The Ugly Side of Me Read online

  I was shocked as heck that my mama would ask me such a question, but then again, Lerlean was never one to bite her tongue for anyone.

  “No, Mama.”

  She cocked her head to the other side and glared at me some more. “Don’t lie to me, Rhapsody. All I gotta do is take you down to the clinic and find out. Are you messin’?”

  “No, Mama, I’m not.”

  “Let me tell you somethin’. You can go out there and get a baby if you want to, but you need to know that I’m not raising any more kids. These li’l boys will say anything to get you to have sex. Well, I ain’t having it. So I’ma tell you this one time and one time only. Keep your legs closed. You’re only fourteen years old, and I’m not gonna let you throw your future away because some li’l snot-nosed, musty boy told you that you were pretty. You are pretty, and I want you to stay that way, because there’s nothin’ pretty about a fourteen-year-old pregnant girl. And if you do mess around and get caught up, I’ma beat the black off you, then send you to live with him and his mama.”

  It took Lerlean only one time to preach to me. I was proud to say that my mama never had to put me out of her house.

  I promised my parents that I would make something of myself someday. I went to college, graduated at the top of my class, and got a job immediately. I went to work for the Chicago Transit Authority, even though it wasn’t in my field. But I didn’t mind at all. Money was money. And I didn’t care if I was called a sellout for living better or driving better. I felt that if someone wasn’t paying my house or car note, then Stacy and everyone else who had a problem with my lifestyle could do what I used to hear my mama tell my daddy all the time. Kiss my entire black rump. And I had a big rump too, just like Lerlean.

  Sometimes it could be hotter than hell itself in June. My air conditioner was blowing as I headed west on Interstate 290. I was cruising at forty miles an hour. According to a report on WGN Channel 9 news the night before, Chicago was ranked number one when it came to cities with the worst traffic. I was certainly a living witness to that. I was literally playing a game of stop and go. My commute to Oakbrook Terrace from the Loop was jacked up every single day.

  I thought about the day I’d had. Mondays were always bad. It didn’t matter where you worked or how much money you made. If you had four more days ahead of you to do the crap you hated to do, then Mondays were always bad. A few minutes before quitting time today, a woman had decided to end her life by jumping onto the tracks, into the path of an oncoming train. I had been standing by the time clock, ready to punch my time card, when the message came over the walkie-talkie from the control center. I’d been afraid to turn around and look into my boss’s face for fear of what I might see.

  “I know you heard that, Rhapsody,” Mr. Duncan had said to me.

  Darn. I had to do mandatory overtime. “Yeah, I heard it.” I exhaled loudly and placed my unpunched time card back in its slot.

  Then Mr. Duncan and I hopped into his company SUV and headed to the tunnel at State and Randolph Streets, so that he could investigate the incident while I did what I was hired to do, which was to reroute passengers. I’d been with the CTA for almost nine years, and it was my job to direct train and bus passengers to an alternate source of transportation each time there was an accident or derailment.

  I hated working with the public, because people could be some of the most ignorant buttholes you could ever meet. For me, seeing a maimed body was the same as watching The Young and the Restless during my lunch hour. It had always been a part of my day. But trying to reroute passengers who had never seen anything so hideous was difficult.

  Mr. Duncan and I arrived at the tunnel and pressed our way through the crowd of people staring at the body on the tracks. It was a mystery why we always arrived at the crime scenes before the police did. When I got to the edge of the platform, I saw a woman, who appeared to be in her early thirties, lying across the tracks, with pieces of her body strewn all around her.

  “She was standing there. Then, all of a sudden, she just jumped right when the train was coming,” an elderly Caucasian woman said. I immediately pulled her to the side and asked her to wait for the police to arrive, because they’d definitely want to talk with her if they ever got their sorry tails there.

  Each time I managed to pull one passenger away from the edge of the platform, another would step in his or her place to get a look at the dead woman on the tracks. I softly tugged on a black man’s arm to get him away from the edge of the platform. “Sir, step this way, please.”

