I shook my head. “Me nevah tell you somet’ing dat happen, Michele. I guess I was too embarrassed, but me an’ Lewis, well, we … you know.”
Michele got that old sparkle back in her eyes.
“Oh lawd, Souci. You see. Me tell you dat him is a mon an’ you a woman an’ so anyt’ing is possible. Oh, Souci, dat is de most wonderful t’ing evah. But how come you nevah write me an’ tell me, mon?”
“I write. I guess I nevah go inna any detail, but me did write you, mon.”
“But me nevah get dat one,” Michele said. “Who.”
“Well, bettah I tell you face to face anyway. Aftah dat night, Lewis tell me it was just a mistake. Dat him nuh even see me as a ooman. Cyan you imagine how it feel fe hear somet’ing like dat, Michele? An’ it get even worse. Two nights aftah, me having drinks wit’ him an’ one a him cabinet ministah an’ him wife. An’ some song come on, an’ Lewis pick me up an’ start dancing an’ carrying on an’ hugging me.”
“Well, dat’s good. Maybe him t’ink ’bout t’ings an’ him feel different ’bout dem. Maybe before, him was just trying fe convince himself him nevah really like you.”
“No. Aftah de cabinet ministah an’ him wife leave, Lewis just tell me dis dry ‘good-night,’ an’ go off by himself. It was like we wasn’t even dancing before. Like him wasn’t even hugging me. It was all just a show, like everyt’ing else him do. Now him just act like not’ing evah happen up at Skyward. Is funny, you know. Me would prefer if him was all guilty an’ upset. At least den it would prove dat what happen did mean somet’ing to him. Dat him t’ink ’bout it a likkle. Dat him t’ink ’bout me, at least. But not’ing. Is almost like de Lewis me was wit’ up at Skyward is different from de Lewis down at Reach, you undahstand wha me a say? Is almost like me is living wit’ two different people in de one body. Which one is de real Lewis Montrose? An’ I don’t see him dat much nowadays since him is busy trying fe convince de world him is not a communist, while at de same time becoming best friends wit’ Cuba.”
“You don’t sound like you much believe in him yourself,” Michele said.
“I don’t know anymore, Michele. How cyan you know a mon t’ree years, an’ not know any more about him dan you do de day you first meet him. You know him was married, but him nevah talk ’bout it. Him wife was pregnant. She lose de baby. She was gone. An’ dere was dis oddah woman, dis Elsie Smalls him was in love wit’. But him nevah tell me ’bout her. Me have fe find it out meself. An’ dere’s dis mon, Bumper Smalls …”
“Elsie Smalls’ husband?” Michele interrupted.
“Don’t quite know, mon. Maybe. Anyway, dis Bumper Smalls visit Lewis sometimes, an’ whenever him leave, Lewis look all sad an’ crazy an’ all. What is going on, Michele? I don’t know. Lewis don’t come home some nights, an’ me is sure him is wit’ Agnes. Him go up to dis old, haunted house sometimes. Him nevah talk ’bout him past. I cyan remember two times when we get calls from Mr. Castro at de house. I know, ’cause I hear Mrs. Moore telling Lewis. An’ sometimes when him look ’pon me, his eyes are so cold an’ far away.” I moved my face close to Michele’s ear and lowered my voice. “An’ one day, him ask me if me want him fe find me a lovah.”
Michele was strangely silent.
“I’m surprised you not jumping in saying dat me is studying Lewis too much, or how me need fe put a likkle somet’ing somet’ing ’pon him, or giving me some kind a crazy advice.”
“None fe give. Guess me learn dat very often, de way t’ings seem, dat’s de way dem is. You don’t know Lewis ’cause him nuh want you fe know him. Sometimes it’s best dat way. What you find out about him, you might not like. What you find out about him, you might have wish you nevah know. If him is a Communist, if him is crazy … what would you do? Sometimes is best fe just stand off to de side an’ watch t’ings from dere. An’ as far as how him act toward you, you cyan’t mek somebody feel a way fe you. I could nevah feel a way fe Winston. Red cyan nevah feel a way fe me. You just have fe go on living an’ doing what you need fe do fe push by.”
I considered Michele’s words for some time.
