“Well, all right!” he said. “All right! Wait right there. I wanna see that again!”
He started to go for the ball then stopped. “Hey, Marcus! Marcus, come take a picture for me! Over here!”
The photographer obliged and Val jogged over to Elizabeth. He threw an arm around her and pushed his glove into her hands. “Hold this for me,” he told her. “We have to preserve the moment Mrs. Townsend learned to play ball!” The flashbulb made them blink and laugh. Val looked at her and from where Mae stood she saw time had stopped for him and Elizabeth Townsend. They would hold their breaths if they could, stay in that sunny moment until the day died and reminded them to go back inside. And then what would they do? It almost didn’t matter because they owned everything in that moment; Mae felt it as her hand, balled into a fist, went to her stomach. The look wasn’t long—that kind of thing always lasted just a second or so—but it was enough to turn Mae’s face to stone.
Val took his glove back and ran out to retrieve the ball. Elizabeth, suddenly looking shy and embarrassed, turned toward Mae but Mae retreated, walking with a careful, regular pace back toward Gladys and Rose, and preparing a smile for her hosts. She had released her fist and her hands floated at her sides like open flowers. This way she could accept the glass of tea handed to her by Gladys. She maintained the cool look of holding ice just under her tongue. She could stand the wait, however long it would be, until she could be alone and plan.
HER PLANNING ALWAYS centered on anticipating what her adversary wanted, then making it seem they were on the verge of getting it. Of course that was the most delightful moment—savoring her opponent’s premature satisfaction, then watching their joy wither and their heart shrink as they came to see how the situation really stood. But with Elizabeth Townsend, Mae saw a very different kind of rival. She was someone whose wants weren’t exactly clear, even to herself, and it would be difficult, Mae decided, to strike such a person directly. It would have to be done obliquely, and this pleased Mae because she saw the opportunity to at last obtain the answer to a question she had long pondered. Val would be quite useful, of course. Mae needed him to prove the truth of the answer once she found it. In fact his actions would tell her everything she needed to know.
The situation between Val and Elizabeth Townsend, though, required she leave Rose Jarreau’s estate. Mae doubted she could hide her disdain for long if she were further subjected to Val’s activities. She also knew that for a puppet master’s strings to work properly, they have to be far enough away from the puppet to create tension.
“Well, Val, I’m happy to see you have so much to keep you occupied up here in the country,” Mae said the next morning as she finished tying a filmy red scarf around her hair and watched Lawrence put her bags in the Packard. “How will you keep up with your pupil while you pursue Mrs. Townsend?”
Val, dressed in his robe and pajamas because it was still early and he’d insisted on jumping up from the breakfast table to accompany Mae to her car, opened the door and reached out for her hand. “I’ll manage. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll keep you posted.”
“You better.”
She slipped into the car and Val bent his head in close. She moved toward him and lifted her chin as though she meant to kiss him. But Mae only smiled and withdrew into the car.
“Goodbye, Val.”
“Goodbye for now. I’ll see you soon for that little visit of our own.”
Mae nodded and settled back into her seat. She crossed her legs and put on a pair of sunglasses. “We’ll see.”
The car pulled away down the drive. As it accelerated Mae gripped the edge of the seat to keep herself from looking back at him.
CHAPTER 34
Val
Mercylands, Mid-July 1947
Val had known in the moment Marcus’s flashbulb had turned the whole world blue that he would tell his friend to make two copies when he printed the photographs.
“My aunt will want one.”
The lie had slipped from his lips so quickly he’d given no thought to why it was even necessary. His mind had been elsewhere. On the yellow of Elizabeth’s headscarf and how the color made her skin glow. He also marveled over the tiny buzz of delight that had leapt into his stomach when he had seen Elizabeth holding the bat and waving for him to come over. The casual way she’d done it had proved his theory that she might feel more comfortable if there were more people around. He should have demanded Mae’s compliments for a well-played move. Still, it had been a surprise—her beckoning like that and seeming so unafraid.
And when she got that hit? Oh Lord, he’d felt like he’d been the ball and his seams would split with joy! Then to see her look so proud, like she wanted him to know she’d learned the language he spoke—the only language that truly mattered to him—and she would always understand. His first instinct had been to reach out with both hands and seize the moment so he could hold it like a shiny marble swirled in orange and red. He wanted to hold her to him and capture that smile—that smile—which left him awash in light, the same light he saw almost every morning in the rising sun. Could he really find every possibility he’d ever hoped for in that smile?
It was night, four days after they took the picture, and the feeling still drove about in circles in his mind. Val stood at the window, overlooking the lawn and sipping a glass of whiskey. He heard the tiny knock at the door and sighed. Cecily’s timidity had melted like morning frost in the heat of the sun. This made his job easier, of course, and enjoying the girl was indeed pleasurable. But hearing her then made him feel as though he’d been rudely awakened. Crankiness prodded him as he watched how quickly her nightgown flew up over her head and he decided to take a more instructive tone for the evening. She wrinkled her nose at the sound of the word “lesson,” and flipped her coltish legs up and under the covers.
