Divas of Damascus Road

by Michelle Stimpson

  “Well, it wasn’t fair.” Yolanda shook her head. “I have a right to know my family.”

  “We are your family. We’ve been enough until now.”

  “You got your nerve.”

  Gloria braced herself. “Go on, Yo-yo. Say what’s on your mind.”

  “You raised me, and I know you care about me. But it wasn’t right for you to keep the truth from me for your convenience, so that everything would be perfect and proper and painless. It might have been easier for you, but it wasn’t easy for me.

  “And did you ever think that maybe Bernard Livingston would have turned out to be a great father to me? That he might have been a good male figure in my life—maybe even in Regina’s life, too? Did it ever occur to you that maybe my father is a good man?”

  “I never said that he wasn’t a good man.”

  Gloria looked down at her thumbs. Yolanda almost felt sorry for her. Almost. The man that she’d always loved as her father, Willie Amos Jordan, was not her father at all. All the dreams she had about him, where she imagined he somehow knew about her before he died. All the times Gloria told Yolanda that “Daddy would always be in her heart,” when her daddy was alive and breathing. How could Gloria sit there and watch Yolanda cry and pray to God that she would see her daddy again in heaven when, the whole time, her real daddy was just a few towns away?

  “Just when were you planning on telling me this? When were you gonna tell me, Momma? Were you gonna take this to your grave? What about Richard? Does he know?”

  Gloria shook her head.

  “I took this to the Lord a long time ago. You know, some things are better left in the past, Yo-yo.”

  “Evidently, the Lord didn’t agree with you about this thing.” Yolanda fetched her bag and headed for the door.

  Gloria called behind her. “Wait, Yolanda. You don’t understand how hard it was. I... I never meant to hurt you, baby, but once you tell the first lie, the rest get easier.”

  Yolanda slammed the car door shut, ignoring Gloria as she pounded on the window. “Yo-yo, wait! Wait!”

  Yolanda gave her mother a look of utter disgust. There it was. The dark, smoky look of anger that Gloria had spent a great part of her life avoiding. Now she had it. Deserved it, too—more than Yolanda knew.

  Gloria stepped back from the car.

  There really wasn’t anything Gloria could have told Yolanda that day to suppress the fury. The excuses and apologies simply overloaded Yolanda’s brain. As far as Yolanda was concerned, Gloria was dead wrong and there was no justification for what she’d done. Yolanda screamed out loud in the car. “Crazy! This whole family is crazy!”

  Chapter 26

  The news of Yolanda’s father split their relationship right down the middle. Half sisters: same momma, different daddy. It was disgraceful. Cheapened the family. It was downright ghetto, as far as Regina was concerned. But for all the bad things it was, the fact still remained: Yo-yo had a father and she didn’t. When and if Yo-yo decided to get married, the possibility of someone escorting her down the aisle did exist. Someone her kids could call “Grandpa.”

  When Orlando came home from working out, he peeled off his sweaty clothes at the laundry room and walked to the kitchen wearing only a smile. He wished that he could lick his index finger and then hold it up in the air to test which way Regina’s attitude was blowing today. He could gather nothing from the way she hovered over the kitchen counter, preparing the baby’s bottles for the day. It was a routine, standardized. He’d try words. “Hey, baby. How did things go at your mom’s?”

  Regina glared at his naked body, perfect enough to model any underwear label. “Do you have to walk around the house like that?”

  “You know, I’m really sick of your attitude.” He stormed out of the kitchen and off to their master suite to shower.

  As water pulsed from the showerhead, Orlando tried to wash away his frustrations. He wondered how much more of this he could take. He could give her some slack since she was supposedly going through a depression. Everybody knew that with the sudden hormonal changes, new moms could be cranky. But given the fact that Regina’s attitude needed an adjustment before the birth of their son, her temperament was double-bad. Worse than any one person should have to put up with.

  And that eating disorder thing—which he still wasn’t sure he’d seen the end of—what was that all about?

