God Don’t Like Ugly (27 page)

First, she rambled on about some church activities, how Judge Lawson was dying, and what a good man Mr. King was. “Did you put that money in the bank yet?” she wanted to know.

“No, Ma’am—”

“Well, you better do it soon! The last thing I want is to get a phone call from the po’lice tellin’ me to come identify your body ’cause somebody done busted your brains out robbin’ you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I laughed, rolling my eyes back in my head.

“And no matter what, if things don’t work out, you can always come home. Judge Lawson’s done fixed it so we’ll always have this house to live in, and Mr. King say you can work in his restaurant if you need a job. You read your Bible today?”

“Not yet,” I muttered.

“Well you better. You want God to be good to you, you got to be good to Him. Study His word and live by it…best you can. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” After I hung up I pulled out the same newspaper I had previously picked up and stared long and hard at the want ads again. I tore out the section advertising the clerical jobs and placed it on the nightstand next to the phone.

“I
’m sorry. We’re looking for someone with at least two years experience,” the thin young Asian personnel representative at the utility company informed me coldly. I sat across from her wearing a dark blue suit and a white scarf around my neck with my stomach churning.

“What about something that doesn’t require two years’ experience?” I bleated.

The woman shook her head slowly and sighed again. Before speaking, she rose and extended her hand. “I truly am sorry we can’t offer you anything at this time.” We shook hands, I mumbled a thank-you, and left.

That was my fifth interview in a week. The phone company had some interest in me, but they had no openings. My application and résumé would remain on file for six months. The others had all told me either they had no openings or that experience was a requirement.

My room at the Richland Hotel was beginning to feel like a cell. I only left it to go out to look for work or to get something to eat. A few of the women in the hotel had attempted to befriend me, but I started to avoid them when they started asking me if I could lend them money or if I could baby-sit.

I had not talked to Muh’Dear or Rhoda in the last week, but both of them had called me several times while I was out and left messages with the front desk. I didn’t plan to call them back until I had something positive to report. The last thing I wanted was for them to know what a hard time I was having finding a job.

Two more agonizing weeks crawled by, and I was still going on useless interviews and spending more and more money on the hotel, food, and transportation.

The week of Thanksgiving was one of the darkest weeks of my life. Two more places I applied to couldn’t talk to me until after the holiday. The personnel rep at the newspaper office called me up the day before Thanksgiving and invited me to come in to interview for a receptionist position. I couldn’t sleep much that night. I got up bright and early, took a long, hot bath, and put on the best-looking business outfit I had been able to find. I felt glamorous in my dark red wool suit. I brushed my hair back into a neat bun, put on a little makeup and was on my way, strolling down the hallway on my way to the elevator. I felt that this was the job God had been holding for me. The woman who had called me had even said “no experience necessary.” The day before, I had applied at three restaurants and two factories only because I had already applied for all the clerical jobs listed in the want ads and some that were not.

I walked into the newspaper office’s front lobby and was directed down a long hallway by a security guard. Across from the personnel office was what appeared to be a typing pool, with about twelve young, attractive women. In just a few seconds I scanned the room. It was a bright, neatly organized place with pictures of young kids and smiling husbands or boyfriends on all the desks I could see. Most of the women were white, but there were two Blacks and one Hispanic woman. Then it hit me. They all looked alike, slim and beautiful. The ad had stated that a “front desk appearance” was one of their requirements. Compared to me, all these women looked like models. A couple of them glanced at me with blank expressions. One of the Black women looked me up and down, then went back to her work without a smile or even an acknowledgment. I took a deep breath and headed for the door marked PERSONNEL and knocked.

The personnel representative was even more beautiful than the women in the secretarial pool. She was a young blonde with hair that reminded me of corn silk and skin that looked like porcelain. Her big blue eyes shifted a lot, which to me usually meant a person’s uncomfortable or lying. After a few questions about my expectations, she told me what the job entailed and concluded by saying, “Um…do you have at least three references, Miss Goode?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am.” I smiled, my heart beating a mile a minute. I prayed the interview would end before sweat started sliding down my face. I handed her a manila folder with a letter of recommendation and three references from the phone company.

She read my recommendation letter with one eyebrow raised the whole time. “Very nice,” she mouthed. “Well,” she said, rising. She handed me my folder back, then extended her hand to me. I rose with her, now trembling. “I’ve got three more interviews today. Thank you for coming down on such short notice.” She started walking from around her desk.

