Part 51 (1/2)
First and heels rained down in buckets. A bone snapped and pain flooded through my right arm. I heard other voices and took more blows as I curled into the fetal position. I closed my eyes and tried to get my mind somewhere else but I didn't make it. I couldn't black out either. Was I dying? Was my clock being punched at the ripe old age of twenty-two? Then, ever so slowly, it began to stop. The voices faded to an echo and finally it all dissolved into darkness. I wasn't happy anymore. I was never going to be happy again.
The Dinner Party E. LYNN HARRIS.
He called it our Great Escape. Since my love for Marc was absolute, I didn't ask any questions when my partner of more than a decade told me we were moving back to his hometown of Sugar Lick, Texas. There is a black-and-white sign when you enter town from the east that proclaims, WELCOME TO SUGAR LICK, CLa.s.s AA STATE FOOTBALL CHAMPIONS 1982, POPULATION, 19,909. I guess the town's leaders would have to change the sign to 19,911.
I knew I would miss our Upper West Side apartment with its friendly neighbors, and its sweeping view of Central Park. I would also miss the smells I couldn't explain from street vendor's carts and the conversations I couldn't understand from people walking the streets of Manhattan. It would be hard not going to a Broadway play at the last minute just because we could.
The first couple of months in the small Texas town were wonderful. We moved into a three-story house a few miles from where Marc had attended elementary and high school. The ladies of the neighborhood brought homemade pies and tomatoes from their gardens and left them on our doorstep with notes welcoming us to the community. Oddly enough, we never met any of the neighbors, just waves from robe-wearing women as they picked up their morning newspapers from the porch.
Not much changed from our regular routine. Thanks to the Internet, I was able to continue my freelance writing a.s.signments.
Marc would come home from his job as a stock broker and skim through the mail, take an evening run with our dog, Simba, and then return home and shower. He would put on his favorite Yale or Stanford sweats.h.i.+rt with his boxers and then ask me about my day. I loved the fact that after all these years he was still genuinely concerned about me.
There was a lot to love about Sugar Lick; no traffic jams or noise into the wee hours of the morning. I didn't have to face the rejection of taxi drivers who didn't care if I was already late for an important meeting. I fell in love with the sweet smell of the air, crimson rays of sunset and stars that seemed to melt into the silver-edged sky.
Right before Christmas things changed quicker than a west Texas winter wind. I convinced Marc that the approaching holidays would be a chance to show our neighbors our grat.i.tude for their kindness by hosting a dinner party.
I prepared a standing rib roast with miniature new potatoes, sauteed spinach with a touch of garlic, and baked a ham. I made a pitcher of Marc's favorite drink, apple martinis. I had my own special recipe using vodka, triple sec, and Pucker's sour apple. I would garnish it with a Granny Smith apple slice and add a dash of cinnamon.
The evening of the party Marc came home a couple of hours early. He had left his arm behind his back and he brushed his full lips teasingly against mine and then pulled away.
”Come here,” I instructed as I pulled him toward me by his suit jacket and demanded he kiss me like he meant it.
”Sometimes my love for you is so strong it overwhelms me,” I said softly.
”Me, too. Our guests should be here soon.”
Four hours and two pitchers of martinis later, Marc and I sat alone in front of the quivering glow of candles that adorned the perfectly set dining table.
”Why do you think they didn't come?” I asked.
”Maybe we're not their kind of people,” Marc said.
”This wouldn't have happened if we still lived in New York,” I said, pouting.
”Now be honest. There were times in New York when we walked down the street holding hands and people looked at us strangely,” Marc said.
”But we received more smiles of approval than disgusted frowns,” I said.
”So do you want to move back to New York?”
I didn't answer. A part of me wanted to scream ”Yes!” at the top of my lungs, but I realized how happy Marc had been since we moved. Besides, neither one of us were quitters. We'd faced far too many obstacles to allow a few rude people to alter the path we'd chosen.
