From 'Pecan Candy and Huck-A-Bucks.' (excerpt) (Black South Fiction, Art, Culture)

It was Saturday, April 2, 1988: Makin' Groceries Day at the Lavizzo house. Peggy turned off the buzzing alarm clock - Time: 7:30 a.m. She laid back in the bed feeling the solidness of her limbs. The heaviness of sleep caused her body to ache.

Adding to this was the weight of her busy week. Routine activities alone pinned her to the mattress: studying/testing, minding six children, keeping house (cleaning, polishing, mopping, washing, and ironing), and selling knicknacks to her classmates and neighbors.

Peggy stared at the wedding-cake ceiling, wishing she had never been delegated the responsibility of making groceries.

"Get up, Peggy!" screamed her oldest sister, Gloria, who quickly approached the room. "Ain't no time for sleep. Get up. And na.! You got groceries ta make."

Peggy covered her head with a pillow, ignoring Gloria until the cacophony seeped through the goose feathers and penetrated her ears. "I'm gettin' up na," said Peggy. "You don't haveta scream like ya losing your mind."

"Well, if you was up like ya was supposed to be, I wouldn't be screamin' like I'm losin' my mind," Gloria fussed back as she left the mom.

Peggy, irritated, flung back covers and stomped out of bed. She walked through the shotgun hall, making the wooden floor crack like a squeaky rocker with each step. In the bathroom, Peggy slammed the door shut and flicked on the light. Just a minute of peace, she asked the Lord.

Midway through the morning ritual she weighed the sacrifice of her weekend to serve her family. She would much rather stay in bed and sleep. But she knew Gloria would not allow that.

As Peggy waited for the cold hot water to turn warm, her eyes met with her reflection in the mirror. Peggy studied herself: Slimy gray balls of mucus stuck in the corners of her eyes, her lips and nose were swollen, and a stream of dried saliva ran from her mouth to her chin.

"Ugggg! Ya ugly," she said of herself.

Lost in thought, Peggy forgot to test the water's warmness before picking up the towel from the face bowl. She sought relief for her burned fingertips by cursing and shaking her hand in the air.

After the needle-like sensation eating her fingers stopped, she picked up the warm towel wrung it, and pressed it against her face. The steam rejuvenated her. Eyes closed, she enjoyed the ecstatic feeling in the emotion of release. The buoyancy of this more positive mental attitude made her float.

But the moment was lost as Gloria started yelling again. "Peggy!" screamed Gloria. "If you don't hurry up, you gon' be in dere all day."

"Why you care?' Peggy said to herself. "I believe I'm the one who haveta stand in line - not you."

Gloria's efforts to rush her made Peggy move more slowly, and with an angrier attitude. Sbe took a half-hour to finish in the bathroom.

"Keep draggin' around" warned Gloria, "and you not gon get home until 5 o'clock. Watch!"

"Take care of your own self," snapped Peggy. "I know what I got to do. Like I ain't been doing this for two years na. Why don't you just leave me alone?"

"Look, girl, I don't know who you think you talkin' to, but you better watch whatcha sayin' to me," said Gloria. "Don't get beside yourself with me. I know you think you're a woman, but you ain't have neither chicken nor child yet."

"Is Jody up?" asked Peggy changing the subject.

"No, she makin' like she's sleep," said Gloria.

Peggy's temperature climbed 50 degrees. Jody, who was supposed to accompany her on this trip, could sleep.

The lazy 12-year-old baby could get away with anything. The baby. Evaded household chores - cleaning, washing, caring for the children, and selling. And was excused! The baby. Let her play, knowing she was keeping house with older boys.

Peggy resented the preferential treatment. Today she took affirmative action.

"Get yo ass up," Peggy said snatching away the sheet. "NOW!"

"Leave me alone, girl," said Jody pulling over.

"Get up!" demanded Peggy. "I'm not gon tell ya no mo."

"I'ma tell momma on you," said Jody.

"Tell her," threatened Peggy," and she's gonna kick your ass again for not coming with me."

