I knew that things couldn’t get any worse when I still had to get drunk before I could talk to Mama. It didn’t matter if it was over the telephone or face-to-face.
I’d gulped down a few sips of rum before I left my apartment, but I had to whip out the bottle I carried in my purse and do a few more shots during the difficult ride in the cab to Mama’s.
My head was swimming, and I was dizzy, but I noticed the cabdriver glancing at me through his rearview mirror. He had seen my bottle, staring at it like he wanted a dose, too. He must have thought I was really smashed because he drove several blocks out of the way, humming as he shifted his glance from me to the meter. Normally, I would have said something and held back the tip, but this time it didn’t matter. I was glad that the ride was taking almost twice as long as it should have. Even after the cab stopped in front of Mama’s building, I had to take a couple more sips from my bottle, spilling more on my lap than I did in my mouth.
“Ma’am, do you need help?” the Middle Eastern cabdriver asked in perfect English, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Huh? No, I’m all right.” I paid the huge fare and the huge tip and staggered out onto the sidewalk, almost falling on my face.
I stood in the same spot for several minutes, swaying like a lone tree in a strong wind as I looked around the neat, quiet neighborhood. My heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute. I glared at the beige stucco high-rise building Mama lived in, with its sliding glass doors and a lawn that looked like a bright green tablecloth. It was a long way from the red-shingled house we’d lived in back in Georgia. And much nicer and more modern than the dump we’d lived in back in Detroit. I reminded myself, with a groan that I felt all the way down to my feet, it was more expensive than Georgia and Detroit put together.
The stout, middle-aged Hispanic man operating the elevator looked at me like I’d stolen something as I staggered in. He frowned at the wet spot on the lap of my jeans where I’d spilled rum on myself in the cab. The way he was rubbing his nose, my guess was that he probably thought I was so drunk I’d pissed on myself.
The elevator stopped on the second floor. Mama’s nosy, chatty friend Clara wobbled in, holding a covered Tupperware bowl. “Rosalee, is that you?”
“Yes, Miss Clara,” I managed, leaning against the wall to keep from falling.
“You look like you’ve been run over by a bus,” Clara noticed. “Star is always printing stories about all the drugs models use.”
“I don’t use drugs, Miss Clara,” I snapped.
“I hope not. You’ve already started to lose your looks.”
“We can’t all be as fortunate as you,” I responded dryly, praying that this rude busybody had a different destination than mine. Clara seemed to spend more time in Mama’s apartment than she did her own, which was one of the reasons I didn’t like to visit. “Uh, where you off to this mornin’?”
“Oh, Mr. Baker in the penthouse had a slight stroke the other week,” she told me, blinking hard. “The hospital released him this morning. I’m surprised that those greedy quacks at the hospital didn’t keep him longer so they could squeeze more money out of him.”
“I know what you mean, Miss Clara,” I mumbled. “And that’s a cryin’ shame.”
Clara nodded so hard her stiff blue wig slid to the side. “Uh-huh. And it’s an even bigger shame that his children are too busy to come and see about him.” Clara paused and adjusted her wig. Then she tied the frayed belt to the pink-and-blue plaid bathrobe she practically lived in. “I hope I live long enough to see just how busy they’ll all be when they find out I convinced Mr. Baker to change his will. All five of those useless brats will get a dollar apiece,” Clara said, cackling. She sniffed and gave me a narrow gaze with eyes that looked like they belonged on a snake. “They are not half as thoughtful as you. You’re a good daughter.”
“Thank you, Miss Clara.”
I trotted out of the elevator as soon as it opened, surprised to find the door to Mama’s apartment unlocked.
“Mama, you should keep this place locked at all times,” I scolded, marching across the living room floor.
Mama was stretched out on the couch, her eyes glued to a show she had recorded a few days before. Without looking up, she roared, “Rosalee, don’t slam the door so hard. I can’t hear my program as it is.” Mama was as all decked out in a neatly pressed blue cotton dress with a fake rose pinned to the lapel. Her hair was neat, but her face was covered with too much powder and rouge. Shiny red lipstick was smeared across her lips and on her false teeth. She clutched a huge glass of lemonade in one hand and a wad of napkins in the other. She looked like one of the serene old sisters they featured on the covers of hymnbooks and church fans.
I marched over and clicked off the television. “Mama, we need to talk,” I said, standing in the middle of the floor with my arms folded, my shoulder bag dangling. I hadn’t tightened the cap on my bottle so more rum spilled out, soiling Mama’s thick beige carpet.
