I don’t feel like talking about Dark Angel anymore. “Did you save me some gumbo?”
“Of course I did. Aunt Bernie outdid herself again. “Do you have an address for this guy?”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“When do you plan on going out with him?” She veers off the pavement onto the gravel and then quickly gets back on. “Sorry.”
“Pull over.”
“Mom, it’s no big deal! You go over the line sometimes.”
“I said pull over.”
She just keeps driving. I would like to slap her. That would give me so much pleasure. Just once. Smack her dead in her smart-ass mouth. Of course I wouldn’t dare, because she’s my daughter.
“How would you like to have a sweet sixteen party?”
“Absolutely not!”
“Why not?”
“Because it is just so uncool. To celebrate turning any age is silly if you just think about it. Except for Grandma, of course. She has earned the right to celebrate every single day of her life if she feels like it. I mean, getting my license is a very big deal, but I think once you pass fifty you have more of a reason to celebrate because you’re lucky to still be alive.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“That came out wrong,” she says.
“Anyway, I’m not celebrating turning fifty. And I think I have a few good years left, Sparrow.”
“You’re going to be a whole half a century old, Mom! How cool is that?”
“Too cool. Now pull over. You’ve driven fifty miles and apparently that’s enough.”
“Spoilsport. You’re just mad because I peeped your boy. But seriously, Mom, tell him you want to send him something and make sure he doesn’t have any numbers behind his name or it’s not some post office box. That’s how you’ll know he doesn’t live behind bars.”
“Why are you so concerned about him?”
“Because you’re my mom and I’ve already heard one horror story after another about how many losers and wackos you’ve met online, and of course I’ve been hoping you’d meet your Lancelot by now, but this guy’s poem sounded so desperate I almost felt sorry for him.”
“He’s been to Iraq twice.”
“How old did you say he was?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Isn’t that kind of old to be going to war?”
“Pull over, Sparrow. It’s the last time I’m going to say it before I grab the steering wheel and turn it myself.”
And she does.
I had planned to stop at the outlets in Casa Grande for a hot minute but I don’t much feel like shopping now. I get behind the wheel and drive in total silence for the next forty miles. When we get to my mom’s assisted-living facility, she’s sitting under a gazebo in a wicker chair, out here in all this heat, waiting for us. She’s wearing a blue cotton dress with white flowers on it. Her hair is white and fluffy and her skin is a beautiful shade of brown. It’s smooth for eighty and wrinkles only show up around her eyes when she smiles. She waves when she sees us.
Sparrow jumps out of the car and runs toward her, bends down and gives her a big hug. “Hi there, sugar pie. Grandma was wondering if you guys were going to be on time. I only have about an hour, you know.”
“What?” I ask.
“I told you they were having a birthday party for me and it starts at six, and I can’t be late for my own party.”
“Are we not invited?”
“I’m afraid not. You needed to RSVP, Robin. They don’t really like outsiders to come to our celebrations, because it makes some people sad.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sparrow says.
“Who said it has to make sense?”
“I have something for you, Grandma.”
“Did you make it?”
“I did.”
“Oh Lord,” she says. “You make such unusual things that just don’t seem to fit inside my age bracket. Please don’t take it the wrong way, sweetheart. Grandma appreciates your talent and your thoughtfulness.”
Sparrow pulls a little bag out of her backpack and hands it to her. Like me, Mom has never put on more weight than she needed. I’m still a size ten. She’s still a size twelve.
As she begins to unwrap the yellow and blue tissue paper, she looks up at Sparrow, who’s in her usual costume. “Why do you dress like that?”
“I can’t explain it, Grandma.”
“Try.”
“Well, it’s sort of my way of expressing myself without trying to look like a carbon copy of other people.”
“You might want to consider it because you look like you’re trying to say so much you’re really not saying anything. You dressed better when you were a little girl. I don’t mean any harm by this. Oh my,” she says, holding up two strands of beaded blue earrings that happen to match her dress. “I like these a lot, sugar pie.”
“I tried to tone it down some for you, Grandma.”
“I’m glad you did. Can you put them on me, please? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. If you like the way you look, that’s all that matters. Unless you’re looking for a job.”
Sparrow just laughs. I’ve already explained to her that when people get older sometimes it’s almost as if they have Tourette’s. They say whatever comes into their mind, which more often than not is pitch perfect.
Mom looks at her watch and then up at me. “How’s that computer dating coming along, Robin? Met any cool cats yet?”
“She met a poet.”
“Did she ask you or did she ask me?”
Sparrow hunches her shoulders and blows air inside her cheeks to make them puff out. Sorry. Just having fun.
“Anyway, Mom, things are looking up and I have a date in a few weeks.”
“You didn’t tell me you had a date with him, Mom.”
“Why is it any of your business? She doesn’t need your permission, young lady.”
Sparrow keeps her mouth shut. For once.
Mom turns her attention back to me. “A few weeks? What’s the holdup?”
“Our schedules are just different.”
“Then forget him. Who wants to be bothered with somebody that busy?”