"O Gloria! Peggy in here cursin'," yelled Jody.

"I ain't got nothin' to do with dat," answered Gloria from the kitchen. "Stop makin' all dat noise fo' y'all wake up dem children."

Jody jumped out of the bed when she saw Peggy about to slap her backside and ran to the bathroom for refuge.

An hour passed.

"Go on to the sto'," Gloria urged. "You know it's the first; it's gonna be packed. So why don't ya stop draggin' and git it over wid."

Thinking about her day turned the sweetened coffee bitterly sour on her tongue. Peggy didn't want to go to the store alone; in fact, she didn't want to go at all, but she took the grocery list and money from Gloria's hand. Pushing aside her pride, Peggy accepted her fate.

Outside her house, Peggy faced Orleans Avenue. The morning sun had already positioned itself for a noontime burn. Peggy soaked in the warmness, a pleasurable change from the atmosphere she'd left inside. Them she walked to Broad Street and turned right. Cars raced by Peggy only to be slowed at the water-pumping station hump.

A side of her became angry at the cars zipping past her. Their raspy motor hums turned her evil. If she had a car ... if Jody wouldn't gotten up ... if Gloria wouldn't have had six greedy children ... if... if... if... then she wouldn't be in the predicament of breaking her sleep to walk what seemed a mile or to hassle with the manic first-of-the-month, making-groceries crowd.

Entranced in the displacement, Peggy forgot to cross Broad Street before the pumping station to avoid the flirty, dirty old men, plus one good-for-nothing young man, who sat out in front of Luke's Mechanic Shop drinking cheap wine any hour of the day.

"Hey, hey, hey. Looka, Red. Dose shorts mighty high," said Rudy, the young man. "Showing all dem fine white thighs. Kin I have a bite?"

The group of men fell into a throaty laughter. Peggy looked straight ahead, blocking them out as she passed in front of them. Still, she could not ignore the presence of their runny wino eyes. At that moment she hated them for their obscene thoughts.

"Yeah, she sure is a fine young thang," said Eddie.

Limping like the gangster he believed himself to be, Rudy fell in step with Peggy. He even slipped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "When you gon let me take ya out?"

Peggy stopped. The reflection of the sun was in her brown eyes.

"Leave her be, leave her be, man," said Joe, a friend of Peggy's common-law stepfather.

"If you don't move your goddamn arm off me I'ma kick your tail all over Broad," she said through clinched teeth.

Rudy's arm immediately dropped to his side and he apologized to Peggy. "I didn't mean nothin'. I was just playing wid ya. I respect you. You a good girl. I know you not like that, Ms. Peggy."

"Like her momma for the world," laughed C.C., revealing missing front teeth. "Don't take no shit."

Peggy continued on her way and crossed Broad just before Bienville to the city's only green-and-orange giant: Schwegmann's, a New Orleans institution. There people ran into classmates, co-workers, neighbors, associates, and acquaintances from yesteryear. "Hey! I thought that was you." "Child, you ain't changed a bit. Still look the same." "What ya doin' with yourself na." "Long time no see." This familiarity could also be extended to someone new.

Peggy approached the jam-packed parking lot like it was a maze she was determined to find her way out of The challenge allowed Peggy's weary spirit to feel uplifted. It gave her a sense of oneness with the sky - a feeling that she could flap her wings and soar up and away from her troubles at 4123 Orleans Avenue.

Peggy met relief when she stepped on the mat of the automatic doors. Momentarily she embraced the cool air just like she had embraced the heat earlier. Another step and she had entered the Makin' Groceries Zone.

Carefully Peggy chose the items on her list, checking contents and expiration dates. Aisle by aisle she filled her basket with the biggest sizes available. In her house it was a must to buy the largest quantities to meet the ceaseless demands of 13 people.

Having filled one basket, she parked it near the first checkout line and got a second. With this basket, she tackled the rest of the store. Then she parked it in a checkout line, and went to get the first.

