Mama (24 page)

Fourteen

F
REDA HAD TRIED
to talk her out of it, but Mildred's mind was made up. And once Mildred's mind was made up, wasn't a thing you could say to change it. She rented her house to a neighbor's daughter who had two kids and was in the middle of a divorce. The girl couldn't decide whether to move back up to Bakersfield or stay in the Valley near her mama and daddy. "You got three or four months to decide what you gon' do," Mildred had said to her. "And don't let them wild-ass kids of yours tear up my house."

When Mildred got to Point Haven, she stayed with her daddy, but she didn't know how long she'd be able to stand Miss Acquilla's nagging. After only three days, Acquilla was already complaining that Mildred was having too much company and too many phone calls and Buster was staying up too late, stinking up the whole house with his nasty cigars, and he was drinking too much moonshine. Mildred knew Acquilla was just jealous because Buster hadn't laughed this much in years.

She hadn't been home a solid week when old stuttering Percy dropped by. He sure looked good. Better than she had remembered. His hair was still black and wavy, just a touch of gray in it now, and his mustache was thick and shiny. She couldn't see his lips, but when he smiled, Mildred saw he still had all his own teeth. Percy wanted to take her out for a drink, but at first she hesitated.

"Where's your wife?"

"We been separated for a year and a half now. Getting divorced as soon as I get my income tax return. You getting prettier with age, you know that, Milly?"

She tried not to blush, but hell, when was the last time somebody told her that? Even if it was only Percy, a compliment was a compliment. Mildred got her jacket from the closet and told Buster not to wait up for her. Miss Acquilla, who was sitting in front of the TV in the living room soaking her feet in a roasting pan, merely rolled her eyes at Mildred as she was leaving.

Once outside, Percy ran to open the passenger door of his station wagon for Mildred. She got in and he tried to slow his feet down as he galloped around the front of the car to his side. He backed the car slowly out of the driveway, and Mildred looked over at him. She had no intention of sleeping with Percy, if that's what he had on his mind.

"I don't want to go to the Shingle. I was in there a few days ago, and it's about as exciting as sitting up talkin' to Acquilla about her bunions."

Percy just laughed and headed toward the North End. They rode in silence for almost ten minutes, along a zigzagging road that exposed the Canadian shoreline. Mildred looked out at the glistening black water. She rolled her window down some, and Percy turned on the radio. Aretha Franklin's voice was soft and soothing. The fall air felt just right. Mildred leaned back in the seat and watched the green lights twinkling on the Blue Water Bridge. Aw shit, she thought, when she felt that twitching between her legs. She'd been celibate against her will for damn near a year now, and block after block, her body was filling up with lust. Percy had just flipped his blinker up to turn into the Golden Eagle Tavern, when she put her hand on his knee.

"Percy, why don't we stop by the liquor store and get us a bottle, then make our way up to the Starlight. What you say?" Mildred was looking him in the eye.

"For real, Milly? Sounds like a good idea to me," he said, "a real good idea."

What the hell, Mildred thought to herself, maybe this knot in my stomach will go away. All she needed was to feel a man again, and right now she was just grateful it was somebody she knew.

When they got to the tiny room, she wasn't a bit nervous, but she poured them both a drink anyway. Percy had brought his transistor radio and had already put it on the jazz station. Mildred flicked off the ceiling light, and turned on the lamp next to the bed. They took off their clothes without saying a word. Nancy Wilson was singing, "You can have him, I don't want him..."

"You thank it's cold in here, or is it just me?" Mildred finally asked. She felt obligated to say something.

"Don't worry, Milly. I'll make you warm. I been waiting a long time to make you warm."

They slid under the covers and Percy kissed her. Mildred was already on fire. She slid her tongue in his mouth and wrapped her arms and legs around him like an octopus.

"You feel soooo good, Milly," Percy whispered.

And so did he, much better than she remembered, but then again, Mildred had only slept with him once, and that was twenty-five years ago.

Her body was still tingling when Percy rolled over. She sank deep inside his arms like he was quicksand. He held her tight. Mildred felt twenty pounds lighter. Revitalized. This would definitely get her through the rest of her visit.

