Who Asked You? (15 page)

Y
ou mean now that he’s finally getting out you’re going to let him live with you and those kids for the next six months?”

“He’s my son and he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“What happened to halfway houses?”

“They cost money.”

“Oh, so you have to feed him, too?”

“First of all, Arlene, can you honestly sit here and tell me you wouldn’t do the same for Omar?”

“Omar would not do anything that would land him in prison, so I can’t even entertain the thought. I’m also standing, not sitting.”

“The only reason I agreed to meet you for these nasty tacos is because you said you had something you wanted to tell me. I don’t know why you couldn’t tell me over the phone.”

“Because ever since you’ve had those kids, we never seem to spend any time together anymore. Besides, some things are better said face-to-face.”

“Like what, Arlene?”

“Can we finish our tacos first?”

“Let me say this, since it’s been bothering me. You haven’t seen the kids in months and when you call you don’t even ask how they’re doing.”

“How are they doing?”

“They’re doing just fine, since you asked. Luther might get to skip third grade. He’s bright. And Ricky is doing much better all around. He can draw anything.”

“Is he still taking that medication?”

“Yes, he is. But he might grow out of it. Okay, Arlene, you’ve managed to show some interest in my grandkids, so tell me what you have to tell me.”

“Wait a minute, would you? See how impatient you are? Who’s watching them right now?”

“What?”

“Who’s watching them while you’re here with me?”

“Why?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Montana. Tammy’s daughter.”

“Do you pay her?”

“That is none of your business. Why are you so nosy?”

“I’m not being nosy. It’s called curious. No harm done. Anyway, have you heard from Trinetta or am I getting too personal?”

“No.”

“Have you managed to get any help from the county yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too complicated and they make you fill out form after form and still make you wait.”

“So wait.”

“Wait a minute. Let’s back up. Who told you Dexter got paroled, Arlene?”

“He did.”

“I know damn well you didn’t write a letter for him?”

“Yes I did, Betty Jean.”

I can tell she’s shocked. I take a sip of my Pepsi. The only reason I did it was because Dexter had been in that place so long and he had written letter after letter begging and pleading me as his auntie to write to the parole board on top of telling me how no one believed in him, that he had no family support, that he’s not young and stupid anymore, that people do change and he didn’t want to have to spend another year behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. So I agreed to do it and lied to the parole board about how remorseful he is and how eager he is to rejoin us in the outside world and make a contribution to society, and that, in fact, he is ready to reinvent himself. I was somewhat impressed by his vocabulary and his knowledge of the law, but other than this, I didn’t have a clue about what he was really capable of doing once he got out, and I still don’t know. My hope was that he might be able to help Betty Jean with those kids until Trinetta brings her stupid ass back home and finishes raising them. Dexter failed to mention that he was planning on moving back in.

“You never told me you were in touch with Dexter, Arlene. Why didn’t you ever bother mentioning it?”

“Because Dexter asked me not to. Just in case things didn’t work out again.”

“But you never liked him.”

“I never said I didn’t like Dexter. I said I didn’t like some of the things he’d done. But people do stupid things when they’re young. And they can change. He sounds like he’s paid in years lost for a crime he still swears he didn’t do. It was no big deal, really. I just wish he didn’t have to live with you.”

“You and me both. But thank you, Arlene.”

“You’re welcome. So, Omar has made some dramatic changes.”

“Don’t tell me he’s finally moving out?”

“No. But he’s lost about forty pounds. And counting.”

“So he did get that Lap Band?”

“Who told you he was getting it?”

“I thought you did. Didn’t you?”

“No, I did not. It had to be Venetia with her big mouth.”

“Was it supposed to be a secret or something?”

“No. When I told Venetia, I didn’t know he was actually going to do it. But he did.”

“Isn’t that expensive?”

“Insurance covered it.”

“Well, good for Omar. He’s a good-looking young man. This should do wonders for his self-esteem.”

“What makes you think he doesn’t have any self-esteem?”

“I didn’t say he didn’t have any. I just meant that with a few less pounds he’d probably feel better about himself. You knew what I meant, Arlene. Damn. Is this what you wanted to tell me?”

“That’s one thing.”

“What’s the other one?”

“Have you talked to Venetia lately?”

“Not in a week or so, why?”

“Rodney’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Where do you think, Betty Jean?”

“Hell, I don’t know. He’s always gone. Wait. You mean to tell me this time he’s not coming back?”

She reaches in her purse for her cell phone but I press my hand down hard on her forearm to stop her from bringing it up to her ear.

“Why didn’t she tell me when she told you?”

“Well, she didn’t exactly tell me herself.”

“Then who the hell did? Not Rodney.”

“Lauren called to tell me Venetia was having a hard time and the reason why.”

