God Still Don't Like Ugly

Book 2: GOD

by Mary Monroe

Genres: African American; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

National best-selling author Mary Monroe has drawn favorable comparisons to Toni Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston. In this sequel to the moving novel, God Don't Like Ugly, Annette Goode has finally found a man who loves her. But at a pre-wedding ceremony, her ugly past is revealed, and her world falls apart. When she reunites with her childhood sweetheart, it seems like everything might be fine - until her long-absent friend, who hides a deadly secret, comes back into Annette's life.

Release date: July 7, 2009

Publisher: Recorded Books

Print pages: 416

Sample

I used to wonder what I would look like if I had been born white. Now I know.

The white woman standing on the steps of the wraparound porch of the shabby clapboard house could have been my twin. As far as I could tell, sandy blond hair and a narrow nose were the only things she had that I didn’t have. I had to repress a gasp. I had to remind myself that this woman and I shared the same amount of blood from the same man. Black blood.

Throughout my plane ride from Richland, Ohio, to Miami, where I’d originally come from, with the help of several glasses of strong wine, I had composed and rehearsed several speeches. I had no idea what the appropriate things were to say to a father who had deserted me when I was a toddler, more than thirty years ago. What I wanted to say was not what I planned to say. It would have been too much, too soon. Good to see you again, Daddy. By the way, because of you, I had to spend ten years of my childhood living under the same roof with my rapist. But don’t worry, my playmate killed him for me and we didn’t get caught. I had promised myself that I would say something simple and painless. But now my head was spinning like a loose wheel and I felt like I was losing control of my senses. I didn’t know what was going to slide out of my mouth.

Confronting my daddy was going to be painful enough. But having to deal with him and a white woman who looked like me at the same time was going to be another story. Especially since I’d hated my looks for so many years.

I sat in the cab parked in front of the house on Mooney Street that steamy afternoon in August, looking out the window at that ghostly woman standing on her front porch, looking at me. The makeup that had taken me half an hour to apply was now melting and slowly sliding, like thick mud, down the sides of my burning face. I had licked off most of my plum-colored lipstick during the cab ride from the airport. Warm sweat had almost saturated my new silk blouse, making it stick to my flesh like a second layer of skin.

When the impatient cabdriver cleared his throat to get my attention, I paid him, tipped him ten percent, and tumbled out of the cab, snagging the knee of my L’eggs pantyhose with the corner of my suitcase.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, I looked around with great caution, because this was Liberty City, the belly of one of Miami’s roughest, predominately Black areas. I had hidden all of my cash in a cloth coin purse and pinned it to my girdle, but I still clutched my shoulder bag and looked around some more. I would have been just as cautious if I’d just landed in Beverly Hills. As far as I was concerned, the world was full of sharks; no place was safe for a female on her own. Especially one who attracted as much turmoil as I did.

It appeared to be a nice enough neighborhood, despite its reputation. The lawns were neat and the few Black people I saw seemed to be going on about their business like they didn’t have a care in the world. In front of the house to my left, a man in overalls was watering his grass with a hose, while a gospel singer wailed from a radio on the ground next to his feet. The man smiled and greeted me with a casual wave. I smiled and waved back.

An elderly woman, looking bitterly sad and walking with a cane, shuffled pass me. “How you doin’ this afternoon, sister?” she asked me in a raspy voice, hawking a gob of brown spit on the cracked sidewalk, missing my foot by a few inches.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I replied, hopping out of the way as the old woman dropped another load of spit. “Sister,” I added as an afterthought, even though the old woman didn’t hear me. It was a word I had to get used to now. Especially because of the sister with the blond hair on the porch looking in my direction.

The glare from the blazing sun made the woman on the porch squint. Then she shaded her eyes with a thick hand that displayed rings on every finger, including her thumb. She stared at me with her mouth hanging open. She seemed just as stunned as I was by our matching features. I was glad that she was the one to break the awkward silence. “Honeychile, come on up here so I can hug you! I been waitin’ a long time for this day.”

For a few moments, I just stood in the same spot, looking toward the porch, blinking hard to hold back my tears. Words danced around in my head, but I still didn’t know which ones to release.

