Any Way the Wind Blows (6 page)

“Are you still in California?”

“Yep, but I’m on my way to New York right now.”

“Have a safe flight.”

“Thanks. Gotta run,” I said, but then I asked quickly, “How’s your mother?” wondering if Charlesetta had anything to do with the call.

“Why do you ask? You two aren’t friendly,” Derrick said.

“Just wondering. Okay, bye,” I said, and just when I was getting ready to push the End button, Derrick said, “And Madison is doing fine, too.”

• • •

W
hen I got home to New York, I’d planned to just relax my first night back, and get reacquainted with Windsor. Instead, I walked into an Adams family reunion.

“Yancey! Welcome home. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I’ve been busy and I wanted to surprise you,” I said. Well, I
was
the one who was surprised. I loved Windsor, but what were all these people doing in my house? There was an older man who looked vaguely familiar sitting in the living
room watching
Wheel of Fortune
, and some crazy-looking older woman, with a bop in the step of her transparent orange-and-purple swirled heels, was bouncing around like she owned the place.

“Oh, Yancey! This is my family. You remember my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Adams, and this is my aunt, Toukie Wells, and my beloved fiancé, Wardell. Everyone, this is Yancey Harrington Braxton, now known as Yancey B!”

Windsor’s family all said hello in one voice, which sounded like a choir warming up. Windsor’s parents had attended my engagement party. Wardell, the man Windsor was always talking about, was a little older than I thought he’d be, but as long as he was good to Windsor it didn’t matter to me. For a moment I thought I might have to find myself an older man, but then I remembered Malik and decided quickly I didn’t want to do that show again.

Over the next hour, while Windsor was putting the finishing touches on her meal, I learned about the Adams family, Aunt Toukie and Wardell. Windsor’s parents were from Detroit, having migrated from Columbus, Georgia. Her father was old enough to retire but still drove a city bus. Windsor’s mother worked at a nursing home, and Aunt Toukie, who I learned had a fondness for tight clothes and Cadillacs, was a retired elementary school teacher and was the reason Windsor had decided to teach.

Dr. Wardell Pope was a widower and father of two grown daughters. He taught sociology at the University of South Carolina. He’d met Windsor when he was a visiting professor at New York University and Windsor had audited his class. Now he was back teaching in Columbia and had
proposed to Windsor right before he left. I was enjoying the chatter of the older people talking about things back in “the day,” but eventually the questions turned to me.

“So, Yancey B, how much rent do you pay to live here?” Windsor’s aunt asked me.

“Toukie! You know you ain’t supposed to ask questions like that!” Windsor’s mother said.

I ignored Miss Toukie’s question and said, “What’s that scent you’re wearing?”

“It’s my new perfume. My first since Youth Dew!” Miss Toukie said proudly as she patted the side of her hair.

“And we’re all thankful you switched scents,” Windsor’s mother teased.

“What’s it called, Miss Toukie?” I asked.

“Call me Aunt Toukie, baby. My scent is called Zandria by Anthony Mark Hankins.”

“Oh, I know who he is. He made a dress for me once.” It was actually my engagement dress, but they didn’t need to know all that.

“So Yancey, Windsor said you used to be in plays. Have you seen the musical play
One Monkey Don’t Stop No Show?”
Aunt Toukie asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Was it on Broadway?” I was trying to be polite; I knew she was talking about those bus-and-truck shows making money off black folks who didn’t know better.

“How would I know that, since I ain’t never been to Broadway? It was playing at the Fisher in Detroit. That girl who used to play Thelma on
Good Times
and all the Winans except CeCe and Bebe,” Aunt Toukie said as she sat down at the table and kicked off her shoes.

“How many times did you see that show, Toukie?” Windsor’s mother asked.

“Oh, ’bout four or five. It was
so
good. What about
Why Don’t Mama Sing?
You seen that?” Aunt Toukie asked.

“Was that at the Fisher also?” Windsor asked.

“No, I saw that in Flint. My church group took a bus trip down there. It was good, too, but not as good as
One Monkey,”
Aunt Toukie said.

“So I guess you’ve become a patron of the arts,” Windsor teased.

“You could say that,” Aunt Toukie said, as she walked out of the kitchen, and I started to follow her.

