The Interruption of Everything by Terry McMillan Page B

says. “Even when she’s mean to me.”
    “I ain’t never mean to you and you know it.”
    “Okay, let’s just stop this children’s version of the Jerry Springer Show ,” I say.
    “What she talking about?” LL asks.
    “Jerry Springer, LL. You know, when they throw chairs at each other and fight on TV?” LaTiece says with entirely too much authority.
    He just nods.
    “Joy.”
    “What now?”
    “If you have an ounce of sense, just promise me that you will not drive that car under the influence of anything stronger than Coca-Cola.”
    “Give me some credit. Do you really think I’d put my kids’ lives in danger? Or mine or your mother’s?”
    “Yes, you would,” Lovey says. “But I’m not getting in the car with you behind the wheel. No way.”
    “First of all, let me set the record straight here. I ain’t nobody’s alcoholic. I just like to get a buzz, and personally I like herb a lot better, okay?”
    “What herbs?” Lovey asks.
    “Joy, how do the kids get to school?”
    “We ride the bus,” LaTiece answers for her.
    Hearing this brings me some relief.
    “Look, I promise I won’t drive if I’m too stoked,” Joy says. “Now tell me this, who turned on all the eyes on the stove and left ’em on all night?”
    Lovey slowly looks around the kitchen at the kids and then me, waiting for one of us to confess.

Chapter 7
    A rthurine is sitting in the living room with a man who looks like a mortician. “Hello,” I say.
    “Why hello there, sugar. You must be Marilyn,” he says, getting up from the sofa. What a little shrimp of a man he is. I can see how he used to be handsome. Arthurine jumps up to stand near him, as if she’s protecting him from me.
    “Marilyn, this is my very good friend, Prezelle Goodenough. I told you about him, remember?”
    “Yes, I do. Very nice to meet you, Mr. Goodenough.”
    “Please call me Prezelle. I’ve been admiring your lovely home. Arthurine gave me a tour and showed me some of those very unusual whatnots you made. This lampshade, for instance,” he says, pointing to an old lamp I repainted the base of and covered the shade with about a trillion tiny beads. It was always ugly. I was bored. And after I finished, I felt like I’d resurrected it. But some of the stuff I make does not work for everybody, including me, sometimes.
    “Anyway,” he says, leaning forward, “I don’t rightly understand some of their appeal, but different strokes for different folks. Now, I do like this here pillow,” he says, pointing to a black-and-purple suede thing.
    “Why, thank you, sir,” is the only response I can think of.
    Arthurine is actually blushing. She is also wearing her favorite tinted glasses that have slid down her nose until they look like they’re pinching it. There are two empty cups on the coffee table in front of the sofa and a saucer with a few Girl Scout cookies on it that have been in the pantry since last year.
    “You two go right ahead with what you were doing. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
    “We’re just getting to know each other better,” Arthurine says as Prezelle nods his head up and down in agreement. His hair is almost white and his cheekbones are so big they look like golf balls. “Oh, by the way, Marilyn, I think you may have quite a few messages because that phone’s been ringing off the hook.”
    “Thank you, Arthurine.”
    “You’re quite welcome. And how’s Lovey doing these days?”
    “She’s fine. Everybody’s fine.”
    “Praise God,” she says.
    “Will you be staying for dinner, Prezelle?” I ask. I’m praying he says no because I do not feel like cooking.
    “I wish I could,” Prezelle says. “But tonight’s bingo night where I live.”
    “Sounds like big fun,” I say. “Maybe some other time.”
    Arthurine looks at him like she’s bursting with good news. “I’ve been invited to play, too,” she says.
    “But isn’t tonight Bible study?”
    “I know the Bible baby—backward and forward—I just