Getting to Happy (29 page)

“You look pretty good, Dottie, considering what you’ve been through.”

“Why are you still wearing your wedding ring?”

Gloria looks down. She’s never thought about it until now. “I just haven’t gotten around to not wearing it.”

“Anyway, how’s your son?”

“He’s fine. Lives over in Gilbert. Happily married with three beautiful kids. He’s a lieutenant on the police force.”

“That’s so nice to hear. And you? What are you doing for yourself these days besides eating?” She actually chuckles like this was meant to be a joke, but Gloria didn’t think it was the least bit funny.

“Well, I still have Oasis although I’m about to move into a much bigger space and add a day spa—a wellness, holistic-type spa—so you might want to watch the papers for our grand opening.”

“When might that be?”

“I’d say in the next four or five months, depending on how much renovating we have to do.”

Dottie is almost impressed but doesn’t want to act like it. “Well, you know, I can walk. Sometimes I just get better treatment riding around in this thing. Will you be having those massages with the hot rocks?”

“Yes.”

“Un-hun. Do you have a website?”

“It’s under construction.”

“Un-hun. I bet it is.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I bet it’s going to be lovely. I’ll be on the lookout.”

“By the way, Dottie, is BWOTM still active at all?”

“I doubt it. There was some talk about getting it going again, but they can count me out.”

“I bet they can,” Gloria mumbles, as she swipes her debit card. “Who does your hair?”

Dottie grabs her head. “I do it myself. Why?”

“You should stop by Oasis if you can when you have time and let us give you a deep conditioner and shampoo and any style you want. On me. For old times’ sake.”

“You would do that for me, Gloria?”

“Yes, I would.”

“But I always thought you didn’t like me.”

“I didn’t,” Gloria says and puts Dottie’s saltines, two cans of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and Quaker Instant Oatmeal onto the moving belt. “But you seem much nicer now.”

“I am,” Dottie says. “Praise the Lord.”

Gloria feels different on the drive home. Stronger. More connected. It wasn’t just Dottie. Or being in that casino. She’s grateful for what she can still do. For how much she has left. It was also daunting, seeing what time can do to some folks and not others. Maybe it’s neglect. Maybe it’s apathy. Whatever it is, Gloria doesn’t want any. In fact, she’s thinking about giving a call to those real estate agents Marvin had been dealing with when he was trying to help her find a space to accommodate the kind of spa he knew she wanted. How many square feet would they need, she’s wondering.
They?
That’s exactly what she’s thinking. They. As she dials Tarik’s number, Gloria smiles because this means her mind has made the decision for her.

“Ma, where are you?” Tarik asks.

Gloria doesn’t want to tell him she’s been to a casino and didn’t win anything because she didn’t spend a penny. “I stopped off at Safe-way to pick up a few things, and I’m on my way home. Is everything all right with you?”

“No.”

As soon as she hears him say this, Gloria pulls into someone’s driveway and puts the car in park. She leaves the parking lights on. “What do you mean, ‘no’? It’s doesn’t have anything to do with the kids, I hope?”

“The kids are fine, Ma. It’s Nickida.”

Gloria has never heard Tarik call her Nickida. “What about her?”

“I think we might be getting a divorce.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Tarik?”

“She’s been cheating on me.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t want to go into any details, Ma. But it’s all good.”

“Slow down, would you, Tarik. You don’t end a marriage over one infidelity, do you?”

“You do when it’s her ex-husband,” he says.

“No she didn’t!”

“Oh yes she did.”

“That sneaky little bitch!” Gloria says. Too late to take it back.

I Need a Fucking Vacation

GoGo isn’t coming because he’s in jail. Sheila isn’t coming because she’s too upset GoGo’s in jail. Mama told me if it was a train ticket, she’d come in their place. Since 9/II, she refuses to get on an airplane. “It’s what Sheila gets for thinking so far ahead. You can’t plan mistakes.” I was relieved I wasn’t home last night when they left these messages.

I went to see
Hustle & Flow
with Robin, which was a big mistake. She talked off and on during the entire fucking movie about that stupid Black Angel dude standing her up and Russell finally getting off the chain gang. “I’m about to give up on this online dating thing and maybe think about speed dating because at least you meet the person up front and can tell right off the bat if there’s any chemistry.” I pray for her. It was a good movie and I was on the verge of falling in love with that Terrence Howard but Robin just kept jacking off at the mouth no matter how many times I asked her to zip it. So I’m going to have to see it again by myself or pray Gloria gets it on bootleg soon.

Right now, I’m getting dressed for work. I did not sleep well. I must have gone to the bathroom two or three times last night. I don’t know what this is about but maybe it’s because I’ve been drinking so much water. It’s what you do in Arizona in the summertime. Hydrate. After I make coffee and put a bran muffin in the microwave and slather it with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, I go outside and sit on the deck my ex-husband built. I’m also sitting next to the cabinet he built. It houses the flat-screen television that pops up for spectators or bootleg DVD viewers. Now that I’m out here, I can’t help but look at the bed he built. It’s perched on a platform. Green-and-white-striped canvas drapes hang from metal bars on three sides. He built that bar at the end of the pool. That redwood fence. Isaac certainly added a lot of beauty to this place.

I take one long gulp from my coffee before I dial my sister’s number, which I’m dreading doing. She said it was urgent that I call her as soon as I got the message. Everything is urgent these days, though, isn’t it? “Hey, Sheila.”

