Waiting to Exhale (42 page)

"That's all the way in Atlanta!"

"I want to go to a black college, Ma. Since I was little, I've been going to all-white schools. I'm sick of being the only blood in th
e c
lass. I want to know what it's like being around people my own color. Anyway, I can get college credits from the U of A if I get in. Just think. I'd get to travel all over the world, performing for a whole year!"

"And you think you could handle living with people you don't know for a whole year?"

"Yeah, I do. But it's more to it than that, Ma. Don't you think that doing things for the community . . . You saw the kinds of things they do in the brochure, didn't you? They perform in nursing homes, do benefits for abused women and children, and a whole lot of other stuff. All over the world! Don't you think this would be a good educational experience for me?"

"Of course it would."

"I don't have to be all that good a musician, either, but it won't hurt. So please let me go for an interview."

"The brochure said you need to go to one of the performances."

"There's one in two weeks, at ASU. I checked already."

"You haven't said a word about how much this would cost." But Gloria already knew that. She'd read all the literature and had even called and talked to the administrator about how this whole thing worked. She had to admit, she was impressed. Seven hundred kids, seventeen years old to twenty-five, from twenty-five countries would be broken down into five different "casts." They would spend the first five weeks in Tucson, rehearsing, learning the music and choreography, and judging by the pictures in the brochure, the performances looked pretty spectacular. The handbook also said these kids would get a chance to participate in seminars, debates; meet and hear various leaders in the arts, business, government, and education, in the United States as well as abroad.

"Well, I think it's only about eight thousand dollars, but they have scholarships too, Ma."

"Oh, only eight thousand dollars."

"Ma, if I get in, I can do all kinds of fund-raising stuff, and I can try to get sponsors. That's what a lot of people do. But depending on how much money you make, I might qualify for a scholarship."

"I can afford some of it," she said. Gloria had always made sure Tarik didn't know how much money she made or how much she had.

After she sold her parents' house, she used part of the money to open Oasis and put the rest in a savings account and, later on, in CDs. She didn't ever want him to take her for granted. Didn't want to raise a spoiled-rotten brat who'd grow up thinking he could have anything he wanted without earning it. When Tarik asked her to buy him something, Gloria often told him they couldn't afford it, or she'd just plain say no. Sometimes, though, she'd surprise him, which she thought made him that much more appreciative.

"How much?" Tarik asked.

"I said some of it," she repeated, knowing she could afford the whole amount. "Let me just say this. If you get accepted, you need to try to earn as much on your own as you can."

"I'll do anything," he said. "I wanna go, Ma, I do. I've been thinking about it all summer. And remember Bill up the street, who graduated last year?"

"Yes."

"He couldn't sing or anything, and he got accepted, and he said it was great. He went to Finland, France, Frankfurt, Germany, and all over the U
. S
., even New York City! And guess what else, Ma? He met the queen of England-can you believe it?"

"You don't have to convince me of anything, Tarik," she said, and sprayed more starch on the front of the shirt. "All I'm concerned about is you getting a college education. You can play that saxophone and sing and dance all over the world if you want to, but without that piece of paper, you won't have much of a future. But you already know this."

"Bill's a freshman in college right now."

Gloria put the iron down.

"I'd only be nineteen when we finish touring, and a lot of times you can get accepted to a college and defer it for a year. I'd do that, I promise."

"Well, why don't we wait and see if you get in?"

"Bet. But I'm getting in," he said. "Didn't you always tell me to think positive?" "I did."

"So that's what I'm doing," he said, and stood up.

Gloria could swear the boy had grown three or four inches in th
e l
ast few months. He had to be at least six foot four now. He had the body of a grown man. "I'm proud of you, Tarik," she said, and squeezed the handle of the iron.

"Why are you proud of me, Ma? I haven't done anything."

"Because you haven't given me any trouble. At least not the kind some of these teenagers are getting into out here. Drugs and all that. I'm very lucky to have a son like you."

Tarik walked over to her, pressed his hands down on the shirt- the part Gloria had just ironed-bent down, and gave her a peck on the forehead. "Thank you, Ma," he said. "Now, can I have a piece of pie?"

"No," she said. "It's for our new neighbors."

"What new neighbors?"

"A black family moved in this morning. Right across the street."

"Get outta here," he said. "It's about time," and then he did some kind of dance backward out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, Gloria heard him playing his horn again. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face if you'd paid her. This was the kind of son she wanted to raise: confident, responsible, with a sense of direction. Today Gloria felt she was batting a thousand.

The garage door was up and the car was inside, so she walked across the street with the cooled pie, wrapped in aluminum foil, and rang the doorbell. The man answered the door. "Well, hello there," he said.

"Hello," Gloria said. He was definitely good-looking up close, she thought. Definitely. And then she forgot what she'd been about to say. How was that possible? She had never been at a loss for words in front of any man, let alone an older one, and one she didn't even know. "I'm Gloria Matthews," she said, remembering her name. "I live right across the street. And I just wanted to welcome you and your family to the neighborhood."

"Well, thank you," he said, with some kind of southern accent. "That's sure nice of you," he said. "Come on in for a few minutes," he said, motioning with his hands.

"Well, I don't want to intrude," she said, still standing there. "I just wanted to introduce myself. Is your wife at home?"

"I'm afraid I don't have a wife," he said. "She passed away, going on two years now. It's just me here."

"Oh," Gloria said. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you," he said. "What you got there? Some kind of pie?"

"Sweet potato."

