Gumbo: A Celebration of African American Writing Part 30

"See you in a few hours."

We hung up. No matter what time of night I called, he was awake. I didn't think much about that because I wasn't sleeping on a regular schedule my-d.a.m.n-self. Not having a job stole away the importance of an alarm clock. It also made it easy to lose track of my days. When a man didn't have a job, didn't have a Monday, a hump day, and a payday, all days started to blend and lose value. All were just today. All he wanted was a better tomorrow.

I was on edge, a little hungry. I walked over my two-shades-of-brown carpet, went to the kitchen sink, washed my face, dried it with a paper towel, then opened the fridge. Not much in there except leftover salmon and rice and a frozen Healthy Choice meal.

Restless. Scamz had left me agitated.

I did two hundred sit-ups, crunches, worked on my obliques. Did half as many push-ups. Stretched my legs into a split on the left side, did the same on the right, then went down into a Chinese-style split. Shadowboxed against my old memories until a layer of sweat glistened on my skin.

I looked at that stack of job rejection postcards.

Anxiety was all over me, clinging to my skin like a thousand ticks.

More push-ups until my arm burned. More sit-ups until my abs were on fire.

Dealing with Scamz meant I needed to be in shape. Ready to rumble, ready to run.

I rested in my sweat. Put on my Levi Chen Liquid Gardens CD. Meditated a few minutes.

Then with that music calming me, I stood in my window and looked out at the palm trees.

I was lonely. Broke and lonely.

L.A. was an expensive b.i.t.c.h. A wh.o.r.e who sucked your d.i.c.k and swallowed all of your money, then left you sleeping on the concrete.

A man stayed broke and hungry long enough, his value system was bound to change. And when it did, Scamz was waiting.

FROM P. G. County.

BY CONNIE BRISCOE.

Barbara stepped back and smiled at her daughter. Rebecca looked regal in her beaded ivory satin gown, and for a moment Barbara forgot the utter chaos on the lawn. She forgot about the tent being decorated with flowers, the tables and chairs being arranged, the band, the buffet, the bar.

Rebecca stood in front of the mirror above her dresser and picked at her upswept do. "Does it need more hair spray, Mama?"

Barbara glanced at Pearl.

"No indeed," Pearl replied as she reached up and fussed with a tiny stray hair on Rebecca's forehead.

From all that Barbara could see, Rebecca's hair looked absolutely smashing. Pearl had done a fantastic job, as always.

"Another drop of spray and it will be sitting up there looking like a rock, child," Pearl continued. "Your hair looks beautiful just the way it is."

"I've never seen you look prettier, sweetheart." Barbara kissed her daughter gently on the forehead, being careful not to muss her makeup, then she turned to Pearl. "Let's get the veil on her now. It's already twelve-fifteen, and the photographers are due at twelve-thirty."

Pearl reached for the floor-length veil sprawled across the bed as Barbara took a quick glimpse out the bedroom window onto the lawn. The wedding planner, a pet.i.te black woman named Darlene Dunn, was leading the florist around the grounds as they placed brightly colored centerpieces and other doodads on the tables inside and outside of a large white tent. The caterer and his staff were running back and forth between the four-car garage, where they had set up a temporary kitchen with food warmers, and the buffet being set up under the tent.

Despite the busy atmosphere, everything seemed to be falling into place, Barbara thought thankfully. Well, almost everything. The only exception was that husband of hers. She checked her watch. The photographers would arrive soon to take pictures and video before the family left for the church, and the father of the bride was still out banging his mistress. Unbelievable.

She needed a cigarette badly. But she had promised Rebecca that she wouldn't moke on this day. She sighed and turned to help Pearl lift the veil just as something outdoors caught her eye. She looked out the window to see a black car turning onto their driveway. Now who on earth could that be? Rebecca's G.o.dmother had offered to come by and ride to the church with them so she would be there to supervise the procession of the wedding party and Barbara could take her place in the front pew and relax. But Marilyn drove a tan Lexus.

Barbara frowned with disapproval as the car approached the house. Anyone arriving at this early hour was either extremely rude or just plain ignorant. Her frown deepened as the sporty little car ran right up over the edge of the asphalt on the freshly mowed lawn.

What the devil? Barbara blincked hard. Her eyes must be playing a horrible trick on her. She had been awfully busy planning this wedding lately and sometimes she didn't know if she was coming or going. It was entirely possible that her eyes were giving out.

Barbara blinked again as the little black sports car kept coming across the lawn. This was no illusion. Some idiot had lost control and now the car was plowing straight toward the reception tent.

"Oh my G.o.d!" she screamed just as the car smashed headlong into the tent frame. Pearl dropped the veil on the bed and followed Rebecca to the window. Barbara could have sworn the whole tent would come crashing down, but mercifully it didn't. The car, which by now Barbara realized was a small late-model BMW being driven by a woman, backed up. Thank goodness. What an idiot.

