by Pat Spears
“I am. All right, I mean. But I’ve got to ask you if the local law is looking for me.” She pictured Silas tightening his grip on the receiver and walking the length of the tangled cord, his back turned to any eavesdroppers.
“Just like that.” His voice was wet with constrained emotion. “Our living without knowing whether you were dead or alive.” He ground his teeth, a habit he had when biting down hard on his mounting anger. “Do you even care that Red accused me of keeping your whereabouts from him? Hell, he drove clear to your Aunt Pearl’s looking for you still believing I’d lied. Maggie dogged Clara Lee so bad, her daddy threatened to get the law if she didn’t back off. And all you can say is some bullshit about the law looking for you?”
“Silas, please, I know I was wrong leaving the way I did. Then nothing turned out the way I planned.” She hated admitting she’s been such a fool. “Do you mean to tell me or not?”
“Jesus God, Jodie. The law’s got no interest in pursuing an eighteen-year-old runaway. At your age, stupid is perfectly legal.”
“But can you tell me about Mr. Samuel? Is he …?”
“Mr. Samuel? What’s he got to do with any of your mess?”
“Uh … nothing. It’s just that he’s … old, and you’ve talked about everyone else. I just wondered.” She pressed the receiver to her ear, fearful he sensed her dishonesty as clearly as she felt her hot blood pounding at her temples.
“Maggie tells me he’s had it pretty rough since he quit the A&P.”
“Why’d he do that?” He’d said quit not fired. Was she to believe he’d voluntarily left a job he’d held for decades?
“I’m guessing he got tired of kissing white ass and getting paid peanuts for his trouble.”
It was true that pistol-whipping an old Negro man may not have concerned the local sheriff, but a store robbery was different. How had such a newsworthy event gotten past Silas’s notice? It was clear Silas had not connected her leaving to the time of the robbery. She couldn’t know whether or not Roy Dale was lying without asking if he was a suspect in any unsolved crimes of robbery, assault or car theft.
“Silas, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to ask if the law’s looking for Roy Dale Pitts.”
A gust of cold air shook the booth, and Jodie drew her jacket tighter, her upper body bent to a deeper freeze. She trembled inside and out, waiting for Silas to absorb the meaning of what she’d asked.
“What the hell? Are you telling me you ran off with that low life?”
“It was nothing like that. Listen … I can explain.” In truth there was nothing more she could risk telling him, the deeper truth being all the more damaging. The line went to static, and the receiver slipped from her stiff fingers. The stern voice of the operator shifted in and out of her consciousness.
Jodie stepped from the booth into the frigid cold, shivered hard, and with her back to the wind she walked in the direction of the Red Wing Cafe. Christmas promised to be colder than any she’d known.
Crystal Ann hung the last of the tarnished red and green ornaments on the stumpy tree and stepped back, her hands riding her hips in harsh judgment.
“Should’ve known a string of colored lights and a few glass balls wasn’t going to make things one bit normal.” She turned and glared at Jodie. “And you’ve got nothing worth saying?”
Jodie figured anything she said was bound to turn up the heat on whatever threatened to boil over from inside Crystal Ann, and right now she didn’t give a big rat’s ass about some god-awful tree. Still, she muttered, “Just that it’s … not half bad, considering you started with so little … the tree I mean.”
“God, Jodie, you’re as uplifting as a blind bat.” Crystal Ann tossed a final fist of drab icicles onto the tree.
Christmas Eve was too late to expect anything special from a wilted cedar that had been wisely rejected. Compared to those she and Maggie had cut the first Saturday of December and hauled home for Miss Ruth to decorate, Crystal Ann’s tree was pitifully ugly and twenty-three days overdue.
Arthur’s deep voice blasted forth from the kitchen and Jodie abandoned Crystal Ann to her unnamed misery, joining Arthur and Bo for their daily pilfering in the kitchen. Crystal Ann declined, but kept their secret. It was likely the size of her daily hangover, rather than any personal quarrel she had with stealing.
Jodie bit into the hot biscuit and slice of pink ham the size of a flying saucer. Streams of hot butter ran between her fingers, and she licked it away.
