How Stella Got Her Groove Back (32 page)

“Sure.”

“Can I get my ear pierced today?”

“Sure,” I say.

His narrow butt jumps a foot up off the seat. “Really?”

“Why not?”

“You are the coolest mom. I mean it, Mom. I love you,” he says and leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek. “And don’t worry, you’ll find something to do that makes you happy. I know you will.”

And Quincy turns the volume way up, presses the button for disc 2 track 2 and now here comes Monteil Jordan singing “This Is How We Do It,” and I’m hoping that I will soon find out how to.

• • • •

I come out of the theater feeling disoriented. I didn’t like
Batman
all that much, to be honest. It was really stupid, but of course I didn’t go in in a mood that was ready for silliness. The sound track however is certainly slamming and I am on my way to buy it when I see Quincy and his little friends standing outside Foot Locker.

“Mom!” he yells and why he always has to say everything so loud I don’t know. I hope this is something he’ll grow out of. Soon. “Look what I bought. It is so cool,” and he shows me his hand. On it is a silver ring that has a hand with silver fingers spread out across the top and inside the hand is an eyeball with a green pupil and it looks pretty close to real.

“What is it?”

“It’s a ring.”

“I can see that,” I say. “But what is the point?”

“It’s just cool. That is the point.”

“Whatever,” I say. “We have to go now.”

“My darling Mom, would it be possible to—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to ask.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Mom,” he whines.

“Say goodbye to your friends.”

“Goodbye, ladies,” he says and starts following me, pulling on my sleeve, which I cannot stand.

“Let go of me,” I say.

“Mom, if I could just borrow ten more dollars of my allowance from you I promise that I will clean Dr. Dre’s litter box without your having to ask me and I will clean the fish tank today as a matter of fact and Mom, I just really would like to get this new CD for this movie that’s not even out yet called
Dangerous Minds
or something but the CD is so cool, Coolio has the coolest song on it. Mom, please, I promise not to ask for anything else until Christmas!”

“Quincy, you are getting on my nerves, you know that?” but I reach inside my purse like a chump and hand him a ten and he jumps for joy and runs into the store as I stand around there wondering what Win-ston might be doing what the weather is like in Jamaica and if he could possibly be thinking about me.

“Thanks, Mom. You will love this CD.”

“Oh look,” I say. “There’s a place to get your ear pierced. Want to?”

“Right now?”

“Why not? Are you scared?”

“Are you kidding?” he says. “I’m not scared of anything.”

We go in. I pay eleven dollars, which includes his gold stud. The sound of that gun hurts me and within seconds it seems we are walking out of there and my son’s ear is pierced and he now thinks he is like totally cool which he is.

• • • •

I go to the mailbox and am flipping through it when I see a postcard with my name on it and in handwriting I have never seen before. It is from Winston. I stop and sit on the steps outside and read it so fast I have to read it again and again:
Hello there Stella. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed meeting you. I had the best time I ever had in my life. Never met anyone like you before. I miss you. Glad I met you. My job is all right. I am thinking about you a whole lot and I want to hear from you. When will you make me laugh again? And how about a kiss? Had any pesta lately? Hope to see you one day in the near future. Hello to Quincy and Chantel. Love. Winston.

Without really thinking I go inside and pick up the telephone. I dial my travel agent’s number. I tell her that I need a round-trip ticket between Montego Bay and San Francisco. She is a little confused. Says wait a minute. You mean you’re going back? No, I tell her. This ticket is for a friend. Oh, she says. And when is he or she traveling? I’m not sure when he can. Leave the dates open. That costs more. I don’t care, I say. Hold on a minute and I’ll tell you how much. Is this for coach? I say yes. She comes back on and tells me that it is more expensive because of the open date business and then I ask her what the difference is between that fare and first-class and I hear her punching keys and she says only three hundred dollars and I say do it and give her Winston’s name and she chuckles at Shakespeare and says, Wow, so this is serious, and I say maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, and I say I want this on my American Express Extended payment and when can I pick the tickets up and she says in about an hour and I tell her I’ll be there and when I walk in she hands me the tickets and I slide them inside my Federal Express envelope which is already filled out and after I walk out I drive straight up to the FedEx drop-off box and push it inside and then I drive away slowly because I realize that what I have just done is irrevocable that I can’t change my mind now, that I have made a statement a very large statement and when I feel my foot press down on the brake it is not because I am already regretting doing this, no no no, it is because I am proud of myself for doing something I really want to do without worrying about what anybody will think for a change, and the other reason I bring my car to a halt is because I am so excited I can hardly fucking breathe.