By the time Peggy was ready to check out, all of the lines had spilled into the food aisles. Randomly she chose line seven. Clint Johnston had chosen that line too. As he was pushing his basket toward the spot behind an unmanned basket, a female came from what seemed like nowhere and beat him to the space by a fraction of a second.

"Damn!" he said. He'd first lost patience when he'd realized that his great aunt's "only-a-few items" had turned out to be too much for any of the express lines, and now this female had beaten him into line.

Clint watched her keenly. She was fine as hell. His eyes looking her over head to heel: Leather thongs; blue walking shorts with two strongs; muscle-defined legs; white tank top; long, straight brown hair; and light skin injected with a dose of brown.

A few seconds later, she moved from her baskets. Step for step he followed her to the magazine rack. Come back, momma, he thought as he watched her pick up one gossip tabloid and flip through it, then another. His heart hit triple beats as she turned around and sum walking back. He glanced away m order not to seem so obvious in his lust.

Suddenly, he wasn't absolutely confident of his ability to attract this beautiful woman. Her eyes buried in the magazine, she hadn't even noticed him, though he steadily snuck glances at her as she returned to her baskets. He wanted to kick himself for not making eye contact.

"Fall, fall, fall," he urged the magazine, when she'd finally set it down. Moments later, it cascaded to the floor. "Look at that ass, that ass, that ass," he thought, watching her bend. "I don't know which view is better."

The line seemed to move only an inch or so every hour. By what seemed like the third hour, Peggy's baskets occupied the third and fourth spots. Anxiously Clint moved his basket forward by shoving it with his right foot. Perhaps this was a subconscious move, triggered from the intensity of his concentration on the woman's well-shaped body. In any case, the basket rammed smack into her.

As the cold metal struck the back of Peggy's legs, the word fuck began to form on her lips when a rich, round masculine voice said, "Excuse me."

Peggy whirled around, brow wrinkled ready to explode until her eyes met with a handsome, dark-skinned man who stole her heart with his appearance. Time eternalized, and they exchanged looks for what seemed like forever, looks which penetrated each other's souls. Butterflies fluttered to the depths of Peggy's stomach, and rushing hot blood flooded into Clint's genitalia.

"Sorry about the basket," he apologized, his voke sounding at an uncontrollable, higher-than-normal pitch. "It slipped."

"That's okay," said Peggy, quickly turning around.

Not knowing what else to say or do, Clint picked up an oatmeal box and read the label. From that point to the checkout counter, thick silence was the only bridge between them.

Then, just as Clint had finally mustered the confidence to approach her, he noticed her grocery items: Pampers, formula, baby food, bubble gum, family-sized everything. And in her hands were food stamps. Welfare!

Notions of wanting to know this woman headed for the exit door of his mind. He was disappointed and angry that he had wasted nearly an hour ogling over her. He knew better than to lose control of his emotions. A woman with all these groceries had to have a family - a big one.

Meanwhile, Peggy's pride had burst into flames. Never before had using food stamps bothered her. Until just now, it never crossed her mind what the person behind her would think. Embarrassed, Peggy snatched her receipt and change, and hurriedly pushed her mountain of brown paper bags out of the store, vowing never to make groceries again.

Outside she saw her regular cabby, Mr. Smithy, drive away just as the blue sky was driven away by dull gray, rain-threatening clouds. The available cab drivers usually upped their fee to ten dollars just to make the five-block run to Orleans Avenue: It was the weekend and the beginning of the month, and they knew they'd have plenty of fares to choose from.

"Shit on that shit," Peggy said, pushing her stuffed baskets to the side of the supermarket's entrance. She would have tried to push them home, but the barricade stopped her and the thunder warned her that she had better await Mr. Smithy's return.

"This would happen to me," Peggy thought sadly, resting her elbows on the baskets and sighing.

Feeling abandoned by the gods, Peggy stared ahead pitifuly at the speeding cars breaking to cross the hump. If only her mother had bought a car, she wouldn't be stuck in this situation. But Thelma Jean Lavizzo was too cheap and too penny-pinching for such a luxury item. Thelma would much rather they catch a cab, ride the bus, and/or hustle a ride. To Peggy, the cost would have been worth the convenience. But she couldn't get her mother to understand this.

