“Okay, Miss Thing, let’s get you cleaned up.” Trina wiped Mya’s hands and mouth before scooping her out of the high chair.
“You need to stop taking advantage of Trina, little lady.” I took Mya out of Trina’s arms and set her on her wobbly two feet. “She needs to walk. Come on, pretty girl, Mommy will get you dressed.” I started to walk Mya, holding her two small hands while she stood between my legs. Instead of taking off like she usually did, she craned her neck followed by her entire body, looking for Trina.
My cast had been off a whole two weeks, but I still moved like I was carrying the weighted stump. “Shhh, Mya, let’s go.”
Trina picked up the remote and turned on the TV, doing her best to ignore the mother–daughter tussle. The morning news came to a full screen of picketers holding up signs. our community our hospital. A little girl used both arms stretched high above her head. Her sign read, i was born here.
“There he is. That’s him.” The television cameras followed the picketers to a group of men and women dressed in staid business attire.
“Why are you trying to shut down our hospital?” A thick older black woman spoke out. “Many of the people in this community have no cars, no transportation. Where are they supposed to go for their medical care? What happens when someone is shot and bleeding in the streets? We’re supposed to wait an hour for an ambulance to take us to the other side of town?”
“Our investigation is not conclusive.” The well-dressed woman with large teeth and stiff hair lifted a hand with calm, demanding control. “The county wants to make assessments and put this hospital back on its feet as quickly as possible. Our goal is to keep this hospital operating at full capacity. Please go home and let us do our job.” The camera spun around to the shouting picketers.
“They can’t hide forever. We’ll be waiting when they come out,” the lead picketer vowed. The crowd behind cheered.
The newscaster turned her face to the camera with a grave tone. “As you can see, the Los Angeles County Board of Health is cracking down on the hospital. An investigation committee has been assigned to evaluate the affairs at Jackson Memorial. For some time they have been under investigation, and sorry to say, this might be the end of the Jackson Memorial Center, which has a deep history in the African-American community. I’m Delores Stevens, in Los Angeles.”
“Did they just say they were closing the hospital?” Trina and I were both straining to hear over Mya’s consistent wail.
“Mya. Stop it.”
Trina went around me and scooped Mya up. “It’s okay. What-sa-matter with that baby, huh?” She poked her head past Mya, who was now relaxed against her chest. “I can’t believe they’re closing the hospital. Where’re people supposed to go?”
I took Mya out of Trina’s arms again, set her down and shot a look that said, Don’t you dare.
Trina turned her back and pretended to be busy. “You hungry? I’m fixing eggs,” she spoke over the ever-rising volume of Mya’s cry.
“No, no thank you. Mya, let’s go.”
I inevitably picked her up myself duly defeated.
I could see Mya’s outstretched arms reaching over my back for Trina. I cringed and out of spitefulness I swung around and simply handed her over. It was supposed to be a test. Mya was supposed to fret and panic over the separation. Instead she did the opposite, gladly migrating against Trina’s chest, forgetting I was in the room.
I gave it a few more minutes and said something caustic like, “Mommy is leaving. Okay, Mommy is saying bye-bye, Mya.”
Mya went on to play with the cross hanging against Trina’s worn out Super Bowl T-shirt. I left the kitchen and went upstairs and closed myself in the bathroom. I sat on the closed toilet seat for a brief me-oh-my tirade. In the beginning, I cherished every moment I had away from the pressures of work and office politics, now I felt like I was wasting away.
The knock at the bathroom door shook me from my pity party.
“Venus, uh, you all right in there?” Trina’s brassy voice came through like she was standing next to me.
I snatched some tissue off the roll and wiped my face. “I’m good. You need something?”
“Well, no, I just heard … you sounded like you were throwing up or something.”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, well, I’ma take Mya to the park. You sure you okay?”
“Yes.” I said through seemingly gritted teeth, although I meant to smile.
I heard the distant steps and then the bedroom door close.
“Wendy, hey girl,” I tried to talk above my plugged nose, then realized I probably sounded A-okay. The countless times I’d dialed Wendy after a good cry probably made this time sound tame and normal in the world according to Venus Johnston. Johnston-hyphenated-Parson, my driver’s license read. I was a missus now.
“Want to go to lunch?” I asked like the old days when we were cubicle buddies at Mayer Advertising, where we first met eleven years ago.
“You in town?”
“No. I’m still in L.A.”
“Okay, what happened?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing. Just a little time on my hands,” I said, extending my legs and stretching my toes to see if one leg might really be longer than the other since the cast came off.
“Girl, you know nothing would make me happier than you coming to visit. But whatever has got you under the bridge is still going to be there when you get back.”
“Lunch,” I said. “I wasn’t planning to stay for a week.”
“So you’re going to fly out here just to have lunch with me, then you’re going to get back on the plane and go home. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Ah-huh,” I said with a good sniff.
“Good grief, what’d he do?”
“Jake. Ohmagod, are you kidding? He’s perfect.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” Wendy exclaimed, never having been a fan of Jake the rapper. Though he did get points for being fine as hell and extremely polite.