But before Barbara could catch her breath, the engine revved and the car jerked forward. Barbara gasped as it picked up speed and rammed into the tent frame. This time the tent sagged on one end.

This woman wasn't drunk. She was doing this deliberately. Barbara covered her open mouth with her hand as Darlene, the florist, the caterer, and the waiters all ran to and fro. It looked like a fire had broken out under a circus tent.

"Lord have mercy," Pearl whispered, clutching her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Rebecca shrieked. "Who is that?"

"I have no idea," Barbara said, turning toward the bedroom door. "But I'd better get down there."

"That woman is crazy," Pearl said.

"Mama!" Rebecca cried. "Daddy just pulled up."

Barbara turned back to the window to see Bradford's silver Jaguar convertible come to a screeching halt. He jumped out, ran toward the BMW and yanked the driver's-side door open.

Slowly it dawned on Barbara that she recognized the little black car. It belonged to Sabrina, that hussy mistress of Bradford's. Barbara twisted her lips with disgust. This was utterly ridiculous. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her cell phone off Rebecca's dresser.

"I'll be right back," Barbara said hurriedly. "Pearl, can you stay here and help Rebecca finish getting dressed? I know I'm only paying you to do her hair, but-"

Pearl put her forefinger to her lips. "Shh. Don't worry about a thing. Of course I will."

"Thank you so much," Barbara said as she raced to the door.

"Mama, wait!" Rebecca shouted. "Oh my G.o.d. She's getting out of the car and yelling and screaming and waving her fists at Daddy." Rebecca lifted her gown and followed Barbara to the door. "I'm going down there with you."

Barbara held her hand out. "Oh no you aren't," she said firmly. "Your father and I will handle this. I don't want you getting involved."

"But Mama, she's-"

"No buts."

Rebecca sighed and ran back to the window and stood next to Pearl. Barbara walked out the bedroom door so fast she nearly b.u.mped into Robin, Rebecca's older sister.

"What's going on? Who is that crazy woman outside?" Robin asked. She was wearing her lavender maid-of-honor dress and fastening pearl earrings.

"I'm going down there now," Barbara replied.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Robin asked.

"Absolutely not. Go help your sister get ready."

Robin blinked, clearly puzzled by her mother's harsh reaction. Barbara didn't like the tone of her own voice. Certainly none of this was Robin's fault. But she couldn't help it, not when Bradford had allowed his wh.o.r.e to pull such hysterical antics on their daughter's wedding day.

She took the back stairs in her satin Ferragamo pumps two at a time, threw the back door open and marched out onto the lawn. Sabrina was still in the driveway screaming at the top of her lungs as Bradford, dressed in a navy running suit, held his hands out and tried to calm her down.

Darlene Dunn and the others stood around in a small cl.u.s.ter nearby, listening and watching like it was the latest installment of their favorite soap opera. Barbara was so embarra.s.sed but determined to stay calm. She had to get this mess straightened out before Marilyn arrived, not to mention the photographer and the three hundred guests expected later that afternoon.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Sabrina screamed. "I can't believe you didn't invite me to the wedding. How could you do this to me, Bradford?"

Barbara couldn't help but notice how young and thin Sabrina was-and how beautiful. The woman couldn't be more than thirty and had one of those size 4 figures with forty-inch b.o.o.bs. Barbara also noticed how the spaghetti straps to her black negligee kept slipping off her honey-colored shoulders. The skinny little wh.o.r.e hadn't even taken the time to get dressed after her little tryst with Bradford.

"You're going to have to calm down, Sabrina," Bradford said in a firm tone of voice. "Look at the mess you're making here. You're going to ruin Rebecca's wedding, and I won't have that."

"Like I give a f.u.c.king s.h.i.t," Sabrina retorted, oblivious to the black mascara streaming down her cheeks. She ran toward a cl.u.s.ter of tables on the lawn outside the tent and grabbed a chair by the back. She flipped it over, then ran inside the tent and knocked another chair down.

Barbara was appalled. She ought to grab that wh.o.r.e and throw her off their property. But she was wearing a two-thousand-dollar silk suit, and Sabrina looked downright dangerous. Barbara was not about to get into a public fight over a man, even her husband. Better to let Bradford handle it. She wished he'd hurry up and get rid of her. Marilyn would be arriving any minute, and it would be horrible for Rebecca's G.o.dmother to see this.

She followed Bradford as he rushed inside the tent.

"After all I've done for you the past year, Bradford Bentley," Sabrina wailed as she stopped in front of the buffet table. "And this is the thanks I get. A whole f.u.c.king year I wasted on you. I do everything for you. I cook for you. I listen to you talk about your problems with your wife. I give you every f.u.c.king thing you want in bed."

Bradford stole a glance at Barbara. She glared back at him, eyes smoldering. It was about time he noticed her. And yes, she had heard it. Every word.

"Sabrina, don't make me have to force you to leave. It'll be better for everybody concerned if you just go and get in the car quietly."