She gasped in horror and sat bolt upright on the couch. “Girl, what’s wrong with you? Look at how you messin’ up that floor!”
“Mama, we gotta get out of this place,” I said quickly, bracing myself for her outburst.
“What in the world are you babblin’ about this time? Get out of what place? Go where?” she asked, setting her glass on the coffee table.
I took a deep breath and continued. “We can’t stay out here in California any longer. I’m goin’ crazy. We’re goin’ back home.”
From the look of pain on Mama’s face, I thought she was having a stroke, too, like poor old Mr. Baker in the penthouse. “What you mean, we leavin’ California?” she asked in a weak voice, swinging her legs off the couch, smoothing the tail of her dress. “This is home now, and I ain’t gwine no place,” she protested, her eyes on my face. “You—you brung your long tail up in here, interruptin’ my Bernie Mac Show tape to talk some crazy mess like that? Girl, have you lost what’s left of your mind? Turn that television back on and get out my way, gal!” she said, motioning with her hand for me to move.
“Mama, I don’t want to stay out here anymore. We’ve been out here long enough. Too long, if you ask me. I want to go back to Detroit. Now if you want to stay out here, you can stay, but I’m goin’ back to Detroit,” I told her, refusing to leave my spot.
“And do what? You want to give up modelin’ to go back to workin’ in that dollar store?”
“I don’t care what I have to do when I get back there. I am leavin’ this place.” I didn’t realize my hands were trembling until my purse started to slap against my side.
“I don’t understand you no more, girl.” Mama paused and stretched her eyes open as wide as she could. “You done got fired, ain’t you? I knowed it! Clara said you was puttin’ on too much weight to keep modelin’—”
“No, I didn’t get fired. Uh, but I can’t keep modelin’ too much longer anyway. I’m not gettin’ any younger, and the modeling agencies are always lookin’ to hire younger girls. You tell me that yourself all the time.” I had weaved so many elaborate lies about my bogus career, that I almost believed the shit myself. “And, Clara’s right. I have put on weight,” I said, letting out my breath so my stomach would stick out more. “I can’t get jobs as easy as I used to…”
“And because you losin’ your shape, you wanna uproot me and drag me back to all that mess we left behind?” Now Mama was dabbing at her eyes and nose with the napkins. Her tears made her lips shine even more.
“It’s not just that, Mama. I’m sick of this place, and the sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“I see. Well,” Mama paused and coughed, rubbing her chest to make it look good. “Well, I guess it don’t matter ’cause I ain’t gwine to be around much longer nohow. I’d just as soon die in Detroit as anywhere else.” Mama coughed some more and started rubbing her chest even harder.
“Would you rather go back to Georgia? I can get in touch with Cousin Anna in Fayette. You can stay with her if you want to,” I offered meekly.
Mama gasped again. Her cheeks, usually round and firm, looked like they had suddenly deflated. “And what would I do back there? Sit around on Anna’s front porch and swat flies and drink pot liquor outta mason jars? And what about you? What would you do back there? Get a job on the railroad? Pick peaches? Ain’t no decent work back there. Especially for a highfalutin supermodel like you.”
“Mama, this city is too expensive, and it’s gettin’ harder and harder for me to pay rent on two apartments.” I looked around at all of the expensive items I’d bought for Mama. A new DVD player was in a corner, still in the box. My stomach churned when I thought about how many thousands of dollars I’d spent trying to keep her happy. But I felt good knowing that I’d done more for my mother than most of the children of the other elderly residents in the complex had done for their parents. I darted around the room, clicking off lights. “And your utility bill out here is three times what it was back in Georgia,” I reminded.
“Well, you was the one who wanted to have a separate place of your own. I don’t know why you thought you couldn’t live with me and model them clothes, too.”
“Look, Mama. I’m tired and I need to get myself together so I can start makin’ plans. I’ve said what I came over here to say and that’s that. I’m goin’ back to Detroit.”
Mama sniffed and wiped her tear-stained face again. “I never thought you’d do me like this, Rosalee. After all I’ve been through. I done lost everything I loved, but you. First your daddy, then both your sisters and your brothers. Aaarrrgggh!”
“Mama, stop all that bawlin’! Don’t start that shit about Miss Pearl’s curse bein’ responsible,” I hollered, waving my arms, wishing I had another way out of this mess. I cursed myself for getting us in it in the first place. “What happened to our family was goin’ to happen anyway. I knew it then, I know it now.”