“Jake’s perfect,” I said brightly.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I’m bored. I know this is the life I asked for. Wife and mommy status was like winning the lottery, and now I’m bored out of my gourd.” Another sniff attached. “I worked so hard before. Now I feel useless. I feel like everyone is moving forward and I’m standing still.”
“Okay,” she said, satisfied with the answer. “When are you coming?”
“Now.”
“Now? Well hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but we’ll be having dinner instead of lunch. It’s already eleven o’clock here. … East Coast, baby, see you tonight.”
I called Jake and explained Wendy needed me. It was an emergency. Mya and Trina were fine and I’d be back the next day. Jake was in the middle of threatening his manufacturer in Thailand and simply said, “Hurry back.”
“I love you,” I said before the phone went silent.
Free at Last
One thousand dollars and five hours later, I was standing on the curb of the Baltimore airport. I could hear Wendy scream out, “Heyyy!” but couldn’t see her coming from any direction.
I spun around one more time. I cupped my hand over my mouth when I realized where the voice was coming from. “Girl, no you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.” Wendy spun around to give me a full view. My sister friend who hadn’t missed a month in the relaxer chair since I’d known her was standing proud with her Miss America hair gone, cut down to the natural baby-fine root. Her dark skin, high cheekbones, and light brown eyes were accentuated to the fullest.
“You look awesome” was all I could say once the shock wore off. “Amazingly beautiful.”
“You like it? Really?”
“I love it. Really.” I hugged her fiercely tight.
“I was going to tell you. I mean your coming out here was a surprise. I thought, why not surprise you back. So here I am. Pulled
a Venus Johnston. Cut it all off and daring somebody to say something ignorant. Just daring ’em.”
“What does Sidney say?”
Her eyes watered slowly. “Well, there you go … that’s ignorant.” Her big amber eyes captured the reflection of light just enough to show how sad she truly was. “You don’t know. You forgot.” She shook her head like she was disgusted. “Get in.”
I pulled on my seat belt and snapped it locked. “Wendy, when I cut my hair, the first thing you said was, ‘What does Clint have to say?’ It was the first thing out of your mouth. Now when I ask, what does Sidney have to say, I’m crazy. It’s a real issue. Black men do not, I repeat, do not like their women cutting off all their hair. They rather you walk around with a Diahann Carroll wig flipped up on the sides than see you in a natural short cut.”
She started up the engine. The car pulled out, garnering a few honks from drivers she’d nearly swiped. “You should know more so than anybody—this is not about Sidney, or what he thinks. This is about me.”
“Okay, you’re scaring me.”
“That bastard has been screwing the babysitter,” she blurted out. I stayed silent in shock. We drove to the restaurant without another word spoken. I was too busy praying we got there safely. She was too busy trying to see the road through her tear-swollen eyes.
The hostess seated us outside underneath the clear black sky. A tall steel gas furnace sat next to our table, pumping out heat. The airplane ride had been unbearably cold. I was still fighting off the chill.
After the bread was left and the water was poured, I reached across and grabbed Wendy’s warm hand. “I’m sorry about Sidney.”
“I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d say it was partly my fault, especially with your … it-takes-two-to-tango philosophy.”
“No. I wouldn’t have said it was your fault. No. I mean, I do believe in cause and effect. You get what you give and all that, but when it comes to a man, all bets are off.” I pulled my hand away after I felt eyes staring. It dawned on me that the table next to us thought Wendy and I were a loving couple. Wendy’s new short haircut. Mine pulled back in a frizzy cottontail as I sat whispering words of solace that may have looked like a lover’s apology.
Then I reached out and took both her hands, not caring what people thought. “So tell me, are you enjoying your new freedom? You like the way you feel, because I think you look amazing.”
“I do. I feel good, I mean when I’m not thinking about what Sidney did. I saw it with my own eyes. Her mouth was wrapped so tight around his—”
“Are you two ready to order?” The waitress held her pencil up, ready for action.
“Water for now.” I wanted to hear the rest of Wendy’s details. Scoot! The waitress went away quietly.
Wendy decided to whisper this time. “Eighteen. The girl is barely legal. I swear if she’d been one year younger, I’d have his ass arrested. Too bad screwing around on your wife in your own home isn’t a crime.”
“It is a crime, just not one punishable by a jail sentence.”
“Let me tell you, I walked in, turned around, and went right back outside and shut the door. Then rang the doorbell. He answered, and that’s when I socked him square in his big nose. He didn’t know what hit him.”
I busted up laughing. “I’m sorry. That’s not funny.”
“It is funny. It’s ridiculous. It was like watching something from real far, far away. He didn’t even look up when I first came in. Why does a blow job make a man lose consciousness? I swear, I can chew bubble gum and figure out an algebraic equation with Sidney’s mouth on my crotch. I want some of whatever good-sense blockers are released in a man’s brain when he gets a blow job.”
“I am sorry. What do the kids say? How are they taking all of the drama?”
