Gumbo: A Celebration of African American Writing Part 31

Barbara didn't say a word. She was too stunned to speak. When did he get here? How much had he caught on film? G.o.d forbid she should wake up tomorrow morning to photos in the style section of the Was.h.i.+ngton Post or on the Internet of Bradford's mistress wrecking Rebecca's wedding reception tent.

Bradford walked briskly across the lawn to the patio and spoke to Peter for a minute. Barbara let out a sigh of relief as the photographer fiddled with his camera, then handed something over to Bradford. The photographer disappeared into the house, and Bradford turned toward Barbara. "It's OK. I got the film from him."

"This is your fault, Bradford," Barbara snapped. "What the devil was that all about?"

Bradford shook his head with regret, but he didn't say anything. There was no apology and Barbara didn't expect one. The women came and went so often that Bradford seemed to realize that apologizing when he got caught was getting stale.

"Never mind," Barbara said. "We don't have time to get into it now, anyway."

"Where is Rebecca?" Bradford asked. "Did she see any of this?"

"Of course she saw it," Barbara snapped. How could she miss it? Not to mention Marilyn and Pearl and G.o.d knows who else. I'm sure we're the laughingstock of Silver Lake now."

"Barbara, please," Bradford said tiredly. "Don't be so melodramatic. I'm going to go get into my tux."

"Fine," Barbara said crisply. "We'll discuss it tomorrow."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Nothing to discuss? Your mistress just drove up onto our property and . . . and practically ruined our daughter's wedding. Or didn't you notice?"

"You mean ex-mistress. The reason she was so upset was because I called it off."

Barbara scoffed. "You told me last month that you called it off."

"Well, it's true. But she's having problems accepting it."

This was why she tried to avoid these arguments with Bradford. It was impossible to win any of them. He had an excuse for everything. "So that's why you ran over there first thing this morning, I suppose?" she said sarcastically.

"She called last night crying, so I-"

"Bradford, please," Barbara said. "Spare me."

"Look, I didn't want to get into this, but you-"

"Daddy?"

They both turned to see Rebecca and Robin standing in the doorway leading to the patio with frustrated expressions on their faces.

"Yes?" Bradford smiled and moved toward them.

"Who was that woman?" Rebecca asked, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Bradford shoved his hands in his jacket pocket. "n.o.body for you to worry about."

Rebecca looked from Bradford to Barbara with doubt. "She looked like plenty to worry about to me. Look at what she did to the tent."

"Your father is right. And the tent will be repaired in plenty of time," Barbara said. No doubt Rebecca and Robin had long ago come to realize their parents' marriage was a rocky one, but she never discussed Bradford's philandering with them, or anyone else for that matter. The dirt between her and Bradford would stay between her and Bradford.

"What on earth was she so upset about?" Robin asked.

Bradford shrugged. "She works for a friend of mine, and, uh, she was mad because we didn't invite her to the wedding."

"You've got to be kidding," Robin said.

"What if she comes back?" Rebecca asked, a look of horror on her face.

Bradford smiled and put his arm around Rebecca's shoulder. "She won't. I promise you that. And did I tell you you look stunning? Ralph is one lucky guy."

Rebecca tried to smile. "Thanks, Daddy. But you're not even dressed yet."

"I will be, in fifteen minutes sharp. I've already shaved and showered."

No doubt after you screwed your wh.o.r.e, Barbara thought. Because he certainly didn't shower here this morning. And all that talk about Sabrina losing control because he broke up with her was bull. Bradford could keep a hundred employees in check. He could manage millions of dollars. But he couldn't keep his mistress in her place? Mister Big Shot? Please.

"By the way," Bradford said. "The lieutenant governor called at the last minute and said she was accepting her invitation to the reception."

Rebecca's eyes widened. "You mean Kathleen Kennedy Townsend? Oh my gosh."

"And you waited all this time to tell us, Bradford?" Barbara said. "Honestly."

Bradford shrugged. "She called just this morning."

"She probably sees the reception as an opportunity to line up votes in her campaign for governor," Robin said.

Barbara sighed with impatience.

"What's the big deal?" Bradford asked. "She and the governor have both been here before."

