I snatched my robe off the foot of the bed and wrapped it around me as I walked Larry to the door. He kissed me long and hard before he left. I cracked my front door open just far enough for me to watch him until he reached his car parked in front of my building. Without looking back, he jumped into his dusty blue Thunderbird and shot off down the street.
I stood in my doorway a few more minutes, with the cool air teasing my face, wondering why I was feeling so apprehensive. I had used all of my paid sick leave, so I was missing a day’s work without pay. Normally, when I played hooky from work, Larry would slip away from his job two or three times that day to spend a little time with me. The thrill of doing something so sneaky kept me from getting bored. But I was also being careless and jeopardizing my job. One day as Larry and I waltzed out of a trendy café on the boardwalk, holding hands like newlyweds, we bumped into Gloria Fisher, one of my meddlesome coworkers. She greeted me with a loud, snide remark. “Lula, you better go home and get in the bed before you get even sicker!” That little incident caused me to be more discreet. Larry and I decided to spend our time in my apartment making love, eating snacks, watching music videos, and drinking.
I cursed Larry’s cousins from D.C. Those creeps had begun to pay him surprise visits once or twice a month, and it had gotten on my last nerve. Since Larry had refused to let me meet them, they had begun to sound like phantoms. I didn’t know their names, what they looked like, or how many of these mysterious demons I was dealing with. I didn’t even know if they were male or female. I made up my mind right then and there in my doorway, with my bathrobe open and my naked body getting colder by the minute, that when I saw Larry again, I’d insist on meeting those greedy intruders. I had too much time invested in Larry to let somebody I didn’t even know throw a monkey wrench into my life.
After I left Jupiter’s that day, the only department store at the only mini-mall we had, I entered the parking lot with two shopping bags full of items for the nursery I’d fixed up in my apartment. Three cars over, two Black women in their mid-twenties crawled out of a dark brown van that reminded me of those coffee-colored UPS trucks. And that reminded me of Larry, because he worked for UPS. Every time I thought about my man, I smiled.
I was smiling when the two women started strutting toward me as I struggled to load my packages into the backseat of my Toyota. They were both nut-brown, with the same big, shiny black eyes, but the scowls on their faces were so severe, I couldn’t tell if they were pretty or not.
“Yeah, that’s her! That’s that whorin’ Black bitch!” one of the women hollered, pointing in my direction as I closed my back car door with my foot. Naturally, I thought she was talking about somebody else so I proceeded to open my driver’s door. “I’m talkin’ to you, slut!” the woman added. Like an angry soldier, she marched toward me, the heels of her clogs click-clacking against the hot concrete.
My head whirled around so hard and fast my neck made a popping noise. “What—are you talkin’ to me?” I asked, wide-eyed and annoyed, pointing at my chest. My pregnancy was responsible for all kinds of unattractive surprises and I noticed for the first time that my fingers looked like bloated Vienna sausages. A sharp pain that started at the base of my neck shot all the way down to the bottom of my back. I felt dizzy as I leaned back on my legs, breathing through my mouth.
“Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, tramp,” the woman yelled with a husky voice. Her companion, as pregnant as I was, and looking like she wanted to cuss out the world, handed her friend her purse and waddled in my direction. Her huge belly rode high on her body. She’s carrying a girl, I thought. Baby girls rode high in the belly, baby boys rode low. The old folks I knew had been telling me that for years. I was carrying a boy, but I was going by what my sonogram had revealed, not what old Reverend Dixon’s grandmother had told me at church a few weeks ago.
“So, bitch, we finally meet!” the pregnant woman yelled, standing in front of me with her thick, ashy brown hands on her hips. An ugly red rash covered half of her face and both of her hands. She looked like a spotted piñata. People going in and coming out of the store slowed down to watch. I recognized a couple from my neighborhood, and a nosy woman from the church I used to attend. The woman addressing me didn’t seem to care about the attention she was attracting. “You done fucked up, you skanky whore!”
