Like Sisters on the Homefront

by Rita Williams-Garcia

  Gayle’s free and unrepentant talk of sex stifled the sisterhood trying to grow between them. Cookie sat tense, unable to offer that little sound, that um-hm girlfriends feed each other.

  Cookie changed the subject. “You know, Cuz,” she said, “I plan to see New York someday.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Gayle exclaimed. “We could drive up in your car and stay with my friends. We could have a hot time. You and me, Cook.”

  “And the baby.”

  “Goes without saying,” Gayle replied, hating her cousin’s constant need to correct her.

  While Gayle made plans to escape, Cookie fantasized about Radio City, the Apollo, and the Metropolitan Opera. “It’s a shame you never knew Grandmama. She had a true gift for opera. Her dream was to sing Aïda at the Metropolitan. Once she took me to the Springer Opera House when Jessye Norman was in town and . . .”

  Gayle left Cookie at the opera. Her thoughts had gone to the soft spot on Troy Mama couch, then to lying with Troy in the marshy grass at Baisley Park where those pond mosquitoes ate her butt. She sighed. The good old days . . .

  Cookie hadn’t stopped talking. Something ’bout some Schomburg whatever. Gayle refused to let it fog up her picture of the real New York, which had nothing to do with the Metropolitan Opera, the Apollo, Radio City, and all. No. The real New York jumped to fireworks going off on the block, in the projects, on the Avenue.

  See, Cookie. I hate you. I throw you some solid girl talk and you go saying something stupid like “high on the Lord” or “opera.”

  Gayle’s sneer stopped Cookie’s chatter. She changed her tune. “All that New York talk is well and good, but I’m not leaving Great till she ready to leave me.”

  Gayle eyed her squarely. “Step off the bull. You ain’t sat at Great’s bed since Stiff Wood jumped into the picture. You don’t even care if she Tells or not.”

  “And you do?”

  “All I know is you only have eyes for Stiff Wood.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Go ’head, Cook. Let me catch you lying.”

  Cookie finally admitted to liking Stacey, prompting Gayle to add, “Liar. You don’t like him. You love Stiff Wood. Honestly, Cook. You so stupid lately I know it’s about Stiff Wood.”

  “His name is Stacey. Why do you have to be so ugly?”

  Gayle looked in the mirror. Who she calling ugly?

  Cookie looked at Gayle. Why couldn’t she understand? “It’s not easy living with this great big voice. It’s as if it doesn’t even belong to me. Everyone expects so much. But Stacey . . . Stacey looks at me for me.”

  Cookie was laughable. Stacey hadn’t cracked his wallet open for homegirl, bought her any gold favors, or laid her down, and Cookie was rambling like he the king.

  “Did you tell him you gon’ be an opera singer?”

  “Go ahead. Laugh, why don’t you?” Cookie said. “What do you know about a decent friendship with a boy anyway? It’s the little things about Stacey. . . . The way his hands make mine look tiny—”

  “Oh, shoot! Stiff Wood kissed you, didn’t he? Thats why you acting silly talking about opera. So how was it? Does he got that juicy tongue or is it dry like sandpaper?’

  Cookie yanked her head away from Gayle. “Cuz, you’re disgusting.”

  “Be that way,” Gayle said. “Brush your own greasy head.”

  What was wrong with Cookie? Why couldn’t she do her part like a real girlfriend and share Stacey? After all, Gayle shared Troy and José with the girls. Repeated all their talk, her fresh responses, played back all their moves, her appraisals.

  “All I asked is if he could kiss. Dog.”

  “If you must know, he kissed me on my cheek and on both hands,” Cookie said, maintaining her air.

  “Get outta here! What’s wrong with him? Honestly, Cook. Little kids do that kind of no-kissing.”

  “So.”

  “So? When Stiff Wood gets here, what yawl gon’ do? Look at your baby pictures and play checkers on the porch? I saw that on a movie ’bout some old folks home.”

  “Haw, haw. Very funny,” Cookie said. “But you won’t find my belly sticking out because some guy kissed me. I’m no fool.”

  Gayle almost choked laughing. They were friends again. “Cuz! You snapped back!”

  “That’s right,” Cookie said. “So don’t mess with me.”