Mama stopped crying and gave me a stern, surprised look. “Well, Miss Supermodel, if you thought Miss Pearl’s curse was nothin’ but a bunch of hogwash, why you bring me out here in the first place?”
“Because I love you, Mama. I felt I had to do all I could to make you happy. I promised you I would.” It took all of my strength for me to keep from screaming my lungs out. For some strange reason, I could barely feel the buzz that had been so potent when I walked in the door. Without giving it much thought, I rooted through my purse, fished out my bottle and drained it, letting out a loud burp.
Mama shook her head, waving her napkin at my bottle. “Is that what’s this is all about?”
“What?” I slurred, swaying so hard, I had to sit down on the arm of the couch.
“You drunk, that’s what.” Mama stood, her hands on her hips, rubbing her face with her napkins. “I’m gwine to brew a strong pot of coffee, and then I want you to stretch out on this couch and pull yourself together.”
I grabbed Mama’s arm. “I don’t need no coffee, and I am not drunk. My mind is made up.”
Mama stared at me with her mouth hanging open. “What you bring me way out here to California for, Rosalee?”
“I wanted you to be happy,” I said meekly, sliding my empty bottle back into my purse. “I’ve told you that a dozen times. Well, now it’s time for me to think about my own happiness for a change.”
“But you don’t want to see me happy now?”
“Don’t twist my words. Look, I’m tired and I’m goin’ back to my apartment to start packin’. If you don’t want to go with me, fine. You stay here. But my mind is made up.” My neck ached as I looked around the room. “What we can’t sell, we can give to Clara and anybody else who wants it.” I sucked in my breath and gave Mama a hard look. “I’ve already had the Goodwill truck pick up some of my stuff.”
“Girl, you just like your daddy’s side of the family. Selfish and foolish. If your uncle hadn’t took up with a jezebel like Pearl in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Mama, Miss Pearl had no more supernatural powers than I do.”
Mama’s mouth dropped open again. “Is that right? Well, I noticed you didn’t say that when you had that problem with Annie Mae’s ghost and needed Pearl to straighten that out.”
“I was a child, Mama. I didn’t know any better. Maybe it was just my imagination. I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said, recalling the many times that the ghost I didn’t believe in visited me and tugged on my hair. “Now like I said, you can come with me, or you can stay out here. My mind is made up.”
Mama was crying like a baby by the time I left her apartment, but I didn’t care. I mean I did care, but it had gone beyond that. I was losing my grip on reality. If I couldn’t save myself, I couldn’t save Mama. I felt like I was sliding deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit, and I didn’t want to drag Mama along with me. Selling my body had taken its toll on me. The easy money didn’t cut it anymore. I was so sick of looking at naked bodies, I could barely stand to look at my own anymore. Now when men looked at me in public, it almost made me throw up. I had even started to have dreams where naked White men were chasing me across the Golden Gate Bridge, their dicks flapping like wings. Hovering above the naked men was a black angel: Clyde.
I cried all the way back to my apartment, trying to sort out my thoughts and sober up. No, I never really believed in Miss Pearl’s curse on my family. But Mama did. I kept telling myself that, because I felt that I had to keep it fresh on my mind. I’d left my husband to run away with Mama because I felt I had to. I had wanted to make my mother’s last years happy ones. I’d done that until tonight. But I was tired now.
I had been avoiding Clyde, Lula, Rockelle, and Ester for days. But when the telephone rang a few hours after I got home, I was glad to hear from Lula.
“Rosalee, where have you been, girl?” Lula’s voice sounded like an echo.
I took my time answering. My chest and jaw muscles were still tight from my run-in with Mama. “Lula, I had some things I had to sort out,” I said, the telephone in one hand, a straight shot of tequila in the other. My head was aching, my eyes were burning, and my stomach felt like it had been turned inside out. “It’s a family thing with my mama. The woman’s out of control,” I explained, hoping Lula wouldn’t press me for the details. There were certain things I liked to keep to myself. “You know how it is.”
Lula let out a heavy sigh. “No, I don’t, but I wish I did. My mama didn’t live long enough for us to lock horns the way you and your mama do.”
I forced myself to ignore the sad tone in Lula’s voice. “Well, old people can get on the last nerve, girl. And, with Clyde and the tricks, I got enough to deal with.”
“Well, I’m feelin’ you there, sister. I got things I need to sort out myself.”