“You regret it, Michele … leaving Winston?”
“I regret dat I hurt him. Evah since I move in wit’ Zevroliah, Winston cyan’t even be in de same room wit’ me. You notice him not even here today. Is because since you was going to be here, him know me would be here too. Everybody tell him nuh fe marry me ’cause me really wanted was to marry somebody else. Everybody tell him dat de first chance me get fe leave him, me would. But me nevah really t’ink me would evah leave him, Souci. An’ me would nevah have leave him, if it was anybody else but Zevroliah. But it was just somet’ing me had was to do.” She paused.
“I know you looking on me an’ t’inking I don’t look de same. You t’inking I don’t look good. De t’ing is, times been hard. Dere was dat fire on de farm I write you about, when de bad rainstorm come an’ lightning hit de ole cotton tree. Anyway, we had to start everyt’ing ovah from scratch. I been out in de fields planting an’ digging up dirt an’ taking care a de kids an’ washing Zevroliah’s clothes an’ feeding him. Me is a good worker. Solid. Dat’s what Zevroliah need. Not dem ole flanky fuzzy likkle made-up girls him know in Spanish Town.” She got quiet for a moment.
“Zevroliah’s grown up a lot dese past few years. Him break him knee pon dat motorbike of ’is. Him know dere is no cricket in him future. Him know de best t’ing fe him is a stable life an’ a stable wife, an’ dat’s me. De t’ing is, Souci, me love Zevroliah wit’ all me soul, but I guess I finally realize him don’t feel de same ’bout me. When me would look into Winston’s eyes, me would see de softness an’ de love, but me couldn’t give him dat same look back. Me look into Zevroliah eyes an’ me only see a blank. Now, if you want fe know if me would prefer to be wit’ somebody who love me more dan anyt’ing, but dat me nuh love, or somebody me love more dan anyt’ing, but don’t love me, de answer is simple. I don’t live in Stepney no more, do I?”
“But you seem so sad, Michele. All dis love you talking about, shouldn’t it mek you happy?”
She let out a dry laugh. “I tell you what I do t’ink ’bout. I t’ink ’bout if somet’ing was to happen to me … if I was to get hurt or sick or whatever, what would Zevroliah do. Me mean, what would happen to me? If me evah get run ovah by bus, me know Winston would stay at me bedside until me was back to me usual self. Me know me would wake up everyday an’ see him face next to me. Wit’ Zevroliah, me t’ink me would be very lonely in dat room.”
“So why don’t you go back to Winston?”
“Because I still got a funny feeling in me heart fe Zevroliah. Sometimes I don’t know if dat feeling is joy or pain, but at least is a feeling, an’ me would much prefer it in me heart dan not’ing at all.” She straightened her legs out so that they stretched from the steps down into the road. Her once smooth knees were covered with little scratches and marks.
“I tell you, mon, I live fe you lettahs. But de last few so business-business,” she said.
“Because dat is all dere is.”
“Well, as far as you sexy mon concerned, is dere anybody else ’round dere you might be able fe get a likkle rub up rub up, kiss down kiss down from?”
“Well, dere is de seventy-year-old mon a de house. Or de robot security people. Or de young bwoy gardener who always asking me fe go a some movie or some dance wit’ him”
Michele perked up. “Really. Him like you?”
“I don’t t’ink. Henry just shock me nevah go a cinema an’ me nuh go a dance since me an’ you go a dat dance in Alexandria when we was what—fourteen, fifteen?”
“Dis young bwoy cute or no?”
“Very. But very young.”
“Please, gyal pickney. Age is just like you shoe size. Is only a numbah. De way I see it, you get as much out a dat big house as you cyan. You cyan’t mek somebody love you. No sense you sitting around wit’ you lip hanging down. You need fe go out, have some fun. If your Mr. Sexy ask ’bout finding you a lo
vah, dat mean him don’t want it to be him. But you know him is getting it from somewhere else, so why cyan’t you do de same?” Michele scooted backwards and looked me over.
“My God, Souci. Dem sure treating you good, gyal.”
