“‘Now don’t get excited,’ I says, ‘she’ll be here in about twenty minutes.’
“‘She’d better,’ he says, ‘or I’ll get out of here and find me another! How much did it cost me?’
“So I hands him the rest of his money, and after counting it he says, ‘And you talk to me about value? Hell, when I was a boy you could buy a whole barrel of whiskey for fifteen dollars!’
“‘Yessuh, Mister Jessie,’ I says, ‘and I reckon that’s when you should’ve been drinking. Times have changed, and I told you that you didn’t need all that whiskey. You can’t even buy a gallon of rot-gut for fifteen dollars. Not today!’ And then he looks at me real hard and says, ‘So what kind of gal did you get me?’ And that’s when the lady back there in the corner arrives and he tells me to take off and go let her in.
“And gentlemen, while I’m gone to get her Mister Jessie does something else which was strange as all hell. When I walk back in here with the lady he’s nowhere to be seen. So I says to the lady, ‘I guess he’s either in his bedroom or down in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable while I go find him.’ But before I can move I hear Mister Jessie saying, ‘I’m here, McMillen, I’m right over here.’
“And gentlemen, with that Mister Jessie rises up out of that coffin and sits there staring. And with that both me and the lady start to take off. But as luck would have it we’re both too excited. Which, looking back, was a piece of bad luck, because if we had, this thing would have ended right then and there. Anyway, with him sitting there looking all stern through his Sunday nose glasses I make up my mind that I’ve got me some business down in the basement. So I turns to the lady and says, ‘Miss, he’s the one who sent for you,’ and heads for the door.
“I’m figuring that since she’s already juiced and him headed straight as a shot for the nuthouse, neither one needed my hanging around. And I just about make it when I hear Mister Jessie saying, ‘McMillen, where do you think you’re going? We’re having a party and you’re invited.’
“And that’s when the lady staggers back a step with her hands on her hips and speaks her first words.
“‘And for that, Dad,’ she says, ‘the price will be double.’
“That’s right, gentlemen! Never seen Mister Jessie before and right away she’s calling him ‘Dad’! I’m expecting him to take her head off, right then and there. Because usually when somebody gets sassy with Mister Jessie it’s like jumping out of line with Chief Justice Warren. In fact, I’m about to go after her myself when she stares at him with one of those you-can-take-it-or-leave looks on her face and says, ‘That’s right, Dad, the fee’ll be double. And what’s the idea of receiving a professional like me in a coffin?’
“Well, with that Mister Jessie frowns and looks at the lady real hard. ‘Now miss,’ he says, ‘you listen to me. You’ve been paid the price you quoted and I intend for this party to be not only joyful but free of contention. So if you wish to back out of our prior arrangement, just return my money and leave us.’ And with that the lady thinks twice and she cools it.
“‘Now, a party is different,’ she says, ‘But Dad, answer me this: What the hell are you doing sitting up there in that coffin?’ And Mister Jessie says, ‘I’m resting from waiting so long for you to arrive.’
“So she looks at him all juicy-eyed and says, ‘Dad, you must be beat to your socks, and I mean truly! But why make it so handy for the damn embalmers? With you in that casket all they’d have to do is shoot you full of formaldehyde and take off for the boneyard. In other words, Dad, you really picked a strange seat for partying.’
“‘Maybe so,’ Mister Jessie says, ‘but are you objecting?’
“‘Oh, no,’ she says, ‘but maybe you’ll tell me just why it is that every damn time I set out to do business with one of you spooks things turn out to be mad as a hatter? I’ve never known it to fail, either the joint gets raided, the john comes on like he thinks he’s a stud on the prod, or the madam’s pet poodle chases a cat under the bed and upsets the party. It never fails. Like the time I’m working interracial in Baltimore when an old Temperance broad busts into the joint and pulls off a black Carrie Nation. That’s right, Dad. We were having a ball when here she comes busting in with a bunch of old broads who’re singing a hymn and banging like mad on some damn tambourines. And next thing I know she’s demanding that everyone swear on her Bible that we’ll not only give up our drinking but convert to her style of kinky religion. To which quite a few said okay, and no wonder! Because Dad, instead of a hatchet she’s waving a Colt forty-five and threatening to use it! And now look what’s happening! Here I am in Washington, D.C., and being paid to entertain a spook rigged out in a coffin!’
