Knowing Page 23

  Something in the house stirred, and she listened quietly as the unfamiliar footsteps spoke. Knowing the kids wouldn’t get up this early, nor Jackson, she decided the only person treading down the back steps had to be . . . Mae Thelma!

  22

  I Second That Emotion

  “Why are you whispering?” asked the voice over the phone.

  “Because she’ll hear me if I speak any louder!” said Ginger, peeking around the doorway of the dining room. Tapping the receiver with the tips of her nails, she hesitated before continuing their conversation.

  “Who in the hell is the she you’re talking about?”

  “Mama, it’s Mae Thelma. Her house burned down the other night. She and the boys have moved in with us for a while.”

  “Ahhhhhhh shit. I smell trouble. What did I tell —”

  “I know. I know, Mama. But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I think Jackson is trying to test how saved I am.”

  “Two women in one household, with one man —”

  “I get your point, Mama. But I really think it’s going to work out all right. We talked this morning, and she’s offered to cook dinner and clean for me while I work at the agency. No need for the kids to keep doing all the work when she’ll be here all day.”

  “Next thing you know she’ll be doing the rest of your wifely duties.” Like fucking your husband.

  “I’m due at the agency in a couple of hours. I’ll have to leave her here all day with Jackson. I don’t think he’s planning on going anywhere today. You know he watches —”

  “. . . his Westerns all day, I know,” finished Katherine bitterly. “I hate to tell you I told you so, but I told you months ago that that Cleopatra-looking bitch was after your husband. You mark my word.”

  “So haven’t you been down lately?” asked Ginger, already knowing the answer.

  “Didn’t the kids tell you about James?”

  “Yeah, they told me. But I wanted to hear about him from you. He’s young, right?”

  “Forty-three.” Katherine waited to hear the quick intake of breath before she continued. “I’m tired of old-ass, decrepit men with one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peel, smelling like mold.”

  “Mold?”

  “Damn right. Moldy and stale. I bought James some cologne. What’s the name of that cologne you bought for Jackson?”

  “Calvin Klein’s Eternity for Men?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Smells like heaven on a young man. Wouldn’t smell like shit on a old-ass motherfucker laying on the couch with three coats of Ben-Gay liniment on his body.” They both laughed, and Katherine felt that Ginger had relaxed a bit. How could she tell her daughter that if it was her husband, she wouldn’t let a female fly next to him for too long, let alone a woman?

  “Mama?” Ginger’s voice changed almost instantly. She worked her fingers nervously through the curly wig. “My eyebrows are coming out.” She held her feelings in check as she waited for her mother’s scolding about feeling sorry for herself.

  “Ginger, I know it’s hard.” Katherine tried to suppress the pity in her voice. “But you’ve been through this before.”

  “I feel different somehow this time. It’s not the same as before. I’ve never lost my eyebrows, only my lashes. I’ve got a bad feeling, Mama, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “You been back to the U of M hospital?” She heard a garbled yes, and knew Ginger was holding back tears. “And they don’t have any new treatments?”

  “Uh-uh.” Walking into the dining room, Ginger opened the french doors to let the wind blow across her face. The oriental garden she’d recently planted next to the patio was breathtakingly lovely. Tiny explosions of colors from exotic flowers filled the huge garden, against an emerald backdrop of cherry hardwoods and shrubs. Laburnum, sweet white alyssum, wispy white wisteria and clematis climbed along the brick walls.

  Reaching beneath the cap, she loosened the hooks of the hairpiece as she felt the pressure of an oncoming headache. “Did I tell you I closed on my first house last week?” She angled her body in the doorway, to listen for the kids.

  “Got any spare change for your mother?” asked Katherine, only half-kidding. James Cotton was costing her more than she’d anticipated. Sure, the thrill was worth it, but she couldn’t discuss with Ginger the needs and habits of a young man trying to make his entrepreneurial mark in society. She just wouldn’t understand.

