the sofa. Charlotte sat on the floor in front of me, clamped between my thighs as I braided her long, thick black hair. My daughter was so tender-headed she had to be restrained when it came time to get her hair combed and braided. The more she whimpered and fidgeted around, the tighter I clamped my knees. “Girl, if you’ll sit still, I’ll be done with you in a few more minutes.” I gave her a gentle slap on the side of her head.
“I wanted a ponytail,” she pouted. “Jade gave me all those ribbons and things, and I can’t wear them with no braids!”
I ignored Charlotte and gave Pee Wee one of my most pleading looks. “They are just going to be here for a couple of hours. And it’s too late for me to cancel.”
“Shoot! I’ll cook up somethin’ in the oven, but I ain’t standin’ out there in all that hot sun no more today,” Pee Wee told me. “I did enough of that over in Erie. I want to get some rest now.”
I finished Charlotte’s last braid and tapped the side of her head, indicating that I was done. She leaped up and like a bullet she shot across the floor toward the kitchen. I waited until I heard the back door slam.
“What happened while I was gone?” Pee Wee asked, joining me on the sofa.
He never stayed mad at me for long, especially when he was feeling frisky. He draped one arm around my shoulder while his hand slid up under my dress. After all these years, his touch still made my flesh tingle and my panties wet. I pushed his hand away. He leaned back and gave me an incredulous look. Pee Wee cupped his mouth with his hand to see if his breath was bad, which it wasn’t.
“All right,” he said, “tell me what’s wrong. You ain’t never done that before. As a matter of fact, every time I go off for a few days and come back, you be all over me in no time.” He reared back and studied my face. He gave me a quick peck on my neck before he spoke again. “Remember what I told you I wanted to do to you when I called yesterday?” he whispered, nibbling on my ear. I had completely forgotten about the phone sex that we had enjoyed the day before.
I didn’t like to brag, but I had a man that I wouldn’t trade for the world. Not only was he tall, well built, and fine, he was a great lover, even on the telephone. My only fear was that one day he would take a real good look at me, and see me the way so many other people saw me: fat, Black, and plain. I knew I spent way too much time entertaining negative thoughts about the way I looked, but that was one thing I couldn’t control. My confidence level had improved over the years and he had never done anything to arouse my suspicions, but that still didn’t stop me from thinking that my life would fall apart sooner or later.
Pee Wee had had a lot of women before he decided he was ready to marry. All of the women before me had been a lot more attractive, so I have always felt that I was on thin ice as far as being able to hold on to my man. Even though he had made it clear that the way I looked didn’t bother him, I felt very threatened when I thought about some of his former lovers. One woman in particular stood out in my mind like a knife: Betty Jean Spool. She’d been two years behind us in school, but that had not stopped her from fucking her way through half of the boys in our senior class. She was as fast as she was pretty, and age had not slowed her down or diminished her beauty. She was a cross between a man-eating shark and a snake in the grass. No man was safe around a woman like Betty Jean.
I couldn’t count the number of stories that I’d heard about Betty Jean chasing some other woman’s man—and catching him. I had some serious concerns now because I’d heard that she’d recently broken up with her husband and was on the prowl again. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering just how far she would go to get a man. Especially my man.
With Richland being such a one-horse town, we didn’t have that many bars. The Red Rose was the most popular bar and the one closest to my house. It was also the one that catered to a mostly Black crowd.
I spent a few nights a month drinking at the Red Rose with either Rhoda or Pee Wee. I didn’t care too much for the place, though, because it brought back some painful memories. Mr. Boatwright used to visit that bar on a regular basis. I couldn’t go there without thinking about him sitting at his favorite table, the one closest to the men’s room, with his peg leg propped up on a chair. Another major reason why I didn’t like the Red Rose that much was because Betty Jean Spool tended bar there three days a week, sometimes working a double shift, prancing around until closing time. When Rhoda wanted to go out for a drink, I always insisted that we go on one of the days or nights that Betty Jean had off. I had a hard time dealing with memories of Mr. Boatwright and her on the same night.
It was a different story with Pee Wee. He usually wanted to go on the nights that Betty Jean worked because that was when most of his buddies went. It surprised me to know that he didn’t see how uncomfortable that woman made me. She flirted with him right in front of me! But then again, she flirted with all of the men, so when I complained to Pee Wee, he brought that up.
“That’s just the way that woman is. She just do all that sashayin’ and grinnin’ so she can get bigger tips,” Pee Wee insisted.
I didn’t make too much of a deal out of it, because I didn’t want my husband to know just how insecure I really was.
I was happy that Pee Wee had returned from visiting his daddy’s grave in Pennsylvania. I was not happy that he had gone to the Red Rose for a drink right after I’d told him about the cookout I had planned for the evening. I was glad that I had invited company now. I knew that Pee Wee would want to climb on top of me when he returned from the bar, and with company at the house he would have to wait until we were alone.
“Well?”
He had just returned from the Red Rose, grabbing my tit-tie as soon as he closed the front door.
“Well, what?” I pushed him to the side and turned away from him, dusting off my coffee table with the tail of my muumuu. I had put on a fresh muumuu, but I still had on the same flip-flops that I had worn to Rhoda’s house the night before. I had washed my hair as soon as I got home, and pinned it on top of my head. It hid whatever bald spots I had. A wide black headband covered my expanding hairline.
“I asked you what happened while I was in Erie?”
“Nothing happened while you were in Erie,” I said quickly. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it, pinching his palm. “Uh, our company is going to be here in a couple of hours. If you’re going to fix up some ribs in the oven, you better get started.”
Rhoda, Jade, and Otis arrived two hours later. By that time I had showered and slipped into an even fresher muumuu, one with a more festive design, and the suede sandals that Jade had given to me for my birthday.
I was pleased that Pee Wee had fired up the grill in the backyard and cooked a couple of slabs of ribs. Not only that, while I was upstairs worrying myself to death over what had happened to me while he was gone, he had also prepared some baked beans, rolls, and coleslaw.
It felt so good to be among some of the people I loved. I hadn’t invited my parents or any of our other friends to join us. There hadn’t been enough time, for one thing, and with the way I was feeling, I was not in the mood to entertain too many people.
While Pee Wee and Otis tossed a dusty football back and forth in our spacious backyard, Rhoda, Jade, Charlotte, and I occupied the wooden picnic bench that Otis and Pee Wee had slapped together one afternoon a few years ago. I say “slapped together” because they had been drunk when they made it and it was so wobbly it rocked from side to side every time we sat down or got up from it.
Jade and Charlotte, each dressed in a bright yellow halter top and short shorts, skipped into the house to get more napkins and plates. As soon as the door slammed, Rhoda leaned across the table. “Did you tell Pee Wee about that shit and that telephone call you received?”
I shook my head. “No. Not yet. You know, I’ve been thinking about that. I really don’t know if I will. I’ll wait and see if that bitch calls again, or sends me anything else in the mail,” I muttered.
“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I guess I wouldn’t tell my man either, unless