Waiting to Exhale (49 page)

"Well, mine is moving back to Philly, girl."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, she said she's had it with Arizona."

"I can't much blame her."

"Damn. And I missed your birthday. I could kick myself in the butt. I'll tell you what. Leave Saturday open. I'll take you to dinner. Get your ass drunk."

"That'll work."

"Well, let me tell you about my other latest development." "What?"

"I had to go see my lawyer today. The shit has hit the fan for real, girl."

"What happened?"

"She finally got all the information we need. And guess what?"

"What?"

"The accountant went through all John's taxes and company records. What tipped him off were all the different codes on the cash transactions, and, girl-"

"Would you get to the point, Bernie?"

"Okay, okay. I'm trying. Anyway, to make a long story short, they ended up comparing some figures against his taxes, and they didn't add up."

"You mean he's been cheating on his taxes?"

"Deeper than that. He's not only been putting money in his own pocket but swindling his partner too. He put all kinds of stuff on his expense account, girl. The Porsche and my BMW! They've found out so much shit, I can't even believe it."

"Well, you don't mess around when it comes to the IRS."

"Tell me about it."

"So what does all this mean?"

"It means I could drop a dime on him and get his ass for fraud."

"Would you do that, Bernie?"

"Of course not; I'm not as low as he is. Plus, my lawyer said that since I signed our joint tax returns, I could get in trouble too. We'd both be responsible for repaying any penalties, so I'm keeping my mouth shut. All I want is my money, so I can be done with this whole thing. But my lawyer's still going to threaten him with this, just to call his bluff. The settlement conference is next week."

"Damn," Savannah said.

"Damn is right," Bernadine said. "But if all goes well, this could finally be over."

"Have you talked to him at all lately?"

"Yeah, but not about this. My lawyer told me not to discuss anything except the kids with him. Did I tell you we had to have the visitation stuff modified since he got married?"

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah."

"I still can't believe he didn't tell you."

"It's okay. Because you know what?"

"What?"

"I can't wait to see if that white bitch still loves his black ass when he's driving a Hyundai instead of that goddamn Porsche."

Chapter
23

"Savannah?"

"Yeah, Mama?" "You 'sleep?"

"I was," I said, and sat up. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing much."

"So why're you calling me so late if nothing's wrong?" I said, and reached for a cigarette like I always do when she calls. "I'm just a little worried."

"About what? Nothing's happened to Samuel, has it?"

"Naw. He called yesterday. He said there's probably gonna be a war. And if it is, because of his job, he said he won't be on no front lines or nothing like that. He told me not to worry."

"So what's going on, then?"

"Well, I got a little problem."

"What kind of problem, Mama?"

"Well, it ain't a big problem."

"Mama, talk to me. It's not Pookey, is it?"

"Naw, he's fine. Moved in with some girl. Still working down at that gas station."

"Did Sheila have the baby? Is something wrong with it?"

"Naw. She's not due for a few weeks. They're just waiting."

"So what is going 0/7/? You call me up in the middle of the night like something's wrong, and then you beat around the bush."

"I need you to write me another letter."

"What for now?"

"My food stamps."

"Why? What happened to the other one?"

"I gave it to 'em."

"So why do they need another one?"

"Well, Savannah. A few months ago, they made me fill out some more forms. I just had finished filling out the Social Security papers to get my check to go straight to the bank. And let me tell you, I was seeing double. I ain't as quick as I used to be. So anyway, I accidentally made a mistake and checked off the wrong box. And" -she let out a long sigh-"they cut my food stamps."

"To how much?"

"Twenty-seven dollars."

"A month?"

"Yeah."

"Mama, you're lying."

"I wish I was."

"When did this happen?"

"Back in August."

"August!"

"Yeah."

"You mean to tell me you've been getting twenty-seven dollars' worth of food stamps a month since August?"

"Yeah," she muttered.

"Why'd you wait so long to tell me? It's November, Mama."

"I know, Savannah. But you ain't getting paid as much as you did at that job you had in Denver, and you still ain't sold that condo. So I know your money's gotta be tight too."

"And just how do you know all this?" I said, although of course I already knew.

"Sheila told me."

"Sheila's got a big mouth," I said. But I was the one who opened my big mouth and told her, back in April, right after Mama told me she was pregnant. Why, I'll never know. "Well, tell me this, Mama: Have you been eating okay? How've you been living? Has Pookey been helping? Does Sheila know about this?"

"Well," she sighed. "At first Pookey was giving me a little change, but then the landlord started asking me who he was, and I didn't wanna get in no trouble with the Section Eight people, so that's when he moved in with that girl. I been eating okay. More soup than anything. And Sheila. She's got enough to deal with with this new baby coming, and you know Paul got laid off from IBM."

"What?"

"You didn't know that?"

"No. Nobody tells me anything."

"They got computers to do his work now. He found some piecy job, but he ain't making half as much money as he was. It's just temporary, until he can find something better. They say there's a recession going on. I'm beginning to believe it. Everybody's having a rough time. You should call Sheila. She ain't in the best of spirits."

"Damn," I said, and took the portable phone into the kitchen and got myself a glass of wine. "So, Mama. How've you been getting by? For real. Do you have any money?"

"A little."

"How much is a little?"

"Eighteen dollars."

"Eighteen dollars!" I said. "I'll wire you some tomorrow."

