Put A Ring On It (17 page)

“There you go, talking all out the side of your neck again.”

“Why you say that?”

“How’s diarrhea gonna stop a pregnancy? Can’t nobody shit a baby out their ass!” Jody suddenly cut an evil eye at Harlow. The skin on the pad of the finger that she pointed was coarse and darkened from many years of flicking innumerable lighters to fire up her glass pipe. “I need that lil’ bitch over there to have a period so she can pass a pregnancy test.”

“Well, I don’t know how the old lady does it, but I heard she makes it happen for way cheaper than what these expensive abortion clinics be charging people.”

“So how can I get in touch with her?”

“I could ask around, but you said you don’t want anybody getting all up in your business.”

“I don’t. When you ask around, don’t put Harlow’s name in it. Make sure you say that I’m the one who’s knocked up.”

“Okay, I’ll put some feelers out there for you.”

“And find out how much that old lady charges, so I can scrounge up some extra money.”

“Maybe you should try to hook up with Thad. Now that Skeeter’s upstate, you could use some help. Thad is running shit is this ’hood.”

Jody sucked her teeth. “Thad thinks he’s too cute for me.”

“Well, maybe he’d pay you some attention if you fix yourself up like you used to. Start getting your hair and nails done.”

Harlow craned her neck, taking in her mother from head to toe. Jody hardly ever got her hair done anymore. She kept a scarf tied around her head most of the time. Jody didn’t have a crowd of girlfriends hanging around admiring her anymore. Ronica seemed to be Jody’s last friend in the world.

“I ain’t thinking about Thad. He’s stingy. Everybody knows that he don’t give up nothing. Not money or product. Besides, I heard he got pimping ways. And honey, I’m not hustling my ass nowhere for nobody. But it’s all-good, though. I got my eye on somebody.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ronica perked up. “Who? Someone working for Thad?”

Harlow knew Jody shared the bags she got from Skeeter with Ronica, so it would benefit Ronica if Jody got herself a new drug dealer boyfriend. But it would be Harlow who paid a hefty price. Harlow’s heart sank, imagining another drug dealer slipping into her stuffy little bedroom.

“Nah, I’m through messing with corner boys. I’m getting me a working man. Somebody with a set income who can take care of me on a regular basis.”

No more corner boys!
Harlow relaxed and squinted at the TV screen, now only half-listening to her mother and Ronica.

“Meantime,” Jody continued, “if worse come to worse, I’m gon’ have to sell all my food stamps to pay for my bags.”

“What about Harlow’s situation. How you gon’ pay for that?”

Hearing her name, Harlow swivelled her neck around.

Jody shrugged. “I don’t know. Something’s bound to come through.”

Looking doubtful, Ronica nodded her head.

“Hey, Harlow!” Jody yelled.

Harlow yanked her head back around toward the blurry TV. “Yes,” she said, eyes now glued to the screen as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“I need you to run to the Chinese store and get me a Pepsi and a couple of loosies.”

“Miss Kim won’t sell cigarettes to children.”

“Fuck Miss Kim. You know what to do. Go to Mr. Kim. He’ll hook you up.”

“Ain’t you scared those truancy people might catch Harlow out there?” Ronica asked.

“Nah, they done made their run around here today. They on the other side of town by now. Hurry up, Harlow. I need a cigarette.”

S
tartled by the ringing phone, Nivea awoke from a stupor and tried to prop herself up. The room began spinning. Dazed with sleep, she looked around in confusion. Through the narrowed slit of an eye, she glimpsed an empty bottle of vodka on her nightstand, and had an idea of why she felt so dizzy.

The ringing stopped.

Then Vangie’s voice filled Nivea’s bedroom. “Hi, Nivea. I guess you’re still at your parents’ house. Give me a call when you get in; I really need to talk to you.” There was a pause. “Oh, yeah. I got the picture of your parents’ Christmas tree. Breathtaking.”