“I was just about to call you. Didn’t you get my message last night?”

“I did but I got in too late.”

“If somebody says it’s urgent, what does that mean to you, Savannah?”

“If it was super-urgent then you should’ve called back. So GoGo’s in jail? For what?”

“That’s not important right now but we need your help getting him out.”

“How much help, Sheila?”

“His bail is set at a hundred thousand and we need ten to get GoGo out of there as soon as humanly possible, but we don’t have that kind of money and we need to know if you could lend it to us. Please tell me you can do it, Savannah, and you know I wouldn’t ask if we had other options.”

“You know, some things just don’t change. Everybody must think that money grows on palm trees in Phoenix or something. Do I need to remind you who’s been paying for Mama’s housing for the last twenty years? And who supplements her social security? I’m not rich, Sheila. Damn.”

“I know that, Sis, and I wouldn’t ask, but we don’t have nothing left to borrow against this house.”

“Then tell me, what did he do?”

“He got caught supposedly selling something to somebody he shouldn’t have been selling it to.”

“You mean as in drugs?”

“It was just marijuana. And he didn’t have that much on him. But it was a few too many joints. Can you help us out or not, Savannah? We’re going crazy back here trying to figure out what to do. And GoGo is a wreck.”

What I’m thinking is:
just
marijuana? And poor GoGo is a
wreck
? I swear to God. On top of this, after taking out a second mortgage and paying off Isaac, I ended up with about eighteen thousand bucks, which I decided to use to pay off a few credit cards and the balance on my Land Rover and to surprise Mama by sending her a few extra dollars to play with. I’ve also been thinking about taking a long-overdue vacation—anywhere—to celebrate my new life. However, I do have an open line of credit at my credit union. So what the hell. Family is family. “How soon do you need it?”

“How soon can you get it to us? And thank you so much Savannah. GoGo will thank you personally.”

“That won’t be necessary. Anyway, I’ll Federal Express a check today.”

“Can you make sure it’s certified?”

“Of course.”

“You know, it still might be a good thing for him to come out there, even if it’s just for a week. GoGo is very interested in entertainment.”

“That’s an understatement,” I say. “Maybe next year, Sheila. Love you.”

I sit here for a few more minutes thinking this is why prisons are so over-populated with black men. This is how it starts. It breaks my heart, how easy breaking the law is for some of us. And how hard it is to deal with when they get caught. On one hand, I now wish GoGo had made it out here. Of course, I have no clue what to talk to a seventeen-year-old black boy about, but I think I would’ve come up with something that wouldn’t have landed him in jail.

I feel like sliding back under the covers. I think I might be somewhat depressed. I’ve got all the symptoms. Some mornings it’s been hard rolling out of bed, and regardless of what time I go to sleep I still feel sluggish when I wake up. There is no pep in my step and I don’t get all that worked up over too much of anything these days.

“The going rate for post-divorce depression is two years,” Thora had said right after mine was official. “But there are things you can do to speed up the process, especially since you don’t have kids. Count those seven months you were separated and add the year or two you were biding your time before you took that leap. All of this knocks off a lot from the time you need to get used to being single.”

I nod.

“The stages of grief are the same as when someone close to you dies but after you accept that you aren’t a failure at love, and that you wanted to end your marriage because you were unhappy, you can actually begin thinking of being happy again. It’s a chance to build a new life, and hopefully with someone else one day.”

“How do you build a new life?” I remember asking, not like she was a divorce guru or anything.

“You’re already doing it,” she said.

I wasn’t completely sure what she was talking about because I didn’t know what I was doing. I do know I’ve had a lot of things on my mind, although not enough to warrant this kind of lethargy. I pray I don’t have cancer. Or a brain tumor. Or—what is it called?—narcolepsy. During lunch, I have found myself putting my head down and actually dozing off. I mean, I’m always doing research for two or three potential stories—which is pretty normal. I’m also trying to figure out when I might be able to get back to Pittsburgh to see everybody. And I want to take a class.

Since Isaac has been gone I’ve had to get used to a lot. Besides not having him to complain about, I’ve had to get used to doing almost everything alone: eating, sleeping, watching television, cooking, getting my truck washed, getting the oil changed. I realized how much stuff Isaac used to do around here and how little I actually know how to do. I am not good with tools. I don’t like the shapes of most of them, except the hammer. That’s an easy one to use. I’ve been amazed at how many things require tools. Even simple stuff. I’m tired of paying the handyman and I wonder if they have classes to teach you how to fix stuff around the house, especially if you don’t have a husband to do it. I can’t help but be reminded how Mama always used to sing, “It’s so nice to have a man around the house . . .” even though she never had one.

After finishing my coffee, I still feel like curling up for another twenty minutes. But I don’t. I have to stop by my dry cleaners because they sent me a notice telling me I’ve had some things that have been there since right after the New Year. I stop by my credit union first, and then pick up the dry cleaning. There are a lot more clothes than I’d thought. I hang them in the back and then feel a sudden sense of dread coming on. I just remembered Thora’s bringing her four-year-old twin boys in this afternoon. They’re the most spoiled-rotten little kids I’ve ever been close to in my life. For the life of me, I cannot remember their names. I decide to call Sally, one of the other producers. She’ll know. “Hey there, Sal,” I say when she answers. “I’ve got a question for you, but please don’t let anyone know I asked, okay?”