Taste of Reality (7 page)

When I heard the phone ring, I glanced toward my nightstand but didn’t bother answering it. David didn’t look in that direction
or at me. Instead, he pulled the covers back and climbed onto the pillow-top mattress we’d made love on barely twenty-four hours before.

I didn’t say another word to him, because I didn’t see what else there was we should say. Not to mention the fact that I was smothered in a blinding state of shock. I didn’t see why we should argue about someone I didn’t know or someone he wasn’t planning to give up.

I didn’t see a reason to shed tears or continue throwing a fit.

I decided I would wait for him to tell me when he was leaving and exactly when I should expect the divorce papers in the mail. I decided that this was the best way to handle everything without going insane, and the best way to prevent myself from doing something unthinkable.

But who was I kidding? Because there was no way I could continue sharing a bed with a man who had voluntarily betrayed me.

“You know, David? What I want you to do is get your shit, and get the hell out of this house. Not tomorrow, not next week, but right now.”

He looked at me like he didn’t recognize who I was. His mouth hung wide open in total astonishment.

“What do you mean, you want me to get out?”

“I mean exactly what I said. I want you out.”

“And you think just because
you
want me out, I’m actually going to go?”

“No. Because, actually,
you
don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I think you should know that your life is going to be in terrible danger the very moment you drop off to sleep,” I said, glaring at him with no sign of sanity.

“You don’t scare me one bit, Anise,” he said, throwing the bedcovers away from his body and stepping onto the carpet. “But just so I don’t have to deal with your ignorance for the rest of the evening, I’m going to spend the night elsewhere.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And if you want the rest of your things, I suggest you get them out of here while I’m at work. That way I won’t have to see your sorry ass.”

“Whatever, Anise.”

“As a matter of fact, I want them out of here by the end of this week.”

“Look,” he said. “I’ll get my things out of here on my own terms and not a minute sooner.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, walking past him and into the bathroom. “But if I were you, I would get them out before something bad happens to them.”

“Just try it, Anise. You hear me,” he said, coming down the hall toward me. “Because if you try to destroy anything of mine, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

I stared at him in a rage I’d never felt in the past, and before I had time to think, I took both my hands and swept every toiletry from the top of his vanity onto the floor.

Glass shattered everywhere, and I could tell he wanted to strangle me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”

“No, I haven’t lost anything, but if you don’t get out of my sight, more than this is going to happen.”

“You know what? I’m not even going to stoop to your level of idiocy, because all this means is that you’re hurt. You’re hurt because I don’t want your black ass anymore,” he said, and then walked away.

I would never admit it to him, but he was right. His words and adulterous actions had cut me right down to the bone, but I knew I had to be strong in his presence. I knew there would be more than enough time for me to fret when he was gone.

He threw a few pieces of clothing into a duffel bag, threw on a nylon sweat suit, picked up his briefcase and walked out of the bedroom.
I didn’t follow behind him, but soon after, I heard him open the back door and then back out of the driveway.

I sat down on the edge of the bed in deep thought. I wasn’t sure exactly what to think or how to feel at this very moment, but I knew it was best for David to leave. I knew it was better for us to keep our distance for the time being, and that our marriage was probably over for good. Of course, there were couples who separated and eventually reconciled. But somehow I knew we wouldn’t fall into that category.

I knew that there was no chance we’d be getting back together.

It was simply a fact.

W
OODFIELD
M
ALL
was as busy as always for a Friday afternoon. Mom and I had left Mitchell not even an hour ago, but were now driving around the parking lot searching for a place to park. We were willing to walk as far as we had to, but there weren’t any open spaces that would accommodate us. So finally I decided to wait at the beginning of any aisle until someone was ready to leave. We sat for a couple of minutes until a middle-aged woman and two teenage girls entered their car. They pulled out, we pulled in, left the vehicle and headed toward Marshall Field’s lower-level entrance.

I’d gone to work at 7:00
A.M.
, but with everything that had happened last night with David, coupled with this constant worry I had about my career, I’d asked Elizabeth if it was okay for me to take a half day of vacation. She’d told me to get my things and go, and I hadn’t hesitated to leave right at eleven. Mom had told me earlier in the week that she was taking the entire day off, so I called to see if she wanted to drive over to Schaumburg to do some shopping. It wasn’t that I was looking for anything in particular, but I felt this
need to go somewhere other than Mitchell. I needed alternate scenery, and I wanted to tell my mom what was going on with my marriage. She knew it was in trouble, but she had no idea that David was in love with someone else, or that we were no longer living together.

I’d wanted to tell her as soon as she drove to my house and then again while we were traveling on I-90, but I couldn’t. I knew she would understand, because she understood everything else I had ever gone through, but somehow this thing with David, his sleeping with another woman, made me feel like a failure. I felt as though this unidentified woman had better qualities than me if she’d been able to take him so easily.

But most of all, I didn’t want to tell her that his philandering could be partly blamed on me. I truly had forgotten about our marriage, the family he wanted to have and what was really important to him. He wasn’t the supportive, loving husband he once was, but I feared that I’d helped push him toward being unfaithful, and I regretted it.

We walked through the first set of double doors and felt the central air sweep across our faces. It was at least ninety degrees outside and the coolness felt refreshing. We continued walking until we arrived in the handbag section and decided this was a good place to browse.

“This is really cute, isn’t it?” I asked Mom, and then lifted the black-and-tan bag from a group of designer purses on top of the counter. They were priced 40 percent off, which meant these particular styles were likely being discontinued.

“Actually, it is. Kind of small, though, because you know how much stuff you like to pack in every purse you get,” she said, and we laughed.

“Isn’t that the truth?”

