Dr. Feelgood

by Marissa Monteilh

  Dad took a seat in one of the reclining chairs. He began sorting through some old cassette tapes.

  Erskalene, who before had the skin of someone half her age, now looked nearly twice her age. I watched her walk into the kitchen to check on a pot full of black-eyed peas and ham hocks. The soulful aroma was everywhere. She’d lost a lot of weight, and her hair was now totally gray. She came back in, tying her orange robe at her waist.

  “It’s good to see you,” I told her. I found myself touching her hand as I spoke.

  She didn’t look me in the eyes. Not even once. She took her place in her recliner next to Dad and crossed her legs at the ankle. “You, too, Makkai. You, too.”

  The reunion in the grand ballroom of the beautiful Adam’s Mark Hotel was packed. The room was all abuzz. I saw many, many faces I knew, but hadn’t seen in years. And, I saw faces I didn’t know at all. I saw my aunts, and cousins, and nieces, and nephews, and tons of elders of the family. Everyone was dressed up, looking good. I went dressy casual with a black shirt and black pinstriped pants.

  As my dad and I sat at a rounded table for ten, one of my cousins brought over an elderly lady who used a walker. Dad smiled brightly in his midnight blue three-piece suit, looking pretty dapper for an old man.

  He stood up to greet her, bracing himself with his cane. I stood as well. “Son, this is my Aunt Ethel. She’s one hundred and five years old.” Pride took over his face.

  I told her, “What an honor to meet you.” The elegant-looking woman had on all white, including a white dress and hat with big snowy white flowers. I reached out my hand, and she pulled me to her for a hug.

  “Call me Auntie, chile. Is yo name Roosevelt, too?”

  “No, my name is Makkai,” I said as we parted our embrace.

  She looked at my dad. “Oh, Roosevelt, didn’t I jus’ meet two a yo boys name fa you?”

  “You probably did, Aunt Ethel. There are quite a few juniors,” he replied.

  I just had to know. “Dad, how many sons named Roosevelt do you have?”

  “I think about six. I don’t know. A few of them are here. You’ll meet them.”

  Aunt Ethel asked, “Chile, is you da baby son?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I told her.

  Dad spoke up. “No, Aunt Ethel, he’s not.”

  She scratched the back of her neck. “Roosevelt, yo mom told me bout chu but I thought chu’d a stopped all dat Don Juan stuff long, long time ago, boy.”

  “I did eventually.”

  She patted my hand. “Good. I don’t mean no harm but chile, don’t chu take afta yo dad, ‘cause he addicted to da ladies. Dat wife a his must be a good woman, I’ll say dat ret now.”

  “She is,” Dad said.

  Aunt Ethel spoke to me while clutching her large white leather bag. “Well, it’s nice ta meet chu finally. If it hadn’t happen’ dis time, it sholey wudn’t gone happen on da nex one.”

  “Nice to meet you too. You’re pretty sharp to be over one hundred years old. You’ll be around.”

  “Chile, dat’s one thang bout dis family. Da womens live long lives but da mens die young jus’ from chasing us arounds.”

  “Don’t I know that,” Dad said.

  She pointed to me as she turned to walk away. “He look mo likes you den any yo’ tribe,” she commented to my dad.

  Dad missed the comment as he focused on looking past his aunt, who was headed back toward her table. Dad’s eyes bugged. “Come on, Makkai, I want to introduce you to my twin daughters.”

  “Twins. Where did the twin gene come from?”

  “Their mom’s side.” We took a few slow steps to another table.

  “Oh, Lawd,” I said, as two tall, stacked women stood up, wearing matching tan outfits and high heels.

  I whispered, “Dad, please don’t tell me those are my sisters?”

  “Yes, Makkai. This is Rita and Renee. Rita and Renee, this is your brother Makkai.”

  “Damn, Dad. I can’t take this,” I said toward his ear.

  Rita said, “Nice to meet you, big brother.” Big was a word that I did not feel like. They were both at least two inches taller than me. And fine as hell. Long hair, long legs, long nails, and short-ass dresses.

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Dad bragged, “They played basketball when they were in college in Arizona.”

