God Still Don't Like Ugly. Mary Monroe
GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY
MARY MONROE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to David Akamine for the editorial feedback and emotional support. Thanks to Sheila Cunningham Sims, Maria “Felice” Sanchez, Anita “Wuzzle” Sanchez, and Heather King for being my very good friends. I love you all.
To Andrew Stuart (The Stuart Agency): you are the best literary agent in the world. Karen Thomas, I don’t know what I would do without you. I couldn’t ask for a better editor.
Very special thanks to the many reading groups and bookstores. Your support means so much to me. Much love to Peggy Hicks for organizing my book tour and Black Expressions Book Club for featuring my novels as main selections.
To my fellow authors: Timmothy B. McCann, Donna Hill, Mary B. Morrison, and Zane—LOL (lots of love)!
I am especially grateful to my fans for demanding this sequel to GOD DON’T LIKE UGLY. I had fun writing it.
Mary Monroe
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 1LULA HAWKINS
A READING GROUP GUIDE
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
CHAPTER 1
I used to wonder what I would look like if I had been born white. Now I know.
The white woman standing on the steps of the wraparound porch of the shabby clapboard house could have been my twin. As far as I could tell, sandy blond hair and a narrow nose were the only things she had that I didn’t have. I had to repress a gasp. I had to remind myself that this woman and I shared the same amount of blood from the same man. Black blood.
Throughout my plane ride from Richland, Ohio, to Miami, where I’d originally come from, with the help of several glasses of strong wine, I had composed and rehearsed several speeches. I had no idea what the appropriate things were to say to a father who had deserted me when I was a toddler, more than thirty years ago. What I wanted to say was not what I planned to say. It would have been too much, too soon. Good to see you again, Daddy. By the way, because of you, I had to spend ten years of my childhood living under the same roof with my rapist. But don’t worry, my playmate killed him for me and we didn’t get caught. I had promised myself that I would say something simple and painless. But now my head was spinning like a loose wheel and I felt like I was losing control of my senses. I didn’t know what was going to slide out of my mouth.
Confronting my daddy was going to be painful enough. But having to deal with him and a white woman who looked like me at the same time was going to be another story. Especially since I’d hated my looks for so many years.
I sat in the cab parked in front of the house on Mooney Street that steamy afternoon in August, looking out the window at that ghostly woman standing on her front porch, looking at me. The makeup that had taken me half an hour to apply was now melting and slowly sliding, like thick mud, down the sides of my burning face. I had licked off most of my plum-colored lipstick during the cab ride from the airport. Warm sweat had almost saturated my new silk blouse, making it stick to my flesh like a second layer of skin.
When the impatient cabdriver cleared his throat to get my attention, I paid him, tipped him ten percent, and tumbled out of the cab, snagging the knee of my L’eggs pantyhose with the corner of my suitcase.
As soon as my feet hit the ground, I looked around with great caution, because this was Liberty City, the belly of one of Miami’s roughest, predominately Black areas. I had hidden all of my cash in a cloth coin purse and pinned it to my girdle, but I still clutched my shoulder bag and looked around some more. I would have been just as cautious if I’d just landed in Beverly Hills. As far as I was concerned, the world was full of sharks; no place was safe for a female on her own. Especially one who attracted as much turmoil as I did.
It appeared to be a nice enough neighborhood, despite its reputation. The lawns were neat and the few Black people I saw seemed to be going on about their business like they didn’t