by Mary Monroe
“You want a beer?” I asked.
“I said somethin’ strong. I know you got some vodka. With all the money you make, you better have some,” she insisted, posing with her head cocked and a hand on her hip. She twirled around and loudly cleared her throat, determined to make sure I noticed her new outfit. This was usually how she fished for compliments.
“You look mighty spiffy in that navy blue dress and matching hat,” I commented.
“What about my shoes?” Scary Mary asked, holding up one wide, flat foot.
“Those navy blue pumps sure do look good on your feet,” I told her.
“They cost me enough,” she said, brushing off the tail of her dress. There was a pleased look on her face now.
“I have some rum and Coke. Will that do?”
“I guess that’ll do,” Scary Mary said sharply, clearly disappointed. “But make it nice and strong,” she ordered, sliding a gnarled finger across my coffee table checking for dust.
She followed me into the kitchen where I mixed her a large glass of rum and Coke. “Uh, how was the funeral?” I wanted to know.
Scary Mary took a long drink first. Then she let out a loud belch and grabbed a wet dishrag off my sink and wiped her lips. “Girl, you didn’t miss nothin’,” she said, tossing the dishrag back into the sink. “Betty Jean looked just as ornery in death as she did in life. She had a scowl on her face like a hit man. Her poor, long-sufferin’ mama just cried and cried and cried. She carried on worse for Betty Jean than she did the other day at her drug-dealin’ son, Lester’s, funeral. Losin’ two young’ns so close together is somethin’ no mother should have to go through. Even though them two was two of the biggest devils in town. My poor daughter, Mott, I’m glad she too retarded to break my heart. Praise the Lord. Long as Mott in that home I signed her into, I ain’t got to worry about her.”
Scary Mary sucked on her teeth and a weary look crossed her heavily lined face. It amazed me that a woman her age still applied so many layers of makeup. In one spot a clump of nut-brown powder was almost an inch thick. Rouge applied in large red circles on her long cheeks gave her a clownish look.
“I sure miss the handsome way that Rhoda’s daddy used to make up the dead,” she went on. “It’s a damn shame he already retired and moved away before he got a chance to bury me. Me, vain as I done got to be in my old age, I put it in my will for the undertaker to have ’em make up my face so it’ll look as good in death as it do in life.”
“Was there a good turnout?” I asked. We returned to the living room, where Scary Mary flopped down on my sofa next to me, kicking off her blue shoes.
“Brother Hampton’s funeral was better last week. He had twice as many mourners and Reverend Carter let me sing two solos. I was surprised not to see Pee Wee at the service today. Him and Betty Jean used to be real close,” Scary Mary said, looking around. “By the way, where he at? I been hearin’ things about y’all. Imagine his strumpet bein’ so mean she stole a pair of his drawers and sent ’em to you! But that pile of shit you got sent to you at work took the cake! I hope you don’t let Pee Wee get away with that shit. If I was in your shoes, I’d bounce a brick off his head so fast his brains would catch afire. Shit!”
“We’re separated,” I said tiredly, wishing I had also fixed myself a strong drink. “We need to work out a few things. That’s all.”
Scary Mary gave me a dry look, like she was disappointed that I didn’t reveal more details. “Well, I wouldn’t let him stay out there too long if I was you. There must be a heap of women out there just waitin’ to snatch him up. You don’t need to make it easy for none of ’em. And Lord knows, you need to hold on to that man while you can.” She patted my hand and gave me a look of pity. “Once a woman gets past a certain age, she don’t appeal to nobody but a undertaker. I’m glad I had my share of attention while I was still young. But in the long run, not a one of my eight husbands was worth my time. I would have been better off sharin’ my affections with a cute cat or a parakeet. Besides, I like bein’ single.”
It seemed strange to be hearing this kind of talk from a woman Scary Mary’s age. But she was the only woman in her eighties that I knew of who led such an active life. She even belonged to a gym!
“Well?” Scary Mary dipped her head, crossed her legs, and wiggled her foot at me.