Marc pulled me close to him and kissed me on my forehead. I was trying hard not to cry, so I held him tight, as though I was magically pulling the strength I needed from his body. When I finally released him I noticed the blinking green digits on the microwave clock.
It was almost midnight. We started to clear the table when the doorbell rang. Marc raced to the door as I drained the last drops from my gla.s.s.
Marc opened the door and there stood a small, wispy woman who was dressed in faux fur with matching hat. She was also carrying a stick with green-and-gold crepe paper strips.
”What can I do for you?” Marc asked as she walked in like she owned the place.
”Hey, babies. I'm Miz Clara. Patton is my married name, but my husband's been dead for years. I live down the road and I saw your lights were on so I wanted to stop by and thank you for your invitation and offer a little bit of advice. I mean, people wanted to run you two out of town when they got your lil' party invitations,” she said as she took a seat on the sofa. Marc and I exchanged puzzled glances while Miz Clara removed her fur. She was wearing a green-and-gold sweats.h.i.+rt with some wild looking animal on it and had on Kelly green corduroy pants.
”I know it's late but could I have a martini neat?”
”Sure,” Marc said as he headed toward the kitchen. When Marc left the room, Miz Clara motioned for me to have a seat as she patted the empty s.p.a.ce next to her.
”Now, Baby, I know y'all are different from folks around here but there are a few rules you must follow if you want to mingle in.”
”What do you mean we're different.”
”First of all, anyone with half a brain can see that. We might be country but we ain't stupid and we do have cable. We've seen folks like you.”
”What rules?” I asked firmly.
”Well, this is Texas. More important, this is Sugar Lick. And n.o.body would throw a party on a Friday night this time of the year. Especially when the Sugar Lick Fightin' Panthers are playing the Salt Lick Bobcats for the State football Champions.h.i.+p. It's been twenty years since we made it to the State finals and everybody in town was at the game. You two coulda stole the whole town tonight,” she cackled as she hit her knee in delight.
”So, who won?” Marc asked as he walked into the living area with a tray of three martinis.
”Let me take a sip of my drink and then I'll tell you.”
Marc and I exchanged quizzical glances with each other as Miz Clara finished her drink with two quick gulps. She looked at me and said, ”I know his name 'cause he grew up around these parts, but honey, what's your name?”
Before I could tell her my name was Lisa, Clara shot off another question, ”How long y'all been midgets?”
Meeting Frederick.
BY JEWELL PARKER RHODES.
FROM Dougla.s.s's Women.
Late Spring ain't never sweet in Baltimore. Hot, slick. Sticky beyond dreaming.
I was twenty-eight, surviving as best I could. Had me a calico cat. Lena. I'd fan both her and me. Put ice chips in her milk. Ice on my head and wrists. May was as hot as July and there'd be no relief 'til November. Breezes didn't cool no sweat.
Legs itching against cotton. Arms damp, staining crinoline. Beads of water draining into my hair, down my cheek. Nights, just as bad. Laying in my s.h.i.+ft, barely breathing, counting the tiniest stars I could see through the windo-top.
I felt drained. Hungry for more water. For something to fill me up.
I'd growed. I wasn't 'Lil' Bit' no more. Wasn't cute no more, either. Just short, round, dark; beyond lonely.
Mam say, ”Beauty lives in the heart.” But Mam was thirty miles away. Pa now dead, Mam had her own troubles living old. My trouble was forgetting the kind things she said, the words that made me feel special.
Now I was Anna, Housekeeper. Got servant's wages. Three dollars a month. Half sent to Mam. Got food, which I cooked. Milk for the cat. A room: clean but too small for a chair.
Eleven years. Working for the Baldwins. A good position. n.o.body slapped me. Or cursed. Or expected me to bed them. But there wasn't much room for getting ahead. So I sewed and laundered on my off day. Thursdays. Anna, Seamstress. Wash woman. Carrying baskets to the docks.