“So, has Clyde been keepin’ you busy?” I could have answered that question myself, but I just threw it out there because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. And the last thing I wanted to do was let too much information slip out about what I was planning to do. I was still just drunk enough to do that, if I wasn’t careful.
“Uh-huh. Like a goddamn plantation overseer. With you doin’ whatever it is you’ve been doin’, me and Ester have been coverin’ your tricks.” I didn’t like the smug tone in Lula’s voice. I could tolerate Ester and Rockelle talking trash to me, but not Lula. She was as close as I could get to having a homegirl. Or another sister to replace the two I’d buried.
There was a long moment of silence before I said anything else. “How’s Rocky?”
“Oh, girl, you don’t want to know.” Lula sniffed then told me about Rockelle’s retarded babysitter turning a few tricks of her own. “Clyde’s mad as hell about Rocky runnin’ her own game, advertisin’ for tricks in The Spectator. Helen spilled the beans as soon as Clyde rescued her from that hotel.”
“Well, we both know what’s on Clyde’s agenda. It’s all about us gettin’ laid and him gettin’ paid,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, but the brother surprised the shit out of me when he busted into that hotel room and dragged that retarded girl out of there and took her home to her folks. But not before he beat the shit out of that trick. I wanted to get violent myself. What kind of man would take advantage of a retarded child? It pissed Clyde off real bad. With him havin’ a daughter just as helpless as Helen, naturally he took the shit real hard.” Lula stopped just long enough to take a deep breath. “So, why you been keepin’ such a low profile? And don’t tell me it’s just your mama. I know you better than you think, girl.”
For Lula to be just a few years older than me, she had a lot of motherly ways about her. Even though she certainly didn’t look like a mammy, she sure acted like one. And she had Clyde’s nose opened so wide, it wouldn’t have done me any good to challenge her authority.
“I’m just tired, Lula. That’s all. I just needed a break.” The last thing I wanted to do was tell Lula more than she needed to know so she could blab. She carried a lot more weight with Clyde than I did. And it was no wonder. She and Ester were the only ones he was fucking and the ones with whom he spent the most time. That meant I couldn’t trust Lula with information I didn’t want Clyde to know. Especially with him acting so strange lately. Clyde had never been violent or that mean to me, but he had come to depend on the money I gave him. “Can I talk to you tomorrow? I want to get some sleep now.”
“I feel you. Ester’s in her room cryin’ so I better go see about her. Sherrie Armstrong’s funeral wore her out, and then she had to go do Mr. Bob two nights in a row. I think once we all get some rest, we’ll feel better. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
No you won’t, I said to myself. Not tomorrow or any other day.
I had to have another drink before I did what I had to do before I crawled into bed. I called my husband in Detroit. I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed when a woman answered the telephone.
I cleared my throat and clutched the telephone with both hands to keep from dropping it. “Can I speak to Sammy?”
“Who is this callin’ here this time of night?” the woman asked, growling. I knew that my husband didn’t tolerate homely, hard women, but this one sounded like a straight-up, juke joint–hopping wench. I pictured an out-of-shape cow with buck eyes, a ratty wig, and a cruel scar on her face.
“His wife!” I hollered. “His wife,” I repeated, just to make sure that heifer heard me right. I heard some muffled voices in the background, then after what seemed like five minutes, Sammy came on the line.
“This is Sammy,” he said, talking loud. “What can I do for you?”
Sammy sounded impatient and annoyed, and that made me even more nervous. I almost hung up.
“Sammy, this is Rosalee,” I mumbled.
“I know who it is. Shit.”
“Who was that woman?” I asked in a shaky, but firm voice. I’d come too far to back out. “Why is she answerin’ your phone?”
“What’s it to you?” Sammy barked, sounding even more impatient and annoyed.
“Sammy, can we talk?” I asked, my voice more level. “I need to talk to you, real bad.”
“Uh-huh. You been gone almost over two years. After all this time, what we got to talk about, Rosalee? You want to give me a address so I can send you them divorce papers?”
“Sammy, I don’t want a divorce. I want to come home.” I was surprised at how easy it was for me to get the right words out. I held my breath, waiting for him to respond, hoping he wouldn’t cuss me out and hang up on me. That’s what I would have done if the shoe had been on the other foot.
He laughed long and loud. “Well, do say. You run off and ain’t called me not one time to see how I was doin’, now you want to come home. Well, I done heard everything now!” he said in such a sharp tone, his words almost cut into my ear.
