Second Sunday

by Michele Andrea Bowen

  “Oh, Louise, I don’t know,” Mozelle said. “I don’t know if I want to make much trouble with Oscar. He would lose his mind if I came up in that club.”

  Louise blew air out of her mouth, right into the phone, as loud as she could. Sometimes Mozelle walked around like she had rocks up in her head.

  “Mozelle, don’t you want to know what is so special about this club, that it got your household all tore up? I know I would. How you gone get this thing straightened out if you don’t know what you dealing with? Right now, all you got is pure speculation. And speculation, without fact, will put you at the losing end when you call Oscar on the carpet.”

  Mozelle got real quiet. It hadn’t actually occurred to her that at some point she would be calling Oscar on the carpet. She couldn’t even think of a time when she had confronted him, and wondered if she had it in her to do it. She sighed heavily, tired of all of this, wishing it would just go away. But she said, “I guess you have a point, Louise.”

  “I have more than a point, I am plain right and you know it. This mess has gone on long enough, and it’s time you put a stop to it. Mozelle, you need to get into that club. To do that, you got to have an invitation from a member—a member like Christmas Jefferson.”

  “And what if he won’t take me?”

  “Mozelle, you been married to Oscar Lee too long. Don’t you know how to butter a man up?”

  “Louise! I ain’t gone give that man no—”

  “Mozelle, please. You know doggone well I ain’t telling you to go off actin’ like a street woman. Use your head, girl. What you need to do is cook Christmas a big dinner. He a bachelor and don’t have nobody cookin’ for him on a regular basis. You know how men love for a woman to fix them some food.”

  “Oh, so is that how you got next to Louis Loomis, Miss Louise?” Mozelle teased.

  Louise blushed so hard, Mozelle could practically see it coming through the telephone. “Uh-huh. Thought so,” Mozelle said. “You been cookin’ for that boy. Ain’t you been doin’ that, girl?”

  Louise giggled a little. “Well, I did whip up a little something for Louis, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. He been looking better lately—like a man who got a woman taking care of him.”

  “Because he does have a woman looking after him. He got me.”

  V

  Mozelle did as Louise suggested and cooked Christmas Jefferson a good old traditional chitlin dinner. The menu would have made any respectable black St. Louisan’s mouth water: chitlins with a few hog maws mixed in, mustard and collard greens, a mustard-based potato salad, spaghetti, corn bread, and dessert. In this case, dessert was two lemon icebox pies—one for Christmas and another one for Oscar.

  Having a fancy St. Louis chitlin dinner in the middle of the week put Oscar in such a good mood that he didn’t pick at Miss Mozelle while he was eating. And the dinner was so good, he asked her if she would fix him an extra plate to take to the club, making Miss Mozelle wonder if he was taking those psychedelic drugs that so many people were concerned about. He had to be half out of his mind to believe it was okay or even safe to ask your wife to fix a plate for your woman.

  But since she had some plans of her own, she cheerfully fixed the plate, making it look extra pretty and even including little packets of salt, pepper, and hot sauce, fancy paper napkins, and a plastic fork and knife. As she wrapped the food in wax paper, she also wondered about Queenie Tyler. She didn’t know of too many women who would eat food a man brought to her piping hot from his wife’s kitchen.

  When Oscar had been gone a good hour, Christmas Jefferson pulled up in his shiny black Lincoln Continental and strutted up to the front door. He was dressed up extra special in a hot pink silk, Superfly maxi coat with matching pants, dark purple silk shirt with a matching tie, and a black hat with a pink and purple silk ribbon around the crown.

  “Evenin’, Mozelle darling,” Christmas greeted her, in that smooth voice that blended the Mississippi Delta and North St. Louis street. “Mighty sweet of you to fix me a meal on a weeknight.”

  “Well, Christmas,” Mozelle said carefully, “Sometimes you led to do something nice, and I was led to cook you dinner.”

  “I see,” Christmas replied, and followed her into the kitchen.

  When he took a seat at the table in the kitchen, Mozelle had to be careful not to stare too hard at his socks and shoes. They were so snazzy, they were kind of sexy-looking. He was wearing some sheer silk men’s hosiery in hot pink with dark purple specks, and his shoes were made out of the softest, shiniest patent leather she had ever seen.