  Gayle laughed and laughed, banging Cookie on the head with the brush between each “ho!” As big as Cookie was, she believed in turning the other cheek and being nicey-nice. Schooling Cookie would take time.

  When Stacey arrived, Gayle withdrew from the cast of characters who performed on his behalf. They were putting on extra just because Stacey Alexander was taking Cookie to the movies. Cookie was extra joyous, humming and bumping into things. Miss Auntie was extra grand and sweet, full of sayings meant to make you toss your head back and laugh. Uncle Luther paced louder than usual, his face tighter than ever. Even José was full of cooing and slobbering because Stacey lifted him up and flew him around airplane style.

  It was all disgusting. Cookie kept prancing around Uncle Luther with little thises and thats about Stacey hoping to sway him, but Luther wasn’t about to just hand over his daughter. Uncle Luther took aim at all those Stacey thises and Stacey thats like he was shooting crows off a clothesline. He thought it was good that Stacey was in college, but he had no regard for athletes. “God endows a man with physical abilities and man abuses it with drugs, immorality, and pride. Is this how you repay your Father?” Stacey returned respectfully but firmly that he got into school with what God gave him—his family not having been blessed with either money or position. Miss Auntie and Cookie praised God and Stacey and grinned and kicked feet under the table like they had snuck an expensive dress home from the mall and ripped off the price tag.

  Instead of telling her folks to back off, Cookie beamed while her parents stole the show. Miss Auntie kept making Stacey do things—going into the pantry and getting things she was capable of hauling herself. Then Uncle Luther took Stacey on a tour of the house, starting with his study. Uncle Luther was especially proud of a wall of pictures of Luthers, and some falling-apart Bible kept under glass.

  Miss Auntie told Cookie as they cleared the table, “You know what he’s saying in there: ‘You’re taking out a good girl, you bring back a good girl.’”

  “He wouldn’t, Mama!”

  “You know he would.”

  Watching those big women giggling like girls made Gayle sick. Especially since no one asked Gayle for her comments or invited her to giggle—as if she wasn’t capable of girlish laughter. They’d have nothing to giggle about if Gayle hadn’t set things in motion. Waved Stacey over. Started Cookie and Stacey talking about things other than Luke Twelve. Miss Auntie pushed hospitality too far, suggesting Cookie bring Stacey upstairs to meet Great. It was the only time Gayle felt urged to materialize from sulky invisibility to say, “Great’s asleep.”

  Finally Uncle Luther came in and reminded Cookie that she had to be back early. Miss Auntie and Uncle Luther strolled out on the porch to see Cookie and Stacey off while Gayle remained behind the curtains with José on her hip. She rubbed José’s fat leg and rocked from side to side, seeing the day come to an end through the curtain lace and Cookie leaving her.

  16

  MISS AUNTIE TOOK UNCLE LUTHER’S HAND, swinging it playfully. “Bring back any memories?” Gayle didn’t hear her uncle’s reply.

  “Can’t run this one off,” Miss Auntie said. “You know he’s the one.”

  “I know no such thing,” Uncle Luther stated.

  “He’s the one,” Miss Auntie teased.

  Gayle left her aunt and uncle on the porch. They were making too big a deal about nothing. Cookie had turned the fruits of their late-night talks, hair-styling sessions, and wardrobe planning into a family event. Honest to God. Nobody ever made José’s daddy or Troy sweat through Twenty Questions. It was better when Stacey Alexander was their business. Hers and Cooki
e’s.

  José was now heavy on her hip. He would fall asleep within minutes. Gayle put him in the high chair and stroked his curly ringlets. “Babies so nice when you just looking at them.”

  She put the linen napkins in the hamper and collected the flatware and dishes for washing. Next she brought José upstairs, changed his diaper, and gave him a bottle before putting him to bed. After this she checked on Great, then returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes. And where was Cookie? At the movies.

  She filled the sink with hot water and suds and wondered what Cookie and Stacey were talking about. What people actually did on dates. She had hung out with Troy and José’s daddy. They had both bought her things. But they never took her out on an actual date. She was counting on Cookie to tell her everything, starting with how much money Stacey spent.

