Chapter 28 Geneva
Geneva
I was so excited to see my baby boy in his big coming-out performance that I’d smoked nearly a whole pack of cigarettes in less than three hours.
After I’d slipped into the white Fanta original and spent fifteen minutes in the mirror staring at myself, trying to decide if the outfit really suited me, Charlie walked in and made an ooooh ing sound before declaring, “Mommy, you look soooo beautiful!”
Well, if my baby girl thought I looked beautiful, I guess I did.
I dropped Charlie off at my mother’s and headed to Crystal’s apartment. I’d managed to wash my hair and slick it back. I would have to cut the ends next week, but for now it looked okay. No time to do my nails, so I just removed the chipped polish and went au naturel.
When I arrived, Erykah Badu’s “Love of My Life” was playing on the stereo and there were scented candles burning everywhere.
“Hey, girl,” I said when Crystal opened the door.
“Geneva, you look gorgeous!” Crystal shrieked. “Girl, I knew that outfit had your name all over it!”
“And don’t count yourself out, Miss Crystal. That outfit is hot!”
“Why, thank you!” Crystal laughed and did a little America’s Next Top Model runway for me.
Her shoulder-length hair was loose and flowing. She wore an off-the-shoulder camel-colored dress that hugged her size-eight figure like a glove.
I looked around. Something about Crystal’s space was different. The vibe was real mellow. I wondered if it had something to do with Neville.
“Is Neville coming?” I asked as we moved into the kitchen.
Crystal shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe, maybe not. He’s out with friends, but I gave him the information.”
“Oh.”
“First off,” Crystal said as she handed me a glass of champagne, “I’ll clean up those wild eyebrows of yours.”
“What’s wrong with my eyebrows?” I asked, self-consciously running my index fingers over them.
“Well, you look like you’ve been living in the jungle for five years, that’s what’s wrong with them.” We started toward the bedroom.
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” I said as she guided me into the bathroom and plopped me down on the toilet seat.
“No, it’s not. Look,” she said, and turned my head toward the professional makeup mirror that showed every pore, crease, and crater in my face.
“Oh, shit,” I moaned; my eyebrows did look out of control.
“Yeah. Oh shit is right,” Crystal laughed, and picked the tweezers up from the vanity. “Now hold still.”
It was a painful ten minutes, but when she was done I looked 100 percent better.
“Do you want me to do your makeup too?”
“You know I don’t wear that shit.”
“I think tonight you can put on something other than lip gloss,” Crystal said, already plucking out mascara, eyeliner, and shadow from her massive makeup bag.
“No,” I wailed as she started toward my face with the eyeliner.
“Oh, come on, Geneva, live a little. It’s your son’s big night; look the part of the glamorous mother.”
“I’m far from glamorous,” I said, swatting her hand.
“That’s because you don’t want to be.”
I sighed. “Okay, just a little.”
Another fifteen minutes passed, and when I looked at myself again, I almost didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. “Oh, this is too much!” I screamed, and reached for the box of tissues.
“It just seems that way, because you never wear makeup,” Crystal said, quickly confiscating the tissue box and hiding it behind her back.
“Are you sure?” I said, leaning in and examining the new me a bit closer.
“Would I lie to you?” she said, and that’s when I caught sight of the washcloth thrown across the silver pole of the shower.
“Maybe not about this,” I said slyly.
Crystal just gave me a baffled look.
“Are those the shoes you plan on wearing?” Crystal gasped when I pulled the beaten gold and white sandals out of the crumpled brown paper bag I’d brought with me.
“Yeah, it’s all I have that matches.”
“Oh, Geneva, I asked you if you had shoes, and you said yes!”
“And I didn’t lie, these are them!” I yelled back defensively.
Crystal snatched the shoes from my hand and tossed them to the floor. “Those shoes are horrible,” she said in disgust. “What size do you wear again?”
Crystal had stepped into her huge walk-in closet and was sifting through the dozens of shoe boxes that were neatly stacked on the floor.
“Ten,” I muttered, flopping sloppily down onto the bench at the end of her bed.
“Ten?” Crystal turned on me, a surprised look resting on her face. “Since when?”
“Since Charlie,” I said, chewing absently on the cuticle of my thumb.
“Oh,” Crystal said. “I wear a nine, so I don’t think that—oh, wait a minute!” Crystal snapped her fingers, turned, and darted out of the room. On her return, she had a dusty white box in hand.
“What’s that?”
“Stop biting your cuticles,” she warned as she approached. Lifting the top off the box, she pulled out a pair of gold sandals.
