by Clara Nipper
“So?” I looked at my watch.
“So, then, on May thirty-first, 1921, when the race riot began,” Jack said, assuming I knew the particulars; though I did not, I didn’t reveal it. Jack continued, “The McKerrs, belonging to the KKK, all thronged the courthouse and were eventually deputized by the Tulsa Police.”
“ That’s the big secret? There’s KKK blood in the family? That’s nothing. Most whites probably have a KKK ancestor or two if you go back far enough. No one would kill Michelle for knowing that. Hell, there’s probably black blood running in your veins too. Probably Native American blood. Maybe Chicano too.”
“Do you want to hear this or not? I’m not finished.” Jack drank his second shot and lit up his last cigarette. “Wow, I’ve smoked a lot tonight.”
“All right, go on then.”
“Well, when things spun out of control on June first, the McKerr men headed straight for Deep Greenwood. The McKerrs and hundreds of other whites looted and burned, all with impunity because the cops were KKK too. Most of the blacks were disarmed, rounded up, and held helplessly in custody ‘for their own safety.’”
“That’s sickening.” My stomach clenched in rage at this news. I knew of race riots and was no stranger to racism and abuse, but to hear blatant details like this was unbearable.
“I know,” Jack said. “It wasn’t a race riot at all. Not like LA after Rodney King. The blacks back then didn’t do anything. They were disarmed. They were rounded up and their homes and businesses and churches were destroyed. It was an assault. A unilateral war. Anyway, the McKerrs went straight to the Wilsons’ son’s house and held his family hostage while they made him sign over his rights to his oil field at gunpoint. The McKerrs swore they wouldn’t hurt him if he did as they asked and he did. But…” Jack trailed off.
“They killed him anyway,” I finished in a fierce whisper.
“Yes. They got the papers, made it look like it was a sale, shot him point-blank in the head, and left his wife and three kids screaming after they set the house on fire. That oil field was the turning point for the McKerrs. They regained their supremacy and never looked back. They’ve been the richest and most successful oil corporation ever since. They even have a division that makes diapers and one that manufactures software. ” Jack sighed. “The Wilsons suspected, of course, but nothing could be proven. So much happened that night. So many murders. So much waste and confusion. Old Man Wilson just snapped after that. It broke him. The family carried on the business, and to their credit, they are a close second to the McKerrs, but the father was no good after his favorite son was murdered.” Jack rested for five beats. “So that’s what Michelle was blackmailing about and why they would kill her.” Jack lit another cigarette.
“Now wait just a goddamn minute!” I held up my hand. “If this is so secret, how did the families know everything, including Michelle?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Grow up. The best way to make something public is to try to keep it a secret. You know that, come on.” He puffed furiously on his cigarette. “As for proof, I’ve never seen any, but Michelle claimed she found plenty when she went through their trash over the years. She loved Dumpster diving anywhere she could. Yep, she was a classy lady.” He laughed ruefully.
I sat stunned, stricken, silent.
“She needed money, so she thought she’d make a deal with the devil and get enough to live on. And her secret would keep her safe. But it didn’t. And I have this to prove it.” Jack opened his coat and removed a letter. He handed it to me, I unfolded it, glanced at the date—six months ago—and skimmed the contents. Of the hysterical scribble, I made out the words “slander,” “libel lawsuit,” “pathetic, scheming little bitch,” “can’t prove anything,” and “filthy liar.” “Troublemaking cunt” was underlined. I handed it back to Jack. “It’s unsigned.”
He sighed. “I know. She gave it to me for safekeeping. She seemed to think it was incontrovertible proof. But I think it’s a slim reed.”
I stared into space.
“Well?”
“I just don’t know anything, do I?” I asked.
“No, but don’t let that stop you. Knowing hasn’t done much for me.”
“That’s fucked up. It’s evil. ”
“I know.”
“How can you be a part of that family?”
