A Day Late And A Dollar Short Part 6

"Daddy moved out?"

"That's what I just said, didn't I?" "When?"

"Around New Year's." "What?"

"Stop yelling in my d.a.m.n ears, girl." "Why didn't you tell any of us before now?" " 'Cause it ain't no big deal."

"No big deal? The man you've been married to for almost a half-century is gone and it's not a big deal? Come on. Mama."

"I just had a d.a.m.n asthma attack, what you want me to do, have a heart attack and drop dead over your stupid-a.s.s daddy?" "No, Mama." "I do not miss him."

I don't believe her, not for one minute. "So, then, you're there all by yourself, Mama?"

"Not exactly. Lewis just got here."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was."

"Did you ask him to come?"

"Do birds fly north for the winter?"

"How long is he staying?"

"Not long. Lord willing."

"Is he standing right there?"

"Yep."

"Has he been drinking?" "Yep."

"Is he getting on your nerves yet?" "Yep."

"Is he moaning and groaning about Donnetta?" "Yep."

"Does he know she got married?" "Yep."

"Did you tell him everything, Mama?"

"Yep."

"Did he get mad?"

"Yep."

"Why'd you tell him?"

"He made me mad."

"How? What did he do?"

"Guess."

"He came with no money and now can't get home."

"You guessed it. Plus, he was gon' find out sooner or later. Anyway, you all set for Easter?"

"Easter? I'm not thinking about anybody's Easter right now, Mama. You're getting me confused with your other daughter."

"You going to church or not?"

"Easter's a tough one for me, Mama. Too many hats and new clothes, like a Paris runway or something . . ."

"Okay! You made your d.a.m.n point!"

"Anyway, would you like to come and spend it with me and Dingus?"

"It depends on how I'm feeling. That's too close to my birthday. Unless of course you planning something special."

Does she think she's slick or what?

"First of all, I put a three-hundred-dollar deposit down on this cruise that Loretta talked me into. It's in June, late June, but I just did it to be doing something."

"A cruise?"

"Yeah, they go to about five or six islands all over the Caribbean. Don't ask me where. And don't ask me how much. Not right now. Plus, me and your daddy gotta get our taxes in order before I do anything, or we gon' be in big trouble. Anyway, I'll let you know. Hold on a minute. Your brother wanna say hi."

"h.e.l.lo there, sis."

I switch ears. "Hi, Lewis."

"I'm fine," he says, but did I ask him how he was doing? He always does this. "How's Dingus?"

"He's fine. How long're you staying in Las Vegas?" "Just a few more days, even though I think I like it here. If I could find a decent job, I'd consider staying." "Don't even think about it, Lewis."

"Well, most of my business ties are in L. A. anyway," he says, sighing. I have to stop myself from saying: "What business ties?" "So, I guess Mama told you about Daddy, then, huh?" "Yep. But he'll be back."

"How can you say that when you don't even know what's going on here?"

"You know how long they've been doing this, Lewis? Please." "But this is serious." "I'm glad he's gone."

"How can you say that? You know, you women can be . . ." "Don't start with me, Lewis." "Start what? I was just saying . . ."

"Look, I'll say it again: I'm glad he's gone. It should've happened about twenty years ago. Just do me a favor, Lewis. Don't get on Mama's nerves, okay? She's not even home yet."

He lets out yet another exasperating sigh. "I came here to help. How could I possibly get on her nerves?" "Never mind."

"So I guess you and everybody else but me knew about my ex, then, huh?"

"What's to know? So she's got married. She has a right."

"He must be a chump, that's all I have to say. Anybody who'd want her?"

"Yeah, well Todd's a chump with a job and . . ."

"How'd she find a black dude with a name like Todd?"

"He's white. I thought Mama told you."

"He's what?"

"Oh, get over it, Lewis. This is America. 1994." "She went and married a f.u.c.king cracker?"

"Yep, by-golly she did, and she just had his baby, too. A litde girl named Heather. Mama said she told you."

"She just said the b.i.t.c.h got married and the dude wanted to adopt Jamil. That's all."