  The word “divorce” skipped through his mind, a subtle suggestion. Orlando slammed his fist against the ceramic tiles on the shower wall. There is no way on earth I’ll leave my wife and child. He couldn’t do it. On the other hand, he couldn’t see himself married to someone who was in a perpetual state of misery and in turn pulled their child—and eventually him—into the well of despair.

  He closed his eyes and stood there. What am I going to do? Orlando thought of the advice his father gave him the day before he married Regina. “Son, when you get married, it’s for life. I know folks who’ve been married three and four times, and I’ll tell you this. The only choice you have is to be happily married or unhappily married. Either way, you’re gonna be married. So you might as well choose to make this one a happy marriage, ‘cause no matter who you marry, the choice is still the same.”

  At the time, it all sounded like gibberish. Now it made sense. The choice was to be happily married or unhappily married. Problem was, he couldn’t make choices for Regina. His father hadn’t mentioned what to do about that.

  Maybe I could pray. All he knew to say was, “Sorry I haven’t talked to you in a while, God, but can you help? Please? Amen.” It was clumsy, and it wasn’t pretty. Nonetheless, it was a prayer.

  Orlando turned the water off and caught the sound of a whimper through the closed shower and bathroom doors. At first he thought it was the baby. But it came through stronger the second time. He wrapped a towel around his waist and rushed back to the kitchen to check on his wife. She rocked a sleeping Orlando Jr. in her arms and cried into his baby blue cotton onesie.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” He sat holding both Regina and Orlando Jr. now.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she cried.

  For as long as he had known Regina, Orlando had never heard these words from his wife. Even when she didn’t know what to do, Regina would jump into her attorney suit and trump up some kind of solution. Seeing her like this, helpless and hopeless, made Orlando both afraid and angry. Was she coming undone right before his very eyes, or was this just another one of her pity parties? Probably both, he decided.

  “What do you mean?” he asked her guardedly.

  “There’s so much going wrong.” Regina’s tears fell on the sleeping baby’s cheeks. How he could sleep through drama, she didn’t know. “My mother lied to me and Yo-yo. Willie wasn’t her father. He was mine, but he wasn’t hers.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Orlando held her tighter, stopped her from rocking. “Did she say what happened? Why she didn’t tell you?”

  “She didn’t want me to suffer, I guess.”

  “Well, can you blame her?” Orlando asked, calming her with the tenderness in his voice.

  “Yeah, I can blame her.” Regina softened in her husband’s arms. He was larger, stronger than her weakened frame. She sank into his bare chest and rested. “I blame her for getting pregnant by this whoever-he-was. I blame her for keeping this secret for all this time, and for letting the secret get out now. I’m going through a lot right now. How could she do this to me?”

  It never ceased to amaze Orlando how Regina could take anything, any statement, and make it about her. She was a great attorney, but sometimes she didn’t know when to turn it off. “Baby, I understand what you’re saying. But what makes you think this is all about you?” Orlando decided to confront her. He’d had just about enough of this Regina world. It was time she grew up and recognized that the sun didn’t rise and set for her.

  “The situation between Yo-yo, your mother, and her father doesn’t have to be a problem for you unless you make i
t your problem.”

  Regina looked at him as if he were crazy. He looked at her the same way. One of them was right, and the other was wrong. It occurred to her just then that she might be, well, mistaken. She switched gears suddenly and decided to let it all out. “You know what else? I want to be a good mother, but I don’t like myself. I don’t like what I see in the mirror. If I don’t like me, how can anyone else like me?”

  “If you don’t like you, there are two things you can do: you can change you, or you can learn to like you. I personally think you ought to do the latter because, baby, there is nothing wrong with the way you look. You look even more beautiful now than you did when we met. I wish you could see that.” Orlando rubbed their baby’s soft head. “But if you don’t see that, then I think you should maybe join a support group since you don’t think I’m enough support for you.”

  “I never said you didn’t support me,” she said, shaking her head.

