Waiting to Exhale (30 page)

What I want to know is why he wants to see me after all this time. Why did he decide to pick up the phone out of the clear blue and call my mama to find me? Why now? I hope he doesn't think he's coming out here to pick up where we left off or to try to sweet-talk me into anything, because it won't work. He's a married man. I don't care if I was in love with him. I don't care if he still looks like Evander Holyfield, gives me that Pepsodent smile, that make-me-melt hug, and tries to give me one of those sublime kisses. I will not let him put his tongue in my mouth. I will not squeeze him back when he hugs me. I will not look him in the eyes. If I get weak and start feeling nostalgic, I will keep my distance. If I'm not sure about anything else, there's one thing I am sure about: I'm definitely not going to fuck him.

By the time I got to work, I had sixteen phone calls to make, an afternoon presentation for the marketing department that still needed some finishing touches, but I decided to call Mama and get it over with.

She must have been sitting next to the phone, because she answered on the first ring. As usual, after I said hello, she led the conversation. "Why haven't you called me? I've been worried to death about you. In a strange new city and everything. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mama. I just talked to you two weeks ago, my goodness. Is something wrong?"

"No. Sheila's pregnant."

"Again! What does she intend to do with four kids?"

"You should keep your mouth shut. And Pookey's home."

"When'd he get out?"

"Two weeks ago."

"How's he doing? What's he doing?"

"He's looking for a job. He looks good. Put on some weight, finally. He's staying here with me until he can get hisself together. And as long as he don't start no mess, he can stay here as long as he needs to."

"Mama, don't let those Section Eight people find out."

"It ain't none of their business."

"It is their business. They're already pissed because you're living in a two-bedroom. You know they don't like the idea that you've got a daughter who's able to pay your portion of the rent. They could have you evicted if they found out you had somebody living there, so be careful."

"I will. By the way, I know you just moved and everything, so I was trying to wait to tell you this."

"Tell me what?"

"My rent is going up."

"How much?"

"Forty-eight dollars."

"That's not bad."

"It is, if you ask me. I just got the new lease, and the housing authority sent me some new forms, so I gotta send 'em to you to sign."

"Didn't I just sign some kind of papers a few months ago?"

"That was for the food stamps. Remember? You had to tell them how much of my rent you was paying. This is to verify to the Section Eight people down at the housing authority that you're still paying my part of the rent. That's all."

"Those people get on my nerves with their forms, I swear."

"How you think I feel filling 'em out? They're confusing as all hell, and they ask the same questions fifty different ways. Anyway, I'm putting it in the mail tomorrow. Can you send it right back?"

"Yeah."

"Anyway, Pookey's trying his best to eat me outta house and home."

"Do you need some money?"

"Who don't? But no. You doing enough for me as it is. I got a letter from Samuel. You know he's stationed in Germany now."

"No, Mama. I didn't know. Nobody ever tells me anything. How's he doing? When is he ever coming home on another leave? I haven't seen him in two years now. Shoot, sometimes I forget I have another brother."

"Well, he didn't say nothing about coming home. So I don't know what to tell you. Anyway, how's your new place?"

"It's fine."

"How's the job?"

"It's fine."

"That's nice. Speaking of nice, have you met anybody nice?"

I knew it was coming. "No," I said.

"You been going out?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then why haven't you met anybody? You've been there a whole month."

"Mama, it's not that easy."

"What's so hard about meeting men?"

"Look, I'm working on it, okay? Speaking of men, why'd you give Kenneth my number?"

"Because he asked for it. What was I supposed to do, pretend like I didn't know my own daughter's phone number?"

"What'd you tell him about me?"

"That you lived in Phoenix."

"What else?"

"That you still hadn't found that special somebody."

"I knew it."

"Well, hell, he asked me if you was married yet. Why, is he coming out there or something?"

"You tell me."

"He'll be out there on the twenty-sixth of next month. Ain't you excited? You used to like him a lot."

"You used to like him a lot, Mama."

"Yeah, well, if I remember correctly, you went through a whole lot of changes after you all broke up. He was perfect for you. You didn't have the right attitude. No patience whatsoever, and you ain't changed. That man treated you like he had some sense, but that wasn't good enough."

"Mama, Kenneth is married."

"Well, how happy could he be if he went all out of his way to call me to get your number?"

"He's looking up an old friend. I'm not reading anything else into it."

"Yeah, I got your 'old friend.' I ain't never been friends with no man after I done slept with him."

"This is 1990."

"I know what year it is, Savannah. Some things don't change. And that's one of 'em. Now tell me you don't still have feelings for that man."

"Mama, I just told you. He feels more like an old friend. I haven't seen Kenneth in four years."

"So what? I don't care if it's been fifty. Once you love somebody, you don't never stop loving 'em."

"I gotta go."

"Call Sheila."

"Why can't she call me?"

"Because they're adding a new room to the house and she's trying to watch her money."

"She's too cheap. She doesn't worry about her phone bill when she's leaving Paul. Tell her to call me."

"Well, she's worried about you too."

"Why is everybody always so worried about me?"

"We don't like you being way out there all by yourself, with no. kinfolks, no nothing. I don't care how many friends you got; ain't nothin' like being around blood. You've been by yourself for so long, Savannah, we just wanna make sure you ain't lonely."