  “I didn’t list the house, Mama, so my commission was pretty small. But I’m putting some of the money aside for Jason’s graduation party. It’ll coincide with his eighteenth birthday next June.” She went on to explain to her mother about all the plans she made for an outdoor party on the patio, with rented palm trees and ice sculptures — it was going to be beautiful. After all, it wasn’t every day your first child graduated.

  They talked for a while longer about the other three children and how well each of them was doing in school — except Sierra. But Ginger left that out, knowing her mother had so many plans for her oldest granddaughter. After watching Carol Ann-Marie Gist from Detroit win the crown in the Miss USA pageant in Michigan, she’d told Sierra that someday she’d win it, too. If Katherine knew Sierra was almost two years behind in her reading level, she’d be praying right along with Ginger.

  The sound of aluminum pots being set on the stove alerted Ginger that someone was in the kitchen. She looked in to find Mae Thelma, her hair flowing down her back like shimmering black diamonds. She’s never worn her hair down before, thought Ginger. She is never without her trademark halo hairstyle.

  “Figured I fix breakfast for the family. They’ll be up soon. It’s almost nine,” said Mae Thelma in her southern drawl. She continued on about her business, extracting eggs, bacon, sausage, grits, bread, and jam from the cabinets and refrigerator. Ginger nodded and went back to her conversation in the dining room.

  “She must be planning on feeding an army with all the food she’s got out. Them women from the South cook so much food for breakfast, ’bout time they finish it’ll be time to cook dinner. That’s why they’re always so tired — they live in the kitchen — right where their man wants them,” Ginger said.

  “Hold on a minute. Think about it. Most of the women in the South have got nine, twelve, and fourteen or so rug rats running around the house.” Katherine paused for effect. “They get more business than the average woman. Lord knows when they’re in church smiling and thanking the Lord, it ain’t just about the moving service the pastor just preached. Silently they’re thanking the Lord for what that man did for ’em last night, and praying he’d able to do the same thing tonight.” As she and her mother laughed and chided, the sound of sizzling bacon reminded Ginger that someone might be listening in the kitchen.

  “Mae Thelma, I’ll be home around two-thirty. I’ll cook dinner myself, so you don’t have to bother with that. You’ve got a million other things to do trying to get the kids settled.” Ginger pounded up the back stairs, missing the woman’s forced smile, which turned into a thin flat line as Ginger rounded the corner of the stairwell.

  With her back resting against the kitchen counter, Mae Thelma pondered her next move. Ginger didn’t realize the kind of woman Jackson needed. If she did, she wouldn’t be running all over town like a harlot, instead of being home to cook and clean for her man. Mae Thelma had overheard Ginger laughing about southern women. She’d soon be surprised about a southern woman’s expertise in satisfying her man. One day soon, that’s exactly what she planned on serving Jackson for dinner, a piece of juicy, ripe, Mississippi mud pussy.

  “So how you getting along with your new houseguests?” Kim asked timidly. She blew a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

  “Getting on my nerves.” Ginger answered in an iron voice. She walked around Kim’s loft apartment, admiring the newness. The smell of freshly painted walls and the strong aroma of ammonia penetrated her nostrils as she admired the view of the city. The afternoon light filtering throug
h the window was soft and diffuse. “Your apartment is great.”

  Grinding out her cigarette, Kim joined Ginger beside the window. As she gazed around her apartment, she said. “It is nice, isn’t it? I can’t believe how quickly they finished the remodeling. Almost a month early.”

  “I wish my client would stop shuffling his feet about buying your property and sign on the bottom line, so I can get our money.”

  They walked around the apartment, discussing decorating ideas. Kim selected the loft upstairs as her bedroom. There was another room, partially decorated, for her father. The largest bedroom, near the front of the apartment, was the only completely furnished room. All the office equipment had been delivered, including comfortable leather seating for prospective clients.

  “Randall ordered all this for you?” asked Ginger, turning on the desktop computer.