  “It’s not what you say, it’s how you act. How you push me away, how your attitude gets worse and worse over time. How much more stress do you think our family can take?”

  She whipped her body to an upright position, causing the baby to stir. “Oh, is that it? You’re going to leave me now?”

  Orlando felt the abrupt shift of the winds. “Regina, I never said that.”

  “But you’re implying.”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

  “No! Go ahead and leave! You’re obviously working out to keep in shape for your next wife, anyway,” said Regina, poking at his emotions.

  Orlando Jr. opened his eyes, awakened by his mother’s jerky movements. Orlando had words, and Regina had words, until finally she stood over her husband, hurling accusations of everything from adultery to abandonment. Orlando countered every one of her charges with one of his own, from her acting downright crazy to being a drama queen who should have her own reality show.

  “Oh, so I’m a drama queen now?”

  “I didn’t stutter!”

  “You think I like being fat and finding out that my sister has a father but I don’t? How would you like it if you found out that your momma slept with a man who wasn’t your daddy?”

  “That would not be my problem! Regina, you have enough to deal with here in our home without bringing in all of these other issues. What’s the big deal, Regina? The fact that you and Yo-yo have different fathers is not the end of the world. Get over it! You are not the first woman in the world to have a different father than your sister. And you are definitely not the first woman to put on a few pounds after having a baby. Join the club! Get the T-shirt! This is life!”

  “It’s not my life. This is not what I want for my life!” She rocked the baby now to keep him from crying.

  “What is your life supposed to be like? Perfect?”

  “Yes. Perfect. And it would be perfect if people like you would quit excusing mediocrity.”

  “You know, that’s your problem. You’re a perfectionist. And when things don’t go your perfect little way, you have a special knack for blaming everybody else and making yourself into poor little Regina. Hwaa! Hwaa! My sister’s dad is still alive!” He balled his fists and rubbed his eyes. “Hwaa! I’m big fat Regina!”

  Those words tore into her soul. Instantly, she was back on the playground with a circle of her peers dancing merrily about her, teasing her, her sense of worth dwindling. Regina balled up all the anger inside of her and threw it at Orlando. “I want you out!”

  “Not a problem!”

  The baby let out a cry that traveled throughout the house, and Regina kissed him profusely as she watched Orlando march to their bedroom.

  Orlando threw clothes into an overnight bag, wondering what on earth he was doing. This was his house, too. But if anyone had to leave, he would rather it be himself than his wife and son.

  Orlando hated these arguments. Hated the way only Regina could push his buttons and make him hurl these words he could never take back. Words she would probably hold over his head for months and years to come, long after the argument was over. He couldn’t help it, though. Somebody had to tell her. She was beautiful, even when she was angry. He wished she could see that.

  He walked out the door without saying good-bye, got into his car, and drove. It was still early in the day. Maybe he’d call her again before sundown. They could talk, and he’d be back to sleep in his own home. Maybe not in his bed, but he could at least be under the same roof.

  Regina went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle for the baby. After warming it, she propped him up on the couch with the bottle positioned over his head. Then she went to the pantry, pulling out a bag of oatmeal cookies and devoured them two at a time. The food was an instant salve, calming her nerves for the moment.

  When she’d finished eating the entire package, she sat down on the couch next to the baby and cried. She was fat, her husband was gone, and she’d just eaten well over fifteen hundred calories in one sitting. What have I done?

  Chapter 27

  Dianne left a message with Dr. Tilley’s answering service a little after four a.m. “Just tell her that I’ll call to reschedule.” It was her second consecutive cancellation. She gently placed the phone on the receiver, as though any noise might wake Dr. Tilley from her sleep. Worse, she might wake the hunk of flesh lying in her bedroom. Unlike most decent one-night stands, Marvin insisted on hanging around until the next morning.

  “Just lay here next to me,” he’d said as he rubbed his hand along her thigh. Maybe, if she didn’t know better, she could have returned this intimate gesture with one of her own. She might have curled up beside him, rested her back against the prickly hairs on his chest.