Even in her disoriented condition, Nivea could hear the forgiveness in Vangie’s voice. Vangie never held a grudge, but Nivea was too intoxicated to talk. If Vangie knew that Nivea was sprawled across her bed, drunk as a skunk, she’d rush right over to take care of her. That’s how Vangie was, a nurturer. Nivea was cognizant enough to realize that she didn’t want to be seen in her current condition by Vangie or anyone else.

An unpleasant image popped in her mind. She groaned, vaguely recalling that she’d shown her boobs to her sister’s fiancé. She wondered if Knox would tell Courtney.
Probably.
And knowing Courtney, she’d go screaming to their mother that Nivea was drunk and acting like a floozy.

Trying to get comfortable, Nivea flopped over on her stomach. Before plunging back into a coma-like sleep, she decided that if Courtney or her mother confronted her, she’d fake amnesia.

Using the key that Vangie had given him, Shawn came home from the barbershop a little after three in the morning. With memories of the day that she and Shawn broke up still fresh in her mind, Vangie was preparing the Christmas feast, feeling hostile and oppressed.

“Hey, babe,” he called from the living room.

“Hey,” she said dryly. The memory of their break-up had set something off inside her. She was irritated and couldn’t play it off like there was nothing wrong.

“The tree looks like it should be on a Christmas card,” Shawn said from the living room. Vangie had wrapped Yuri’s and Shawn’s presents and they looked picture perfect beneath the tree. She could hear the crinkle of wrapping paper as Shawn was sliding her gift in with the others.

He came in the kitchen, smiling. “Santa left something under the tree for you.”

She gave a tight smile, picturing a new bathrobe, a bottle of cologne, or a chain with a dangling heart. “How was work?” Vangie mumbled without looking up from the dough that she was rolling out on the kitchen table.

Shawn made a sound of frustration, ran a hand across her forehead. “Man, that joint was a zoo. Every time we got the place cleared out, here come ten more knuckleheads, wanting a cut.”

“Why didn’t you tell them the shop was closed for the night?”

“That young bull ain’t turning down no money. I don’t own the place; I just work there.”

Vangie instantly thought about the other lie she’d told Nivea. She’d braggingly told her that Shawn was a co-owner of the barbershop. She gave a loud sigh.

Shawn pulled off his jacket and studied Vangie for a moment. “Something wrong?”

“No, just tired.” She pointed toward the stove. “Turkey’s in the oven. The macaroni and cheese is on top of the stove. The roast and everything else is in the fridge.” Vangie looked down at the dough and frowned. “The sweet potato pie is the last thing I have to make.”

Shawn studied her briefly. “You’re working on that dough like you got skills.”

Despite her agitated mood, Vangie smiled. “I called my grandmother. She gave me all her recipes. I’ve been slaving since this morning, Shawn. Two kinds of meat and ten different sides. Why’d you buy so much stuff?”

“Excited, I guess. Happy to be spending Christmas with my family.”

“The family you kicked to the curb for that Tanya girl?”

Shawn flinched. “Why’d you go there?”

“I’m just saying, if you did it once, what would stop you from doing it again?”

“That was five years ago. I was a young bull…still wet behind the ears. I’m a grown man now, and I don’t have any doubt about what I want. Do you?” Shawn began moving closer to Vangie. “What’s up? You having second thoughts about us?”

“It’s just that everything’s happening so fast. And today Yuri started asking me questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“He wanted to know if we were married.”

Shawn laughed. “Inquisitive little guy. What did you tell him?”

Vangie shook her head. “I told him the truth. Then he asked if we were divorced. I guess he’s wondering if you’re only here for the holidays.”

“The holidays! I’m going the distance,” Shawn declared. “Is that why you got that nasty lil’ attitude?”

“I guess so. I was feeling great until Yuri started questioning me about our status. His questions made something click in my head. It’s not like it’s just you and me. We have to consider our son. We need to have a reasonable response to his questions.”

“You’re right.” Shawn looked at her intently. “I’ll think of something while I’m in the shower.” He started walking out of the kitchen, then stopped and turned around. “I’m real tired baby; let’s go to bed. You can finish that pie in the morning, can’t you?”

Vangie sighed. “I guess.”

Shawn gave her a wink.

She gazed at him, prepared to return the affectionate gesture with a smile. Then realization descended on her. Shawn wanted her to hurry up so he could get a quickie before he drifted off to sleep.

I’m nothing more than a piece of ass to Shawn. After all the hell he put me through, I should be more than a bootie buddy. I need to start demanding some real security. I need a ring. A wedding ceremony. A legal document.

1995

“
H
aving sex hurts a lot more than what I’m gonna do to you, so don’t be scared. Try to relax,” the woman named Miss Cakie told Harlow. Miss Cakie was tall and stout, though more solid than fat. She had chestnut-colored skin. There was an unhealthy film covering her eyeballs that made the color of her eyes indistinguishable. Steel grey locks hung to her shoulders. Her unpleasant face was moist with sweat. More perspiration gathered in the creases of her fleshy neck. Wet circles under the arms of her brown blouse announced sweaty armpits. Harlow cringed. The sight of the awful woman sent ripples of terror through her.

Harlow lay shivering and twitching atop the dining room table in Miss Cakie’s dismal house in a section of North Philadelphia that was so devastated, it looked like a bomb had been dropped on it. This part of town was known as Beirut.

Harlow’s cotton panties were tossed aside and hung off the edge of the table. There was a plastic tablecloth beneath her bare bottom. In that bizarre setting, her life in the hands of a scary-looking woman, Harlow tried to remain calm and to be still, while controlling the urge to scream in fear and outrage.

Harlow had two impulses. One was to plead for mercy and the other was to jump off the table and run. But neither would do her any good. Trying to take her mind off of her hopeless predicament, Harlow began to imagine that she was at the carnival that came
to Parkside Avenue every summer. She thought about eating pink cotton candy and being at the top of the Ferris wheel. She would have preferred envisioning a wild roller coaster ride at Dorney Park or Great Adventure, but since she’d never been to either amusement park, the neighborhood carnival was all she could picture in her mind.

Miss Cakie patted Harlow’s thighs, urging them open. Harlow’s heart leapt in her chest. She locked her knees, straining to keep her legs closed so tightly they began to shake. She threw a fearful glance in her mother’s direction.

Jody met her daughter’s eyes and gave Harlow a hard look.

Having the illusion that her mother would have a sudden revelation, Harlow kept her thighs pressed together and silently pleaded with her eyes.

“Open your legs, Harlow. Miss Cakie gotta examine you,” Jody said without emotion.

Realizing that her mother wasn’t going to have a change of heart, Harlow’s face crumpled. Tears began to spill. “Please, Jody,” she called in a thin voice.

“Don’t start no mess, girl. Do what Miss Cakie says,” Jody said sternly. Her attention drifting away from her terrified daughter, Jody began to fidget with the clasp of her purse.

Miss Cakie’s lips tightened in exasperation. “I don’t have a whole lot of patience like I used to. Now I need one of y’all to help me out and hold this girl’s legs open for me?”

“Harlow!” Jody snapped. “Stop making this harder than it needs to be. Open your damn legs. You wanna go back to school, don’t you?”

With fear and great dread, Harlow unlocked her knees. Impatiently, Miss Cakie stretched her thighs apart. Harlow felt as helpless as she did each time Skeeter skulked into her bedroom.
She clenched her hands as Miss Cakie worked between her legs, sticking her long finger deep inside her vagina while pressing hard on her tummy, causing Harlow to grunt and writhe in indignation.

So far the abortion procedure didn’t seem that much different from what Skeeter did to her. He always started off using his finger, twisting and digging around inside her. Harlow decided that the only thing different from Skeeter’s night-time visits was that her mother was witnessing with her own eyes what was happening to her. Ronica, too. Ronica was watching closely, but her presence was not a comfort. Ronica was there as a spectator. And taking notes, Harlow suspected.

And there was another difference. Skeeter had a distinctive scent that was a combination of lust and his favorite cologne. Miss Cakie smelled sour, like dried-up sweat.