“Well, what?” I shrugged.
“I guess you don’t want to tell me the whole story about you and Pee Wee breakin’ up, huh?”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing else to tell right now. We are separated.”
“Temporarily, I hope.”
“I hope so, too,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Well, after you fix me another drink, I’ll skedaddle on home and get me some rest. I ain’t no young woman no more,” Scary Mary said, a tinge of sadness in her voice. She groaned and rubbed her neck.
Scary Mary stayed another hour and sucked up three more drinks.
CHAPTER 53
There was a loud knock on my front door just as she stood up to leave. I did not recognize the handsome young Black man standing on my front porch, dressed in black leather from head to toe. He looked like one of those exotic Chippendale male strippers.
“Can I help you?” I asked, looking the stranger up and down, frightened and excited at the same time. His pants were so tight, it looked like they had been painted on. I wondered if the healthy bulge in his crotch area was real.
“I’m here to see Annette,” he informed me in a deep, sexy voice, hands on his hips. The buttons at the top of his shirt were undone, revealing a ripped chest. He had smooth, light brown skin and close-cropped, jet-black hair. If I didn’t know that Will Smith was in Hollywood, I would have sworn that it was him standing in front of me.
“Um…I’m Annette. Do I know you?” My eyes twitched, my stomach fluttered.
“Uh,” the stranger looked over my shoulder and lowered his voice, “the agency sent me.”
I turned around and looked at Scary Mary. She had moved close enough behind me to hear everything. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow and shrugged.
“Ebony Dates,” the man said, his voice just above a whisper. But Scary Mary heard him anyway.
“Shit goddamn! You work for Thelma Paxton? What in the world—who in the world had Thelma send you over here?” Scary Mary demanded, standing so close behind me I could feel her hot, foul breath on the back of my neck.
“Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on and you better tell me fast,” I said, looking from the stranger to Scary Mary.
“Thelma runs that pooh-butt escort service.” Scary Mary pushed me aside and faced the man, with a look of contempt on her face. “What’s your name, boy?”
“I’m…Long John,” the man said, leering at me. “I’m…scheduled to spend two hours with Annette today.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Long John. But you won’t be spending two hours with me today or any other day,” I said firmly, wiping sweat off my forehead.
“Now you look here, Long. You go tell your boss I don’t appreciate her tryin’ to do business in this part of town!” Scary Mary yelled. “You tell her I been in this business longer than she been alive and I ain’t fin to quit no time soon.”
“Who sent you to see me?” I asked, unable to take my eyes off the man’s handsome face.
He shrugged and scratched his cheek. “I can’t reveal that. I just go where they tell me to go.”
“Well, I didn’t call for any male escort, so you can go back and tell whoever sent you what I said.” I gently closed and locked my front door, and peeped out the window until I saw him get in a dark blue Chevy and drive away.
I turned to Scary Mary with a puzzled, amused look on my face. “I bet Jade or Rhoda sent me a male hooker. Jade even suggested I go out and meet somebody to take my mind off Pee Wee.” I shook my head. “But this…this is extreme even for Jade or Rhoda.”
“Well, who else would have sent somebody over here to give you some
nookie?” Scary Mary asked.
“Maybe he had the wrong address,” I suggested.
Scary Mary shook her head so hard that the wig on her head shifted. It was already on sideways. “He asked for you by name. If Rhoda or Jade didn’t try to hook you up, I say somebody else is tryin’ to be funny. You got any more spirits?”
“Yeah, but who?” I moved slowly toward the portable bar across the room. The notes and the other crap I had received in the mail were one thing. That was downright vicious and as far as I was concerned, Betty Jean had been behind all that. But she was dead. “Betty Jean couldn’t have done it. Not now.”
Scary Mary snatched the large bottle of rum out of my hand and poured herself a generous drink. “Sure she could,” Scary Mary insisted, taking her time to continue. She let out a deep, wheezy sigh and moved to the sofa where she plopped down with a loud groan.