"Twenty is plenty."

"Mama, please." I took a sip of my wine and another puff from my cigarette. "Tell me this: What exactly do you have to do to get . . . what's it called?"

"Reinstated. I just need another letter from you, saying the same thing you said last time. That you pay three hundred and ninety-six dollars a month of my rent. They already know Section Eight pays the rest."

"Who do I send it to?" I asked, and went back to the bedroom.

"You can send it to me."

"I'll Federal Express it in the morning. Unless you need it sooner."

"Naw, that's quick enough. My appointment ain't until next week. And thank you, baby. I'm sorry if I upset you. I didn't mean to. I been trying to deal with this on my own. I get tired of asking you for everything. But food is so high, and my check goes so fast, I'm lucky to pay my phone bill. It's already starting to get cold. And you know this place is all electric."

"Yeah, Mama. I know. But don't worry. Be down at Western Union first thing in the morning. You understand?"

"I will."

"And do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Don't ever keep anything like this from me again."

"I won't," she said.

"And from now on, whenever you get low on cash, you pick up that phone and call me. When you need something, you call me. I don't care if it's for a knitting class, a girdle, or a new toaster. You don't have to be too proud. You're my mother. And I'm your daughter. I don't ever want you sitting in that damn apartment with no lights, no heat, or going hungry because you're too embarrassed to ask me for help. Do you hear me, Mama?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Twenty-seven dollars a month, huh? These people just don't care what happens to you when you get old, do they? You could've been in there starving to death. Now I see how people end up living on the streets. And you're trying to live off of four hundred dollars
a m onth?"

"Four hundred and seven."

"Whatever, Mama. The point is, they don't give a damn. Do they?"

"I guess not."

"Well, you won't have to worry about it. I guarantee it. I'll write your letter. But these motherfuckers ought to stop." I didn't mean to say "motherfucker," but shit, I was mad. Mama obviously didn't care, either. Normally, she'd say something.

"Anyway, baby, so you're doing all right, then?"

"I'm fine, Mama. Just fine. I might have a new job."

"You didn't quit this one already, did you?"

"No. I'll tell you more about it in a few weeks. It'd still be at the same television station, though. More like a promotion."

"You and your promotions."

"Anyway, I have to get up early. I'm going to Las Vegas in the morning."

"Well, that sounds exciting."

"I'm going to a conference. I don't know how exciting it's going to be."

"Well, put a dollar in one of those slot machines for me, and if you win anything, you can Federal Express it." She giggled. Which was good.

"I'll do that, Mama," I said. "I love you."

"Love you too, baby."

"See you Christmas," I said.

"I can't wait. Now go on back to sleep."

"I will," I said, and hung up.

It took me forever.

In the morning I mailed my absentee ballot to cast my vote for the King holiday, cashed in my last five-thousand-dollar CD, wired Mama five hundred of it, Federal Expressed her that letter, and felt a whole lot better by the time I got on the plane. I'm going to get this job. I feel it. I've earned it. And it's supposed to be mine. I'm convinced. God wants me to be able to help my mama. I'm scared to think of what'll happen to her if I can't. Plus, I owe her. She's worked hard' all her life. She's the one who busted her ass to take care of us. And now that she's old, and all by herself, she needs help. As her firstborn, I'll do whatever I have to do to make things easier for her. I wan t t he rest of her life to be pleasant. Happy. I don't want her worrying about how she's going to pay this or pay that, stressing herself all out.

There's one thing I already know. The first program I'm going to propose will definitely be about the lack of concern for the elderly. How poorly they're treated, how their needs are being ignored by the government, how they too often get pushed aside by their own families, and what can be done to change the situation. I don't have all the answers, but I've got a few ideas. I'll know in three weeks if I'll get the chance to make them known.

Las Vegas made me feel lit up. Like something exciting was about to happen to me. I'm sure everybody feels like this, but you can't help it. All the flashing lights and the thousands of people walking from one casino to another in such outrageous clothes; all the cars and honking horns and, inside Caesar's Palace (which is where I'm staying), the sound of hundreds of slot machine levers being pulled, bells ringing, and people screaming at the top of their lungs when they hit the jackpot-it had me wired for sound.

I had barely hung up my clothes when I rushed downstairs to put my first twenty into that dollar slot machine and stood there waiting for more to drop. They didn't. I sat down at a blackjack table for an hour, won fourteen dollars, went back to the quarter slots, and won my twenty back. By then I was tired, so I decided to go up to my room and soak in that Caesar's bubble bath. Which is exactly what I did.

The actual seminars were at the convention center, about a ten- minute drive away. When the shuttle bus pulled in front of the hotel the next morning to pick up a group of us, I got on. The first vacant seat I came to was next to a black man. He would have to be handsome. That rugged kind of handsome-my kind of handsome. I was scared to sit down, but it would've looked too obvious if I'd kept on walking.

I sat. He immediately turned toward me. "Hi," he said, in a baritone voice. "Charles Turner, KXIP-TV, San Francisco. How you doing?"

"Savannah Jackson, KPRX-TV, Phoenix. Nice to meet you
,
Charles." I couldn't tell what the rest of him looked like, but from what I could see, he looked like a complete package.

"Hey," he said. "KPRX is our sister station."

I nodded and smiled. I didn't know what else to do or say.