by Stan Hayes
She looked directly into his eyes. “Oh yeah, I gotta go to work; my shop’s just around the corner and up the street two blocks away. Maxine’s Beauty Shop. Now don’t tell me you never saw it. Some a’my customers’re the top people in this town. Married to ‘em, anyway.”
“Oh yeah. Of course. I’ve seen your sign out front.”
“But we don’t open ’til ten, and my first appointment’s not ’til twelve-thirty. And since Sadie got me out toniit, I’m not in enny big hurry to go home. Let’s go have one with the lovebirds.”
“Why not,” Moses heard himself saying, halfway wishing that he hadn’t.
“Hey, you two! Break it up. They’ll be callin’ the law.”
The woman looked up first, staring at Moses with the hint of a leer. “Hey, yerself. Who ya got there?”
“Hey, Mose,” said Lord, turning slightly in his chair, sliding his arm around her shoulder. Definitely Steve Cochran, Moses thought. Black Irish good looks on a shortcoupled frame, and the bright, slightly mad eyes of a Jesuit. “How ya doin’?”
“Fine, Nels. You’re lookin’ well.”
“Feelin’ well, too, thanks. Better’n ole Mickey, anyway. He left here liike sumbidy give ’im a mickey.” This produced uproarious laughter around the table.
“Don’t believe I ever saw him before,” said Moses. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“Just laid eyes on ’im tonight; he ate every last friggin’ catfish we had in the place, and put up a goddam row wantin’ me to come out front so he could tell me how good they was. So I thought I’d bring ’im along, and damn if he don’t up and barf out on us. Oh, ’scuse me, Honey, this here’s Mose Kabeesky. He owns th’ Ritz. Well, it wuz th’ Ritz.”
Sadie turned her head slightly, working to focus her eyes on Moses. “Th’ what?”
“The movie house, darlin’. Th’ Winston Theeatah.”
“Oh.”
Mose, meet Sadie Lindall. I see you met Maxine.”
“Yes. Hello, Sadie.”
“Hey there, Mose. Good thang your first name’s easy. Why donchall siddown?”
“We’re tireda beer,” said Maxine. Let’s go to the VFW.”
“You know I cain’t go out there.”
“Law, chile, not ta go in. I’ll just run in and get us a jug. They’ll sell it to me. Then we could drive out ta Spring Creek an’ go wadin’.”
“You comin’, Mose?” asked Lord.
“Sure he is,” Maxine said, “If he don’t I’ll biite ’is goddam ear off.” She put her lips next to his ear, then gently pushed her tongue into it, exploring its ribs and channels. “Come on, honey. We won’t keep ya out too late.”
“I could use little snort of Canadian,” said Mose.
They were driving Sadie’s car, a black ‘48 Ford two-door. Lord drove, using most of both lanes, emitting an occasional groan, Sadie sitting snuggled under his right arm. Sadie’s head slipped down behind the seat back and out of sight. As she disappeared, Maxine caught Moses’ wrist in her hand and brought it around her shoulder, turning her face to him and touching his lips lightly with the tip of her tongue. The slickness of the move surprised Moses, and gave him an immediate erection. As they kissed, he put one hand inside her blouse and the other on his crotch to straighten his swollen cock. “Ooh, are you hurtin’, sweetie?” Maxine said. “Let Mama fix that.”
She pulled his zipper tab down and encircled him with her thumb and forefinger, surprised at the thickness. Squeezing lightly, she kissed him again before wrapping both hands around his shaft. He slipped back in the seat as she bent to take it, a little at a time, into her mouth. Squeezing it rhythmically, she teased the tip with rapid flicks of her tongue. Moses lay back against the seat while she continued for the short time it took for him to come in a powerful gush, which she swallowed in quick little gulps, lips distended over the shaft, as fast as it came. She sat up to kiss him again, sharing with him the come that lingered in her mouth. She sat back, looking at him with satisfaction. “You OK, honey?”
“Just fine, Sweetie,” said Moses, lying back in the seat. “How about you?”
“Lovely. I rilly enjoyed that.”
“So did we,” giggled Sadie. “I fixed the mirror so Nellie could see. Hey, here we are.” They turned off the highway and into a gravel drive. The drive led uphill, past a large one-story building and into a parking lot. Lord pulled the Ford into a spot at the rear of the lot.
“Somebody gimme me some money,” said Maxine, pushing the seatback forward and reaching for the door handle. Moses found a ten dollar bill and gave it to her. “Thanks, Hon,” she said. “CC OK with evrybidy?”