  “I guess they did, looking at their height,” I commented.

  Renee said, “Our mom is six-foot-three inches.”

  I asked in jest, “Dad, you were climbing some trees back then, huh?” The girls laughed.

  “Height didn’t matter any more than age.” He actually seemed to be bragging.

  “Hey there, Makkai,” an old man said, now standing next to Dad.

  “Hello,” I replied simply.

  He said, “Hey there, Roosevelt. That boy has grown into quite a young man.”

  “Yes, he has.”

  Familiarity grabbed hold of my brain as my eyes expanded. “Uncle Leroy?” I asked with anticipation of his reply.

  “Yes. Of course it’s me. Has two decades made me look that much different?”

  Actually, they had. Uncle Leroy was always built like a running back. Before, he was stocky and muscular, and had a broad face. Today, he was thin and his face was very slender. And his skin had gotten lighter and it sagged with age. Years of not seeing him made it so much more noticeable. But, oh, now, that’s a man I will never forget.

  I said, “No, no. How are you doing, Uncle Leroy? It’s good to see you.” I stepped up and gave him a strong hug. He had on a sharp gold suit.

  We backed up, and then he spoke. “You, too. I hear you’re not married yet.”

  “No, not yet.”

  “But, you ended up being a big-time M.D., huh? Being a doctor takes a lot more effort than playing baseball, that’s for sure.”

  Dad looked proud. “The boy has always been smart.”

  “I am a heart surgeon. But, how are you?” I asked him again.

  “Good. I’m divorced now. I was married for fifteen years, but I’m living the single life and loving it. And I am dating, believe it or not. I even got me a page on Match.com.”

  “No way.”

  “Oh, yes. You’ve gotta get with the times.” He slowly sipped copper liquid from a large shot glass.

  “Will you teach my dad here about computers, please?”

  Dad shook his head. “No thanks, I’m doing just fine without all that.”

  “And where’s Uncle Milton?” I asked.

  Dad said matter-of-factly, “Son, Uncle Milton died a few years ago.”

  “What? Dad, I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.” My face was blank.

  “I thought I did. I thought I left you a message at that hospital. It was sudden, and his wife had the services in her hometown of Rochdale, New York. Anyway, that didn’t make any sense to me. She was a strange one,” said Dad.

  Uncle Leroy spoke. “We’ve all been all over the place. None of us have been all that close through the years, Makkai. I can understand how you didn’t get word of his passing.”

  “Wow.” I was in shock.

  “Hey, but we’re all here,” Uncle Leroy said with a smile, obviously trying to liven up the mood.

  My smile was slight. “Yes, and that’s a blessing.”

  Chapter 43

  The rest of the evening pretty much went the same way. I met strangers who were my own siblings and reconnected with long lost family. I wished my sister Fonda could have been there. So many people said they wished they’d met her. And some of them asked about Mom, too.

  Later, I took Dad home early because his bad knee was swelling up. Plus he’d had one too many whisky sours. Erskalene stayed at the reunion and danced the night away with my aunts and uncles. I heard they’d always treated her like family from day one.

  “Dad.”

  “Yeah, boy.” He sat in his chair and leaned back, closing his eyes and rubbing his belly. “Those ribs were meaty and ten
der and sweet like a woman. I need a cigarette.”

  That man always has sex on the brain. And he does not smoke. At least that’s one vice he hasn’t taken up.

  “Dad, I’m gonna step outside for a minute. It’s a beautiful evening. I’ll be right back.”

  “You say so. I’ll be sitting right here picking my teeth.”

  He grabbed a beat up toothpick and went to town, sucking back in whatever he found in between. That brought back a memory. My country dad.

  Heading back through the front door to the mock baseball field, I simply stood and glanced and took in the view that now seemed less vast and less inviting. It was still grassless, but now there was a wooden shed smack dab in the middle, and an old broken down car near where my first base used to be. It seemed smaller and hard to imagine as the same place.

  I turned back toward the house after only a few minutes. Those three chipped, burgundy painted steps were familiar. The front door was still a dark wood, but it was weather beaten and dingy. The same dull brass door knocker was there before me.

