Excerpt

“Hey, Mom, company’s here.”
“Adrienne, what did I tell you about that?”

Adrienne turned to Felice with a grimace as Felice stepped through the doorway of the Anderson household.
“We’ve got company,” she tried again, hoping that her mother would tone herself down. As usual, it didn’t work.

“I don’t care. I told you to call me Laura months ago.”

Felice grinned at Adrienne’s exasperation. Adrienne’s mother was definitely different, just as Adrienne had warned her. Felice looked around the living room of her friend’s Santa Fe house. African, Native American, and Asian art had made a grand, international union here. But, somehow everything seemed to fit.

“It’s the art U.N. in here.” Adrienne commented, reading Felice’s mind.

“Hi, I’m Laura Anderson. You don’t straighten your hair. Very nice.”

Felice turned around to see a tall, powerful-looking, whiter, older version of Adrienne, wearing Army camouflage pants and a paint-covered work shirt. Her blond hair was nearly as short as Felice’s. “You would look nice in dreads,” Laura said admiringly.

“I forgot to tell you,” Adrienne said to Felice. “Mom takes stepping into her house as an invitation to get in your business.”
“I had dreads for a little while,” said Laura.
“Really?” Felice was surprised. She wondered how a white person could have dreads.
“Hard to believe, but true,” said Laura. “Kind of scary, it was. Not that I minded scaring other people. However, scaring oneself is another matter altogether.” Felice laughed.

“Hi, I’m Felice LeCroix.” Felice’s hand was enveloped in a forceful grip.
“Well-raised, too. Did you grow up here?”
“No, Mrs. Anderson. I’m fr…”
“Well, I see you have to be indoctrinated to the rules of this house,” Laura interrupted. “First of all, I’m never Mrs. Anderson, I’m Laura. And if you call me Miss Laura, I’m going to slit my wrists, after I kill you first. I bet you call all your parents’ friends ‘Mister’ and ‘Miss,’ don’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Laura threw up her hands. She turned to her daughter. “I told you to train ‘em before you bring ‘em home!”

“Mom, I tried. Er, Laura.”

Laura turned her attention back to Felice, inspecting her. “So, Felice, you were about to tell me where you grew up.”
“Los Angeles.”
“Southern Cal. You don’t seem like you’re from there: too normal, too polite, too much clothing.”
“You sound like you’ve spent some time there…Laura.”
“Oh, yes, in the infamous sixties. That’s where I met Adrienne’s father. I’ve also been back a time or two, doing shows.”
“Laura’s an artist. A pretty successful one,” added Adrienne.
“Come on out back, girls. I was out there working.”

Felice followed the two through the huge kitchen and out to a covered patio, where the fifty-degree, sunny day felt exceptionally warm. Their backyard was beautiful and as varied with plant life, as the living room had been varied in art. There were lilies and rose bushes, banzai trees peach trees, and plants that Felice didn’t know the name of. She hadn’t seen so much green since she had come to New Mexico.

“You have a nice house and a nice yard,” she said to Laura.
“Thank you. I bet I know what you’re thinking, though. Everything’s pretty eclectic. I believe in that.”
“Well, that’s obvious.” Felice winced at her own bluntness, but Adrienne and Laura only laughed.

“Don’t fret,” said Laura. “I can’t stand people who mince words.” She was working on a portrait of an old man.

“If you want some tea or juice or something, you saw where the refrigerator is. The glasses are on the upper, middle shelf on the left side of the sink.

“No, thanks. I drank a lot of water earlier on the way up here, so I’m fine.”
“Okay. Have a seat and talk to me while I work. That’s the advantage of being an artist. You can work and socialize at the same time. At least I can.” Laura picked up her palette from its stand and began to work on her creation.

Felice looked at the furniture. Instead of standard patio fare, Laura had placed several upright futons on her patio. The cushions, however, were upholstered with standard, weatherproof patio fabric. Felice sat.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” asked Laura. Felice looked at Adrienne who was sitting on another futon. Adrienne just shrugged her shoulders. I told you so.
Felice looked at Laura’s back. “No I don’t.”
“An attractive girl like you probably has a lot of guys chasing her.”
“Not really.”
“Of course with that situation you were involved in with the Taus, your social life has probably diminished somewhat.”

Felice whipped her head around at Adrienne, who now held her own head in both hands. Her mother had promised that, when she met Felice, she wouldn’t mention that she knew about Felice’s problem. Adrienne should have known better.