“I even think those are ugly,” I said, making a face like they stunk too.
“Yeah, but they’re a ten and in better shape than those things you got.”
They were in better condition, but God, they were something awful to look at, with thick, rubberized soles and garish gold-foiled leather.
“Why do you even have these?” I asked, taking them from her.
“Now promise me you won’t go crazy when I tell you.”
I had already slipped one on my foot. “Where did you get them from?” I asked, holding the remaining sandal in my hand.
“Promise first.”
“Okay, I cross my heart and hope to die,” I said as I quickly made the sign of the cross with my free hand.
“Aunt Wanda, when she came to visit that time.”
I ran the name through my memory bank. “Dead Aunt Wanda?” I said quietly.
Crystal nodded her head.
“Are you crazy?” I said, throwing the shoe across the room and kicking off the one on my foot.
“Geneva!”
“It can’t be good, wearing a dead woman’s shoes!” I hissed.
Crystal put her hands on her waist. “Better than showing up at your son’s show in those things.”
“I’d rather go barefoot,” I said defiantly.
“Well, that’s how you will go, because I refuse to be seen with you in these!” she screamed, and snatched up my battered shoes and ran out of the room. I just sat there for a while, shaking my head, until I heard the front door open and it dawned on me what it was she was going to do with them.
“Noooooooooo!” I screamed, and bolted from the room.
It was too late. By the time I hit the hallway, Crystal was coming back from the incinerator and looking very proud of herself.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“It was for the best,” she said as she trailed past me and back into the apartment.
“Bitch,” I grumbled as I followed behind her.
“Takes one to know one, sweetie.”
“Now what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to wear Aunt Wanda’s shoes; that’s what you’re going to do.”
I stood at the bedroom entryway, staring at the shoes. “Maybe if we pray over them, it’ll be okay?” I wondered aloud. “Burn some incense, maybe?” I walked slowly toward them. “Got any holy water lying around?”
***
It didn’t take any time to get a cab. On the ride down, I kept adjusting the top of the dress. “Stop it!” Crystal screamed, and slapped at my hands.
“Don’t you think it’s too much?” I said, indicating the amount of cleavage that was showing.
“No,” Crystal said pointedly. “Some of us don’t have any to show and wish we did. Those babies need to be put on display.”
I wasn’t so sure about that.
By the time the taxi pulled up to the curb, I was so nervous, I had sweated through the material of the dress. It felt mighty damp down between my legs.
About twenty people stood in small groups, laughing, talking, and smoking. That’s just what I need to calm my nerves—a cigarette, I thought as I started digging in my purse. Well, the purse that Crystal had lent me.
“Later, girl,” Crystal said, and pushed the pack back down into the black silken cave of the purse.
A tall, burly-looking gentleman with a nice smile and a football player’s wide shoulders opened the door for us. “Have a good time, ladies,” he said in a cavernous voice.
Crystal giggled like a schoolgirl, and I just grunted.
We made our way through the tight clusters of beautiful people sipping apple martinis, toward the back of the restaurant where the female ma?tre d’ smiled up at us expectantly.
“Name?”
“Holliday.”
The woman scrolled through the computerized list. “Oh, yes, Holliday. Two, right?”
“Yes,” Crystal said.
“Oh, are you Eric’s mother?” the girl squealed with delight. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Julie,” she said as she extended her hand to Crystal.
I looked the girl from top to bottom. She was cute. Not cute enough for my son, but cute enough I supposed. A tiny thing, cedar-colored with large dark eyes and a mess of long silky hair that hung down her back.
“I’m Ms.Holliday,” I snapped. Crystal turned and gave me a sober look. I just rolled my eyes and then bored them into Julie.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Julie smiled and moved her hand in my direction. “Ah, yes, I see it now. You and Eric have the same eyes.”
Was she trying to butter me up?
I looked at her hand but didn’t extend my own.
“Well,” Julie continued, seemingly unscathed, “we have a table for you right up front.”
And she was right; we were right in front of where the band’s instruments had been set up.
“A waitress will be over soon to get your drink order.” Julie gave Crystal and me menus, smiled sweetly at us, and wished us a good time before turning and walking off. On her retreat, I saw why Eric was interested: she had an ass as wide as a football field!
“Uhmph, ho,” I mumbled.
“No, Geneva,” Crystal scolded as she leaned over the table. “You need to stop acting like that. Eric is your son, not your man!”
I ignored her as I perused the menu.
She continued, “There was no reason for you to act like that with that girl.”
I closed my menu and looked at her. “I’m just trying to protect my child.”
“He may be your child, but he’s also a man.”