She pulled the bottom of my nightgown down further over my legs, like there were a bunch of perverted old men standing around my room or something.
“That Henry boy,” she said in disgust. “I’ve noticed he keeps coming ’round here, sniffing your drawers.”
“This is crazy, Momma,” I stated in protest.
Henry Wilkes was ugmo, which made him twice as jacked up in the face than ugly. Chance Martinez, my best friend, and I had made up the word to describe him. He was still my friend because you have to take friends where you can get them and most of the boys in the school were so stuck on themselves that they made me sick. The majority of the girls were too busy sizing each other up in competition to be friendly.
“Momma, Henry and I are friends. I don’t like him. He’s not attractive, at all.”
“Forget being attractive. Does he have any money?”
She was tripping. Did she not realize that no one at my school had money? If they did, they sure as hell wouldn’t be playing house in our ne
ighborhood. We didn’t have two nickels to rub together and it was my guess that Henry and his family didn’t have two pennies to rub together.
She stared at me like she was awaiting a response, one that should’ve been obvious, so I replied, “Don’t think so. Why?”
Her voice went up three decibels as she catapulted off the bed and threw her hands on her hips. “’Cause if he ain’t got no money, he needs to keep his little ass from ’round here!”
“Henry’s my partner for a science project. That’s why he’s been coming over lately.”
I figured that was the end of the conversation so I laid back down. Momma pinched me on the shoulder and I shrieked out in pain. “Ow, Momma! Why’d you do that?”
“Sit up and listen to me, dammit! I’ve been whoring all my life and I’m a good whore. You better learn how to be a good whore, too!”
Momma was about to give up too much information so I tried to ward her off. “Momma, please go to bed. You’re drunk.”
“I ain’t drunk.”
We both realized she was lying.
“I know what the hell I’m saying. Don’t ever fall in love, Rayne. Not ever. Bastards will chew you up like a wad of tobacco. Believe that.” I didn’t feel like hearing her mouth, but at least she’d finally lowered her voice some. “Men care about two things. Money and pussy; in that order. You need to concentrate on the money and intake dick for financial purposes only.”
I suppressed a laugh. If she’d been following that philosophy, we would’ve been living large. She was tripping, hard. I couldn’t imagine how many drinks she must’ve had. The bartender at the Eagle must’ve made some seriously strong drinks that night.
It wasn’t a secret that Momma loved spending time with men. Quite often, I’d wake up and find strange men scrambling eggs in the kitchen—the main staple we kept in the house—in the buff or close to it. Even so, the whoring comment had thrown me for a loop. She’d never come straight out and used the word “pussy” in front of me before, either.
“That’s not true, Momma, about men caring about two things. Some men care about more than that.”
She grabbed both sides of my face and stared into my eyes. “The hell they do. Loving a man will destroy you. He’ll destroy you. He’ll take your self-esteem. He’ll take your dignity. Then he’ll walk away and leave you with a stack of bills, bad credit, and possibly one or two babies.” I wondered if she was talking about my nameless father. “Men are selfish and aren’t capable of loving anyone but themselves.”
“I’ve seen plenty of men in love. Men that treat women with respect,” I told her.
I glanced at my alarm clock. Five A.M. Why couldn’t she simply go to bed?
Momma rolled her eyes at me. “Where? Where have you ever seen men in love? On cable? At the movies? Fantasyland, perhaps? That shit ain’t real. Name one fool—just one—you actually know who’s in love.”
Normally, I’d hate being put on the spot, but I had an answer for that one right away. Chance had been my best friend since first grade. If there was one thing I was absolutely certain of, her parents were madly in love. Chance was the third of six children and every experience in their home was like the Latino version of The Cosby Show. Even though they were a far cry from rich—more like barely making ends meet—everyone was always happy, smiling, and content; especially the parents. Yes, they were definitely in love. I was sure of it.
“Manuel Martinez. Chance’s daddy. He adores his wife,” I stated avidly. “They’re incredibly cute together.”
Momma laughed so hard, I thought she was going to choke on her own tongue.
“What’s so funny, Momma?”
“Rayne, I hate to burst your bubble, but puleeze! Manuel’s ass ain’t in love. He’s hanging in there because of all the damn babies that heifer keeps dropping. I’ve fucked Manuel a dozen times.”
I almost choked on my own tongue at that point. “You had sex with Chance’s daddy?”