Nappily Married

by Trisha R. Thomas

  I was excited, too. Besides no and Dadddy, she hadn’t expressed a desire to talk. “Oh my goodness. Yes, cat. ” I pointed down to the big picture book opened to the animated Garfield.

  Mya pointed to Trina. “Caattt.”

  Trina turned around. Her smile showed a mild gap between her teeth. “That’s right, sweetie, Kat. I taught her how to say the first part of my name, Kat … from Katrina. I know the Trina part is too difficult.” Trina lifted Mya out of her captivity. “Go on, get ready for work. I got her.”

  “Thanks.” I said, “Thanks a lot.” I guessed a lot of children learned how to say cat before mama—they just weren’t referring to the babysitter.

  Trina handed her over to me anyway.

  I kissed Mya quickly and shifted her into Jake’s arms. He kissed Mya then handed her right back to Trina.

  “See you later, babe.” I kissed Jake in musical chair fashion and made a quick exit into the heavy coastal fog. I didn’t get far before realizing I’d left my briefcase. I did a modest U-turn, still driving like I had Miss Daisy in the backseat.

  The house was quiet when I walked inside. I went straight to my leather case on the breakfast nook. Trina and Mya were nowhere to be seen. I peeked down the hall then headed for the garage door, feeling a clean break. The sound of Jake’s voice stopped me. He did a lot of ah-huh s and ummm s when on the phone. In between a “right-right,” I took the extra steps and waited directly outside his closed study.

  Not only was it his telephone voice, but it was the soft melodic tone reserved for … me. “You know how I do things,” he said. “This just isn’t a good time. Aha, right. What do you want me to say?” He paused. “All I’m saying, aha, aha. This is something I have to do in my own way.”

  “Hey, Venus, I thought you were gone.”

  I jumped, startled by Trina catching me with my face pressed against Jake’s door. “I forgot my briefcase.”

  Trina freeze-framed, holding a balled-up Huggies like it was a grenade about to go off.

  Jake opened the study door. “She came back because she forgot to give me a good-bye kiss. It was meant to be.” He took a hold of my face and gave me a long passionate kiss.

  I refused to ask Jake who he was talking to even though it was killing me. Instinctively nosy, always needing to know what was going on, but if I asked, it would start a new precedent, a rule eventually turned on me. Having my conversations monitored would be the last and final straw, so I kissed him again, this time softly, and left with my imagination in full throttle.

  I already had enough to contend with. Loving someone like Jake was like walking around with a pristine white fur coat and hoping it never got dirty. Women and sometimes men stared at my husband as if I wasn’t by his side. I used to think it was recognition from his valiant fifteen moments of rap fame. In the grocery store, at the mall, in the popcorn and soda line at the theater, I would glance up and see hardcore interest in the sexy man on my arm. Jake always pretended he didn’t notice. I pretended I didn’t care.

  Eventually I became immune and accepted being ignored and invisible. Not to say I was chopped liver. You couldn’t attract a man like Jake, have him fall madly in love with you without a few redeeming qualities of your own. Cute, I got a lot. Pretty, a close second. Sexy, something I hardly had to work at.

  For most of my life, my hair was the ward of the flat irons, gels, and wrap scarves. I forbade any man to mess with the do while in the heated throes of passion. With Jake, it was part of the ritual. He took handfuls, grabbing and pulling, directing my every move.

  It’s the one thing I could depend on—glorious beautiful, hot, thick, luscious, and sometimes dangerous lovemaking. We did it everywhere humanly possible. The shower being one of Jake’s favorite locations, which never would’ve happened if I’d stayed straight. So while the high-maintenance snooty pants stared and wondered how I landed such an expensive perfect fur, I simply stroked and purred, knowing I had secret powers. Whether he strayed or not wasn’t big on my list of worries. I considered myself through with the whole jealousy thing. I knew what kind of man I’d married. A man, nonetheless, and if he felt the need to roam the sugar walls of another woman, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop him.