“When can I expect to hear from you?” I managed, sweating by now.

“With the holiday and so many people taking time off, I won’t be able to make a decision until sometime next week.” She patted my shoulder and snatched open the door. I thanked her, gave her another smile, then walked out with my feet feeling so heavy I could barely put one in front of the other.

On the way home I picked up a bottle of vodka and some lemon juice. I didn’t really like the taste of alcohol, but it was not the taste I cared about. It was what it would do for me. Back at the hotel I waved to the front-desk clerk and made my way to the elevator.

Holding the door for me was one of the down-and-out men who lived on my floor. “You lookin’ mighty nice today,” he told me, looking me up and down with wide eyes and a big grin. He was a stocky, dark brown Black man around thirty, with shiny black eyes and a gold tooth in front.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, clearing my throat, thinking that if I didn’t make too much eye contact he would stop talking.

“You got any plans for Thanksgivin’?” he asked. I was too dazed to realize what he was up to. I just shook my head. “I’m right across the hall from you, and I ain’t got no plans neither. All my folks and friends back in Georgia. I just joined this real nice church, reminds me of the one I belonged to back home, that’s providin’ dinner for the homeless and folks alone like me and you…” His voice trailed off. “They servin’ them dinners today instead of tomorrow on account of the church folks with families want to spend the Thanksgivin’ Day at home.”

I turned and looked him straight in the eye. “What?”

He pressed his lips together and coughed before speaking again. “You welcome to go with me to that church dinner this evenin’. It’s the Church of God in Christ over on Patterson Street, six blocks from here. Dinner is at six this evenin’—”

“I can’t—I mean I’ll let you know,” I said. When the elevator stopped I almost knocked him over trying to get out so fast. Normally I would have flat out turned him down. But I had too many other things on my mind. One of the things being the vodka in my purse. I fished it out, opened it, and starting drinking straight out of the bottle before I even took my so-called power suit off. The alcohol affected my brain immediately.

By the time I had finished half of the vodka I was not only drunk but depressed as hell. I took off my suit and slid into a pair of blue corduroy pants and a T-shirt. I just knew the lady from the newspaper personnel office had no intentions of hiring a big. fat Black oaf like me, and I knew I would not hear from any of the other jobs I had interviewed for. Since the day I was born, this was the first Thanksgiving, or first holiday period, I would spend completely alone. It had started to get dark, and I had not turned on the light in my room yet. But there was enough light shining through my window from a bar and other business neons outside. I sat on the bed and stared at the wall. After a few minutes, I staggered to the window and stared out of it for a while. Both sides of the street had people rushing to and from somewhere. Even though November was a cold month in Erie, I was sweating like a hog. That’s why I opened the window, or at least that’s what I told myself. With that cold wind slapping against my burning face and hot tears streaming down my cheeks, I decided I had had enough. My life had become my worst enemy. Where was God now? The alcohol felt like it had burned a hole in my brain, my stomach, and even my soul, but it made things look so much better. One was the ground below. All I had to do was squeeze through that window and jump. I chuckled, thinking what a mess I’d be for somebody to scrape up off the sidewalk. Seconds later, at the same time, somebody knocked on the door and the phone rang. It took me a few moments to refocus my attention.

“I’ve left so many messages!” Rhoda began in a piercing loud voice as soon as I grabbed the phone. Whoever was at the door sounded like they were trying to come through it.

“Rhoda, hold on a minute,” I told her. I ran to the door and cracked it open. It was the man from across the hall who had talked to me in the elevator. “Yes.”

“I just wanted to drop off one of them dinners from the church since you wasn’t able to make it. It ain’t the best, but it’s better than that slop they servin’ downstairs at the Richland Hotel Restaurant this evenin’. You have a nice rest of the day, sister, and a happy holiday if I don’t see you tomorrow.” He handed me a large brown bag that was still warm. Then he nodded and turned to leave.

“What’s your name again?” I yelled.

“Levi. Levi Hardy,” he replied with a warm smile, letting himself into his room.

“Thank you, Mr. Hardy,” I told him, my voice cracking. The food was so potent it immediately filled my entire room with a delicious smell. I set it on the foot of the bed, then sat down and picked up the phone. “Rhoda, I’m sorry. It was this man from across the hall dropping off something,” I slurred.

“Well since you take your good old time returnin’ calls, I figured I’d keep tryin’ until I reached you. I just wanted to wish you a happy holiday.”

