Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do

by Pearl Cleage

  “Who's Kwame?” I said.

  “He's Precious Hargrove's son,” Flora explained, “and a friend of Aretha's, so I hear, which is why my daughter is signifyin' so hard!”

  “Ree and Kwame, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” Lu sang from the kitchen.

  Flora grinned at Aretha, whose slight blush told me Lu wasn't far off the mark. “Any truth to these rumors?”

  “We're friends, just like you said.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He's been away in graduate school for two years,” Aretha said, looking at me and ignoring Flora and Lu, who were now openly in cahoots. “He's coming back to start working on his mother's campaign.”

  “Is that the only reason he's coming back?” Lu asked her mother. “What do you think, Mom?”

  Before she could answer, Aretha cut in, cool as you please. “I guess you and ShaRonda found another place to watch the cable while we're at the party.”

  Lu immediately retreated. “No way! You said we could stay at your apartment until Mom got home.”

  The phone rang, and Lu checked the caller ID. Hank Lumumba was as good as his word. Another perfect Sunday.

  “I'll take it in my room!”

  “Saved by the bell!” Aretha called after her, laughing.

  Lu closed her door behind her, and the three of us sat there for a minute, savoring what we all knew was the beginning of our friendship.

  “There's some coffee left if anybody wants some.”

  “No thanks,” I said, knowing I was as full as I could get without being uncomfortable. “Everything was wonderful.”

  “Thanks,” Flora said, her eyes checking Lu's closed door and turning to Aretha. “Now what did you want to tell me?”

  Aretha lowered her voice, and I leaned in to hear her clearly. “That DooDoo fool was up at the school on Friday when we went to pick up Lu.”

  “Who's we?” Flora's eyes went cold.

  “Gina was with me. She saw him, too.”

  I nodded, glad we were alerting Flora to potential danger around her child.

  “What was he doing?”

  “He came to pick up ShaRonda.”

  “Lu's friend?”

  “He's her uncle.” Aretha's voice hissed out the word.

  “Where's her mama?”

  “Back in rehab. She wants to get clean so she can have another baby.”

  “She can't even take care of this one!”

  “I know. That's why I figured we'd better pull ShaRonda in a little closer. He's already buying makeup for her.”

  Flora set her cup down harder than she meant to and shot another quick glance at Lu's door to be sure her daughter was still on the phone. “Do you think he wants to put her on the street? His own niece?”

  “On the street?” I said. “As a prostitute? She's eleven years old!”

  “They got eight-year-olds working over on Stewart Avenue,” she said.

  Aretha nodded in agreement. “ShaRonda's uncle works for King James Johnson. He's one of the worst of the pimps, and everybody knows it, but somehow he always gets off.”

  My head was spinning. What kind of man pimps a tenyear-old girl? What kind of john pays for one?

  “They're getting bolder and bolder,” Flora said. “Two more of the growers right over the line said some of his young hardheads have been trying to get them to plant reefer in the gardens.”

  “Anybody on this side of the line?”

  Flora raised her eyebrows. “They're bold as hell, but they aren't crazy.”

  “What line?” I said.

  “Mr. Hamilton doesn't cover any neighborhood outside of West End,” Aretha explained quickly. “He doesn't have enough men to do more.”

  “The problem is, these growers are right on the border. They're technically not inside the area that Blue takes responsibility for, but these women have been with us since the very beginning, and they need to be protected. King James could grow weed anywhere. He doesn't need these old ladies to do it for him. He's just messin' with Blue, and Blue knows it.”

  “Which means he'll handle it,” Aretha said. “In the meantime, let's keep an eye on ShaRonda in case she needs some help.”

  “She already needs some help,” Flora said, reading my mind. I kept seeing the girl's slim, spandex-clad body leaning into the poisonous circle of her uncle DooDoo's embrace. “But let's change the subject before Lu comes back. I don't want her to start worrying about—”

  Before her mother could complete the thought, Lu burst back into the room, grinning from ear to ear. “Daddy says call him back when your company's gone. He'll be home the rest of the day.”