“Lord, girl, your mama never bothered you with learning no table manners, now did she?” Arthur grinned, shaking his head.
“Would’ve needed practice at eating regular,” Jodie quipped, her mouth full.
“Christmas is on us.” He paused, his brow gathered. “Tell me you’re not spending it alone.”
“Oh, no, I got nearby kin coming for me. What about you?” They’d never spoken of families, but somehow Christmas gave them permission.
“Oh, I’ll gather at Mama’s. Ten of us children, counting wholes, halves, steps, and then there’s my brother, Shad, and me. He’s soldiering in Korea.” He paused again as if he weighed something further. “Family jokes me and him was Mama’s last fling.” He laughed softly.
She nodded, not fully understanding his meaning.
“Word is our daddy went up north, worked in the steel mills. Sent Mama a little all along .…” For an instant the muscles in his face tightened, and she decided that pilfering might not be all they had in common.
“Ya’ll need to get done in there. Boss is headed this way,” Crystal Ann called.
Sally came through the door in a puff of cold air, more haggard than usual. She glanced around the near-empty café, and Jodie decided it was money worries that had worked Sally’s face into a fixed frown.
“That’s a damn poor excuse for a tree.” Sally poured coffee.
“Ten-year-old decorations can’t save an ugly tree. If you weren’t so tight with a dollar .…” Crystal Ann scoffed.
“Christmas Eve don’t exactly set aside rent due or the death rattle in these old appliances. But you know what? I wish to hell it did. We’d all go bat-shit crazy. Shut the door and stay gone for as long as it pleased us. Hell, we just might all decide to move out to California for a suntan.”
By midday business had picked up; late shoppers joined the regulars for the fast and cheap blue-plate special. Jodie was hard-pressed to clear tables fast enough to keep customers from backing up at the door. Sally’s face brightened with each crank of the cash register, and it was two o’clock before the last of the lunch crowd drifted out.
Among the regulars was Ted, and although she’d never asked, Jodie had decided he was Crystal Ann’s man. He chain-smoked, and unlike the tattooed, tough guy who roared through the streets of Selma astride his customized Harley, Ted now looked like a man carrying a shitload of grief.
Crystal Ann came from the bathroom, took one look at Ted, and grabbed a fresh pot of coffee, ignoring another customer’s call for a refill. She poured a cup and slid onto the seat opposite him. He leaned and whispered, and her fingertips flew to her mouth, her anxiety mirroring his.
She reached across the table and took his unusually small hand in hers, and there was no mistaking their feelings for each other. Crystal Ann talked and he nodded, saying little more, and finally he dropped change on the table and left the café. The street filled with the loud fury of his speeding away.
Four regulars Jodie had learned to despise lingered over one cup after another of coffee, spiked from a bottle the man called Chief pulled from his coat pocket. Crystal Ann signaled Jodie, silently pleading for a hurried trip to the toilet. Jodie nodded, picked up a fresh pot of coffee, and approached the men.
At the sound of Sally’s high-pitched rebuke, the men went silent, their attention focused. Arthur’s bulk filled the space that served as the pass-through from the kitchen into the dining room—the color line he wasn’t to cross.
“Hell no, ain’t you already got Chris
tmas day?”
It was true. They had Christmas day off, although, of course there was no pay. But Arthur knew that. What more was he asking from Sally, and why? Jodie watched the table of men, and what she saw worried her. She wished Crystal Ann would get back on the floor.
“But, Miss Sally, like I said, Bo’s agreeable to staying over in my place. Ask him. He’ll tell you.” Arthur’s voice was strained, but controlled.
“That’d be just fine and dandy if staying or going was left up to you two. But it ain’t.”
“Yes’m, for sure, Miss Sally. But I promised my soldier brother I’d fetch his wife and kids home from the army base in time for the family tree. As it is, I’ll already need to drive through the night.”
“You and your damn kin ain’t my concern. Now get back where you belong.”
Arthur stood for what seemed like an eternity, his huge fists flexing at his sides, his frustration so palpable it appeared to Jodie he’d lift off the floor.