I felt uncomfortable in my own house. I stood there staring at Scary Mary. The sleeves on my blouse were too long. With the cuffs almost covering my hands, the blouse felt like a straitjacket when I folded my arms. “When you set up a date through an agency, you can set it up weeks in advance. I even got tricks calling me setting up dates for themselves and their friends months in advance. Judge Bernstein set hisself a date up for this Christmas and it’s still more than two months away!” she told me.
“I see.” I let out a sigh of relief and joined Scary Mary on the sofa. “So Betty Jean could have called up that agency and arranged this way before she died.”
“Yep!”
Scary Mary’s explanation made a lot of sense, so I put the whole incident out of my mind. My only hope was that that was the only delayed situation that Betty Jean had arranged.
CHAPTER 54
As obnoxious as Scary Mary was, I was glad she had come by. I don’t know how I would have reacted to the male hooker at my door had she not been present. She passed the mailman on my porch on her way out and intercepted him. He handed her the stack of mail, so she returned to my door to hand it to me.
Right on top of the stack was the same type of envelope that I had received the first note in. A small, pink invitationsized envelope addressed to me. There was no return name or address.
“Don’t go yet,” I begged Scary Mary.
“What?” Scary Mary asked, her eyes on the envelope.
“Wait just a minute,” I said, ripping the envelope open as Scary Mary stared at me with her mouth hanging open. It was a small message but it carried a lot of weight:
Bitch,
I am still here. This town is not big enough for the two of us. LEAVE here or else…
The postmark was from the day before. Betty Jean had been dead for three days! “It wasn’t Betty Jean harassing me,” I whispered. “But…But maybe she had somebody working with her. One of her crazy relatives. Maybe she sealed this up before she died and left it lying around and one of them saw it and mailed it,” I babbled.
“Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t,” Scary Mary said firmly. “The question now is, if Betty Jean wasn’t the one fuckin’ with you and fuckin’ your man, who is it?”
“I don’t know. Can you give me a ride over to Steve Hardy’s house? That’s where Pee Wee is staying.”
I grabbed my purse and a sweater off the back of the wing chair next to my sofa. I put my sweater on so fast I had it on upside down. I adjusted it in Scary Mary’s van. She was the only person I knew who drove better when she was drunk than she did when she was sober.
It took us ten minutes to get to Pee Wee’s cousin’s house where he’d been staying since our last spat.
Scary Mary parked at a crooked angle in front of the large brown house on a tree-lined street. There was a large weeping willow tree in the front yard on one side of the curved walkway. A birdbath was on the other side.
Nobody answered when I rang the doorbell. The front door was wide open, and the screen door was unlocked. Nobody answered even when I pushed open the screen door and called out Steve’s name and the names of his wife and kids.
“Get out the way,” Scary Mary ordered, pushing her way in, bold as a thief. I followed behind her.
I had been to Steve’s house several times over the years, so I knew my way around. I jumped ahead of Scary Mary and had her follow me. We marched through the living room into one of the two downstairs bedrooms. It was empty, but I found Pee Wee in the second bedroom. I didn’t know if he was playing possum or if he really was asleep. I ran up to the bed and started beating him about the face and head with my fists. He woke up immediately.
“What the hell—” He leaped up from the bed, grabbing my wrists and holding on to me so tight I couldn’t move anything below my neck. “What in the world is goin’ on now, woman? What the hell you doin’ comin’ up in here with this shit!” Pee Wee glanced over my shoulder at Scary Mary. “What’s goin’ on here?” he asked her. “Y’all drunk or crazy or what?”
“I ain’t drunk,” Scary Mary said quickly. “And if anybody in this room is crazy, it ain’t me,” she added, fanning her face with a handkerchief that she had removed from her bosom.
“Whoever the hell she is, she can have your black ass,” I yelled. “I am through with you. You got one day to get the rest of your shit out of my house, or I will give it to the junk man!”
