God Don't Like Ugly Page 0,49

sincerity, as fulfilling as it was in my dreams. I was somebody. No matter what happened to me after this day, nobody could take away this feeling of importance I felt since meeting Rhoda.

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Annette,” I said, almost out of breath. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

“Gussie Mae’s sweet little girl. My, what a pretty smile you have,” Mrs. Nelson told me. The Rapture could not have impressed me more.

“Muh’Dear, guess what,” Rhoda said. She ran up to her mother and threw her arms around her waist. “Annette’s got a real live, peg-legged man livin’ in her house.” Muh’Dear. Among Black kids, that title was the equivalent of Your Highness.

“Oh, I know that saintly Brother Boatwright. How is Brother Boatwright gettin’ along, Annette?” There was a look of genuine concern on Mrs. Nelson’s face.

“He’s fine,” I said stiffly. He even had this smart woman fooled! If only she knew all the mean and nasty things he had said about her.

“I must get to the kitchen to supervise supper. Mr. Nelson is preparing a leg of lamb.” Mrs. Nelson sighed. A blanket of sadness seemed to cover me. Mr. Boatwright was cooking up another coon for our dinner. “You must join us for a meal sometime, Annette.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I managed. I was so stunned and impressed I couldn’t think straight. Mrs. Nelson seemed to float out of the room, leaving the scent of her expensive perfume behind.

“How come she’s got on a housecoat this time of the day?” I whispered, my eyes still on the door.

“Oh she’s got a bad heart and has to rest a lot. She can’t drink alcohol or dance or anything like that. It could kill her.”

“Who takes care of the house?”

“We do. Me and Jock and my daddy. Uncle Johnny helps out when he’s not in jail. And whenever Aunt Lola comes to visit, she takes over.” Rhoda was talking as she moved across the floor and flipped on a radio on her dresser. Soft classical music filled the room.

“How come you all don’t get a maid. Your daddy is rich.”

“A maid? No way. No stranger is goin’ to come into this house and start bossin’ us around. You lucked out gettin’ somebody like that one-legged man to take care of your house. What’s his name again?”

“His name is Mr. Boatwright,” I mumbled, my eyes on the floor.

“He was supposed to come live with us, but Daddy had to turn Reverend Snipes down because my uncle Johnny decided to move in with us around the same time and needed the room,” Rhoda revealed. I tried to imagine what would have happened if Mr. Boatwright had moved in with the Nelsons and did to Rhoda what he was doing to me.

“I never knew about that,” I gasped.

“Too bad we couldn’t take him in, huh?”

“Yeah. Too bad,” I mouthed.

CHAPTER 15

I was so excited when I got home from the Nelsons’ house, I didn’t care what Mr. Boatwright did to me. He did attempt to have sex with me but was unable. Something about his back going out. Of course he blamed that on me, saying I was getting too fat for him to try and turn over in the bed. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and a threatening look. He headed for the kitchen, and I went to bathe.

After I ate dinner I put on my robe and waited in the living room for Mama to come home. I didn’t know what part of the house Mr. Boatwright was in, and I didn’t care. I was still on cloud nine from my visit to the Nelsons.

I met Mama at the door with a hug.

“What’s wrong with you, girl?” she wanted to know. She had never seen me like this before, and it startled her. She held me back and gave me a long, hard look. “Did you get in trouble at school today? You pregnant?”

“Oh no, Mama. Guess what? I went to Rhoda Nelson’s house this evening after school. It looks like a palace over there. And it smells like one. I met her mother and saw her mink coat and baby grand piano and everything. Mr. Nelson’s friend, that Italian man—the one who owns Antonosanti’s restaurant—was there and I met him. I even met Uncle Johnny. They were all real nice and proper. I met her big brother Jock. He…uh…now he was kind of mean, but Rhoda told me he’s really kind of nice when he’s not mad

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