“Why didn’t she call me, too?”

“I don’t know!”

“When the hell did all this happen?”

“Almost two weeks ago.”

“Whose bright idea was it to keep me in the dark all this time?”

“Mine.”

“This was not your damn call, Arlene. Why do you always have to play Oprah?”

“First of all, knowing that Dexter was coming home and all the mess that’s been going on in your house, I thought it would be best to wait until Venetia felt like she wanted to tell you herself.”

“She’s our sister, Arlene, and this is not the way we were brought up—to just let folks fend for themselves, suffer on our own, you know that! I’m driving out to her house as soon as I leave here.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

I’m out here in Woodland Hills sitting in my car waiting for potential buyers to show up. The house is more than six thousand square feet and is really a souped-up tract house disguised as a custom home but some people don’t know the difference. As long as it’s big, has high ceilings, granite and marble, and a chandelier greeting them when they open the front door, they’re impressed.

When my cell phone rings, I see it’s Venetia, but I don’t have the heart to answer it right now. So I let it go to voice mail. When it rings again, it’s the buyers, telling me they’re stuck in traffic on the 405 and could they possibly reschedule for tomorrow. I agree.

I get on the 405 and can’t help but notice that there is no traffic on the other side. I don’t understand what this means. If they found another house with another broker, then they should just have come right out and said so. I dial my voice mail and Venetia has left me a message: “Arlene, I just wanted you to know that I wish you had let me be the one to share my personal information with our sister, since you don’t fully understand what’s going on, and it would also have been better if you had called me to get the real truth instead of relying on a sixteen-year-old’s interpretation of it. Thanks for caring so much about me.”

After Betty Jean’s lashing, I certainly don’t feel like defending myself so I don’t call her back. I decide to call Omar, who’s at home since he gave up his last job to have this elective surgery. His phone goes to voice mail, so I call the house line and it goes to voice mail, too. Where in the world could he be? I’m suddenly worried that maybe something is wrong. So I step on it until the traffic begins to slow up and I’m forced to a crawl like usual.

When my cell rings and it’s Omar, I pick it up immediately. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Take it easy, Ma,” he says. “I was out looking at apartments.”

“For who?”

“Me.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s time.”

“But you don’t have a job, Omar.”

“I know that, which is why I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to cosign for me until I get on my feet.”

“When did you make all these plans, Omar? First it was the Lap Band and now you want to move out?”

“Ma, I’m twenty-eight years old and have never lived on my own. Every time I’ve tried telling you I was thinking about it, you always came up with reasons why I shouldn’t.”

“That is not true.”

“It is, Ma.”

“Well, if you need my help, how do you call that living on your own?”

“Never mind.”

And he hangs up.

When I call him back, it goes to voice mail again. And when I pull into the driveway, his BMW isn’t in the garage, and it won’t be for quite some time.

W
ho’s there?” I ask when I hear my doorbell chime. It’s not a solicitor, since this is a gated community and I wasn’t expecting any deliveries, which means it has to be someone on the approved list. But I can’t imagine who it would be this time of day. I press my ear to the door, which is silly, but since I don’t have my glasses on I can’t see through the peephole.

“It’s your sister.”

“Which one?” I ask.

Sometimes I can’t tell their voices apart but I open it anyway and am relieved it’s BB and not Arlene. As I open the door I take a deep breath and quietly pray that there is nothing wrong that can’t be remedied. “BB, what in God’s name are you doing here this time of day and what made you drive all the way out here without giving me a heads-up?”

“Arlene just told me about Rodney.”

“What about Rodney?”

“That he left you.”

“He did not
leave
me. We’re just taking a break from each other.”

I step away from the door and she walks right past me. I love that plaid suit she’s wearing, even if it is a little tight. “Come on back to the kitchen. I’m pretty sure this is Arlene’s doing, isn’t it? Don’t even answer that, BB. She is notorious for spreading misinformation even though I know she means no harm, but she needs to learn how to verify stuff first and since I’m the person who was supposed to have been left why hasn’t she bothered to call me?”

“She made it sound like she was trying to give you time to sort out your feelings.”

“How in the world did she find out?”

“She said Lauren called her.”

“Lauren?”

“That’s what she told me.”

“That is absolutely not true!”

“Who gives a shit—excuse me—no, I meant it, who gives a shit what Arlene thinks? She has no idea what being married is like and at the rate she’s going she’s never going to. Anyway, are you okay? Talk to me?”

“Sometimes I like it when you swear, BB. It means you’re feeling passionate, and I’m glad it’s about me this time. You want something cool to drink?”

“No. Tell me what in the world is going on?”