After two weeks, Bootsey suggested that Mildred stay with her, David, and the kids. Took her long enough, Mildred thought. One more minute, and she was going to strangle Acquilla.

Bootsey and David had built one of the finest houses in South Park, right across the street from Mildred's brother Jasper. It looked like a mansion to most of the black folks who drove by it, and Mildred was truly impressed, if not a bit jealous. All she'd ever wanted in life was to live in a nice home with a nice husband who had a nice income and could afford a house full of nice kids.

"What you need with a house this damn big?" she asked Bootsey.

"Mama, I got a growing family," Bootsey said, as she gave Mildred a tour.

Mildred flopped in a cushiony chair in the living room, puffed on her cigarette, and drummed her fingers on the arm. She was already bored as hell. "What y'all got to drank around here?" she asked. Bootsey knew Mildred drank VO, and had bought her two fifths. She poured her mama a drink and sat down at the dining room table. She held her chin in her palm and looked out the picture window, daydreaming.

"Mama, me and Dave gon' put a swimming pool out there one day, and not that plastic kind, either. I'm talking about a real one, that go in the ground."

"I know what kind you talking about, girl. You thank I was born yesterday or something? I got one in my own back yard. Y'all making that kind of money around here?"

"Well, between the two of us, we made fifty-two thousand last year."

Mildred's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, we worked a lot. I worked a lot. Overtime. Ten hours a day and six days a week."

"But when you spend time with these kids?"

"Nights and weekends. I cut down my hours a lot since we got the house. I'm gon' go back to school too, Mama. I wanna start my own business one day. I don't want to retire at Ford's, and I don't believe in having ideas and not making 'em real. You know what I mean?"

"Of course I know what you mean, girl. But if you and David is working like mad scientists, when y'all gon' have time to enjoy all this?"

"As soon as we get thangs the way I want 'em. If I could get Dave to get off his lazy ass and help me more ... He getting lazier by the year, if you wanna know the truth. I have to beg him to do anythang around here. He was supposed to have the front yard leveled. But he say his back been bothering him. He blames all his ailments on Vietnam. He got an excuse for everythang and you'd swear he had amnesia. I gotta remind him to do the tiniest thangs."

"He can't do everythang, Bootsey. Men get tired too, you know. Y'all ain't been in this house a good six months. Give it time."

"I am, I am," Bootsey said returning to her original thoughts, "but we gon' have one of those circular driveways. Like the white people got on Strawberry Lane, only ours is gon' be longer and wider. And Dave is gon' get these trees to run along the edge of it. It's gon' be so pretty, I can't wait."

Mildred sipped her VO and lit another cigarette. She stared out at the straw-filled field. Then she looked around at all this space, this furniture, this thick carpet, that dishwasher and microwave in the kitchen, and shook her head. This girl ain't gon' never be satisfied, she thought. Bootsey want too much of everythang.

Mildred knocked on Curly's screen door, which was hanging off the hinges.

"Come on in. It's open," Curly yelled. She sounded like herself, which was a relief to Mildred. She had bought Curly a fifth of Scotch, which Mildred had already opened. She'd been nervous about seeing Curly, which was why it took her almost three weeks to make it over here. She didn't want to spend all day talking about Curly's stroke; Mildred didn't want to make her feel self-conscious about it. Hell, Curly was only forty-five, three years older than her.

"What you know good, good-lookin'?" Mildred asked.

Curly got a grin on her face a mile wide. "I heard you was in town, girl. Every time I call down to Buster's, you in the streets." Curly was sitting on the couch. It had an old bedspread thrown over it, which was sliding down behind her back. She was trying to pull it up, but her body wouldn't let her. Mildred bent down and pecked her on the cheek, and knocked Curly's cane on the floor. Mildred picked it up like it was an umbrella, and leaned it against a chair. Then she saw that Curly's eyes were dull and her skin looked dry. Curly had lost her sparkle.

"Girl, I had to take care of some business before I could start | socializing. How you feeling for real, Curly?" Without waiting for her answer, Mildred walked back to the kitchen to get two glasses. When she opened the cabinet, roaches were crawling all over the place. Made her skin itch. She slammed the door and went over to the sink to wash them out. On the way back, she saw that Curly still had those same dark drapes up to the windows, only now they were hanging on a rope with clothespins.