“Thanks, Rhoda. I’ve been meaning to call you back, but I’ve been so busy looking for a job.” My eyes rested on the vodka bottle sitting on the window ledge. “How is your family?”

“Oh everyone is fine. Muh’Dear, Daddy, and Aunt Lola came down. They’re goin’ to be here until the weekend,” Rhoda said cheerfully. “They all said to say ‘hi’ to you.”

“Didn’t Uncle Johnny come?”

“Uncle Johnny. He’s in jail,” Rhoda whispered.

I was blind drunk, and my head was spinning like a top, but I was still able to talk coherently. “My God. What did he do?” It was so good to hear from Rhoda. Already I was feeling better. I shuddered when I looked at the window that was still open. If Rhoda had not called when she did, or if Mr. Hardy had not come by and knocked when he did, I probably would have been on the ground by then. In a whisper to myself I repeated one of Muh’Dear’s frequent phrases, “God’s trying to tell me something.” I had not eaten since before noon. I took the foil-wrapped dinner out of the bag while listening to Rhoda.

“He was drinkin’ with Uncle Carmine over at Antonosanti’s the other day. Well, Uncle Carmine had to leave, but he told the bartender to keep servin’ Uncle Johnny. You know my uncle when it comes to free booze. He got so drunk he fell off the barstool and hit his head. He gets up with this bloody knot on his forehead and has the nerve to ask for another drink. Well, when the bartender turned him down, Uncle Johnny picked up a chair and threw it at him. Uncle Carmine is my daddy’s oldest and dearest friend, but I believe Uncle Johnny’s goin’ to ruin their relationship. Daddy tried to talk Uncle Carmine out of it, but Uncle Carmine had Uncle Johnny arrested.”

“Poor Uncle Johnny. That man has such a miserable life.” I sighed.

“Yeah. Too bad he’s not happy like us.”

“Yeah. Too bad,” I responded. I started eating the dinner. It was a huge plate with all the trimmings, even corn-bread dressing and cranberry sauce.

“I can’t talk long. We’re goin’ to sit down to eat in a few minutes. We’ll talk again next week.” After Rhoda hung up I sat looking at the phone and eating. Then I looked at that window again, thinking how close I had just come to jumping out of it. I set my plate down and went to close it.

I called up Muh’Dear and just as I expected, she was out. I finished my dinner and turned on the television. My buzz was still pretty strong, and my head was hurting like somebody had hit me with a brick. It helped when I walked around. But the room was so small, walking around too much meant I had to walk around in circles. To avoid doing that, I walked across the hall to Levi Hardy’s room. He was glad to see me.

“Come on in, sister, and make yourself at home!” He grinned, opening the door wide. Gospel music was playing softly on a clock radio on his dresser.

Unlike my room, Levi had personalized his. His Bible was on the nightstand, and there were several pictures of various members of his family next to it. His mother looked a lot like him, but the three brothers he pointed to didn’t.

“Me and my brothers had different daddies,” he confessed, like he had read my mind. He seemed eager to talk, so I let him ramble on for a few minutes without interrupting him. “I’m my mama’s outside child by some other woman’s husband. Ma’s folks didn’t accept me. When folks treat you different, you know, not as good as the rest of the family, you grow up with all kind of mixed feelin’s. I been on my own since I was sixteen, fifteen years now, and I still don’t know what to do with myself. I spent a few years on a merchant.” Levi paused long enough to catch his breath. “One of my shipmates talked me into movin’ to Erie, where he’d help me get a job in one of the mills. A week after we got here, me expectin’ to live with him and his folks ’til I got situated, boom. He had a massive heart attack and was dead at thirty-eight. I had a few dollars on me, so I figured I’d kick around here for a while, rather than go back to a home in Georgia that wasn’t a home. I just got hired over at the Davies Body Shop the other day. I swear, sometime it be like God intervene at the right time.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I told him. “I only have my mama and an aunt somewhere in New Jersey.” I occupied a wobbly chair by his window, and he was on his bed with his short legs crossed, with a bottle of beer in his hand. “Thanks again for that nice dinner.” I smiled. I could still feel the vodka dancing around with my brain.

“Where your man at?” Levi smiled, scratching his chin and giving me a thoughtful look. He had on a dull brown suit, a dingy white shirt with a stiff tie, and a pair of brown loafers with run-over heels.

“Um…in the military,” I lied. “We’ll probably get married when he gets back from Vietnam,” I added.

A sad look replaced Levi’s smile. “He a lucky man,” he muttered, finishing his beer.