“We’ll see. Anyway, happy birthday, Mom.” I hand her a small box.
“I wonder what this could be.” She opens it, holds the tiny frame up close, sees it’s an old photo of her as a little girl. “Where on earth did you get this, Robin?”
“It’s my little secret.”
“Was it Bessie or Beulah? Which one?”
These are her older sisters who still live in Biloxi. “It was Aunt Bessie.”
“Lord, Lord, Lord. I was a cute little something, wasn’t I?”
“You still are,” Sparrow says.
“You are indeed, Mom.” She stands up and I hug her and kiss her on the lips. She smells like talcum powder. She has also shrunk over the years; she used to be taller than me. But she’s still alive and she’s in good health, for which I am grateful.
“Well, I have to get going,” she says, standing up. “It was sweet of you to drive all this way to help me celebrate. I’m very much appreciative, I hope you know that.”
“We do, Mom. And have a great party.”
“Did I tell you we have a band?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“All the band members are over seventy!”
“So you guys are going to party hard this evening, huh, Grandma?”
“It’s over at eight. It sure would be nice if your dad could come.”
“I’m sure he’s probably going to be there, Mom.”
“You can never be too sure,” she says, and waves to us.
I decide to let Sparrow drive all the way home.
Romeo and Juliet bark up a storm until we’re both inside. We ate burgers on the way home, so I don’t have to worry about dinner. I almost tiptoe into my makeshift office, which is really a small bedroom. I close the door. Login. There are a dozen winks and ic
ebreakers but I’m not interested in opening any of them. I decide to reach out to Dark Angel:
Hello there, Dark Angel: Just checking in to see what you’re up to. I’m psyched about our finally meeting in a few weeks and wanted to make sure we’re still on for coffee. I’ve also been thinking about your poetry aspirations, which is why I want to send you something before we meet. Would you mind giving me your mailing address? It’s not a big deal but I think you might like it. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you. Have you written any more poems?
Ciao!
Tiger Lady a/k/a Robin
P.S. I know your first name is Glenn but what’s your last name?
There. I slide away from the computer and try to figure out what I can do to fill up the rest of the night or to make the time pass until I hear the computer letting me know I’ve got mail. I decide on laundry. I do three loads, including drying them and folding them. Nothing. I take a very long shower, wash and condition my hair. I’m due for a new weave and so I leave a message for Joseph at Oasis to let me know if he can squeeze me in sometime next week. He’s usually booked months in advance. But he likes me.
“Mom, can I come in?”
“No, go away, Sparrow. I’m relaxing.”
“Well, can I ask you a question?”
“You just did.”
“What if I change my mind about a party?”
“Too late.”
I hear her stamp her foot.
“How could it suddenly become cool to have a sweet sixteen party in a matter of hours?” I say.
“I don’t know. But I don’t want to have like something huge. Just a few friends over.”
“What made you change your mind? This sounds a little fishy.”
“I don’t know. Seeing Grandma. Maybe I overreacted. Turning sixteen is a big deal. Don’t you think?”
“Of course it is.”
“But there’s a catch.”
“What is that, Sparrow?”
“I’ll only have one if you have one, too.”
“Then forget it.”
“Then I’ll just be depressed. Thanks for caring. I’m going to sleep. Oh, sounds like you just got an e-mail.”
I grab my bathrobe. Before I have a chance to tie the sash, I brush past Sparrow and head down the hall to collapse in front of the computer. I close my door and click on. I hear hers close, too. It is an e-mail from Dark Angel. My heart is beating so fast I almost can’t stand it. I pray my daughter is wrong. I pray he is who he says he is. I don’t care if he never becomes my boyfriend or my husband, I just want him to be legitimate.
I open it:
Hello there, Ms. Tiger Lady: Nice hearing from you. To answer your question, I haven’t written a poem since the one I sent you, but I have more than enough for a book. Finding a publisher is hard when you’re a poet. I’ve been thinking about self-publishing, although it’s expensive. But you never know. I’m glad you liked the poem I wrote for you. It’s kind of embarrassing to be so open about your feelings sometimes. So, yes, I’m looking forward to meeting you at our agreed-upon date and time and my last name is Cook. My address is 100 Seal View Drive, Chandler, AZ 85249. Anyway, I’m exhausted. Been a very long day. So I’ll sign off for now. By the way, I’m going to visit my folks for a couple of weeks and may or may not have Internet service. They live outside of Baton Rouge. So if you don’t hear from me until we hook up, don’t freak out. Dark Angel.
“Yes!”
Good Vibrations
“Hi, Joseph,” Gloria said from her car phone.
“Hey, Miss Glo. How are you this lovely morning?”
“I’m better today than I was yesterday. I think I must be losing my mind though, Joseph. I forget more than I remember. I meant to tell you my annual blood test and mammogram is today. I also forgot the vacuum isn’t picking up anything so I’m going to stop by Home Depot and buy a new one. Anyway, I should be in before noon.”
“Would you mind getting a couple of cans of Brasso? We’re also low on lightbulbs if you are so moved, sweetheart.”