A black Maxima entered the lot and caught Peggy's attention. She noticed an attractive, well-dressed couple and their tan son getting out of the car: The father, a tall, lean, dark-brown man; the mother, a medium-height, petite, light-skinned woman, the son, an amalgamation of his parents' complexions, hair textures, and features.

When the family moved through the maze of cars, they walked in an atmosphere of love. The man's gold wedding-banded hand gripped his wife's shoulder. The man's grasp was sincere, which made the ring even brighter. His other hand held a black golf umbrella over his family. The son, a gregarious little boy, seemed to enjoy the close crunch between his parents' bodies.

As the family neared, Peggy inconspicuously looked away at the cabs. No sign of Mr. Smithy. She turned her head to watch the family disappear into the Zone.

Peggy rested her face back on her hands, allowing her mind to drift inside with them. As her imagination searched for the family, the guy from earlier bumped into her mind.

His image was as vivid as his aura was strong. No man had ever made such a powerful first impression on her. When it came to males, she was stern. Not even guys she liked suspected she cared for them. In the game of love, Peggy didn't take chances. She clammed up and got defensive. This frightful reaction she justified by grouping all men into Rudy's category - even those who didn't say, "Hey, lil momma" or "Say, say, you" or "Pssssst, pssssst."

Peggy knew the bottom line: All men wanted was S-E-X.

Like the abrupt basket collision, her space was once more invaded, but this time by a soft human touch to her shoulder. The contact caused her to jump.

"Excuse me," apologized a polite voice. "I did not mean to alarm you."

Startled, Peggy's heartbeat accelerated. For a second she was disoriented and couldn't distinguish imagination from reality. She held onto the basket handles, trying to regain her equilibrium.

"I really didn't mean to frighten you."

In spite of her weakening knees, pouncing heart, and spreading internal fever, Peggy composed herself and offered a nervous smile. Their eyes locked again.

Both their worlds became frozen like the sweet liquid in a huck-a-buck. In this state, they were alone in each other's chilly presence. Then, slowly, their stares embraced, melting the ice with their warmness.

The fixation now demanded words.

Clint put his hands in his pockets, trying to remember his excuse for approaching her. "Uhhh ... umm ... umm," he stuttered. "Would you watch my basket?"

Wordblessly, Peggy gazed at him.

He pointed. I"m parked over there."

She forced out an "Uh huh."

"I don't usually shop here. I forget you can't take the basket to the car. If you can watch my basket until I bring my car around, if it's not any trouble to you're greatly appreciate it."

Peggy nodded and forced out another "Uh huh."

"Thanks," Clint smiled. "I won't be longer than a minute."

Peggy's smile was assuring to him. Her expression stayed with him all the way to the car. There was a grandeur to her presence. Excitement and happiness soon filled him, for the young lady gave joy the status of majesty.

"Don't fight it," his inner voice said. "Go with the flow."

Clint turned on the ignition. No, he refused to accept she was a welfare mother. How could he know that she wasn't makin' groceries for someone else, just as he was? From the looks of his own basket (Goodies, Ensure, Diet Coke, CDM Coffee, cream cheese, greens, Bobbie pins, and denture cleaner), someone could have concluded that he was an old lady. Clint shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking space with the intention of finding out more about the young lady.

He made a wild swing around the corner, feeling he had to get to her. But his hurry was slowed by a sudden load of sympathy. When he came within sight of her, she was standing between the baskets with the barricade in front and a brick wall in back. The scene symbolized what appeared to be her life: Trapped.

Relying on that deep-gut feeling from her presence, he knew she had more potential and options than the readily available combined opportunity of babies and welfare.

Peggy didn't notice him until he hopped out of the car. Surprised and startled, she flinched. He was a BMW!

"How he get it? Dope? Nope," she thought at once. "Check out his clothes (safari shorts; short-sleeves, double-pocket jean shirt; leather crisscross sandals). He's from the East. Born with money," she summed.

