Put A Ring On It (16 page)

Harlow didn’t like the sound of the word “abortion” or the thought of having a baby removed. It sounded cruel and painful.

“Ain’t no point in me racking my brain trying to figure this mess out. I guess I have to go spend my last little bit of money on a goddamn pregnancy test. If you’re knocked up, I don’t know where I’m gonna get the money for an abortion.”

Jody threw on her jacket and slammed the door behind her.

Harlow had expected her life to get better after Skeeter had gotten locked up. It seemed that way at first. For the first time since she was a tiny girl, she’d been able to sleep through the night without rough hands pulling off the covers and tugging on her pajamas.

Other than the times she worried about the tumor in her head, she’d finally started feeling content, like she’d been given a new lease on life.

But not anymore. Now she had a new problem to worry about: pregnancy.

Jody had said that baby had to be removed. That made Harlow sad. She imagined a baby that was so small, it could fit inside of her cupped hand. What would happen to the poor little baby after it was taken out of her stomach?

Harlow closed her eyes and squeezed out burning tears.

L
ike a leper, Nivea had been banished from her parents’ home. Tears streamed down her face as she drove at a snail’s pace. She wanted to talk to someone—not a psychiatrist as her mother had suggested; she needed a heart-to-heart with her best friend. Vangie was sensible, a good listener, and most of all, a forgiving person. Admittedly, lashing out at Vangie for getting back with Shawn was completely irrational. After all the nonsense she’d taken from Eric, she didn’t have the right to judge Vangie or anyone else.

Vangie deserved an apology. She rifled through her handbag, searching for her cell. She stared at traffic through a veil of tears, sniffling as her hand groped around her wallet, makeup bag, sunglasses, mints…everything except her phone.
Oh, damn!
She’d left it on a side table after sending Vangie that boastful image of her parents’ luxurious Christmas tree.

When Nivea got home, she picked up the phone in the kitchen, intending to call Vangie and apologize. She noticed a half-filled bottle of vodka in a corner of the granite counter. Instead of calling Vangie, she returned the phone to its base. The vodka was calling her.

Nivea had always been a social drinker, never one to indulge in drinking in solitude. But after the shock of Eric’s indiscretion and after being assaulted by that chicken head, Dyeesha, vodka had become a silent companion. Its medicinal properties instantly numbed her pain.

An hour later she cracked open a fresh bottle and sat in her bedroom having a private party—drinking, arguing, crying, laughing, and singing in the dark.

The phone blared in the middle of an argument she was having with herself. She sleepily lifted her head and squinted at the caller ID. Private Caller.
You can kiss my ass, private damn caller!
The ringing stopped and then began again. This time the caller ID spelled Nivea’s name.
Is this a prank?
The next episode of ringing identified her mother as the caller.
Fuck you!
Defiantly, Nivea gave the phone her middle finger, and then turned the bottle up to her lips. The phone rang without cessation. She glared at it.
Leave a fuckin’ message, bitch!

As if she possessed psychic abilities, her mother’s voice filled Nivea’s bedroom. “Nivea! Your sister is outside your house. She has your BlackBerry.”

Oh, yeah! I forgot about my phone.
Delighted to have her cell returned, she quickly staggered to the living room. The sash of her robe had loosened; the gaping front revealed her breasts. Too smashed to care about her appearance, and somewhat delighted to have an opportunity to offend her sister, Nivea swung the front door open. Her nipples peeked out, tightening into corkscrews when hit by the frigid air.

At first Nivea’s vision seemed out of focus. It wasn’t Courtney outside her door. Her argyle-sweater-wearing fiancé stood under the porch light, his preppy sweater covered by a heavy jacket.

Shocked, Knox took an audible breath and then immediately tore his eyes away from Nivea’s bare breasts. Trying to give Nivea her dignity, he fixed his gaze on the mailbox, then the doormat, and then the wreath on her neighbor’s door. His gaze finally settled on the BlackBerry in his hand. “Sorry to wake you,” he mumbled, keeping his focus on the phone.

His discomfort amused Nivea. Emboldened by alcohol and feeling devilishly wanton, she giggled and ran a finger down her cleavage. From her peripheral vision, she could see Courtney waving at her from the passenger seat of the car. She regarded her sister with irritation, gave a curt wave, and then returned her attention to Knox. She moistened her lips.