"That was for political receptions, Bradford, not our daughter's wedding. She'll need special seating."

"I'm sure you'll carry it off without a hitch," Bradford said. He kissed Rebecca's forehead and walked into the house.

"I can't believe all this is happening," Rebecca said.

"How could Daddy let that woman in here today of all days," Robin said with annoyance.

"You can't blame him," Barbara said. "He tried to stop her."

Robin shook her head with frustration. "You always defend him."

Barbara grimaced and touched her forehead. So much to do, so little time. She was going to have to get herself together. And fast. She put her arms around both her daughters and forced a smile. "Come on, girls. Let's forget about this. We have a big day ahead of us. The lieutenant governor is coming, not to mention half of Silver Lake and our family and friends. We have to look and behave our best."

Barbara held her head high and led her daughters back into the house.

My Heavenly Father.

BY DANA CRUM.

It's the evening after I sinned against G.o.d, and the heat so bad it seem like somebody done wrapped a coat round my shoulders even though I don't need one. I start thinking about h.e.l.l. If I go there when I die, the Devil he gon' be waiting for me and he gon' poke me with that big pitchfork he got.

I'm sitting on the steps of the porch, looking over at the houses across the street. Old people is out on their porches, too, rocking in rocking chairs, fanning theyselves to keep cool. Every now and then one of 'em call across the street to somebody and ask how they doing. Them crickets done just started up their racket, and I'm thinking about what I did at church earlier today. That's when my grandma call me.

"An-DRE!" she say, her voice getting high at the end.

I put them quarters back in my pocket real fast like and look over my shoulder. "Ma'am?"

"You get in here before dark, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She standing behind me on the porch. Hands on her hips, she looking down at me like she trying to read my mind. I can feel my heart pounding like it's about to jump outa my chest. Around me in them bushes, them crickets is getting louder and louder like they trying to tell on me. Then they quiet down and start up all over again. After a while my grandma leave and go back inside. She must not of seen me with them quarters.

Me and her went to church this morning like we always do, but my mama ain't gone with us. She was sick so we had to go without her. Grandma was wearing a dark blue dress and this lil white and blue hat with a blue feather sticking up in the back. You could see her real hair poking out from underneath her wig 'cause her real hair gray and her wig black. She was wearing these high-heel shoes that make her look even taller than she already is. We was late and about to leave, but something was wrong with her hearing aid. It kept making all this noise and you could hear it all through the house. She couldn't get it to act right for nothing.

Pretty soon she got mad and hit it against the table in the living room. It was all right after that. I smiled. She smiled, too. Until she saw I ain't have my tie on.

"Boy, get in there and put yo' tie on," she said, pointing to my room.

"But we late, Grandma."

She frowned and started fidgeting with her pocketbook. "Lord, Lord," she said, shaking her head. "Well, come on then, boy." She put her pocketbook over her shoulder and we left.

I was glad. That ugly brown corduroy suit she made me wear was bad enough. I wasn't going to put that tie on, too. Why I gotta wear a tie anyway? And how come I can't wear my tennis shoes to church? Them dress shoes be hurting my toes. The bell bottoms on my corduroy pants so wide you can barely tell what kind of shoes I got on, anyway.

Anyway, me and Grandma left and I got away with not wearing that tie. She fussed at me all the way to church though. She always fussing at me about something. She say I'm getting too grown for my britches and I got too much mouth. My daddy used to fuss at me, too. But not like her.

I was burning up in that hot suit. It was summertime and I woulda been wearing the other suit I got, except last Sunday I had this pen in my pocket that bust 'cause I forgot to put the top on. Ink spread all over my suit, so my mama had to take it to the cleaners. My grandma started fussing at me about that, too.

"You hot, ain't you? Un-huh. I told you not to put that pen in yo' pocket. One way or the other, you gon' learn. You gon' learn that when you don't do as you told, the Lord will make you pay for it. He see everything you do."

She said I was gon' be lucky if the ink even come out.