Tension mounted among the four men. Their bodies coiled as if they readied to spring into action, their hatred so barefaced it fouled the air. Jodie bit down hard on her bottom lip and watched Arthur. He was no fool; he dared not look in the direction of the men lest they take it as a challenge. He turned back toward the kitchen.
Sally let go a nervous giggle and looked toward the men.
“If that boy wasn’t the best cook in all of Dallas County, his uppity ass would be out of here.” She walked to the counter, took the bank bag containing the day’s receipts, and grabbed her coat. Reaching the door, she turned back to the men. “If that young one don’t take good care of you boys, I’ll expect to hear about it.” She winked and left, the bright green deposit bag clutched under her arm.
To her credit, Sally had attempted to play down the incident, but Jodie worried that these men wouldn’t be easily placated. She refilled their cups and stepped back, but not beyond Chief’s reach. He grabbed her around her hips and drew her to him. He smelled sour from the whiskey, reminding her of all the men Jewel had brought home and the gut gripping sickness she’d felt when they’d put their hands on her. Maybe little girl Jodie had hoped to find a daddy among them, but she was all grown-up now. She knew Chief as one of their kind, and she distrusted them down to a man.
“You heard the boss.” He squeezed her butt cheek in his big hand.
She pulled away and glared, too angry and humiliated to think smart.
“Better look out, Chief. She’s a big’un.” The man, his round cheeks flushed, belly pushed up against the table edge, laughed like a marauding hyena.
The second man chimed in. “Then, she ain’t exactly too pretty to mess up.” The third, a pimpled-faced boy her age, blushed, pretending sudden interest in the empty sidewalk.
“Aw, come on, gal. Forget those fools.” Chief waved a dismissive hand. “I favor my women big. Come on over here. Show me some Christmas spirit.”
“In a pig’s eye.” Jodie took a firmer grip on the handle of the steaming pot, her rage making her dizzy. She wanted to cut his throat and watch his blood pool on the nasty carpet.
Chief’s eyes went a shade darker and icy cold. The others held a collective breath. From behind her, she heard footsteps. She glanced around to see Crystal Ann hurrying toward the table.
“Sweet suffering Jesus. What do you call yourself doing? These big boys are mine, so back the hell off.” She bumped her round hip against Chief’s shoulder. “Forget her. She don’t know a stud from a damn horny toad.”
Chief was too damn dumb to hear the loathing behind her words.
Crystal Ann turned to Arthur, who was again straddling the line between black and white.
“You better be back in here to tell me my turkey and dressing’s ready.”
“Yes’m, Miss Crystal Ann, that’s what I’ve come to say.”
“All right, you’ve said it. Now get your black ass back behind that line.”
Arthur turned on a quick heel back toward the kitchen.
“Girl, you’ve got tables to clear.”
Moving to the farthest table, Jodie began to pick up dirty plates and cups. The sounds of chairs scraping, men cajoling, and the closing of the cash register drawer passed before Jodie dared to look toward the street. The four stood on the sidewalk, leaning in tight, Chief gesturing, the others nodding. They got into a dark green ’57 Chevy and sped away.
“I hate those mean sonsofbitches. I wish they’d all drop dead.”
“Yeah, well we know God don’t exactly play fair.”
Jodie hung her head.
“Girl, I’m here to tell you, you’re gonna need to learn that you can’t fight every asshole that crosses you. You’ve got to outsmart ’em. It’s not all that hard.”
“But I can’t do what you do.”
“If you think sucking up to that bastard doesn’t turn my stomach, then you’re not smart enough to survive our world.” Crystal Ann glared.
“I’m sorry. I know what you did. But I’d rather die first.” Our world had not gone unnoticed. But which world? There were so many from moment to moment. Yet she knew in her gut that she wanted to be in whatever world Crystal Ann occupied. The very thought made her blush.
“Living can come down to choosing. And I can tell you, this mess is far from over.”
Sally came bursting through the door, shouting, “Big day at the bank, girls,” and when neither joined her celebration, she exclaimed, “And just what the hell’s the matter with you two? Ain’t your apron pockets jingling?”