  “I’m just trying to see,” he said to me.

  That was what I was referring to when I said that people could be some of the most ignorant buttholes you could ever meet. Who in their right mind would want to see bloody body parts sprawled across the tracks? I felt like pushing him off the platform so that he would land right on top of the dead woman. That way he’d get an up close and personal look at her and probably catch a case of hepatitis C.

  It took about an hour to clear the tunnel of passengers; the police had arrived by then, along with the city coroner. That was when I noticed the young blond train operator sitting on a bench, with her head hanging down. I went and sat next to her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  When she looked at me, I saw the bluest eyes. She didn’t say anything, but I noticed tears streaming down her cheeks. Of course she’d be upset. What train operator wouldn’t be in this situation?

  “Would you like a bottle of water?”

  She sniffled and blew her nose in the tissue she was holding. “I couldn’t stop. There was nothing I could do. It all happened so fast.”

  She began sobbing loudly, and I pulled her into my arms and rocked her. I truly felt sorry for her. Witnessing someone jump in front of the train you were driving could traumatize a person for life. While I was consoling her, the CTA’s urine laboratory technician stepped up to us and told her that she had tested positive for alcohol. She didn’t have the five years of service needed to qualify for the employees’ assistance program, where you could keep your job but get treatment for six months without pay.

  Personally, I didn’t feel that was right. Someone had jumped in front of her train, and she had had to take a piss test, like it was her fault. She placed her face in her hands and cried some more. Just like that, she was out of a job. Now, that was real trauma.

  Too much excitement for a Monday had made me hungry. I saw that I was coming up on Seventeenth Avenue, and I couldn’t help but see the huge Burger World sign from the expressway. After the day I’d had, I sure as heck wasn’t about to try to cook anything. I put my right turn signal on and made my way up the exit ramp. I turned into the Burger World parking lot and drove into the drive-through lane, then placed my order.

  “Your total comes to six dollars and seventeen cents. Please drive up to the window,” the cashier told me over the intercom.

  I proceeded to the window and held out a ten-dollar bill for the cashier to take when I saw him leaning out the window. He was fair skinned, high yellow, some might say.

  He repeated the order I’d placed. “That was a cheeseburger deluxe, a small French fry, a medium root beer, and a slice of apple pie?”

  He waited for me to confirm that the order was correct, but I was in a daze. I stared into the greenest eyes I’d ever seen in all my thirty-four years of life. He saw the ten-dollar bill stretched out to him but, I guess, decided not to take the money from me until I had answered him. He looked at me as I gazed through him. “Ma’am?”

  I blinked three times. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  He repeated my order.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” I confirmed.

  “Six seventeen.”

  I extended the money his way. He grabbed the bill, but I held on to it. When I didn’t release it, he looked at me.

  “Would you like something else?” he asked.

  Yes. You on a silver platter. I let go of the money. “No, that’ll be all.”

>   A minute later he returned to the window with my change and my drink. “I’m sorry, but it’s gonna be a three-minute wait for your fries,” he said. “If you pull into one of the waiting parking spots, someone will bring your order out to you.”

  “I want you to bring it out to me.” I had inherited my mother’s raw tongue. Just like Lerlean, I was extremely outspoken.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I placed my order with you, and it was you who took my money, so I want you to bring it to me, and no one else. Because if my order is not right, I’ll know who to blame.”

  I didn’t wait for a response. I drove into a waiting spot, placed the car in park, and did a quick make-up check in my rearview mirror. I could tell from his smooth skin that I had at least ten good years on him, but I didn’t care, ’cause if he was grown enough to work a job, then he was grown enough to work me.

  From my purse, I withdrew a small bottle of Vera Wang perfume and sprayed the insides of my wrists and rubbed them together. I quickly ran my fingers through my shoulder-length locks; then I adjusted the air conditioner to blow full blast.

