The Book of Adam and Jo: an Interracial Literary Romance

by C. L. Donley

  She sighed. Yes. Yes, she was.

  She got out of her car and headed up the walk, the various sounds of hardworking men filling the air like industrial white noise. Wordlessly, Adam turned back toward the front door. Jo took that as a cue to follow him inside. On the way upstairs, she spotted a handful of guys practically drop whatever they were working on to gawk at them.

  She still wasn’t all that comfortable outing herself as the Jo Abrams to just any old passer-by. But she had a decent enough reputation now that she didn’t worry about low-ballers much. In fact, she probably didn’t need Kenny anymore. But he’d been good to her. Good to her dad. She thought about waving to the still-frozen crew but thought it better not to. The attention seemed to be about more than just drywalling. Adam’s voice caught her attention.

  “The buyer caught a lucky break on the cost to do the sewer line. They wanna finish the attic.”

  “Okay,” she followed him. Their workboots changed timbre underneath them as the floor went from carpet to hardwood to plywood the higher up the stairs they went. They got to the humid cloistered space at the top, lit by a single moon-sized window.

  “Look at these fuckin’ angles.”

  “I see ‘em.”

  “I could get one of my guys on it, but it would take ‘em forever, and it would look like shit.”

  “Well, yeah. It’s gonna be a bitch. For anyone,” she said, thinking about how fat her wallet was about to get. The job was gonna suck, her schedule too, but not as bad as it would for some 6-foot fuck, stuck up in the attic hanging obtuse angle drywall over attic soffits.

  She could make enough to take it easy for a month or two. Take more DJ-ing gigs. If Chris didn’t flake out on her again.

  Adam smirked. “And we need it done pretty fast. They sprung this whole thing on us.”

  “Sounds like you’re in a bind.”

  He chuckled, “Listen, it’s the client’s budget, not ours, but still. Be gentle, Jo.”

  “Five thousand.”

  “Jesus, Jo. Leave us some lube.”

  “That’s taking into account Kenny’s cut.”

  “Kenny’s cut, huh?”

  “He’s been good to me.”

  “I’d expect as much.”

  “Forty-two hundred.”

  Adam smiled again and let out a sigh as he held out his hand for them to shake. Their hands met for the second time ever.

  “Keep this between you and me, would ya?”

  “You don’t think I’m worth it?”

  “No, you are. You definitely are, it’s just…”

  Jo’s heart pounded in her ears. Her instincts had officially reached a new low.

  A fucking nazi, JoAnn? Really??

  “…You hear that?” he said, his deep blue gaze turning her limbs to jelly.

  “I don’t hear anything,” she said.

  “Exactly,” he rolled his eyes and made his way out of the attic. “Come on, lemme introduce you to the crew.”

  They made their way back downstairs where the sounds of construction suddenly picked up speed again. As they walked into the living room everyone was pretending to be oblivious, everyone except one guy who had the same piercing blue eyes as Adam, but was lanky and looked closer to her age.

  “This here’s my brother Corey. Also known as Pete.”

  “I see the resemblance.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he nodded while he busied himself with a caulk gun. She got the distinct feeling he didn’t want to shake hands.

  “Where’s Gus?”

  “Out back, mixin’,” Corey said.

  Jo followed him through the big house that was coming along, where she got the rare chance to admire her work that was already covered over with neutral paint. Most of Adam’s crew was Mexican, as far as she could tell. She didn’t know whether to be surprised or just confused. She imagined that being a white supremacist doesn’t magically create more white tradesmen. Money and beliefs were two different things.

  She had to guess that the even bigger blond dude in a ballcap, hunched over a five-gallon bucket with a mixer, was Gus. Why he was introducing her to all his family members she couldn’t quite figure out. An occupational hazard she assumed.

  “This here’s Gus,” Adam grinned.