"Mama, please."

"Please, my behind. I'll be glad when you come down off that high horse and stop trying to act like you don't need nothing or nobody. Every woman needs a man, and you ain't no exception."

"I didn't say I didn't need one, but I can't sit around crying the blues because I don't have one."

"Then do something about it! If you put as much energy into finding a man as you do worrying about promotions and what have you, you'da been married a long time ago."

"Bye, Mama."

"Wait a minute!" "What?"

"Will you send me some pictures of where you live?"

"Yes."

"And some of the desert?"

"Yes."

"Especially those cactus."

"I will."

"How soon can I come out there and see for myself?"

Shit. She does this every single time I move. "I'll let you know, Mama. I just barely got here myself. I don't even know my way around this town yet. Maybe by Thanksgiving, depending on what my money situation's like."

"Is it more expensive living in Phoenix than it was in Denver?"

"No, Mama."

"If you're having money problems, don't be sending me so much. If Pookey gets a job, he'll be able to help out. You wanna hear something funny?"

I looked at the clock. I'd already talked longer than I'd planned, but that's the way it always is when I talk to Mama. I should've called her last night and paid for the damn call. "Yes," I said, "I want to hear something funny. But make it quick; I have to get back to work."

"Okay, okay. Pookey said when he filled out his application for this job at a gas station, when it got to the part about his education, he lied. He told 'em he'd been to Penn State."

"That's not funny, Mama."

"Wait a minute. He said if they catch it and ask him about it, he's gonna say he meant to say the state pen!" Mama was cracking up, and I have to admit I found myself laughing too.

"Anyway, Mama, my money's fine. I have to buy a new car, and soon."

"You just bought that car four years ago!"

"I know, but I've got eighty-one thousand miles on it. I have to get rid of it before it conks out. It's already worthless."

"I wish I had a car."

"I wish I could afford to buy you one."

"You know I can't drive," she said, laughing. "So tell me, do you like it there better than Denver?"

"Mama, I have to go. For real."

"Well, say it real quick."

"I can't tell yet. So far it's okay. It's not the most exciting place I've lived."

"That's part of your whole problem, Savannah. Always looking for excitement. You need to learn how to accept the fact that everything and everybody and everyplace ain't got to be all that exciting for it to be good for you. Slow down. Give the place a chance. Please don't come calling me six months from now talking about you're bored and you're moving again."

"Bye, Mama. Tell Sheila to call me. Tell Pookey I said hi and to call me if he needs anything. How many months is Sheila?"

"Three."

"I swear."

"You bet' not," she said, and hung up.

Chapter
13

"That motherfucker thinks he's slick," Bernadine said to Gloria. They were drinking coffee on Bernadine's patio. It was Sunday afternoon. The kids were with John. They wouldn't be back until six. Bernadine had five more hours of freedom, five hours left to do nothing. A rare occasion.

"You mean to tell me he owns an apartment building right here in town and you didn't know about it?" Gloria said. "He's got a time share in Lake fucking Tahoe too."

"No, he doesn't."

"Yes, he does. And that's not all. It turns out he owned two hundred acres of farmland in California and a goddamn vineyard right here in Arizona. I didn't even know they made wine in Arizona! He thought he was being clever by selling them off last year. But it's still considered community property. Listen to this. The son of a bitch owns a Subway franchise. That he didn't sell. I'll tell you one thing: I will never, as long as I live, eat another one of those crab salad sandwiches. He's got all kinds of insurance policies he's borrowed on, a 401K, and a Keogh-you know those retirement plans? I did know about those, but he's been socking money into them left and right. How much, I don't know. And check this out. Today the investigator says he thinks John has bought a house or two in his mama's name!"

"Girl, this sounds like the stuff you see on Dallas."

"How do you think I feel?"

"Like a damn fool. I know."

"But check it out, girl. An appraiser is getting ready to tear his business records apart. They're going through the taxes for the last five years, phone logs, sales receipts-you name it. My lawyer already got one continuance: We go back to court on the thirtieth of April. But now she says she'll probably need to ask for another one. They're going to try to bust his ass. I told you what he sold his half of the business for, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. It's unbelievable."

"Well, any fool could see it was a scam. The judge thought so too. And, girl, the investigator isn't even sure if he's found everything yet. He said John's done a pretty good job of forming a 'corporate web' around himself. We're not even talking about stocks and bonds and all that shit. But once they find out everything he owns, they still have to assess the value of it all, then figure out what John's real net worth is, before we can even think about a settlement. So this shit could go on forever."

"Well, I hope not, for your sake," Gloria said, and took a sip of her coffee. "This is enough to drive you crazy."

"No. This is how women get fucked," Bernadine said.

"Obviously."

"But I'll tell you one thing, Glo: This shit won't happen to me again."

"I hope to hell not."

"For real. From here on out, I control my own money. I'll never be in the dark like this again. No way."

"I hear you, Bernie."

"But then, I'm not ever going to have to worry about this happening again."

"Why is that?"

"Because I've had time to think about it. I don't care who he is, what he does, or how he makes me feel-I will never get married again as long as I live."

"You're just saying that now because you're going through a divorce, Bernie. Once it's all over, you won't feel this way-watch."