Waiting to Exhale (39 page)

Now Bernadine stood in Onika's doorway. Her daughter's bed was still made from the last time the housekeeper was here. She sat down in the middle of it and ran her hand over a bunch of Disney characters. Onika was a pack rat-hoarded everything and hated to throw anything away. Her little table set was over in a corner. Stuffed animals sat in each chair. Each had a tiny plastic saucer with fake food on it in front of them. A big wooden dollhouse was perched on top of her dresser, full of miniature furniture. Next to that, her stove and sink and little white vacuum cleaner. All her doll clothes were in plastic bins. Her room was neat. And Onika knew where everything was. She had ordained herself the artist in the family. Her drawings were everywhere: Scotch-taped to the wall, over her desk, on her doorway, and on her bathroom door. A big green Christmas can was under her desk. It was full of hundreds of markers and crayons she'd kept over Bernadine didn't know how many years. Her easel and paint sets were housed in the garage.

Onika's dolls were sitting stiffly on her bed, lined up in front of her pillow. Bernadine picked one up and looked at it. All except one was black. That stupid Barbie. The first doll Bernadine bought Onika was black. She explained to her daughter a long time ago that she wasn't buying any blond-haired, blue-eyed dolls so Onika would grow up believing that Barbie set the standard for beauty. But last Christmas, Onika pleaded with her for a Barbie, because all her friends had at least one Barbie. Couldn't she have just one white doll? Bernadine gave in. Now she picked up the little comb-and-brush set Onika used to comb her dolls' hair and sometimes tried to use on her own. Bernadine was glad she'd taken the girl down to Oasis and let Cindy French braid it before she left.

She got up and closed the door and was on her way to John junior's room, when the phone rang. She listened to the message. It was a wrong number. John junior's room was just the opposite of Onika's. The housekeeper had said she was not picking up any more toys, and she meant it. He'd been Nintendo-crazy for years now, and Bernadine had bought him at least twenty different games. Which was way too many, and she knew it. But his behavior was improving, and his grades had gotten better. All he ever wanted as his reward was a Nintendo game. And they were everywhere, in addition to those micro machine cars and Battle Beasts and Ninja Turtles and green, purple, and orange men and pieces of the puzzles he'd become fanatical about: he could put a two-hundred-piece puzzle together in under an hour. How he did it bewildered Bernadine. She often tried to sit there and help, but puzzles gave her a headache.

After she picked up every single one of those toys, she put them in the plastic bins under his bed and scanned the room. There was absolutely nothing left to do in here. She went back out into the great room, then into the kitchen, and after putting a TV dinner into the microwave, she sat down on the couch. This isolation was about to drive her crazy. How many times had she prayed for this? To not have to hear "Ma" for at least one day. She'd gotten her wish, but Bernadine had no idea she'd feel so lonely. So unnecessary. She could eat whatever and whenever she wanted to but found herself stopping at El Polio Loco and Jack in the Box, even McDonald's-and she despised junk food. She could go anywhere she wanted to, but she couldn't think of anywhere she wanted to go, except the movies. But how many movies could you see? During the last few weeks, she and Savannah had seen just about every movie that was playing. They couldn't wait to see Spike Lee's Mo' Better Blues, but that wouldn't be out until next week. And Robin. She was no fun these days, because she'd been depressed ever since she heard about Russell marrying that woman. Bernadine didn't know why Robin was so surprised. Everybody knew he was no good, except Robin. And forget about Gloria. She wished she could give the woman some pep pills, because the only thing Gloria had energy for was Oasis Hair and that sixteen-year-old husband she called her son.