  “How's he doing?” Flora would have her Sunday slice of Hank later.

  “He's fine.” Lu turned to me. “And he said thank you for sharing the picture and the note on the back. I read it to him. He wanted to know if maybe he could make a copy, if you don't mind.”

  “It's yours,” I said, knowing it wasn't my place to be giving away the collection, but also knowing there couldn't be a better caretaker for this particular piece of Son's story.

  Lu's eyes widened. “Thanks!”

  “You're very welcome.”

  “What else did he say?” Aretha prompted. “He said, next year, I'll be old enough to go to the party.”

  “He's wrong,” Flora said calmly. “You have to be sixteen.”

  I could imagine Lu in a couple more years. She'd be in full bloom. Ready for a perfect dress and a party where the men wore tuxedos and called her “Miss Lumumba” to give her a taste of the social rituals that used to define interaction between grown-ups, but seem hopelessly oldfashioned now.

  “Daddy Blue said if you let me come next year, he'll sing for me.”

  Daddy Blue.

  “Then we should let you come this year,” Aretha said. “I'd be willing to put up with you for a few hours in exchange for seeing Mr. H on the stage again.”

  “Have you ever seen him sing?” I said. It hadn't occurred to me, but she probably had. Flora almost certainly had.

  Aretha nodded enthusiastically. “Twice!” she said, as if that placed her among the luckiest women on the planet. “He's absolutely amazing. One of the best ever. He's … he's …”

  I looked at Flora, who was grinning at Aretha's efforts to capture in words Blue Hamilton's wonderfulness as a performer.

  “Tell her, Flora!” Aretha threw up her hands in frustration. “You saw him in his prime.”

  “What makes you think this isn't his prime?”

  “Tell her!”

  Flora looked at Lu. “Do you still have that picture he gave you?”

  “The singing picture?”

  “That's the one. Go get it for me, please.”

  Lu dashed back to her room, and Flora laughed softly. “I've seen Blue perform a hundred times. He was still doing clubs when I met him, and Hank was his lawyer, so we went down to the Royal Peacock to see his show.”

  The Royal Peacock was a legendary nightspot on Auburn Avenue, pre-integration Atlanta's main drag.

  “I'm figuring, okay, this is my boyfriend's buddy. That's cool, but he's definitely going to be local talent. I've never even heard of him, right? But the place was packed and—what's that they always say about the air feeling charged?”

  “The air was electric!” Aretha said, like the kid who knows her favorite bedtime story by heart. “Go on!”

  Before she could obey, Lu came dashing back with a color photograph of Blue on the stage and handed it to me. Aretha leaned over to look. Blue was wearing a white dinner jacket and holding the microphone in one hand while he reached out to a woman in the front row with the other one. The area around the front of the stage was crowded with young women in cocktail dresses and elaborate upswept hairdos. Some of them were reaching toward the stage. Some of them had been caught in midshriek by the photographer. Some seemed to be swaying in a private ecstasy with their eyes closed, even while their hands were still reaching, reaching, reaching. …

 
Blue looked just the same. His hair was a little longer, but he had the same mustache drooping around the corners of his mouth, and, oh yes, there were those eyes. He looked sexy as hell, and, based on the photograph, he hadn't even broken a sweat.

  “That's how it was that night,” Flora said. “That's how it always was. The minute he walked out there to sing, women would lose their minds. That first night I saw him, a girl actually threw her panties on the stage!”

  Lu covered her ears. “Gross! You never told me that!” “I figure if you're almost old enough to go to the party, you're old enough to know about the drawers,” Flora said.

  I was still looking at the photograph. He was so open, reaching for them as passionately as they were reaching back. This photograph left no doubt that a very intense exchange of energies was taking place. My question was, now that he doesn't do this anymore, where does all that energy go?

  “See? You can't describe it either,” Aretha crowed. “You're talking about what they did. You can't describe what he's doing. You just have to see it.”