  Miss Auntie stuck her head in, remarked what a fine evening it was, what a fine boy Stacey was, and more of the same. It wouldn’t have been so annoying if she had kept it to one intrusion, but Miss Auntie was a constant bag of sighing, blowing back and forth through the kitchen, retelling the whole evening. She must have come into the kitchen at least four times. The last time she was carrying a book.

  “They make such a picture,” Auntie said about Cookie and Stacey.

  “It’s just a date. Yawl act like it’s a big deal.” Her voice was tight. She had had enough.

  “Haven’t you ever been in love, Gayle?”

  “Where you think José came from? The pet shop?”

  “Your mouth, Gayle Ann,” Miss Auntie scolded, though Gayle knew she wasn’t deeply offended. Miss Auntie sat down at the breakfast counter and said, “Come, sweetie. Would you like to hear a love story?”

  Gayle didn’t like the weight on that sweetie. It was much too heavy.

  Gayle’s response, a shrug, didn’t matter. Miss Auntie was in the mood for storytelling. She made herself comfortable, propping her elbows on the counter. One after the other her loosened sandals dropped to the floor. “It’s a typical love story,” she reflected. “You know: Girl and boy in love. Girl’s family not crazy about boy.”

  “So.”

  “So, against their families’ wishes and against all good sense they eloped the Saturday following high school graduation. Come Sunday morning they showed up on the girl’s doorstep and made their announcement. Well! Of course the girl’s brother threw them out. He wouldn’t even speak to his sister—she had broken his heart so. His strong opposition only sealed the newlyweds tight. They left home for good. Tried to make it out there. Except, life proved a trial and a struggle with no family to rely on. They only had each other.”

  “Real romantic,” Gayle deadpanned.

  Miss Auntie removed her elbows from the table ceremoniously. “Well, I’m glad you think so, because those two were your mother and father.”

  Gayle wanted to say, “So,” regardless of the flood around her, but she couldn’t. Miss Auntie seemed to know that.

  “Sweetie pie,” Miss Auntie said carefully, “I get the feeling you don’t know your mother. If you did, you’d understand why you’re here.”

  Miss Auntie place a high school yearbook on the counter. She opened it and pointed out Ruth Bell Gates in the glee club photo and in the gospel choir photo. She watched as Gayle’s indifference turned to deep gazes, seeing a photo of Mama, Miss Auntie, and another girl posing over a microphone. Those matching full-length dresses. Gloves crawling up their elbows. Hair puffed up and piled dangerously high.

  “Senior talent night . . . our tribute to the sixties,” Miss Auntie reminisced, delighted that Gayle was interested. “Ruthie, Patty, and I made up the Bells. We took first prize.”

  “That’s Mama?”

  “Child, that was only the beginning,” she said, pulling Gayle into the story. “All those old groups you heard about had nothing on us. We were Motown bound. Hear me? Look at us. We made those dresses in sewing class. We didn’t wear makeup. Christian girls didn’t wear makeup back then. But, Lord, didn’t we smack some gel in our hair! It was a while before we figured out the Supremes wore wigs.

  “The world was ours and David Whitaker knew it. He’d been working hard to get us heard by record companies in Philly, New York, and even Detroit. But Luther wouldn’t have it. To make matters worse, the congregation was up in arms over us crooning baby, baby, honey, honey. They went to the pastor to get us removed from the choir.”

  “What!”

  “Um-hm,” Miss Auntie said, maintaining a taut line on Gayle, whose eyes now shone with interest. “Ruthie was torn between Luther and David, singing gospel and recording pop. Meanwhile, things had already been decided for Patty and me. Our mothers yanked us out of the Bells so fast we never heard the ringing. Come Sunday we were in our choir robes clapping and singing ‘Show this Sinner on Home.’

  “It wasn’t so clear for Ruthie. Being in love with David didn’t help matters. He was always telling Ruthie she was up there with Mahalia Jackson, Shirley Caesar, and Aretha Franklin, and maybe that was so. Ruthie went right to the soul. Sister Ruth Bell could make a shouter out of the most siddity folk. And no one felt her power more than Luther. He planned to install her as his premier soloist when he took over his daddy’s church. Luther had plans for Ruthie. He even had three suitable beaus from powerful ministry families lined up for Ruthie to pick from.