“Rodney is seeing someone and has been for quite some time. He feels conflicted about it but doesn’t want a divorce. So he asked me if I would give him a little time to sort out his feelings.”

“I know you didn’t agree to that?”

“I did. I married him for better or for worse.”

“But this isn’t the first worse, is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, BB.”

“Arlene told me about a few other times and you took him back then, too.”

“Men don’t always know how to say no to temptation.”

“You sound like a damn fool, Venetia. What do you think would happen if
you
didn’t say no to temptation, huh? You think Rodney would be so forgiving and keep giving you more chances?”

“I don’t know. Would you like a smoothie?”

“What kind of smoothie?”

“Mango, strawberry, and banana.”

“Okay. But just a small glass.”

I slide the blender out away from the cabinet.

“Wait a minute. You mean you have to make it?”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

“Never mind. I don’t want one. So how are the kids handling this?”

“Lauren refuses to speak to him when he calls.”

“Good for her.”

“He’s still her father, BB.”

“And Zachary?”

“He left him quite a disrespectful and scary message and called him something I can’t repeat.”

“Repeat it. You won’t go to hell, since they’re not your words.”

I shake my head. I don’t like using profanity even though sometimes I don’t mind hearing it. Sometimes it’s melodic and is not offensive, depending on the tone. I pour myself a glass of Arnold Palmer and BB watches me.

“Is that an Arnold Palmer?”

I nod.

“Then why didn’t you ask me if I wanted a glass of that? Anyway—”

“Because you said you didn’t want anything!”

“I still want to know what Zachary said to Rodney.”

“And I just told you I wouldn’t feel comfortable repeating it.”

“Pretend you’re an actress auditioning for a great role and you have to say these lines or you’ll miss the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“He said, ‘You are one sneaky, lying, cheating, poor excuse for a husband. This isn’t the first time you’ve hurt our mom but it’s going to be the last, and I hope whoever the gold-digging bitch is, that she knows you’re nothing but a selfish bastard who can’t be trusted and the only person you really care about is yourself.’”

“Wow. He said all
that
?”

“Every word of it. So that should constitute an Academy Award. And I’m ashamed to admit it, but it felt kind of good saying that.”

“And you’re not on fire.”

I hand her a glass and sit down at the end of the island. The black granite is so shiny I can see both of our reflections in it. I cleaned it this morning. Like I do every morning. “I just don’t feel like destroying my children’s lives right now, since they’re so close to graduating.”

“Kids? They’re almost in college, Venetia. Do you see some of the stuff they watch on TV? They are hip to all of this mess. Which is why Zach could cuss out his daddy and not think twice about it. And he was being honest. Something you might want to try.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, aren’t you tired of making excuses for him? Aren’t you tired of being lonely, which you have to be, since he’s never here?”

“I am tired. But the Lord gives me strength to just hang in here until this passes.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Venetia?”

“If you have to keep using this kind of language talking to me, BB, I might have to ask you to leave. I’m not kidding. I’ve heard enough ugly words from you today and I’m not going to be talked down to by Arlene and even the kids have accused me of being a doormat, but I don’t need this right now. I really don’t. God is the only one who doesn’t judge me.”

She gets up.

“Are you leaving?”

“I am. I drove out here just to make sure you were doing okay and I see that you’re obviously in good hands since God is your best friend and, I hope, in the process of offering you a little common sense, so maybe you don’t need a sister’s input at all.”

“You’re starting to sound a lot like Arlene.”

She cuts her eyes at me and takes her now empty glass over to the sink. I’m tempted to wash it but I will myself to not notice how much empty space surrounds it.

“Let me just ask you this. Do you still love Rodney?”

“That’s a very good question. I don’t know. What I do know is I don’t like who he’s become.”

“And what is that?”

“Dishonest.”

“You think that’s something a person becomes and not who they always were because sometimes love can blind you so it makes it hard to see?”

“I don’t think that rule applies to me. Rodney used to be a good husband and father.”

“You just said ‘used to’ like he’s going to get back to being that way again, as soon as he gets over this little bout of cheating, is that it?”

“You know what, BB, if your goal was to come out here to make me feel better, you have failed to do that.”

“Well, I’m sorry. But tell me this, sis. What will you do if he says he wants a divorce?”

“What choice would I have?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She gives me a kiss on the cheek and lets herself out. As soon as she leaves I call Arlene and leave a long message giving her a piece of my mind. I don’t care if she gets mad at me for not telling her about Rodney and me, and the reason I didn’t is because I did not want to hear her criticize me for the way I’m handling all of it, which she would most certainly do, and now BB is reacting the same way. I don’t need their advice and I didn’t ask for it. And until my marriage issues are resolved, and my husband finds his way back home, I don’t think talking to either one of them will be such a good idea.