  “Yep. Best friend you could ask for.” Kim relaxed on the black leather sofa, crossing her legs. “He helped me to get my certification from the International Board of Standards and Practices for Certified Financial Advisors, and set me up with a Rolodex of clients. Some of whom were my best clients who generated most of my bonuses at Pierce-Walker.”

  “He stole ’em?”

  Kim nodded with a smile on her face. “I deserve it. I’ve given that company years of dedicated service. And made them a helluva lot of money. They won’t miss a few clients.”

  By the time Kim left the securities company, she had accumulated light-years of special training in a short period of time. She had learned firsthand under a seasoned professional with more than twenty years’ experience how to serve clients and advise them on the financial opportunities that best met their needs.

  “You had an eight-hundred number put in?” said Ginger, admiring the state-of-the-art office furnishings.

  “It’s relatively inexpensive. But in the business world, it’s a must. Black business owners have to be ready to be available and accessible for the expanding world of customers. We have to think national. It’s not enough these days to just do business in Detroit or New York.”

  “I’m impressed, Kim. Seems like you’ve got yourself together, business-wise. So how’s your love life going?”

  “Don’t have time,” she said flatly.

  “Bill hasn’t called again?”

  “Several times.” Ushering Ginger back into the family room, Kim showed her a batch of forms. Ginger shuffled through the papers with an inquisitive expression on her face. “I’ve been accepted at Wayne State Law School. My classes begin in August. Bill met with me to help select which classes I should tackle first.”

  “How on earth do you plan on starting a new business and going to school?” said Ginger, amazed.

  “Unlike you, I don’t have any children. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. My father is doing better, but it’ll take two to three years of structured physical therapy before he regains his speech and learns how to walk again.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Meanwhile, I plan on making the best use of my evenings by attending law school. I figure in four or five years I’ll have my degree.”

  “What about the securities business?”

  “By that time, I hope to have hired three or four assistants to do the work for me. I’ll be their boss, like Mr. Cameron was mine.” Just thinking about that bastard made her ill. Randall had filled her in on his last visit. He said that Cameron and Brenda were still thick as thieves, but everyone in the office knew the relationship was purely sexual. Brenda had gotten a little better at performing her secretarial duties, and apparently at a few other duties, too.

  “You’re not trying to reestablish your relationship with Bill?”

  “I still love him, if that’s what you want to know. I feel he still loves me, but we agreed to take our time in trying to pick up the pieces. A lot has happened to both of us.” Kim poured herself a glass of wine. Respecting Ginger’s decision to abstain from alcohol, she offered her a chilled glass of raspberry sparkling water. “How about you? Is working two jobs hindering Jackson’s and your X-rated rendezvous?”

  “Jackson’s not as attentive as he used to be. Having Mae Thelma around sort of takes the spontaneity off our lovemaking. Every time I turn, everywhere I look, she’s in our face, in our room, asking me questions, asking Jackson for a favor. Can he go down to the insurance company with her? Can he drive with her to go and see Robert Earl?” Her eyes grew dark with indignation.

  “Have you talked to Jackson —”

  “I’ve told him I think Mae Thelma intentionally tries to interrupt our personal time together. And I’ve told him time and time again over this past month and a half how much I resent another woman cooking day and night in my kitchen.”

  “Aren’t you happy not having to cook?”

  “No. Most women want to cook for their men. Sure, it was nice in the beginning. But enough is enough. I’ve explained to Mae Thelma I appreciate her helping out, but I would prefer to cook my husband’s dinner, thank you.”

  “And?”

  “And she went and cried to Jackson, turning the whole conversation around, so I’d look like the guilty party, and he believed her. Told me that she needed to keep herself busy. But this is the killer.” She searched Kim’s eyes before continuing. “I’ve started having dreams about another man.”

  “Who?”

  “Ivory Michaels —”

  “The anchorman on Channel Two?”

  “Yeah.” She released a bushel of air. “Seems Sierra’s given up her crush on him and set her sights on Robert Earl Jr., and I’ve picked up the fantasy.”