“Well, I…uh…yes, yes it has.”
“Sorry, Felice.” Laura turned from her canvas. “My daughter tells me everything. Mostly because she knows that I am the all-wise sage who has the answer to all the problems that exist in the world.” Laura flashed Felice a beatific smile.

“I suppose I should thank you for coming to Adrienne’s aid at the expense of your reputation. Thank you, child.”

She put the palette down, came over, picked Felice up from the futon and gave her a hug. Felice was startled at first. Then she smiled and hugged the woman back. Somehow, she didn’t seem so angry at Adrienne anymore. It seemed as though touching Laura had a calming effect on her. It was like hugging Grandma Anna.

“I forgot to tell you that too,” said Adrienne. “If Laura likes you, you automatically become one of the family. If she doesn’t, she’ll put you out and warn you never to darken her door again. I’d say she likes you.”
“Thank you, daughter dearest, for explaining the enigma that is me,” Laura said sardonically as she released Felice.

“So, your name is mud now, at least among black people, right?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t run away. That shows some character. I’ll assume that your parents know nothing about this.”
“No!” Felice shuddered at the thought.
Laura laughed. “Afraid your father will go up to that place and defend your honor?”
“Exactly right,” Felice said.
“Well, you’re probably right, especially since you know the man and I don’t. I bet you thought of quitting school, too. But, you’re still there…impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you thought of getting some vengeance for your lost reputation?”
“Actually, no. I figure it would just make things worse. Then they’d get back at me, and then I’d do the same. I’d just like it to be over.”
“The vicious circle. You’re right about that, at least if you were to employ most conventional forms of vengeance. But, there’s a way you can get your revenge without them being able to do anything about it. A very simple method.”
“How?”

Laura’s back was turned again. She was putting the finishing touches on a weatherworn hat on the man’s head.

“By being successful in any undertaking placed before you and by embracing love,” she said almost absently.
“I tried that once and it backfired on me…”
“Yes. Daniel, wasn’t it? Adrienne told me the story. However, when I mention love, the word ‘trust’ is implicit in it. I find it almost superfluous to say when I speak of love. Did you trust Daniel? Did you tell him about yourself?”

Felice didn’t answer at first. Laura turned to her, looking at her patiently.

Finally Felice understood. “I have to say no. If I had, I would have told him about what I had done.”
“Give this student an ‘A.’” She turned back to her canvas. “You didn’t love him and you knew instinctively that he didn’t love you. So, you kept an integral part of yourself away from him, believing that if he saw it, he’d run away. How did he break it off?”

Felice looked at Adrienne. “So you didn’t tell her about this, eh?”
“I thought it would be a more interesting story if it came from you,” she replied.
Felice turned to Laura’s back. “He had a naked girl in his room at a time when he knew that I would visit.”
“Sadism, instead of love. It was a white girl, undoubtedly.”
Felice shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”
Laura turned to her again. “That would be one of the most painful ways for a black man to hurt a black woman, of course.”

Felice’s surprise was evident. Who was this woman?

“Don’t worry, child,” Laura continued. “I know you and most others think of me as a white woman. But, I’ve had nearly twenty years of being the mother of a black child to think about this subject.” Laura continued. “Did you know that appellations ‘black’ and ‘white’ are artificial and were created to justify and facilitate slavery and imperialism? Before that dubious undertaking, there was no such thing as race. To use the word ‘race’ implies that you and I are of different species. It also gives the implication that one of the species is superior to the other. From this, all sorts of things have arisen, most of which you know about, undoubtedly.”

Adrienne, who had heard this story before, knew that the history lesson was on its way. “I’ll get us something to drink, in case you change your mind, Felice,” she said as she got up. She went into the kitchen.
“When the Europeans recognized that the Africans’ genes were dominant,” Laura began, “they became fearful of being genetically annihilated. And since men generally initiate sexual contact, they demonized the African man, turning him into the mythical, archetypal rapist all of us nice white girls grow up hearing about. White womanhood became a thing to be glorified, cherished, and protected, especially from the inferior, evil black rampaging beast. White women eventually came to be considered the most beautiful, desirable women on the planet because of this. Conversely, her most polar physical opposite, the black woman, became the counterpart of the black man: beastly, doltish, and utterly lacking in what was (and still is) considered the most treasured quality in a woman: physical beauty.

