Waiting to Exhale (52 page)

Charles has scarred my heart, my fucking world. This is not the kind of shit you forget about in a few weeks. You don't just get over it. You can't wake up and pretend it never happened, because it did happen. I've got feelings. And right now they hurt. And he's the cause of it. All I want to know is this: What happened to all the pride, the tenderness, the love and compassion, black men are supposed to show us? I thought we were supposed to be a prized "possession." How are we supposed to feel beautiful and loving and soft and caring and gentle and tender and compassionate and sensitive, when they treat us like shit after we surrender ourselves to them? Would somebody tell me that?

After Tracy sang "All You Have Is Your Soul," I turned her off, wiped my eyes on the corner of the sheet, and tried to get myself together. I know one thing. I will not put myself on the line like this again. I can't. I'm too old for this shit. And I'm tired. Tired of playing these sick-ass emotional games with these simple-ass men who don't care about anybody but themselves. I'm tired of these have-their- cake-and-eat-it-too motherfuckers. I'm through. Finished. From here on out, my pussy will be much harder to get, my heart no longer on display. It's going to take a whole lot more than a juicy dick, a sparkling swimming pool, some iced tea, a thick mustache, a pretty body, a handsome face, Bible class, smooth conversation, and a serenade to get me to drop my guard. I can't afford to do this shit anymore. It costs too much. And besides, being lonely has never made. me feel this damn bad.

Chapter
24

Phillip wouldn't let Gloria come see him. He called at least once a week, asking about his clients. Had So-and-so been in? Were her ends splitting again? What about her roots? What was everybody saying about him? Were they gossiping? Did any of them even care that he was sick? Gloria lied and told him they were all deeply concerned. The truth was, most of her customers were glad Phillip didn't work at Oasis anymore. Gloria corrected them. "He still works here. And as soon as he's better, he'll be back." They didn't want to hear that. "He won't be doing my hair," somebody said. Gloria called the m i gnorant. "Don't you people read? Don't you watch TV? You can't catch it from somebody doing your hair?" And Sister Monroe-Miss Holy Christian herself-was the ringleader. "I don't care what the newspapers and television say. I don't want to be in the same room with nobody with AIDS, so you know I ain't even thinking about letting Phillip put his hands on my head."

Phillip didn't sound all that good, either. He said his whole body was covered with blisters. He was in so much pain-itching and everything-that it'd be at least another month before he could think about coming back to work. Gloria hated the thought of Phillip-or anybody-suffering. Right after Phillip got sick, he finally admitted that he'd been HIV positive for three years. "Well, it's a good thing you've got insurance," she said. But Phillip told her he didnt have health insurance. Gloria asked him why not. He said he couldn't get any. Gloria asked him why not. Phillip said because he had what insurance companies considered to be a fatal preexisting condition. Gloria was furious. Outdone. Hurt. She went and withdrew four hundred dollars of Tarik's tuition money and mailed it to Phillip. "I hope this helps," she said. Phillip said, "Everything helps."

Since he'd been gone, Gloria was handling too many customers. Putting in twelve- and fourteen-hour days for the past month and a half. She couldn't keep doing this. Her pressure was up. Her feet were always swollen by the time she got home, and she hardly ever saw Tarik. She'd had the sign stylists wanted in the window for so long now, the sun was turning it yellow. She knew this wasn't the smartest way to go about it, but she'd already notified several of the beauty schools around town, and the young girls that came in weren't good enough yet. It was just hard to find established black stylists in Phoenix. Quite a few white ones had come in to inquire too. They claimed they'd been trained to "work" with black hair. But they'd be too much trouble. Some of Gloria's customers had already told her, "I ain't letting no white person mess with my hair." They said they wouldn't trust somebody white giving them a perm. How would they know how to do it without burning up their scalp? And how would they know how to cut their hair if it didn't hang straight when it's wet? And forget about a Jheri-Kurl.

Joseph, who had assured Gloria that all of his tests had come back negative, went so far as to prove it. He showed her the results. He missed Phillip too. The whole mood in the shop was dreary these days. Cindy's morale wasn't exactly high, because it was almost December and her days here were numbered. Desiree was going to be the hardest to replace. The demand for weaves was high, and not very many people in town could do them as well as she could. Gloria also had to consider the possibility that Phillip might not come back.

Some mornings, she actually entertained the thought of selling the shop. Moving back to Oakland. There were plenty of black stylists there. But hell, they had that big earthquake last year, and from what she'd heard and read, Oakland had changed. It was drug and gang infested, almost as bad as L
. A . Tarik would graduate in May. He'd had that interview with Up With People, and now was just waiting for his letter. The admissions lady told him it looked good. Gloria wouldn't have any real reason to stay in Phoenix, she thought. She would sell the shop if she had to, but all she could do now was wait and see what happened.

She was ready to pass out. It had been a rough day. It started out bad. Phillip called her at six-thirty in the morning and said he thought it'd be best if he didn't come back to Oasis. There was nothing Gloria could say to change his mind. Then her toilet overflowed. She saw a mouse run across the canned goods in her pantry. The garage door came off the hinges again. The sprinkler system was on the blink. Tarik rear-ended somebody in the Safeway parking lot, which meant her insurance was going to go up. And the washing machine wouldn't stop spinning. To top it off, Sister Monroe, who sweated more than Gloria, picked today to drench herself in that nasty, stinking W7hite Shoulders.

But one good thing had happened. Right before Cindy left to go home, she pulled Gloria to the side and told her that she'd been thinking. She'd feel bad leaving Gloria in this kind of jam. "You've been good to me," Cindy told her. "You gave me a job when I needed one. I'll stay until you get some more help. Court-reporting school'll be there," she said. "I can go anytime. And to be honest with you, Glo, I could use the money."

