Читать книгу God Still Don't Like Ugly - Mary Monroe - Страница 23

My return to Ohio was a major event for me. In some ways I felt like I was just about to begin my life all over again. Even though, at twenty-eight, I felt like an old woman. My anger toward Mr. Boatwright was still as potent as ever. Some days I even made myself sick just by thinking about him. Being older and wiser now, I was determined to deal with my anger in a more positive way.

One thing I promised myself was, I would never let another person, male or female, abuse me and get away with it. Rhoda was too volatile and extreme when I turned to her for help. Besides, she could only do so much to support me from where she was now. The only person I had to really count on now was myself. And it was high time. I owed it to myself to increase my level of dignity if I wanted to get something out of life.

Mr. Boatwright had been the biggest personal indignation I had encountered so far. Levi Hardy marrying another woman while he was still involved with me was right behind that. I had pretty much gotten over that little stunt Pee Wee had pulled, fucking me and leaving me high and dry, but I wasn’t going to forget it.

In one of his infrequent letters, Pee Wee had told me that he had attended barber’s school and had opened “Pee Wee’s Barbershop” in the same strip mall where the Buttercup, the restaurant my stepdaddy owned, was located. He had two chairs. His cousin Steve worked for him, cutting and styling hair. Steve’s wife Helen worked in the shop also, doing manicures.

Pee Wee had a lot of customers for someone just starting out. His father, Caleb, had been one of Richland’s two Black barbers. He had retired and Pee Wee acquired most of his regular customers. Even though I was still mildly mad at Pee Wee, I was glad to hear that he was doing so well.

Pee Wee and a few other people had already been in the house with Muh’Dear for a few hours when I arrived by Greyhound from Pennsylvania. They had already guzzled beer and feasted on a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings.

I was glad to see that during my ten-year absence, Muh’Dear had redecorated the house with new furniture. I didn’t care too much for the plaid couch and matching love seat in the living room, but the smoked-glass coffee and end tables added a nice touch. She had also painted every room the same warm shade of beige. The house looked a lot more modern than it had looked during my youth. Plush green carpets and huge live plants filled every room but the kitchen. There was a new stove and refrigerator in the kitchen. And for the first time, we had a breakfast table with chairs that matched.

With the brotherly hug and peck on the cheek I got from Pee Wee, I had a hard time believing that during his visit to Erie, we had made passionate love. I went limp in his arms, just recalling that night. For a moment, I felt like I’d left every bone in my body back in Erie. Pee Wee had to hold on to me to keep me from crumbling to the floor.

“Girl, we better get you somethin’ to eat. You feel like you goin’ to melt,” Pee Wee noticed, clutching me by my shoulders. As hefty as I was, it was easy for him to hold me up, now that he had rebuilt his own body. Even in his thick turtleneck sweater, I could feel the bulging muscles in his arms. “Welcome home, sister. I’m so glad you came to your senses and brought your butt on back here. We got a lot of things to catch up on,” Pee Wee told me eagerly. I didn’t know how to interpret the wink he gave me, but I was hopeful.

The few times that Pee Wee and I had communicated, by letter and telephone, he had not mentioned the passionate night we had spent in my apartment in Erie. And that hurt. I hated myself. I wanted to hate him but I couldn’t afford to lose the only close friend I had left. However, I deeply regretted the fact that I had let another man use my body. Not only with my consent, but for free.

Some grim thoughts crossed my mind and made me grimace. What if Pee Wee had not enjoyed that night with me in Erie? Had all that thrashing around and moaning he’d done in my bed been an act just to keep from hurting my feelings? Most of the men I had been with had not been that demonstrative. In fact, all one of my other former lovers had ever done was flop around on top of me, telling me in graphic terms what he was going to do to me. Then, he’d fallen asleep before doing any of it. I’d put up with that frustrating relationship for only one night. Just like Pee Wee had done with me. Had I frustrated Pee Wee? That would explain him sneaking out and not talking about that night with me. With a muffled sigh, I removed Pee Wee’s arms from around me and went around the room hugging everybody else.

Rhoda, pregnant with her third child, was in town visiting her parents and to help celebrate my return to Richland. The next evening around six she swept into the house, strutting like a peacock, flaunting her yellow leather jumpsuit like plumage.