  Ginger prayed nightly over her constant misgivings over Mae Thelma. Her heart was in a quandary. “God don’t like ugly” were the words that constantly flared up in her brain when devilish thoughts about Mae Thelma’s ulterior motives entered her mind. Ginger thought she’d be nice to Mae Thelma. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong . . . yet.

  Trying to relieve herself of the guilt she felt, Ginger invited Mae Thelma to go to the Parade of Homes in Shelby Township. It turned out to be a great idea. Mae Thelma loved it. She’d never seen homes so fine in her thirty years.

  Fourteen beautiful homes priced from $250,000 to $750,000 were dramatically decorated and furnished with expensive custom furniture. There was a home to suit any lifestyle: split levels, ranches, Colonials, quads, contemporaries, Cape Cods, and even an English Tudor that rivaled Ginger’s house.

  As they drove home, bubbling with lively conversation over everything they’d seen, Ginger felt at ease with Mae Thelma for the first time. Was it because she’d finally managed to get her away from her husband for half the day?

  Ginger had frequented the Parade of Homes Showcase over the past ten years, and she never left the event without several new ideas she could implement in her home. She’d taken pictures of small embellishments that she could imitate herself.

  When they drove up to the house, Jackson had all the kids lined up in the backyard. He held two freshly cut switches in his hand. Ginger and Mae Thelma looked at each other totally bewildered, and hurried toward the unhappy group.

  Tiny tracks of mud were all over the dining room rug, ending at the opened french doors. All the smaller children had denied that they’d done it. Knowing Ginger would be livid about the dirt, Jackson took the necessary steps to insure that it wouldn’t happen again.

  It began to rain, so Jackson hauled the kids to the downstairs family room. No one had uttered a word, each protecting the other, until Autumn finally spoke up. “Robert Earl and David Earl did it, Daddy.” She felt the tears sting her eyes as she thought of the chastising she’d get from Sierra later that evening when they were alone. She’d promised Sierra she wouldn’t tell on her boyfriend. But Daddy had said he’d beat all of them until one of them told whose muddy footprints were all over Mama’s white carpeting.

  Ginger stood in the doorway of the dining room, hands on hips, shaking her head at the mess that lay before her. She stormed upstairs, clenching
her fists, as Mae Thelma stood mute.

  The sweltering heat of July passed with no further misbehavior on the part of the unruly boys, especially after Jackson had given them the whipping that everyone agreed they needed. They’d acted almost like little angels ever since.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” said Ginger, hugging her mother, who had surprised them with a visit. She extended her hand as she gave her mother’s lover a perfunctory once-over. “And you must be James? It’s nice to finally meet you.” She thought she’d choke on those words as she smiled falsely. He barely looked thirty, he was so skinny. And to think he was almost twenty years younger than her mother.

  He clamped a callused, bony hand over Ginger’s. “Just call me Cotton. Everybody else does.” He gave her what he seemed to think was an award-winning smile. Ginger thought he looked like an oversized rat smiling with beaver teeth.

  After the introductions, Jackson and James carried their bags into Jason’s room. Jason had tried to hide his disappointment at having to give up his room for the weekend, but Ginger overheard him complaining to Jackson. He figured since he was the oldest, Christian should have had to give up his sleeping quarters. Jackson agreed and popped him a twenty-dollar bill for his troubles. Jason didn’t voice another gripe.

  “But Mama, he’s so skinny,” said Ginger as they mixed a large tossed salad.

  “Haven’t you heard? Skinny men have long dicks.” They giggled like two college girls until Mae Thelma interrupted their musings.

  “Need any help, Mizz Lee?” Mae Thelma asked, her words pouring out slowly, like warmed caramel.

  “No thank you, honey.” Katherine kicked Ginger’s leg and took a sip of her Lauder’s scotch on the rocks. “We can handle it just fine,” Katherine said, imitating Mae Thelma’s southern drawl.