  Gus wiped off his hand covered in various dried construction adhesives and put it out for her to shake instantly. Now she was puzzled. One brother didn’t want to touch her, one seemed to want to touch her more than he was letting on, and this one was out and out shaking her hand.

  “When Adam told us Jo Abrams was a black chick, we didn’t believe him.”

  Oh. This one was more polite, but also more direct.

  What does me being black/female/etc. have to do with anything? was the appropriate rhetorical question to respond with.

  But those types of questions would only cause headaches out here where Jo found herself, surrounded by Adam Kerr’s brothers, all gargantuan, Viking looking motherfuckers, tats and ballcaps and other southern white paraphernalia.

  These dudes were impervious to social shame, and she found their presences oddly refreshing. Every moment that went by without insult felt genuine, a testament to their character. They could’ve taken turns pelting her with slurs if they wanted to. Obviously they didn’t want to. Not at the moment, anyway.

  “Thanks. You responsible for the porch out front?”

  “I am. You responsible for that rock on the vaulted ceiling?”

  “Guilty.”

  “How in the hell...”

  “Scaffolding, you know. Heights don’t bother me, thank goodness.”

  “I don’t know what it is about drywallers, but those motherfuckers hate anything above 8 feet. You must be naming your price.”

  “We almost hated to paint over it,” Adam volunteered.

  “Stop,” she couldn’t help smiling.

  “You use a knife and a pan, or hawk and trowel?” Gus asked.

  “Gotta go hawk and trowel.”

  They all gave a little laugh like it was adorable.

  “Tiny thing like you with a hawk and a trowel,” Gus giggled.

  “Knife kills my wrist even faster. Unless I’m doing a ceiling I avoid it.”

  “I can’t wait to see this shit with my own eyes,” Adam said.

  Gus shot him a look that Jo couldn’t ignore. Apparently neither could Adam.

  A shiver went through her. She didn’t know if she liked being the private subject of whatever conversation they were trying not to have right now. Because she knew it was about her race. Which she supposed she better get used to for the next 1-2 weeks because she wasn’t about to turn down a fat stack over a look. There was a bit more to it, she just wasn’t sure what.

  “Pete, don’t just stand over there lurkin’, you damn perv,” Gus projected without taking his eye off Adam.

  Jo looked behind her and gave Corey a look of pity as he lumbered over like a beat dog from the patio doorway. He was clearly the youngest brother. For the runt, he was still pretty damn big.

  “You sure you don’t wanna take more jobs? Word of mouth is gold in this industry,” Adam resumed their conversation.

  “One or two big jobs a month is plenty for me and my schedule. I can still do gigs at night and be with Judah in the afternoons.”

  “Gigs?” Adam asked.

  “Yeah, I’m a DJ.”

  “No shit,” Corey spoke up.

  Jo just nodded her head slowly.

  “What kinda music you play?”

  “All kinds.”

  “They all say that,” Adam scoffed.

  “Well, I don’t know, I guess there’s certain music I like more than others. But I’m an audiophile, I love it all.”

  “What’s your go-to?”

  “Old school hip hop, probably.”

  “What’s old school to you, 90’s?” Gus asked.

  “Yeah, 80’s and 90’s. Are you about to tell me you’re into hip hop?” she smiled.

  “Nah, I thin
k most of it’s garbage, but I liked some of the old school shit. Diggable Planets,” he said.

  Jo gave a surprised nod of recognition, a bridge she wasn’t expecting to make.

  “That’s… a pretty good hip hop reference for a… non… hip-hop fan,” she suddenly found she didn’t want to call him something insulting. His brothers just looked at him with amused suspicion, one that was probably going to result in subsequent teasing.

  “What?” Gus protested.

  “Since when did you ever listen to rap?” Adam squinted.

  “You don’t follow me everywhere, Adam. You think nobody here remembers your rap phase?”

  “It wasn’t a ‘phase,’ I liked what I liked.”

  “I liked the positive shit. Diggable Plants, Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul. Most of it’s vulgar violent nonsense nowadays.”