Knox wouldn’t look at her. “Courtney…she wanted…” Flustered, he gave up trying to be articulate and abruptly stuck the cell in Nivea’s hand.

“Thanks,” she said, wearing a lopsided, drunken smile.

“You’re welcome. Uh…goodnight.” He started backing up.

“Wait! How much do I owe you? I’ll go get my wallet.” Nivea’s words were slurred.

Knox scowled. “You don’t owe me anything.” He sounded appalled.

“But I have to give you something.” She leaned lazily against the doorframe, posing and smiling crookedly. She placed a clumsy hand on her hip. She’d never been much of a flirt, but with the vodka coursing through her system, she felt like the queen of seduction.

Warmed by liquor, Nivea was unfazed by the gust of wind that lifted the front of her short robe, revealing her private area.

Knox lowered his head and respectfully looked down at his boots. “H-have a good night,” he said shakily. He looked up at her with fear, like he was facing a she-devil. Anxiously, he looked over his shoulder at his car, feet moving like he was ready to bolt.

“Why do you have to go? What’s the problem? Don’t you like the view?” Nivea patted her crotch and giggled. She was having a drunken good time at Knox’s expense.

Courtney honked the horn twice.

“Wait a minute!” Nivea barked, frowning in the direction of
the idling car. Then she regarded Knox, her lips curled scornfully. “Your future wife is impatient. Bossy. Just like her mother.”

Knox straightened his shoulders, a gesture that rejected the notion that he’d ever become a henpecked man. Standing tall, he gave Nivea a pitying look. “Cover yourself up.” He nodded toward her open door. “Go inside before you get sick.” He turned around and walked briskly toward the car.

Did I ask you for your medical advice? Punk-ass.
She slammed the door and rejoined her liquid lover.

1995

J
ody returned home late at night with her get-high buddy, Ronica. They both wore tense expressions, which made Harlow more jumpy and uneasy than usual.

Ronica came close and looked at Harlow. She shook her head. “You’re only eleven years old. Do you realize you could get taken away from your mother over this?”

“Talking to her is not gonna do a damn bit of good,” Jody said with a sneer. “Miss Fresh Pot acts like she don’t even care.”

“I care,” Harlow said, ducking her head down. Her shame was tremendous, and she was having a hard time looking her mother in the eye.

“Don’t seem like you give a damn to me. I took my time teaching you how to take care of yourself, and for what? Just to hear myself talk?” Jody shoved the pregnancy kit in Ronica’s hands. “Take her in the bathroom, and give her the test. I’m feeling stressed, girl. I can’t deal with it.” She shook out more pills to calm her nerves.

Inside the bathroom, Harlow braced herself for the pregnancy test. She was expecting the pregnancy test to require a needle in her stomach or a thermometer in her vagina. She didn’t have the foggiest idea of how the test was conducted.

“You gotta pee,” Ronica said absently as she opened the box.

“Huh?”

“You gotta piss on the stick. That’s how you take the test.”

Harlow did as Ronica instructed. Minutes later, Ronica shrieked
as though gleeful. Excitedly, she opened the bathroom door, and rushed out with the stick in her hand. “Look at this shit, Jody. It’s positive. You’re about to become a twenty-nine-year-old grandmother,” Ronica said, laughing.

“The hell if I am,” Jody hissed. Jody gave a hateful glare. “This lil’ tramp is out to get me. But I’m not going for it.”

“You’re high off those pain killers, and now you’re talking a bunch of mess,” Ronica said. “Harlow ain’t nothing but a child. How is a little girl out to get you? You’re the one who allowed Skeeter to mess with her.”

Jody twisted her neck around. “Whatchu tryna say, Ronica! You blaming me for her condition?”

“Well, you sound stupid, blaming Harlow for something you had her doing.”

“I was looking out for her. Hmph! I’d rather my daughter make something off her poontang than to just give it away.”

“All what you saying would make sense if Harlow actually got something out of it. But you can’t bullshit me. You had Harlow hustling for you. If you gon’ be mad at somebody, then you need to be mad at yourself and Skeeter.”

“Skeeter’s doing a bid. I won’t be seeing his ass for a couple of years.”

“Then you need to go see his main man, Thad. If you tell Thad what Skeeter did, I bet you could get some hush money to pay for an abortion. Thad would want to protect his man from some child molestation charges. You should check on that, Jody. Find out how much he’s willing to pay for you to keep quiet.”