"She's not a b.i.t.c.h and don't ever let me hear you use that word when referring to a woman, do you hear me, Lewis?"

"Yeah, sorry. But. . ."

"But anyway, as I was saying, that 'cracker's' been taking pretty d.a.m.n good care of your black son."

"Donnetta done completely lost her f.u.c.king mind. What kinda church is it she go to?"

"You better watch your d.a.m.n mouth, boy!" That's Mama in the background.

"How should I know? Besides, it's irrelevant."

"That cracker better not even think he's gon' be my son's father. And he better not ever lay a hand on him either or I'll kick his pale a.s.s."

"Okay. Stop, Lewis. I'm not about to listen to you . . ."

"How do you think this makes me feel? First hearing from my very own mama that my ex-wife has married some stranger I don't even know, and then a few hours later I find out he's white and he wants to adopt my son?"

"Somebody needs to be a father to the boy. When was the last time you saw Jamil?"

"It ain't been that lo-"

"When was the last time you did anything for him, Lewis? You need to get a f.u.c.king grip and join the real world. I'm so sick of men like you I don't know what to do."

"You know, all you women think alike. . . ."

"Put Mama back on the phone, would you?"

"I'm not finished."

"I'm hanging up this phone if you don't put her back on."

"Hold on a minute. A man can't even get his own sister to listen to him anymore. Hear what I feel. Anyway, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Can't wait."

Mama gets back on the phone. "Yes indeedy," she says.

"He's pathetic, isn't he, Mama?"

"Worse." "I thought you said you told him everything?"

"Everything I wanted to. But what's done is done."

"Have you talked to Janelle or Charlotte?"

"Janelle and Shanice are driving here tomorrow sometime. And, no, I have not heard from Charlotte, and don't even think about calling her to ask her to come. I don't want to see her a.s.s."

"I won't."

"I mean it, Paris. For once in your life, don't try to play the referee. Just come and bring me some of that sour bread from Fisherman's Wharf and a box of those little oyster crackers to put in my soup-could you do that?"

"No problem, Mama. Love you."

"You ain't said nothing but a word," she says, and hangs up.

I look down at my phone list. Then over at the budget sheet. I don't feel like facing any of these folks. Do not feel like chitchatting, hearing their voices. I don't feel like thinking about fire-roasted anything or Moroccan- this or Moroccan-that. Don't care what kind of salad they eat, or where in the house a band will fit, or the difference in cost for the strippers who go all the way or those who show only b.r.e.a.s.t.s. My daddy's gone. I wonder if Mama really is glad. People say one thing but feel another. Oh s.h.i.t! I forgot about that stupid interview with the producers who want me to host a cooking show preparing meals from start to finish! From start to f.u.c.king finish. Look at this desk! It's covered with every kind of paper you can think of: pictures of food, recipes I've been altering and saving for years which will one day go into my cookbook-if I ever find the time for that.

What I do know is, I've got a budget to write, a soon-to-be-seventeen- year-old son who may or may not be on his way to fatherhood, my mama's in the hospital, I do not feel like meeting with anybody today, and my head is getting tight again. I take a few deep breaths, but this doesn't quite cut it, so I reach inside the drawer and take out the prescription bottle. I dump one white pill into my palm, but then I think two should probably do the trick.

Chapter 7.

Every Shuteye Ain't Closed Shanice jerks the door open.

Before I can decide whether to walk in or not, she appears from behind the doorway. It looks as if she's trying to block the entrance by her presence alone. I feel a sheath of heat jut out from her body that creates an invisible shield I know I can't penetrate right now. I look at my daughter. She does not look like my little girl. She's too tall for her age. Her shoulders are erect, her chest up too high, like some runway model. Her hands are pressed deeply into her hips, as if she's trying to stop herself from leaping on me. I could be wrong. I hope I'm wrong. She does not look scared or frightened, the way I imagined she would. She looks more annoyed than anything.

"Can I come in?"

She looks me dead in the eye. "For what?"

"I think we should talk. Shanice."

"What's to talk about?"