"I'm feeling much better, now. Girl, you know I couldn't talk for a while, don't you?"

"Yeah, I heard," Mildred said, "but you sound good now."

"I'm still in therapy, and it's helping. I can move my arm pretty good now, watch." Straining, Curly lifted her elbow upward about three inches, and smiled. Mildred looked at her and smiled too.

"How's the kids?" Curly asked.

"They all doing good. Angel going to UCLA, you know. Claim she gon' teach English. Something. And Freda, you know she graduated from Stanford University. Every week that girl sending me clippings she done wrote for some newspaper. And that Doll, she in college too, but as far as I'm concerned, all she majoring in is being cute. What she really want is a husband—won't settle for Richard—and a daddy for Little Richard. And chile, you should see that boy. Getting just as big and handsome. And smart? Can out-thank you and me put together. I ain't got to tell you where Money is."

"Money gon' be all right if he can just get hisself together. He ain't no criminal and you know it. He just young and mixed up. Give him time."

"He's a fuck-up. He blame everythang and everybody for all his problems, but that's bullshit. Let's skip the subject, please."

"Well, I'll tell you. I don't know what happened to mine. They take after they no-good daddy. After I had this stroke, chile, I didn't give a damn what they did. I got tired of telling 'em to keep out of trouble. Leave that dope alone. Finish school. Get a job. I was in the hospital for two whole months and couldn't move. And you thank they kept this place clean? Naw. Now Shelly in prison, done went and had a baby in there, too. Every week she writing or calling me collect, begging for something. Chunky and Big Man is just hopeless, and BooBoo, I'm surprised he ain't up there with Money. And that husband of mine," she sighed, "he still dranking and screwing everybody in the streets." Curly took her good foot and stomped on a roach. "My kids is some of the most ungrateful bunch of bastards I ever seen in my life. And sometimes I don't want to believe I even gave birth to 'em."

"Well, Curly, it's your own damn fault. If you'da stayed on their asses a little more, maybe they wouldn'ta turned out so damn bad. And you should'a done divorced that rogue you married. He ain't brought you nothin' but misery and you know it."

"I know, girl, I know. But Milly, I ain't had the strength or the guts to leave him. Anyway, enough of me. How is Buster? Is he bad?"

"Naw, girl. Just his arthritis acting up. I took him to the doctor, got him some new prescriptions. I thank he just miss me, if you wanna know the truth. As long as he take that medicine and Acquilla don't drive him nuts, he'll be all right."

"You like it out there, huh, girl? I can see it all in your face. You look a hundred times better than when you left. And honey, you better be glad you did. It's miserable here. Worse than Peyton Place, and you know they took that off the air." Curly scrunched up her shoulders and giggled. "I sure wish I could go back to California with you."

"Why you thank they invented airplanes, girl?"

"What the men like out there, Milly?"

"Shit," Mildred said, gulping down her drink. "I wish the hell I knew. They act like faggots if you ask me. The few I been with must'a been retarded, and none of 'em over forty is good for more than ten or fifteen minutes. But I'ma stick around. The kid here got a few thangs up her sleeve. I'ma make it out there in California. Or somewhere. You can believe that."

"When I get up and at it, I wanna come visit you for a week. Would that be okay, Milly?"

"Girl, please. You know I got three bedrooms, a pool in the back yard, and honey, you can see up in the mountains from every window in the house. And palm trees? I got 'em on three sides!"

"You lying, Milly?"

"If I'm lying, I'm flying."

***

Mildred had been in the Point a little over a month and couldn't stand it any longer. She'd grown even more restless here than she'd been in LA. She had enjoyed being with her daughter and grandchildren but had refused to go see Money. He was on her shit list. And Buster, he was acting like his old spunky self again.

The Sunday before she was leaving, Bootsey asked Mildred to go to church with her.

"What for?"

"Mama, that's a terrible question to ask."

"All right, all right," Mildred said, and went to take a shower.

They sat in the eighth row of St. Paul AME Church. The same church where Crook had lain in a casket and below the very same pulpit where Mildred's brother the reverend was now trying to spread God's word. Her girdle was too damn tight, but she tried to concentrate on the sermon anyway.