  “I believe she broke his heart when she put all her love and trust in David. Ruthie figured she and David would make it big and her brother would come around. Of course it never happened. When she needed Luther she wouldn’t go to him. And Luther, being unbending, wouldn’t put out no arms. I believe you Gateses invented stubborn.”

  “What happened?” Gayle asked. “She got out onstage in the big city and bombed?”

  “Bombed? Now I know you’ve never heard your mother sing,” Miss Auntie said. “Being a solid Christian boy, David was more trusting than he was sharp. Oh, he got Ruthie a contract in New York, all right, but there was something crooked about it. Ruthie was pregnant with Junior, and the record company wouldn’t promote her until after she gave birth. Back then you didn’t go flaunting your pregnancy, married or not. It just wasn’t done. So the company used Ruthie’s voice on the records and another woman’s face and name. The money was always long in coming and the dealings a bit shady. David couldn’t get Ruthie work singing elsewhere because she was still under contract. Money problems followed them, starting with income taxes. David said the record company had promised to take out taxes when they signed the contract, but he couldn’t prove it. Meanwhile Ruthie miscarried twice before having you. Year after you were born David was struck down with tuberculosis and a long bout of pneumonia, which left Ruthie to struggle with the hospital bills. Then there were the funeral costs. David’s brothers—praise God—came through, but Ruthie had to release his body to them for burial back home. Loving David so, I know that must have broken her. But she wouldn’t come home, and Luther wouldn’t ask her. I don’t think Ruth Bell forgave her brother for being so unbending or God for showing no mercy, and I believe that’s why Ruth Bell refuses to lift her God-given voice.”

  Gayle was exhausted by the story. She didn’t want to understand Mama, because understanding would loosen the grip on her heart.

  “Miss Auntie, you s’posed to be Mama best friend, right? How come you couldn’t do nothing?”

  “I had done too much,” Miss Auntie said. “That was the problem. I thought it was romantic, helping Ruthie sneak out to be with David. I encourage her to follow her dreams instead of telling her to calm down and think things out. Ruthie had two gospel scholarships, you know. One from Fisk, another from Spelman. Instead of helping her make peace with her brother, I did her hair, helped sew her dress, and drove her to the train station to meet David. A real friend would not have let her ruin her life. A real friend would have told her to go home.”

  “And that’s why you talked Uncle Luther into taking me and José in. ’Cause you feel guilty?”

  “Yes,”
Miss Auntie admitted. “That has something to do with it. But mostly because Ruthie belongs here. This house needs her. Luther needs her. I need her. We’ve been like sisters all our lives and I miss her. If I can bring her home piece by piece I will.”

  Gayle sucked her teeth. “Mama ain’t gonna leave our house in New York. ’Sides, being here’s taught me a thing or two. It’ll be different when I get back home. I’ll help Mama out more.”

  Miss Auntie squeezed Gayle’s hand. Her eyes bled pity.

  Gayle snatched her hand back. “This ain’t my home. I ain’t staying in this dead place. I ain’t playing slave girl while Cookie be the princess. Not hardly. I’m going home to Mama house soon’s my money get straight.”

  Miss Auntie didn’t even bother to assuage Gayle with “sweetie pies.” She rose and left Gayle alone. The book was still there, wide open, calling Gayle to search for Mama in its glossy pages. She had no intention of doing that. Mama wasn’t plastered in that yearbook. Mama was home soaking her corns in their little house on Souf Road.

  17

  “THAT’S ALL YAWL DID? Drove down Weems Pond and looked at ripples in the water?” Gayle shook her head. “Just stop, Cookie. Stop right there. I don’t want to hear no more.”

  Cookie flashed Gayle a toothy grin, got up, and closed her bedroom door.

  “Can I trust you?”

  Gayle gasped, excited. “What? Yawl did it? How was it? I bet Stacey gentle. He looks at you like you some piece of china could break. Go’n girl. I knew you had it in you. Now we gotta keep him coming back for more.”

  “Slow down, Gayle. We didn’t do it.”

  Gayle sucked her teeth, utterly disappointed.

  “But,” Cookie said, not wanting to lose Gayle completely, “something’s bound to happen.”

  “All right!” Gayle shouted, raising her hand, which Cookie slapped. They moved in closer to talk.

  “Last night at the pond, we started talking about, you know, being attracted to each other.”