Naked Read online

  The collective sigh of relief couldn’t be ignored, but John didn’t seem to notice. He got right back to his constant stream of complaints against society. This time, he added jokes. To be fair, he was an equal-opportunity bigot, a modern-day Archie Bunker tempered with a mutated twist of political correctness. John Kennedy didn’t say “Polack,” he said “Polish guy.” He didn’t say “Chink,” he said “Chinaman.” And he never once, in a whole slew of ethnic jokes, said the word nigger.

  I think we were all waiting for it. I wouldn’t have been shocked to hear him say it. I’m not sure I’d even have been angry—but never having been called a nigger to my face by someone who meant it with derision, I’m not sure how I would have reacted. We all just waited for it. I’d felt out of place before, one dark face in a roomful of pale skin, but I’d never been so on edge about waiting for it to be pointed out.

  In the end, it wasn’t a black joke that got the biggest reaction. We’d all finished dinner and were picking at the apple pie and ice cream. John had already put away a huge slice and was on his second.

  The first gay joke slipped in between a rant about gas prices and cigarette taxes. At the second, I glanced down the table to see Alex’s reaction. He was staring at his plate, at the ice cream melting over his untasted pie. His hair had fallen forward, so I couldn’t see his eyes.

  Nobody had laughed at any of the jokes, but that hadn’t stopped John from continuing. The third faggot joke was about gay marriage. That’s when I looked up from my plate.

  “I don’t think that’s funny.”

  Dead silence except for Mrs. Kennedy’s squeak. I didn’t look to see what Alex was doing. I kept my gaze focused on John’s face.

  He studied me intently, and I wondered for whose benefit all those jokes had been made, anyway. His eyes gleamed with dark and nasty intelligence and justification. He thought he had the right to feel the way he did about the blacks, the queers, the spics and chinks and hymies. He didn’t seem to notice he was as much a stereotype as any one of the groups he was brutalizing with his poor sense of humor.

  “Well, now,” he said with a leering grin. “I guess I don’t find faggots funny, either.”

  And he left it at that.

  In the Kennedy house, women cleaned up after dinner, while the men retired to the basement to watch television. Alex stayed upstairs until one of his sisters chased him off.

  “Get out of the way,” she said without pulling any punches. “We want to get to know your Olivia.”

  “Will you be okay?” he whispered as he kissed me.

  “I will,” I assured him, with a look into the kitchen where the other women were working. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sounded defeated and looked pale. He hadn’t eaten much.

  I touched his cheek. “Baby, there are all sorts of people in the world, and some of them are assholes.”

  He smiled at that and kissed me. “I love you.”

  “I know you do. Go.” I pushed him toward the basement door. “Go…bond.”

  “As if,” he said with a glower, but went.

  Away from her husband, Jolene Kennedy proved to have a much better sense of humor, even though she didn’t tell many jokes. She had a pretty laugh that rang out in the tiny kitchen as she let her daughters push her into a chair to play with her grandchildren instead of hand-washing all the pots and pans. I pitched in, no stranger to kitchen work, and found that Alex’s sisters might have been sluts in high school, but they were pretty decent mothers and daughters for all that.

  And they loved their brother, that was clear. They told me stories about him—how he’d always been there when they needed something. A ride, some money, advice. He’d moved away when they were very young, and still had managed to be a large part of their lives. Maybe more than my own brothers had, and we were closer in age. Their stories fit a piece into the puzzle of the man I loved, and I saw another picture of him.

  I excused myself to use the bathroom, the only one in the house, in the upstairs hallway. When I came out, John was waiting. I stepped aside to let him pass, but he countered with a step in front of me.

  My heart pounded, but I refused to let him see he’d intimidated me. “Excuse me.”

  “So, you’re gonna marry our boy?”

  “I plan to. Yes.”

  “In a church?”

  I stared at Alex’s father, whose gaze dropped to the necklace on the outside of my blouse. “We haven’t decided yet.”

  His gaze roamed all over me. “You know, I can’t say as I’m surprised he picked you, Livvy. You are awful pretty for a black girl. I’ve had a taste or two of black girls myself, though don’t you let on to Jolene.”

  I tasted bile but kept my chin high. “Excuse me.”

  He didn’t move. “You full black?”

  “What?”

  “Are you full black,” he repeated, as though I were stupid, or deaf. “I only ask because you got some white features to you. And you ain’t so dark, you know?”

  Oh, I knew all right. I swallowed the surge of acid and looked him in the eye. “I love your son, and he loves me. It has nothing to do with the color of my skin, you racist asshole. Now let me by before I kick you in your nuts.”

  John blinked, then grinned, but didn’t move. “Sassy, ain’t ya?”

  I moved closer, my mouth twisted in a sneer. “Get out of my way.”

  His fingertip shot out and flicked my necklace. A point of the star stung my throat. “So. You’ll get married in the church? Yes or no?”

  I pushed past him without answering. John followed me down the stairs. I found everyone in the living room. Alex was laughing with Tanya. It was the most relaxed I’d seen him since we arrived. He shot me a smile that faded quickly.

  “Don’t walk away from me,” John said from behind me.

  The room froze. I’m sure all of the people in it had heard his tone before, judging by their reactions. Johanna went visibly pale. Even the teens looked up from their video games and cell phones. Alex took a step forward.

  “Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said clearly. “I think it’s time we left.”

  “Girl, don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you. I asked you a question.”

  “And I gave you an answer,” I said calmly, though my knees were shaking, my guts quaking. “We haven’t discussed it yet. And frankly, it’s for me and Alex to decide. Not for you.”

  “What’s going on?” Alex asked.

  “I asked your girl here if you were getting married in the church, and she won’t answer me. I just want to know,” John said. “I mean, doesn’t an old man have a right to know if his only son’s going to get married the right way or the wrong way? Or should I just be glad he’s getting married at all?”

  It was not the first time Alex’s father had teased with such a comment, but this time, Alex responded. “You mean that I’m not a faggot, right?”

  John laughed heartily, the same false hyuk-hyuk. “No son of mine’s a cocksucker.”

  I found Alex’s gaze with mine and tried to send him strength, but this was not my battle. It probably never had been about me at all. He looked at his dad with an expression so blank it might have been on a doll.

  “We’re leaving now. We’ll let you know about the wedding. But don’t expect it to be in a church.” Alex looked at me. “C’mon, babe, let’s get out of here.”

  I thought John might shout after us, but nobody said a word as we left. Nobody even offered a goodbye. We left in total, utter silence unbroken until we got in the car.

  Then Alex let loose. “Stupid motherfucking shit-heel asshole!”

  He jammed the car in Reverse and we smoked into traffic. He clutched the wheel so tightly his fingers turned white. I said nothing, just let him rant. I didn’t point out that he sounded a lot like his dad.

  He didn’t stop until we got to the hotel parking lot. Then he turned off the car and drew in a deep, hitching breath. He didn’t look at me.