  Problem was, she did know better.

  Halfway through the night, she’d been startled into consciousness. For the third night in a row, she had the horrendous dream. She’d pulled herself closer to Marvin, only to be repelled by the sound of elephants charging from his nose and throat. She’d poked and prodded him as long as she could before finally leaving her own bedroom for the discomfort of her couch. She wrapped herself in a blanket, propped her head up on the armrest, and tried to get some sleep.

  An hour later she was still counting sheep. Why are the nightmares back again? She’d been doing so well in counseling and poetry. Why now? Dianne wished she had someone to talk to. This was one of those times people talked about, wrote songs about. Even with a man in the next room, the loneliness was insufferable on nights like tonight, when she was up while the rest of the world slept, snored, and carried on like everything was okay.

  Well, maybe it was with them. But this relapse made open wounds throb harder. She never would have started the journey if she had known things could get worse before they got better.

  Just a few weeks ago, Dr. Tilley was a bit concerned with the way Dianne approached the topic of Joyce Ann. “I sense a great deal of anger, Dianne. Tell me about the source of that anger.”

  “I’m not mad.” Dianne twitched her nose like Samantha on Bewitched.

  “Do you really believe that?” Dr. Tilley asked as she scribbled on her notepad.

  “If I say I’m not mad, I’m not mad.” Dianne got up from the comfy couch and walked toward the window. Three floors below, cars stopped and started at the intersection, living normal lives. All those people out there are living regular lives. Why did mine have to be so messed up?

  “Dianne, you really need to examine yourself on this one. If you can go from zero to sixty in two seconds when we discuss your mother, I think—I know— this is an area we really need to handle with a lot of talking and a lot of prayer. A vast part of your healing must deal with some very strong feelings you have about your mother.”

  “Her name is Joyce Ann, and I would appreciate it if you would not refer to her as my mother.” Dianne turned around, acting as if she were the expert. And she was, in a way. An expert in pain. Probably more hurt than people like Dr. Tilley ever felt. For all Dianne knew, Dr. Tilley would hop int
o her little European-made luxury vehicle, stop briefly at the light, and then pass on through the intersection into her perfect little doctor life, too, leaving every bit of Dianne behind.

  In her heart, Dianne knew that wasn’t true. But she had to entertain the scenario long enough to get out of the office.

  “I’m leaving now.” Dianne had grabbed her coat and handbag.

  “I don’t advise it.”

  “Yeah, well... just pray for me,” she had said before storming out.

  Dianne flicked the channels on her television now and laughed at herself for having believed her life could be anything but crazy. The one thing she still held on to was poetry, though she’d been blocked lately. Nothing seemed to flow now, and Dianne interpreted her block as another of the deceptions. She’d probably been kidding herself about being a poet as well. She’d decided to make Saturday night her last meeting with the group. Maybe she could tell them she was moonlighting and couldn’t come anymore.

  Keisha’s house was on the wrong side of town, but you couldn’t tell it from the inside. Dianne was amazed at Keisha’s decorating talents—it was nothing short of an hour-long design show. Coral picture frames, beaded lampshades, satin and tassel-cornered throw pillows. Classic eccentricity.

  Keisha welcomed Dianne into her home, embracing her as a sister. “Girl, you’re running late. We’ve already started.” She glanced down and noticed Dianne’s empty hands. “Where’s your notebook?”

  Dianne gave her a ditzy glance and said, “Oh, I... I don’t have anything to share.”

  Keisha let Dianne into the foyer but stopped her before advancing into the living room. She placed a hand on Dianne’s arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dianne flung her hair back nervously.

  “No, you are not okay.” Keisha spoke with certainty, bending down to look directly into Dianne’s eyes. “You are not okay.”

  Juanita bounded toward to door to greet Dianne but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Dianne crying. Juanita’s chest tightened as she relived nightmares of her own. “What’s wrong?”