“Oh, Mr. Randolph—Curtis, are you serious? You already gave us money, and we were so thankful. I just can’t believe this!”
She hugs him now as he continues to grin into the camera.
The director says, “Got it,” and Curtis immediately steps out of Gladys’s clutches.
“How are we ever going to thank you?” She beams.
“Don’t you worry about it. I’m here to help.”
She stares up at him as if he’s come down from on high. “I am such a fan, Curtis. You just don’t know. I love your album. It’s so nice to be able to listen to good music without all that cursing and carrying on. You’re such a good role model for our youth. And thank you for taking such good care of our Raiders, too.”
“It’s what I’m here for, ma’am. My book drops this time next year. I hope you read it.”
“I most certainly will!”
He gives Gladys a wink and starts to make various muscles in his arms and chest dance about, sending her into a frenzy. “Oh my!”
Show over, he says, “Now if y’all don’t mind, Margot and I need a word with my sister-in-law in private. Gladys, I’ll meet you in your office and tell you more about the money. First time I’ll be going to the principal’s office without being forced to!” He laughs.
Gladys pumps her fist into the air as she walks by me. “See you shortly, Curtis!”
Tru and the TV crew follow her out.
Curtis rests his hands on his hips and takes in the dry-erase board and all the posters and artwork.
“This is a classroom,” I explain. “Those things over there are books.”
He shakes his head and points at me. “Funny, Sis.”
“So what are you two up to?”
Margot slaps her phone shut. “Why do we have to be up to something? And why are you keeping Curtis a secret? Seems to me you’d want everyone to know you know him.”
“I want people to like me for me.”
She considers my response and decides it makes sense.
I try yet again. “So why are you two here?”
Curtis says, “The producers think it would be nice if the audience saw my more intrinsic side, and I thought of this school.”
I sigh. “You mean altruistic side.”
“That’s what I said.”
“It’s not. You said intrinsic.”
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
“Whatever. They wanna show me being nice to people.”
He tugs at his linen jacket; the diamond stud in his ear shines as bright as Venus.
“We’re also here to discuss Mom,” says Margot. “P, it’s been four months! You two need to start talking again.”
Curtis says, “The wedding is coming up fast, and we need you and your mother on speaking terms. We’re creating a Christian TV show, and we need all hands on deck. We can’t have you two fightin’ and all that at the wedding.”
“We want everyone to get along,” adds Margot. “The show is about how to be a good family and how to have style and good taste.”
“That’s right. That’s why we don’t want any trouble. We don’t want nobody sneaking off in the parking lot to hook up with men. You’re gonna be related to me now.”
Based on what Margot told me, news of the “parking lot incident” spread like all good gossip does in a church—like a California wildfire fanned by high winds. Since she has yet to mention Mom’s slapping me, I’m under the impression she doesn’t know just how bad our fight was, however. Regardless, I hate that the football player can use my transgression against me. I’ll admit that I owe Mom an apology, but I owe him nothing. “I appreciate your stopping by and any donations you might have for the school, but what goes on in my life is my business. TV show or no TV show.”
“You foolin’ around in your stepfather’s church parking lot is a family matter,” Curtis insists. “I didn’t know you liked ’em so young, Sis.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The guy in the parking lot. What were you guys doing out there, anyhow? That’s just nasty. You couldn’t go to a hotel?”
“You would know. Isn’t that where you take all your groupies?”
“Piper!” Margot says.
Curtis practically growls with clenched jaws. “You’re over the line, Sis.”
Margot soothes him by stroking his jacket. “Let me talk to her, baby. Give me a second.”
He keeps his evil eyes on me as he takes out his phone. Seeing that her ignoramus of a fiancé has calmed down, she takes me by the arm and walks me toward my desk.
“I had a long conversation with Mom, and she’s ready to talk, P. She says she’s ready to forgive and move on.”
“She is?”
“Yeah. She would have called you, but you know how stubborn she is. Can’t you please make the first move? Call her, P. This has been going on too long. I want my family back. Don’t you miss her?”
I do, but I’m almost afraid to see her. Not that I think she’ll hit me again, or anything like that, but I’ve been feeling so good lately and I have to wonder if part of my newfound happiness has to do with my time apart from her. Sherry has said family can be so toxic at times that we need a break, and I suppose that’s what I’ve allowed myself to do—take a break. Hearing there’s an opening, though, gives me pause. Maybe it’s time I “face what frightens me,” as they say in AA.
I search Margot’s big baby browns. I want to believe what she’s told me, but I’ve also known her all my life. “Are you telling the truth, Margot? Or is this some kind of ploy?”
“Ploy,” she huffs. “I don’t ploy. Mom wants things to go smoothly at my wedding as much as I do. She just thinks you owe her more of an apology, and that’s the only reason she hasn’t called first. Mommy loves you, Piper. She forgives you.”
“And considering you were making out in the church parking lot, that says a lot.” Curtis grins. I glare at him, but he’s already texting again.
I turn back to Margot. I feel myself wanting to tear up at hearing Mom still loves me. A part of me does miss her after all. I’m just afraid. My new life feels both solid and tenuous. I settle on saying, “I’ll think about it.”