Jack snorted, rolling his eyes. “I was born to it. And drinking helps.” Jack laughed and raised his empty glass, tipping it for the last drop. “I did change my last name, though. And after Michelle told me all this and showed me the papers, I started donating money every month to the Negro College Fund and sending cash anonymously to one of the survivors I know about. I’ve considered personally apologizing, but I’m too afraid. What I do isn’t much, but it’s what I can do. And you know, if everyone just did a little bit, this would be healed. If every white person, not just the McKerrs, stepped up and did just a little bit, if they took some fucking responsibility, ” Jack bellowed, his face red, “racism would disappear. Or if not, the playing field might at least be leveled. Some of the hurt would be healed,” he said again.
“Maybe,” I said in wonder. I didn’t even donate to the College Fund and felt ashamed. “I don’t think whites feel much sense of responsibility about these things.” I pulled a deep breath of hot molasses air.
Jack turned on me. “ I know. And that’s the problem. That’s the fucking problem !” he yelled. A couple at a near table glanced over and went inside. “Blame the victim, that’s the white man’s creed,” Jack said viciously, then aped a cracker accent, “I didn’t have nothing to do with it. I love niggas, some a my best friends are niggas, spics, chinks, wops, and faggots. Callin’ someone ‘nigger’ don’t mean nothin’. A white person can be a nigga.” Jack was breathing hard. “It happened too long ago to make reparations. It is in the past, we can’t change the past. Generations have lived and died since then; the world was different then; now we’re much more civilized. That event ‘way back then’ has nothing to do with us progressives now. It’s too late to apologize, it’s pointless to make amends, that would be like admitting fault when it probably wasn’t even completely our doing, if you take the circumstances in context.” Jack stood and began pacing. “Bullshit!” he screamed.
I was rapidly going into tipsy shock. Jack certainly was different than I thought. This whole family is a clutch of chameleons, I mused.
“Blame the women for their abuse and rape; blame the gays for the bashing; blame the Jews for the Holocaust; blame the Japanese for the World War II internment; blame the Native Americans for just, I’m sorry, living here and trying to cooperate with us and trusting us, and don’t get me started on that; blame the Mexicans, blame other Hispanics for not being white; blame the Middle Eastern people for domestic terrorism perpetuated by disgruntled white men ; blame the African Americans for slavery and everything since then. Have I left anyone out? Oh, my fucking God! It is too much. Thank goodness China has thus far had the sense to keep to herself. Although human rights violations there are a nightmare, again, you don’t wanna get me started. I’m already on my soapbox.” He grinned. I smiled back automatically in response. Jack sat again. “When I drink, I go off. Some people get horny when they’re drunk. Me, I get mad. I don’t know, maybe that’s just how it is with the ruling class. Whoever is in power is corrupted. Maybe if the blacks or the Cubans were the majority in power, there would be terrible civil rights and criminal racism too. Maybe…what is that saying?” Jack peered into my face, expecting an answer.
“I don’t remember it just now,” I replied.
“That saying…power corrupts perfectly? Is that it? Maybe that’s just the way of the world since man stood erect. There will always be evil in power and everyone else is a victim. I just happened to be born now, in this country while white males are in power. I could’ve been a Christian in Roman times.” Jack laughed. “They used to persecute and kill the Christians. Don’t you wish they still did that today?” Jack clapped his
hands over his mouth. “See? I’m corrupted. I’m no better than Old Man McKerr and all his elitist, murderous, racist, asshole sons.”
“What do you do for a living?” I asked in amazement, speculating activist, political consultant, lobbyist.
“I’m an interior decorator,” Jack replied with a nelly accent. “Couldn’t you tell? It’s a biological imperative. I am really good, though. I tell the rich what to buy and how to arrange it. You know, most people wouldn’t even know where to put a vase without my help.” Jack curled his finger, beckoning me closer. “Sometimes I get a wild hair up my ass and want to completely ruin someone’s house. You know, like tell him that he must have a lime green polyester covered set of La-Z-Boys in the living room with a gallery of paintings on black velvet and a toilet paper cozy shaped like a doll wearing a ball gown, stuff like that.”