A limp, plaid bathrobe that looked more like a patchwork quilt covered the woman from the neck on down to her wide, dusty bare feet. It pleased me to see that blood wasn’t the only thing we shared. Judging from her size, she enjoyed food as much as I did. I couldn’t tell where her waistline was, but the belt to her bathrobe had been tied into a neat knot below her massive chest. Her body looked as much like an oil drum as mine did. I had been wearing a size twenty-four for the past ten years. I couldn’t lose a single pound no matter what I did. To me, diets were a rip-off and exercise was too dangerous for people in my shape. An obese woman from my church had had a heart attack and died while trying to do sit-ups. Therefore, I ate everything I wanted to. I figured that since we all had to die eventually anyway, I might as well enjoy myself along the way.

I had been stout every day of my life. My mother said I’d been such a butterball of a baby, she had to diaper me with pillowcases. I was finally comfortable with being large, but it was more important that I was now comfortable with just being myself. With me, comfort and strength were one and the same. It had enabled me to do a lot of things that I had been afraid to do for years. Like tracking down the daddy I hadn’t seen since I was three years old. Unlike some of the other abandoned children I knew, I had refused to write my daddy off until I got some answers. I wanted to see him again and I wanted him to see me.

At least one more time.

The cloudless sky looked like a blue blanket. I welcomed the cool breeze that suddenly caressed my face. From the corners of my eyes, I could see streams of hazy, black smoke floating from several different directions. It smelled like everybody on the block was barbecuing. I couldn’t have picked a better day to return to Florida.

“Hurry up and come on up here on this porch right now. I been waitin’ long enough.” The woman stomped her foot and anxiously opened her arms. The sun made the rings on her fingers glisten as she beckoned me to join her.

“So have I,” I managed, my voice cracking. My suitcase and feet felt like they weighed a ton as I dragged myself toward the house. The narrow walkway was lined with bright yellow dandelion flowers and neatly trimmed grass. I almost tripped over a discarded bicycle wheel.

I made my way up the porch steps and set my suitcase down, not taking my eyes off the woman’s round, sweaty face. Now that I was closer, I could see that her eyes were blue. But they seemed cold and empty. I didn’t feel good about having such a morbid thought about a woman I didn’t even know. “You have beautiful eyes,” I said. I swallowed hard and slid my tongue across my lips.

“And so do you,” she replied with a wide smile, blinking her eyes like she was showing them off. Now those same eyes seemed full of warmth and life. Her plump cheeks were smeared with chocolate and bread crumbs. She started fanning herself with a newspaper and balancing her weight from one foot to the other. Out of nowhere, a huge, dusty-gray cat, its belly almost dragging the ground, waddled up the porch steps and started rubbing its side against the woman’s leg. “Go on back home, Clyde,” she hollered, gently kicking the cat away. The woman sniffed, folded her arms, and leaned her head back to look at my face some more. She had a deep, down-home drawl, but the tone of her voice was the same as mine. “Girl, I am so happy to finally meet you! You are just as pretty as Daddy said you were,” she squealed, fanning my face with her newspaper, too.

Pretty was one of many words that I had never associated with myself and when other people did, it made me even more nervous and self-conscious. My moon face, three chins, small black eyes, and dark brown skin were features I had always avoided looking at. Even though I stood in front of my mirror every day applying makeup, I only focused on my features one at a time, closing my eyes when I could.

“You…you must be Lillimae,” I stammered, as I rushed into my half-sister’s arms. The bear hugs we gave one another must have made us look like two huge grizzlies to the man next door, still watering his grass. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at us, scratching the top of his head.

“Come on in this house, girl.” Lillimae draped her heavy arm around my shoulder, rubbing it so hard it started throbbing.

I picked up my suitcase and followed Lillimae into a living room congested with too many chairs, two well-worn, brown vinyl couches facing one another, and a large TV with a wire coat hanger for antennae. An air conditioner whirred from a side window, forcing the leaves on a nearby rubber plant to flap.

I could smell the familiar aroma of turnip greens and other favorites that I could only describe as exotic. Smothered pork chops, cornbread, and macaroni and cheese were just part of a feast already decorating a table I couldn’t see.