As she high-heeled it up the gravelly grade to the club’s back door, Lord, his arm draped across the back of the front seat, looked back smiling at Moses. “Mose,” he said. “Reach up here and feel these titties.”
“What?”
“Reach over and feel Sadie’s sweet little titties,” said Lord. “They’re the niicest ones in Bisque. How come they so hard, Baby?”
Sadie looked slyly at Mose. “They’ve just always been that way,” she said. “Wanta see, Mose?” She, or Lord, had already unfastened her brassiere; it lay in the valley of her breasts as she opened her blouse. The breasts themselves, of medium size with pale nipples the size of half-dollars, stood out, firm and symmetrical, sloping gently from her clavicles. “Feel,” she whispered.
Moses, his hand turned palm up, put his fingers under the globe of her right breast and lifted it gently. “Very nice indeed,” he said, extending his other hand under the left breast. Moving to the nipples, he squeezed them simultaneously, gently, using three fingers and his thumbs, in a light, fluttering motion. “Does that feel good?”
“Um-hm. Do it a little harder.” She put her back against the dashboard for support as Moses continued.
“Aren’t they somethin’?” said Lord.
“Yes they are,” agreed Moses, by now very much into the rhythm.
“Y’all hush,” breathed Sadie, who had moved her hand to her crotch. “I’m gonna come.” Her eyes stared, unfocused, at the Ford’s gray headliner as her breathing grew shallower. “Twist ’em!” she said through her teeth. Moses obliged, with a gentle twist of the nipples in opposite directions. “Oooh,” she said, an octave higher. “Really twist ‘em! Hard!” Shifting his grip to the globes themselves, he turned them what he was sure a quarter of their circumference and held them there, squeezing hard. “Aaaaahhhh!”
“What the hayul are y’all doin’?” Maxine, gripping a quart of Canadian Club in its tightly twisted paper bag, advanced rapidly on the car. Sticking the bottle through the window, she glanced at Sadie, who was buttoning her blouse with Lord’s help. “They playin’ doctor with you, Baby?”
“Um-hm,” said Sadie. “Cured me, too.”
“Get in, Maxine,” said Lord. “let’s go.”
“Wait a minute, Nellie,” said Maxine, “I gotta piss.” She squatted beside the car, and did. Still adjusting her drawers, she climbed into the back seat. “Damn! Good thang I had m’high heel shoes on! Hey, honey. J’ya miss me?”
Moses’ half-open eyes scanned a new ceiling. Maxine lay beside him, an outstretched elbow supporting the hand on which her head rested. She used the forefinger of the other one to trace delicate figure 8s around his nipples. “Mornin,” she said, bending to kiss him. How you feelin’?”
“Hi. Not so bad. What time is it?”
“Little past nine. You hungry?”
“No. A beer’d be good, though.”
“What a giiy,” she said, getting up. “Hope I got one.”
They shared a Miller High Life on either side of more love-making. Maxine lay on her side behind him, one hand on top of his shoulder, massaging the trapezious muscle. It felt, she thought, like squeezing new rope. “How long you been around here, anyway?” she asked.
“About five years.”
“Damn. And we’re just gettin’ around to meetin’ up. Guess we just go to different places.
I aint never been in that beer joint before last niit.”
“Have you always lived here?”
“No, honey. I’m from Alabama. Huntsville, up north. I come down here the year after my sister did. She and her husband live on a farm- ranch- they raise cattle, out south ’a town.”
“What’s their name?”
“Bishop. They call ’im Big Boy. He played ball over at Georgia ’way back yonder. Met my sister there, and married her right outa school. They moved to the farm, his daddy’s place. The old man started raisin’ beef cattle out there amongst all these cotton-choppers right after th’ first war, and got filthy rich a-doin’ it. He died back just before th’ big war, an’ Big Boy took it over. The twins was three, four years old, and runnin’ my sister crazy. They’ve got some kinda thang makes ’em act real crazy if they get too far from each other. Liike they’us almost one person, but in two bodies. Know what I mean?”
“No.”
“Anyway, she ’us s’lonesome she jist begged me to come down. I didn’t much want to- I didn’t like this flat land all that much- but Big Boy said he’d set me up in my own shop, so I come on. I couldn’t turn ’at deal down.”
“I guess not. Now that I think about it, he’s the guy that bought my old car. He is a big boy. Saw ‘im the other day; the damn thing’s got a permanent lean toward the driver’s side now.”
“He breaks ‘em all down like that. Weighs closeta four hunderd pounds. So that white Buick’s yore ole car? He don’t drive it that much any more. Th’ girls drive it around out t’air on th’ ranch all th’ time now.”
