Stage IV: Wanna Be Blacks

On the fourth of July, Lena invited the group to a West African Drum Festival. Charles told us that most of the African-American slaves came from West Africa. So, to enhance the experience, Lena suggested we pick a country and come dressed as if we were an honorary

representative. I chose Namibia after learning its people had suffered almost to extinction fighting the German and South Africans for their independence.

Charles and Lena chose Cameroon. I don't know if it was by accident or design. Lena really put a lot of effort into it. While we stood in the middle of the row complimenting her and each other, Ryan showed up in one of his shiny, designer-impostor suits. He paused at the end of our row and rolled his eyes before approaching.
"You all look ridiculous," he said. His disgust seemed to make Lena hesitate.

I smiled. "Well, when in Rome."

"You aren't in Rome." He said condescendingly.
"No, but we look more like the others than you do," Charles said.
He snorted. "They're real Africans." He made a sweeping gesture. "Just look at them. They're short and see how their heads are shaped. You three are obviously perpetrating."

"Shh," Lena said loudly, looking around as if pretending to be afraid. "I puffed up my hair to disguise my head."

Charles laughed. "It looks good. I'm sure no one notices your perm." I could almost hear Ryan sigh. "Relax. It's all in fun," Charles said before comically adjusting his hat.

Ryan calmed down when the music started. He didn't seem to mind when we over-enthusiastically cheered the musicians from our chosen countries.

During the intermission, the four of us went to look at the vender booths. Several of the real Africans complimented us on our authentic clothing.

After the concert, Charles suggested dinner at an all-night catfish restaurant. Ryan declared our outfits unsuitable for public viewing and went home. But the rest of us went.
Harry's Catfish Heaven was on one of the crests in Baldwin Hills. The smell of spicy cornmeal batter and hot sauce engulfed us when we opened the door. My nostrils flared in appreciation. The small dining room had an unfinished ceiling, crisscrossed by pipes and electric tracts and a deteriorating linoleum floor. Diners sat shoulder to shoulder with strangers at wooden picnic tables with blue plastic covers. The only light came from tiny, triangular, florescent bulbs suspended haphazardly from the ceiling by cheap construction wires. But its elevated location and large windows gave patrons a spectacularly unobstructed view of the city lights. In a mainstream neighborhood, the perspective would've guaranteed a hefty price tag, but Harry's was on the cheap side. Harry was a large White man who'd lived in L.A. for decades. But he acted like he was straight off the boat from Louisiana. A gospel CD was playing when we walked in. But before we sat down, Lena loaned him her newly purchased African drum CD and soon the entire restaurant was bobbing to the beat.

African clothes were just becoming known to the mainstream, but most Blacks were used to seeing them. None of the Black customers paid attention to our costumes. But the White couple ahead of us, looked with interest. I told the husband I was from Namibia when he asked. He smiled and welcomed us to his country. Then he and his wife followed us to a table and asked a lot of questions about Africa. We told them everything we learned from our research. By the time we said our good-byes, even I believed us.
After the Ravens left, a group of young Black women took their place...

"How does surgery just sort of happen?"
"Well, when I saw the ad for cheek bones, I just had to have them, too. I met Jerry after they healed." Jerry was her husband. "Then Last year, Jerry and I thought I was getting round, so I decided to have liposuction done on my thighs, stomach, and buttocks. Don't they look great?" She stood up, twirled around, and sat. Two White men at a nearby table looked on, interestedly. I didn't say anything. But for the moment, she was looking at them instead of me. Then she turned back. "I loved it," she said. "But I thought I looked like a rail. So to give myself some curves, I had my breasts enlarged." She patted one full breast proudly. "Jerry loves these best of all."

It angered me that she'd paid someone to try to cut the African from her body, especially since she'd done it for Jerry. I wondered what happened to the self-assured, near tyrant who ruled the block when we were kids. Given the choice, I liked the bitch better. "Now that you've been completely re-worked, what's next?"
"Maybe a face lift when I get older." I sucked in my breath. She heard me and misunderstood.
"Do you think I need something else?" she asked worriedly. All I could do was shake my head. "I may not need any more work since Black women usually age well."

Untouched Black women. "How much did all this cost?"

She thought for a moment, "It wasn't so bad. I got a special deal on the liposuction since two of my friends had it done at the same time." Then she pursed her lips and named a figure equivalent to the cost of a small house in the city of my alma mater.

My throat closed. "God," Was all I could whisper.

"It's a small price to pay for increased social acceptance and my happiness. It would've been a less, but I got a small infection after I had my buttocks done. Anyway, I only had to pay for my nose and cheeks. Jerry paid for the rest."
"How generous. So, how is Jerry?" I basically spat his name.

She shuffled around in her chair. "Fine."
"What's the matter?" I said challengingly. "Are you two fighting?"

"No," she said in a small voice.
"Have your parents accepted him yet?"
"Mom has, a little. But, dad still won't talk to him. It's so unfair"

"How did you expect them to react? One weekend, out of the blue, you bring a strange White guy home for Sunday dinner and introduce him as your husband. Then you start hacking and cutting away at yourself."

She looked wounded. "I expected them to be a little mad at first, but it's been three years."

"They ain't nothing but a bunch of knuckle heads," Ryan said.

Charles said, "You'll find a better place."
After dinner, we sat on the living room floor and drank Martinis in front of the fireplace. When we were nearly drunk, Ryan announced he had something guaranteed to cheer me up.
I smiled broadly. "I don't believe it, but that's what I want to hear."