“They’ll live. What’s important is that I stop living in a fantasy world. Sid and I have been wrong for a long time. No renewal of the vows or marriage therapist is going to fix it this time. Really, I’m good.” She used her napkin to dab her eyes. “You’re the one flew all day to get here. What happened to you?”
My episode of loneliness felt petty and small compared with what Wendy was going through. “Nothing. Just needed to get away.”
“Do me a favor, don’t feel bad for me. Feels like a weight has been lifted. I have to beat the men off me, girl. Your little theory about men and short hair is way off. Way off.” She leaned in and whispered, “I already met someone.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? This calls for a celebration.” I flagged the waitress back over. “A bottle of Moät, please.”
“Oooh, for little ol’ me?”
“To you and the new life that awaits.” When the bottle came, we lifted our glasses for a toast.
“You know the best part about all this: I feel so entirely free. It took something tragic to make it happen, but damn if the price wasn’t worth it.”
We turned up our glasses and went through the bottle like it was water. Before it was over, there were three bottles of Moät on the tab. Through my blurry eyes, I kept questioning who drank them, but from the looks of us both, we were definitely the guilty party.
“Ladies, would you like a cab?” The Asian waitress had four dimples, two faces.
Wendy and I must’ve seen the same thing because we both cracked up.
“No, ma’am. We’re not quite ready to leave yet,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“Okay, but if you don’t mind, I’m going off shift in a few minutes and would like to clear this bill.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Which sounded more like, Oohyeahshooore. I pulled out my gold card and laid it on top of the bill. The waitress was quick to scoop it up. “She don’t have nowhere to go. She just wants to make sure I pay before I fall into the harbor,” I said, still seeing double.
Wendy laughed and slobbered at the same time then stopped abruptly. “What? What are you staring at?”
I followed her eyes to the couple that had been watching earlier. A black man and a white woman. They quickly averted their eyes.
“Act like they ain’t never seen no fine sister girls. We do exist, you know. Sorry, I was busy before, but I’m free now. Want a date?”
I grabbed Wendy’s hand that was pointed in their direction.
“Did I mention the babysitter was pregnant?” she said, quieting suddenly.
I shook my head.
“Yeah. Sidney’s. So she says.” She downed the rest of her champagne.
My eyes watered right along with Wendy’s. My head throbbed, and then I ran to the bathroom to throw up.
Stupid Women Tricks
My disappearing act didn’t go over well with Jake. I explained how I’d forgotten my phone charger and how the battery died before I’d even reached Baltimore. So why didn’t I use Wendy’s phone? he raged.
Then I went with the truth, thoroughly explaining Wendy’s crisis, and our drinking until we couldn’t see straight. How time got away from the two of us. Nothing seemed to squelch Jake’s anger.
I admitted I was wrong, and frankly, I was sick of making amends. Each morning, the day started out with Jake interrogating me. “What are you going to do today?”
My answer had to be detailed. “I have Gymboree with Mya at ten. Meeting my mom for a late lunch, then I’ll probably go to LA Fitness and work out.”
“Are you coming straight home after the gym?”
“Yes.”
Believe it or not, this is what my already tedious life had come to. I was left feeling more stagnant than before.
After Jake left for his studio, I lay in bed. I rolled over, reached for the remote, and clicked on the TV. The sleek flat screen opened up to the picketers going strong in front of Jackson Memorial Hospital. The restless crowd had grown, doubled in size from the last telecast. A press conference was about to take place. The camera swung to the empty podium, waiting for whoever would take the mike. A heavyset woman finally arrived, shuffling notes, not sure where to start. She shoo
k her collar a little to cool off, but still perspiration sprang to her armpits, making wide dark circles on her lavender suit.
“As you know, there have been many allegations about the efficiency and care given at this hospital. Outrageous rumors and nothing more. The list of problems is long but comes from lack of resources, not lack of caring professionals.”
“Is it true you’re closing?” The question came out of the crowd of reporters.
The woman looked at her stack of unorganized papers. I waited for the answer that would set us all free.
“No,” she said. “Any other questions?”
“I’ve heard the neonatal unit will be closing first.” Another reporter fired, “Of all the facilities in the hospital, why do you think that department was pinpointed?”
“Money, why else? Isn’t this what it’s all about? Forget about saving lives.” She waved a hand as if she’d had enough. “Forget about the people of this community since they can’t afford good health care. Thank you and have a good day.”
I clicked the TV off and thought about what I’d just heard. The cost of running the neonatal ward was bankrupting the hospital.
All I could think about were those innocent babies, each and every one of them, with tubes coursing in and out of their bodies with barely a fair chance to survive. What would happen if they didn’t have Jackson Memorial? Little brown angels with nowhere to go. Who would care for them?
I knew it was a long shot, thinking I could pick up the phone and reach Clint on the first try, but I wanted to talk to him and tell him I wanted to do anything I could to help. He was my friend after all, regardless of how badly he’d broken my heart. Most important, I knew I could help … at least trying would be better than wallowing in too much free time.
Nappily Married Page 5