Just that second the sky gave way to its threat of rain, which fell with the force of hail.

"Waiting on a ride?" Clint asked, grabbing his bags.

Peggy wiped droplets of rain from her arms, which were folded across her chest. Hesitantly she looked over at the cabs. Full of uncertainty, she nervously looked at Clint.

"You live nearby?" he asked.

Peggy nodded yes.

"I can give you lift," he offered.

Peggy rubbed her arms, hunched her shoulders, and shook her head no, but Clint ignored her quiet protest and grabbed her bags. This ended her indecision. She followed the voice urging her not to wait for Mr. Smithy and to get home the best way that she could - with the polite, friendly, good-looking, rich young man.

Automatically she helped load the bags into the trunk of the car. Together they rushed against the downpour. When they finished, their clothes were damp. Clint got even wetter when he opened the passenger door for Peggy.

Inside the car, Peggy sat close to the door. Her arms were folded so that he wouldn't notice her left hand ready to open the door if his kindness proved to be a disguise.

"It's raining cats and dogs," Clint said in the car.

Peggy smiled and looked out the blurred window.

Five minutes passed and they were still silently listening to the music of the beating rain and watching the dance of the windshield wipers.

Finally: "My name is Clint Johnston."

"Peggy, Peggy La ... La Vizzo," she stated the more astute form of her last name.

"Please to meet you, Peggy," Clint said, extending his hand to shake.

"Same here," Peggy replied, forced to unfold her arms.

"Where to?" Clint asked, pleased that she looked comfortable.

"The 4000 block of Orleans, the third block before Chris Ruth's Steak House on the lake side," she said. "But you might wanna wait for this rain to slack."

Clint smiled at her bossiness, which came off passive and sweet. The only woman who ever told him what to do was his mother. In the back of his mind, the authority in her statement made him wonder if, after all, she wasn't a mother.

"I'm an excellent driver," Clint stated rather proudly.

"Let me see your license," she said. "You sure you didn't just get it when you made your groceries?"

They both laughed at the colloquial joke.

"I'm willing to bet," he said, "that you're not even a driver."

"Don't be so sure," she said sassily.

That moment their eyes melted. Seconds became hours and words became unnecessary.

He examined the contour of her face, sizing up the fullness of her lips, the pudginess of her nose, the brightness of her skin, and the lightness of her dark eyes. Peggy did likewise until she felt their bodies gravitating.

"The rain's slacked," she said looking away. "I'm not putting you out of your way, am I?"

"Not at all," he said, driving out of the lot. "I have to go that way to drop off these groceries to my great aunt."

"Slow down. Take it easy," Peggy instructed as they approached the hump.

Clint smiled, easing over the railroad tracks.

"You never answered me," Clint remembered.

"About what?" Peggy asked.

"Do you drive?"

"You already answered for me," she replied. "You're making a left after the light."

"I can't win with you," he said, following her directions.

Peggy's eyes scanned the car's black leather interior. She wondered what gave Clint's car its fresh scent. The few cars she rode in (her sister's boyfriend's and the cabs) had huge, furry dice deodorizes hanging from the rearview mirror. Peggy then focused on his hands. the left on the steering wheel, the right on the shifting stick. She studied their daintiness: the smooth skirt, the long, slender, naked fingers, the freshly manicured nails, the firm but gentle grip.

When she looked up, Clint had turned left on Orleans Avenue.

"Know where you're going.?" she asked.

Clint smiled, unsure how to respond to her sharp tongue. He kept quiet to avoid the pain of her point

"This is my block coming up," Peggy said. "Stop right here. This is my house."

Clint parked in front of 4124, the evergreen-trimmed, white, double-shotgun house. The rain had reduced to a drizzle. He faced Peggy.

"Thank you for the lift, Mr. Johnston. I appreciate your kindness," Peggy said with casual formality.

"It's the least I could have done after running you over in the store," he said. "I am really sorry about that I'm rarely so clumsy."

Peggy smiled understandingly. "Well you've more than made up for it," she said, reaching for the door handle.