“No problem. I’ll see you in a minute, then.”
“Wait! Glo?”
“Yeah.”
“Could we chat a few minutes after we close tonight?”
“Sure, baby. Is everything all right?”
“I hope it will be.”
“It’s not Javier, is it?”
“No no no. He’s fine. We’re fine. It’s nothing for you to be alarmed about. I just wanted to run something by you.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Hell no! After twenty years? You need to get right with God. I said it’s nothing to worry about so don’t go getting yourself all in a tizzy.”
“Wait a second! Did you see who’s coming in today?”
“I haven’t checked everybody’s schedule yet but now that I know you’ll be a little late, I will.”
“Sister Monroe is back in town.”
“I heard. Grandma Dearest herself. I hope she’s calmed down with age. I also heard she not only had work done but she did the gastric bypass thing. So there’s less of her to get on our nerves.”
“We’ll soon see, won’t we?”
After she left the imaging office, Gloria felt lucky when less than two blocks away she spotted the sign for Good Vibrations Hardware. She pulled into a parking space right out front. Most of the industrial vacuum cleaners were priced the same, so she didn’t need to drive halfway across town to Home Depot. This must be an upscale hardware store, she thought, after seeing that the glass was tinted a little darker than most establishments in Phoenix. She could tell they got hit with southern exposure, so it made sense. Unlike most hardware stores, this one didn’t have flowers or lawn mowers or wheelbarrows or shovels near the entrance. Gloria was relieved because it was why she always ended up with gadgets she didn’t need or had no idea how to use, especially since Marvin had been gone.
When Gloria stepped inside, her eyeballs opened as wide as they could and then froze. The first thing she saw was an erect pink penis sitting on an acrylic stand. It looked like it was floating. As her eyes traveled across the aisles, there was a chorus line of penises in various shapes and sizes. It was clear this was not the kind of hardware store she had in mind. Penises were everywhere, perched high and low on wooden shelves.
It seemed as if they might come to life and attack her. It gave her the creeps. She didn’t, however, rush to leave, much as she was tempted to. Gloria was more afraid someone might recognize her and think she was desperate for things to have come to this. Of the fifteen or twenty folks in here, she was grateful no one looked familiar.
Reluctant to walk around, Gloria also felt a tinge of excitement at the thought that you could actually buy the kind of penis you always wanted. Not that she had been thinking about one. If she had, it would’ve been Marvin’s. As things stood, she had accepted the fact that she might never be sexually active again. And it was okay. She had no idea how much a fake penis cost and wondered what their return policy was. She started chuckling at the thought that you can take anything back to Nordstrom’s no-questions-asked. What would a woman or a man say (not that she had any intentions of buying one of these things): “This didn’t fit” or “This one didn’t work for me?”
“May I help you?” she heard a male voice say from behind her.
When Gloria turned around, she was surprised to see a young woman. She was dressed all in black and both arms were covered with so many colored tattoos you couldn’t see her skin. She had tiny barbells through holes where there shouldn’t be any: the middle of her tongue, her chin, the side of her eyebrow. The scariest of all went through the center of her nose. What was the point of them all, Gloria wondered? “I thought this was a hardware store!” she blurted out.
“Well, it is, sweetheart. Would you like me to show you how some of them work?”
Gloria pressed the palm of her hand against her chest like a schoolmarm. “Oh no, that won’t be necessary.”
“Well, some work better than others.”
“I’ve never been in a store quite like this before.”
“No need to be embarrassed, sistah. We all have needs and sometimes we have to satisfy them.”
“I suppose there’s some truth to that.”
“Feel free to turn them on. Some vibrate. Don’t be afraid to hold them to see how warm they get.”
Gloria lowered her head and looked at her feet. She didn’t know this young lady, and here they were talking about penises. As she headed toward the door Gloria noticed a shelf full of clitoris stimulators. She must’ve walked right past them when she came in. Between the creams and oils, feathers and whips, plus stacks of movies, Gloria was a little weirded-out by it all. “Thank you very much,” she said to the young woman, who now had a line at the counter.
“You’re quite welcome. Have a nice day, and come back to see us soon,” she said.
“I’ll do that.” Gloria got in her car and headed straight for the salon. She decided to keep her mouth shut and not tell anybody what a fool she had made of herself. Her girlfriends especially. They’d have a field day.
The music met her at the back door. John Legend, to be exact. At forty-three, Joseph still held down the music front. He often bumped heads with Twyla and Joline. They loved hip-hop. He tolerated it. They loved rap. He hated it, couldn’t stand the language: everybody was a bitch, a ho, a motherfucker or a fag. Gloria would not allow any of it in the salon. Right next to the front door was a big sign that read:
No Profanity
No Unnecessary Gossip
No Loud Talking on Cell Phones
(turn off all ringers, including ringtones)
No negative comments about anyone based on
race, physical features, gender or sexual preference.
Absolutely no personal checks.
No hot food.
No dogs. No children under 9 or 10
(unless they are getting their hair done).
We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.
So relax. We hope you enjoy our services.
Getting to Happy Page 17
