Waiting to Exhale (23 page)

"And you didn't take it?"

"I'm not a fool," she says.

She sure sounds like one. If somebody offered me that kind of money, I'd take it and run.

"Do you know how long three hundred thousand dollars would last in 1990?"

"It'd last me awhile," I say. "My daddy would have a full-time nurse, I know that much. I'd pay off my student loan and my credit card loan and buy myself a house."

"Anyway, my lawyer told me to be patient. She said John is slick but he's sloppy. His biggest mistake was selling the business at such a ridiculously low price. So they're checking everything out. If I hadn't found out about all his wheeling and dealing, I might've considered settling out of court. But not now. No way."

"I hear you," I said.

"I might have to sell this house, though."

"Why?"

"Because I may need the money if this shit goes on and on and on."

"You just said you're getting child support."

"Yeah, but when you get right down to it, it's barely enough to get us by. Do you have any idea how much it costs to run a house this size with two kids in it?"

"No, but I know it's a lot."

"Do you know how much it costs to cool a four-thousand-square- foot house?"

"No."

"And then there's the gardener, the pool man, and the housekeeper. But I'm not letting her go; I don't care what happens. And we're not even talking about food. John junior's feet are growing an inch a day. Every time I look around, he needs a new pair of sneakers. Anyway, girl, I didn't mean to go off. To make a long story short, the court's making him pay the mortgage for now, but they can't force him to pay it forever. My lawyer made that clear. So how's Michael?"

"He's out of the picture."

"Already?"

"He was boring."

"You know, you sound like a fool, Robin. What is it, you've just got a thing for dogs? From your description, he sounded like a nice guy. So he's a few pounds overweight. Big deal. Even Gloria said she thought he was nice when she met him. He sounds to me like the most principled man you've come in contact with since I've known you."

Thank God the phone clicks. "Hold on a minute," I say, and press the receiver. It's Russell. "How you doing, Robin?"

"I'm fine."

"That's good. What you doing?"

"Talking to Bernadine."

"And how's she doing these days?"

"Just fine."

"I miss you," he says.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"Since when?" I say.

"Since I've been gone," he says.

"You've been gone a long time, Russell."

"I know it. Too long. I do miss you, Robin."

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it." There's a long pause. "Russell?"

"I'm here," he says. "You feel like some company?"

I don't even think about it. I just say yes.

"See you in a half hour," he says.

I click Bernadine back. "I've gotta go."

"Is something wrong?"

"No," I say. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"Well, I thought we were in the middle of a conversation."

"I need to talk to this person, that's all."

"Is it Russell?"

"No, it's not Russell, Bernadine. And so what if it is?"

"I just asked. Damn. Anyway, I'll see you Wednesday. Wait a minute."

"What?" I say impatiently.

"The BWOTM meeting's been changed. It's not until April fifth. That's a Thursday. Mark it on your calendar."

"Gloria already told me."

"And be prepared to serve on a committee."

"What this time?"

"I don't know. Come and find out."

"Bye, Bernadine. And tell the kids I said hi." I hang the phone up and run to the bathroom. I take a quick douche and thank God for sending me a desirable man tonight. I don't care if Russell belongs to somebody else. I don't care if he has to get up and leave when it's over. And I almost don't care when I look under the sink and my box of Today sponges is empty.

Chapter
10

Bernadine was glad to get out of the house. Gloria prayed she wouldn't be bored to death. Savannah was hoping she'd meet somebody worth giving her phone number to, and Robin kept her fingers crossed that she wouldn't run into anybody she'd slept with.

They agreed to meet at Pendleton's around six-thirty. Robin offered to pick up Savannah when she found out her meeting would be over much earlier than expected. This gave her enough time to zip by Oasis to get a nail repaired and stop at home to change into something flashier.

More than anything, Robin wanted an excuse to see Savannah's apartment. Bernadine had bragged about Savannah's artworks and said she had very good taste. Robin wanted to see for herself. She knew her apartment didn't exactly look like it came out of Architectural Digest, but it was colorful. When Robin rang her bell, Savannah came to the door wearing a form-fitting orange dress with a wide white belt and orange sling-back sandals. Her hair was cut close on the sides, and skewered-looking curls stuck straight up on the top. It was different from anything Robin had ever seen on anybody down at Oasis. "Hi," Robin said. "I'm Robin."

"No shit," Savannah said, and gave her a hug. "Come on in," she said. "Have a seat. I'll be ready in ten seconds. As you can see," she said, walking down a hallway, "I haven't had a chance to unpack everything yet, so forgive the place."

"It looks to me like you've done a lot in two days," Robin yelled, and sat down on the couch. She ran her hands over the forest-green cushion. This wasn't cheap leather by any means, she thought. There were six mint-green and peach throw pillows strewn along the back. Stacks of boxes were pushed in corners, but there were sculptures sitting on at least four different pedestals, silk flowers on tables, ceramic vases such as Robin had never seen before: copper-colored; metallic green; blackish-silver; each a different shape, and some with blotches of color that made them look like a map of the world. The movers had obviously broken a few, because some were badly cracked, but Robin didn't want to say anything. Savannah already had pictures up on three walls. Robin didn't particularly care for this kind of art, because half of them didn't look like they were finished. The few she was able to make out-what they were supposed to be-didn't match anything in here.

"I'm ready," Savannah said, and came out of the bathroom.

"Your place is gorgeous," Robin said, standing up. "Is this a one or two bedroom?"

"One. It's not much to see, but come on back if you want to."