“Lordy, Annette, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to meet you! All my life I wanted a big sister to look up to.” Lillimae wiped a tear from her eye and sniffed.

“And I’ve always wanted a sister, too,” I replied dryly. “When I was little, the only reason I wanted a sibling was so I could have somebody to boss around.” I laughed but I wished I hadn’t. It made my throat hurt.

“Well, I bossed around my baby sister and brother when we was kids. Now I wish I could take all that back.” Lillimae paused and dabbed sweat off my chin with her thumb. She patted my arm and gave me a thoughtful look. “Because ain’t nobody supposed to torment the ones they love. There’s enough others goin’ to do that.”

I blinked and nodded in agreement. The people that I had loved had been the ones who had hurt me the most. I had come to Florida, hoping to heal my heart. Daddy had helped break it in two.

I set my suitcase on the freshly waxed linoleum floor and followed Lillimae to one of the couches. When we sat down, the couch squished and squeaked and almost flattened to the floor from the strain of our combined weight. And that had to be at least five hundred pounds.

“It’s so nice to finally get you down here!” Lillimae grinned, squeezing my hand. I flinched as the rings on her fingers dug into my flesh. “All that prayin’ I done has finally paid off. Praise the Lord.”

“Is…is Daddy here?” I asked, looking around the room. Daddy’s blood was all over the place. Two of the peach-colored walls in the living room were practically covered with pictures of other young faces that also resembled mine, down to the same flat, sad eyes and bloated cheeks.

Before Lillimae could respond, my daddy, also wearing a long, drab bathrobe, shuffled into the room, sliding a limp, wet towel across his face. I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming. The once-handsome man who had fathered me looked like he had just stumbled out of a mummy’s tomb. The healthy head of thick, black hair I remembered had been replaced with a receding halo of thin white cotton. The proud, inky-black eyes I had admired so much as a child now looked gray and tortured. Deep lines crisscrossed his face like a road map. Lips that looked like raw liver couldn’t hide his snaggle-toothed grin. The few teeth he had left would have looked better on a serpent. His broad shoulders had shrunk and now drooped like the shoulders of a man who had yoked a heavy load far longer than he should have. He had never had much of a butt. But now his backside was as flat as a board, making it look like he had a very long back supported by a pair of frail, slightly bowed legs. His belly resembled a huge cummerbund.

“It took you long enough to get here,” Daddy snapped, weaving toward me, his bathrobe dragging the floor. The booming voice I remembered had been replaced by a weak, scratchy growl. “I sent you your airplane fare five years ago!” His eyes watered as he stared at me like he was seeing me for the first time.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I had a lot of things to take care of first,” I explained, rising. “Muh’Dear…she didn’t want me to come back down here.”

At the mention of my mother, Daddy stopped and turned away, tossing the towel on top of a goosenecked lamp in a corner behind him.

“I figured that,” he mumbled, shaking his head. His exasperation was obvious, but that didn’t faze me one bit. I was just as exasperated as he was. Maybe even more so. “Ain’t you around forty-somethin’ now, girl?” Daddy asked, facing me with one eyebrow raised.

“Me? Oh—well, I’m thirty-five. My birthday was last week,” I stammered. My words hung in midair while I groped for more. I pressed my lips together and blinked stupidly.

Daddy grunted and made a sweeping gesture with a hand so gnarled, it looked like it had never been straight. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You was born durin’ dog days. Well, that’s old enough for you to be doin’ what you want to do. I was beginnin’ to think that I wouldn’t get to see you again ’til the Rapture. Ain’t that right, Lillimae?”

Lillimae chuckled. “Daddy got a notion in his head that the world’s goin’ to end any day now. He won’t even buy nothin’ on credit no more.”

I was too nervous and confused to go to my daddy. I wanted to hug him and slap him at the same time. More than thirty years was a long time to be separated from somebody you loved. He had a reason to be angry with me for taking so long to come see him, but I had even more of a reason to be angry with him. He was the one who had run out on my mother and me at a time when we needed him the most. It was time for him to answer for what he had done.