  I put the thought of Jake’s mystery phone conversation out of my mind and entered Jackson Memorial Hospital with my game face on.

  La Vida Loca

  Morgan Taylor stood outside the hospital talking to a full-figured woman wearing an orange poncho and green pedal pushers that made her look like a pumpkin. I tried walking discreetly by, making a wide half circle around the entry and between the tall white pillars.

  “Venus, there you are.”

  “Good morning, Morgan.” Damn. I waved, still moving in the opposite direction.

  “I thought you should meet Deidre McKinley, have a sit-down.” Morgan fanned me toward her. “Deidre McKinley is one of our strongest advocates. She’s a councilwoman for the Thirty-seventh District and strongly opposes the closure of Jackson Memorial.”

  When I got close enough to offer my hand, I realized she was the outspoken leader of the picketers. I shoved my satchel and purse under my arm and shook the woman’s hand. “So good to meet you. You’ve been diligent in fighting for the hospital. Really good to meet you.” I looked at my watch.

  “And you’re the new speaker at the podium. You handled those newshounds with style. About time we had someone say what needed to be said. I’m at your service—take my card.” She patted the cell phone attached to her hip. “Call me, let me know when you’re ready to talk, I’ll come right up.”

  “Thank you, I will.” I rushed toward the entrance.

  “Let me know when you’re ready,” she called out again, adding a dash more pressure.

  I entered the hospital and had to immediately slow down, waiting for my eyes to adjust from the early morning sun to the dull indoor lighting. The Southern California rays zapped unprotected skin and corneas like laser beams. I was becoming impatient, needing to see better, walk faster. I needed to talk to Clint and in a hurry.

  My cell phone rang as I stepped onto the elevator. I reached inside my purse and flipped it open, ready for Jake’s voice, the one that was meant for me.

  “Venus.”

  I did my best to hide my disappointment. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?” My mother who never called anyone just to say hello sounded tired and a wee bit on edge.

  “Ruby said she saw you on the news last night. What’s that all about?” she asked, not wanting to let on her excitement. Having a daughter on TV might put Pauletta back in the good graces of her hairdresser of thirty-three years. My mother’s status had been seriously weakened with my digression from Black American Princess–dom. Having a daughter who cut off her chemically straightened hair and “let herself go” was a definite blemish on one’s royal report card. I refused to go back to the chair no matter how many times my mother emphasized she hadn’t raised me to be some wild child.

  “I got the job at Jackson Hospital, Mom, doing PR. I told you about it.”

  “P-what?”

  “Public relations.”

  “That’s great, that’s nice. When were you going to tell me you’re working? Who’s watching Mya?”

  “Mom, you know we have Trina. She’s been working for us for a few months now.”

  “I thought that was temporary while your leg healed.”

  “Temporary turned into permanent. She’s good with Mya. Mya loves her, so I took the opportunity to go back to work.” I scooted out of the way of the throng of nurses coming onto the elevator carrying hot coffee and dry pastries.

  “Venus, have you lost your mind?” Pauletta sounded eerily like when I was in the second grade, the day I’d declared myself black no more. I’d reached a point of kiddie stress that sent me storming to my mother’s side with a list of reasons why I was no longer going to be a black girl:

  Black girls couldn’t play in the sandbox.

  Black girls couldn’t go
over to Linda Gay’s house to swim.

  Black girls weren’t allowed to work up a sweat in the sun outdoors.

  Black girls had to stay behind after school when it rained so someone could pick them up instead of walk and play splash with the other kids.

  When she was through laughing, she took me into the bathroom and held my father’s belt under my nose and whispered, “You let me hear you say something crazy like that again, you hear. Just one time and see what you get.”

  “What?” I said back to her, trying to figure out if the last thirty years of my life had been a dream or if I was still seven years old being scolded for thinking outside myself. The elevator was suddenly packed. The light on the number runner above wasn’t working, so you couldn’t tell what floor you were on unless you were up front or over six feet tall, of which I was neither.