Windsor and her mother were alone in the kitchen; at least they thought they were. I stood in the hallway between the dining room and kitchen and listened in. I didn’t have a relationship to speak of with my mother, or any other members of my family, so I was curious about theirs. Through the crack in the door I could see Windsor put her arms around her mother as she asked, “So what do you think about your future son-in-law?”

“It don’t matter what I think. You the one gonna marry him. What do you think of him?” Mrs. Adams asked.

“I love him, Mama. I love him a lot,” Windsor said.

“Then that’s all that matters, baby girl.”

“What about Daddy?”

“What about him?”

“Has he said anything to you about Wardell?”

“Now, Windsor, you know your daddy and I don’t do no talkin’ until we go to bed. You know that’s when we do our personal
business
kinda talking,” Mrs. Adams said.

“Will you let me know what he says?”

“Not unless he tells me to,” Windsor’s mother said as she pulled the pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator. “Now, come on and let’s go on out there. I’m hungry and I know your daddy is starving.”

That was my cue to hightail it to my seat.

“I still think you should have let me and Toukie cook,” Mrs. Adams said under her breath as she approached the table.

Windsor followed her mother out of the kitchen, and everyone else was already seated at the table. Mr. Adams was at one end of the table looking miserable, and Wardell was at the other end, forehead shiny and covered with sweat. Aunt Toukie was sitting in the middle, spreading butter on a piece of corn bread.

“Windsor, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m having a little smidgen of your corn bread. Your auntie is famished,” Aunt Toukie said.

“Toukie, why can’t you wait for everyone else? And in front of company, too!” Mrs. Adams asked.

“’Cause she wouldn’t be Toukie,” Mr. Adams said, his voice sounding like he was coming out of some kind of trance.

“Louis, don’t start with me. Don’t let me remind you who drove you to the airport and who is supposed to take you back. I wouldn’t feel nuthin’ putting your ass on the airport bus when we get back to Detroit,” Aunt Toukie said while pointing the butter knife sideways toward Windsor’s dad.

“Toukie! Stop with that filthy language,” Mrs. Adams screamed. “You know we don’t talk like that.”

“What did I say? All I said was ‘ass.’ We all got one.
Wardell, do you use the word
ass?”
When he didn’t answer quickly, Aunt Toukie looked in my direction and said, “Miss Yancey, I know that word has crossed your lips a time or two, hasn’t it?” I didn’t answer but gave Aunt Toukie a polite
that’s right, girl
smile.

Wardell still seemed a little startled but looked at Aunt Toukie, smiled and said, “I have used it on occasion.”

“What about
shit?”

“Toukie, please,” Mrs. Adams said.

Before Wardell could answer, Mr. Adams looked at Windsor and said, “Let’s hold hands and say grace. Father, we thank you for this food our body is about to receive, amen.”

Mrs. Adams and Aunt Toukie looked at Mr. Adams in shock. Windsor had told me many times that her father was known for giving a five-minute sermonette at every meal.

“Eula, if you can get him to say grace like that in New York, then maybe y’all need to move here,” Aunt Toukie said, and laughed.

For about five minutes, the dining room was filled with the sounds of utensils hitting plates and the subtle smacking of lips. Then Wardell looked up and said, “Windsor, the food is just delicious. You did a wonderful job.”

“Thank you, Wardell,” Windsor said as she put another spoonful of the macaroni and cheese on his plate.

“Can you cook, Wardell?” Mrs. Adams asked.

“Not that well, Ms. Eula,” Wardell responded.

“You can call me Eula,” Windsor’s mother said. Her father was silent and eating very slowly, like he wasn’t feeling well.

“Are you all right, Daddy?” Windsor asked her father.

“I’m fine, baby,” he said softly.

“Windsor, honey, everything is just dee-lovely,” Aunt Toukie began. “I would have put some onion and chives in my macaroni and cheese for more flavor, but you’ll learn. I need to send you some of my recipes. You know, I been thinking about doing me a cookbook. What do you think, Wardell?”

“Can you cook as well as Windsor?”

“Honey, pleeze. What is Windsor puttin’ on you besides food?”

Before Mrs. Adams could chastise Aunt Toukie, Mr. Adams’s voice took on a deep and soulful tone. “Toukie, stop your foolishness or else you might not make it back to Detroit or anyplace else.”