“You crazy! Talking all out the side of your neck, Ronica. Do I look stupid? If go to Thad on some hush money shit, he’ll shut my mouth forever. Me and Harlow will both end up tossed in the river with cement blocks tied to our feet.”

Harlow shot her mother a look of horror.
Tossed in the river with cement blocks on our feet?
She didn’t quite get the meaning, but it sounded deadly.

Jody stared at Harlow. “Thad’s a spiteful motherfucker. Don’t open your mouth about your situation to nobody. Do you understand me, girl?”

“Yes,” Harlow said meekly.

Ronica shook her head. “Thad’s man got your daughter knocked up, and it seems to me that Thad should make it right. He should step up to the plate and give you the money you need. Abortions ain’t cheap.”

“How much they cost now?” Jody asked, frowning. “I ain’t had no abortion since before Harlow was born.”

Ronica eyed Harlow as if tallying up the cost. “Young as she is, they’d probably have to put her to sleep. That costs a lot more than getting it done while you’re awake.”

“How much more?”

Ronica shrugged. “I don’t know. You gotta call the clinic and find out.”

Jody let out a loud sigh, and then dropped her head in her hands. “It’s always something. I can’t ever get ahead.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Ronica agreed, lighting up a cigarette.

“I don’t have a choice. I can’t let her start having babies this soon in life. I’m gonna have to figure out a way to get that money from somewhere.”

“I know that’s right. Girl, can you imagine being a twenty-nine-year-old grandmother?” Ronica fell out laughing.

“Fuck no!” Frowning, Jody scratched her head “Seriously though, Ronica, this has to stay between us. Don’t be putting my business out on the streets.”

“I don’t run my mouth,” Ronica said, offended.

“Okay, so we gonna keep this shit on the low. Meanwhile, Miss Fresh Pot has to stay home from school until this situation is done and over with. “Get out of my face, Harlow. Go watch TV or something.”

Harlow skulked to the living room, but it was hard to enjoy watching cartoons on a TV screen that had gone fuzzy ever since the cable had gotten cut off, so Harlow listened to the exchange between her mother and Ronica.

“I’m getting nervous,” Jody confided to Ronica. “The truancy people came by here today. I couldn’t believe that they had the nerve to come here and bang on my door.”

“What did they say?” Ronica’s eyes twinkled with excitement.

“Girl, I didn’t go anywhere near that door. Those assholes stuck a note in my mailbox.” Jody shook her head. “I gotta get this girl straight so she can take her ass back to school. I need those motherfuckers to get off my back.”

“What did the note say? Do you have to go to truancy court?”

“I don’t know. I ripped that shit up into a million little pieces. I ain’t trying to hear nothing that’s gon’ shatter my nerves any worse than they already are.”

Ronica lit another cigarette.

“Let me borrow a smoke,” Jody said, reaching out her hand and shaking her fingers impatiently.

Ronica screwed up her face. “This is my last one.”

“Well, lemme catch it.”

Ronica begrudgingly pulled the cigarette from between her lips and passed it to Jody.

Jody took a long drag off the cigarette. “I gotta figure something out,” she said, her words emerging with a long stream of smoke.

“I heard that there’s this old lady that knows how to get rid of babies. Backstreet abortions.”

“What?” Jody screwed up her face.

“She takes care of people who can’t come up with the money for a real doctor at the abortion clinic,” Ronica told Jody.

“Oh! For real?” Jody said with interest. “What does she use? I hope she ain’t dealing with coat hangers or no shit like that.”

“I don’t think so. But she does use some old school method from back in the day when they had to do at-home abortions. But I don’t think she be getting down with no coat hangers. I mean, who would be desperate enough to let some old ho stick a coat hanger up their twat? It seems like it would be better to go ahead and deal with the pregnancy rather than let somebody jack you up with a coat hanger.”

Harlow felt a sharp pang of apprehension. This abortion thing was sounding scarier by the second.

Jody looked down briefly as she mulled over Ronica’s words. “I’m sure the old lady is up-to-date by now. Do you think she has that suction machine that they use at the clinic?”

Ronica reached for her cigarette. Jody handed it to her. Ronica took a couple of puffs. “I doubt if she has that kind of equipment. I think she be giving out some kind of pills. You know…something that gets them girls real sick with diarrhea.”