“You don’t want me to come back home?” I said, pouting. “You don’t want things to go back to the way they were?”
“It don’t matter what I want no more. You showed me what kind of woman you was by takin’ off the way you did. Now you out there in sunny California, I advise you to stay out there with whoever you with.”
“I am not with another man, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yeah, right. And Santa Claus ain’t got nothin’ to do with Christmas. You been gone all this time, and I’m supposed to believe you ain’t been fuckin’ no other man?”
“Well, I haven’t,” I said, crossing my fingers. “You are the only man I ever loved and I-I want to be with you, Sammy Pittman.”
Sammy let out an eerie laugh. It sounded like a screech.
“Sister Pittman, you gonna have to come up with a better reason than that.” He cleared his throat. “What kind of fool you think I am?”
We didn’t speak for a minute.
“You got somebody else? Is the hussy who answered your phone your woman now?” My voice was getting weaker by the second, and I was about to lose my nerve and hang up after all. But I couldn’t. There was too much at stake.
“What do you think? And what do you care? I’m still a man, and I’m gonna do what a man do.”
“All right. Don’t take me back into your life as your woman. But take me back as a friend. You and I were friends before we were lovers, all through school. We can be just friends again. I’m comin’ back to Detroit. Me and Mama.”
“Rosalee, you got more nerve than a crooked politician. Hold on, let me get my cigarette.”
I breathed through my mouth while I waited for my husband to come back to the telephone. I heard more mumbling in the background. My heart almost broke clean in two when I heard him laugh before he got back on the line.
“Girl, you somethin’ else,” Sammy said harshly. He paused again to laugh some more. I was getting impatient and annoyed myself, but like I said, I had too much at stake. I sat on the side of my unmade bed, clutching the telephone like it was going to jump out of my hand. “Rosalee, I didn’t know if you was dead or alive. Shackin’ up with another dude or what. Well, I didn’t let that stop me from livin’. Now if you comin’ back to Detroit, fine. That’s your business. I know damn well you didn’t expect me to welcome you back with open arms after the way you took off. Shit.”
“We can’t even be friends? You won’t help us out ’til I get a job when I get back there?” I asked, my voice bleating like a wounded lamb.
“Look, this is a bad time to be talkin’. And anyway, I got company.”
“Do you still love me, Sammy?”
“That don’t make no difference. And, yes, I do…but, you tripped out on me. I wasn’t expectin’ to hear from you no more.”
“Sammy, I’m comin’ back to Detroit. If you don’t want to be bothered with me, fine. I won’t bother you once I get there.”
“Bye, Rosalee. Whatever you do, I wish you all the luck in the world. You gonna need it. And, one more thing, I hope you be a better woman to the next man you get.” Sammy slammed the telephone down so hard, something popped inside my ear.
I sat staring at my bedroom wall for about ten minutes before I was able to move again.
While I was packing, the telephone rang. Assuming it was Clyde or one of the girls, or worse, Mama, I let the machine pick up. I was surprised, but happy, to hear Sammy’s voice again.
“Sammy?” I said, out of breath as I clicked off the machine and picked up the telephone. “Sammy, baby, I’m here!” I yelled, sitting down on my bed so hard my tailbone ached.
“Why you soundin’ so surprised? I thought you’d be glad to hear from me.”
“I didn’t give you my phone number.”
“Star sixty-nine.”
“Oh.”
“Uh, I couldn’t talk too easy when you called. Clarice, uh, my lady friend, was here.”
“I see. So, uh, y’all seriously involved?”
“Involved, yes. Seriously, no. At least, not yet,” he admitted. Sammy’s words felt so much like bites, my ears tingled. But I couldn’t blame the man for gnashing his teeth. “I ain’t too anxious to get off into another relationship. Especially after what you done…” Sammy cleared his throat. “Listen, if you serious about comin’ back to Detroit, I can find a place for y’all. But, you can’t stay at my place. My life is already complicated enough.”
“Sammy, I don’t want to make things any harder on you. And I can understand if you don’t want me back. But I hope we can still be friends. You are the best friend I ever had, male or female.” I was begging, but under the circumstances, I wasn’t too proud to do it. And, it was a small price to pay if it got me what I wanted. “If you do find me and Mama a place, I’ll pay you back when I get a job.” I had a few thousand dollars of my trick money, but I wanted to hold on to as much of that for as long as I could.