  I grabbed the doorknob and stepped back inside where it all happened. Where it was still happening, after all these years. Roosevelt Worthy and his main woman. His main woman who had to deal with being number one, as opposed to being the only one. Same thing, different woman.

  With tiny eyeglasses perched toward the tip of his nose, Dad sat in his comfy recliner, rummaging through an old beat-up shoebox, searching through some old pictures. He now had a forty-ounce can of Old English on the small round end table, and some pork rinds. He continued to peruse the photos as if I’d never walked in.

  I took ownership of Erskalene’s chair and leaned back as well, raising the footrest.

  He handed me a wallet-sized picture. “This is my grandfather. He only had one daughter, Aunt Ethel, who you met, who is your Uncle Leroy and Uncle Milton’s mother, and one son, my father, Theodore Worthy. Here’s his picture. My dad was married to my mom for sixty years.”

  During the handoff of the photo, I noticed Dad’s hands looked nearly the same as when I was a teenager, just with more wrinkles. “That’s a long time.” My dad was the spitting image of his dad.

  He sipped his beer and gave a small burp. He then crunched into a rind. He spoke with his mouth full. “How’s your mother, son?”

  “She’s fine. I think she might finally be ready to retire.”

  “She should. She deserves it.” I handed him the photo back. He stared straight forward and leaned back. “Son, I really did love your mother. I just didn’t know how to deal with a woman who couldn’t share me.”

  “Most women wouldn’t put up with that, Dad. Especially when you’re married.”

  “I know.”

  “Why did you marry Mom if you needed other women?”

  “I didn’t want anyone else to have her, and she wanted to be a wife. Had to make an honest woman out of her.”

  “And what about Erskalene? Why did you marry her?”

  “Because I knew she’d be the type of woman who would share me. She’s one of a kind.”

  “That’s gotta be a terrible way for her to live, Dad. For her to know that when you’re not home, you’re in someone else’s bed.”

  “She’s open to it. It’s just the way she is.”

  “And how would you deal with it if you had to share her?”

  He spoke casually. “I have, son. Erskalene has had a younger lover since I’ve known her. I’m telling you she’s pretty open. You of all people should know that.”

  On that note, I fought the battle to hold in a long overdue breath as long as I could, but felt that if I didn’t follow up on that comment then and there, I never would again. “Dad, speaking of that time, why did you stay in the room when that happened? I can maybe see you setting me up with a hooker or something, or maybe even with someone you knew, but someone you loved enough to marry, and then you joined in. Why?”

  “That’s the only way I knew. My dad showed me, too.” He put the top on the box of pictures.

  “I thought your dad was married for sixty years.”

  “He was.” He paused and took another sip. “Son, I did the best I could to keep you straight. And I’m sure having those Worthy skills hasn’t hurt your love life any.” His toothless grin was almost devilish.

  “I’m not so sure, Dad.”

  “Well, son, what do you want me to say?”

  “After all these years, I suppose there’s nothing to say. But, I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t know how many other sons you’ve done that to, but I’ll never bring my son into my bedroom, no matter how feminine I think he is.”

  “I never touched you, Makkai.” He looked like he was fishing for credit.

  “Oh, but you did in a way. You touched my youth with an experience that stunned me, yet kept me focused on sex.”

  Silence.

  I flashed a smile to lighten up the mood of an old man. He grinned back at me.

  “Dad, anybody pregnant right now? You’re shooting blanks finally, right?” I smiled just short of a laugh.

  “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  “Ever heard of a rubber, Dad?” Again, I smiled, but harder.

  “I’ve used one a few times if they insisted. Most don’t.”

  “If they insisted? What about you doing it for your health and for the fact that you’ve contributed enough to the population explosion.”

  “I’m from the old school. All of that safe sex stuff happened not so long ago. Anyway, it’s too late for that now.” He swigged a long sip, leaning his head back.

  “It’s never too late.”

  He swallowed audibly. “Son, go find yourself a good woman and settle down. Do what I couldn’t do and, to be honest with you, still fight to do. Stay true and satisfy one woman.”