  I handed the photograph back to Lu. I would have liked a chance to look at it longer, but in a less public setting.

  “Why did he stop singing?”

  Flora shrugged, taking the photo from Lu's hands and running her fingers over it lightly. “I don't really know for sure. You know men can never tell you why they do what they do.”

  “The first time I saw him sing at the party, he hadn't performed live in five years,” Aretha said. “And believe me, it was worth the wait.”

  “You didn't throw anything on the stage, did you?” I had to tease her a little bit.

  She laughed. “No, but it wasn't because—cover your ears, lil' bit!—it wasn't because I didn't want to.”

  “Gross!” Lu groaned.

  “I warned you,” Aretha said, still laughing. “He sang at the party last year for Lillie, Peachy's wife, because everybody knew that would be her last one.”

  “That time didn't make me want to throw things. That time just made me cry,” Aretha said. “He came right down to the table where Lillie and Peachy were sitting and sang right to her. She loved it. We all did.”

  “Maybe he'll sing something this year.” Flora handed Lu back her picture. “Who knows?”

  “He'll only sing if I ask him to,” Lu said.

  “And since when are you his agent?”

  “Since I interviewed him for my school project. I know everything about Daddy Blue being a singer.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” Flora laughed, “but if you've got any influence, use it. Regina deserves a chance to see your godfather in his element.”

  “Would you like to hear Daddy Blue sing?”

  Would I ever! “I'd love to hear him sing.”

  “Then consider it done,” Lu said, sounding just like Blue for the world.

  Aretha laughed. “Good for you, lil' bit. Make yourself useful.”

  It was after two and time to pursue afternoon plans. “I'm going to head back upstairs,” I said. “Thanks for everything. It was lovely.”

  “My pleasure,” Flora said. “I'm sure I'll see you before Saturday, but if I don't, why don't you just come on down at eight?”

  “I won't be late.”

  Aretha and Lu were teasing each other again, and I knew Flora was getting ready to clear her voice of worry and call her husband for some sweet talk. My afternoon loomed lazily ahead with nothing but the still unread newspapers to claim my attention. I was about to open my door when Lu's head popped out and she took the steps up two at a time.

  “You keep this,” she said, thrusting the photo of Blue Hamilton into my hand.

  Had she read my mind? “Why?” “Now we're even,” she grinned, and headed back downstairs before I could hand the picture back. I'm glad I didn't. The universe is going to get tired of sending me the stuff I ask for if I keep sending it back like the wrong lunch order.

  So, I went inside, closed the door, and sat down to take a good long look at my neighbor in his element, but before I could even get started good, from across the hall came the faintest sound of someone singing.

  17

  JUSTIN'S RESTAURANT ON A BUSY afternoon is like a scene out of an urban romantic comedy. The people at the bar sipping peach martinis from perfectly frosted glasses were slender, stylish, and solvent. The dozen or so well-dressed people already seated at the linen-covered tables were examining their menus and conversing with waiters who wore identical well-pressed shirts and equally interchangeable smiles. The hostess was a tall, very thin young woman the color of bittersweet chocolate, beautiful in that angular way fashion models cultivate, and wearing the kind of little black dress that rarely leaves New York City.

  She smiled a greeting and guided me to a table in the far corner of the room, where Beth and her assistant were already sipping their Perrier with lime. I had to smile. I had arrived ten minutes early and Beth had been here long enough to order drinks. She didn't get where she is by being careless. This woman was good.

  “Gina,” she said. “You remember Jade from the other day?”

  “Of course,” I said, taking the chair the hostess offered before she floated back to her station. We exchanged our greetings, and I asked the waiter for a Perrier of my own. We'd order lunch later.

  “How was Albany?” I said.

  Beth and Jade exchanged a look and then a smile.

  “That good?”