"Who don't love sweet potato pie?" he said, and started laughing. "Why don't you come on in and have a seat for a few minutes? I wasn't doing nothing but fiddling. My daughter was supposed to come help me get some of these boxes opened, but she said something about being late getting her kids from the day care, so I'm just in here tinkering with the refrigerator, trying to get the icemaker going. You're welcome to come on in."

"Well, I'm just getting my dinner started and wanted you to have this pie."

"Then I'll have this for dinner," he said, and laughed again.

He had such a hearty laugh, Gloria thought, and such a warm disposition, she really wanted to come in, but she knew it wouldn't look right, and plus, she didn't want to give him the wrong impression, considering he lived right across the street and all. "You don't have to do that," she said. "I could have my son bring you over a plate. All we're having is leftovers, to tell you the truth. I've got some greens and corn bread over there, some candied yams, a little potato salad, and a few slices of ham."

"Sounds like a feast," he said. "I'm not one to turn down a home- cooked meal. Thank you, Gloria," he said. "I haven't eaten a thing today. What's your son's name?"

"Tarik."

"Tar-what?"

"Tar-reek." She pronounced it for him.

"Oh, one of those African names. I like that one. Only two syllables. And how old is Tarik?"

"Seventeen."

"A teenager."

"Yes, Lord, a teenager."

"My kids are grown and gone. Thank goodness."

"Well, he'll be gone in June, I think."

"College?"

"Sort of."

"How can you sort of go to college?" he asked.

But Gloria didn't answer him right away. She was too busy trying not to stare at him. But she was staring at him. Looking him dead in the eyes. For a minute, she thought he'd put a spell on her or something, because she didn't hear a word he'd just said. She saw his lips move, but she was too busy thinking: If you are fifty, you sure look good. Fifty isn't all that old, is it? And your skin. As smooth as any thirty-five-year-old's. Looks like you've taken good care of yourself -or somebody took good care of you. And to think you live right across the street. From me. "I'm sorry," she heard herself say. "What did you just ask me?"

He had a sly grin on his face. "I think I said, How can your son sort of be going to college?"

"Well, he plays the saxophone, and he may get a chance to travel all around the world with this organization called Up With People. But I don't know."

"Let the boy go," he said. "How's his daddy feel about it?"

"His daddy lives in California somewhere," Gloria said, and didn't know what made her tell that barefaced lie.

"So you're divorced, then, are you?"

"Yes," she said, because once again, Gloria didn't want to give him the wrong impression.

"Well, look, Gloria. If you ever need anything done around the house, don't hesitate to knock on my door. I can fix anything," he said proudly, and laughed again. "And I truly wouldn't mind. Not one bit."

"That's awfully kind of you . . . you know, I didn't get your name."

"Marvin. Marvin King," he said.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Marvin," she said, finally handing him the pie. "And welcome to the neighborhood. I'll warm the food up and send that plate right over by Tarik."

"Thank you so much, Gloria. I hope to be seeing you again real ' soon," he said.

Gloria said, "I sure hope so," under her breath, and started walking back across the street. She was trying to be as poised as sh
e p
ossibly could. Something told her he was watching her, so she turned around to see if she was right, and sure enough, there he was, still standing in the doorway, waving at her. She waved back, tickled as she wanted to be, because no man had ever waited to watch her cross a street before, no man had ever volunteered to fix anything for her, and no man had ever made her feel this giddy. Gloria liked the feeling. She liked it so much, she felt her knees grow weaker with each step she took. Her heart was actually fluttering as if it had wings. That was a brand-new feeling too. All of this was new territory to her, and Gloria had no idea that feeling attracted to somebody could make your body go limp. She closed her eyes for a second and asked God to please help her make it to her front door without falling and to her surprise, this time He answered her.

Chapter
20

I'm so glad Russell's back. Well, he's not all the way one hundred percent back. Yet. Most of his stuff is still over at his other house, but it's been kind of hard for him to get it, since she changed the locks. It didn't take long for her to find out he was over here, and she had the nerve to call and cuss me out. "You're one dizzy bitch," she said. At first I was planning on bamming the phone down in her face, but then I sort of wanted to hear what she had to say, so I kept the phone to my ear and didn't say a word. "How could you let that son of a bitch back in your house, let alone your bed, knowing h e w alked out on you and came running over here to me? I'll tell you one thing, you must be one hard-up broad 'cause Russell ain't worth two cents, and you more than anybody should know that by now. You ain't doing nothing but setting yourself up for more disappointments. How old are you anyway? You must be obsessed, possessed -something-'cause I swear, I can't understand for the life of me why you'd wanna put yourself through more hell, knowing he ain't nothing but a slimy, sleazy no-good whore who doesn't know how to control his own dick. But you know what? You can have the sorry motherfucker! Keep him! I don't want his ass. And you wanna know something else? You better pray to God he don't give you herpes, like he did me. So watch yourself." Click.

Herpes? This was a scare tactic, that much I knew. Russell didn't have any herpes. If he did, I'd never seen it before. I was fuming after I hung up that phone. Who did she think she was, calling my house, talking all this mess? I wished I knew what sign she was, so I'd at least know what element I was dealing with. Probably an Aries, because they're totally into revenge. And just when was Russell supposed to have gotten herpes? Women'll do anything to keep a man. I don't know why they always attack the other woman when they should be jumping on his case.

I did not, however, want her to think she could just pick up the phone anytime she felt like it and call me whenever she wanted to blow off steam, and I damn sure didn't want her calling Russell, so I had my phone number changed to unlisted. I didn't tell Russell she'd called until a few days later. That's how mad I was.