  “You know what? As I look at you and look at how you’ve lived, I’m actually sorry you went through what you went through, with being obsessed with the need to have so many women.”

  “I’ve had a grand life. No regrets. But, I am sorry to you for what happened. Believe it or not, I did what I thought was necessary.”

  “Enough said.”

  He handed me the box. “Here, look through these and take the pictures you want. There’s nothing like music and photos in life. I’m going to put in this old Joe Tex cassette.” He leaned over and pushed a few buttons to an old, old stereo. It actually had an eight-track deck.

  “I hear you.” I lifted the top and filtered through the black-and-whites, Polaroids, the faded ones, and the newer ones. I grinned at the sight of the stacks of memories, unorganized and disheveled, yet and still, saved and obviously cherished. “You need a photo album, like yesterday.” My eyes found a small manila envelope, turned toward the back, flashing a California return address. My eyes widened, my hand reached toward it hovering over it for a moment, until my apprehensive fingers grazed against the right corner, taking hold and lifting it up for a better view. “Hey, what’s this, Dad?”

  Dad sat back and tapped his feet to the beat. He looked over for a split second. “That’s just a group of some photos an old friend sent me.” He waved his hand toward me.

  My squinted sight revealed seven tiny letters, written in purple cursive ink that set off bell after bell in my spinning head. A facial muscle jittered. My bottom lip quivered. My eyes blinked rapidly. My words sounded off in slow motion. “This envelope says Asskins.”

  “That’s Laurie Askins. We called her Asskins because, son, this woman had the biggest behind I had ever seen in my life.” He used his hands to describe the roundness, cupping his hand around as he spoke.

  I opened the flap and looked in to find one particular photo. Removing it, inch by inch, bit by bit, it revealed a sight for sore eyes. Two females standing, looking at me, hugging each other, smiling at me, ringing more bells with each feature, each curve, and each smirk. Each image filled my head as though I were the photographer and they were frozen in time, as if I were there and they were now, but the
y weren’t and I didn’t know them, or at least I didn’t know them then.

  The tune “I Gotcha” by Joe Tex served as background to his words. “It was sweet and plump and had its own zip code. She says she had my child, but Laurie herself died years ago. Woman was shot to death. She sent me those photos years ago from when her daughter, supposedly our daughter, graduated from high school. She didn’t tell her a thing about me. She even gave the girl her last name, Askins.”

  My eyes forgot about my father. My eyes felt dry and my throat felt drier. I could feel my heart muscle pound in overdrive. The vision sent my heart to my belly. I squinted my sight as I devoured the photograph and examined the younger female, taking her into my sights as though my eyes had hands and I could snatch her from the seventies and ask her myself. “What’s the girl’s name?”

  “What does it say on the back there?” He didn’t even know his own child’s name.

  With a slow flick of the wrist, I turned over the Polaroid and read the faded cursive name. I waited for a few hurried breaths to pass. I swallowed. “It says … it says Laurinda. It says Laurinda Askins.” The name rang a bell.

  “That’s it. She’s a cutie. Doesn’t look a thing like me, though.”

  Still, with no eyes left for my father, I turned the photo back over. How could I be about to form my lips to ask this? How could this world be so small? “So, this Laurinda is my sister?”

  “Yes, son. I guess she’s your half sister.”

  Bullet ridden thoughts fired away in my head like a machine gun that I wanted to aim his way. My left hand rose to rub my ear and then to my forehead. My two middle fingers massaged a wake up call into my temples. But, I did not wake up. I was not dreaming. I was fully awake and my ears were not deceiving me. My next question arrived. “Was Laurie wealthy?”

  “Wealthy? Please. Hell, no. Laurie didn’t have a pot to piss in. She used to beg me for money all the time. Laurie was a con artist from way back and a pathological liar. She owned a restaurant called Mondays, that some married man left to her. I heard it burned down years ago. They say his wife was mad about him leaving it to his mistress. Surely the wife burnt the sucker down. Heck, she may have had Laurie murdered, or at least there were rumors but no proof. What’s wrong, son?” He stared at me as though I wasn’t listening. Oh, but I was.