"f.u.c.k you, Bradford Bentley," Sabrina yelled. She grabbed a carving knife off the buffet table and held it out in front of her.

Bradford clenched his fists and circled Sabrina silently and cautiously just as Marilyn's Lexus pulled into the driveway.

d.a.m.n, Barbara thought, as if all this wasn't enough. Marilyn turned off the engine but stayed inside her car. She looked over the scene with a puzzled expression on her face and rolled down the window.

"What's going on here, Barbara?" she called out.

Barbara waved toward the house. "Go on inside and wait for me there."

Marilyn got out slowly, then ran to the front door and disappeared inside the house.

"Bradford, do I need to call the police?" Barbara was d.a.m.ned if she was going to let this woman ruin Rebecca's wedding day. She lifted her cell phone to dial.

"No," Bradford responded without taking his eyes off Sabrina. "Just stay back."

"Bradford, you'd better tell that b.i.t.c.h to put that phone away," Sabrina shouted. Then she swung the knife in Barbara's direction and lunged.

Barbara screamed as Bradford grabbed Sabrina from behind just in time and they both fell to the ground. They tussled for a moment until Bradford wrestled the knife away. He stood up quickly and stared down at Sabrina with such fury that she began to crawl away in fear.

Barbara put her hand to her breast. She was huffing and puffing like she'd just run a marathon. She couldn't believe that woman had come after her with a knife. On her own property. The woman was clearly out of her mind and needed to be locked up. She punched the b.u.t.tons on her cell phone and marched toward the house.

Bradford took his eyes off Sabrina, who by now was sprawled out on the gra.s.s and crying like a baby, and looked at Barbara. "Who are you calling?" he asked gruffly.

"The police. Who else?"

"You don't need to call the cops," he said tersely. I'll take care of this."

Barbara turned and glared at him. Take care of it? You call this taking care of it? Letting her put all your dirty business out in the street? She'd had enough embarra.s.sment as a child to last a lifetime. Barbara the bag lady. She didn't need this, especially on her daughter's wedding day.

That was what she wanted to say, but she didn't care to argue with Bradford now. Rebecca was standing at her bedroom window watching her wedding day go down the drain. Not to mention Pearl and Marilyn.

Barbara hung up the phone. "Well, you'd better get her out of here now. We leave for the church in less than an hour and the photographers are coming. You're not even dressed yet."

"I said I'll handle it," he snapped. "The best thing you can do is go on back in the house. You're obviously just making her angrier."

Barbara squeezed the phone until her fingers ached. How dare he make it sound as if this were her fault. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d. But this was not the time to get into an argument with him, not in front of all these people. She took a deep breath and signaled for Darlene to follow her as Bradford reached down and pulled a still-sobbing Sabrina up from the ground.

"Are you all right?" Darlene asked as they stepped outside the tent.

Barbara nodded. She had to remain calm and somehow get through this. First, she had to deal with the tent. "How much damage did she do?"

Darlene shook her head anxiously. "It doesn't look good. It's going to need some reparis. Give me a minute and I'll make a few calls to try to get it fixed in time."

While Darlene made her calls, Barbara picked up the chairs that Sabrina had knocked over. Bradford was now talking to Sabrina as she sat in the car, and she looked much calmer. Sabrina finally backed out of the driveway and screeched off down the street.

Darlene covered the mouthpiece. "I'm trying to get the rental company back out here to repair it. But they're giving me some c.r.a.p about being booked all afternoon."

Barbara threw her hands in the air as Bradford walked across the driveway and back toward the lawn. This was all his fault, but she had to stay calm in front of the help. "Bradford, they can't get out here to fix the tent in time for the reception. What are we going to do?"

He walked up to the tent and examined the damaged area. It was all Barbara could do to keep from yelling at him in front of everyone.

Bradford turned to Darlene. "Tell them we'll double their normal fee to get out here and fix it before the reception," he ordered. "Whatever it takes, just get them out here now."

Darlene's eyes lit up. "Whatever you say, sir." Within a minute she was snapping the phone antenna back into place and smiling in victory. "They're sending someone right away. The reception doesn't start until three, so that gives us two and a half hours. In the meantime, we can finish setting things up. I don't think it will topple over."

"Nah," Bradford said. It should hold up fine until they get out here to fix it."

Barbara sighed with relief. She had to hand it to her husband. He was always so good in a crisis, even one of his own making. "So you think everything will be ready on time, Darlene?"

Darlene nodded. "Yes. I think we'll make it."

Barbara smiled. "Thank goodness. Do your best."

Darlene nodded and walked off with the phone at her ear as she directed the other workers to get back to their jobs. Just when Barbara thought she could relax a bit, she noticed a young man walking around on the patio near the house, snapping away with a 35-millimeter camera. "Oh my G.o.d," she exclaimed in horror. "Bradford, it's Peter, the photographer."

Bradford followed her gaze. He let out a deep breath. "I'll handle this."