Coffee Will Make You Black (18 page)

“Mr. Donaldson,” my father said as his boss turned away.

“What, Ray?”

“Wednesday was my birthday. I was forty years old.”

“Happy birthday, Ray.”

“Mr. Donaldson, I'm not a boy.” My father's voice shook. “I'm a man!”

The boss's face looked red even from here.

“It was just an expression. Jeeze, you people are touchy these days!”

I bent over the water fountain as Mr. Donaldson rushed past me.

I peeped around the corner again. I watched Daddy kick the metal pail, spilling soapy water onto the clean floor. I waited a minute and walked toward my father, careful not to track on his work.

“Here's your lunch, Daddy.”

“Oh, thanks, baby.”

Me and my father both managed to smile as though nothing unusual had happened.

At that moment I decided that I would tell Roland that I was ready to sign the petition. I would do it first chance I got on Monday morning. I had made up my mind. Grandma says that there's nothing more powerful than a made up mind.

Having my hair washed always felt good. It was the only part I liked except for the talking. I sure didn't appreciate having a hot comb dragged through my hair. And curling irons were nothing to get excited about either. Carla's mother and Mrs. Tibbs, the other beautician at Watu Wazuri, were yakking away as usual. Watu Wazuri means “beautiful people” in Swahili. The name of the storefront salon had changed with the times. But Mama still called the place “No Naps.”

Mrs. Perkins was straightening my hair with a pressing comb. Mrs. Tibbs was at the shampoo bowl rubbing a perm into Mrs. Jackson's head.

“Lean forward, baby, so I can get your kitchen. You don't want no nappy kitchen. You want to look pretty for the Church Tea tomorrow, don't you?”

I answered, “My old best friend Terri's going to be there! She's moved back to Chicago.”

“That's nice,” Mrs. Perkins said mechanically. “Know how I used to leave my kids each a dollar on Saturday morning?” she continued.

“Uh huh.” Mrs. Tibbs nodded.

“Guess what I left this morning?”

“What's that, Darlene?”

“I left a note telling them to clean up the damn house!” Mrs. Perkins answered.

“I heard that!” Mrs. Tibbs laughed.

“I ever tell y'all about the time I ran into Henry at Riverview?”

“No,” me and Mrs. Jackson said simultaneously.

“I don't mind hearing it again.” Mrs. Tibbs smiled.

“Okay. It had been over three years since Henry had walked off and left me with two babies and expecting Carla. The girls had begged me all summer to take them to Riverview Amusement Park. They'd seen the commercials on TV.”

“I remember they used to advertise that ride where the floor would come out from under you,” Mrs. Jackson interrupted.

“Anyway, I saved up till finally I had enough money and me and the girls went to Riverview. Y'all remember them black mens that used to sit up in them cages?”

I remembered the black men, who until recently had clowned while people threw balls that they hoped would dunk them in the water. I'd never forgotten the humid summer evening when I'd watched a redneck white man with a pack of cigarettes rolled in his T-shirt yell, “The zoo wants you!” and “Take this, you baboon!” I must've been around six.

“Hold your ear down, so I won't burn it,” Mrs. Perkins commanded and reached for the sizzling hot comb again.

I obeyed.

“Anyway, who do you think would be sitting up in one of them cages?”

“Who?” I asked, cringing, as I felt the heat from the hot comb hovering near my scalp.

“Henry-no-good Perkins, that's who! Marla and Sharla ain't remembered him. But me and him stared each other down. I held Carla up for Henry to see her. That nigger had the nerve to look disappointed when he saw he had a third daughter. For me that was the last straw.”

“I know it was,” Mrs. Tibbs sighed, “hard as your labor pains was.”

“I bought me as many balls as I could carry.”

“No, you didn't,” Mrs. Jackson said.

“Yes, I did too! I threw them balls and dunked that nigger so many times till it wasn't funny! I had to call somebody to come pick us up. I spent my carfare drowning Henry's black ass. I ain't never seen or heard from the nigger since. I called down to Riverview and they said Henry had quit. Told them the job was too much.” Everybody laughed.

“Look, Mrs. Jackson is laughing so hard she's crying,” I said.

