by Clara Nipper
“Yeah, baby, I saw how dangerous you are. Mmm-hmm.” I sniffed.
Julia blinked like a lizard in the sun. “Slow eyes, fast mind,” she said as she took my arm and guided me to the cemetery entrance.
Chapter Nineteen
I stood at the pawn window, bored. I was used to having an all-consuming sports career and living an urban pace, not having slow days of leisure handing money for objects to hard luckers and being hidden away in a small backwater town.
“Take it easy,” Cleo rasped from the card table. It was an admonishment he commanded of me several times a day.
“I don’t want to,” I answered. “I want something to be difficult.” I watched the traffic at Tassie Pie’s. A car pulled in among the crowded lot. It had a bumper sticker that read SUPERVISE THIS! I smiled. Then I saw a woman come out of the restaurant wearing painfully short denim cutoffs. Her ample thighs jiggled. My mouth watered. I looked at the woman’s crotch where her vulva was clearly split wide by the tight seam of her shorts.
“Mmm, nice camel toe, baby,” I muttered to the glass and grinned.
“My man needs some new panties!” Drew exclaimed.
I sighed and turned from the window. I glanced, irritated, at the pawn’s browsers, men who were always on the hunt for an amazing bargain but never bought much. They spent hours curled over guns or stereos or tools, murmuring approval but really just using the pawn to congregate and escape wives.
“You got that right, Drew.” I punched him on the shoulder, hoping to jostle some action out of him.
“Say, say, man, siddown.” Drew brushed me away. He had a bag at his feet that he kept checking. Cleo was doing a crossword and smoking. He looked just right with his silver hair and dark freckles on his walnut skin.
“Anybody ever tell you how much you look like Ellis?” I asked, trying to provoke Cleo.
He looked up and squinted at me. “Anybody ever say the same thing to you?” He returned to his crossword. I glanced at the words he had filled in: tappan, re, gnu, pettifog.
“Drew, what do you say we go cruising?” I asked.
“My man, you’re on the job.”
“Well, what do you do when you’re bored stiff?”
“Knit.”
“What?” I waited for the joke.
Cleo smiled at his puzzle, unconcerned.
“Yeah, man, I knit. You got a problem?” Drew bent down and finally removed the contents of his bag and it was indeed a ball of yarn, needles, and a square of knitting. I was too shocked to ridicule and just watched as Drew arranged his supplies and began. “I’m from Haiti,” Drew said softly as if that explained it. “I was raised by my grandmother. I was the only child and she knitted and I had to help her. So I picked it up. You should try it.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said.
“Knitted a whole blanket for me last Christmas,” Cleo said. “Wasn’t that felted merino you used?”
Tickled, Drew said, “Sho ’nuff. See, this here is chunky wool. I like it. It’s got heft but it’s so warm, you’ll feel like you’re sitting on the sun.” Drew rummaged in his bag. “My favorite is, oh, I can’t pick. I love to work with slub and vrille, but angora is so soft. Silk is très élégant, no?”
“I wouldn’t have any idea.” I was charmed and baffled.
“What stitch you doing there? Quaker ridge?” Cleo asked.
“Ha, good guess, my man. It’s knit two, purl two ribbing. On my next thing, maybe a sweater for little brother here, I’ll use garter or stockinette.”
“A sweater for me?” I was strangely touched.
“Made a sweater for Ellis and a baby blanket for Sayan,” Drew added.
The crowd of browsing men finally approached the counter. One of them held a Craftsman screwdriver. “What’s your best price on this?”
I rolled my eyes. “Listen here, boys.”
“Ten percent off, that’s the lowest we’ll go,” Cleo said, concentrating on his crossword.
“Oh, come on. You can do twenty-five,” the man said. The rest agreed.
“Not on a small item like that,” Cleo countered.
“Buy more and we’ll see what we can do,” I said.
The man shrugged and put his money down. I gave change and started to sit at the table.
“I’d like a receipt,” the man said.
I complied, glaring at the crowd of utterly useless and pleasant men. I headed for the table again.
“I’d like a sack,” the man said.