I was devastated that long-ago morning when Daddy deserted my mother and me, leaving us in a run-down shack with just ten dollars and some change to our names. A tornado had swept through Miami the night before, destroying most of our few possessions. That had been enough of a trauma. For many years I had blamed that storm for helping destroy my family, but Daddy had put his plan in place even before that.

His cruel departure was unexpected and thorough. I knew he wasn’t coming back, because he took everything he cared about with him.

Everything but my mother and me.

I never got over losing my daddy. He had been the most honorable, gentle, dependable man I knew back then. He’d loved us with a passion and I had adored him. Like a slave, he had worked in the fields from sunup to sundown almost every day to support us and we had depended on him. He’d kept my mother and me happy by spending most of his meager wages on us. He would wear his shoes until the soles flapped, his clothes until they fell off his body, and sometimes he’d go without eating a meal so we could have seconds. But like it was a rug, he had snatched that security from under us and left us struggling around like we didn’t know which way to turn. And we didn’t. It was almost like being blind. I always knew that someday I would track Daddy down and make him sorry.

My mother had shed so many tears and spent so much time in the bed those first few days, I felt like the parent. I had to help her bathe, comb her hair, and cook. And all that had frightened me. It had been a heavy burden for a three-and-a-half-year-old child.

I had grieved, too, but behind my mother’s back. I could not count the number of times I’d wallowed on the ground behind an old orange tree in our backyard crying until I’d made myself sick. I didn’t want my mother to know that I was in just as much pain as she was.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be all right,” I assured her. My mother must have believed me because right after I said that, she stopped crying and leaped out of that bed.

It didn’t take long for us to spend that last ten dollars and change. After we ate all the food in the house, we ate berries from a nearby bush and oranges from the tree that I’d cried behind. My mother didn’t believe in going to the welfare department for assistance. Other than a distant aunt we rarely saw, there were no other relatives that I knew of for us to turn to. Both of my parents had taught me that it was wrong to steal, but that didn’t stop my mother and me from sneaking into other people’s yards in the middle of the night to steal fruit, vegetables, and anything else edible. One night we got caught snatching a chicken out of a man’s backyard. The man turned a dog loose on us that chased us all the way back home with that doomed chicken in a pillowcase squawking all the way. We got our best meals at church each Sunday and from food we stole out of the kitchens of some of the white people my mother did domestic work for.

Like an answer to a prayer, one of my mother’s female friends moved to Richland, Ohio, and shortly afterward encouraged us to join her. She even sent us the money to cover our fare. In the middle of the night, my mother and I tiptoed out of our house owing back rent and loans, taking only what we could carry. Just like thieves. A segregated train took us from one pit of despair to another.

That year was 1954.

It was hard to believe that I’d made it to 1985.

As weak and sad as Daddy now looked, I would make sure that he knew just how much he had hurt us by sacrificing us for that white woman. And I would never let him forget that because I couldn’t. Anger consumed me as I looked at him. The knife that had been in my back for so long only shifted its position.

I managed to postpone my wrath and wrapped my arms around my daddy. His body was as rigid as a tree trunk. He had the strong, musky smell of a man who didn’t waste money on man-made fragrances. He leaned back and stared through me as if I were not there, bug-eyed and unblinking, like a dead man.

Finally, Daddy hugged me back with limp arms that trembled. He hesitated for a moment before he rested his knotty head on my shoulder. “Annette, I am so, so sorry for what I done to you and your mama. I can’t change the past, but I swear to God I’ll be there for you from now on.” Then, my daddy cried like a baby.

And so did I.

As much as I had hated living in Ohio those first few years, I made the best of it. Living in shacks and wearing secondhand clothes were the only things I’d ever known, but to lighten our load, my mother took in an elderly boarder. Mr. Boatwright, a homely, one-legged man with beady black eyes, a suspicious smile, and a mysterious past was a poor substitute for my daddy but he’d made my life easier. For a little while, at least. He showered me with the things I enjoyed the most, like toys and money. And even though I was already the largest first-grade student at Richland Elementary, which he complained about all the time, he helped me grow even larger by stuffing me with unnecessary snacks.