“So do you and your sister still see a lot of each other?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, rolling onto her back, stretching. Them girls’re still runnin’ her crazy. They’re fifteen now, an’ wantin’ to drive all over th’ place, now they got learner’s liicense. Sissy’s got all she can do ta keep up with ’em. Takes ’em to th’ doctor over in Atlanta twiist a month. I’m payin’ this little customer of mine, Evvie, who’s got a driiver’s liicense, ta ride around with ‘em some on Sad’dy, just ta get ’em outa her hair for awhile.”
“Evvie. Evvie Summers?”
“Yeah- Oh, Yeah! She works for you, don’t she? I’m just puttin’ this together. You’re Mr. K! She’s mentioned you now an’ then. Ain’t that somethin’!”
“Evvie was the first person I hired after I bought the Ritz. She’s a lot smarter than she lets on. Well, anyway; you feelin’ better about this flat land by now?”
She reached across him for the beer. “Better than ever, sweetie.”
It was a short walk from Maxine’s back to Ribeye’s, where Moses’ car was parked across the street. As he bent to put his key in the door, he heard a whistle. He looked up to see Ribeye standing in the doorway, waving him over.
“What’s up, Rib?” he asked as they stepped inside.
“That giiy ’at ’us in here with Lord last niit. He come back after y’all left.”
“He did?
“Yeah. Looked liike hell, but still had lovin’ on his mind. Guess he went to th’ ho-tel and cleaned hisself up. He ’us surpriised ya’lld done gone.”
“What’s his name? Mickey?”
“Yeah, I think so. Said he works over’t ’at Savannah River plant. Some kinda guard boss ’er sump’m.”
“Well, Nels says he really likes catfish. That’s a long drive just for dinner.”
“Well, like I said, he probly thinks hit’s a short drive if they’s a little poonfish thrown in.”
“Well, I guess he’ll be back,” said Moses. “Anybody likes fish that much.”
He was back. He sat at a table near the Bisque Café’s cash register, chatting conspiratorially with Nelson Lord. Even in mid-October, the café’s fans still dusted into the warm air of early evening. Seeing Moses come in, Lord waved him over. “Mose,” he said, his grin widening, “comeer a minute.” As Moses approached, the man still only known as Mickey extended his hand. “This here’s Mickey Porter,” Lord said. “You almost met him last week, but he had to leave inna hurry.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” said Moses, shaking the man’s hand and joining their laughter. “But I heard you made a comeback. That’s a sure way to build respect down on Eighth Street.”
Looking down at him, Moses saw what he’d later understand to have been the gleam of lunacy oscillating deep in Porter’s eyes, which were bright blue and surprisingly clear. Set in a balding head shining with tiny sweat beads, they moved almost constantly in a gentle roll, illuminating the ironic grin that widened his ruddy face an extra couple of millimeters. “Hell, I jus’ needed me a little drinkin’ room. I ate sa’ many of this ole boy’s cat tother niit, there jus’ wont no place fer beer ta go. Had ta say ’bye to them baweys first. An’ I miit justa made th’ same mistake agin.”
“Them cat’ll stay down all right,” Lord said, “‘long as you don’t confuse ’em too much. Sadie had th’ butt end of a fifth of gin in th’ car, and he killed it between here and Rib’s. Ain’t no fish wants to swim too long in hard likker. Anyway,” he said to Moses, “we’re goin’ partyin’ in a little bit, soon’s it gets so I can leave. Wanta come along?”
“I’ll leave it to you boys tonight; I’m still restin’ up from last week. But if you still have some of them cat left, I’ll have some and sit here and visit with Mickey ’til you’re ready to leave. If you can stand to watch me eat ’em, that is,” he said, looking at Porter.
“Sho. Sitcher ass down, podnuh.”
Moses sat across from him, continuing to size him up as he stirred sugar into a large glass of the café’s presweetened tea. His bulk was accentuated by the red floral-pattern shirt that he wore with the tail out. Moses figured him to be a little better than six feet and two-forty. “Rib was tellin’ me you’re from over at th’…”
The blue eyes slowed to a stop, fixing him with a rare steady gaze. “They call it th’ Savannah River Project. That’s about all I can say about it. P’ticly with my job.”
“Whatta ya do over there?”
“Security.”
“That’s gotta be some job. Makes sense that you’d like to get this far away from it now and then.”
Porter blew out his cheeks, spraying a mist of tea as his eyes rolled. “Yeah, it is. I oughta be used to it by now. Hell, I ’us raised up over in Spartanburg. But gettin’ away’s just part of it. I’d drive a lot farther than this for a messa Old Nellie’s catfish.”