Sammy sucked his teeth and grunted. “Aw, girl, you ain’t got to pay me back nothin’. When, and if, you come back here, you go your way and I’ll go mine. I can’t be bothered with your drama no more. If I was to let you back up in my life, next thing I know, you’ll take off again. I can’t deal with no more crazy shit like that, Rosalee. I’m a man, not no Incredible Hunk or some no-brain robot.”
“And you won’t have to deal with no more drama from me. I just need you to help me and Mama get situated. As a friend.”
Sammy blew out his breath, sighing so hard he had to cough. “I swear to God, you somethin’ else, girl. I am scared of you. I didn’t appreciate what you done to me, and I ain’t never gonna let you forget it. Everybody always talkin’ that shit about how doggish Black men are, well I’m a good brother and look what it got me. I done my best to make you happy, girl. I left my job, home, and family back in Georgia to run off to Detroit with you. Not many men, Black, White, yellow, or brown would do that for a woman. You didn’t have to up and leave like you done. That shit…that shit hurt me to my heart. You can’t expect to come back to me like you been on a vacation or somethin’. You left me, and I should have got a divorce from your black ass by now anyway.”
Sammy had every reason in the world to scold me. And I took it like the woman I thought I was.
“I was wrong, Sammy. I know I was wrong now. I love my mama, but I should have drawn the line when she asked me to leave Detroit and move out here to take care of her.”
“Naw, you should have drawn the line way before that.”
“I know, I know. Listen, you can still get a divorce, Sammy. I’ll be more than happy to sign the papers or do whatever else I have to.”
“There ain’t never been no divorce in my family. That’s the last thing I wanna do,” Sammy said gently. The sincerity in his voice surprised me.
“But you brought it up first, not me,” I reminded.
Sammy mumbled something I couldn’t understand. “What did you say?” I asked, my heart thumping so hard against the inside of my chest, I could hear it.
“When you comin’?” he asked.
“Just as soon as I can. Tomorrow if I can get us a flight.”
“Your mama want to do this thing too?”
“Not really. But I told her she can come with me, or she can stay out here.”
“My mama didn’t want me to marry you, you know. She wanted me to marry one of them sanctified Wheeler girls.”
“That’s your mama’s business. She didn’t have to live with me. And you can let her know that you can still marry one of the Wheeler girls. I won’t stand in your way.”
“Shit. This is a hell of a way for us to get back together. And, by the way, just what you been doin’ out there? California is a tough nut to crack if you ain’t got no college education.”
“Huh? Oh, just workin’ hard like everybody else. I had a few jobs…secretary, waitress. But it’s so expensive to live out here. San Francisco makes Detroit seem like a hick town.” I forced myself to laugh. “I guess they want everybody to help with the upkeep on that Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Ain’t that the one all them folks be jumpin’ off of?”
“Uh-huh. A person can get real depressed out here,” I said, sadly recalling a newspaper report about a man leaping to his death off that famous bridge a week ago.
“Well, at least I ain’t got to worry about you doin’ nothin’ that desperate. Do I?”
“I would never do somethin’ like that,” I said stiffly. “I got too much to live for.” Mama’s face flashed across my mind. I knew that as soon as we got back to Detroit, she would brag all over town about me being a model. So I had to lay the groundwork for that. “Uh, I did some modelin’, too.”
“No shit? You kiddin’.”
“No shit,” I said stiffly, wondering how many other women had told the same lie.
“Well, you sure got what it takes. I doubt if you can do much of that back here.”
“Oh, I’m through with that. I want to find somethin’ more stable. Modelin’ is a short-term career.”
“They hirin’ at Ford Motors,” Sammy announced. “It ain’t as much fun or glamorous as modelin’, but Ford pays a pretty penny, too. I just got on the payroll last month.”
My heart was finally beating the way it was supposed to. My lips had even curled into a smile. “That’s good to know. I’ll put in an application as soon as I get there.”
“Rosalee.” Sammy stopped and I waited a long time before I said anything else.
“Yes, Sammy. I’m listenin’,” I said, using the same seductive voice I used with my tricks.
“You take care of yourself, Rosalee. I-I’ll see you when you get here.”
After Sammy and I hung up, my telephone started ringing off the hook. Clyde left two frantic messages, Ester left two, Lula left three, Mama left three. Rockelle even called and left one. But I ignored them all.
I turned off my answering machine; turned off the phone; took a long, hot bath; and slid into my nightgown. For the first time in weeks, I slept like a baby.