It was half-past nine before Crystal Ann took her purse from beneath the counter and tucked a quart jar of leftover coffee under her arm.
Sally looked up from the inventory records. “Merry Christmas. Hope Santa didn’t mislay your address.”
“Haven’t you heard? It was all over the radio.”
Sally’s neck stretched, her full attention captured.
“That fat fart died. The clap, I think it was.” Crystal Ann stepped through the door, and Jodie stared after her as she hurried along the sidewalk, her body bent against the bite of the raw wind.
“Jodie, get busy. Clean up this mess. My boys are expecting Santa, and I’m not ready.” Sally walked back into the kitchen, and Jodie heard her yelling at Arthur.
Jodie had gathered the first of the garbage and started for the alley when an unexpected gust of cold air hit the backs of her bare legs. She turned toward the sound of the door, expecting a street bum hoping to buy a fifteen-cent cup of coffee and get warm. Instead, Crystal Ann walked back through the door, and Jodie remembered the turkey.
“You forgot your turkey and dressing.”
“Naw, I don’t need a bunch of turkey and dressing.” She paused. “It being Christmas and all, I thought you might want to come home with me. Place ain’t much, but it’s a far sight better than that roach palace you call home.”
Jodie’s tongue lodged in the back of her throat, her relief so complete she felt tears building behind her eyelids.
“Girl, I’m not standing here all night. You coming or not?”
“If you’re worried about me here alone, I’m used to it.” She’d hated the thought of Crystal Ann’s offer as mere pity. More than that, the thought of Crystal Ann and Ted together.
“Hell, it’s not about that. I figure we both deserve better than to wake up alone on Christmas morning.” She shrugged.
“No. I mean, you bet I do.” Hearing “waking up alone,” Jodie’s world flipped. Then she remembered the remaining garbage, and she hadn’t started vacuuming.
Sally came into the dining room and stopped short.
“Caught a case of the holiday spirit. Figured it can’t hurt that me and Jodie keep each other company.”
Jodie gave Sally a pleading look.
“All right. But get the balance of that trash out so it don’t stink up the joint. Vacuuming can wait. That is, as long as she promises to get you back in time to do it before opening.”
Jodie hauled the garbage to t
he alley, rushed upstairs, flipped on the lights, and slung clothes around on the cot. After changing into jeans and her best flannel shirt, she took the coffee can from beneath the cot and stuffed her entire savings into the pocket of her jeans. She never again wanted to feel the shame that came with the charity boxes of canned food and hand-me-down toys that were left on her and Jewel’s front steps. She grabbed the winter jacket that Sally’s oldest had outgrown, and hurried downstairs.
“What you want I should tell them poor disappointed kin of yours, should they show before I go?” Arthur chuckled.
“Tell them I got a better offer.”
Jodie burst into the café, her jacket tucked under her arm, thinking that Arthur would make a perfect department store Santa. But the image of his black face behind a snowy white beard set her to wondering what Negro kids believed about a white, cherry-cheeked Santa. On those Christmases when Santa hadn’t shown, her mama sought to blunt her disappointment with a story of Santa’s obligation to fill the wish lists of rich kids before dividing the remains among kids like her and those on the row. She would have likely said that Negro kids deserved to come last, or not at all, but she would have been wrong. Santa had everything to do with privilege and nothing to do with deserving. That much she knew.
Crystal Ann led Jodie across the street to where she had parked her car. Gripping the driver’s side door handle, Crystal Ann delivered a solid hip bump, forcing the door open. The passenger door, wired shut, had a diagonal crack in the glass, and Crystal Ann motioned for Jodie to slide in under the steering wheel.
Alternate coaxing and cursing had the vehicle leaping like a tipsy frog into the intersection. Crystal Ann hung a wide left into the path of an oncoming car. The driver laid down some serious rubber, avoiding a head-on collision. Crystal Ann gave up a tight laugh, swore at the gesturing driver, and pushed the Rambler westward out of Selma.
She looked at Jodie, who was cowering. “You haven’t been in a car lately, have you?”
“Not with the likes of your driving.” Jodie smiled, prepared to take her chances with a wild woman behind the wheel of a last-gasp car.