It was the middle of April. In Barberton, Mississippi, our sleepy, dusty little town near the Delta, that meant the weather was warm enough for females to be prancing around in shorts. And wearing shorts was something most of the women I knew didn’t think twice about doing, no matter how ridiculous they looked. The woman standing in front of me couldn’t have looked any worse if she’d tried. Neither could her companion. Each had on cheap, ugly, well-worn shoes and flowered shorts, revealing hairy brown legs that looked like logs. The one who was not pregnant had the nerve to have on a silver ankle bracelet. It was wrapped so tight around her stout ankle it looked like a tattoo. The pregnant one had on a sleeveless, faded plaid maternity top that would have slid off her body if she hadn’t had so many safety pins holding it together. There was a white scarf—no, a diaper—wrapped around her head. A diaper! And it didn’t even cover all of her frayed cornrows. Both of these sisters were screaming for a makeover.
Even with all of the confusion going on, I was still smiling. I held up my hand and took a few steps back. On top of everything else, I could feel sweat forming in my crotch. It rolled down my thighs, making me feel like I was peeing on myself. “Look, ladies, I don’t know either one of you sisters, and y’all don’t know me, so I advise both of y’all to get the hell out of my face,” I said. My smile finally disappeared. A small, excited crowd, with amused and anxious looks on their faces had gathered a few cars over.
“You just a low-down, sleazy Black bitch!” the pregnant woman’s companion screeched at me. “Goin’ around fuckin’ other folk’s man.” Each time she opened her mouth to speak, a huge silver stud clamped in the center of her tongue bobbed up and down.
“I…what did you say?” Larry Holmes was the only man I had been with lately. “Are you talkin’ about Larry…Holmes?” Instead of answering me, Mrs. Holmes sucker-punched me in my stomach. I stumbled, then fell to my knees. My head slapped the side of my car. I didn’t see stars, but I blacked out for a split second. Before I stood back up and opened my eyes, I saw colors that I didn’t know existed.
One of the few things that my busy daddy had taken the time to teach me was not to take anybody’s mess. “Lula Mae, if you goin’ to go down anyway, go down fightin’.” Daddy had told me that more times than I could count.
Something told me that I wasn’t going to get out of this parking lot until I duked it out with this beastly woman, so I dropped my purse and sucked in my breath. There was a foul taste in my mouth. I could feel the sour bile rising in my throat. I was not at that time, nor have I ever been a big woman. Even almost nine months pregnant, I weighed only a hundred and thirty pounds. The woman who had jumped me was about my size, maybe half a size larger. With the same hand that I had jacked off Larry with in the shower, I socked the side of my attacker’s face as hard as I could, knocking her to the ground. The palm of my hand stung like I’d been scalded. It was just like that scene in The Color Purple when Oprah knocked out the mayor with one punch.
Popping up like a weed, my attacker brushed off her clothes and told me, “I’m goin’ to put somethin’ on you a doctor can’t take off.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the number of drooling spectators had doubled. I heard a few disembodied voices comment about some “dude’s wife” and “his whore” having a showdown.
Then a heavy fist landed along the side of my face, making me see stars for sure. Since my hand was already in a fist, I did what I had to do. Larry’s wife seemed surprised when I punched her in the nose. Blood squirted, her eyes widened, and she started kicking at my legs. Within seconds, my calves and ankles felt like they’d been run through a wringer. Just as
both women tried to pin my arms behind me, a hefty security guard came running out of nowhere and pulled us apart.
I was too angry to feel any more pain. Even with all that was going on, I realized the truth. But I still needed to hear it. And I heard it loud and clear. “This bitch has been fuckin’ my man!” the pregnant woman hollered, spit flying out of her mouth like fireworks.
“Look, I didn’t know the man was married,” I managed, my fist still balled and ready to strike again. “If you knew about him and me, his ass is the one you need to be kickin,” I snarled. I think I was more upset with Larry than I was with his wife because for the first time I realized what a pig in a poke he really was.
“Oh, don’t you worry none about my husband, bitch. His butt is mine. You better worry about yourself and that bastard you carryin’!” Mrs. Holmes yelled. She rubbed the spot on her face where I’d hit her.
The way my baby was kicking, it seemed like he had joined the fight. But I was not interested in continuing something I’d already lost. All I wanted to do was get home, compose myself, and maybe pay an emergency visit to Dr. White’s office to make sure my son was still okay. But every time I tried to get in my car, the two women blocked my way, still cussing at me and trying to hit me in my stomach again.
The security guard was practically useless. He got scratched, punched, knocked down, and kicked by all three of us. The crowd roared with laughter. Some instigating teenagers chanted, “fight, fight, fight.” Then, while Mrs. Holmes and her ferocious friend stood there entertaining the crowd, cussing and calling me out of my name, a beefy-faced policeman showed up to sort out the mess.
