Chapter 4 Crystal
Crystal
After I’d laughed until my sides hurt, Geneva and I decided to spend the rest of the warm afternoon at the park with Charlie.
We shared a bench and some conversation; two mother hens keeping a close eye on Charlie, who was darting here and there in a vigorous game of tag with three other children her age.
“So Little Eric’s still not working?” I began, broaching the subject that was at the top of Geneva’s list of complaints.
“Uh-huh,” she said, her eyes still peeled on Charlie.
“Well, what happened to the McDonald’s gig?”
Geneva momentarily let her eyes travel to mine. “What you think? The same thing that happened at Burger King, Popeyes, and Best Buy.”
“He walked out?” I was astonished.
“Yep.” Geneva’s response was clipped as she turned her attention back to her daughter.
“Did you talk to him about going back to college?” I probed.
“I talked, his father talked, my mother talked, you talked. We all talked until we were blue in the face, but he got his heart set on this music thing, and ain’t nothing gonna change his mind.”
“Damn,” I muttered, slumping against the hard wooden back of the bench.
“Well,” Geneva started, her tone a bit hard, “not everybody can hold double degrees and be a big-shot director.”
I bit back my response. Was I supposed to feel ashamed about having an education?
And with regard to my position as director of the Ain’t I A Woman Foundation, well, it wasn’t what it seemed to be.
I worked long hours and put up with a lot of corporate, old-boy, all-white, all-male, stuffed-shirt bullshit!
Sometimes I felt that Geneva was jealous of my accomplishments. She could have the same life I did, if only she’d apply herself and stop being so goddamn lazy. But I kept that thought to myself.
I just rolled my eyes and looked up at the sky.
“Charlie! Get your behind up off of that ground right now!” Geneva yelled.
Charlie shot her a wicked look and then slowly raised herself up off the ground.
“Well, how’s the band thing going anyway?” I asked.
“Girl, the Lord only knows. Eric be out until all hours of the night. Say he practicing, but I don’t know what he’s out there doing.”
“He’s got a girlfriend now, right?”
“Yes, who I have yet to meet,” Geneva snapped before she wriggled up her nose and the girl’s name spilled sloppily out of her mouth. “Juuuuuuuuuuuulie.”
“Oh, Geneva,” I laughed. “Why do you always say her name like that?”
“I don’t like her,” Geneva snapped again.
“How can you not like her? You’ve never even met her.”
“I don’t need to meet her. She’s probably just some gold-digging booty-shaker who’s going to trick Eric into getting her pregnant, and then his life will be ruined.”
My mouth dropped open. When did Geneva become so cynical?
“Now, Geneva, I think that Eric knows how to protect himself. And besides, that boy’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s focused on his dream and—”
“Crystal, please.” Geneva waved her hand at me. “Let’s not fool ourselves. Eric is nineteen years old; he’s focused on what other boys his age are focused on, and that’s pussy!”
I just shook my head. I knew it was true. I put my hands up in surrender.
We sat quietly for a while. I was lost in my thoughts when crackling sounds pulled me out of my reverie.
I looked over, and Geneva was shoving mounds of Wise potato chips into her mouth.
At five foot five and two-hundred-plus pounds, Geneva is hefty, but not obese, although I could see that obesity was going to be the next stop on her food train.
Geneva had tried almost every popular weight-loss system: Calorie Counters, Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Slim-Fast, and both the Atkins and South Beach diets, but her commitment time was short; the longest she’d ever stayed on any one program was thirty days.
Not that I didn’t think she was beautiful—she was—and could even be gorgeous if she’d wear a little mascara and lip gloss and maybe do something else with her hair other than wearing it in a snatch-back. But that has always been Geneva—Ms.Plain Jane.
“Hey, um, did you take your walk today?” I asked casually.
Geneva had promised that she would try to do at least a mile on Saturdays and Sundays.
“Humph,” she said as she shoved another handful of chips into her mouth. She chewed for a while and then hastily brushed away the crumbs from around her lips before saying, “How many blocks from the projects to the park?”
Puzzled, I answered, “Well, that’s four. Why?”
“Okay. How many blocks make a mile?”
“Ten, I think.” I wondered where she was going with this.
“Well, I walked from my apartment to the park and I’ll walk back, so that’s eight blocks, which means I would have done just under a mile.”
I rolled my eyes in dismay.
Geneva looked deep into the chip bag and then held it up. Tilting her head back, she opened her mouth and poured the last few salty crumbs onto her tongue.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want some?” she asked, turning innocent eyes on me.
I shook my head.
Charlie rushed over to us, out of breath and giddy with excitement. A small blond-haired white girl trailed close behind.
“Mama, look. Dis is Mary. She my best friend.”
Both Geneva and I grinned.
“That’s nice, baby,” Geneva said, then looked into Mary’s pink face. “How you doing, Mary?”
Mary shrugged her shoulders and whispered, “Fine.”
“C’mon, Mary! C’mon!” Charlie screamed, and tore off across the park again.
“Damn, I wish I had their energy,” Geneva mused aloud as she dug into her backpack and pulled out a sixteen-ounce bottle of Pepsi and her pack of Newports.
“Now you’re not going to forget about lunch tomorrow, are you?”
Geneva gave me a strained look. “How can I forget when you keep reminding me every ten minutes?”
“Look, I just don’t want you backing out at the last minute,” I said with the most carefree attitude I could muster.
“What the hell did Karen do to you the last time she was here?” Geneva asked, giving me a wry look.
I just shivered at the memory, raised my hand, and whispered, “Don’t ask.”
Geneva started to press me, but I was saved by my ringing cell phone. I reached into the breast pocket of my denim jacket and pulled out the phone.
“Oh, it’s my mother,” I said as I looked at the number and then flipped the phone open. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, baby. Where are you?”
“In the park with Geneva and Charlie.”
“Oh, tell them I said hello.”
I wave at Geneva.
“Hey, Mama,” Geneva yells back.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“Well, baby, I’m calling to ask you a favor.”
That was something different; Peyton Atkins wasn’t one to ask for much of anything, especially a favor. She said when someone did you a favor they always wanted something in return.
“O-okay,” I said a little hesitantly.
“Neville is coming into town.”
“Really? When?” I asked, nudging Geneva as I mouthed, “Neville is coming.” Geneva couldn’t seem to read my lips and just gave me a confused look.
“Um, next week.”
“Oh, so what do you need me to do, meet him at the airport or something?”
“No. I…well…I kind of told his mother that he could stay with you.”
My mouth dropped wide open.
Neville had been a good friend of mine when we were growing up, but we hadn’t seen each other in years, and the only communication we’d had was a Christmas card here and there and maybe a postcard in between that.
But really and truly time had made us strangers, and I didn’t see how I would be able to have a strange man sleeping under my roof.
“You did what?”
“I know, baby. I didn’t mean to. It just kind of slipped out.”
“Well, I don’t know, Mom. You know we haven’t seen each other in years and—”
“I would let him stay here with me; I mean, he’s like the son I never had, but I’m going to Vegas with the club that week.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, if you really don’t want to do it, I’ll just call Beth Ann and tell her that Neville has to find someplace else to stay.”
“Well, why can’t he get a hotel?”
“Crystal, Neville isn’t financially blessed like you and me. He can’t afford it. He’s just scraping by on that island.”
The line went quiet, and I chewed my bottom lip, trying hard to make the best decision. “Well, how long would he need to stay?”
“Oh, just a few days is all. And you know Neville, quiet as a church mouse. He won’t be any trouble at all.”
“Well, okay, I guess a few days won’t hurt me,” I said, caving as usual.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, tell Ms.Beth Ann I said it was okay and I look forward to seeing Neville.”
“Oh, thank you, baby. I’ll call you later with the details.”
“Bye, Mom.”
The line went dead and I turned to Geneva.
“Who’s coming when?” she said.
“Neville.”
“Neville…Neville.” Geneva’s face lit up. “Well, I haven’t seen him in years!”
I nodded my head.
“And?”
“And he’s staying with me.”
“Really?” Geneva’s face twisted.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s just for a few days.”
“Are you cool with that?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, knowing full well that I wasn’t.
Geneva was opening her mouth to say something else when one of the little girls Charlie had been playing with began throwing a hissy fit after her mother had told her that it was time for them to leave.
“No, no, no, I’m not leaving!” she screamed as she jumped up and down.
The mother, a small, dark-skinned, fine-boned woman gave us an embarrassed look. The white mothers didn’t seem too disturbed, but the black mothers all folded their arms and twisted up their faces in disgust.
“That child needs her ass whupped,” Geneva grumbled under her breath.
The mother reached for her child, and the little girl promptly bit her hand and then hauled off and kicked her on the shin before tearing off across the park, leaving her mother standing there stunned and embarrassed.
Geneva and I exchanged looks before Geneva shook her head piteously and laughed. “Damn, I didn’t know they made them in black.”