I laughed. “Well, speaking as a black person, you’re okay by me.”
“Are you the spokesperson for your people?” Jack asked wryly.
“Yeah, I won over Chris Rock by just a hair,” I said.
“Oh my God, me too! I won out over Tom Cruise. He didn’t accessorize properly.”
“You are bad.” I chuckled.
“I know. Spank me, Daddy,” Jack said.
“I’d love to, but I have to be somewhere.”
“Oh, you have another date after me? Well, that cunt is just getting sloppy seconds.”
“I know, baby,” I joked. “Listen, Jack. Thanks for the smokes. And thanks for—”
“Don’t mention it. It was a relief to tell someone. Maybe you can topple the family with the information.” Jack laughed dryly. “Though I just keep praying that the genes are weak and the dynasty is ending and crumbling on its own.”
“Yeah, thanks for that, but not just that. For loving her too.”
Jack’s eyes got shiny and he nodded, waving me away. “Get outta here, butch.”
“Later, Jack.”
“You owe me a carton of cigarettes,” Jack called. I nodded and smiled.
Chapter Seventeen
I sat in the car for a while reeling with this latest revelation. For once, I didn’t want a cigarette. I surprised myself by not feeling ready to see Max, but my clit had final word on that and it said, go.
I drove to the house and it was dark. If I weren’t already a little drunk, I would become so at the heady notion of being summoned and parking behind Max’s car like a lover. I pulled up close enough to kiss the bumper and got out. Michelle’s car that Sloane was driving was parked next to Max’s. Seeing it gave me a shiver.
God, it had been a long day. I had lived an entire year in one day. I checked my watch. Only eight p.m. Sunset was just beginning. The air was sweet with clover and belated wisteria. I knocked on the front door. And waited. It was too dark and too quiet; maybe I should just go back to my hotel and call Max in the morning with apologies. The idea of creeping over to the exposed bedroom and spying on Max was just taking hold when I heard bare feet padding and the door opened at last.
“You got my message,” Max said flatly. She wore a white satin dressing gown and her hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Her plump breasts peeped out of the top of her gown. My clit had been right.
“Don’t you ever wear clothes?”
“Not unless I absolutely have to. When opportunity knocks, I’ve found that it pays to answer the door naked.”
“You still opening the door for me, naked or not?”
“For you?” Max grinned. “Always. Come in.” Her white satin robe rippled as she walked into the living room. “What are you drinking? I know you’ve been drinking.”
“Uh…” I felt edgy that she would know the secret that I had only started drinking gin and tonics tonight to feel closer to her. “Um…uh…” I stammered. Max stared at me and shrugged.
“Beer, probably. Well, I’m out of beer; you’ll have what I’m having.” Ice clinked into two glasses and she made the drinks. I sighed with relief.
“I don’t want some frothy, fruity, femme drink,” I growled. I couldn’t just remain in awe. I had to keep my butch bearings and squeeze a little.
She handed me a glass and looked me languidly in the eye. “Yes, you do. Sit down.”
Max chose the couch and I chose it too. Max had to move a cashmere blanket to make room for me. That’s when I noticed the reading light on, a book on the side table, candles burning all over the room.
“You were waiting for me?” I asked, smiling hungrily.
She looked around. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped gruffly. “I know you want a cigarette.” She extended the box to me, but I was transfixed by the succulent white underside of her wrist and forearm. Oh, if I could just get the nerve to drop my drink and fall on that flesh…I would gnaw and lick and bite all the way to her underarm. Then I would pin her with her arms overhead, to the couch, as I kissed and sucked every centimeter of flesh on her chest and neck.