I wrapped my arms around Michele once more. “I’m scared for you, you know, Michele.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like de way you look. Jukebox playing ‘Dancing Mood’ an’ you don’t even move you feet anymore. I’m afraid dat all dat love you giving an’ you not getting back from Red, well, maybe it’s taking too much out a you.”
Michele shook her head. “If dat’s how you feel ’bout t’ings, maybe you will learn from me.”
-25-
Michele’s words were never far from my mind, but I didn’t act on her advice at first. Maybe deep down I thought that given some time, Lewis would come to once again look at me the same way he did that evening up at Skyward. It didn’t matter that he treated me more like a business associate than a wife. I was determined to bide my time and win him over—and part of winning him over had to do with me learning as much about the man as I could. I tried going through several more of his books. Maybe he had hidden away another letter or note or some insight into his past in one. But I found nothing. I felt a little guilty looking through his desk, but I couldn’t help myself.
I even went upstairs to his room where everything was so neat and orderly. Since moving to Reach, I think I had only been in his room twice—not so strange, I suppose, since there was really no reason for me to go in there. His bright blue bedspread seemed to glow in the sunlight, and the wood floor seemed to sparkle. I looked through the drawers in his nightstands. His closet smelled fresh and lemony. I felt the pockets of his clothes, but there was nothing. Only shoes in the shoeboxes. Only clothes in the dresser drawers. No other letter to Elsie. No other envelope. Nothing.
I was about to leave his room when I decided to take one last look through his closet. There, next to one of the shoeboxes at the back of the closet, was a small box. It wasn’t a shoebox, but one of those containers for important papers. I opened it, but there didn’t seem to be very much of anything important in there. There were a few receipts, a glittery Christmas card, some photo negatives, but nothing to or from Elsie. Toward the bottom of the box were three envelopes. They had been wedged there, so they were wrinkled and a bit twisted up. I pulled one out, and as I looked at the address and the handwriting, I almost fell backwards. The envelope was addressed to Michele Blackshire in care of the Calderwood post office, and inside, a letter written of my own hand:
Dear Michele,
I read your letter and it made me sad. I know that by the time my letter reaches you, you will have already left Winston. Before I would have told you that from everything I’ve heard you say about Red and from the way he treats you, he’s not the best man for you. Before I would have told you how much Winston loves you. How he looks at you with so much care in his eyes. How he looks at your children as if they were really his. I would have told you to take a long time before you make your decision. But now I don’t know.
I suppose you have to do what you have to do. I’m realizing things don’t always go as they should. People don’t always do what you want them to. You can only control what you do, so why not try to be happy? Doesn’t sound like your friend talking, does it. I tell you Michele. I’m in my own world of heartache here. Not a day goes that I don’t wish Lewis was my husband. And now things have taken such a strange turn.
We went up to an old house and you should have seen the way he looked at me Michele. The way he touched me. I thought it was as special for him as it was for me. But later, that look wasn’t so sweet anymore. I felt uglier than a mongoose and lower than a snail. I know it don’t seem like much. There’s so much I’m leaving out, but I’m so embarrassed. Since all that happened, he doesn’t seem to be at Reach as much. And when he is, he’s hot and cold. And he’ll talk to me like I’m one of those ambassadors’ wives and he has to be polite for diplomatic reasons.
I don’t know Michele. Sometimes I think I’m reading too much into it. I mean the man does have some pretty important things to think about. More important than a little country girl. And he made it clear from day one that we wouldn’t be any more than just friends. But I swear, one smile from him and I feel so good. One cold look and I feel like dying. Sometimes I hear him come in from Jamaica House, and I just listen to him from my bed. I hear his door slam, and I hear him moving around in his room, and I imagine myself in there with him.
Remember how you said there was just something about the way Red was standing outside Jimmy’s store that made you just want to jump on him? It’s the same with Lewis. He just sits there sometimes at the dinner table, and he gets this look on his face, and I can’t even swallow the food. It’s not even because he looks so good. I know that something’s moving through his brain really fast. Something’s always moving through it, but it’s like a mystery, and I just want to know. I wonder about the women he has been with before. They must have just died when he touched them with those hands.