I began muttering to myself and slammed a paper sack on the counter and then sat at the table, willing the man to ask for something else. He didn’t. One of the others was observing Drew knit.
“Sure appreciate that scarf and hat you gave me, Drew. Came in handy when we went to Chicago last year,” the man said.
Drew smiled and nodded. “Mighty fine, mighty fine.”
After the men left, wandering across to Tassie’s to re-hash the purchase, I stood at the window again.
I wished I were hungry, thirsty, or in need of a smoke. Anything to lift this numbing inertia. I saw an old beater truck park at Tassie’s. NOT FOR HIRE it said on the back window. The truck was rusty and dented with piles of miscellaneous metal equipment in the truck bed. I couldn’t tell if it was a winch, a tow truck, lawn maintenance, or what. Definitely some kind of difficult labor vehicle. The man that got out was tall, even taller than me, and heavy like a former football player. He wore no shirt, stained threadbare overalls, and a battered baseball cap, dark with sweat. He was a rough, hulking brute. He had a long silver beard and gnarled horny hands. He limped like he was used to arthritis every day of his life. He went to the order window and got two soft-serve vanilla ice cream cones. My eyes sharpened. The man lumbered back to his truck and leaned against the bed. A dog leaped up, propping his front legs on the truck side, wagging his tail and behind in a fury of happiness and laughing into the man’s face. The man held one cone out to the dog while he ate the other one, the dainty cones almost disappearing in his huge hands. The dog lapped, the man ate, companions in silence. When the dog was through with the ice cream part, the man gave the cone to the dog. The dog disappeared into the truck bed with it in his mouth. The man continued eating, his eyes smooth. They finished their cones at the same time. When the dog jumped up again, the man held the dog’s head close to his own for a moment, then ruffled his neck and lurched back into the driver’s seat. The dog sat obediently as the truck jerked and shuddered and popped. The dog’s eyes were closed, his face turned to the sun and his pink tongue rolling from side to side. The truck disappeared with a cloud of smoke. My throat was tight so I said nothing to Cleo or Drew. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, there was a horse parked at Tassie’s.
“Hey!” I said, clearing my throat, “Look!”
The men looked and nodded. “That’s ole Sol,” Cleo said. “He comes in to Tassie’s every once in a while. Refuses to drive. His land is not too far.”
I turned to watch as a slim, wiry man in jeans and cowboy boots and hat carrying several white paper sacks mounted the large chestnut and gently eased him out into traffic, oblivious to the cars. As they walked, the horse’s rump undulated, the tail swished, the man sat erect and stiff, and the vehicles kept a respectful distance.
“Now I’ve seen everything,” I said.
“I doubt that,” Cleo replied, his eyes sparkling. “You ain’t lived here long enough.”
“I know what my man needs,” Drew stated, setting his knitting on his chair and dashing to Tassie’s.
“I don’t need anything they have over there,” I snapped to Cleo, who ignored me.
Drew returned, carrying three large cups. He handed one to me and I took a huge gulp. Drew sat and he and Cleo watched as I began coughing and sputtering and choking and beating the table.
“Fool, why didn’t you just sip it?” Drew asked and he and Cleo laughed.
I sucked air, my eyes watering. Cleo shook his head and Drew still laughed.
&
nbsp; “What the fuck?” I wheezed.
“Lime Drag,” Drew said. “It will cure what ails you.” He and Cleo both sipped theirs.
“Jesus!” I gasped. “What’s in it?”
“Crushed ice saturated with salt, then pure lime juice poured over it. Good, ain’t it?” Drew drank more, licking his lips.
I wiped my nose. I took a small mouthful. My eyes screwed closed and I shuddered. “Yeah, it is. Thanks.”
“No problem, my man.” Drew smiled.
The phone rang. Cleo didn’t move. I didn’t move, still studying my drink. “Could use some tequila.”
“Naw, naw, have it pure.”
“There’s something difficult to shift your boredom. The phone,” Cleo said.
I swaggered over to answer it. “Pawn.”
“Yeah, yeah, say, this is Lullabye Baxter, and I’m gonna need Ellis to give me an extension on my stuff.”