The same people who had joined Muh’Dear for Thanksgiving dinner the day before had already returned.

Rhoda dominated the gathering in the house on Reed Street that evening, showing everybody pictures of her family and home. She generated so much heat, frozen butter would have melted in her mouth. And she was as beautiful as ever, tossing that heavy mane of hair like an ox tossing its tail. Other women who looked like me would probably not have wanted to be best friends with a woman who looked like Rhoda. But it didn’t bother me. I had accepted the fact that I was probably going to be a big, plain woman for the rest of my life. But I had learned to do things to enhance my appearance. I now dressed more stylishly, avoiding plaids, stripes, and large prints, and I spent a lot of money getting makeovers. Even without all that, I knew that Rhoda would have still made me feel attractive. After she had greeted everybody else that night, she complimented my appearance profusely, making me grin like a fool.

“Annette, girl, you look beautiful.” Rhoda patted my hair. “Keep those braids, honey. They take ten years off your face. My husband swears he prefers a more mature look and that’s the only reason I won’t wear my hair braided,” she squealed. Being a chatterbox was one of the things about Rhoda that always made her stand out so prominently in a crowd. All eyes were on her. “You should wear yellow sometimes. It brings out the earthy tones in dark brown skin. Look at me.”

Mr. Boatwright had told me once that when I wore bright colors I looked like a fag’s Easter basket. One thing I could say about Rhoda, she was sincere when it came to giving me compliments. At least I believed she was. Since she had always been the stronger one, she had nothing to gain by buttering me up with unnecessary lies. She was the only person I truly felt beautiful around.

I had no idea that this would be one of the most memorable nights of my life. After all I had been through with Rhoda, this was the night that I would make the heart-wrenching decision to sever our relationship.

What happened was this: Before Rhoda’s arrival, Scary Mary, the old madam who had lured Muh’Dear and me to Ohio from Florida, had revealed some startling information to me regarding the death of the pregnant white girl who had threatened to destroy Rhoda’s family. Standing in front of me, wearing a red wig that looked like it was about to fly right off her head, Scary Mary told me how the girl had died in Rhoda’s house, in Rhoda’s bathroom, in Rhoda’s presence. Wiping a tear from her eye, Scary Mary said, “Poor Rhoda. Seein’ a po’lice shoot and kill her own brother was bad enough, but havin’ that girl die right before her eyes must have been downright tryin’.” I thought about how Rhoda had snuffed out Mr. Boatwright’s life when he became too much of a nuisance. Right away, I knew that Rhoda had to be involved in that girl’s death.

As soon as all of our other company left and Muh’Dear turned in for the night, I confronted Rhoda with the information that Scary Mary had shared with me, hoping she would deny any involvement.

Rhoda disappointed, but didn’t surprise, me. Without hesitation, she admitted with a sigh and a strange sparkle in her eyes, “I had to do it. What else could I do?”

My mouth dropped open. I was stunned beyond belief. But the horror was just beginning. It was like a floodgate suddenly opened up and all kinds of shit spilled out.

Once Rhoda started confessing, she could not stop. Not just about Mr. Boatwright and the white girl, but two others! The year of our graduation, Rhoda’s bothersome grandmother had mysteriously tumbled down the stairs in their house, in the middle of the night, breaking her neck in the fall. Then, the policeman who had shot and killed her older brother David died in a hit-and-run accident. I saw spots in front of my eyes because I thought I was losing what was left of my mind. I could not believe my ears. Not only had Rhoda killed Mr. Boatwright and that young white girl, but her own grandmother and that policeman.

It was the most difficult decision I ever had to make in my life. I knew in my heart that it was time for Rhoda Nelson O’Toole and me to part company. The burden of carrying around the knowledge of Mr. Boatwright’s murder had been too much. I knew that I could not continue being friends with a woman who had admitted killing four people.

Rhoda was stunned and disappointed to say the least, but I had made my decision and I intended to stick by it. She didn’t even have to warn me, because I had no intention of sharing this startling information with anyone else.

“Good-bye, Rhoda,” I said, my voice cracking. She didn’t respond.

When she calmly walked out of my house that night, she didn’t look back, but I watched from my window until she was out of my sight.