  “Better than that,” Beth said. “It was remarkable.” Beth had only recently begun accepting speaking engagements again, and her followers were eager to see her, to support her in her loss and hear her new message, honed by tragedy but grounded, as always, in hope. She had booked a limited tour of the state over the next few weeks, and every appearance so far had been standing room only. The voter registration that Son had insisted on was going great guns, and, according to Beth, the lines to register were now as long as the lines to buy her tapes and get her to autograph her books.

  Three years ago, when I was still on staff, Precious Hargrove told Son she intended to run for governor. He told her he intended to have registered twenty thousand black women to vote by that time and promised to talk to Beth about an endorsement. They shook hands on it, even though, at that time, I thought his estimate was unrealistic. From what Beth was saying, it was right on target.

  “We've registered nearly—” Beth interrupted herself. “How many did we estimate, Jade?”

  Jade flipped open a small notebook and scanned the page, flipped one more and found what she was looking for. “As of two nights ago, we estimated four thousand for the first two weeks.”

  “Four thousand? You're averaging …” I did the math quickly. Most of the venues where Beth spoke held a thousand people. She'd done eight gigs so far. “… five hundred a night?”

  Jade said it with me. Beth was nodding with what can only be described as a hungry look on her face, and I don't mean for Justin's exotic menu offerings. This was a recognizing-the-next-level-of-your-own-power look, and, to tell the truth, it scared me just a little. Beth's ego was her blessing and her curse. When Flora said Blue had to deal with a struggle between his dark side and his better instincts, I understood immediately. Beth is involved in that battle, too, even though she would certainly deny it. Son was the one who had helped keep her on the high road. Looking at Jade, with her well-organized briefcase and her own hungry look, only slightly less predatory than Beth's, I didn't think she would be the one to provide the necessary balance.

  “That's impressive,” I said as the waiter deposited my Perrier near my elbow and disappeared.

  “It's remarkable,” Beth corrected me. “And these are all new voters. First-timers. They don't know the candidates. They don't know the process. They're electoral virgins!”

  Jade scribbled the words in her notebook and, in parenthesis, she added EVs, and underlined it twice.

  I had to admit, remarkable was the word for it. At this rate, by the time Beth wound up this tour at the cer
emony in a few weeks, she would have the ear of almost twenty thousand EVs with new voter registration cards and no clue as to how to use them. Son's promise to Precious Hargrove was about to become a reality. He would have loved it.

  “Precious Hargrove is going to love you,” I said.

  Jade opened her mouth to say something, but a fast look from Beth stopped her before she got out a single word. She looked quickly down at her notebook, as if she might have missed something crucial after she made a note of the phrase electoral virgins for posterity.

  “Why is that?” Beth said, taking a small sip of her Perrier and dabbing her lips.

  Jade avoided my eyes. What were they up to?

  “Well, aside from your general remarkability, she stands to gain quite a bit from your endorsement. Twenty thousand votes and counting is nothing to sneeze at.”

  “Exactly,” Jade agreed with an enthusiastic nod.

  “That's why we've got to keep our options open,” Beth said firmly.

  She slid that we in like I couldn't notice, but I did. “What options are those?”

  “It's too early to say,” Beth said smoothly. “That's the whole point.”

  “You aren't thinking about endorsing someone other than Senator Hargrove, are you?”

  Son would turn over in his grave if she threw her support to any of that motley crew of good ol' boys and party hacks who wanted to run. She shook her head and shared another little smile with Jade, which made me want to shake them both until their teeth rattled, as my mother used to say. Nonviolent to the core, my mother never actually shook me at all. I think she knew just the idea of rattling teeth would give me pause for thought and time to regain my senses.

  “No, Gina,” Beth said slowly. “Nothing like that.”

  “Thank goodness,” I said. “You couldn't ask for a better candidate than Precious to motivate your troops.”

  “Well, that's not altogether true,” she said. Jade was looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. “There's one person who might be even better.”

  “Who?” This game was getting on my nerves. “Me,” Beth said with a triumphant smile. “What about me?”

  Now I was thoroughly confused. “What about you? You're not a politician.”