  “What about Drake?” Jo volunteered.

  “Jesus.”

  “Who?” Corey furrowed his brow.

  “That Jew fella who looks like that faggy football player from high school? Drove that dark green GTO. Stupid fucker burned out his engine in the parking lot showin’ off.”

  “Oh yeah. He’s a rapper?”

  “I like that Eminem.”

  “Speaking of vulgar, violent nonsense,” Jo rolled her eyes.

  “You do the scratchin’ and the whole damn bit?” Adam grinned.

  “The whole damn bit.”

  “Why would anyone scratch up a fuckin’ record?”

  “An accidental discovery,” Jo answered another brother, feeling like she was in front of a hillbilly hearing.

  “How is that a discovery?”

  “Leave it to the blacks to make a career out of destroyin’ some shit.”

  Jo laughed nervously against her will. Instinctively, she just wanted to cover up how uncomfortable she was. When no one else laughed she laughed all the more. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She couldn’t tell if they were embarrassed that Corey had insulted her, or they actually agreed and the statement wasn’t meant to be funny.

  “Where do you DJ?”

  “Up at Canton U. Ever been?”

  “I’m familiar.”

  “I’m sort of the unofficial house DJ. Pretty much every weekend,”she said.

  “Explains why you play your music so damn loud,” Adam mused.

  “How do you know that?”

  “That day at the hardware store. You were playing Beastie Boys.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I can’t help it. Judah has his own set of earplugs,” Jo smiled.

  Adam stifled a smile of his own, squinting in the direction of the sun still rising. “So. Ms. Abrams. When do you want to start?”

  “Now, if you want,” she shrugged.

  “Goddamn,” Corey giggled.

  “I only live a few miles from here. I can get all my gear and be back in 30.”

  Gus shifted where he stood and looked at Corey. The bitch had something to prove and was about to make them all look and feel real bad.

  “Sounds good. Pete, get your bony ass outta the way and let Jo get to work.”

  * * *

  Jo was used to working on a project alone, which is why she wasn’t used to all the interruptions while she worked on the Cormier house attic for Stroud Builders. They watched her set up, mix her mortar, place a trustworthy glob on her slightly tilted hawk like a painter’s palette, even watched her measure and score. Even after sending the clear signal of blaring music while she worked couldn’t stop the flow of nosy construction workers, mostly using the guise of trying to find the source of the music as a means of seeing what she was up to. Even though it was an unseasonably warm spring day and they hadn’t hooked up the HVAC yet.

  Once she’d found a rhythm, she realized they were sending spies for when she finally started taping. They stood around watching her mud technique, which she had mixed feelings about. She knew they just wanted to see her work. A girl doing tradesman’s work was like watching Clark Kent do some Superman shit, but she wasn’t so comfortable with giving away the recipe, so to speak. A few tricks of the trade were simple things that could save anyone time, and a few times it was like she could hear the penny drop behind her.

  Somewhere inside her she’d been waiting to see Adam making his way up to the attic. She didn’t know how much until she felt his big presence coming up the stairs and it gave her stomach a jolt. He was quiet for a moment. Her back was to him and she let herself smile.

  “Think you can turn that jungle music down up here?” she heard Adam’s voice. She didn’t need to see him to know he was ribbing her. In his patented nazi way, she presumed.

  Her smile widened as she continued to work. “We will never be at that phase in our relationship, Mr. Kerr.”

  “What phase is that?”

  “The ‘racist jokes’ phase.”

  “I see. And why not?”

  “Because the ‘racist jokes’ phase is a non-existent one.”

  “Fair enough,” he grinned as he watched Jo mud her joints smoother than cake icing. “Be that as it may…”

  “Are people complaining?”

  “A little.”

  “Well, no way I do this tedious ass job without music. The sooner I’m done, the sooner I’m out of your hair.”

  “They do make a thing called headphones.”