  “Venus, you don’t let another woman run your household.” My mother sucked her teeth in an exaggerated drag, one more thing I should’ve learned from Pauletta’s house of rules.

  “What are you talking about, Mom? I’m running my household,” I whispered, but still got the knowing glimpses from the female populace on the elevator. The age-old question—who’s watching the children?

  “Listen, you know I don’t like to tell you anything, ’cause you don’t want nobody telling you anything, but trust me, this is not the way to handle your business. Just because you and Mr. Jake over there are living la vida loca doesn’t mean you gotta start acting like you don’t have any good sense. If you want Mya to be watched during the day, I’ll watch her.”

  “Mom, you still have chemotherapy. I know how tired it makes you. I couldn’t ask you to watch her all day, every day. She’s a handful.”

  “Then put her in a good day care. Having someone come there, to your private space every single day taking over your home, your responsibilities, that’s not right.”

  “Mom, there’s nothing wrong, I assure you. Trina’s the best thing that ever happened to us.”

  “Um-hum.”

  “If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have this job. I wouldn’t have even thought it was possible. I mean really, Mom, women have been helping each other run households since the Dark Ages. If anything, it’s the most natural—”

  “There’s nothing natural about it. Adam had one woman—Eve. You don’t mix up things bringing another woman into your home. Didn’t you just tell me something about Wendy’s awkward situation? Her husband and the babysitter,” she added to her final analysis.

  “Jesus,” I whispered, feeling eyes on the back of my head as I pushed myself forward past the crowded mass.

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “Then ohmigod,” I said, nearly fuming. “Is that better?” I was determined to get off the elevator regardless of what floor I was on. I raised my voice when I was free at last. “That has nothing to do with what’s going on in my house. Of course I’m not going to hire an eighteen-year-old babysitter with a tattoo on her ass and wearing jeans low enough to show it. Now that is crazy. Trina is nothing like that.”

  “All right.”

  “Mom, it’s not like that around here. You’ve met Trina, seriously, no way.” The doors opened. I stepped off, not believing my great timing and luck. I was on the pediatrics floor.

  “All right, Venus. I’m just letting you know that I’m available to watch my granddaughter. The only grandchild I have. I certainly wouldn’t mind spending time with her.”

  “Is this what this is about, you’re jealous?” I spun around, not sure which direction to go for Clint’s office.

  “Child, you are about as stubborn and hardheaded as they come.”

  I sighed heavily to send the message, conversation over. I had to find Clint. It was urgent that I tell him about Jasper. “I’ll talk to ya later, Mom.” I hung up and threw the phone back in my purse. My mother’s cryptic premonition of doom hung over me like a black cloud. She had no idea what was going on in my life. I had real dangers that didn’t include the threat of a babysitter. Serious dangers like a madman trying to poison a hospital, a She-whore that was trying to get the job I was meant for, and worse, a husband who might feel slightly neglected—a lethal cocktail, I certainly knew.

  Baby Blues

  Surprisingly, no one stopped me when I stepped into the neonatal ward, where only days before, nurses were stationed outside like the militia. I peered into the glass enclosure and saw Clint sitting alone in a corner chair holding a small infant in his arms. I tapped lightly with my knuckle. His startled look quickly turned warm and inviting. He motioned his head to the side entrance. I pulled on a fresh robe and tied a face mask on with the skill of a surgeon before going inside.

  “Do you sleep here?” I said quietly enough not to disturb the sleeping infant.

  “If there was an extra bed, I would.” He barely looked at me. He placed tiny drops of watery milk to the baby’s parted lips, keeping his hand steady. The liquid rolled down the side of the baby’s cheek.

  I took the seat next to him. “Let me help.” I took the dropper and laid it against the side of the infant’s mouth and waited for the involuntary wave of sucking to start. Like a timer, all babies had it from the time fingers and toes were formed in the womb, the natural instinct to suck. I waited again for the next wave and put the dropper against the cheek. We continued as a team until the feeder was empty.