  “No wonder Christmas has so many women,” Mozelle thought. “I’d bet some money at the racetrack that boy starches his draws.”

  Mozelle watched Christmas carefully while she was fixing up his plate. When she knew he couldn’t see her face clearly, she caught him looking at her bosom, hips, and thighs like he was thirsty and wanted a drink. When she faced him, Christmas checked himself and sat back in the chair, leaning on his elbow and gazing into her eyes. Unnerved, she quickly glanced down at the floor.

  “Mozelle, darling, what made you invite me into your kitchen?” Christmas asked. “You ain’t never fixed me a whole dinner before, and I don’t know why you’re changing up on me now.”

  He reached out and took her hand in his, letting his fingers slip through hers, down to her fingertips, caressing them just long enough to get away with it. Mozelle was surprised at how soft and strong Christmas Jefferson’s fingers were. She had always thought that when a skirt-chasin’ man like Christmas touched you, the mere idea that he had Bible knowledge of all those women would make you cringe. She felt just the opposite from his touch.

  She jumped back from him so fast, he almost laughed, but he knew better. Mozelle Thomas was one of those good true-blue women. Any mockery or teasing about her lack of knowledge of men would scare her off.

  Christmas couldn’t help but think that Oscar Lee was a fool. How could the man have been married to this girl all these years and never seen the fire and passion in her? But then he remembered how Oscar kept his wife underfoot, making it impossible for him to even glimpse the real Mozelle. Christmas had seen her more deeply in these last few minutes, he figured, than Oscar had seen in over forty years of marriage.

  He was tempted to call Mozelle’s bluff about cooking him dinner. Christmas was a player from way back in the day, and he could always tell when a woman was up to something even when he didn’t know what the something was. But he decided to play along with the girl. A St. Louis chitlin dinner on a weeknight, plus the chance to watch Mozelle work in her kitchen, got his nature going big time. When he’d been messing with her hand, he’d been glad his coat was folded over his lap and hid the physical changes she had caused in him. The girl had him feeling like he did when he was a young blood of forty.

  “Mozelle, darling, this food smelling mighty good. You so sweet to pack it all nice and fancy for me. I don’t get my food fixed up like this often. If there is anything that I can do for you to repay the favor, let me know.”

  “Well, I’m okay, Christmas.”

  “Naw, girl, I mean it. You need anything—anything—just tell me. I’m a gentleman and can’t take advantage of your hard work with all of this good food.”

  He watched her fidget a bit, trying to figure out a way to ask him for what she really wanted. Mozelle was so cute and funny as she tried to work her way around him that Christmas was sorry when the truth came out.

  “Well, Christmas, things not going well with me and Oscar,” Mozelle said. “And I was thinking that if I went to y’all’s men’s club, I would be able to figure out what’s wrong.”

  Christmas had to fight to keep his eyes from narrowing into hard slits. Oscar, always that doggone Oscar Lee. What he wanted to tell her was that there wasn’t nothing wrong with Oscar Lee Thomas, other than he was a selfish, narrow-minded fool who had been coochie-whipped by Queenie Tyler. But he held his peace and said as nicely as he could, “You
wanna go tomorrow night, Mozelle?”

  Actually, Christmas could have taken her tonight, but he decided that Friday would be better. If there was one night of the week when Oscar would show up with Queenie Tyler on his arm, it would be Friday. And if Mozelle wanted to see what was going on with Oscar Lee, he was going to give her an eyeful.

  Mozelle thanked him, handed him the food, and walked Christmas to the front door. He slowed down his pace, deliberately trailing Mozelle so he could get himself a good eyeful of her behind. Christmas couldn’t help but wonder if Oscar ever had sense enough to grab himself a good handful of that high little booty, with the girlish bounce still left in it. Then he thought, “Probably not.”

  VI

  “Mozelle, Christmas gone be here in a little bit, and you still standing there, worrying and not getting dressed. Put on that new pantsuit you bought at Essie Lee Clothiers.”

  Mozelle held it up in front of her, just staring at herself and the suit in the long mirror in her bedroom. “Oh, I don’t know about this, Louise. The suit fits real snug, and it’s such a loud pink. I don’t want to step up in that club looking like I’m some kind of floozy.”