Sometimes at night when I’m lying in bed and he hasn’t come home yet, I know he’s with Agnes. I see the way they are together Michele, and I know she’s the one he really wants. If it wasn’t for all this politics, they’d be together. I wonder what he does with her, and I wonder what it is about me that he can’t do the same with me. I feel terrible for thinking this way about him because I know I’m not supposed to.
The way he looks at me now, I wonder if he’s disgusted with how dark my skin is and how coarse my hair is. Even with all the schooling I get now, I still can’t sound exactly like the women he’s used to, like Agnes Gooding. I don’t know Michele. As far as he’s concerned, it’s like my heart has taken over my brain, and I have no idea what to do about it. So believe me, I know what you’re going through. But you ever think maybe it’s just not worth it. Maybe it’s better to have someone who adores you and wants you, even if you don’t want him so much, than to have somebody you adore, but isn’t all that into you. I just hope you think long and hard before you do anything.
Your very best friend,
Souci.
I read and re-read that letter so many times, my eyes began to blur. My brain began to spin. I closed my eyes, pressed the lids together and hoped that when I opened them, I would not see my handwriting on that paper. But when I did open them, the ink seemed even bluer than it had seconds before, the words more vibrant. I had blamed some of my letters not getting to Michele on old Postmaster Williams. Now I wondered how many of them had actually been mailed in the first place. Had Lewis read everything I had left out to be posted?
I felt so ashamed, but then I was overcome by this great and overwhelming anger; an anger that made my brain swirl and my heart swell. I felt violated, like someone had taken a little piece of my soul. I wondered who could have been taking my mail. My mind first ran across Mrs. Eldermeyer, but she wasn’t at Reach everyday. Lewis was too busy to do it himself, and I figured the security guards had no idea what was going on. That left only the Moore’s. I didn’t know which one, or whether it had been both, but it knew it had been them. I wondered how many letters Mrs. Eldermeyer had taken while I lived with her on Somerton Avenue.
I wondered what game Lewis Montrose was playing and what else he might have been hiding from me. I was so angry, I could hardly get enough air into my lungs. I had to get out of his room and out of the house. I had to find out why MY letter addressed to Michele Blackshire in care of the Calderwood Post Office, Stepney, St. Ann, had ended up in the hands of Lewis Montrose.
* * *
I hardly noticed as the car pulled up to the large black iron gates that protected Jamaica House from the rest of the world. I was busy looking through the car’s back window at something peculiar. The traffic on Old Hope Road was not very heavy, so it had not been difficult to keep track of the car I had first noticed traveling behind our car as early as Papine.
As the guard waved us onto the compound, that car veered off. I shut my eyes for a moment, wondering if finding my letter in Lewis’ study hadn’t made me overly suspicious.
Mr. Jones steered the Mercedes down the long, narrow drive that led up to the two-story building. Mr. Samms escorted me inside the front door before walking off in another direction. I ran up the semi-circular staircase, raising my skirt above my calves so that I could take the steps two at a time. A pretty young woman I had never seen before was waiting at the top step. She greeted me like as if I had long been expected.
“Mrs. Montrose,” she said as she placed her body in the path leading to the Lewis’ office. “Can I help you in some way?”
“Where’s Mary?”
“Oh, she’s been gone five months now, at least.” She looked at another secretary sitting nearby for corroboration. “To have her baby.”
I didn’t recognize any of the faces from my last visit to Jamaica House more than three months before. I tried to get around the young woman.
“I’m his interim secretary. He’s on a conference call right now. Very, very important,” she whispered. “It’s with some pretty big shots.”
“When will he be out?”
“I don’t know. He’s been on at least half hour already. Might be a long wait, but I know he’s very eager to see you.”
“He is?”
“Oh yes. You can have a seat in the lounge if you’d like.”
After escorting me into the lounge, Lewis’ interim secretary asked, “Can I offer you some tea? We have just about any flavor you might care for, but we are out of orange spice.”
“Thank you. I’m fine.”
The building seemed much brighter and cheerier than I remembered. I wondered if that wasn’t because of Lewis’ new secretary; maybe her bright blue blouse and short skirt. She looked like the girls who worked in the hotels, at least at the check-in counters, since the ones who were maids or were tucked away in the laundry rooms were of a completely different “sort.” I had just reached for a magazine when the secretary returned.
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