I Wish I Had a Red Dress (15 page)

I TOLD MYSELF I
was calling to tell her about Nettie’s broken heart, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason. Sister heard it in my voice. After we had exhausted the topic at hand, she listened to the sudden silence from my end and then stepped into it fearlessly.

“So, Nettie is in her big sister’s capable hands. What’s the matter with you?”

There was no point in hedging. I had called her to have this conversation, but I still wasn’t sure how to begin. We had never talked much about sex. When your most recent experiences are five years old, your stories get a little stale. Plus, I think it’s inappropriate to bring up the dead in that context, even if your best friend is a minister and used to speaking to and of the spirits on a regular basis.

“I kissed Nate.”

Sister chuckled. “So are you calling me for advice or absolution?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I said. “It was very weird.”

“Did you like it?”

Why did the question make me feel so guilty? “At first, everything was fine, but when I opened my eyes, Mitch might as well have been standing right beside us, watching his wife making out on his back porch!”

“Calm down,” Sister said. “Let’s think it through.”

Thinking it through was Sister’s specialty. That meant at the end of this call, we would have clarified the question and arrived at an answer that led to action, since Sister says confession without closure is just whining.

“Okay,” Sister said. “What was weird? The kiss itself or the fact of it?”

“The fact of it?”

“Did you want to kiss him?”

“Yes.”
Oh, yes!

“Did you initiate the contact?”

“Yes. Right after we came from Nettie’s.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Weren’t all of these personal questions? “Sure.”

“Was Mitch the only lover you ever had?”

“Yes.”

“Weren’t you ever curious?”

“Sure, but all the stuff I was curious about, Mitch was curious about too.”

“I don’t mean about
stuff.
I mean about
people
.”

“Sexually curious?”

Sister laughed. “Don’t sound so shocked. Didn’t you ever have fantasies?”

“Not that I can think of,” I said.

“That’s probably why you feel so guilty,” she said. “This is all new for you.”

Tears popped into my eyes. “I feel like I just betrayed my husband in such a terrible way,” I whispered, hoping I wasn’t going to cry. Sister could always tell.

“Relax, sweetie,” Sister said very gently. “This isn’t that complicated. It’s just the last vestiges of survivor guilt. It’s perfectly understandable. How long has it been since Mitch passed?”

“Five years.” It seemed like yesterday and it seemed like forever. I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

“Okay, then you have to take this in stages.”

“Take what in stages?”

“The decision to have sex again.”

I was still trying not to feel guity about a kiss and she was already throwing us in bed together. I had a brief longing for the bad old days when any pastor worth his salt (they were all
he
back then) would have settled my dilemma by reminding me that the devil finds work for idle hands and steering me toward greater involvement with the Ladies Christian Missionary Society. I was still floundering around, trying to confess, and Sister was already in full strategic planning mode!

“Do you ever fantasize when you masturbate?” she said as I scurried to catch up.

“Sometimes. . . .”

“Is it always Mitch?”

“Always.” Why did saying that out loud make me want to cry again?

“Well, next time,” Sister said calmly as if we were talking about what to plant in our gardens, “see if you can substitute somebody else’s face. Then, once you have a chance to see the fantasy of you making love with somebody else, it won’t be so weird for the real you to consider the same thing.”

See what I mean? If you can articulate the question, Sister can articulate the answer.

“Whose face should I substitute?”

“That’s up to you,” she said. “Movie stars and pro athletes are always good since you can be sure you’re not going to run into them on Main Street and have to make pleasant conversation after you’ve seen them naked in your daydreams.”

That made sense. Plus, I didn’t think fantasizing about Buddy at the grocery store was going to be a step in the right direction.

“You’re brilliant,” I said. “That’s so practical.”

“You should try it tonight, sweetie, since the sexual energy is already present.”

“Tonight?” I blushed.

“Tonight,” she said firmly. “And buy some condoms.”

That really confused me. I know AIDS has changed everything, but condoms for self-pleasuring?

“Not for the masturbation,” Sister said. “For the next phase. This is the twenty-first century, sweetie. You don’t have to pretend not to plan ahead.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Any other advice?”

“Be yourself,” she said. “And don’t forget to breathe.”