“And gentlemen, that’s when I knew for sure that Mister Jessie was going see-nile. Because all he does is to look at the woman real stern. And me? I’m hot as a pistol. After my paying her all that good money in hope that when she gets here and sees how old Mister Jessie is she’d have enough decency to tell him he’s acting a fool, she standing here talking some jive and calling us spooks!
“So again I try to take off, but before I can get to the door Mister Jessie says, ‘Wait, McMillen,’ and asks the lady her name.
“‘It’s Cordelia Duval,’ she says, ‘And yours?’ ‘I’m Jessie Rockmore,’ he says. And pointing to me, he says, ‘And that’s my friend, Mister Aubrey McMillen. We’re both pleased you could join us.’ ‘Likewise,’ she says. ‘Good,’ he says, ‘but before we go further let me ask you a question.’ And she says, “Yes, Dad, what is it?’ And Mister Jessie says, ‘Miss Duval, do you happen to dance?’
“‘Dance?’ she says, ‘Why, Dad, I was once in the Follies.’
“‘In the Follies,’ Mister Jessie says, ‘why, I would have thought you were too young for that.’
“‘Oh, no,’ she says, ‘and what’s more, it was no less than Flo Ziegfeld himself who made me a star.’
“‘Now that’s very interesting,’ Mister Jessie says. ‘And have you been practicing your present profession for long?’ And she strikes her a high-class pose and says, ‘Long enough to match any trick you can come up with. And Dad, believe it or not, I once shared the spotlights with stars like Bert Williams and Will Rogers. Most folks didn’t know it, but Will was an Indian while that Bert was a Negro. And not only was the spook one hell of a performer, when he took off the blackface makeup he used on the stage he was really so handsome that he looked like a white man. Hell, Dad, I knew them all, and every one was so sweet to a young girl like me that at first I couldn’t believe it.’
“So then Mister Jessie says, ‘That’s very interesting, Miss Duval, but why’d you stop dancing?’ And she says, ‘Dad, it was like this: After reaching stardom I fell in love with a handsome playboy from high society. It was truly a sizzling romance, but once our names hit the headlines the crumb couldn’t take it. Too worried about his family background and the money they’d leave him, that kind of thing. So our love affair ended with his breaking my heart, and being young and new to the man-woman game, I was left so disillusioned that right there I said to hell with the stage and the headlines. Dad, do you dig it?’
“And when all Mister Jessie comes up with is something about disappointment being the other side of high expectations I broke in.
“‘Oh, come on, Mister Jessie,’ I says, ‘you know this woman’s lying about being on the stage. And handing you that bull about some society dude putting her down is just her way of playing you for some kinda fool!’ But all he does is gimme a frown and say, ‘McMillen, watch your language and remember your manners!’
“Then he says, ‘That’s too bad, Miss Duval, and I’m sorry to hear it. But, like you, I too have known disappointments.’ And she says, ‘I’m sure of it, Dad, but we’re both still in the game and doing our thing. But why’re you so interested in my career in the Follies?’
“And Mister Jessie says, ‘Because watching you dance would elevate my spirits. Miss Duval, would you do us the honor?’
“And with that the woman jumps salty. ‘Dad,’ she says, ‘what’s all this business about dancing? I’m a first-rate professional, so what’s wrong with you, don’t you find me attractive?’
“‘Of course I do,’ Mister Jessie says, ‘you’re a fine-looking woman, and a proud one at that. Which I appreciate, because until today I’ve made the mutton-headed mistake of sacrificing my pride on the altar of humility. That’s why I’m having this party. I’ve never had one before, but from what I’ve been told, among the things a good party requires are wine, women, and song. So unless you’re also a singer ours will make do with your dancing, some good talk, and whiskey. It’s taken me years to give it a try, but now that I have, would you care to join us, or depart with my blessings?’ And with that Miss Duval changes her tune.