“Human nature, such as it is, is pretty predictable. When one is told that one can’t have something, one always wants that thing. White women, having heard about the sexual prowess of the black man, have lusted after them ever since. I should know,” she chuckled.

Felice sat rapt.

“For their part,” Laura continued, “black men have been told that the white man’s ‘prize,’ his woman, was strictly off limits, enforced under the threat of a brutal, humiliating death. If a prize is so wonderful, however, death might be a small price to pay for acquiring it. Probably many black men unconsciously think this way. Additionally, should a black man acquire his nemesis’ prize, it would serve his vengeance in a most effective way.

“What the black man didn’t take into account was how his pursuit of the white woman would hurt the black woman. Having been told constantly that she is ugly–especially if she looks more African–is an affirmation of all her worst fears. This is especially true, when a black man chooses a white woman as a mate, or even as just a bed partner.”
“Yes,” Felice whispered.
“So, this all comes back to Daniel. I said that the black man didn’t take into account the side effect of what his was doing, but that was in the past. These days, most black men do know how much it hurts black women when he is seen with a white woman. Either he doesn’t care, or he’s doing it specifically to hurt all black women, or one black woman in particular. Daniel did care.”
“I knew he did it to hurt me, but I hadn’t thought it out quite that far,” Felice said. “I had been trying to avoid thinking about it.”
“Understandable. I doubt if he thought it out so thoroughly, also.”

Adrienne walked back out carrying a tray. It held three glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. She set it down on the table next to Felice.
“Oh how ante-bellum of you, my darling daughter,” Laura grinned at her. Adrienne rolled her eyes as she sat back down.
“Tired of the sermon yet?” Adrienne asked Felice.
“Not at all.”
“Adrienne finds this topic boring. She calls it ‘amateur race psychology.’”
“Laura, don’t talk about me like I’m not here. I don’t think the topic is boring. It’s just that you’ve inundated me with it for years. I don’t feel the need to sit through the whole thing when you give ‘the lecture’ to somebody else. I brought Felice to hear it because I thought it might help.”
“Am I being over sensitive?” Laura asked her daughter.
“Yes, but that’s who you are-sensitive. Continue lecture.”

Laura bowed to her daughter. “Thank you. Now where were we? Oh yes, Daniel. At the risk of sounding like I’m blaming the victim, I have to say this: you gave Daniel fear instead of love. You feared what Daniel would think about you if he had known the truth. Daniel found out that you didn’t trust him and he was hurt by it. He had to find out about your ‘reputation’ from the very men who had helped you to forge it–men he probably didn’t even like in the first place. It must have been quite humiliating for him, knowing what I do about the male ego.”

Felice considered this. She hadn’t thought about Daniel’s feelings at all.

Laura turned toward her canvas again. Felice looked at the portrait, which Laura appeared to be painting from memory. On first glance, the man appeared to be past sixty, but on further inspection, Felice could see that this was not so. He was a young white man, aged beyond his years. His gray eyes appeared to be old and young at the same time. His hands were gnarled, but not spotted. His back was straight. Felice marveled at Laura’s ability to capture this quality in a two-dimensional setting.

“Maybe, in a few months or so, I’ll apologize to him,” Felice said, almost to herself.
“That might be pushing it a bit. After all, you didn’t set out to hurt him, but he certainly set out to hurt you,” said Adrienne.
“Maybe you should,” said Laura. “Not now, but sometime in the future, when he’s able to hear it. Hopefully, he’ll do the same, but don’t do it just for his forgiveness.”
“No…I’d do it in order to…get some peace for myself, or something like it.”
“Give the student another ‘A,’” said Laura quietly.
Felice smiled.
“I hope you’ll think about what I’ve said. All of it.” Laura paused for a beat. “What do you think of my work?”
“It’s great.”
“How so? And, no, I’m not fishing. I’d like an honest appraisal.”
“Well, I’m not an expert on art or anything else, for that matter.”
“Yes, you are an art expert. We all are. Either art touches something in us or we’re indifferent to it, which doesn’t necessarily make it bad, though sometimes it does,” she smirked. “I’m asking if it touches something in you.”

Felice studied the canvas again. “I like the way the man’s face looks: happy and sad at the same time-kind of like me.”
“And like everyone else, though we don’t all realize it. High praise, indeed. Thank you, child.”

Adrienne was silent. She recognized the painting as a replica of a photo of her own grandfather, a man she had never met.