  I was sitting in my Mercedes-Benz, enjoying the comfort of the air conditioner, when there was a knock at my window. I looked up and saw him standing there, holding a white paper bag. I pressed the button to lower my window, and he gently placed the bag in my hand.

  “I’m sorry about the wait,” he said, apologizing.

  “It was no problem. Hot fries are always worth the wait.” You are worth waiting on too.

  “Well, have a nice day, ma’am.”

  He had turned to walk away when I called after him. “Can you wait a second? I want to make sure my order is correct.”

  “I checked it myself, ma’am. You got exactly what you ordered.”

  I looked him up and down. Humph. Not everything.

  I unwrapped the cheeseburger and saw it had been prepared the way I wanted. My French fries were hot and fresh. “You forgot something,” I complained.

  He looked at me. “And what might that be?”

  “Ketchup.”

  “I didn’t forget it. Condiments are given only upon request.”

  I looked deep into his jades. “Okay, well, I request three packets of ketchup.”

  He cracked a smile, which made me believe that he knew I was flirting with him. “Are you serious?”

  “What do you mean, ‘Are I serious?’ Of course I’m serious. Who eats French fries without ketchup?”

  “I just figured you to be a barbecue sauce kind of woman.”

  “Is that right? I like barbecue sauce, so you can bring me some of that too.”

  “I’m gonna have to charge you for the barbecue sauce.”

  “You can charge me for barbecue sauce, soy sauce, tartar sauce, and hot sauce as long as I get to see you again.”

  He smiled. “Hold that thought.” He disappeared inside Burger World and returned with three packets each of barbecue sauce and ketchup. “Here you go. The barbecue sauce is on the house.”

  “Thank you, but you still forgot something.”

  “Ask me how I knew you were gonna say that. What did I forget this time?”

  “I want you to figure it out.”

  “Ma’am, I’m on the clock. I don’t have that kind of time.”

  “First of all, my name is not ma’am.” Dang. Did I look that old to be called ma’am? That was what I called women my mother’s age. “It’s Rhapsody, okay? Rhapsody Blue. Secondly, isn’t it your responsibility to make sure that each customer is completely satisfied?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, let me ask you a question. What’s your name?”

  He pointed to the tag on his shirt. “Malcolm.”

  “Malcolm, what should I do if I get too much ketchup or barbecue sauce on my fingers?”

  He chuckled. “Lick them clean.”

  “Yeah, I guess I could do that, but what if I wanted to wipe them clean instead?”

  Malcolm laughed out loud. “I forgot your napkins, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. But I don’t mind waiting while you get them.”

  Two minutes later Malcolm presented me with napkins. “At the risk of losing my job for spending too much time out here, I’ll ask the question, anyway. Can I get you anything else?”

  “Yes. Your age and telephone number.” There was no shame in my game, but I needed to make sure he was legal.

  “I’m twenty-one,” Malcolm said.

  I smiled, because he was old enough to handle what I wanted to do to him. I didn’t have to worry about getting arrested. The moment I knew Malcolm was an adult, I went all the way in. “If I invited you to my bedroom tonight, would you come?”

  He blushed first, then laughed out loud. Malcolm’s yellow complexion turned crimson red right in front of me. He covered his mouth with a semi-closed fist and asked, “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack,” I answered. I wasn’t smiling.

  There was a long pregnant pause before Malcolm spoke. He stopped smiling and looked directly into my eyes. “How old are you, Rhapsody?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. It might.”

  “I’m thirty-four,” I said and held my breath. He was so fine, and I wanted him badly.

  When he nodded his head up and down, I became hopeful and released a sigh of relief.

  “Yeah, we can do this.”

  Good. “What time are you off?”

  “Nine.”

  After assuring me that he’d meet me in my bedroom after his shift was over, Malcolm and I exchanged cellular telephone numbers. I drove away from Burger World, feeling like a new woman. I was dry, and I looked forward to some young blood quenching my thirst.