Margot takes me in her arms. “Oh good. That’s all we ask. It’s been so stressful with you two on the outs.”
Curtis stares at a poster I made at home one weekend. Little mice wear clothes that match the characters from Of Mice and Men while exchanging dialogue from the book. He stares a beat, then chimes, “Baby, did you see how those kids reacted to me? Feels good to be a role model for the youth.”
“I’m sure it does, baby. Lord knows they need role models like you.”
“I wish they had role models that told them there are other things to do besides rap and throw a ball,” I grumble. “Just because they’re poor and working class doesn’t mean their dreams have to be limited to music and sports.”
Margot locks her eyes on mine. “They love you, baby. And they should. Anyway, let’s get out of Piper’s hair and go see the principal.” She starts to urge Curtis to the door leading to the interior of the school. “We’re donating another five-K to your school, P. That should do something for their dreams.”
Thinking of what five thousand dollars can do for us, I hold my tongue. “Thank you. Thanks, Curtis.”
“Any time, Sis. Shall we?” He offers Margot his elbow, and she kisses him; then they walk out to greet the fans who were willing to wait. I listen to the bedlam outside as I sit down behind my desk and bury my face in my arms.
I’m four months sober but sometimes . . . sometimes . . . I’m convinced just one drink, one itsy-bitsy sip, would solve all my problems. Hearing that Mom misses me has made me feel more anxious than I would have guessed. And then there are Margot and Curtis—I can’t relate to them at all. I stare up at
the water stain and think of all the other public schools in Oakland and beyond that also sorely need five thousand dollars and so much more. Where are our priorities when someone like Curtis garners all that adoration for . . . what? Meanwhile, almost half the staff members at MacDowell take on part-time jobs to support their families and children.
I take a breath and wait for the urge to drink to subside. When it doesn’t, I reach for my phone. AA has taught me the rewards of humility, and I have no problem asking for help anymore. I haven’t called Sherry in a good three weeks, but I need to hear her voice.
sixteen
I decide to go see Mom that weekend. She and the Reverend live near Lake Merritt, so I stop by their local farmers’ market first. Mom loves the empanadas they sell here, and my plan is to buy her a half dozen. The crowd is larger than usual, thanks to the warm, sunny weather and clear blue skies. I buy the empanadas and load up on various vegetables and fruits that catch my eye. I visit the flower stall last. Mom doesn’t know I’m stopping by. If she’s not home, I’ll leave the flowers and empanadas along with a note that says I’m thinking of her. If she is home, my hope is that the gifts will thaw any tension between us.
I’ve picked out a beautiful bouquet of pink and lavender peonies when I catch sight of a certain someone’s globe-shaped hair. I tell myself not to turn, but I can’t help myself; Spencer is walking through the crowd with—crap!—–the nitwit.
Crap! Crap, crap! Shit!
I immediately duck for cover behind the flower stall.
The attendant selling me the flowers looks this way and that as I bend behind her merchandise. “Excuse me, lady. You still want?”
“Yes. Just give me a minute, please.”
“Lady, no hiding back here!”
“I know. I’m sorry. Ex-husband!” I point, hoping the word is universal enough that she’ll get it. I wait until I think enough time has passed before standing. “Sorry about that.” I take my wallet from my purse and give her a hefty tip. I’m making a fast exit when I see Spencer coming toward me. Crap! Crap! Shit! There’s no time to duck. When we see each other, we both try to avert our gazes, but then the nitwit, who’s too dumb to realize she should pretend she hasn’t seen me as would any normal new girlfriend when seeing her man’s ex, calls out my name. “Piper! Oh my God, honey, it’s Piper!” She walks toward me with her arms outstretched, a toddler running toward a parent. She has a waddle, too, thanks to her pregnant belly.
She tries to give me a hug, but on instinct I pull away so that I can avoid her stomach.
Spencer and I look sheepishly at each other.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“It’s so nice to see you, P. How ya been?”
“Fine.”
“Those flowers are lovely,” the nitwit says. She wears a flowy dress that balloons outward when caught in the breeze. Her curly hair is pulled back, and she’s young and pretty and really and truly pregnant.
She sees me staring and pats her belly. “We’re so excited.” She looks up at Spencer, who scratches the back of his head nervously. “We’re having a boy.” She rubs her belly as though she’s the first woman ever to be pregnant. “Just a few months away!”
“Well, congratulations. I should get going. I have an appointment I can’t miss. Good luck!”
I’m walking fast when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I know it’s Spencer, but I don’t stop.
“P. Hey, why are you rushing off?”
I turn and fix my eyes on his. Are you serious?
“I know. Sorry about that. She’s excited. She means well.”
I peek behind his shoulder and see her showing off her belly to the woman at the flower stall. “So, a son. Congrats.”
“Yeah.” He grins. “I can teach him about Mass Effect and Kant.”
He smiles, and I can’t help but smile back. Mortal Mission is one of his favorite video games. He always teased that I’d never understand his obsession with video games because I was a girl.
Our smiles broaden. “It’s good to see you, P.”