“And not just because of what Mister Jessie was saying. Because while he’s talking I’m watching her, and when she sees all that money scattered on the floor her eyes bug out of her head like two rubber bulges in a weak inner tube.
“‘Okay, Dad,’ she says, ‘if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.’
“So Mister Jessie tells me to show her the way to his bedroom and bring up some whiskey and glasses. I’m still worried as hell about his sitting in that coffin and having a woman like that in his house, but now he’s beginning to sound pretty sensible.”
“Maybe so,” the Sergeant said, “but there’s not a damn thing sensible about what you’re telling us. Quit stalling and get on to what happened!”
“Well, suh,” McMillen said, “out in the kitchen I have me a shot of that bourbon. In fact, I have me a double so that woman won’t bug me into losing my temper. And by now I figured that if Mister Jessie wanted her here, that was his business. So like I said, I have me a drink, and when I get back up here with the whiskey things are going pretty fast and confusing.
“Mister Jessie’s leaning with his elbow propped on the lid of his coffin and Miss Duval is sitting back all relaxed in her chair, and they’re laughing and talking like long-lost companions. And while she’s stopped putting on airs, every now and then I can still see her eyeballing those goldbacks. And right then and there I decide I’ll just lay in the bend, start playing it cool, and look out for Mister Jessie’s best interests….”
“You mean that you decided to get to his money before she did,” the Sergeant said.
“Oh, no,” McMillen said, “I could’ve kept some of what he gave me to pay for that liquor. And while it’s true that I drink my whiskey, I’m a hard-working man who respects himself and his folks too much to go around stealing. You might think different, but I’m telling the truth.”
“Go on.”
“So I decided to lay in the bend and watch out for Mister Jessie and put the freeze on any larceny the woman comes up with. Because after all, I’m an old whiskey drinker while he was just starting. So it wouldn’t be long before he’d be needing the benefits of my drinking experience. But although I’m watching like a hawk when he takes his first drink I’m unable to gauge just how hard it’s hitting him. Anyway, he’s asking Miss Duval if she enjoyed her profession, and she’s saying something about her life being rich and full of surprises on account of her enjoying the trade of important gentlemen like congressmen and senators. And …”
“What! Are you sure about that,” the Sergeant said with alarm, “are you sure?”
“That’s right,” McMillen said, “that’s what she told him.”
“You,” the Sergeant said to one of the officers, “I want a detailed, A-to-Z rundown on this woman. Check with the F.B.I. And you, boy, get on with it!”
But with that McMillen remained silent as he stared at his glass with a blank expression.
“I said get on with it,” the Sergeant repeated.
“Oh,” McMillen said with a start, “I didn’t realize you were speaking to me…. But in case you forgot it, my name’s Aubrey McMillen…. Now, let’s see what happens next: By now Mister Jessie is drinking whiskey so fast it’s like he’s dying of thirst, but I still can’t see any change in his manners. He’s just sitting there in his coffin looking like a judge while the lady is talking. Then after a while he asks me what kind of whiskey I brought him, and when I tell him to look at the label on the bottle he wants to know why he’s not getting some action.
“‘Just give it time, Dad,’ Miss Duval tells him, ‘because take it from Cordelia, it’s truly the finest.’
“Then she downs some more whiskey and takes a slow look around the room and says, ‘Dad, this is a fine little pad you have, even though it’s a bit overfurnished. What do you do for a living?’ And when Mister Jessie says he’s retired, she waves her hand in the air and says, ‘You wouldn’t kid me would you, Dad? I’ve been around, and while you might be retired, a slick spook like you must have been in the rackets. I can tell from this layout. Dad, you probably peddled cocaine, or maybe fenced illegal goods on the side.’
“But instead of telling her to get the hell out of his house, Mister Jessie tells me to pour her a drink and have one myself.
“Then he says, ‘Miss Duval, the only way I ever came close to breaking the law was by not telling my telephone customers that the party on this end of the line was a black man. Or when I concealed the fact that my post-office box was rented by a black businessman. Yes, and in failing to advertise the fact that the man who paid for my newspaper and magazine ads wasn’t white.’ And then he starts telling her all about his real business.