To add insult to injury, Larry’s vicious wife attempted to have me arrested for assault! But the nosy sister from my church was the first of several people to speak up in my defense. They told the sweaty cop who had really started the fight.
“Ma’am, do you want to press charges?” the cop asked me, wiping sweat off his face with his cap. The battered and bruised security guard was peeping from behind the cop.
For a moment I considered this option. I would have been getting back at Larry’s wife and Larry, but after thinking about it for a minute, I decided it wasn’t worth it. I was better off just getting Larry out of my system for good. This was the last straw.
I shook my head, limped back to my car, and drove like a bat out of hell. As soon as I got home, I started pacing my living room floor like a tiger, waiting to get my hands on Larry. I called his job; he was “unavailable.” I called his cell phone, he didn’t answer. And he didn’t call me or come to see me that day, or any other day.
The next time I saw Larry was at the hospital when I gave birth to his son. When he came to see his wife in the room across the hall from mine, he glanced in my room with a blank stare, like I was a stranger. It was hard for me to accept the fact that he was the same man who had told me over and over that he loved me.
Words could not describe the pain I was in. Physically, I felt fine. But my mind felt like it was on fire. I had never been so betrayed and used before in my life. The rage I felt was so severe, every man in that hospital looked like Larry to me. I glared at the husbands of all the other women sharing the room with me. Even old gray-haired Dr. White’s presence upset me. I almost bit his head off when he came to see how I was doing.
“Lula, you seem awfully tense,” the kind old man said, backing away from my bed.
“And I’ll be this way from now on,” I hissed.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY
MARY MONROE
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The following questions are intended to enhance your
GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY.
This is the book fans of GOD DON’T LIKE UGLY
have been waiting for—is it possible for people
to literally get away with murder?
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Annette was angry with her father for years because he had deserted her. Did she make it too easy for him to return to her life?
Annette accepted her father’s bi-racial children with open arms. Would you?
Everybody but Pee Wee thought that Jerome was such a good catch for Annette. Did Annette really love Jerome for the right reasons or because she wanted to make everyone else happy?
Annette suspected Jean’s boyfriend, Vinnie, of sexually abusing Jean’s daughter. She tried to intervene by making an anonymous telephone call to the Child Protective Services. What would you do in a similar situation?
Should Annette have told Jerome about her brief role as a prostitute before they started talking about marriage?
When Jerome stormed into Annette’s house to confront her after his uncle exposed her past, she surprised Jerome by beating him to a pulp. Did she surprise you?
Rhoda had been back in town for awhile before she and Annette resumed their friendship. Because of the many dark secrets they shared, the funeral of Jean’s murdered daughter was a grim but appropriate way to symbolize the reunion between these two women. Do you agree?
Even after a painful, thirty-year separation, Annette’s mother, Gussie Mae, took Annette’s father back. Gussie Mae had her own successful business and other men still found her attractive, but like Annette, Gussie Mae took Frank back because she focused on the good times she had had with him. Was Gussie Mae a fool for taking Frank back?
When Annette finally told her mother and the rest of her friends that Mr. Boatwright had sexually abused her for years during her childhood, their reactions surprised Annette. Do you think Annette regretted not exposing Mr. Boatwright sooner?
Rhoda was convinced that God had punished her with breast cancer for the murders she had committed, but that didn’t stop her from killing Jean’s boyfriend for raping and killing Jean’s daughter. Do you think that somebody as extreme as Rhoda could ever experience remorse?
Pee Wee was always there for Annette. She could tell him anything and she did. When she told him that she had once worked as a prostitute, his reaction stunned her. Her confession didn’t even faze him. If anything, he was amused and immediately started making jokes about it. When Annette told Pee Wee that Rhoda had murdered several people, he didn’t believe her. Do you think that these were really the reasons Annette didn’t tell Pee Wee right away that he was the father of her baby?
Rhoda was always so proud of her trim body, her beautiful face, and her handsome husband. When breast cancer and a stroke altered her appearance, and a homely woman slept with her husband, did you feel she got what she deserved?
When Pee Wee and Annette finally got married, were you surprised or did you think that this story couldn’t end any other way?
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2003 by Mary Monroe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Dafina Books and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-5137-4
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 1 LULA HAWKINS
A READING GROUP GUIDE
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS