching heart and horny coochie agreed. I solemnly swore that I was hereby declared an old maid. I buried my face in the mud cloth throw pillow and for three days all I could do was sit on the couch, cry, and eat my miseries away.
* * *
It was ten o’clock at night on New Year’s Eve and Eyewitness News was showing New Year’s around the world. I was snacking on Chex mix and reading Patti LaBelle’s cookbook, trying to figure out how many cups of water I needed to boil these black-eyed peas. Then I was trying to figure out was it rice and collard greens or just collard greens. I swear I can’t take it. It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m doing the same shit that I swore I would never do again.
Joan is still not speaking to me, but I don’t give a damn. Yesterday I called her, wished her a merry Christmas, happy Kwanzaa, and then I lowered the boom: “Joan, I love you like a play cousin, but if you jump out the bushes on me we will throw. Period. Afterward I’ma still love you. But first I’ma kick yo’ ass.”
She hung up on me.
I haven’t heard from Devin and I haven’t called him since Christmas day. I felt my throat swelling up as I filled the measuring cup with water. I swallowed the lump and wiped some of the tears that escaped down my cheeks. I guess my mother was right; I am alone. But fuck it, I’m still fly. I put the cookbook down, went upstairs, showered, and changed into a midcalf demin skirt, tight red sweater, and the tennis bracelet Devin gave me.
When I came back in my kitchen, I peeked through my miniblinds and saw Mr. Marcus loading smoke machines into his house. If he comes over here with another open invitation to his New Year’s shindig, I’ma cuss his ass out.
As I shut the blinds, my doorbell rang. Since I was standing at the sink, getting ready to read my cookbook again, I pressed the talk button on the intercom. “Who is it?”
“Devin.”
I dropped the cookbook in the sink. The dishwater splashed in my face as the book sank to the bottom. My heart was beating fast and I didn’t know whether to swing the door open and apologize or let him stand outside.
I massaged my temples and decided to open the door. He was leaning against the iron railing in a blue goose-down vest, cream-colored hoody, and baggy blue jeans. He looked me up and down. His eyes smiled as he tucked his bottom lip in. We stared at each other for a minute and then he said, “I’ve never been one for holding back anything that I have to say and I don’t like unsettling goodbyes.”
“Devin, I-I . . .”
“India,” he said, cutting me off. “You talk too much. Be quiet. This is the last day of the year and I wanted to tell you that for the short amount of time you were in my life, I loved the hell out of you. But you need to get it together.”
I was doing everything I could not to cry.
His eyes were glassy. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I couldn’t. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t play you. I was trying to be good to you, but I realized that something in you didn’t allow me to give you the best that I had.” He kissed me on the forehead. “It’s all good, baby girl. You’ll get it together one day.”
He walked toward his car. I stood there and watched him pull off. I felt lost as I walked down the stairs and shivered while the snow fell over my head. When I turned around to go back in the house, I heard rambling in the bush. I know, Lord, that you said there is always a ram in the bush, but uhh, you would give a sistah some forewarning, right?
I heard it again. I squinted my eyes and peeked over to see whether it was a stray cat or a squirrel. I was too scared to get close, so I took the shovel on the side of steps, slammed it into the bush, and Joan fell out.
“What the hell!” I was holding my chest and breathing heavy. “Are you goddamn crazy? Joan!”
“India!” Joan yelled, dusting herself off. “I don’t know whether to be happy that you’re not messing with my husband or to slap you upside the fuckin’ head for messing with my baby! I can’t believe it! My baby, India? At first, when I thought you were seeing Devin Senior I was prepared to practice some dropkicks on you. But never in a million years did I think this was going on. I can’t believe it. You’re the wrinkled-pussy old bitch?” She started pacing back and forth.
“I’m not a wrinkled-pussy old bitch! And another thing, Devin’s not a baby! He’s grown and I love him!” Did I just admit that? “And I’m sick and tired of not knowing what to do because you’re his mother! I don’t want to hurt him; I want to be with him. And I’m not sorry about that! Now skip yo’ ass outta here! God only knows how happy I am to be kissing this year goodbye! And if you can’t get over me loving Devin, then you can go right along with it!”
“Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed?” Joan asked, still pacing.
“No!” I said with tears flooding my eyes. “I’m in love with him. I was just too stupid to realize it! And now he’s gone.”
“I can’t believe this. You’re really serious?”
“Yes!” I couldn’t take standing there anymore, so I stormed up the stairs.
“Then,” she yelled, “you should go and be with him.”
I spun around. “What did you say?”
“I’m serious.” She cleared her throat. “The man told you he loves you. Go to him.”
“You mean to tell me you’re not mad?” I asked, wiping my eyes.
“Of course I am. I wanna kick yo’ ass! But what can I really do? D.J. is grown and God only knows that I can’t take another night of his ass sitting around me looking pitiful. So . . . I guess”—she cleared her throat—”if you two love each other, then somehow I’ll live with that.”
“Joan—” Suddenly I was speechless.
“Gon’ get!” she snapped. “Take ya old ass outta here and go find him before I change my mind!”
“I don’t know where he is,” I said.
“He’s at the Embassy, Indian!” Mr. Marcus yelled, standing on his stoop, grinning at Joan and me. What the hell . . . does he have on . . . ? “Mr. Marcus! Why do you have that sheet wrapped around you? Do you have on any clothes? Get in the house!”
“You got an attitude, Indian? I invited you to find out what’s underneath the sheet. Besides, I’ma love machine, don’t let this belly fool you! I’m the black Zeus, you better recognize! Don’t you see these leaves on my head? Now you better get on
to the Embassy before some hoochie be delivering room service to Youngblood.”
I looked at Joan. “I said get out of here!” She smirked.
I ran in the house, grabbed my red fox jacket, car keys, and purse. Then I ran back out and jumped in my car.
* * *
It was eleven o’clock, I was in the Holland Tunnel and stuck in traffic. Who the hell hangs out in Manhattan on New Year’s Eve? Is Dick Clark’s ball that hot? I started to panic because I didn’t want to be stuck in my car bringing the new year in. I needed a cigarette. I rummaged through my purse, pulled out one and lit it. With my nerves on edge it felt like the best damn drag I’d ever had.
Now I needed some music. Jill Scott. I hadn’t heard my favorite song in a while. I turned the volume up and right at the point where Jill sang, “ ’Do you want some money baby?’ ” my cell phone rang.
It was Tracy. “Oh, you just gon’ leave a bitch hangin’ while you go sneak some forbidden dick?”
“Hey, Tracy, girl. Joan knows.” I blew out the smoke. “She seems okay with it. For now, anyway. It’ll probably sink in tomorrow and she’ll be blowing up my phone.”
“She came over here and told me what happened.”
“For real? What’d she say?”
“You really want to know, India?” Tracy sighed.
“Yeah.” I mashed my cigarette into the ashtray. “Tell me.”
“Don’t get mad, but she told us that she prays her grandchildren don’t all have Down syndrome, fucking around with your old ass. ‘Cause all of your pregnancies will be high risk.”
“That bitch. Did she really say that?”
“Yeah, girl. I wouldn’t lie to you. She’s sitting in my living room drinking Banana Red Mad Dog with Ju-Ju. Getting drunk and telling lies.”
“Getting drunk with Ju-Ju? Where’s her husband?”
“On his way over here. I called and told him that he needed to come and get her. I said, ‘This don’t make no sense. She’s jumping out of bushes for yo’ ass.’ ”
I laughed. “Damn, Tracy, this traffic! I can’t end up stuck in traffic for New Year’s. I swear, I need to see his face.”
Whatever It Takes Page 7
