shut up for a while. Checked out the lyrical flow.
One beautiful, bald, brown-skinned sister in a bright sarong acted out a sexy piece praising her “good pussy.” It turned the room out. Women were high-fiving each other, and before it was over, brothers were licking their lips and drinking boiling coffee to cool off the lust she’d built.
Rosa Lee leaned forward on her elbows, smiling just enough to show her teeth, making sounds like “ummm” and “yes, God, yes,” mumbling “whew, tell it like it is.” She wrote a couple of things down on her yellow legal pad.
I asked, “What’re you doing?”
“That inspired me.”
From the counter, the brother was staring at Rosa Lee.
She put her pen down. Smiled. I did the same.
I asked, “How are the kids at school treating you?”
“They’re thieves, liars, promiscuous. They get caught smoking on the way to school. They drink like alcoholics, won’t do their homework. If I give them the exact questions in the same order that they will be on a test, and give them the correct answers to study, ninety percent will still fail. So damn lazy.” She blew out some air. “What more can I say?”
“Just like we were.”
She nodded. “Outside of MTV and the Internet, nothing’s changed.”
For a moment I thought about our problems now. I said, “Most of us are just kids with decent jobs and better clothes.”
She became animated. “Let me tell you what happened today. This kid was caught having sex in the classroom. My student aide. In my classroom, of all places. During first period. The same girl who had the condom. I called myself giving her a chance and letting her be my aide.”
“No shit?”
Rosa Lee looked sad for a moment. Heartbroken. That kind of look that a person gets when they’ve tried their best and made it nowhere fast.
She said, “I had a parent-teacher conference with her and her mother. Mom’s under thirty, has four more kids—a single parent, works two jobs, and she’s crying and telling me and the principal how her child has been smoking since she was five, was caught sexing after she turned eleven.”
“That’s scary.”
“They drop those kids in our laps and expect us to work a miracle.”
I thought about my own child. Wondered how she’d turn out. Rosa Lee’s brows were tight. I bet she was thinking about her little girl, Ramona, having the same fears. Parents are always afraid that their children will do the same shit they did.
When it was all said and done, Rosa Lee checked her watch, said it was time for her to hit the road. We walked out together.
She asked, “So, you gonna tell Womack where I was?”
“Nope. I’ll leave that up to you.”
“Vince, you’re paranoid. Both you and Womack are paranoid.”
She said that like she meant it. I ached because it might be true.
Rosa Lee kissed me on my lips, hopped in her SUV, and pulled out of the lot first, turned right, headed toward Highland. Back toward Ladera. I followed her as far as the 7-Eleven, then slowed and pulled in the inconvenience store parking lot. I went in, bought a bottle of Sharps. I asked the man behind the counter, “This a twist-off cap?”
“Yeah.”
I paid for it. Headed outside. Stopped at a pay phone. Dialed Womack’s number.
Harmonica answered, then yelled for Womack to come get the phone. They were at home playing the parts of Two Men and Four Babies. Womack answered, sounding winded, like he’d raced to get the receiver.
I said, “The mother of your children went and checked out some poetry.”
“Who she with?”
“Nobody.”
Too quick. I’d answered too quick.
He waited a moment before he asked, “She see you?”
“Nope.” I paused, waited for him to say something. He didn’t. Listening to him breathe made me anxious. I added, “She sat at a table by herself the whole time, wrote stuff down, sipped tea.”
He was a childhood friend who knew me too well. Some days he knew me better than I knew myself. He released a brief chortle, said, “If it was something else, you’d take care of it, right?”
“You know it.” I shared some of the thin laughter. “She’ll be home any minute. Tuck the rug rats in, then cuddle up.”
“Okay, okay. Talk to you tomorrow or the next day.”
“Womack?”
“Yeah? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Kiss the wife for me.”
“Sure you didn’t already kiss her?”
“I did my best, but she’s hooked on you.”
We laughed, for real this time.
“Thanks,” Womack said. “I mean it. Thanks a lot.”
“No problem. Hey . . .”
“What?”
“Jennifer Lopez or