Seven Days in June(71)

“I’d been watching you my whole life, Mom.”

“Careful your tone.”

“I was in agony. I needed help.”

“I know you suffered, my bè. But what could I do? I prayed for you; I still pray for you. But you can’t fight a curse. I been tellin’ you to get some houseplants.”

The force of Genevieve’s long-suffering exhale carried across nine states.

“My girls always ask me why I got so many dead plants. I tell ’em what Mama Clo told me. Deceased plants are good luck. When a houseplant dies, it’s because it’s absorbed bad energy and juju. Bad juju meant for you. They’re protection.” After dropping this gem, she took a deep drag off her cigarette. “Everybody’s got an affliction, Genevieve. Whether it’s mental or physical or spiritual. You just gotta remember what good you got.”

“Please don’t get philosophical, Mom. It doesn’t look good on you.”

“Everything looks good on me, except dolman sleeves,” she said testily. “Look. I don’t know what’s got you ornery or why we’re discussing ancient history. But a word of advice? Get over your childhood. I got over mine. You think you had it bad? I had to perform unspeakable acts for pageant judges just so I could win a little money to buy groceries and fake Jordache jeans from Family Dollar.”

Genevieve’s silence was deafening.

“They were called Gordache jeans,” said Lizette sadly.

“You sent Shane away.” Genevieve sounded like she was speaking more to herself than to Lizette. “He was terrified of going to prison again. I told him that I’d make sure he never went back.”

“Oh, G,” Lizette cooed. “That boy preyed on you. That’s what they all do! They want the pretty girl but then get jealous of your youth and vitality. So they lure you down the path to ruin and break you.”

“Jealous of youth? Shane and I were the same age!”

“Well, I know, but I was talking about me!” Lizette smoothed her kimono over her legs, exasperated.

After another extended silence, Genevieve finally spoke. “You were jealous.”

“I’ve never been jealous in my life! But I’ll tell you what. Mercier women are cursed. We are. And if I can’t make a man stay, there’s no way in hell you could.” Lizette tightened the sash on her kimono. “I don’t know why you’re so determined to hate me. You get got by a cute li’l criminal, I rescue you, and I’m the villain? How’s that work?”

“You really want me to explain this?”

“Go ’head and judge me, miss. I fear nothing but the pitiless gaze of the Almighty. You could be Mommie Dearest or Clair Huxtable—don’t matter what kind of mother you are; daughters always blame moms for every mess they make.” Lizette took one last drag and then stubbed her cigarette out in a crystal ashtray. Under her breath, she said, “In fifteen years, Audre’ll give her therapist an earful.”

“You don’t understand one thing that’s happened to you, do you?” Genevieve asked wearily.

“Stop being so morose, G. We had some really fun times when you were little! Remember those adorable lovebirds?”

“They died of lead poisoning.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“They died of lead poisoning because when they chirped at night, you’d throw pencils at their cage.”

“Well, who knew pencils were edible? Did you?”

“Goodbye, Mom.”

“Stop being so mad at me! You know, boys like Shane belong behind bars.” Lizette was grasping at straws now, just trying to keep Genevieve on the phone. Genevieve had always confused her. When you’re pregnant, you think you’re gonna have a little you. A tiny person with your same thoughts, same feelings. But her daughter came out wholly herself. Self-sufficient, stubborn, too clever for the world, and an utter mystery. Lizette never really knew how to raise her, and Lord knows Genevieve never gave any clues.

“I saved you from a world of trouble. Look at who you’ve become! You’re…” Lizette stopped talking then, because her line went dead.

Ah well. It wasn’t the first time her daughter had hung up on her, and it wouldn’t be the last. She dragged herself off the couch and swept back upstairs to Mahckenzee, one out of dozens of girls whom Lizette had made perfect, in her image. With each new student, Lizette had a chance to get it right. Season after season, show after show, again and again.





Chapter 21





What a Coincidence




EVA WAS WAY TOO FRUGAL TO HAVE A HABIT OF UBERING. BESIDES, SHE LIVED right by the Q train. But tonight, she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except getting to Shane.

Cece had agreed to watch Audre for the night. She was only too happy to spend the night with her favorite faux niece, but on one condition: Eva had to vow to attend her party tomorrow. “You know, just an insidery get-together to celebrate the Littie Awards.” With a rushed “Anything you want, of course, yes, I’ll be there,” Eva agreed and zipped out the door.

Eva was barely cognizant of what she was agreeing to. She had only one thought in her brain.

I need him, she thought while ordering a thirty-seven-dollar Uber. Need him, she thought while racing over the Manhattan Bridge and through downtown. Need, need, need, she thought while flying up the stairs at 81 Horatio Street.