Within months after Mr. Boatwright’s arrival, he revealed a side of himself that nobody but me would ever see. When we were alone, he no longer treated me like the granddaughter he never had. He treated me like a secret lover. He spent more time in my bed than he did his own. I got to know his tired, plump body as well as I knew mine. The endless wrinkles that covered him like a suit of armor, nappy gray hair, and the stump where his leg used to be all formed a grim picture that has been permanently seared into my brain.

In his scratchy voice, spraying my face with foul, yellow spit, he told me, “You ain’t the prettiest gal in the world and I could do a lot better. Ain’t too many men would touch a child as black, fat, and ugly as you. You done good to open up my nose, girl. I’m real particular.” He added threats that kept me silent for years. “You ever was to tell about that little thing we do, I’ll have to kill you….”

Mr. Boatwright secured his threats by whupping me on a regular basis and waving a gun in my face. Not only did all that keep my mouth shut and my legs open, but my mother idolized this old man and so did everybody else I knew. I never even had a ghost of a chance.

“Brother Boatwright is more of a daddy to you than your own daddy was,” my mother insisted whenever I complained about Mr. Boatwright whupping me. “Forget about Frank. You ain’t never goin’ to see him again nohow.”

No matter how hard my mother and Mr. Boatwright tried to make me forget my own daddy, I couldn’t. My life was like a jigsaw puzzle that I had been trying to put together for years. The only piece still missing was Daddy.

As much as I had wanted to see my father again, I suddenly found myself wishing I could be anywhere but back in Miami. I decided to put that and Mr. Boatwright and his threats out of my mind and focus on the real reason I had made the trip to Florida: to straighten out my tortured life.

There were just the three of us at the dinner table, but Lillimae had prepared enough food to feed twice as many people. As appealing as everything on the table looked and smelled, I couldn’t eat. My stomach was in knots and my head was spinning and had been from the moment I got out of the cab that had brought me from the airport.

If Daddy and Lillimae were as uncomfortable as I was, they didn’t show it. They inadvertently entertained me by loudly gobbling up mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and greens like they had not eaten in days. A platter of grilled catfish, the flat, black eyes still intact, stared at me. Daddy and Lillimae stared at me, too, as if it were my responsibility to keep a conversation going. I did the best I could. I regaled them with details of my plane ride, the delay I encountered when I went to retrieve my luggage, and the cab ride from the airport. These mundane things didn’t even interest me, but Daddy and Lillimae hung on to my words as if listening to me deliver their favorite psalm. When their eyes were not on me, I peered into a bowl next to the catfish that contained lumps of mysterious, root-like items in thick, brown gravy. Whatever it was, it must have been good, because Lillimae and Daddy dipped into that bowl with a vengeance.

It was hard to keep my eyes off Daddy’s face. However, between him and Lillimae, his face was the easier one to tolerate. Seeing a white version of myself was a shock to my system. Lillimae’s existence was a profound reminder of Daddy’s betrayal. But I knew I had to work around that if I wanted to keep Daddy in my life this time. No matter how much it hurt.

“Sister-girl, you ain’t barely ate a bite. Now, them greens is screamin’ too loud for you not to eat ’em. But don’t worry about them smashed potatoes. They are sure enough lumpy. I can feed what we don’t eat to that greedy cat from next door. Clyde. That mangy old feline would eat a rock,” Lillimae told me, chewing so hard her ears wiggled. An onion strip hung from her bottom lip like a ribbon. “I told Daddy not to smash them potatoes with a spatula.”

“The mashed potatoes taste fine but I…I ate on the plane,” I muttered, sliding food around on my plate with a slightly bent fork. “And, I’ve been trying to lose a few pounds anyway,” I lied.

Daddy nodded and snapped a mighty pork chop in two with his sparse teeth. Lillimae burped and snatched another huge chunk of cornbread from a cracked bowl next to my plate. She slapped the cornbread with a gob of butter and continued stuffing her mouth. It pleased me to see somebody else appreciate food as much as I did, when I was in the mood to eat. It brought tears to my eyes to have to ignore all the good food sitting in front of me. But every time I tried to swallow something, a huge lump in my throat blocked the way, almost making me choke.