“You made a payment lately?”
“Naw, naw, ’cause I can’t. But tell him I’ll be there soon as I can. Cool?”
“No, we can’t give you an extension without payment,” I replied sourly. Didn’t people know business was business?
“Ah, listen, man. Ellis does this for me from time to time. It ain’t no big. You get me?” The man’s voice had an edge.
I was sick of being the ignorant newcomer and I wasn’t going to be pushed around. “Well, that’s the policy and that’s the agreement you signed.”
“Is Cleo there?” The man was exasperated.
“Yeah, but—”
“Put Cleo on the goddamn phone!”
I held out the telephone.
“Who is it?” Cleo asked without looking up.
“Lullabye Baxter.”
“Oh yeah, tell him it’s cool. We’ll hold it all. Just with the regular fee.”
I was angry and embarrassed but passed on the message. Lullabye was cordial again. “Thanks a lot, man. Y’all real good. I ’preciate ya.”
I hung up. “What the hell?”
Cleo lit up another cigarette. Blue smoke flew from his mouth like an arrow. “He’s good for it. He’s a pimp and he’s in prison.”
I nodded, incredulous, and walked back to stare out the window.
Chapter Twenty
I handled the booklet carefully, whistling. The book had red printing on stiff ivory paper covers. “Ham, you do this right up, don’t you?”
Ellis smiled, flushing with pleasure. I read the front again, this time out loud: “Sixth Annual Dinner Dance and Auction, Saturday, September twenty-third, nine o’clock p.m., Delaney-Winthrop Liquidators, Incorporated, New Orleans.” Then I pinched my nose and read, “The Important Collection of English Silver belonging to The Notable Mrs. Huey Harwood, French Furniture, Bronze Dore and other Objets D’art, Gold and Silver Watches and Bibelots, Miniatures, Savonnerie and Other Rugs, Tapestries, Old Porcelains, and Queen Anne Furniture from the Estate of the Late William Harrison.” I released my nose and thumbed through the catalogue of photographs and descriptions. “Man, how do you do all this?”
Ellis shrugged, grinning. “Well, I started with just the other pawn, you know, here in the Bayou.”
I nodded. We were at the kitchen table, Sunday morning, after breakfast and before church. Sayan was dressing. When they left, I would go to the pawn.
“Then the rich white folks started coming in because I gave a better rate and they thought of me as being more confidential. You know, outside the city, small operation, sweet-talking black man who didn’t know no better; all it takes is just one good word-of-mouth recommendation. Once you’re in with one of those people, they all use you, so I started accumulating lots of high-dollar items and I needed a safer place to put it all. T-Bone, you would not believe how those damn fools burn through money. They have all these antiques and jewelry and cars and shit, but not two dimes to rub together because they’re careless and stupid with all of it.”
“White privilege,” I said.
“Yeah, so I rented a place on Canal in the city and made it secure, ’cause you know, I can’t keep diamonds and sapphires out here.” Ellis laughed. “Soon, I couldn’t house it all. It was too crowded with the riches of the glorious antebellum past. Which I was pretty happy about, you know. I thought of all those black hands that had cared for this shit over the years and here it was, all mine!” Ellis crowed. I nodded. “I didn’t want to have to rent a warehouse, insure it, and hire people to guard it. That’s nonsense. All that merchandise just sitting there, not earning its keep and costing me money to store it where nobody even uses it. So after I let Sayan have her pick…”
I looked around the house as if for the first time and smiled. “She’s the Winthrop,” I said.
“You know it. She picked that name out of a hat. A very white hat.” We laughed. “So after she was through, I had an auction.” Ellis whistled and shook his head. “I made so much money, it scared me. Really, no lie. Turned my skin pale and gave me goose bumps.” We laughed again and bumped fists. “And I got to noticing how everybody liked to stay afterward and talk. So I added some food. You cannot do anything in the South, especially down this deep, without food. And that worked well. And then liquor and that was slammin’. Then Sayan noticed how everybody dressed up and we changed it to a party. Then added the dance as a lagniappe.”
“Sayan loves to dance?”