SISTER WAS RIGHT ABOUT
the energy. The memory of how good it felt to be in Nate’s arms was fresh in my mind. I went upstairs and ran myself a bath, dropped in some sweet lavender oil and a handful of scented salts, lit the candles, sank gratefully into the steaming tub and closed my eyes. I ran my hands over my body lightly and tried to conjure up an object of desire.

Who could I use? Sister had suggested sports figures, but none of them really appeal to me except Tiger Woods, and since I am old enough to be his mother, he doesn’t count. I used to like that wrestling guy who calls himself The Rock, but once he showed up at the Republican convention, he was no longer an option. As far as movie stars go, I considered Denzel, but figured Tee
and Pauletta had that covered, so I rejected him as a serious possibility.

I added more hot water and, ignoring Sister’s advice, considered the men in town between the ages of thirty and fifty. There were a few who I found reasonably attractive, even kind of sexy, but when I tried to put them in the fantasies where Mitch had always been, they just looked uncomfortable.

The water was getting cold and I finally decided the spirits of sexual healing must have slipped out while I was on the phone and I’d have to try another time. No problem. I’m old enough to know that sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn’t.

OUR REGULAR WEDNESDAY DISCUSSIONS
always start with a question. This week, the news had been full of a story about a case of date rape, or self-interested second-guessing, depending on whether you believe the defense or the prosecution. The crime was disturbing enough, involving as it did a junior-prom date gone bad, but the accompanying analysis was even worse. Filled with smirks and suggestive comments, it was clear that there wasn’t even any general agreement on what crime, if any, had been committed. I figured that was as good a place to start as any.

“Okay,” I said, “how many of you ever had sex with a man when you didn’t want to?”

A general nervous laugh.

“Is this a trick question, Miz J?” Tiffany spoke for the group.

More laughter; still nervous. These are the nights we reserve for the things everybody would rather not talk about but really needs to. That night, we were Nikki, Deena, Patrice, Sheila, Tiffany and Sherika. Tee was home nursing Mavis through one more cold. Nikki hadn’t been around much lately, and I was glad to see her.

“Anybody who hasn’t done it?”

Sherika Hill raised her hand immediately, but Nikki was having none of it.
“Puh-leez!”

“Please what?”

Nikki rolled her eyes. “You mean to tell me every time Brian want it, you want it too?”

Sherika couldn’t decide if she wanted to be hurt or angry. She looked at me. “It’s different when you love somebody. Then sometimes you do it when they wanna do it just ’cause you love ’em. That’s not what you talkin’ about, right?”

“Is there a word for what you think I’m talking about?”

Sheila Lattimore spoke up first. “Rape.”

“There you go!” Sherika felt vindicated. “Brian ain’t no rapist.”

“That’s ’cause you give it up whenever he want it,” Nikki said, suddenly the voice of the cynical pragmatist.

“It ain’t the same thing, Nik,” Patrice said. “For rape, they have to hurt you.”

“Hurt you how?” I said. Specifics are important. Some of these women don’t think they’ve been hurt until they bleed.

“You know.” Patrice shrugged, looking around for corroboration. “Black your eye; bust your lip; rip you up.”

When she said this last one—
rip you up
—her hand made a vague gesture in the direction of her crotch and there were several
nods of agreement. I wondered how much sexual violence they had collectively endured without knowing what to call it.

“Okay,” I said. “What if he doesn’t actually do those things but
threatens
to do them?”

“Threatens how?”

“By telling you what he’ll do if you don’t have sex with him.”

They laughed nervously.

“Don’t they all do that?” Nikki said.

“No,” I said, speaking up quickly for all the ones who stand with us and for us as naturally as breathing. “They don’t all do that.”

“They don’t always be hittin’ you, but they don’t think you ever ‘spose to say no,” Patrice said softly as if I hadn’t spoken. “They think once they hit it, it belong to ’em.”

“That’s why they always be askin’ you
What’s my name? Say my name!
” Tiffany said. “It gets on my nerves. Sometimes I got another thought goin’ good and here they come with
What’s my name?
If I’m thinkin’ D’Angelo, I don’t want to be required to holler out
Tyrone!
”

Wednesday wasn’t about final conclusions. It was all about exploration. That’s what drives Sister crazy whenever she comes to these sessions. She wants to tell them the answers. I just want to help them recognize some other questions.

