When All Hell Breaks Loose (12 page)

“If you’re trying to sell her to me, then you’ve got a buyer,” I joke. “Sold.”

The Jenkinses laugh with me, but I feel like they’re laughing at me. They always seem to be laughing at me. I sit back on the couch to help steady my nerves.

“She’s special. The only one of my children who always went against the grain and didn’t let anyone tell her what to do,” Mr. Jenkins says. “Grit iron.”

“Headstrong. Always has been,” Joyce adds. “But you should know this by now, Gregory. After all, three years is the longest we’ve ever seen Adrian commit to something other than hairstyling.” She gets up and goes back to the kitchen. I’m hoping Mr. Jenkins will turn the television on so we can watch the game, but no such luck. He’s sitting with his head against the La-Z-Boy as if there’s no television.

“How’s that job going?” he asks.

“Good. I’m on the verge of getting a new account. If I do, then Adrian and I will start looking to buy a house a lot sooner.”

“Yeah, that computer industry is where it’s at.” Mr. Jenkins laughs a little.

I lean in on my lap. “So, how do you think the Cowboys are going to do this year?”

“About as bad as they did last year. Cowboys all drug-free now, too. They can’t play if they ain’t high. Emmitt Smith can’t carry that team alone and Deion can’t catch a football, hit a baseball, and carry the Bible with two hands. He’s going to have to choose one or the other.”

Good
, I think.
He’s talking about football. Maybe he’ll click on the television
. I laugh at his statement about Deion. “Yeah,” I respond. “He’s a jack-of-all-trades.”

“And you know Michael Irvin isn’t going to be worth a rat’s tail.”

“You think?”

“Shoot yeah, I think!” Mr. Jenkins leans over the recliner and grabs the remote. I lean back onto the couch, ready for some football. He’s still talking, but I can tell he’s going to click on the game. “I think Michael Irvin is on that stuff. You can’t make me believe otherwise. O. J. Simpson, Rodney King, and Bobby Brown too! They all on something that got ’em acting like heathens.”

Mr. Jenkins presses the remote button and I can immediately hear the sportscasters talking. The screen is clearing in, and I can see the camera panning across the field as the teams break their huddle and get ready to play. It’s the third quarter and Denver is up by fourteen points. Just as the players line up for the hike of the ball, Joyce walks into the den.

“Ruford, turn that television off, it’s time to eat.”

Mr. Jenkins hits the power button on the remote and the big screen goes silent. I slump on the couch. He looked over at me and smiles. “That’s why I didn’t turn it on in the first place.”

I return the smile, hip to his words.

“She can’t stand for me to watch football when she’s here. Normally on Sundays she’s at a meeting, church, or some sorority function.”

“Thank God Adrian likes the sport,” I say. “Maybe we should cook next time and invite you and the missus over.”

“Now you talking. Adrian used to watch football with me when she was little. She’s always been a tomboy. Nothing like her sisters Angel and Alanya.”

We both get up and head to the dining room. Adrian comes from the back and helps her mother set the table. The table is laid out with four place settings. A small bowl of salad sits next to each plate. A steaming bowl of vermicelli noodles is placed in the middle of the table with a covered pot next to it. Adrian brings in some homemade meatballs. They look good enough to be finger food. My stomach growls and I’m thankful the food is ready. Mr. Jenkins blesses the table and we all sit and begin dinner. I notice Adrian isn’t saying much, but she doesn’t appear disturbed by her own solemn mood.

“Adrian told me you two decided on not getting married in a church,” Mrs. Jenkins says. She is spreading her homemade sauce
from the covered pot onto her noodles. I look over at Adrian. She’s not looking my way.

“Yes ma’am. We want to be married outside.”

“Adrian never was much of a church girl,” Joyce responds. “But she knows I want her to have a church wedding and that’s why she’s being difficult.”

Adrian looks at her mother and cuts her eyes. Mrs. Jenkins never glances Adrian’s way.

“Angel and Alanya would go all the time, but not Adrian. She would kick and scream, so I would leave her here with Ruford. She was a daddy’s girl straight from the womb.”

“Joyce, stop meddling. Gregory don’t want to hear all that. You liable to run the boy off. You make Adrian sound like the child in
The Exorcist
and you tell the same story every time the boy is over here.”