“What else is there to learn?” she whined. “Why can’t we just do it?”
“Because it’s not just about ‘doing it.’” Val removed his robe and slid between the sheets. His right hand found the soft flatness of her belly and traveled the length of her torso, up to her breasts. “That’s childish and stupid.”
Cecily’s look darkened and Val realized he would embarrass her if he kept on like that. He moved up and over her until his mouth found hers and he kissed her until her arms encircled his neck and tightened him against her. “Besides,” he whispered, “if you think like that you’ll get bored pretty quickly and you’re much too young for that. Cecily, it’s all about what else you do, how you do it. It’s about putting excitement into it and getting pleasure out of it.”
“And Sam or Frank Washington? They would be able to tell? They’d like it?”
“Like it?” Val laughed and kissed her again. “Cecily, if I do my job well enough, a man would be willing to kill for you.”
“What?”
“Sure, sure. Why do you think these guys run around Harlem pulling guns on each other like they’re in the O.K. Corral?”
Cecily lay back against the pillows and shook her head in wide-eyed wonder. “I don’t know.”
“It’s usually over some woman. A man can be willing to die for a woman because of what happens when they’re in bed together. If it feels like he can’t get that anywhere else in the world, he’ll kill the man who might take it from him.”
“That can’t be true.” Cecily rolled over onto her belly and hugged a pillow beneath her. “You’re just making fun of me.”
Val propped himself up on his left elbow and put his right hand over his heart. “Cecily, I swear, it happens. I remember this one time, and this would have been before you were born, it got ugly in one of the finest nightclubs in Harlem. It was all because of this woman who should’ve known better.”
“Why was it her fault?”
Val counted on his fingers. “Because she had a boyfriend, she had herself a backdoor man on the side, and then on that night she had the nerve to get a third guy on the line.
“She’s on the da
nce floor getting all hot and heavy with the third guy when he sees the other two men coming toward them from opposite sides of the room. Any fool could tell what was about to go down there.”
“What happened?”
“Well, the guy did the only thing he could do. He grabbed her and hit the deck just as those Joes start blasting away at each other. One guy went down pretty bad. Turned out that was the boyfriend. Next thing you knew, she was crawling all over him wailing like it was the end of the world. That boy was laid up for months. Some say she married him because she had guilt eating away at her so bad.”
“That can’t be true! How awful!”
“I know it’s awful, but it is true.” Val lay back again into the pillows and pulled Cecily on top of him. “You can ask your mother.”
“How would she know?”
“Because she was the woman.”
“How do you know?” Cecily leaned over and took one of Val’s earlobes between her lips.
“I was the guy she was dancing with!”
Cecily’s face shot back in front of Val’s and she gave him a look he had seen many times and cherished—a look that said someone had given you the keys to the world. Her laughter then was like bubbles spilling over from champagne.
“All right now?”
She nodded and nuzzled her nose into the side of his neck.
“Since you’re already there, let’s take it from the top.”
THE NEXT DAY Val sat at his desk. He took out a pen and paper to anchor him there because he knew Elizabeth would be out on the grounds looking for him, and he wanted to make her wait. He felt her expectation growing, like a child waiting for Christmas, and this anticipation was the best gift he could give her right now. She would soon learn, he hoped, that this edge of suspense was where you drank the real juice of life. Mae knew this. Mae, whose name was coming to life in the loops underneath his hands on the paper. It would be Mae who would hold him in his seat and take her share of this moment.
Here we go, Mae.
It’s time to play ball.
The game unfolds just the way I planned it. She allows herself a little bit of time alone with me every day. We walk. We talk. We’re cool. The relationship is what it is, but we both know the status quo can’t hold up for long. It’s like she keeps drawing circles around herself and telling me, “You stay out there.” Then I step over the line.
So she draws another one, this time farther in. I step over that one too. She keeps drawing, but the lines keep getting closer. Pretty soon there’s going to be no place to go but in. Her defenses are gone, baby, gone.
For now we haggle over words. What is “friendship,” the word she likes to use when we talk about what we are to each other? I use the word “love” and she will start into a long speech about why I shouldn’t. It’s funny—I even laugh at her! She knows damn well she’s stopped asking me to leave, and whenever there’s a chance for us to be alone she never avoids it. But I let her go on because she can do all the struggling while I save my strength for the big moment. She won’t have any strength or anything left to say when the time comes.
I think you left here too quickly. I thought you would have wanted a front-row seat to this game? But then it would have been too much—conquering my little player, instructing Cecily, and cashing in on our bet, all under the same roof! Aunt Rose would have me thrown out of here so fast my bare ass would be rolling down the highway and Sebastian would have to floor the Caddy to catch up and find me. But you would enjoy that, wouldn’t you? So why leave?
I’ll stop wondering. I know you have your reasons. I’ll go back to my work and just hope you’re not too lonely.
Soon, Mae. Very soon.