  Clint saw my concern. “She’s full, trust me,” he said as he lifted her gently and patted her back with two fingers. A barely there sound of gas escaped her lips. Iremembered Mya’s thirst when she was a tiny baby, slurping and gulping milk from my breasts until they were no longer swollen. This one could barely hold a teaspoon of liquid.

  “You did a good job with the press,” he said.

  “I’m just glad they’re all right.” My eyes searched the wall for tangled cords and outlets, wondering how they could have come unplugged. “Do you really believe it was an accident?”

  Clint’s head rested against the thick pane of glass behind him. “It’s crazy, I know. One thing after another. I feel like I’m in the Amityville house of horrors.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like he couldn’t finish what he wanted to say.

  “I think I know what’s going on.”

  “This isn’t how I pictured it, V. I never thought I’d be holding a baby that barely weighed a few pounds, and I never ever thought my job would be threatened by some bullshit. Being a doctor used to mean security, prestige, something close to royalty. Now it’s like…” He trailed off, focusing on the small baby sleeping on his chest. “Now it’s like I’m a shift worker like my father. Dispensable. Like I didn’t go to school for ten years, busting my ass, humping sunup to sundown to make something of myself.”

  He stood up, cradling the baby with all the love and care, but anger and frustration crowded his face. He paced. “Do you know how many times I wanted to give up? It was never easy. I wasn’t raised in a house with a single parent. Worse, I had no parents. So essentially, I’m a self-made man. And what’s my reward? Sometimes I wonder if Kandi was right. I never should have come here.” He paced, shaking his head.

  By this time, I was prepared to take the baby from his arms. “Clint.”

  “Did you hear that?” He stopped in his tracks.

  Besides the pumps and fetal monitors, I heard nothing. I looked around, eyeing the colorful mural on the walls, the row of tubular housings where the other tiny babies slept with soft warm light filtering down on their bodies. “Hear what?”

  “She made a baby noise,” Clint whispered in amazement, answering his own question. “That’s huge. She was dreaming … which means active brain synapse. That’s huge. She’ll be going home soon,” he said, completely turned around from his turmoil. He carried Baby back to her bunk. “Could you get the handle?”

  I slid close to him and opened the door. He laid her down on her stomach. She was in a peaceful slumber. We stood watching for a few silent moments. “I always cou
ld talk to you about anything.” He lifted an arm and draped it around my shoulders. I slipped it off, feeling uneasy. I stepped to the side and put safe distance between us.

  I stayed a few moments longer, arms crossed over my chest. I turned quickly, looking over my shoulder, unable to shake the odd feeling of someone watching. No one was there. The glass windows were thick enough to feel like bulletproof barricades but couldn’t stop piercing eyes.

  Clint had already moved on to the next incubator. A boy I assumed by the soft blue cap on his head. He put the shiny stethoscope to the baby’s tiny brown chest and listened with love.

  “I have some information about Jasper Calloway. Do you know him?”

  Clint held up a finger for a moment of silence. He moved his stethoscope to another area on the thin beating chest, then another. When he was finished, he followed me out. We both pulled our face masks down at the same time. I picked up the file and placed it in his gloved hand.

  Nancy Drew Who?

  “I think I know what’s going on around here.” Outside the neonatal ward I could speak louder.

  He scanned the top sheet. His face scrunched up, making his exhausted eyes fall into smaller slits. “What is this? Why do I care that Jasper Calloway has a four hundred score on his credit report?”

  “Jasper Calloway was a doctor. Happened to be a very well paid doctor right here at Jackson Memorial. Now he’s an assistant. Does someone that used to make life-and-death decisions voluntarily go to low-level admin? I need to know what happened, why he doesn’t practice medicine anymore.”

  “Okay?” Clint said, still not getting my point.

  I took a breath. “He was the head of Pediatrics. The job you now have.” That got Clint’s attention. He took the papers back and focused on the second page. Jasper Calloway, MD. Graduated 1979, Loma Linda University. “I replaced him?”