He pulled himself up and went to get his jacket. I could tell he was drunker than the rest of us. When he came back, he let himself fall on the floor then lifted himself into a seated position. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a packet of white powder.

"What's that?" Charles asked belligerently.
"What do you think it is?" Ryan said. He spread the powder on the glass coffee table. "Here, Dana, this will make you feel better."
"Don't!" Charles said commandingly. Ryan rolled his eyes at him and pushed the table toward me.
I backed away. "I don't think so."
"Why not? You two drink enough to keep Beefeater in business. What's the difference?"
"I'm over 21. Drinking is legal," Charles said.
"Don't give me that legal-not legal shit," Ryan said with disgust. "You sound like a punk. Every once in awhile, you need to do something to take your mind off your troubles. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I sound like someone who doesn't want to lose his livelihood after spending seven years in pharmacy school."

"I'll try it," Lena said. Her eyes were bright. She was focusing on the powder.

"No, Lena," Charles almost pleaded.

"Why not? I don't have a license to worry about. Besides, I want to see what it's like." Charles put out a hand to stop her, but she knocked it away. Ryan sneered triumphantly when she bent to inhale the powder.

Charles jerked himself up off the floor. "I'm leaving."

"Go on and go," Ryan said, dismissively.
Charles ignored him. "Are you coming, Dana?"
I watched Lena inhale one of the lines and look happier than I'd ever seen her. Something to make it all go away. It was so tempting...

Ryan was at the far end of the table. We ignored him and greeted other acquaintances, most of whom were wearing strange expressions. I thought it was because they were surprised Charles had come. The seat at the head of the table was on Lena's right and was empty, yet occupied. Charles sat on its left and awaited his rival with false calm. He waited 25 minutes. By the time Roon returned, I was on my second drink and wondering if I needed to go looking for him.
The Mississippi was a nice restaurant. At that time, it was becoming a BUPP favorite. All of us were dressed accordingly, except for him. He was in sweats-the non-designer kind. When she saw him approach, Lena rose and went to him. "Darling. You're just in time," she said with a bright, almost protective, smile. "Everyone's just arrived."

He grunted and sat down.

Lena smiled. "Let me introduce your new friends." She began circling the table, stopping at each seat to give a small description of its occupant. His beeper went off half-way through her presentation. He just got up and left the table without saying a word to anyone. Most of the other guests were women. The majority of them gave Lena reassuring smiles. Most of the men looked away in embarrassment or disgust.
Charles leaned toward me and whispered, "This is the guy she prefers to me?"

"It looks like it," I murmured disbelievingly.
After he'd gone, Lena sat down and began discussing the weather we could expect during the upcoming ski season. An uncomfortable 15 minutes passed before Roon returned . He simply sat down and sipped his drink. There were no apologies or explanations. Lena asked if he'd like her to continue her introductions. He said no. She signaled the waiter and told him we were ready to order.

I didn't know how to react. Lena was a successful woman. I couldn't see her putting up with this loser.

When Roon's beeper went off again, Charles cleared his throat and smiled at him. "Trouble at the site?"

"What?"

"Your people must be pretty anxious to bother you on your birthday. Did you just hire a new site foreman?"

Roon turned to Lena. "What's he talking about?"
She shrugged and looked away. "You're the same Roon that's building that strip mall on the east side, aren't you?" Charles asked.
The man looked as if he thought Charles was crazy. "No, that's a White guy, John Roon. I'm Roon Nelson. I work for a company that lays ceramic tile."

Charles started to laugh and then stopped when Roon didn't join him. "Seriously?" The other man shrugged and started to rise. "Well then, who keeps paging you?"

"Friends." This time when Roon left the table, Ryan followed. Both came back a few minutes later with unconvincingly innocent expressions.
During the meal, Roon only talked to Ryan and one other man I'd never met. And he didn't hesitate before leaving the table for extended periods whenever it suited him. When the dessert had been served, he told Lena he had to go meet a friend. Then he just got up and left. Ryan and the other man went with him. Personally, I felt the party improved without him.

I began getting nervous when the other guests started leaving and it became clear that Charles planned to be the last one to go. I was sure he'd thought of a very creative way to embarrass himself, so I couldn't leave them alone-even when he made hints to the contrary.
After his fifth attempt to get me to leave and my fifth contrary response, he shrugged and turned to Lena. "Happy?"

She stared at him defiantly. "Yes."

"Why? What is it about him? You spent a small fortune on his dinner and he missed it. Was it worth it?"

"Don't talk to me about him. He can't help how he is. He hasn't had everything like you."
"I haven't had everything, but I did have parents who taught me manners."

"He only had one parent. And she was so busy working like a dog to support him that she didn't have a lot of time for other stuff."
"Oh, gee. My heart bleeds. I've been trying to go out with you for almost a year. Whenever I ask you to anything more than coffee, you rebuff me. Everyone knows I like you and you show up with that. Why? Explain it to me and I'll leave you alone."

She forced her answer from between clenched teeth. "He isn't a that. He's a real Black man."
I couldn't believe she'd said it. Charles' only response was a widening of his eyes. Then he stood up and left the table.

Introduction
Stage I: Fledglings
Stage II: Chocolate Cream
Stage III: Rage & Destroy
Stage IV: Wanna Be Blacks
Stage V: Empowered
Stage VI: Passing