Sweet Bye-Bye (8 page)
Why had Canun put me in that position? He made it sound like the deal was signed, sealed, and all that I had to do was deliver it. Little weasel was always trying to move up the corporate ladder on someone else’s back.
Needless to say, after that the rest of my day didn’t go so well. Not only did I have to deal with everyone coming over to my desk to ask, “What happened? What happened?” I also had to phone the VPs in New York and explain that there was no deal. What was I going to say to them by way of explanation—that my manager had never really had a deal? And oh, by the way, he’s an idiot. I don’t think so! I took the heat. I said that Skyway decided against going with the Sunday Disk Drive project. But of course, to them it looked like once I got involved, the deal went sour.
You were only as good as your last deal in this business. If things kept up this way, I was going to be looking in the paper for a new job.
A Better Time
M
y California king-size bed was my place of solitude and comfort. It had three high mattresses and a stepstool next to it that I used to climb up into it. I lay under my goosedown comforter, which was encased in a cream-and-yellow satin duvet cover with little pink and yellow flowers on it. I looked over at the nightstand to check the time. It was 10:54 p.m.
I lay in bed and thought about the massive to-do list that I’d left on my desk. Even then as I lay in my bed, Mr. Strautimeyer’s comments made me feel uneasy. He was truly a businessman’s businessman, and if he thought I was trying to manipulate him into that deal, I could lose his business.
Two crystal picture frames sat next to my alarm clock on the nightstand, illuminated by the moon’s light that came through my window and hit them just so. One was of Eric and me together; we’d taken it in a photo booth at a carnival. The other was of just myself in a little black dress, at a nightclub in the city.
I’d tossed and turned so much over my awful day that my head wrap slipped off again. I rewrapped my hair and tied it up again. When I had told Canun what had happened on the phone with Mr. Strautimeyer, he had said he was shocked that Skyway didn’t sign the deal. The little rat even had the nerve to try and look at me like I’d done something to mess it up!
I sighed and put my hands under my head and tried to go to sleep, but I tossed and turned and was up again. Work was a mess, and my romantic life was a mess. I wanted Eric there with me, to hold me, to comfort me. But I knew that if he were here, that would only lead us to areas that I was trying to stay away from. I was convinced that we needed to get married, and even my new copy of
Glamour
magazine confirmed that the best way to get married was to not have sex with the guy. I twisted and turned in my feelings of emptiness and loneliness. I was on my back, then on my side, then my scarf came off again. I put it back on. I had to remember to write out my checks in the morning. Water, cable, garbage, phone. I’d get to them.
I closed my eyes again and dreamed, or I remembered, I don’t know which. I was somewhere between dreamland and the place where your memories are stored. With my eyes closed, I remembered a better time for me. I must have been five or six years old. We were upstairs in the balcony at church. I wore a white ruffled dress that coordinated with my socks and the bows in my hair. I never liked dressing that way, but it gave my Grandmother Hattie such satisfaction to see me so proper-looking. I preferred my Big Ben jeans with the yellow patch on the back pocket. But Grandma said that I was a little lady and that I should dress as such. My ponytails were neatly combed and perfectly parted with barrettes that hit my neck as I ran. My bangs curled down and bumped under on my forehead. My caramel skin and almond eyes caused people who didn’t know me to make comments.
“Mrs. Brumwick,” the neighbor watering her grass from across the street would yell over, “your grandbaby is just precious! She looks like a dolly!”
My grandmother would beam with pride as I stood there with my best shy-coy look.
But at church, this look never worked. There, my appearance fooled no one. I could kick a kickball from here to Timbuktu and the congregation knew it. There, all of the members’ children knew to stay out of my way because I was bossy as all get out. My personality was strong and even my demeanor said “Follow me.” And that’s exactly what lots of the children used to do.
But not asthmatic little Keith Rashaad Talbit. He was the goody-two-shoed, sickly little grandson of Sister Edna. She started bringing him to church just weeks after he was born. His parents died in a fire when he was just a baby, and Sister Edna raised him alone, with the help of the church members. By the time he was a year old, Keith Rashaad Talbit had become the unspoken godchild of every member of the church.
This little boy was always a runt for his age, and a bookworm. His semisweet-chocolate brown skin was usually dry, ashy, and itchy. He kept hive ointment handy in his pocket just in case he got too nervous.
Pastor Fields and the rest of the congregation always kept an eye out and an ear open to make sure the kids weren’t teasing him. They did the best they could to protect him. But sometimes, the little girls made jokes with Keith as the punch line. More times than not, it was me spearheading the “make-fun-of-Keith” sessions after church let out, or during church, upstairs, after Mother Ola Rose Pearl had dozed off.
Some Sundays, Mother Pearl would bring a ten-pack of Freedent gum to church with her—the kind in the light blue wrapper that advertised it didn’t stick to dentures. She’d open a few packs and give us all a stick. Those were some good times. The parents always dreaded those days, and they could tell them right off because they’d glance up to the balcony and see all of our jaw muscles working in tandem, almost uniformly, much like little cows grazing. After a couple of minutes, one of the parents would always come upstairs, get the wastebasket out of the corner, and make sure that every child made a deposit.
In my dream, I vividly saw Mother Pearl go to sleep. Her chin slowly lowered and covered up her neck, then she suddenly jerked her head back up again. Her silver, fluffy hair was parted in the middle and combed straight downward. She wore thigh-high stockings that she rolled down just below the knee.
Pastor Fields was speaking, and Mother Pearl sleeping. I pulled out a new deck of cards from my shiny little black purse. I gathered three other little girls from the pews and found a nice corner. We spread the cards out on the floor and proceeded to play my favorite game.
“Okay, ladies,” I said, “let’s play some Concentration.”
I was darn good at it too. The best in first grade. I gave them the rules.
“Okay, whoever loses has gotta kiss Keith Talbit and wear his Coke-bottle glasses! Molina, it’s you and me. You’re first.” I gestured my hands toward the cards like the ladies on Grandma’s favorite show,
The Price Is Right.
“I’ll go,” said Molina, “but I’m not kissing Keith, Chantell. Noooo-no!”
“Look,” I said, “rules are rules, and if you’re not going to play fair by them, then you don’t get to play!” I looked around at the other girls to see which would take her place.
“Chanteeell,” she whined. “I want to play, but boys are gross! They make me tho’ up.”
“I know, Molina. Life is hard, though. Sometimes we don’t get to make the rules. Sometimes”—I shook my head—“we just have to live by them.”
And I almost felt sorry for her. After all, we were talking about the always-coughing Keith Rashaad.
Molina stared at the cards on the floor. Resigned, she said, “Okay.” She turned over a queen and a six of diamonds.
“Hah! No match. My turn,” I said, as the two other girls watched.
We continued to play until we got down to the last six cards. Molina was happy because she had thirteen matches and I’d only had ten. If she got one more, then there would be no way I could win. I told myself, Forget that! I wasn’t kissin’ nobody.
Molina flipped over a three, then over another three. “Yaayy!” she said out loud.
“So what, Molina!” I said. “Anyways, I’m not kissing anyone, because you shouldn’t be kissing people in church. That’s wrong! We’re here to learn about God and Jesus!”
Molina ignored me and matched up the last four cards to win the game. The other two girls, who had been watching quietly, finally chimed in. “Chantell, you said yourself that if you’re not going to play fair by the rules, then don’t play. And our parents kiss in church all the time.”
“Yep, sho’ do. And people even get married here, so you know they be kissin!” said that other little one with her head moving.
I inhaled deeply and rolled my eyes. Stupid girls. Why were they in my business anyway? I got up, walked over to the pew, stepped over Ola Pearl, and went over to where Keith was and sat down next to him. He was quiet, looking at the preacher with his hands folded in his lap. I took a deep breath, leaned over, and pressed my lips into his cheek. Keith adjusted his glasses with his fingers and looked at me, but before he could say a word, I whispered, “Oh shut up, Frog Face.”
I still remembered how that little kiss made me dizzy.
I opened my eyes again. It was late, I was tired and groggy, but I was smiling. That was a memory that I had forgotten all about. I used to be so bold. I’d say whatever I wanted. I took nobody’s mess. Not now, though. Nowadays, I was always fearful, and miserable even though I pretended that I wasn’t. And when those weren’t my concerns, I was worried about what people thought of me. Where had that fearless little girl gone?
I looked at the alarm clock. It said 3:37 a.m. I thought about the drama of work. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t. Canun had set me up, but I decided right then that I wouldn’t be the fall girl for anyone anymore. I was sick of Mina, I was sick of Eric, and I was especially sick of Canun Ramsey! I must have dozed off for a few minutes, because when I looked at the clock again it read 4:10 a.m.
I adjusted my goosedown pillow under my head and pulled my arms out from under my new mint green sheets. I wiped the sleep out of my eyes. All my life I’d been Miss Courageous. All my life I would say or do what I thought was right despite what anybody thought. Last year, I was the top sales rep in that office, and what did I get for it? Set up! That’s what.
I reached for the phone and dialed the number to my office. Canun Ramsey’s voice mail picked up and I wondered if I should actually do this. The beep said it was my turn to talk.
“Hello, Canun.” My voice sounded Macy Grayish raspy. It mattered not—I had some things to get off my chest. “Uhh, it’s Chantell. Look, I am not coming in today.” I was getting bolder by the moment. “No, I’m not coming in for a while. You knew that you didn’t have that Skyway deal, and when it fell through, you let me take the fall for it. You need to grow up!”
I wondered if I had gone a bit too far. “Don’t look for me tomorrow. Bye!”
There. I hung up the phone. I’d done some crazy stuff in my time, I admit, but I’d never quit my job without having another one. I was too mature for that. I had a townhouse payment and a new car! I should have been worried. In fact, I probably should have had an anxiety attack, right then and right there!
But I didn’t. I just closed my eyes and went back to sleep.
Getting Nowhere
W
hen I woke up at 7:30, I first thought that I had overslept, then I remembered that I probably didn’t have a job. I stepped out of the shower and put on my new camel-colored slacks. Lately I’d been eating even when I wasn’t hungry, and today I noticed that they were a little tight in the stomach area. I slid on a long-sleeved, cream-colored shirt. After I finished getting dressed, I grabbed my keys and left the house with absolutely nowhere to go.
It was 8:43 a.m. and the sky looked dreary. I climbed into my black Jeep Wrangler, and tried not to think about its getting repossessed. My cellular phone started ringing as soon as the engine was warm. I grabbed the phone and looked at who was calling. It was Cameron, a cool white sister-girl who sat near me at work. Curious about what the folks in the office were saying, I answered.
“Yes?” I answered.
“Umm, Miss Thing, where the heck are you?” she asked.
“Chillin’ at home. What’s up, Cameron?”
“Chantell, Canun is mad as all get out! What are you trying to do? People in the office are saying that you are AWOL, and that you probably won’t be coming back. Canun is passing out your accounts and everything. Girl, you’d better get in here!”
I didn’t even want to hear this. I’d proven myself ten times over. I’d brought the paper a ton of money over the last two years, and I still hadn’t taken a vacation. I needed a break. I was tired.
“You know what, Cameron? I don’t really give a rat’s butt. I’m not going back in there until I’m ready. If I’m ever ready. And I don’t have to explain anything to Canun. He needs to be explaining himself to me. I’m sorry, I gotta go. Bye!” I hung up on her. Let them fire me, if that’s what they wanted to do. I was an achiever. The phone rang again. I turned it off. Now I was crying.
“I am sick and tired of this crap!”
I grabbed my wallet out of my purse and found a card for the EAP, the Employee Assistance Program. I dialed the number and a call screener picked up right away.
“Hello, employee assistance crisis line. May I help you?”
Did he say crisis as in C-R-I-S-I-S?
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
I was not in a crisis. I didn’t use drugs. I was not a teen runaway, and I had never been married. What kind of crisis could I possibly have had?
I hung up the phone, started up the Jeep, and drove around until I ended up at Daddy and Charlotte’s house. I figured they were upstairs, so I used my key and entered through the kitchen. I hoped she wasn’t on a rampage today. I’d already been through enough. Charlotte stood near the stove in an oversize, yellow-flowered house dress. She was stirring up eggs in a white rubber bowl. Preparing Daddy an omelet, no doubt.
“Hi, Charlie,” I said to her.
“Hey, Chawnee,” she said, as her brown fingers poured the eggs from the white bowl into a shiny silver skillet. “How come you’re not at work?”