“I'm crying cause this french perm is killing me,” she explained.

“It burns so bad cause it's got lye in it,” Mrs. Tibbs said and turned on the water. “You gotta pay a price for beauty, honey.”

Mrs. Jackson threw her head back under the running water.

“Seem like black folk gotta pay more for everything,” she said, sighing.

I could tell by the look on Carla's face when she walked into the beauty shop to pick me up that she still hadn't gotten her period. Carla had done it with Tyrone a couple of weeks ago while his mother and sister were at a revival. Although I'd known that Carla and Tyrone had seen each other naked before, and Carla had watched his thing grow right before her eyes in her own basement, I had been surprised to learn that they had gone all the way.

Carla's sister Marla had told her not to trip, that she couldn't get pregnant the first time. But when Carla's period was over a week late, I'd gotten worried. When Nurse Horn had visited our gym class, every girl was allowed to write a question about sex on a scrap of paper and put it into a box. I'd asked if a girl could get pregnant the first time she had sex. Nurse Horn had read my question aloud and answered, “Yes, she certainly can.” I had glanced over at Carla and she had looked down at her stomach. Carla has been in an evil mood ever since.

Me and Carla were sitting on her junky bed listening to records.

“Did I tell you Terri and them are practically rich?” I asked. Carla didn't answer, she just leaned her head against the blue wall and made a new Afro Sheen spot. “Terri's got an English racer bicycle, a cashmere sweater, her own stereo, and guess what?” Carla didn't guess, she just continued crunching on the pork rinds sprinkled with hot sauce that she was eating. “And they've even got a color TV!”

I stopped to breathe and to look at Carla's face to see if she finally looked impressed. She didn't. Carla had her nerve, I thought, glancing around the crowded room she shared with her sisters, Marla and Sharla, and their two kids, Malcolm and Lakisha. Here we were sitting on a saggy mattress that her niece and nephew had both probably peed on, and you had to constantly knock the old black-and-white TV in their living room to get a decent picture. Huh, Carla was probably eating her heart out, I thought.

“Me and Terri used to be best of friends,” I reminded Carla. “I even had a crush on her big brother, Reggie. I used to daydream about growing up and marrying him. I was so sad when they moved away. I wonder if me and Terri will ever be tight again. You think we'll recognize each other? I can't wait to see her!”

Carla took a sip from her can of Mountain Dew. “I seen the heifer over a year ago. Her and her mama was coming out of Sears on Sixty-third Street.”

“Over a year ago? Why didn't you tell me you saw her? And why is Terri a heifer?”

“I didn't know you was still trippin' on her. Besides they had they noses so high up in the air till it wasn't funny. You woulda swore they shit didn't stink.”

“Terri said they'd been back awhile. Carla, are you sure it was over a year ago?”

“Yeah, 'cause I was looking for me some Easter shoes.”

Carla sucked the hot sauce off a pork rind. “I called the bitch by name.”

I groaned, “So now Terri's a bitch.”

Carla didn't answer, she just sipped her pop. Mama would never let me eat in my room, let alone in my bed. I'd seen Carla and her sisters sit up in their beds and eat Kentucky Fried Chicken! Mama would have a fit if any of us did that.

“Carla, that doesn't sound like Terri. We were best friends from kindergarten. We planned to join the Peace Corps together when we grew up.”

“Stevie, I don't think your girl is Peace Corps material.”

“Well, anyway, I'm still looking forward to seeing her.”

“Be sure and let me know if your Terri finds it in her heart to give you the time of day.”

“Why would the girl call me to say she had moved back to Chicago and that she was going to the annual Church Tea if she didn't want to be bothered? Answer me that, Carla.”

“Why did it take the girl almost two years to let you know her black ass had moved back to Chicago? Answer me that, Stevie!”

“We lost touch, okay? She got busy and I got busy. So now we're about to be reunited, okay?”

“Sho you right, Stevie. Look, that day I ran into her, maybe my breath stank or I had forgot my deodorant, okay.” Carla sucked in her teeth. “Uppity ass bitch.”