“Oh, does that girl love to dance.” Ellis slapped his thigh. “So she gets to invite her family, dress up, dance, and play Queen Bee all night.”
“I play Queen Bee every night,” Sayan said, entering the kitchen and embracing Ellis from the back.
Ellis turned his head and looked at her, his eyes liquid and tender. “That you do, baby.”
I turned away as Sayan kissed him.
“Well, T, we got to go,” Ellis said, rising. “You sure you won’t come?”
“Yes, Nora, I’m going to get you to come sooner or later, you might as well give up,” Sayan said.
“Church? Nah, I’ve got to work. Repay your hospitality,” I said but thought, Thank God I have an excuse.
They walked out, arm in arm, Sayan giving me the stink eye as they left. I breathed a sigh of relief and opened the refrigerator. I carved off a large hunk of Sayan’s meat loaf, wrapped it in white bread and a napkin, and ate it as I drove to the pawn.
Chapter Twenty-One
I shoved open the door to the tune of tinkling bells. Cleo was at the counter, examining a tuba that a woman with her back to me was trying to sell.
“You’re late!” he called.
“Traffic was terrible,” I joked. I had been the only one on the road. The knot of pleasant men was looking at drum sets. Drew wasn’t there.
“Check the books, see who’s overdue this month,” Cleo said.
I took the large heavy ledger to the table and rolled a cigarette. The woman at the counter took her cash and left. Cleo put the tuba in the back room to be cleaned and checked and priced.
When he returned to the table, he was shaking his head. “Tuba.” He chuckled. “What kind of a horn is that?”
I just watched him, listening.
“It’s something for a circus or the military, but nobody with any grace or finesse plays a tuba.” Cleo inflated his cheeks into balloons like a struggling blowfish. His skin stretched, thinned, and lightened with his effort. “We’ll never sell that thing unless Bozo comes in here.”
“I’ll keep a lookout. Red shoes, right?” I smiled.
“Roll me a cigarette, little brother,” Cleo said after he patted his pockets and found nothing. Even though I had perfected my technique with so much practice over the past few weeks, I still trembled at the request. I sealed it and he lit up with a smile. He poured his dominoes out of their scuffed box and stirred them thoughtfully.
Drew entered, carrying a sack lunch and his grocery bag of knitting.
“Do you work here?” I asked, wanting to have some jovial sparring.
“Do you?” he retorted. Cleo lau
ghed. He and Drew bumped fists.
“I need a hat.” I swiped Cleo’s ever-present stained but elegant fedora and put it on. Drew gasped. Cleo just stared at me until I placed it back on his head.
“You never take a man’s hat,” Cleo said.
“That’s right. Don’t you know that?” Drew asked.
“Well, while you ladies crochet and play mah-jongg, I’ve got to run this business.” I stood and ambled over to the pleasant men who had moved to chain saws. They glanced at my approach, sidling uneasily away like a fleet of gazelles in the path of a lion.
“What can I help you with today, boys?” I boomed.
They shrugged and smiled and mumbled, shuffling toward air compressors.
“Deep discount? Just today, just for you, boys, I can do something very special!”
Their eyes downcast, they nodded, not tempted. “We’ll let you know,” one said.
I returned to the card table and opened the ledger. I made notes on the new items that needed to be reported to the police. I also made notes on the delinquent accounts and wrote a list of names on a tablet. Ellis would decide whether to contact them, give an extension, or sell their belongings.
“Never take a man’s hat,” Drew whispered.
I threw down the pen to chew his ass and saw both he and Cleo were laughing. “All right, all right.” I waved at them.
“Say, little brother.” Cleo held a domino close to his face and squinted at it. “Ain’t you got a birthday coming up?”
“Or just passed?” Drew added.
I stared from one to the other, frowning as I rolled another smoke. “No, I—”
“’Cause I been thinking about the perfect gift for you,” Cleo went on. “Your very own set a bones.” His arm formed an arc and he slid the whole set slowly to rest in front of me in a pool.
I looked down in amazement. My throat was dry, my tongue confused. My cigarette remained unlit. The domino dots swam in my eyes until I blinked and coughed. “You can’t be serious?”