By the time me and her got to First Baptist Church, wasn't n.o.body outside. I could hear the choir and everybody else singing they hearts out as me and her went up the steps. After they got through with the song, the usher let us in. He a tall man with big heavy hands. He gave my grandma a program, but ain't give me one. I looked up at him and frowned. He ain't see me, though. So I looked away.

That's when I saw Paul look over at me all mean like. He like to hang with this skinny boy name Hi-C. Everybody call him Hi-C 'cause every time you see him that's what he drinking. Him and Paul live in the projects, them red buildings down the hill from me. My street and the one the school on-they not like the projects. They nicer. My mama and grandma don't like for me to go down to the projects 'cause they say it's dangerous. But all the kids I'm in second grade with live there. Don't no kids live on my street. It's all old people.

Paul the biggest kid in our grade, but we say he the ugliest, too. He got big lips and his hair always nappy. He still mad 'cause I ain't let him scare me the way he be scaring everybody else. I hit him right in his teeth, just like how my daddy taught me, even though I had to jump to do it. He hurt my arm real bad and pushed me down, but I still got him in the belly. Then I hit him in his mouth again. Real hard. So hard my hand hurt. Here in church my grandma kept walking, but I stopped and stuck my tongue out at him. That made him real mad and he balled up his fist and held it up for me to see. I made a face at him 'cause he couldn't do nothing to me in church. But I was gon' have to see him outside of church sooner or later, so I ain't make that face for too long.

I caught up with my grandma. She looked over her shoulder and reached out for my hand. I let her hold it. My grandma ain't sit down till she got all the way up to the front of the church. Her and my mama always sitting in the front. And I always gotta be right up there with 'em. Most kids get to sit in the back. But not me. So I sat down between my grandma and this lady wearing a wide green hat. She had some perfume on. It smelled sweet. Like one of them flowers in my grandma's garden.

It was hot in the church like it was outside, so I took off my jacket. My grandma looked at me like I was up to something. But she ain't say nothing. After a while this old bald-headed man came up to the front of the church talking about Men's day. His head was real s.h.i.+ny. It was round too, round like a bowling ball. He had on a tight, funny-looking suit and kept asking for all the men in the church to help out "so this Men's Day can be the best Men's Day ever."

If my daddy was here with us, maybe he could help them out. A year and a half ago my mama left him and took me with her. We came here, to Alabama, and started living with my grandma. This where my mama from. Back when me and her was up in Michigan, my daddy used to come to church with us sometimes. But only when my mama woke him up and made him. They used to fuss about that and a whole lotta other things. Last month me and him was supposed to go to a preseason Falcons game for my birthday, like how we did last year. He said he was gon' fly down from Michigan and be in Birmingham that Sat.u.r.day so we could drive to Atlanta for the game the next day. He said he was gon' buy me some of them fat pretzels and some of them hotdogs with ketchup and mustard all over 'em. He said he was gon' get me one of them footb.a.l.l.s, too, the ones with Steve Bartkowski's autograph on it. But then he ain't never come. I waited and waited, but still he ain't never come.

I tried not to think about my daddy no more, but the man at the front of the church kept talking about Men's Day and how he needed the men to help out like they did last year. Then he got through, and everybody in the church had to stand up and sing a song from the hymn book. I was sad but I was mad too, and I wanted to hold my own hymn book 'cause they got pretty gold pages on the side. But my grandma wouldn't let me. She made me read on with her, and she held the hymn book down low to make sure I was singing.

When the song finished and everybody had sat back down, the preacher walked up to that wooden thing my mama call "the podium." He fat and got a big belly that make him look like a big ole grizzly bear. He started talking about Revival Services for the summer. I got bored. I looked at my grandma to see if she was watching me. She wasn't. So I pulled out my Matchbox car real careful like. It's a Trans Am. It's red and got doors and a trunk that open up. It's fast, too. Fast like that car on Starsky and Hutch. I started rolling it around on my leg, making it turn around and chase the bad guys. Vroom. Vroom. Errrrrrr! I kept looking up at my grandma to make sure she wasn't looking. But after a while I musta forgot to keep looking 'cause she popped me on my hand and s.n.a.t.c.hed my car from me and put it in that big black pocketbook she got.