Carla was just jealous, I reminded myself as the record skipped. I fished in the soggy paper bag and pulled out the last pork rind.

chapter 16

I couldn't believe it, me and Mama were actually sitting across from Terri and her mother, sipping on orange frappe and eating fried chicken and potato salad in a far corner of the church basement. I'd recognized Terri immediately, despite her stylish haircut and the fact that she was taller.

All of us were stepping. Terri and her mother were wearing matching gold-colored knit suits that set off their light-brown complexions. I had on a simple, but sophisticated, rose-colored linen dress. Mama was wearing a jade outfit, and my brothers were off running around somewhere in their blue suits. Grandma was all decked out in chiffon that was almost the same color as the orange sherbet she was mixing with ginger ale at the main table.

“Stevie, I would've recognized you a mile away. You look the same, except you've gotten rid of your ponytail, and you've got a shape now.”

Terri wasn't straight up and down anymore either, I noticed. We both had some breasts and booty to speak of.

“Even with your perm, you look like the same Terri.”

“Have you thought about getting a perm, Stevie?”

“I just always get a press and curl. Carla's mother does my hair. Carla's my best friend now. You remember Carla Perkins, don't you?”

“Barely.” Terri sounded like she might not want to remember her.

“Carla said she saw you and your mother coming out of Sears last year, around Easter.”

Terri hunched her shoulders like it wasn't something worth remembering, even if she did.

“We don't even darken Sears' door now,” Mrs. Mathews jumped in, picking at her little plate of food.

“We're regulars at Field's these days,” she continued. “That's where we got these outfits.” Mrs. Mathews stood up and turned around so that we could take in her clothes. I knew Mama was envying her slim figure.

Grandma walked over and set a sweet potato pie on our table. I turned my attention to it.

“Did I hear you say Marshall Field's?” Grandma asked.

“Yes, ma'm.”

“My, my, y'all must be eating pretty high off the hog these days.”

Mrs. Mathews took a sip from her coffee and looked up at Grandma. “Mother Dickens, I've learned that expensive is the cheapest way to buy.”

“I'm scared of you!” Grandma teased.

“By the way, Terri, is Reggie still cute?” I asked.

Terri frowned at me. “Thinks he's fine. He's six feet tall, the girls won't leave him alone.”

“You see David's over there, grinning in some girl's face.” I pointed.

“I still can't believe that's little David,” Mrs. Mathews insisted.

“Little David is eating us out of house and home.” Mama laughed.

“Where's your brother, Terri?” I asked. “I thought I would get to see Reggie.”

“Reginald and Terrence are out on the golf course,” Mrs. Mathews answered. “Reginald is caddying for his father.”

“A black golfer, my, my, y'all sho have arrived, huh?”

“Mother Dickens, there are a number of black golfers at Washington Park these days. By the way, where is Mr. Stevenson today?”

“He's working,” Mama answered.

“Is he still at the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Is he still a janitor?” Terri asked and then looked embarrassed.

Mama swallowed. “Yes, he's still a janitor. He applied to be an assistant supervisor in the housekeeping department, but he didn't get it.”

“They gave it to a white man, right in off the street,” I explained. “They don't even have any black supervisors.”

“And they don't plan to have any,” Grandma snapped.

“They seem to always be hiring at the post office,” Mrs. Mathews said with a phony smile.

“I'll tell Ray to look into it,” Mama said, without enthusiasm.

“Stevie, you never answered my question. Have you ever thought about getting a perm? Everybody has a perm these days.”

“I guess the thought has crossed my mind, sure.”

“You can get a perm,” Mama cut in. “We can afford it.”

“Half the girls at my school are wearing their hair in afros now. Even Carla has one,” I said as Grandma handed me a piece of pie.

“You know, Madame Walker inventing the straightening comb was the best thing that happened to the negro next to Emancipation,” Mrs. Mathews declared. She shook her head and put her hand out to keep Grandma from giving her any pie.

“We learned about Madame C. J. Walker in Afro-American History class. She was the first black woman to become a millionaire,” I informed everyone.

“How could the straightening comb be more important than the freedom fighters and the Civil Rights Movement?” Grandma asked.

I glanced up at the banner on the wall,
WE AS A PEOPLE WILL GET TO THE PROMISED LAND,
and the picture of the late Dr. Martin Luther King.