Searching for Tina Turner - By Jacqueline E. Luckett Page 0,47
work with and who you won’t.” The tap, tap of Bobbie’s pencil or fingernail against the phone makes Lena feel like a poor student about to give a wrong answer to the teacher’s question.
“I failed.”
“You stood up for yourself. Did you think if you threw down the gauntlet Randall would sweep you off your feet, make passionate love to you, and promise to value you for what you do for him and your family? Please.”
“This is the most thoughtless, thought-full decision I’ve ever made.” Lena pulls the covers over her head to shut out the radiant sun and what was a wonderful view of the neighborhood trees and their speckled shadows, San Francisco, and two bridges before she opened that envelope. “I should have spoken up sooner.”
“I can’t hear you. Where are you, Lena?”
“I’m in hell. At least he could have given us more thought—it’s only been six days. It’s like I’m no good… something that needs to be gotten rid of quickly. Like the garbage or… a big black spider.”
“Can you finish what you started?”
“I can’t breathe.” Tina started over at forty-five. Now she has to start over, too. “What will I do? I feel like something is stuck in my throat. I can’t breathe.” Under the weight of the covers Lena feels like a ten-year-old hiding from the bogeyman, waiting for her big sister to rescue her with a flashlight.
“The choice has been made—move on, sister.”
f f f
In the bathroom, Lena stares at the cabinet shelves lined with amber vials of leftover prescriptions for the insomnia that comes from menopause and the aches that come with aging. She snatches seven amber vials from the mirrored cabinet and folds them carefully into the bottom of her pajama top. With her free hand, she rearranges what is left behind—aspirin, a box of cotton swabs, alcohol, peroxide, dry-eye solution, tea tree oil, and a box of estrogen patches—around the shelves, then walks back into the bedroom. What would Randall say if she did it? What would he do if she swallowed these pills? One by one, she empties the vials onto the bedspread; pills tumble, bead-like, left and right into piles. They should have held on to simple things, said I love you. Let’s try.
Her pajamas are wet, her pillow is soaked, her glass filled with Drambuie. She sips and holds the liquid in her mouth. Would he be sorry that he didn’t try to understand how much she loves him, how much she needs to be herself? Does he understand that she will never be able to get back what has been broken? She swallows hard and waits for the liquor to go down her throat and dissolve in her stomach juices. Stupid Randall. Stupid Lena.
Lena rolls the caplets between her fingers, watches them crumble with the heat of her hand. She gulps more Drambuie, lets it take its last slow ride down her throat. Sleep used to be sweet. If only she could sleep. Forever. If she had taped that Tina Turner interview she would watch it now. Lena reaches for her book and settles for Tina’s image on the cover.
There is hope in Tina’s eyes and the knowledge that life goes on, and it is good. Tina looks into the camera, looks straight into Lena’s soul. The book falls open, the words are underlined: I knew that change had to come from the inside out—that I had to understand myself, and accept myself before anything else could be accomplished.
Tina reinvented herself.
Tina survived.
Chapter 15
Lena swerves into the underground parking lot of the new apartment building on the western side of Lake Merritt. She has watched its skeleton rise above the lake from the hill her house sits on and passed it more than once on her walks. Its multistory reflection on the water makes the structure look taller and whiter than it is. Signs posted on the building’s windows boast great views of San Francisco and the hills, a gym, a swimming pool, and enticing leases.
The marbled entryway is high-ceilinged and full of tall palm trees. The lobby resembles a five-star hotel—luxurious, comfortable, and welcoming. The advantage, Lena thinks, as she strolls toward the reception desk, of being married for twenty-three years is the knowledge the spouses have: they know one another. What Lena knows about Randall is this: whenever he cuts a deal he makes sure he is on the winning end. Years of watching him barter with humble vendors, cut business deals over dinner, and recap his