“Gentlemen, remember all that stuff you saw in that big room back there? Well, years ago Mister Jessie started buying stuff like that and selling it. Which was his way of making his living. He’d drive down South to buy it and bring it up here, and after cleaning and fixing whatever needed it, he’d sell it through ads in the magazines and newspapers. Folks down South thought he was working for a white man, and up here he’d only let a few special white folks come here to see him. But with most of them he’d play like he was just looking after things for a white man. That way he didn’t have arguments, and if they asked him to come down on his price he’d say he was sorry, but that he had to sell whatever they wanted for the price he’d been told to charge them….”
“In other words,” the Sergeant said, “he was a crook and a con man.”
“No, but if that’s how you see him,” McMillen said, “that’s how you see him. But to me he was simply a smart businessman. And a very hard worker. When old D.C. houses were being torn down he’d turn up dressed in his overalls and driving his old horse and wagon. Then he’d buy up the marble and wood they had on the fireplaces and the panels they had on the walls. And after he’d scraped off the paint some of them would turn out to be made out of fine kinds of woods, like oak, mahogany, and maple. And he’d grab up fancy old staircases, picture moldings, and all kinds of other old stuff. Sometimes he’d even get it for nothing because the builders were so glad to have him haul it away while charging them nothing.
“Then after he cleaned and restored it he’d take some pictures and send them to folks in the business. Like decorators and folks who put on plays in theaters, and for a while there he had him some of those old-time electric automobiles that steered with a handle. But his specialty was china and crystal. He was really nuts about those.
“‘Miss Duval,’ he says, ‘you see all that fine porcelain I have in that cabinet behind me? Well, I came in contact with some of the grown-up children of the white folks who owned it, and I know more about its quality than ever they dreamed of. They didn’t even value it enough to hold on to it, and yet they thought they were superior to me because I’m black. So they considered me crazy for wanting it. So as a result I was able to buy crates and crates of the fine things which they didn’t value. Like fine English shotguns, Italian candelabra, a variety of crystal, and fine pieces of furniture. And after a while it wasn’t simply a matter of my making a living, because in time I came to love the meaning of fine craftsmanship and set out to perserve it. Which is what those w
hite folks should have done instead of worrying so much about their bloodlines, most of which are riddled with consumption, rickets, and cancer. And the ones who sold me the fine things they were eager to get rid of should have kept them and made sure that their descendants learned to appreciate them. But instead they keep holding on to things that’ll fade with their dying.
“‘So you, see, Miss Duval,’ he says, ‘I tried to preserve what I could to the best of my knowledge. Which meant that I had to learn something of what it was about the things I bought which made them far more valuable than the question of money. And why some were considered superior to other examples of the very same order. So I grew to value the fine craftmanship of beautiful art as I loved the order which God had imposed on the universe….’
“And gentlemen, right there was the point when his liquor ups and knocks the hell out of poor Mister Jessie. He stared at the lady with his eyes all shiny and bulging and he says, ‘Miss Duval, it’s all a part of God’s magnificent design! Consider the silkworm’s cocoon and the intricate design of the butterfly’s wings. Sunrise and sunset, moonrise and daybreak, the four seasons wheeling through space as they bring forth the flowers and fruit of their foreordained cycles.
“‘Miss Duval,’ he says, ‘did it ever occur to you that as fragile as they are, snowflakes are as much the flowers of winter as violets and roses are the flowers of spring? Nighttime and daytime, coolness and balminess, hotness and coldness, sweetness and tartness, pepper pods and sugar lumps, wood grain and stone grain, rubber tires and steel rails, bird’s-eye maple and flame-grained mahogany, orderly rotation and wild propagation …’
“And that’s when Miss Duval breaks in and says, ‘Wait, Dad, what the hell are you getting at?’ And he says, ‘The world’s unity of opposites, Miss Duval, its sublime unity of opposites …’
Three Days Before the Shooting . . . Page 146