Gloria was glad Savannah's hair was short. Glad she didn't need to perm it or blow-dry it, and glad as hell she didn't have to curl it. She hadn't eaten all day. And why she had indigestion, Gloria didn't know. She was sweeping up Sister Monroe's red hair when she heard Savannah come in.

"Hey, girl. Where is everybody?"

"Home. Where I need to be."

"Well, don't sound so excited," Savannah said and took off her red Stussy cap.

"Girl, I'm tired as a dog. So let's get started."

"Wait a minute. How tired are you, Gloria?"

"You tell me," Gloria said, and she put all two hundred and ten pounds on one foot and placed her right hand on her hip. Sweat beads lined her forehead. Savannah could see where she had wiped off some of her makeup.

"Well, I won't die if I don't get my hair cut tonight."

"I don't do business like that."

"I'm your friend, Gloria, not some customer, so don't worry about it," she said, and put her cap back on.

"It won't take but a minute."

"That's what I'm afraid of. I don't do anything well if I'm tired, and I damn sure don't want you clicking those scissors on my head if you're beat. Seriously, I can wait another week."

"Well, thank you, girl. You ever get gas pains in your chest so bad it feels like you're having a heart attack or something?"

"Yeah. Why? You having chest pains?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"You got any Rolaids or anything around here?"

"I've got some Mylanta in the car. But I'm so hungry I could eat this chair. That's what's wrong with me."

"Then let's go get something to eat."

"I have to get home."

"Why?"

Gloria thought about that. She didn't know why she needed to rush home. Tarik was doing volunteer work, delivering meals to shut- ins. Ever since his interview, the folks at Up With People told him that the more community service work he did, the better his chance
s w ere of getting in. So he was always busy. At first Gloria scolded him for not having done this kind of stuff on his own. Tarik said that until Up With People gave him a list of all the different organizations that needed volunteers, he wasn't aware of how much help they needed. He admitted that at first his motives were purely selfish, but now Gloria could tell he was getting something out of it. He visited the elderly, helped feed the homeless, and some nights Tarik came home so excited, he spent hours describing how the kids responded to him at the hospital after he read them stories, or how good it felt when he helped a handicapped person get out of a wheelchair to go to the bathroom.

Gloria realized she was just used to going straight home after she finished at the shop. It was part of her routine, and now Savannah was asking her to break it. It wouldn't hurt to do something spontaneous for a change, would it? Tarik wouldn't be home until eightish anyway, and shoot, he could fend for himself. "You're right," she heard herself say. "Where you want to go?"

"Anyplace that doesn't have a drive-up window, where we can sit down at tables that aren't Formica, and where they're not wearing paper hats."

Gloria snickered. "Let me turn everything off. I'll be ready in a minute." She emptied the dustpan full of hair, turned the air conditioner down, got her purse, turned on the alarm, and doused the lights. "Let's do it," she said, sounding like Tarik. "I'll follow you."

"This is your town," Savannah said. "Why don't I follow you."

After Gloria got in her car, she reached inside the glove compartment to find her Mylanta, popped two in her mouth, and prayed the pain would go away. She promised herself not to eat anything greasy or heavy. It would only aggravate the situation.

She drove two blocks and pulled into a Denny's. Savannah honked her horn and shook her head-No, please?-and gave Gloria a signal to keep driving. When Gloria came to Chinese Paradise, Gloria lifted her hands off the steering wheel, as if to ask, "Is this okay?" Savannah nodded, and parked her Celica next to Gloria's Volvo.

The tables were Formica. Savannah didn't mention it. Neither did Gloria. After they sat down, Gloria was glad the pain in her chest had stopped. She had already decided what she wanted before Savannah looked at the menu. The waitress asked if she could get them anything to drink. Gloria said she was ready to order. Savannah flipped the rim of her cap up, then looked at her. "Could you chill out a minute, Gloria? Please?"

'Til have a Sprite," Gloria said.

'Til have a glass of white wine," Savannah said.

The waitress said she'd be back in a minute to take their order. "So," Savannah asked. "What's been going on?"

"Working like a maniac since Phillip's been gone."

"That disease is ruthless, isn't it? There's so many folks getting it, and not just gay people, either."

"Yeah, it's something," Gloria said. "Phillip's not coming back."

"He's not?"

"Nope, he called this morning and told me. Said he didn't want me losing any business because of him, and of course I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen. He said he's feeling much better, though. He's gonna work out of his house."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, to tell you the truth. Yesterday I interviewed this girl to take Desiree's place, but I couldn't tell if she was an alcoholic or on drugs."

"What made you think that?"

"She acted like she was on something. But she could do the hell out of some weaves. I told her I'd call her. And I will, sometime this week. If she looks sober, I'll hire her."

"What about Joseph?"

"Joseph is a lifesaver, girl. He's not going anywhere, and he's definitely not sick."

"And Cindy?"

"She's staying too. Said she'd wait until I hired somebody. Wasn'
t t
hat nice?"

"That was nice. So relief is in sight."

"It looks like it. Thank the Lord."

"Well, when are you going to ask me about my job?"

"You got it, didn't you?"

"I damn sure did."

Gloria reached over the table to give her "five" and knocked over a glass of water. "Hot damn! When'd you find out?"

"Yesterday."

"Did you tell Bernie?"

"You know I did. I left a message on Robin's machine. She's in Tucson, you know. Her daddy's got pneumonia, girl. They don't know how long he's going to last."

"I've been praying for that man as hard as I can. I hope he gets to see our Maker soon, so he can stop going through this."

"Me too," Savannah said.

"So anyway, tell me the details."

"Well, they liked the trial show on BWOTM. A lot. I'll actually be an assistant producer and won't really go on board until after the first of the year. But it's cool."