“O
NE TWO
,
ONE
two three! One two, three four five! Good morning!” I look over at my exercise trainer alarm clock that Krystal gave me for Christmas and I say, “Shut up!” and there she goes with that “One two, one two three!” business again until I press the cotton-candy-colored button on the top which causes her entire pink unitarded body to freeze with her foot caught in a kicking position and I am tempted to crack the plastic open and snatch off the little pink sweatband that’s going around her blond hair and break her bony Barbie body in half once and for all. But as I struggle to get up I think, How would I ever explain to Krystal that Blondie had a little accident?

It is only seven o’clock but Quincy and I are flying to San Diego for the weekend to my friend Maisha’s gallery opening and I want to get there in time to help her do any last-minute things.

The phone rings as I’m getting out of the shower and I hear that familiar drone of the AT&T operator and I wonder which imprisoned relative it is this time. But when I hear the operator say “Winston” I perk up and tell her that I will accept the charges.

“Stella?”

“It’s me.”

“I’m sorry for calling this way but the last two phone calls almost wiped out my paycheck and I won’t talk very long as I know how expensive these calls can be but Stella, guess what I got today from Federal Express?”

“I can’t begin to imagine, Winston.”

“Airline tickets to California!”

“You’re kidding!”

“Stella. I don’t believe you. You are something, you know that?”

“No, I don’t know,” I say.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

“That’s why I sent them.”

“So when can I come?”

“You mean you want to come for real?”

“Absolutely.”

“When
can
you come?”

“I’ve already asked for time off, but I’m not sure if they’re going to give it to me being as I’m so new and all.”

“How long would you like to come for, Winston?”

“I’m not sure. How long will you have me?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Stella, you want the truth?”

“Yes, Winston, I want the truth.”

“I’ve asked for a three week leave. How does that sound?”

I am too tickled. “Three weeks sounds wonderful.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Are
you
sure?”

“I’m positive. I can’t believe you actually sent me a ticket. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Why are you doing all these nice things for me?”

“Because I like you, Winston, and I guess I’m nuts.”

“No, I don’t think you’re nuts, but you’re very kind and I will make it all up to you.”

“You don’t have to make anything up to me.”

“Well, I think I might be able to come in a month’s time. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds great, Winston. I wish you were here now.”

“I wish I was too. But I’ll be there, Stella. Don’t worry. I’ll be there. Sooo,” he says. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. On my way to San Diego.”

“To the zoo?”

“No, not this trip. A friend of mine owns an art gallery and she’s having a big opening this weekend.”

“Are you going with friends?”

“What do you mean by friends?”

“I mean who are you going with?”

“Why do I have to be going with anybody?”

“I was just asking.”

“Don’t be so nosy,” I say and start laughing.

“So are you?”

“Going with someone?”

“Yeah,” he says and he has that worrisome tone again which I am kind of beginning to like hearing.

“Yeah. I’m going with this person named Quincy.”

“Nice,” he says. “Very nice. Well, will you call me in a few days’ time, then?”

“Why?”

“So I can hear your voice.”

“Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. I got your postcard, Winston.”

“You finally got it?”

“Yes. I liked what you said. A lot.”

“I like you a whole lot, Stella.”

“Well, apparently I like you a whole lot too.”

