Knowing (7 page)

“Baby, the boy’s only three years old. Give him a break, will you? I’ve heard this story every time I’ve mentioned Mae Thelma’s name. How many times are you going to repeat it? I get the point, okay?”

“I’m only telling you because they’re eating dinner with the kids downstairs. After dinner they can play in the basement, not in the kids’ bedrooms, and when they finally come up for air, it’ll be to go home sweet home.”

Christian spoke up to complain that Robert Earl had gone in his room and taken some of his experiments out of his chemistry set. “If he goes in my room again, I’ll kick his butt,” Christian added. Jason joined in, saying one of them stole one of his tapes. Sierra and Robert Earl, who were the same age, were secretly in love with each other and always got along well. So she said nothing.

“And David Earl stole the batteries out of Suzy Scribbles,” Autumn chimed in. Everyone turned to look at her, knowing she was fibbing, except Jackson, whose eyes were focused on the sluggish traffic.

“Where was I when all this thievery was going on?” Jackson asked. “I don’t want to hear any more complaints.” He gave Ginger a quick look. He meant her, too. “You all are going to have to get along. I promised my cousin I’d keep an eye on his wife and kids while he was in jail. So everyone might as well tuck in their lips and get used to them being around.” An angry silence descended over the vehicle as they drove home over Palmer Park and through the woods.

“Sierra, are you almost finished?” Ginger called from the family room.

“I can’t get these creases straight.” Sierra’s long, delicate fingers were frantically straightening and restraightening the fabric of her baggy Used jeans.

As Ginger closed her book and gathered up the pile of wrinkled clothes lying next to her, she felt a sharp pain stab at her temple. She walked toward the laundry room, trying to shake it off, massaging her forehead with her free hand.

Jason caught a glimpse of the grimace on her face as she walked past the exercise room. “Ma, you all right, Ma?” He set down the hand weight and put his arm around her shoulder. A shock of black hair and funk hit her at nose level. She patted him off. “I’m okay.” Pushing him back into the room, she returned, “You got fifteen more minutes to work out and I want to see and smell you showered and fresh for school tomorrow.”

After showing Sierra for the fiftieth time how to match all four seams together and steam in a hard, razor-sharp crease, Ginger ironed her own clothes along with Autumn’s. Next year, she thought to herself, when Autumn turned six, she’d be joining Sierra down in the basement to iron her school clothes, too. Jackson had babied Autumn long enough. It was about time to let her do some of the chores along with the other kids.

Ginger spied Jackson in his familiar napping position as she gathered her nightclothes. Running a few minutes behind schedule, she elected to take a quick shower before the hot water ran out, instead of the relaxing bath she desperately craved.

By 9:01 P.M. Ginger kissed a loving good night to each of her children, who were bathed and dressed in their PJs, and issued last-minute orders that they knew by heart: lights out, TV off by 9:30.

Closing her bedroom door, she rested her head against its smooth oak surface. Her headache had subsided after she took two extra-strength Tylenols and a cup of strong Lipton tea.

After cleansing and moisturizing her skin, she brushed her teeth and finished preparing for work the next morning. Then, sitting across from Jackson’s slumbering figure, she prodded him with her feet.

After several kicks, he sat up straight and scooted to the front of his seat. “What time is it?” He checked his watch and jumped up, quickly peeling off his clothes. “Honey, I asked you not to let me sleep so long. You know I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

She coiled a long auburn lock of hair around a pink plastic roller, clasping the cover between her lips. Through clenched teeth she answered, “I was busy with the kids, I forgot to wake you.” She watched him peeling off his clothes, leaving a trail behind him.

Within minutes he’d showered and slid next to Ginger between the freshly powdered sheets, his cologne mingling with the fresh scent of the talc. He pulled her close and planted kisses along her shoulder. “It’s okay with me, baby, about the real estate thing.” She turned to face him, surprised. “I don’t want to feel any guilt about holding you back. If that’s what you want, and you’re sure about it, I won’t give you any more arguments.” She kissed him on the mouth, silencing his next comment.

“But,” he said, after coming up for air, “I want you to promise me. And mean it this time. Because this is the last time I’m going through this — promise me that this is it. That this is the last time you ask me to go along with any more of your ideas, okay?”

