Rhonda Dove, I watched every move she made
I watched every move he made and I tried to drink in his presence. He was tall, with very black skin and round eyes that shined and showed no trace of sanity. His deep voice towered over everyone else’s. It rumbled and he seemed to always be in mid-joke and mid-laugh. I sat on the comfy couch in the corner and I felt like I had almost retreated into myself and I tried to observe the behavior of the adults in peace. I tried to drink in this man who always seemed so close and so far.
He was patting one of his many friends on the back and was telling him about the big money deal he was putting together and he slowed to a dramatic whisper and then erupted in a laugh and as the man smiled sheepishly I knew that my father had his wallet under his control. The king of fools I thought to myself…the king of fools.
“Rhonda! Come here!” I jumped as if I had been hiding in a closet and had just been discovered, yet I was in plain view. “Hey man, I want you to meet my daughter.”
I knew that it was my time to act. I would play the role of the perfect daughter to the perfect daddy and I would smile and the man would say something like “Reed…I didn’t know you could make such a fine little girl.” And I would feel embarrassed to stand there and have some stranger assess my looks and use words they used for the women who ran through the house trying to get to the pool. In the 70’s they used words like… “fine little mama” and “fine little fox” and I would want to run from the room. But, I just stood there in my shorts and halter top and eased backwards back towards my sanctuary until I was needed to play my role again.
It was a bright sunny perfect Los Angeles day as almost every day seemed to be and I was spending it with my daddy. And so I slid back into the corner with doll in hand and watched him and watched them continue with their drama.
The door bell rang and I was eager to run to the door to see who the next cast member would arrive. I had seen this lady before, she was my father’s friend and use to be girlfriend and she had on a pretty red dress, no doubt to show up the other ladies who would filter through. Some man ran up to her and grabbed her on her behind and she pushed him away and hurried to my dad to tell him that Harold had touched her on her ass. I could hear his voice above the rumblings of chatter and he told her that if she didn’t want to be touched she shouldn’t have come to the house with that tight red dress on. Her face snarled at his words and she acted offended, just like they all did. He told her to sit her fine ass down. I took notes in my brain…note to self…never wear a tight red dress!
There was always wine flowing and cigarettes burning and as a special surprise they brought out a big platter with green stuff and set it in the middle of the room. I inched over to my dad and asked him what it was. He told me they were going to smoke it. I just nodded as if I was cool enough at 10 to know what that meant. By now the house was buzzing with excitement women in and out, men rolling up to the house in their newest toys for the ladies and me sitting very still trying to understand the motions and emotions of this strange land and people.
That day I met catholic priests, attorneys, pimps, entrepreneurs (of some kind or another) and women of unknown occupations. And as different as they were they were all beating to the same drum. Thank goodness for the lessons my father taught me and the beats I learned never to play.
This is a wonderful treatment of this writing prompt. I love how it enfolds and how it is told through the eyes of a child who doesn't really want to be there, has no choice and is simply taking it all in. I particularly like the last paragraph and last line "Thank goodness for the lessons my father taught me and the beats I learned never to play."
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