Daddy took a long swallow from a can of beer and let out a great belch. “You ain’t got to lose no weight, girl.” He paused and gave his chest a punch with his fist; then he belched again, covering his mouth and excusing himself. “You look fine just the way you is.” Daddy grunted and punched his chest again. “Black men like women to have some meat on them bones.” That sounded strange coming from him. I had only glimpsed the white woman one time that he had left my mother for. From what I had been able to see, there had not been a lot of meat on her bones. Daddy gave me a sharp look and asked harshly, “How come you ain’t married yet? What’s wrong with them brothers up there in Ohio, lettin’ a fox like you run loose?” Before I could respond, he turned to Lillimae. “Girl, pass me that bowl of smashed potatoes.” Daddy eagerly scooped up what was left of the potatoes, but not before Lillimae dipped her spoon in again.

“I’m engaged,” I said proudly. “Jerome, my fiancé, is a high school guidance counselor.” I paused and turned to Lillimae. “And he is so handsome.” I felt it was necessary to let it be known that even a plain, heavyset woman like me could attract a good-looking man who loved me enough he wanted to marry me. Other than the man who had raped me for ten years, Jerome was the only man who had ever put me first in his life. That was something I couldn’t even say about my daddy.

With raised eyebrows, Daddy and Lillimae looked at one another, then back to me with wide smiles on their faces.

“Well, I declare. My girl done outdone herself.” Daddy beamed proudly, grinning so hard the skin on his bottom lip cracked. “You done found you a educated man, huh?” He sniffed and wiped a speck of fresh blood from the crack on his lip.

I smiled and looked away before answering. “I didn’t find him, Daddy. He found me.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes bragging about Jerome Cunningham and how good he was to me and for me.

The few letters and telephone conversations I had shared with my daddy during the last five years had not revealed much about him and his new family. But when he and Lillimae started talking, while we were still eating dinner, I heard everything I had been anxious to hear. And a few things I didn’t want to hear.

Even though Daddy had admitted that he was sorry he had deserted my mother and me, he made it clear to me that he was happy with his new family. My other two half-siblings, Amos and Sondra, were both in the military, stationed somewhere in Germany. Daddy had retired from a security guard position at a rough high school and now lived on a monthly pension check.

Other than an occasional dinner with a pushy grandmother he referred to as “Miss Pittman,” Daddy had no love life. “I don’t miss havin’ no lady friend,” he insisted, a faraway look in his eyes. “Women done got me in enough trouble to last me from now on.”

Immediately after the elaborate meal, Daddy excused himself from the table in the middle of a sentence. He ran to the bathroom, moaning and cussing all the way.

“He’s got weak bowels,” Lillimae whispered, rising from the table.

I had almost forgotten how kicked-back people were down South. It was late in the evening and Lillimae was still in her bathrobe from that morning. There was now gravy on her bare feet that had dripped off her overflowing dinner plate. She ignored the gnats hovering above her toes, but every few minutes she lifted her feet and shook them.

“Poor Daddy. He’s so proud and independent, it took me a year to talk him into movin’ in with me so I could look after him. And not a minute too soon, girl. Miss Pittman was just about to reel him in like a carp.”

“What-all is wrong with Daddy? He doesn’t look too well,” I said with concern, tapping my fingers on the naked wooden table situated in the middle of the small kitchen.

“Oh, he’s in pretty good health for a man his age, but he was so lonely livin’ alone. And in a neighborhood that was so rough even the cops got robbed on the streets. I was just as lonely as Daddy was.” Lillimae paused and leaned down to scratch the side of her foot. Then she started removing plates from the table.

“I’ll help you clean up,” I offered. I stood up, my legs feeling like lead pipes. I massaged my thighs, frowning at the hole on the knee of my pantyhose that I had ruined crawling out of the cab.

She waved me back to my seat. “You just sit there. You’re company. It ain’t every day I get to see family.” She paused and continued talking with her back to me. “Uh, some folks wouldn’t want nothin’ to do with a man’s outside woman’s kids. Sharin’ the. . .