I wrapped it back around the silver hook I’d taken it from, and we strolled over to the nondesigner section—the only section my mother was willing to purchase from.

“What I need is a new work purse,” she said as soon as she saw a midsize shoulder bag. “Something that’s not too fancy, but nice.”

“What about this one?” I asked, passing her a black leather bag that caught my attention.

“That’s not bad, but it’s not really what I’m looking for.”

We scanned a couple of other racks but didn’t see anything we were all that interested in.

“So do you want to shop some more in here, or go out into the mall?” I asked her as we continued walking.

“You still need to go to the M*A*C store don’t you?

“Actually, I do, because I need some more of that Oh Baby! lacquer for my lips and some Chestnut lip liner for my Coconutty lipstick.”

“You love that stuff, don’t you?”

“Ever since Leslie and I went shopping downtown at Nordstrom two years ago, I’ve been hooked,” I said, referring to one of my college dorm mates. “I’m just sorry it took all these years for me to realize how wonderful their products are. No other line can compare, although I do buy some things from Lançome that are also good.”

“For years, all black women had was Fashion Fair, but now there’s Iman, M*A*C and really just about every line I can think of carries makeup that we can use.”

“Times have actually changed with some things, I guess,” I said, thinking about Reed Meyers.

“So still no word about the job you’re trying to get?”

“No. I applied for it, though. And while I’m hoping I get it, I know I have to be prepared either way.”

“And you should be. We didn’t have some of the laws that exist now when I was coming up, and even with the ones we did have, they really weren’t being enforced. No one has the right to discriminate against you or anyone else, and if that’s what your bosses are up to, then you have to stand up for yourself. Even if it means hiring an attorney.”

“My friend Lorna, at work, keeps telling me the same thing, so that’s exactly what I’m planning to do if things don’t turn out the way they should.”

Mom had certainly changed over the years. She’d worked at a corrugated box manufacturer for three decades and never complained about much of anything, at least not to any of her supervisors. She went to work, operated her machine and then came home. She did this every Monday through Friday from seven to three-thirty and sometimes worked five to eight hours on Saturdays, depending on how their workload was running.

She and my father had divorced when I was a junior in college, and since I was an only child, she didn’t have anyone else she could spend her time with. She visited her two older sisters fairly often, but for the most part she spent her free time alone. She’d wanted another child, a daughter if she’d had her choice, but the doctors had found cancer in her uterus about a year after I was born, and she’d had no alternative but to have a hysterectomy when she was only in her twenties.

We walked into one of the women’s specialty shops and took a look at some of the summer clothing they were showcasing.

Mom walked toward the back of the store, picking up a couple of things to try on as she went along, and I pulled two pairs of shorts from a rack at the front. Not long after, I added three shirts to my arm and a beautiful dark lime suit that I thought was perfect for work. I saw one of the salesgirls asking customer after customer if she could take the items they’d gathered and start a fitting room for them. I didn’t think much of it until I noticed that some of those customers had entered the store well after Mom and me. The second strike was when the clerk paraded past me so she could explain today’s sales promotion to a woman who’d just walked in. The third was when she marched right past me again and asked another customer if she was finding everything okay. I hadn’t been asked any questions, hadn’t had any promotional information
explained to me and hadn’t been relieved of this load of merchandise I was holding.

But I didn’t say anything, because before I went off, I wanted to see if Mom had been treated any differently.

I stepped close to where Mom was standing and heard her asking Ms. Rude and Inconsiderate if she could try her selections on.

That’s when I intervened.

“Mom, you mean to tell me that you’ve been carrying those clothes around all this time and no one has asked you once if you needed a fitting room?”

“No. Not one person.”

I turned to Ms. Rude and asked, “So is there some special reason why you’ve been asking every customer in this store if you can help them in one way or another, but you haven’t bothered to offer any customer service to the two of us? The only two black women in the store?”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she lied unconvincingly.

“No, you’re not. And I want to see a manager.”

“Nancy, is Lisa in the back?” the clerk yelled to her coworker who was running the cash register. She yelled in an irate tone.

“I think she is,” the other salesperson said with a shameful look on her face, and then returned her attention to the customer she was helping.

Ms. Rude turned abruptly and walked into the back room. A minute later, a short, well-dressed woman with beautiful brunette hair approached us.

“Hello, I’m Lisa, the store manager. Is there something I can help you with?” she asked, smiling.

“As a matter of fact there is. My mom and I have been in this store longer than some of the people who have already had a dressing room started for them, and I want to know why.”

“Rachel, can you answer this lady’s question?” she asked, turning toward Ms. Rude.

At least we knew what her name was now.

“I don’t know,” she answered with a frown that said, Why are you asking me this stupid question? “It wasn’t like I missed them on purpose. They looked like they were just browsing, anyway—”

“How were we just
browsing
if we were picking up things from the rack so we could try them on or purchase them?” I interrupted.

“Rachel, it’s our responsibility to help every customer who comes through that door,” Lisa said matter-of-factly. “We don’t assume anything, and we treat all of our customers with the highest respect.”

Rachel stared at Lisa as if she hadn’t heard a word she’d spoken. She stared like she was still going to treat the next black person the very same way when the opportunity arose.

“Well, I’ll tell you this,” I said. “You can take all of these and put them back where we got them.” I shoved both my stack and Mom’s into Rachel’s arms, and she had no choice but to take them.

“Lisa, I appreciate you taking the time to come speak with us, but you can thank your little salesperson here for losing our business. And even if I walk by here in the future and see an outfit that I absolutely have to have, I won’t be coming in here to buy it. Neither will anyone else I know who shops in this mall if I have anything to do with it.”

“I am really sorry that this happened, but I can guarantee you that this
will
be taken care of to your satisfaction. So I do hope you will reconsider.”