“I promise. I promise,” said Ginger, hugging him.

“You’ve got a year. That’s it. A year . . . to get this out of your system and see if it’s for you or not.”

“That’s all I need, honey. You’ll be proud of me, you’ll see. You and the kids will be proud of me. I know I can do it. All I need is a chance. Just a chance.” She whispered the words more to herself than to her husband.

She felt him pushing down his underpants hurriedly and kicking them off, and turned to pull her gown over her head full of curlers. Plastic curler clamps landed on the floor alongside the discarded gown, but were unnoticed. Kissing her passionately on the mouth, he guided her hand to his growing sex. She stroked him gently at first, massaging the tip artfully, as he sucked the tips of her breasts until they peaked with desire.

He felt a tiny drop of clear liquid ooze from the source of his heat. His excitement mounting, he teased the mounds of her breasts with his tongue, while his hands toured the satiny landscape of her buttocks.

Her breasts rose and fell with the erratic beat of her heart. She inhaled the scent of his cologne, her breath becoming shallow, as he continued to explore the softness between her thighs.

She knew that neither could wait another minute. After years of lovemaking, their bodies were perfectly in tune. Each time they made love, their desire increased, taking them to a higher level than they thought possible — each time was better than the last. Jackson shifted his weight, positioning his long body above her.

She whispered “Let me” and kissed the nipples of his breasts. Guiding him to lie back against the feathery pillows, she stroked his sex until she felt his veins straining for release. Easing her leg over his lap, she straddled him, and bending her head to kiss his full, sensuous lips, caressed his luscious mouth with her tongue. She guided him inside her. Slowly, she felt his pelvis move with a quick assuredness that rendered her more helpless with each stroke.

Her heart pounded as if it were a talking drum of Africa. She met each stroke with a rhythmic thrust of her hips. Her eyes were closed, her mouth half-open, whispering his name. Her breasts swayed as strands of sweat ran down them and clung to the nipples, cold mingling with the heat of her passion. The warmth of Jackson’s mouth closed around her taut areola, sucking, licking, loving. Her entire body felt so relaxed, yet desperate for total sexual fulfillment.

She uttered a soft scream that told him she was near to release, and he lifted his lean hips to drive deeply against her, giving her the pleasure she needed. Holding back his own release, he felt the hot juices of her love crown the head of his manhood.

Her blood was making explosions through her body. She cried out in release, feeling as if a strange spiritual intoxication had taken control of her. . . . Her eyelids closed tightly as a kaleidoscope, swirling, eddying, appeared to dance before her eyes.

Jackson cupped the velvety halves of her bottom, guiding her to the final moment of rapture. He felt it his job as a man, to satisfy his woman first before he indulged in his own gratification. He’d finally met a woman whose sexual desires matched his own.

Knowing that his climax was imminent, she whispered “Faster.” She felt his body arch beneath her, gyrating his pelvis, lifting her higher with the ease of a thoroughbred stallion. His breathing ragged . . . hers in soft pants . . . their bodies in exquisite harmony . . . his raw sensuality carrying them to greater heights.

“That’s it baby . . . deeper . . .” cried Ginger as she felt the power of his throbbing penis. She worked the muscles of her vagina, relaxing then contracting, suckling him, grabbing hold of his shaft.

Timing their orgasm to catapult them to another place in time, they rode the waves of carnal passion together. They shuddered simultaneously.

As Ginger lowered her head, her eyelashes grazed his face while he massaged the center of her back, kissing her lightly on the tip of her freckled nose.

“Baby, it don’t get —”

“ — no better than that. I know, sweetheart,” said Ginger, lying exhausted beside him. His strong arm tightened around her, pulling her close.

Polishing the white Formica counters and chrome fixtures until they gleamed, Mae Thelma harmonized “Tomorrow” along with her favorite tape by the Winans. Satisfied that the kitchen was sufficiently clean, she gathered her sponges, polishing cloths, and mop bucket and lined them in precise order in her immaculate utility closet. As she paused for a final inspection, the phone rang.

“Yes, hello.”

“It’s me, Mae,” said Robert Earl. Her husband’s deep voice was instantly recognizable. “I’m calling to make sure you’re coming down to see me in the morning.”