“It’s the best I ever had. And on top a’that, he’ll party witcha ’til hell freezes over. What you guys doin’ tonight?”
Dunno. Maybe get wid ’em same two from last week. Or maybe some young stuff, if they show up before we leave. One time ’is little fuckin’ looteant tole me, ‘Sarge, there’s survival fuckin’, passion fuckin’, horny fuckin’, an’ sport fuckin’- but the greatest of these is adventure fuckin’.’ An’ ’at damn Nellie’s got ’em treed all over town,” he laughed, his eyes once again rolling free.
“I’ve heard a little about the site,” Moses told him. “Sounds like a hell of a perimeter to guard.”
Porter’s fixed stare returned, focused on Moses. “How you know?”
“What?”
“How you know it’s a hell of a perimeter to guard?”
“Oh, you hear about things; like a giant cleared-off spot that’s close to the river.”
“Where j’you hear it?”
“Hell; that story’s all over town; I’ve heard it lots of places, but I couldn’t tell you where I first heard it.”
Porter cast his eyes around the café; they became visibly larger as he brought them back to stare fixedly at Moses. “Was you in the service?”
“Yes, I was.”
“What branch?”
“Navy.”
“Rank?”
“Aviation Machinist’s Mate, Third Class.”
Porter’s face relaxed, his eyes continuing their lazy, elliptical orbits. “You oughta know this. There’s nuthin’- an’ I mean
nuthin’- more important than what’s goin’ on over there. We’ll live or die dependin’ on how secure we keep our nook-e-lar secrets. I been in that business for quite awhile now. Pretty much from th’ start. An’ I’m over at SRP now. Shift supervisor in th’ security department.” Porter’s expansive forehead gleamed afresh as he drove his point home. “What I’m sayin’ is this. We all got a duty ta do everthang we can to make sure our nook-e-lar secrets’re kept. I do my job the best I can ever day, an’ you an’ everbody else around here needs to do y’all’s. Th’ more you put SRP totally out of yer mind th’ more you’ll hep us stay ahead of th’ Reds. That’s what this’s all about; keepin’ our side so far ahead a’their side that they stay so afraida what we can do to ’em that they keep ’ere damn bombers in ’ere own friggin’ airspace. That make sense?”
“Yeah, it makes sense,” said Moses as a plate of hot, fragrant catfish slid under his nose. He wagged a finger over them in Porter’s direction. “Want one?”
Porter hesitated momentarily. “Naw, I bed’ not. You go ahead. But listen. You was military, an’ you know how impawt’nt security is. I’m gonna ask ya to do sump’m. Not jus’ fu’ me, not jus’ fu’ you, but fu’ya cuntry. OK?”
“Sure,” said Moses, chewing. “What’s that?”
“Jus’ avoid talkin’ about th’ SRP facil’ty. But if ya hafta talk about it atall- an’ I hope y’won’t- jus’ call it SRP. OK? Not, fer God’s sake, ‘th’ bomb plant,’ er anythang like ’at. I caint tell ya much about th’ operations overair; it’s all classafied. But I will tellya this- bomb-makin’ ain’t no part of it.”
“That’s little enough to ask,” Moses allowed. “Guess you’re glad to be back home again.”
“What? Oh yeah. I am. Guess ya hafta get away from a place like South C’lina fer awhile before ya can ’preeshate it. My momma ’n daddy’s dead, but I still got a buncha folks up in Spartanburg. Funny thang, though. That guy from over’n Aishville, Tom Wolfe? He wrote a book called ‘Ya Caint Go Home Agin.’ He’us riit, too, if he means that it ain’t never no way th’ same- least not fer me. My folks sho as hell treat me differnt. It’s hardta pin down, an’ when I try they tell me it’s me that’s changed. M’first cousin, a ole boy I ’us raised up with, we’us settin’ on th’ porch at m’grandaddy’s las’ month. He don’t know about what duty I’ve had, ’cause I caint talk about it, it’s all classified- he says to me, shakin’ his head back ’n forth like he’us preachin’- he says ‘Mickey, what in th’ hayul happened ta you?’ So I say ‘Whacha mean?’ an’ he says ‘It’s liike you aint here sometimes. I mean when y’are here. I called yer name jus’ now, three-four times, ’fore you answered me. Iowno what they’ve got you adoin’ down’air, but it aint adoin’ you no good.’ Ya know, ya git tireda hearin’ that, even if it’s true. It’s got me where I’da whole lot rather jus’ come on down here an’ blow off some steam, steada lis’nen to that shit on m’time off.”