“It’s okay.” I smile. “I think every family has certain issues that make it unique.”

Adrian is eating quietly. I look over at her and wink. She winks back with a shy smile. She is the exact image of her father: thick, dark hair, soft eyes, and the same skin tone. But when she smiles she reminds me of her mother. She’s smiling now, but Joyce is not. She has the look on her face that mothers give when they choose to be quiet for the sake of peace, but really don’t want to. Sometimes I envy my fiancée for having a mother who is concerned about her. But I know I don’t need my mother and there is nothing Louise can tell me to make me change my mind. I think I’ll call her tonight and tell her about the wedding just to prove to her that I was able to find me a woman who is going to stay with me and not walk out on me, like she did to Pops. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

After dinner, Adrian and I stay long enough to catch the end of the game. The Cowboys lose by a touchdown. Mr. Jenkins is probably right. Emmitt isn’t playing with the same spunk he had in ’91 and ’92, when they won back-to-back Super Bowls. When we get ready to leave, Adrian takes my hand and squeezes it gently. Her parents bid us farewell and we head to Adrian’s.

“Are you staying the night?” she asks.

“No, I have to make a phone call and get some things straightened out about the wedding.”

“Like what?” Adrian is looking at me. I am happy that she is concerned, but I really don’t want to talk to her about my mother.

“I just need to call some family members and make sure their addresses are correct.”

She leans over and touches my face. She plants a kiss on my lips. “Call me if you need me,” she whispers.

“I will.”

She gets out of the car. Adrian is understanding, warm, sweet, and caring. Everything I want in a woman. I watch her walk to her apartment and disappear inside. I drive off and head home, ready to face one of the biggest monsters of my life: talking to my mother.

It’s only six
P.M
. when I get home. That means it’s around midnight in France. I figure my mother is probably just getting in or getting ready to go out. I grab my phone book from my briefcase and look up the number. Someone picks up on the first ring.

“Bonjour?” The voice is that of a man. I can tell he isn’t French by the way he fucks up the word. It sounds more like “bunshure.” There are several voices in the background, people laughing and music playing.

“Yes, is Louise Alston available?”

“Sure, un moment.” The watered-down Frenchman puts the phone aside and I can hear the voices more clearly. I can hear a song in the background. They’re playing Sarah Vaughan. The song is unfamiliar. I’ve never heard it before, which is strange because I have all of her recordings, everything she ever recorded all the way up until her last song on the Quincy Jones
Back on the Block
CD. My stomach has butterflies and I swallow hard to get rid of them. I realize the voice singing in the background is not Sarah’s but my mother’s. The phone falls silent and I can hear another line being picked up in a quieter area.

“Yes?” the raspy voice asks. It’s her. A voice I haven’t heard in years. I can’t say anything. Her voice is familiar, as if it were yesterday that she told me she loved me.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

“Hi … It’s me … Greg.”

She chuckles a little. “Gregory Louis Alston! How are you doing, son? Baby, it’s so good to hear from you!”

She’s faking it
, I’m thinking.

“How are you, and how is everything going back in Texas?”

“It’s fine and I’m fine.” All of a sudden I feel urgent for some water. My throat is dry and it’s hard for me to swallow.

“Is everything okay? Is Nina okay?”

“Yes, Shreese is fine. We’re all doing fine.”
Without you!

“I was entertaining some guests, that’s what all the noise is, but it’s so good to hear your voice, Gregory. It is warming my heart.”

I can hear her sniffling. I can feel myself struggling trying to stay mad at her, but I can’t. I haven’t talked to her in so long, it feels good to just hear her voice. Her beautiful raspy voice.

“Where’s your father? Did he make you call me?”

I smirk at the thought that she’s right and doesn’t even know it. “He’s home and yes, he talked to me about giving you a call.”

“So, what’s going on with you? I have all night to talk to my only son.”

She still has a way of making me feel special but I’m keeping my guard up.

“I’m getting married in March.”

“MARRIED??!! Who are you marrying, and when is all this supposed to happen?”

“Her name is Adrian Jenkins and we’re getting married next spring.”

Louise sits quietly on the phone. I don’t know if she has put it down or not. I clear my throat to break the silence. After a few seconds she speaks to me. “When, Gregory Louis? What month did you say again?”