Annoyed at the pleading tone in his voice, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. She untied the diaper-style scarf from her head, allowing her hair to cascade down to her waist. She ejected the Winans’ tape and dropped it into her apron pocket. Her southern accent offered a sweeter tone. “Why Robert Earl Collins, I do declare. Don’t I visit my husband dutifully every Monday morning?”

He didn’t bother to answer; instead he asked, “Did you and the boys go to church this evening?”

“Yes, Robert Earl, we went to church tonight, and after dinner I read the boys a Bible story before I put them to bed. I wish you’d call early enough to speak to them— they can’t come and visit you like I can.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to hide her emotions with her voice. “You know how much they miss you, honey.”

“I hate talking to them while I’m in here. It just ain’t right. Mae, you gotta talk to my lawyer about getting me outta heah. I can’t stand being cooped up like this too much longer. Baby, please, please call the lawyer in the morning and talk to him before you come down.” There was a pause, then, “Will you promise me you’ll do that?”

He sounded so pitiful it almost broke her heart. She hated it when he begged like that. For months the judge had been pushing back his trial, always on some kind of technicality, always needing another piece of evidence.

Robert Earl sat looking out of the barred windows of his cell as he contemplated his situation. One of his cellmates had been arrested for the same crime and was looking at five years in Jackson prison. This wasn’t the first time the other man had been arrested for selling drugs, and he told Robert Earl he’d do his rap, and his woman would work his business until he got out. Start the whole cycle over again. No White man was gonna tell him what to do with his life. What else did they expect him to do for a living? There weren’t any decent jobs for a Black man in this city.

Robert Earl’s guilt had grown in the months he’d spent locked up. He began rethinking his situation. What he’d do when he got out. How he’d make it up to Mae Thelma and the boys. He wasn’t a hardened criminal like the rest of them, and he did have a choice. He really hadn’t tried hard enough to find another job. He’d taken the easy way out. Hell, he should’ve moved back home to Mississippi and worked in the blue jean factory where his sister was the supervisor. She’d promised him when he left that if he ever wanted to come back home, she’d always have a job waiting for him.

No thank you, he had told her. The factory life wasn’t for him. His dream was to pursue a career in computers. Leaving his southern home wasn’t easy, but the high-profile jobs just weren’t there.

After graduating third in his class, he’d moved his family to Michigan. With the excellent recommendations from his professors, he’d found a job programming computers in two weeks. After weeks of scouring the city, he’d found a home in a nice neighborhood close to an elementary school for his two boys. But when the car business had slowed down, it had a domino effect on every field. They’d lived well for the past seven years on a salary of almost thirty-five thousand dollars a year. How could they possibly survive on unemployment, and when that ran out, welfare? It was incomprehensible. Instead, he chose to invest the last of their savings to start up his drug business.

He’d kept it a secret from Mae Thelma until one of his customers made the mistake of calling his home for a quick buy. She overheard his conversation, and prayed to God to touch his soul so he could see the error of his ways. But she didn’t yell — maybe her silent disappointment was worse than anger.

Looking back on that awful night of the bust, Robert Earl still felt embarrassed. He’d begged Mae Thelma to keep the boys in their room while the police cuffed him and searched their home for drugs. It was humiliating, their neighbors looking on as their home was turned upside down. It seemed to take forever for the Narcotics agents to find three small, plastic bundles of white powder and a canister of marijuana. If only the lawyer could get him out of here, he’d never play the fool again.

“This is Ms. Bell, his secretary, Mrs. Collins.”

“Ma’am, I’d ’preciate it kindly if he’d call me regarding my husband’s case. He’s getting a mite anxious being locked up so long — what with all these postponements. Can you ask Mr. Bowman if he’d go up and see Robert Earl in jail and let him know what’s going on, please ma’am?”

Ms. Bell cleared her throat several times before answering, “Mr. Bowman has asked me to send out a letter informing your husband than unless you are able to pay him an additional retainer of two thousand dollars, you will have to seek assistance of another attorney, or have free counsel provided for him. You should receive verification and an itemized list of Mr. Bowman’s services and time expenditures while representing your husband in two to three days.”