  “My last pair were lost in a tragic work accident.”

  “I see,” he grinned with his beefy arms folded, inspecting her work. He watched her do a seam from start to finish, her trowel making an even, healthy sound of mortar against the rock. She wasn’t on the level of some of the men that’d taught him on Charlie’s crew. Men that didn’t speak a word of English and didn’t need to. Men who could be officially considered artists. But she’d clearly been taught by one of their ilk. She knew what she was doing and why. She gave her Hawk a few quick jumps and twirls in her fist as if unconsciously. There she was before his eyes, making it look easy. She gave him a quick glance and he straightened up a bit.

  “Looks like you’re about halfway done,” he said.

  “More like another week.”

  “A week? That long?”

  “I can do two passes instead of three if you like.”

  Adam sighed as if wrestling. Another week was cutting it close. But it would mean a few more days with Jo above him, a goal that had no discernible purpose.

  “No, go ahead and give it the full Abrams treatment.”

  “I might be able to work a little later on Friday. Come in on Saturday. But I gotta leave on time today.”

  “Gotta get Judah?” he assumed.

  “Yep,” she quickly replied, trying to tamp down a knee-jerk warmth coming over her. Did he really remember his name?

  “How is he?”

  “He’s good,” Jo smiled with her whole face but especially with her eyes, as if pleased that he asked.

  Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it, her mind whisper-screamed.

  “He asked about you the other day, actually,” she continued to smile.

  “Did he now?” he replied.

  She shook her head and chuckled. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t stop herself from talking about her boy to anyone.

  “I told him I had to do some work for you… which was a mistake.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Jo groaned. “Now he wants to come with me to work. I told him ‘we’ll see,’ just hoping he’d forget about it. Even though I know his mind is like a steel trap when he wants something.”

  “I noticed he can read already.”

  “You did?”

  “In the store, he had to be readin’ the shelves.”

  “Oh. Yeah, he… he’s been obsessed with letters since he was about two. His grandmother on his father’s side discovered it, got him these flashcards. He just sees a word once and that’s it. Been reading ever since.”

  “That’s fuckin’ freaky.”

  “It is.”

  “You should brin
g him by.”

  “…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jo said. He grinned, trying not to flirt.

  “You don’t think anything’s a good idea, do you?”

  “Not true.”

  “Lemme go see him, then.”

  “That’s even less of a good idea.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Jo just shook her head, suddenly worried about offending the nazi.

  “It just… isn’t.”

  “His dad some kind of douchebag or something?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the reason.”

  Adam was quiet for a long while as if the real reason was dawning on him.

  “Look, you brought it up, not me. Just figured I could do something nice for the kid, is all.”

  “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “Yeah, Jo. Out of the goodness of my goddamn heart. I know that type of shit is rare, where you come from,” he snapped. Questioning his integrity was a sure way to get him to fight.

  Jo chuckled more from outrage than humor. “I come from the same place you do, asshole. I lived in Bethesda my entire life.”

  “Well that’s very impressive Jojo, but I didn’t grow up in Bethesda.”

  “…Did you just call me Jojo?”

  “I did.”

  “…You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “I do. Did you just call me an asshole?”

  “You were being one,” she shrugged, giving him a quick glance of her gorgeous dark eyes. Adam stood arrested with a dumb look on his face that made her laugh and she smiled. He was about to apologise for snapping when she said, “Let me work in peace, Mr. Kerr.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said instead. “I meant what I said about Judah.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Don’t say ‘thank you,’ if you’re really not thankful, Jo.”

  “I am. Thank you,” Jo sent at his back as Adam retreated down the attic steps.

  * * *

  “I got two jobs for you to choose from, so take your pick,” Kenny shouted. He was calling her on speakerphone from his usual spot behind the wheel of his dependable yet loud Ford diesel truck on a country highway.

  “Choices are good.”

  “Do you want simple and far away, or close and complicated?”