"I'm nosey," Robin said, and followed Savannah down the hall.

"This is me," Savannah said, waving her hand like the women on game shows who show contestants what they can win.

A queen-sized platform bed with four oversized stuffed pillow
s s
at in the middle of the room. Behind it was a picture of a nude man and woman. Next to the fireplace was an ice-cream parlor table with a black and rose floral tablecloth; oak chairs with wrought-iron backs, and more unpacked crates and boxes stacked in a corner. One whole wall looked like the millinery section of a department store. At least twenty hats hung on hooks.

"So I guess you're into hats," Robin said.

"I am," Savannah said, and headed toward the living room.

"Well, you should've called. I would've been glad to help you unpack."

"Girl, this stuff was in storage, and everything was all mixed up I'm having a hard enough time finding things myself, but thanks."

"Some people just have the knack of knowing how to put things together, and some don't. I think you missed your calling. You should've gone into interior decorating."

"Bernadine said your place was pretty nice too. So stop. I wish I could've brought my plants."

"Why couldn't you?"

"They wouldn't let me bring them across the state border. They worry about bugs. It broke my heart. But it's okay. I've got to get some. I can't stand being in here without live plants."

"Well, I've got about three, and they're on their last legs." Robin started rubbing her eyes, because they were itching all of a sudden, and the next thing she knew she was sneezing.

"You're allergic to cats, right?" Savannah asked.

"Yes. Lord," she said. "Where is the little sucker?"

"In the back," she said. "I'm ready."

As Savannah reached for her purse and keys, she looked at Robin, particularly her cleavage, which was extremely prominent in that white top. "You're looking pretty snazzy yourself. If I had legs as long as yours, I'd probably wear miniskirts too. How tall are you?"

"Almost five nine," Robin said, taking a handkerchief from her purse and wiping her eyes. "I wish I had some of your ass," she said, and sneezed again.

"Well, in that case, I'd like to borrow about sixteen ounces of your boobs."

"Then buy you some. How do you think I got these?"

They both laughed, and Robin sneezed again. "Well, I know one thing. I won't have to worry about you wearing out your welcome."

"You got that right," Robin said. "Now get me the hell outta here."

"What kind of resort is this?" Savannah asked Robin. It seemed as if they had driven through Little Mexico to get here, and the place looked as though it could stand to be remodeled.

"Girl, I don't know. This is my first time here too."

They were standing in the entry, when a black man in his early thirties came over to greet them. He looked pleased and excited to see them. Robin pinched Savannah, as if to say, "He's all yours." Savannah pinched her back, as if to say, "I don't want him, either."

"Thanks for coming," he said. "Is this your first time here, ladies?"

They both shook their heads yes.

"Well, I'm Andre Williams, and me and a few of my partners have formed the Stock Exchange Group. We're trying to get some exciting things happening in Phoenix, a place where professional sisters and brothers can network and get to know one another in an informal setting and, you know, dance a little, eat a little, and drink a little."

"Are all of you stockbrokers?" Robin asked.

"No, sister. We just wanted to come up with a catchy, sophisticated name. It's the one we all liked. Do you two ladies have a business card?"

Robin did, but Savannah didn't have hers yet; she hadn't anticipated needing one so soon. The moment this man said "network," Savannah cringed. She hated the whole notion. It was as if black folks couldn't get together and have a good time anymore unless they were in a position to do something for each other. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned fun? There was a little basket for the cards, and Robin tossed hers in. What were they going to do with them? Savannah wondered. "I'll bring mine next time," she said, and peeked around a partition into the adjoining room. There were fifteen or twenty people in it. What a helluva turnout, she thought. It was easy to see that Bernadine and Gloria weren't here yet, so she turned her attention to Robin, who had walked over by the windows, where a woman with long dreadlocks stood behind two tables. One was filled with books by and about black people, the other with various African crafts: silver and brass jewelry, kinte cloths, wooden and soapstone sculpture, handmade cards, T-shirts with Africa on front, as well as little bottles of fragrant oils. There were posters of Nelson and Winnie Mandela, Malcolm X, and Martin, as well as Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan.

Robin had her wallet out and two black bangles already on her wrists. Bernadine had told Savannah that the girl was a die-hard shopaholic and terrible at managing her money. Savannah smiled at the sister selling the merchandise, eyed one of the soapstone sculptures, but kept her distance. She hadn't come here to shop. Besides, she was now on something she'd never been on before: a budget.

"Come on, Robin," Savannah said, and headed for one of the forty or so empty tables. When they sat down, it felt as if they were on display, which Robin didn't seem to mind. She liked getting attention, and it showed. There were ten men sitting at the bar, a few of whom turned around and looked at them, and then turned back toward the bar.

"I thought this thing started at six," Robin said. "That's what Bernadine told me."

"This is your world. I'm just in it," Savannah said.

"I wonder where everybody is. Well, at least the music is good."

"Forever Your Girl" was playing. "I can't stand Paula Abdul," Savannah said. "She can't sing. Jodey Watley can't sing, and if you want to know the truth, Janet Jackson can't sing, either. I'm sick of all three of them." But, she thought, if somebody was to ask her to dance right now, she would. But nobody did.

A waitress came over and took their order. Robin ordered a glass of wine, and Savannah, a margarita. "That must be where you dance," Robin said, pointing to a wide doorway, and within a minute she had walked over to it, peered in, come back, and sat down. "Yep, they've got a DJ in there and everything. There's some tables in there too. And not a soul on the dance floor."