“March.”

“Then I will be in Dallas at the end of the month and stay until the wedding.”

“I’m not asking you to come here.”

“Gregory, I know that, but I am still your mother. I don’t know
this girl, and I don’t want to be a stranger to her, regardless of what you may have told her about our relationship.”

“I’ve never told Adrian anything about you not being around.”

“Exactly. You haven’t spoken to me since you were eight, so I’m willing to bet you haven’t told her anything at all. You think just because I move to France and don’t see you for several years, I am no longer a part of your life? I know you don’t want me there, that’s no big secret, and I’ve always tried to respect what you wanted.”

I sit in silence for a moment. I don’t know what to say to this question. I do feel that way, and I don’t need her here. “I’m just calling to let you know I’m getting married. Don’t think this is a sign of me going out of my way to have you come here.”

“I’m not asking you to go out of your way. I’m coming to Dallas because I want to see my family as well as attend your wedding. I want to be there to share it with you and make sure all hell doesn’t break loose.” She laughs at her comment. But I’m not laughing with her.

“Just understand that I’m not asking you to come,” I repeat. I feel like I’m eight again.

“That’s understood, but I’m still looking forward to it. Besides, I haven’t seen your father or Nina, aside from the few photos I have, which are old, and this will give us all a chance to be together.”

If she’s thinking we’re going to be one big happy family again, she is dead wrong
, I’m thinking.
So much has changed since she left, and I can’t even tell her. How can she be so calm and sure about her visit here? Why would she want to come home to a man who’s dead on the inside, a daughter who has gotten lost in the cracks of religion, and a son who just doesn’t want her here? What can she possibly bring to a table that has nothing on it she can complement?

“Don’t forget to make your hotel arrangements.” I say. My voice is dry and I can feel it about to crack.

“Hotel arrangements? Child no, I’m staying at my house. Your father could use the company and I have some things to do there anyway.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why? Is he seeing someone?”

“No, but …”

“Well then … it’s settled.” She laughs again. “Tell Nina that I will be home and she should get ready, because we’re going to have a good time together, just mother and daughter. I’ll see you then, Gregory.”

I want to tell her she can’t just come here like she won the lottery and make all of our lives better. I want to tell her that our levels of sanity can’t tolerate her staying at the same house she left, and that we can’t take any more of the hurt she’s caused. Especially with my father. He’s been hurt enough by her absence! I fall back onto my bed. “Bye.” That’s all I can form my lips to say. I can’t even tell her off the way she should be told. The way she deserves to be told off after all this time.

She hangs up.

I hold on to the receiver, wondering if calling her was a good idea after all. I’m hoping she doesn’t come down here and make my life more complicated. I head for the shower and prepare for my next day at work, but all I can think about is my mother’s upcoming visit. I don’t know how I’m going to keep myself busy until then. I guess work and the wedding are the best answer.

T
he atmosphere at the office is festive. We got the Dillinger account this morning! They sent a rep over to sign the contract. I decided to have lunch catered in Data Tech’s main meeting office, which seats up to twenty-five people comfortably. Someone brought a CD player and put on some new music by a brother named Rahsaan Patterson. I dig his music and I feel like getting my groove on. The Dillinger account will allow me to sit pretty the rest of the year and then some. I actually don’t have to work hard on any more accounts until January. That’s good, because the wedding is going to take up a lot of time as the new year comes.

LaShawn and the other Group Three members are all packed together in a small group in the meeting room. They’re talking and celebrating by tapping together paper cups full of Pepsi.

LaShawn is at the center of the circle. She has on an olive-green two-piece pants suit that looks good against her shiny black skin. LaShawn wears her hair natural, close to her head, and her petite face sets it off just right. She reminds me of those young sisters you
would see in
Essence
,
Seventeen
, or
Braids & Beauty
. Tim is standing near her. Scary, but they look damn good standing together. I wonder if Tim is interested in being a stepfather? I can see them happily living together in a small home with LaShawn’s daughter, Aija. And they would have African and African American art all over the place. LaShawn’s little girl would even have an all-black doll collection. My thoughts of Tim and LaShawn are interrupted by a tap on my back.