“Can a husband rape his wife?” I said at the end of their laughter.

The idea caught them by surprise.

“I don’t think so.” Regina sounded skeptical. “They ‘spose to be havin’ sex anyway, so what’s the problem?”

“When?” I said.

“When what?”

“When are they supposed to be having sex?”

Regina looked confused. “
Whenever
. They married, right?”

Did I tell you how much I love confusion? You never look for the truth until it dawns on you that you don’t already have it. “What if he wants to and she doesn’t?”

“Then it depends,” Sherika said eagerly, glad we were back to something she understood, “on the terms of their relationship.”

“Damn right.” Tiffany spoke right up. “If he tradin’ a house, a car, a credit card, a cell phone and money in the bank, then I’m givin’ up plenty of booty! If he ain’t tradin’ nothin’ but his own broke ass and a bag of chips, he better
get up, get out and get somethin’
before he start tryin’ to talk up on some sex around me!”

“What if they’re both just regular, hardworking people?” I said quickly before we could get sidetracked into the endless fantasies of what the invisible lover must bring to qualify for milady’s hand. “Should she have to have sex just because her husband wants her to?”

I looked at Sherika, who had no idea yet that love doesn’t eliminate contradictions. It intensifies them until they are resolved or fatal. She didn’t know what to say.

“Nobody should
have
to,” Nikki said into the waiting silence. “Everybody got a right to say no.”

Nobody said anything for a minute and then Tiffany grinned at me. “I knew this was a trick question.”

“They’re all trick questions until you answer them,” I said, glad we had come to a conclusion that was easy to remember and easy to pass on.
Everybody got a right to say no
is right up there with
no hitting
as a basic understanding required of a truly free woman. After all, if your peace and your body can both be invaded, how free can you really claim to be?

NIKKI HUNG AROUND AS
the last of the group gathered their babies and their belongings.

“How’s it going?” I said in what I hoped was a sufficiently neutral tone to let her take the conversation anyplace she needed it to go.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

“Believe what?”

“That it’s rape anytime you don’t want it and they sorta force the issue.”

Sorta force the issue.
“Yes.”

“Even if they not actually hittin’ you?”

I looked at her. “If they’re not forcing you and you don’t want to do it, why would you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of reasons.”

“Any of them good ones?”

Deena was shooing her twins out the door since she was riding with Tiffany, who didn’t like to be kept waiting even if you did bring your fair share of the gas money. She closed the door behind them, leaving me and Nik alone. I headed toward the kitchen.

“Want some tea?”

She shook her head. “I gotta go to work and tea makes me look bloated, but I was just wonderin’. . . .”

I put the kettle on and waited.

“I was just thinkin’ that me and Junior went together for five years and I bet there wadn’t ten times in all those years when I really
wanted
to do it.”

“Why did you?”

This was the moment they usually want to avoid at all costs, the moment when you have to remember
why
you did what was probably some breathtakingly self-destructive stuff—and did it repeatedly. She looked at me and her lip trembled slightly like a frightened five-year-old caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“When I turned sixteen, he took me out to celebrate my birthday and then we went back to my house but he was too drunk by then and I didn’t wanna do it with him like that, so I said no.” She hesitated, not sure how or what to tell, even three years later. “And he . . . he hurt me, Miz J. He hurt me real bad, so I never said no to him again ’bout nothin’, till I quit him.”

Nik shook her head like she was trying to chase away the bad memories. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“You can ask me anything. You know that.”

“You think he was rapin’ me all those times?” she said softly.

“What do you think?”

She nodded slowly. “I think he was.”

I put my arms around her shoulders and we stood there together. “I think so too.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute, then she looked at me with a shaky smile. “I gotta go to work.”

“I know.”

I wanted to tell her to take the night off, but I didn’t. I hugged her again and waved as she pulled slowly out of the driveway. Sometimes the contradictions in their lives are so intense they seem manufactured for teaching life lessons, but it’s hard to keep up with what you’re supposed to be learning in that terrible moment between defiance and despair when all your energy is going into figuring out why it took so long to name the thing that’s driving you crazy. At those moments, the best I can do is keep quiet and say a little prayer, which is what I did.