  “And Queenie is just what a woman ought to be, right?”

  Mozelle wanted to cry. She hated hearing about that Queenie.

  “Get dressed,” Louise insisted. “Ain’t gone solve nothing standing there looking like Sad Sack. You know I want to help you get at Oscar awfully bad to spend more than a thought of my time with that triflin’ old coot Christmas Jefferson. Don’t know what all those women see in him. He whorish down to the bone, and I just cain’t stand no whorish man, especially an old one. Run all around on a woman and when her nature get going, he through, and you cain’t even pray him straight.”

  “Well,” Mozelle said, “I think he got all those women because he smooth, got debonair in him, and can back up all he throw your way.”

  Now it was Louise’s turn to stare, wondering how Mozelle knew so much about Christmas Jefferson.

  “Close your mouth before a fly land in it,” Mozelle told her. “I didn’t do nothing. But last night when Christmas came by here to get his dinner, he made a smooth pass at me. Do you hear me? Smoooooth. And if my old-lady eyes were serving me right, I don’t think you’d have to pray up a thing. More like, wear yourself out trying to pray it back down.”

  Louise started laughing and said, “You wrong. This time you know you wrong, Mozelle Thomas.”

  “I may be wrong, but I show is rightttt on what I saw.”

  “Girl, what did the boy do, to make you so rightttt?”

  “Not a whole lot on the surface. He just touched my fingertips and slipped his fingers through mine. Now, I ain’t never been a bit more interested in Christmas Jefferson than I am in the man in the moon. But I will tell you this much—whatever he did with his fingers had so much heat and suggestin’ in it, I almost jumped out of my house shoes when he did it. So, he know things that some men just don’t know.”

  Louise started fanning herself and said, “Oooh, chile. Good thing I’m coming with you. He know I’m coming?”

  “No,” Mozelle said, finally starting to put on the suit.

  Louise watched her acting so self-conscious, thinking that Mozelle didn’t even have an inkling of how pretty she was, with her pale brown complexion, gray eyes, and shiny silver hair, cut in the cutest style to frame her pixie face. She was sure to draw attention from more men than Christmas Jefferson at the Mellow Slick Cougars Club, which is exactly what Louise was hoping for. Much as the truth might hurt, it was high time that Mozelle realized she could do better than that nasty, womanizing piece of work, Oscar Lee Thomas.

  Louise sprayed Mozelle with some Estée Lauder perfume and fluffed her hair, examining her face to make sure she had on that reddish-pink lipstick she had told her to wear. Then, just when Mozelle started looking like she might chicken out of the plan, the doorbell rang. Louise answered it, tickled at the expression on Christmas Jefferson’s face when he looked right into hers.

  “Evenin’, Christmas.”

  “Evenin’ to you too, Louise,” he said dryly, and followed her into the house.

  “I really appreciate you taking me and Mozelle to the club tonight.”

  Christmas took his hat off and held it carefully by the brim. It was off-white with a gold ribbon around the crown, matching his white silk suit and the gold pinstripes running through it. Louise had to admit that Christmas was looking good tonight. Very few men would have had the sense to match up a gold and white pinstriped suit with a navy blue and white pinstriped shirt.

  Christmas fingered his hat gingerly for a few seconds, then sucked on his side tooth and said, “Frankly, Louise, I wasn’t aware that I had ex-ten-ded you an invitation to anywhere.”

  “Oh,” Louise answered, “that’s funny. Mozelle told me that you wouldn’t mind if I came along. She thought we would have a nice evening going to the club together. Not like you and she were going on a date, seeing that she a married woman and all.”

  Christmas was furious, and the expression on his face betrayed it. But he reined himself in and said, with the slightest taste of “nice-nasty” in his voice, “Well, you know Mozelle, Louise. The girl always was too sweet for her own good.”

  “Yeah, she is that,” Louise answered, thinking, “Old dog, you won’t be sniffin’ up on nothing tonight.”

  Louise and Christmas stood there facing off like boxers in the ring, waiting for the starting bell, until Mozelle walked into the living room. Car keys dangling from her hand, she asked, “Y’all ready to go?”