Bernadine heard the microwave beep, took out her Healthy Choice dinner (she couldn't eat another taco or fried hamburger this week), and sat down at the long, empty table to eat it. She picked up her knife and fork and looked around the room. The silence was too loud. She couldn't stand it. She tried to cut into the Chicken Dijon, but it took too much energy, because now she was crying. The knife and fork fell out of her hands. She heard them clink against the Formica. She was not supposed to be in this house without a husband, and now even her kids were gone. She was not supposed to be getting a divorce because her husband decided to cross over that white line. She was not supposed to be sitting in some white folks' office all day long, helping them get rich, then driving home in thick traffic, worrying if she could make it to the day care center by six or whether or not her mortgage payment had been paid. She was not supposed to be fucking somebody else's husband because she no longer had one. She was not supposed to be in this position at all. But she was. She wiped her eyes with her napkin. She was sick of feeling sorry for herself. Still, she ate her meal as though she was in an orphanage.

Maybe she should read a book, she thought, but she couldn't think of any that would hold her interest right now. Maybe she should give herself a manicure. But she always messed them up. Maybe she should call somebody. Savannah, she thought. But she'd already talked to her once today. She damn sure didn't feel like listening to Robin whine. If Bernadine heard Russell's name one more time, she'd scream. And Michael's too. What time was it? She looked at the clock. It was twenty after seven, which meant Gloria was probably watching something crucial on TV. She definitely wouldn't want to disturb her.

Bernadine grabbed her cigarettes and lighter from the table, got up, opened the French doors, and walked outside. The air was warm, but there was a breeze. She looked into the pool and started counting the ripples, until she realized she was counting ripples in the goddamn pool. She looked out at the desert. The mesquite trees appeared to be running toward her, but stopped. The crest of the Superstition Mountains looked like a reclining nude woman. Their peaks covered up most of the purple-and-pink skyline, but the rim of the orange sun wasn't ready to leave just yet. Bernadine lit a cigarette and sat down in a lounge chair until she saw absolutely nothing.

"It's final!" she yelled through the phone to Savannah.

"What?"

"My divorce!"

"Wait a minute. I thought you said you had to go to court again about the settlement."

"I still do, but John's lawyer asked for this bifurcation hearing, which meant we could get the divorce before we reached a settlement. I'm so happy I could shit!"

"I've never heard of this before."

"Me either, but I'm glad this part's over. Anyway, can you meet me for a drink, dinner, something? I need to celebrate. I'm a free woman, girl!"

"I wish I could, Bernie, but my friend Kenneth just flew in town."

"He's back again?"

"Yeah. He surprised me. He claims he's out here looking at new optometry equipment."

"Shit, this sounds serious." "It's not."

"Well, I still have to celebrate. I have to. I can't sit in this house, that's for damn sure." "Did you call Robin?"

"Not yet. She's still tripping over Russell, girl. And Robin is not the kind of company I need tonight. Anyway, you have fun. And get in as much trouble as you want to."

"I'm not getting in any trouble. If anything, I'll do the same thing you did with Herbert. Fuck him and send him back home to his wife."

"Why are you saying it like that?" "Because he's married, that's why." "So what?"

"So I can't afford to get involved with somebody who's married."

"But you're going to see him while he's here."

"I almost feel like I don't have much choice."

"When was the last time you had some, Savannah?"

"April. The last time he was here."

"Shit, it's July."

"I know, and I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"I told you how much I used to love this man, Bernie." "That'll make the shit even better. Go for it." "I went for it last time and got my ass in trouble." "So what? He came back, didn't he?" "Yeah."

"Didn't he say he wanted to get a divorce?" "Yeah, but he's not divorced."

"Well, shit, you can see from my experience, this shit isn't as easy as one-two-three. It takes time."

"I know, but I don't know what his agenda is." "Why don't you wait and find out. At least he's a good lover, right?"

"Yes indeed."

"Then go ahead and get some. I wouldn't worry about how you feel until afterwards. How long will he be here?"

"Two days."

"Then get two days' worth. Enough to tide you over till the next time."

"I'll play it by ear. Anyway, I'm sorry I can't hang out with you. But I'll take your ass out for a real celebration after he leaves."

"Bye, girl. I'm gone."