"I'm sorry, Grandma," I said, trying to see if she was gon' give it back.

Wasn't no use.

She just shook her head. "Boy, I don't know what yo' mama gon' do with you," she said in a mean way even though she was whispering. "You just as mannish as you can be."

I folded my arms across my chest. That was my favorite car and she had took some of my other toys and hadn't never gave 'em back.

"Look at you," she said. "You got your mouth all poked out. I told you if you wanna keep them toys, keep 'em at home."

I turned away and wouldn't look at her no more. The preacher started preaching. He talked and talked and seemed like he wasn't gon' never stop talking. He was sweating, moving all around, talking like it was hurting him to talk. But he still kept on going. He wiped his face with a handkerchief and started holding on to the podium. I fell asleep. I guess my head was bouncing around like people's heads be bouncing around when they sleep 'cause I felt somebody shaking me. I looked up and saw my grandma's face, them lights s.h.i.+ning in her gla.s.ses like fires burning. She was real mad now, like she was getting ready to whoop me right there in church, right there with all them people watching. I really woke up then. I wasn't trying to get no whooping.

The preacher was still up there. He was swaying around, looking up at the ceiling, sweat coming down his face. His voice got louder and it was almost like he was singing.

"I'm here to tell you this morning, huh!, that when you need a friend, huh!, go to your Father, huh! Your neighbors, huh!, may not be there for you, huh! Your spouse, huh!, may not be there for you, huh! My G.o.d, your pastor, huh!, may not be there for you, huh! But no matter what, huh!, no matter the hour, huh!, your Father, huh!, He'll be there for you. Can I get an 'Amen'?"

"Amen!" somebody shouted.

"Can anybody out there, huh!, understand what I'm saying? Huh! If you know your Father, huh!, the way that I know mine, huh!, why don't ya say 'Amen'?"

"Amen!"

"Amen!"

"Yes, Lord!"

"Preach it! Preach it!"

I felt sad. I missed my daddy. I wished he was still my friend like the preacher said he was supposed to be. I wished he ain't stop coming to see me. I remembered how back in Michigan he used to wear a gray tweed cap and after work his face would be dark and the hair would always tickle and then hurt my face whenever he picked me up and hugged me. On the weekends me and him would go down to the park and wrestle in the gra.s.s and we would be laughing and every time he would let me win. Then we would be laying on our backs, staring up at the sky, watching the lil birds fly by, their wings just a-flapping. At night we used to sit in front of the TV and watch Monday Night Football, then I would fall asleep and he would carry me to bed and I could tell he was carrying me even though I was sleep. My mama and grandma don't know, but I heard them talking the other night about how my daddy got him a new girlfriend even though my mama and him not divorced yet. I heard them say my daddy's new girlfriend "pregnant." That was before my birthday, and then when my birthday came, he ain't never show up.

Last week I wanted to ask my mama what it meant that my daddy's new girlfriend was "pregnant." But I knew I wasn't supposed to have heard nothing about that. So I ain't ask. I asked her if my daddy don't like me no more, if that's why he stopped coming to see me.

She started looking sad. "It's not you," she said, hugging me. "It's him. He's not the man he used to be. There's something wrong with him. Not you."

I felt like she was just saying that to make me feel better. Like the time Frisky died and she said dogs go to Heaven and then I asked the preacher if it say anywhere in the Bible about dogs going to Heaven and he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Heaven is the land of the blessed. It's for us, young man. People like you and me who love G.o.d and accept Christ as our Lord and Savior. Pets can't know G.o.d the way we do. They can't go with us to Heaven."

So I felt like my mama was just trying to make me feel better. My daddy didn't like me no more. And I knew why. Last year when me and him came home from the Falcons game, my mama told him about my grades. She told him I wasn't studying and I was watching too much football on TV. He got mad and took off his big, long belt and whooped me with it. And he kept on whooping me. Then he pointed his finger at me and said, "Don't you never let me hear 'bout you getting bad grades again. You too smart for that, boy. I want you to make something outa yourself. You hear me?"

I ain't say nothing.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you! Do you hear me?"

I made myself look. "Yes, sir." I tried not to, but I started crying. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'ma do better."