  Christmas quickly ran his eyes over her, thinking how good she looked in that pink suit. He always knew Mozelle was cute, but dressed like this she was a fine little handful of woman. Moving quickly to the door, he held it open for her, then made a point of letting the screen door slam in Louise’s face.

  Taking Mozelle by the elbow, Christmas began to lead her to his car, hoping to make Louise feel so uncomfortable that she would change her mind about coming. But Mozelle pulled away from him gently and said, “I’m driving myself and Louise, Christmas. We’ll follow you.”

  Christmas stopped dead in his tracks and glared at Louise, thinking, “I know you behind all of this.” But Louise didn’t blink an eye, smirk, or give any other little self-satisfied sign to let him know she had “one up on him.” In that instant, Christmas realized that this arrangement was Mozelle’s own doing, making him wonder what else Miss Lady had up her sleeve.

  “How long you been driving, Mozelle?” he asked her.

  “Long enough.”

  “Oscar know?”

  “What do you think?”

  Christmas knew full well that Oscar didn’t have an inkling that his wife could drive. For the first time since he’d arrived at the house and found out Louise Williams was coming with them, he felt excited. The evening was turning out alright. Mozelle was looking good and sexy, she was coming to the club at his invitation, and she could drive. He couldn’t even begin, by a long stretch of the imagination, to think about what Oscar would do when he discovered what was brewing right up under his nose. But he sure couldn’t wait to get to the Mellow Slick Cougars Club to find out.

  VII

  Christmas pulled into the homemade gravel parking lot, which used to be a backyard, of the Mellow Slick Cougars Club. The club was located in a neat two-family flat over on Natural Bridge Avenue, not too far from Kingshighway. Old Daddy, the club’s founder, lived in the upstairs apartment and used the first floor, along with a finished basement, for the club. There was nothing special about the building, which was exactly what the members liked about it. The club was exclusive, and they didn’t want any folks not invited to come dropping in and getting on everybody’s nerves.

  Christmas got out to show Mozelle and Louise where to park and told them to wait for him while he parked his own car. But Louise was so eager to see the club, she walked right on in without him, dragging Mozelle with her. She spotted a table in
a corner and pushed at Mozelle to sit down. Christmas came in looking for the two of them just as the bartender, who was also the bouncer, started to walk over to their table to ask them if they were with a club member.

  After reassuring the bartender, Christmas sighed in exasperation and said, “Why didn’t y’all wait on me like I told you to? You not even supposed to be up in here, Mozelle. If Oscar Lee finds out I’m the one who brought you here, he gone have a major fit.”

  “But won’t Oscar be here tonight? It’s Friday. Don’t he come up in here most Fridays?” Louise asked, looking almost eager to see what Oscar would do when he saw Mozelle.

  Christmas tried to look uncomfortable, as if he was about to reveal something that he just wished he didn’t have to share. But he wasn’t doing all that good a job with his acting. Louise caught the little grin on his face as he opened his mouth to say, “Well, he do. But lately, seems like he been elsewhere some Fridays.”

  “And where’s that?” Louise demanded.

  Christmas removed his hat, scratched at his head, and said, “Now, y’all know I’m too much a gentleman to go ’round putting my buddy’s business in the street.”

  “Even when the main person you talking to is the buddy’s own wife?” Louise asked, with a frown.

  Christmas cut his eyes at her. He never could stand that Louise Williams. She was bossy and thought she had rights women weren’t supposed to have. She had messed up everything tonight, butting in on his date with Mozelle. He had wanted Oscar to see Mozelle, knowing he would act a complete fool over her coming to the club without his permission. And when Mozelle got all distraught, Christmas was going to be right at her side, ready to give her all the comfort she needed, throughout the night.

  Rather than answer Louise, Christmas got up to tip the bartender, who was also the DJ, five dollars to play his favorite getting-next-to-a-woman song. As soon as the first notes of Jerry Butler’s velvety voice came on, Christmas took Mozelle’s hand and pulled her up for a dance. She looked back at Louise as if to say, “Now what do I do?” But all Louise did was wave her hand, indicating that a dance wouldn’t hurt nobody.