Val
Writing the letter gave him the resolve to wait a half hour longer before he went outside. And when he did he went in the opposite direction of where Elizabeth might be found. He was surprised to see a tinge of red on the tips of a few leaves. July was more than half gone. In six weeks his aunt would be closing the house and moving back to Harlem for the winter. Of course she did this every year, but for some reason Val now felt a sadness with the thought. He took the bat in his hands and put it up behind his neck, slinging his wrists over each end, and continued his walk down the lawn.
“Val?”
He waited a moment before he turned. “Yes, Mrs. Townsend?”
“I’m not disturbing you, am I? You seemed lost in thought.”
“Well, I was thinking.” He began to laugh. “Isn’t that funny—me, thinking?! I’m not used to doing a lot of that!”
“Oh, I bet you’re a guy who does a lot of thinking.” She wore a blue cotton dress with tiny buttons that ran all the way down the front. Val couldn’t help noticing how it hugged her hips as she fell into step with him.
“Well, maybe I did a lot of thinking, but I was still thoughtless.” She laughed at that and he knew he could go a little further. “You know, I almost wish— Never mind, that’s just dumb.” He shook his head.
“What? Tell me.”
He still held the bat behind his neck. It might make her feel safer, he thought, less vulnerable, if he remained semibound. He ventured a bashful sort of smile. “I almost wish you knew me before. You can’t appreciate how much I’ve changed because you just don’t know. My boys are all talking about it.”
“Your friends—your boys—they’re important to you, aren’t they?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but yeah, we all answer to the crowd in one way or another. You care about the people you know at church, right? They’re important to you too.”
She grasped her hands in front of her and nodded.
“Yes, Val, I do. But at the end of the day I can’t care about what they think to the point where it interferes with my life. I have to do what I feel is right, and that will always be between me and God.”
Val looked at her with surprise and pressed his lips together as though considering her words. “That’s pretty bold of you to say so for yourself. But what about me? You think I care too much about what a bunch of guys running around on a ball field think about me?”
Elizabeth smiled and clasped her hands behind her back. “I think your friends are important to you.”
She didn’t say anything else and Val didn’t encourage her. The line of questioning confused him. What was she getting at? The puzzle annoyed and charmed him at the same time, but he didn’t want to go carelessly skipping down a road that might have a dead end.
He released the bat from his shoulders and held the knob of it so it swung like a pendulum from his right hand. When he did this he noticed the path beneath their feet ended and the woods lay before them. He used the bat to point into the trees.
“There’s a lake right through here. Gethsemane Lake. Have you seen it?”
Elizabeth tilted her torso to the right so she could peer into the underbrush. “Only from the house. Not up close. Rose doesn’t like going off the paths when we walk together.”
Val used the bat to push back a large bunch of Queen Anne’s lace. “Yeah, it wouldn’t be easy for her now, not at her age.” He held out his other arm toward Elizabeth and smiled. “It’s really pretty. You should see it.”
He liked how she seemed to smile from only the corner of her mouth, but still she moved toward the space he opened for her. “I’m sure it is,” she said.
In the woods she stepped with care over the dead leaves, fallen branches, and stones. He offered his hand when a rock or a vine threatened her balance and she didn’t hesitate to take it. This was a good sign.
“I loved being out here when I was a kid,” he said. “Always seemed like I was the only person in the world.”
When they reached the mossy ground Elizabeth took off her shoes and sank her toes into the soft greenery. She smiled at him and continued to the edge of the lake. She dropped her shoes and stood with her hands on her hips. She rose up on her toes and drew a deep breath. It was shady and cool under the trees. The water shimmered in the a
fternoon sun.
Val stood on her left side and let the bat rest between his feet. They were quiet for a few minutes. He liked the sound of the ripples gently kissing the shore. Elizabeth finally turned to him.
“Why is it called Gethsemane?”
“Oh, my aunt did that,” he replied. “My uncle—I don’t remember him well, he died when I was only three or four—she told me he would come down here to pray when he was troubled about something. He fished too.” He pointed with the bat. “He used to have a boat launch down the way a little, but my aunt took it out after he died.”
“Why did she do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want anyone else out on the water. Might fool herself into thinking he was still around.”
She nudged his arm with her left elbow. “And what about you? Did you pray out here?”
He shrugged. “When I was younger I didn’t think to do it. When I was older—well, I wasn’t always alone then.”
“Oh?” She turned her head and raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged again and smiled. “Okay, yeah, I brought my female company down here. I used to pick a girl up, act like I was gonna toss her into the lake. Let her scream her head off.”
Elizabeth, to his surprise, laughed. “You must have been some date.”
“I was something else.” He gauged a level of ease he hadn’t seen in her before. She looked like a country girl with her bare feet on the ground and her hair tossed in the breeze. He decided he would take a chance and venture back to their previous conversation. “What did you mean back there when you said my friends are important to me?”
She shrugged and he wondered if she were mimicking his gesture.
“I just think you do care about what people think about you. You care a lot. I’m guessing more than most people.”
He shook his head. “Not more than a woman.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shifted his feet beneath him. “A woman is always fussing over what she looks like. Do you think that’s because of what she thinks about herself? No. It’s because she’s worried about what others—men especially—are gonna think of her.”
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