“On that note, let’s say goodbye before you take this to that other place, okay?”

“What other place?”

“Goodbye, Stella. Love you.”

“Love you too, Winston,” I say and then I hang up.

Wait a minute. Hold it. Did he just say, “Love you”? and did I just say, “Love you too”? What is going on here, Stella? What is going on?

• • • •

We are in the air.

“Quincy,” I say and slide the earphones away from his ears. He is listening to his cheap portable CD player, which actually sounds better than mine. “We need to talk.”

“Right now, Mom?”

“Right now.”

“I’m listening.”

“How would you feel if Winston came for a visit?”

“Fine.”

“For like three whole weeks.”

“Fine. I like Winston, Mom.”

“You don’t even know him, Quincy.”

“Mom, I did meet him, remember?”

“Yes, but you didn’t really spend any time with him.”

“Well, I liked him when I was with him.”

“So how would you really feel about his coming here?”

“Mom, if he makes you happy it makes me happy.”

“Have you been watching Jenny or Oprah?”

“I like Jenny Jones, Mom. She did a show the other day on teenage pregnancy and it was very informative.”

“Oh, be quiet, would you.”

“So is Winston going to sleep in your room with you?”

“I think so. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No. I know all about this stuff.”

“What ‘stuff’?”

“Sex.”

“And what do you know about it?”

“First of all that people like doing it and that if you aren’t married you should practice safe sex and use a condom. Mom, are you practicing safe sex?”

I don’t believe this kid. “Of course I am,” I say.

“Good, because there are so many STDs out there it would break your darling son’s heart if you were to get like AIDS or something and die and then who would be my mom?”

“Enough already. What else do you know?”

“What else is there?”

“Nothing,” I say and pick his headphones up and hand them to him.

• • • •

Maisha and Tiger meet us outside baggage claim, and Maisha is looking terrific as usual. Her dress is almost always colorful festive and reminiscent of the Caribbean and African designs which she somehow manages to effectively mix with designer jackets and the toughest shoes I’ve ever seen. Her hair is long thick dreadlocks which are tinged with gray and at forty-five she is also in great shape because she believes in the E word too.

Maisha and I were both in the MFA program at Chicago Art Institute but she actually used her degree. She struggled for years trying to make ends meet but she stuck it out hung in there held on to her dream and her giant of a husband, Rudy, was behind her all the way all this time.

“Hey, girl,” she says, giving me a big hug before we get into their burgundy Saab convertible. Her son, Tiger, or Tyson, who is a year older than Quincy and taller than I am now, gives me a hug and he too is starting to dread on top. Quincy hugs Maisha and accidentally steps on her sandaled foot.

“Will you look at those feet?”

“What?” Quincy says.

“What size are you now?”

“Ten.”

“I wear eleven now,” Tiger says.

“So now that we’ve bonded, shall we?” I say.

Maisha giggles and the boys jump in the back seat. The top is down even though it is foggy and pretty nippy down here if you ask me but I don’t say anything, I just lean forward close to the glass and think how beautiful San Diego is and that if I ever left the Bay Area this is probably where I’d move to.

“See, Mom,” Tiger whines, “Quincy’s got his ear pierced.”

“You do, Quincy?” and she looks in the rearview.

“Yep,” he says and turns so she can see.

“Aren’t you scared you’ll mess it up when you’re playing sports?”

“Nope. It’s summertime now and by the time basketball starts it’ll be healed.”

“I’m playing football, and practice already started,” Tiger offers.

“So you’ll have to wait,” Maisha says. “Thank the Lord.”

Now she is looking over at me and grinning. I know why. Because I opened my big mouth and told her about Winston and she is waiting to hear all the details, and after we drop the kids off at an arcade and go down to her beautiful gallery to help get things set up, over the course of the next two hours I tell her every single thing that happened between me and Winston on down to my sister who thinks I’ve gone bizonkers and my sister who says if it feels good do it.

“I’m with Vanessa, girl.”