“That’s fine with me. You are beyond talkin’ to and I ain’t even goin’ to try and do that with you no more. If you ever come to your senses, you come to me. I’m through. You call up the lawyer and we will work out everything. I don’t care what you do, as long as I can see my child when I want to. Now you get the hell out of this house!”
In all the years that I’d known and loved Pee Wee, he had never talked to me in such a harsh manner. This was like the final nail in the coffin.
In just a few days I had become a person that even I didn’t like. I was so disgusted with myself that I could barely stand to look at my own face in the mirror. No wonder Pee Wee had lost interest in me.
Even after old Mr. Boatwright had raped me for so many years, I had never challenged him physically. But I had hit Pee Wee so hard with my fists that they were now aching and throbbing like I had pummeled a rock.
As far as I was concerned, my marriage was over. I was completely crushed. Even though I had not attended anybody’s funeral today, it felt like I had.
CHAPTER 55
After I assaulted Pee Wee in his cousin’s house, I instructed Scary Mary to drop me off at Rhoda’s house. She stayed just long enough with me to help me tell Rhoda and Jade about the male prostitute who had been sent to my house, which, as it turned out, neither one of them knew anything about.
“It had to be that bitch,” I said. “Lord knows what she’s going to do next,” I said, as Rhoda poured some Epsom salt into a large bowl with warm water for me to soak my throbbing hands. I had told Rhoda and Jade about how I had attacked Pee Wee. That had horrified them as much as the news about the male prostitute.
I was glad that Scary Mary had decided not to stay with me at Rhoda’s house. I didn’t feel comfortable discussing my business too freely in front of her. She already knew more about my situation than I wanted her to know.
“Pee Wee didn’t fight you back when you hit him?” Jade asked me, stirring the warm water with a long spoon, forcing my hands in deeper. “Are you going to leave him now?” We were in Rhoda’s dining room, with the door closed so Otis and Bully couldn’t hear our conversation. “If I was you, I would. He’s got you acting like a fool.”
“I don’t know, Jade,” I said in a weak voice. My hands looked like they belonged on a lobster. Jade handed me a towel. I hated to lift my hands out of the bowl and dry them, but the throbbing had stopped.
“How much more are you going to put up with from Pee Wee, Auntie?” Jade asked, handing me a much-needed glass of white wine.
“He’s no prince or no Greek god or nothing. You deserve better. With all the money you make and all the nice things you have, you could probably get you a real cute, real yo
ung man,” Jade insisted.
Rhoda and I looked from Jade to each other and shook our heads.
Rhoda dropped to the floor and started giving me a foot massage. “Pee Wee is still Annette’s husband, baby,” Rhoda said to Jade, speaking in an unusually gentle tone. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought.” Rhoda sniffed and turned to me. “Pee Wee and I have been friends since we were eight, and I love him like a brother. I’d hate to see y’all break up,” Rhoda said to me. “But you have to do what you think is right for you. If I were you, Annette, I would try to work this out. If Pee Wee can stop doin’ whatever it is that he’s doin’ with this bitch, he might be worth holdin’ on to. Look at me. I could have dumped Otis when I found out about him and his whore. But what good would that have done me? Him and his bitch would have lived happily ever after. Me, I’d have ended up alone…” Rhoda paused and wrapped a warm towel around my feet.
“Auntie, I keep telling you, you can get yourself another husband! It makes me so sad to see you going through all this crazy stuff!” Jade hollered. With a frantic, wide-eyed look on her face, she turned from me to Rhoda. “A lot of men like women who look like Auntie!” Jade said to Rhoda.
I didn’t even want to know what Jade meant by her comment about women like me.
Jade turned back to me. “What if he gives you a disease, or gets somebody pregnant? Would you stay with him then?”
“I doubt that very seriously,” I said. “I would have to draw the line somewhere. But he is still better than some of the other men out there. And I am way too tired to get back in the dating scene.”
“Now that you know Betty Jean wasn’t the one harassing you, what do you plan to do?” Rhoda asked.