“Y’all know I’m just being playful. Why is everybody so uptight?”

After we finished dinner, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was tired and wanted to go to bed in a quiet house. To speed things along, I got up and helped Windsor clear the dishes. As Windsor reached for her aunt’s plate, Miss Toukie looked up and said, “Now, I know we just got through eating, but Windsor, I thought you had been doing that Weight Watchers, baby. The last time I saw you I thought you had lost so much weight,
Jet
magazine was gonna be calling you to be their next beauty of the week.”

Windsor was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and pants and didn’t look to me like she’d gained any extra weight. But Windsor had always been a big girl, so who could tell if she’d picked up a few pounds?

“Aunt Toukie, I might have gained a pound or two over the holidays,” Windsor said softly. She looked a slight bit embarrassed, as she was always proud of her shape.

“We all do that, Toukie,” Mrs. Adams said.

“I know good black don’t crack, but I guess it stretches pretty well,” Miss Toukie said, and laughed. I thought she had finished, but then she looked at Windsor and asked in front of everyone, “Windsor, you ain’t pregnant, are you?”

I was stunned. I couldn’t believe Miss Toukie had come out of her face like that. I looked at Windsor. Then I glanced at her father and mother, and then at Wardell. They were all waiting for an answer. I don’t think Windsor had ever lied to anyone, let alone her parents and Wardell. Was she pregnant?

Now, I liked drama, but this was more than even I could stand. I felt sorry for Windsor. She looked like a child who just got caught stealing gum from her mother’s purse. Her eyes moved around the room like she was searching for an answer. Trying to decide between fact and fiction.

“Yes, I’m going to have a baby,” Windsor said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Windsor’s father put down his coffee cup and looked at Wardell. Mrs. Adams covered her mouth. Wardell glared at Windsor with a tightness in his face. But Miss Toukie had the final words for a little while: “Looks like our family is going to have our first Viagra baby.”

For several moments the room remained quiet and no one, not even Aunt Toukie, said a thing. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep in this house tonight. As much as I wanted to stay and help Windsor, this
was her family drama. So I picked up the phone and called the Trump International Hotel and Towers and asked for Megan, one of my dressers from my Broadway days, who worked part time at the front desk. I needed a nice little room for the night, and I needed one quick.

I
’d had a bad day. I had been on three model calls and I knew I wasn’t going to get any of the jobs. All three clients had thumbed through my book and dryly replied, “Thanks for coming.” It must have been high-yellow Tuesday. On my last call of the day, I heard a couple of models talking about a go-see for a sports campaign at an office located on Fifty-ninth Street near Columbus Circle.

As I rode down in the elevator, I pulled my cell phone from my bag and tried to reach my agency. I wanted to find out why I hadn’t been notified about this potential job. My booker was constantly telling me that if I wanted to do more catalog work, I needed to lose some of my muscle mass. I resisted and sought out jobs where an athletic body was an asset, and now it looked like I wasn’t even getting those opportunities. It was a little after 6:30, so I got the answering machine at the agency. But since I was my best advocate, I decided to take matters into my own hands and started moving toward the West Side.

The evening sky was heavy with snowflakes, some as big
as rose petals, falling around me to the ground. The streets were filled with people, and yet a winter stillness had settled over the city. I reached the building on Fifty-ninth and walked into the high-ceilinged lobby. I went to the directory and my eyes moved to the
X
’s. I had overheard the guy say something about XFL. After a few seconds, I didn’t see XFL listed, but I did see a company called XJI. I walked over to the security guard and told him I was going to the twenty-ninth floor.

“I think they’ve all gone home,” the security guard said. “Who are you going to see?”

I didn’t know the name of the contact, but with my quick-thinking confidence, I said, “Ginger.”

“I don’t know everybody’s name up there, but sign in and go on up,” he said.

I signed my name and rushed to the elevator before the guard had a chance to check his directory and discover that there wasn’t a Ginger on the twenty-ninth floor. As I rode the elevator up, I pulled out my portfolio and moved up a stunning picture of me wearing white nylon boxer briefs that covered everything but concealed nothing. I called it my money shot. I also made sure some of my more tasteful nude shots were in their proper place.