After she hung up, she called Robin, but she wasn't home. Bernadine was glad. She called Gloria for the hell of it, and Tarik said she was at a BWOTM board meeting and wouldn't be back until after nine. It was six forty-five. Bernadine had to go. Now. But where should she go? she wondered. Most of the nice places she and John used to go to were out of business, which was typical in Phoenix. As soon as a nice place opened where black folks could go to socialize, it lasted a few months, then something happened and it'd close. Another establishment would pop up in its place, and before long the same thing would happen. But Bernadine didn't care if she saw a black face tonight or not. She was going somewhere.

She took a shower, put on some makeup, and threw on a pink blouse with a blue silk slack suit. When she examined herself in the mirror, she looked boring, so she went through her closet like a maniac, looking for something a little more lively. She found a sleeveless white linen dress with a low neckline. This was perfect.

She ended up at a dinner bar at the Scottsdale Princess, a resort that looked out onto a golf course that Bernadine couldn't see because it was dark. She hadn't exactly planned on coming in here, but it wasn't far from her house. She sat at a table by the window and looked around the place. There was nothing in here but old people. All the women's hair was gray or white and teased to perfection and piled on top of their heads. Bernadine hadn't seen so many rhinestones and sequins since her last New Year's Eve party. Maybe they v/ere going somewhere afterwards, she thought, as she sipped her strawberry daiquiri. The waiter came to her table. She ordered prime rib, a baked potato with sour cream, and green beans with almonds, even though she wasn't hungry. She stirred the whipped cream with her straw. All of a sudden she felt silly. This was no celebration. What was she proving by being here? No one was paying any attention to her. No one knew her divorce was final today, so what was the point? When she got his attention, she motioned for the waiter. She asked if it was too late to cancel her order. He said he'd have to check. He came back moments later and said it was too late. Bernadine said she didn't care and paid for it anyway.

She still didn't feel like going home. And didn't know where else to go, so she drove down Camelback until she came to Twenty-fourth Street. When she saw the Ritz-Carlton hotel, a European-styled building that looked pink because of the lights shining on it, she pulled in there.

"Are you a guest?" the parking attendant asked her. "I'll know in a minute," she said, and got out of the car.

"I'm sure we have rooms available," he said. "This is our slowest season."

The next thing Bernadine knew, she was standing in the Superior Suite, on the seventh floor, overlooking the whole city. The room was full of antiques. The drapes, bedspread, and sheets were all different shades of blue, and each was a different kind of print. It was beautiful. This was more like it, she thought. Bernadine took the little key and opened the honor bar. It was full of goodies, including little bottles of booze and California wines, but she decided to go downstairs to the bar and have a drink instead. It was still early, and now that she was here, she didn't want to sit in this hotel room by herself.

She found an empty seat at the bar, a very dark, ornate room, and a pianist was playing some kind of classical music, which Bernadine really wasn't in the mood for, but she was here, so she listened to it. She ordered another strawberry daiquiri and looked around the room. More white folks.

"Is anybody sitting here?"

When Bernadine turned around, she was surprised to see a tall, good-looking black man, about her age, in a black suit, standing behind her. "No, nobody's sitting there," she said. She was embarrassed because she was sitting by herself at a bar. Bernadine didn't want him or anybody else to think this was what she usually did. She hoped he wouldn't start talking to her. She wasn't in the mood for listening to a line or having a phony conversation with a stranger- she didn't care how good he looked. She was trying to get used to the idea that she wasn't married anymore. Which would take longer than tonight.

"My name's James Wheeler. How you doing this evening?"

"Fine. Just fine, thank you."

"Do you have a name?"

"Bernadine Harris," she said, and tried not to take her eyes off her drink. He held his hand out to shake hers, so she held hers out too, and when he squeezed hers and shook it, his hand was not only strong but hot. The heat from his hand passed directly into hers. Bernadine was positive she felt some kind of current run from her palm to her arm and straight to her head, and then it permeated her whole body. She didn't know what was going on here. This had never happened to her before. She let his hand go. Then she smelled something sweet and tart, almost metallic, yet soothing. It was him.