  Chapter 3

  I couldn’t get out of the parking lot fast enough before I called Anastasia, Stacy’s government name.

  “Stacy, I just found my husband.”

  I heard her sigh into the phone line. I knew what she was thinking. Aw, heck! Here we go again. “Before we go any further, Rhapsody, I gotta remind you that the Bible says that a man finds his wife, not the other way around.”

  “Well, I found this man at Burger World, and I’m keeping him.”

  “Burger World?”

  “Yes, Burger World. He works there.”

  “Rhapsody, you work for the CTA, making boo coo money. What can a man working in a fast-food restaurant do for you?”

  “That’s what I’m gonna find out, and guess what else, Stacy.”

  “I’m afraid to. Just tell me.”

  “He’s twenty-one years old.”

  Anastasia shrieked. “Twenty-one? Rhapsody, are you crazy?”

  It was just like her to jump off the deep end over something so minor. I longed for the day when I’d hear my best girlfriend say something like, “All right with your bad self. I ain’t mad at ya.”

  “Stacy, calm down. Dang. Why can’t you ever be happy for me? I tell you I met a young tenderoni, and you act like all hell has broken loose.”

  “I’m glad you mentioned that, Rhapsody, because all hell will break loose when you bust it wide open.”

  I rolled my eyes into the air. I didn’t feel like listening to another one of Anastasia’s self-righteous sermons. “He’s legal, Stacy.”

  “And that makes it all right?”

  “Whatever. Besides, it’s about time for this kitty kat to come out of hiding.”

  “Rhapsody, you’re going straight to jail for messing with these li’l boys.”

  “Well, be that as it may, just be down at the jailhouse with my bond money when I call. And trust me when I tell you this, girlfriend. Malcolm doesn’t look like a boy. I got a good look at his biceps and pecs through his uniform shirt, and they were screaming out my name.”

  “Oh, I get it. You just want a boy toy to play with,” Anastasia said.

  “No, not necessarily, but if the opportunity presents itself, I can’t make any p
romises to walk away from it. You’ll never understand, Stacy. You lie next to a man every night.”

  “I’m married. I can do that. Just take a cold shower and you’ll be all right.”

  “You think it’s that easy? Just take cold showers about four times a day? That’s your advice to me? I ain’t never been celibate, and I ain’t tryin’ to be.”

  “Cold showers could help.”

  “Well, let me just tell you that that is a myth. I can remember a time when I sat in a tub of cold water and it started bubbling like I had dropped two Alka-Seltzer tablets in it. You know my vajayjay stays hot.”

  Although Stacy didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but laugh at me. “Ooh, I can’t believe you said that. But for real, though, Rhapsody, you need to get saved. And God will keep those that want to be kept.”

  Here she goes again with this holy, holy, saved and sanctified crap. “Like who? You? Girl, please. When was the last time you said a prayer? You go to church only on Easter and Mother’s Day. So, when you get the calling and preach your first sermon, I’ll be sitting on the front pew, but until then, you need to shut up and stop judging what I do.”

  “Why you gotta cuss me out like that, Rhapsody? I’m tryin’ to help you out. You’re making this personal.”

  “You never cussed me out, Stacy?”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying. Didn’t you cuss me out last Thursday, when I bought myself a Fendi bag without buying you one to match it?”

  “And that was a good reason for cussing you out. You don’t do no mess like that.”

  “Look, can we change the subject? I’m getting a headache.”

  “Uh-uh. We’re gonna finish this. Why not get involved in an extracurricular activity to take your mind off of sex?”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Heck, anything. How about bike riding?”

  I thought about it. “Uh-uh. The seat pressing against my inner thighs will make me horny.”

  Anastasia exhaled. “Oh, Lord. Well, how about doing aerobics at the gym?”

  I thought about that also. “Nope, because all that sweat on my body will become hot and sticky, and I’ll end up in the sauna, doing nasty things to myself.”