Clint immediately got out and opened her door. Peggy thanked him and went up the steps, carrying a bag of eggs.

"Open up! It's me!" Peggy screamed and banged on the French shutter door. "The least they could do is open the door," Peggy complained, as Clint walked up from the trunk with two heavy bags.

"Who?" Clint asked. "Your children."

"Children? Children?" Peggy laughed amusingly. "What gave you that impression?"

"Did I say anything wrong?" Clint asked apologetically.

"Yes," Peggy answered with one eyebrow raised.

The door opened.

"Tee Peggy! Tee Peggy back!" yelled Hope, Gloria's third child, "GRO-CE-RIES! GRO-CE-RIES! GRO-CE-RIES! YEAH!"

Peggy looked compassionately at Clint because she knew he had judged her by the content of her groceries.

A tidal wave of light-skinned children with sandy brown hair soon flooded to the entrance. Gloria's other children had come to discover what goodies awaited them in the brown paper bags.

"Don't take dat stuff out dem bags," fussed Gloria.

They worked in assembly-line fashion: Peggy and Clint carrying the bags to the door, the children dragging them to the kitchen,, and Gloria putting the items away.

In less than five minutes, Peggy and Clint were done. The makin' groceries process was finished.

On the wet banquette he searched her eyes, trying to find out if she wanted to see him again, spend time with him and get to know him. But what he saw was her trying to hide the answers behind the scattering clouds reflected in her eyes.

"Thanks again," Peggy said.

"The thanks is all mine," he said pausing. "I'd like to make up for what happened earlier."

"You have. I don't know when I would've gotten home," she said gratefully.

"Perhaps we can have lunch."

While Peggy struggled for speech, Clint went into his wallet and handed her his business card. "When you decide, you can reach me here," he said, giving her the card.

Peggy glanced down at her hand.

"Use it," he said and backed away.

Peggy pulled herself out of the trance and told him to drive "easy" to his aunt's. As he disappeared up the street, she felt that a magical transformation had just occurred. There was a rainbow in the sky.

Before going inside, she read the card in her hand:

Who was dat?" asked Gloria as soon as Peggy entered the kitchen.

"Why?" asked Peggy defensively.

"|Cause he looked mighty young and his car mighty expensive to be a cab driver at Schwegmann's," said Gloria.

"Cause he ain't," said Peggy bubbling.

"What's dat in your hand?" Gloria asked, reaching for the card. "Let me see."

"No! It ain't ya business," Peggy said, putting the card in her pocket

"If I tell Thelma, I bet it'll be all our business," Gloria threatened.

"You always gotta make a big deal out of nothing," Peggy said, folding a bag.

"Look! You my baby sister," said Gloria in a more serious tone. "I worries about you, especially coming home with a man I don't even much know."

"It was either him or waiting forever to get home," retorted Peggy.

"Why didn't you get a cab?" asked Gloria.

"It was taking too long for Mr. Smithy, and the other ones wanted me to pay them ten dollars. Momma would have died if I had paid that much. And besides it was raining."

"Peggy, you mean to tell me you didn't know this man?" asked Gloria, who put her hand on her double-waist side and moved doser. "Wait. Just wait one min-u-te. I'm reading you wrong. Come again, sistah."

"Gloria, I don't wanna get into it," said Peggy irritably.

"Peggy, you mean to tell me you accepted a ride with a stranger?' Gloria asked emphasizing each word. "How could you? How could you trust a stranger?"

Peggy continued to take the items out of the bag. Silence followed the echo of the items crashing on the table. Gloria's anger intensified as she watched Peggy put away the remaining groceries.

"Look, girl, let me tell you one thing. What right do you have to get in a car with a man because he look nice and drive a nice car? That don't make no reason to trust him. Not in this day and age," Gloria said, pissed by Peggy's nonchalant attitude.

The silence thickened in the room. Peggy vigorously started folding the empty bags. Then, abruptly, she stopped.

"What's the difference?" Peggy spat out at her sister, forcing back tears, "The cab driver would have been a stranger. Why trust him?