“You, too.”
And it is. It’s been six months—six long months—without a word between us. It’s almost unimaginable that he doesn’t know a thing about what I’ve been going through. He looks good, unnervingly so, in his Super Geek T-shirt and jeans. He’s put on muscle and has shaved his goatee, which only highlights his full lips and dark brown eyes. But the time apart has given me some needed perspective and has helped me see how much I tended to romanticize our relationship, how I often forfeited reality for the romantic story I liked to tell myself. Even before we lost Hailey, somewhere along the way we lost each other. Spencer retreated behind work and video games and a constant need to research or distract himself on the Internet. I hid behind alcohol, a problem we never dealt with.
He checks over his shoulder for the nitwit, but she’s nowhere in sight. “I miss talking to you,” he says.
I start to make a snide remark about choice, and how he made his. But I’m tired; not literally, just . . . I’m no longer in the mood for high drama. I don’t want to start pining for him again based on some remark he throws me while his girlfriend is only a few feet away. These past few months have felt precious.
I smile. “I don’t think so.”
“Seriously, it would be nice to catch up. Coffee?”
“Seriously, I don’t think so. You have someone else to talk to now.”
I realize I say this without an ounce of bite. We’ll always have our memories of Hailey, and he’ll always be the only person who will ever ever understand what losing her felt like. I can be grateful for that and let it be enough.
“Are you sure? There are plenty of people who divorce and remain friends. Hell, I thought we’d always be friends. I know Tisa would be fine if we kept in touch. She knows what you mean to me.”
“Tisa probably wouldn’t mind if I showed up at the birth.”
He starts to chuckle but then sighs and fixes his eyes on mine. We stand together, feeling the weight of our past and our daughter and what was our love. People pass. Time slows. Oakland isn’t the biggest city in the world, and I’ll probably run into him again at some point, but this is our good-bye.
He holds my gaze until tears shine in his eyes. “She was beautiful, huh?”
When he takes my hand, my own tears come. I nod. “She was perfect.”
We smile and sniffle, and then it’s the nitwit calling his name and walking toward us with a large avocado in her hand. “Babe, you should see these. . . .”
“Coming, babe.” He smiles and gives my hand a squeeze before turning to join her.
I wipe my eyes and join the crowd of shoppers. I’m struck by the notion that even though I just saw my ex and his pregnant girlfriend, I don’t feel the need to call Sherry.
• • •
Finding parking in Mom and the Reverend’s neighborhood is a nightmare, so I pull into the first open spot, more than a half block away. After Mom married the Reverend, we moved from a one-bedroom apartment into a three-bedroom house that felt like a mansion. There were two more moves over the years until United in Christ Church became the behemoth it is now and they purchased the two-story, five-bedroom stucco with sweeping views of the bay.
When I’m close to the house, I spot Mom on the front porch chatting with a woman, but neither one notices me as I approach. Mom wears a velour jumpsuit with her hair pulled back and her bifocals atop her head. The woman she talks to is big boned with hammy arms and thighs. She wears all lavender with lavender shoes. I notice two large boxes at her feet before homing in on her lavender-painted toenails.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Well, hello. This is a surprise,” she sings. I notice a moment of irritation crossing her face, but she pushes any annoyances aside for the sake of appearances.
Rash behavior is the MO of many
alcoholics, and I’m already second-guessing my decision to show up unannounced. I offer her the flowers. “These are for you. And I brought you the empanadas you like.”
The woman looks from me to Mom and back again. “Sister Wright, is this your daughter? Well, praise Jesus. It is so nice to meet you.” From a distance, she looked to be older, but I see now that she’s in her late thirties, early forties tops. “What kind of flowers are those? They sure are pretty.”
“Peonies,” I say.
She waits for Mom to make introductions, as do I. Mom finally says, “Sister Carol, this is Piper; Piper, Sister Carol. Carol has been helping me with invitations for the Booster’s Ball.”
Carol taps a box with her foot. “Takes all day, but there’s nothing like a signed invitation sent in the mail.”
An annual affair put on to raise scholarship money for college-bound youth, the Booster’s Ball has long been one of Mom’s pet projects, which is rather ironic since she had no higher hopes for me than to find a job with benefits. But I don’t begrudge the ball; it raises many thousands of dollars every year and is attended by council members and city officials who covet votes from United in Christ members.
Carol stares hard as she gives my hand a prolonged shake. I’m the mysterious daughter who never attends her own stepfather’s church and was also caught making out in the parking lot; she must be curious. She places her hand over mine while I stare right back. Her false eyelashes are the same texture as her weave and long enough to be carried off as pets. I’m mesmerized.
“I’ve heard about you. You’re a teacher.”
“Yes, I teach at MacDowell.”
“We have to get you to volunteer with the Carpenter’s Kids. Anyone can volunteer with the Carpenter’s Kids as long as they have a passion to help our youth.”
Mom says, “Piper is busy teaching as it is, but I will do what I can to press upon her how her skill would be valued. I want to thank you again for all your help today, Sister Carol. I know you need to get going, so we won’t keep you.”
Shake Down the Stars Page 22
