Gather Together in My Name - Maya Angelou [6]
“How long you been knowing to cook like that?”
“All my life.” I could hardly make the lie leave my tongue.
“You married?”
“No.”
“You be careful, somebody's gonna come here and kidnap you.”
“Thank you.” Why didn't he? Of course he would have had to knock me down, bind and gag me, but I would have liked nothing better.
“You want a soda?”
“No thanks.” I turned and went back to the steam table, sweat nibbling above my top lip and under my arms. I wished him away but could feel his gaze on my back. I had spent so many years being people other than myself that I continued to stir and mix, raise and lower burners as if every nerve in my body were not attached to the third stool of the lunch counter.
The door opened and closed and I turned to watch his retreating back, only to find that another customer had left. Automatically I looked for him and met his eyes, solemn on me. I burned at giving myself away.
He nodded me over.
“What time you get off?”
“One o'clock.”
“Want me to take you home?”
“I usually go out to see my baby.”
“You've got a baby? Somebody must of give it to you for Christmas. A doll baby. How old are you?”
“Nineteen.” Sometimes I was twenty or eighteen. It depended on my mood.
“Nineteen going on seventeen.” His smile held no ridicule. Just a smidgen of indulgence.
“Okay. I'll take you to see your baby.”
He drove his 1941 Pontiac without seeming to think about it. I sat in the corner pushed against the door trying desperately not to watch him.
“Where's the baby's daddy?”
“I don't know.”
“He wouldn't marry you, huh?” His voice hardened in the question.
“I didn't want to marry him.” Partly true.
“Well, he's a low-down bastard in my book and needs his ass kicked.” I began to love him at that moment.
I shifted to look at him. My avenging angel. Mother and my brother had been so busy being positive and supportive, neither had given any thought to the possibility that I might want revenge. I don't think I had even thought about it before. Now anger was an injection that flooded my body, making me warm and excited.
That's true, he was a low-life bastard. He should have given me a chance to refuse his proposal. Out of my head and into forgetfulness went the memory that I had wilfully initiated my one sexual tryst. My personal reasons and aggressive tactics were conveniently obliterated. Self-pity in its early stage is as snug as a feather mattress. Only when it hardens does it become uncomfortable.
Curly stood in the center of the baby-sitter's living room and said all the mother-liking things: “Sure is a fine baby … Looks just like you … He's gonna be a big one … Check those feet.”
Back in the car it never occurred to me to put up resistance when he said we were going to his hotel. I wanted to do what he wanted, so I sat quiet.
As we passed through the hotel lobby I felt the first stirring of reluctance. Now, wait a minute. What was I doing here? What did he think I was? He hadn't even said he loved me. Where was the soft music that should be playing as he kissed my earlobe?
He sensed the hesitation and took my hand to guide me down the carpeted hallway. His touch and confidence rushed my doubts. Obviously I couldn't stop now.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
He removed his coat and I sat quickly in the one large chair. On the dresser, amid cards and toiletries, stood a bottle of whiskey.
“May I have a drink?” I had never drunk anything stronger than Dubonnet.
“No. I don't think so. But I'll have one.” He poured the liquor into a glass he took down from above the face bowl. Water sloshed around and he gulped it down. Then in a moment he stood over me. I wanted to look up at him but my head refused.
“Come here, Reet. Get up.” I wanted to, but my muscles had atrophied. I didn't want him to think of me as a dick teaser. A cheat. But my body wouldn't obey.
He bent and took both hands and pulled me upright. He enclosed me in his arms.
“You nearly 'bout as tall as me. I like tall girls.” Then he kissed me, softly. And slowly.