I wouldn’t kiss her mouth or touch her breasts. Her squealing and moaning and writhing would be enough for the moment. I would feast on her armpit; I hoped it was unshaven. I would nip her neck anytime she struggled too hard. I imagined the feel of her hands held above her head in my strong grip. I would feel her heat as she would twist and buck, possibly grinding her hips into me. I could see us: my long, lean, black body prone and her supple, curvy-rich white one. How beautiful that would look. How much better even to release her hands and stare into her eyes as we both knew what was about to happen. I would be propped on my arms, holding myself above her and feel her not fight. See her submit. Feel her luxurious thighs open to admit my angular frame and we would rest there silently, breathing together, anticipating all of it. Max would cradle me between her legs and oh, the heaven it would be to sink down into her at last. To lower myself and be met by breasts, waist, buttocks, and cunt. A cunt maddeningly close and separated only by white satin.
Would Max wear panties? I thought not, but decided the dressing gown would have slipped over her cunt, so I could take my time peeling the cloth away, savoring the fragrance, spreading…but first, I would just press my thigh hard into her, letting her gyrate on my taut leg if she wished. I had business first. With my knee planted possessively at Max’s center, I would…Would I rip her bra? No, I would suavely, slowly unhook it and close my hands over those white breasts at last. I would tease them first, stroking and pinching the nipples erect through the cloth, restraining myself until Max closed her eyes and leaned her head back.
When she pushed up against me, thrusting her breasts into the air, I would know she was ready to be naked. And I would strip her, making her shiver with my slow deliberation. Then I would fall onto her bare breasts and devour them. Her head would thrash from side to side, her arms would flail, but she would clutch me with raw need. I would suck her tiny candy nipples into swollen bells. I would feel wetness on my thigh and smile like a wolf, biting her hard to let her know who I was and that I had been here. Only when she began whimpering would I be ready to move on. Then I would put my face above hers and finally, finally, finally kiss her. Our lips would meet and match perfectly. Her breath would fill my lungs. We would be tender at first, exploring, nibbling, licking, smothering, then voracious. After that…
“Thank you.” I extracted a cigarette, lighting the match with my thumbnail. Max didn’t seem impressed.
“Let’s go outside, it’s so beautiful tonight.”
We walked onto the generous deck in the back. The sunset was baking the wood floor and waves rose, shimmering, up our legs. I felt toasted in every way. At least my sinuses were clear. Crisp, yellow leaves fell all around us. The corner of the deck and the lawn were piled with leaves. It gave me the strange confusion that it was autumn. I picked up a dry leaf and looked at it.
“Yeah, by this time, the trees are burned. They shrink and drop everything. Happens every summer,” Max explained, noticing my puzzlement.
“What are those?” I pointed to several dark gray shapes hudd
led together on the lawn as if having a conference.
“Rabbits. What did you think?”
As if to answer Max, one hopped away, flashing its white tail.
The air was blistering and wet and heavy as a blanket. Max bent and flung the cover off a hot tub. Steam rose in the air. She turned on the jets and it became a bubbling, boiling cauldron.
“Care for a soak?” Max tilted her head, her drink in one hand, the ties belting her gown shut in the other. “When the weather is like a volcano, it’s good to bathe in the lava.”
I nodded my head, smiling. Hot damn. “I’d love a soak.” Maybe it would make me feel cool and clean.
“I’ll turn the light on so you can see where to step.” Max pressed a panel and the tub lit eerily in the sticky bluing night.
I tamped out my butt. “What do I wear?” I growled, braless and removing my shirt.
“Whatever you like. As much or as little as you prefer.” Max seemed to busy herself with her back to me. But I stood tall and muscular and proud, wanting her to see. I wanted her to admire my mahogany skin, my Amazon body. I wanted her to see my silken ebony nipples and fall on them, suckling like an albino infant. I wanted Max to turn to me and say something romantic and ridiculous like, “You’re glossy, and luminous. Your dark skin barely contains a black fire that makes you glow like an opal. You are sinuous and liquidy, tall like a giraffe, but hard like a bull. Your nipples gleam like chocolate drops on your muscular chest and your tangled mat of black curly pubic hair conceals your animal slickness, but all that is mine now. I get to do whatever I want.”