The Harlem Charade

by Natasha Tarpley

  “Yo, homey, stop!” T.J. called, but it was too late. Just when it looked like Rad was about to crash into them, T.J. let go of Elvin and scattered, but Pugnacio held on tight. Thinking fast, Elvin pulled the goat Pez dispenser out of his coat pocket and jabbed the man with it in his soft, fleshy side. Pugnacio yelped and released his grip just enough for Elvin to slip away.

  Rad spun back around and slid Elvin his board. “Go, dude, go!” He took off running, while Elvin skated away in the opposite direction.

  Elvin didn’t stop until he’d reached the apartment. Safe inside, he collapsed on the couch, shaking with exhaustion, fear, and, yes, excitement. After he’d had a chance to catch his breath, he dialed Rad.

  “That was awesome, dude!” Elvin said. “Thanks for saving my life.”

  “No worries, man. Just bring back my board.”

  “No problem. Are you good?”

  “Safe and secure, back at the Rad pad. Over and out.”

  When Elvin hung up, he noticed that he had a message from Alex, and called her back. “You’ll never guess what happened to me!” he started, but Alex cut him off.

  “I can’t talk right now, but I have great news. I found out that your grandfather is awake. He came out of the coma. Also, can you come by my house tomorrow? We’re meeting around noon.” When Elvin agreed, she gave him the address and promptly hung up before he could tell her about his adventures with Pugnacio and T.J.

  Elvin quickly went online and looked up the visiting hours for the hospital. They were over for the night. He called the hospital switchboard and got transferred to his grandfather’s room, but a nurse answered and told him that his grandfather was resting and could not be disturbed.

  Still full of energy, Elvin paced the length of the apartment several times before settling again on the couch. The Life of the Invisibles lay on the other end of the couch where he’d tossed it the last time he attempted to figure out the poems. He reached for it, noticing a picture of a goat stamped on the back cover that he hadn’t paid attention to before. Was it another message from his grandfather?

  Elvin cracked open the book, reading now with all the focus and determination he could muster. But the poems still weren’t making sense. It wasn’t until he got to one near the middle of the book that something jumped out at him. The poem was short and simple:

  Meet me at the Skillet.

  They’ll surely make us something good to eat.

  I won’t have far to travel.

  I’m just across the street.

  He remembered the walking tour they’d gone on with Rad to look at some of the Invisible 7 murals. There had been a mural directly across the street from the Magic Skillet restaurant, just like in the poem. He read the poem a few more times, and slowly, a new possibility suggested itself. Elvin had expended so much energy trying to figure out what the people in the poems were talking about. What if the voices in the poems did not belong to people at all, but to paintings?

  Elvin quickly dialed Jin. “Can you meet me early tomorrow, before we go to Alex’s? I need your help. I think I figured out how to find the paintings.”

  A lex really wanted to hear Elvin’s news, but her mom was already nagging her to put her phone away, and they hadn’t even made it into the fundraiser yet. As they climbed the long flight of stairs to the grand entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Cassandra tugged at Alex’s hair, and at the sunflower-yellow dress she’d forced her daughter to wear.

  “You should wear bright colors. They make you look so, so cheerful,” Alex’s mother beamed.

  Alex didn’t say anything. It was pointless arguing with her mother. Once they were inside, Alex probably wouldn’t see her parents until the end of the night anyway. When it came to parties, it was Roebuck family custom to split up at the coat check at the beginning and meet back there at the end of the evening. As soon as their coats were on racks, Alex’s parents floated away in separate directions to chat, schmooze, and work the room, while Alex usually found a corner chair to plant herself in until she got the signal that it was time to leave.

  Tonight, though, Alex had plans of her own. She wanted to explore the museum to find out anything she could about Henriette and the paintings, and she didn’t want her parents getting in the way. All she had to do was make it to the coat check and she’d be free to roam.

  At the top of the steps, a doorman dressed in a cap and a long, ornate coat with shiny gold buttons and tassels on the shoulders ushered them inside. Alex observed that he didn’t look at her family or other guests as he held the door open for them. Then her dad slipped the doorman a bill, also not making eye contact. A thought suddenly occurred to her: Everyone is invisible to someone. Alex’s mom didn’t really see her, and neither her dad nor the doorman noticed each other at all. She, too, had hidden part of herself from Jin and Alex. There were so many ways that people were invisible to each other.

  After they checked their coats, Alex followed her parents to the fringes of the Great Hall, where they surveyed the festivities.

  “I see Peterson over there. I need to talk to him about the financing on this next deal.” Alex’s father nodded toward the shiny head of a bald man across the room.

  “As you wish, Richard. I suppose I should say hello to Barb Sadler, even though I still can’t believe she didn’t invite me to join the planning committee for the children’s hospital charity drive.” Cassandra frowned.

  Alex’s father gave a vague nod, his mind already focused on his target on the other side of the room. “I’ll see you ladies later,” Richard said, making a beeline for Peterson.

  “You going to be okay, honey?” Alex’s mother asked, primping Alex’s hair once more. “Make sure you eat something.” She gestured in the general direction of the food. “See you back here in a couple of hours.”

  Alex watched her mother glide away. She spent the next hour nibbling on Brie and wondering about the Rembrandt Henriette had defaced with a defiant letter H all those years ago. She could understand the spark of raw emotion that had made her lash out. Even if Henriette had done something unforgivable, that kind of passion was admirable. Henriette believed in something. And that was more than Alex could say for most of the people at the fundraiser. They only believed in their stock portfolios and their perfect glossy images.

  She’d just about given up on anything interesting happening when she noticed her dad standing with a group of people crowded around a table headed by a recognizable face. As she got closer, she could see that on the table sat a model of the Harlem World development.

  “How is it possible that no one has come up with this idea before me, a simple Harlem boy, son of Georgia sharecroppers, trying to make it in the big city?” Councilman Geld Markum asked the group with a booming, jovial laugh. Alex scooted closer to her dad.

  “Consider the possibilities, friends,” Markum continued, launching into what may as well have been a campaign speech. “Harlem World is the entertainment complex of the future. Think about it. Where else could you attend a jazz concert where Billie Holiday and John Coltrane perform on the same stage? In the Ellingtonia Jazz Pavilion, Harlem World visitors will be able to customize and program their own concerts by selecting from our library of holographic images. Same thing with the new Harlem Art Museum. Visitors will be able to paint their own version of masterworks by great African American artists. With your vote to reelect me, you have the opportunity to make this innovative development a reality. Especially you, Rich.” Markum gripped her dad’s shoulder like they were old friends. “I’d love to be able to say that Roebuck Development, Harlem’s premiere development company, is partnering with me on this.”

  Alex held her breath. Would her dad really get involved in a project that would cause people to lose their businesses?

  “We’ll see, Councilman. Let’s just get you reelected first. Have you met my daughter, Alexandra?” Richard smiled sheepishly, turning toward Alex.

  A dark cloud passed over Markum’s face, but he quic
kly began to smile again. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said with a slight bow. “Rich, if I can’t get you to sign on the dotted line, will you at least honor me with a photograph with your lovely daughter?”

  Before she knew it, Markum and her father were standing on either side of her, and a man with a camera was counting three. A light flashed in her face. By the time the dark splotches faded away, Alex’s dad had already vanished to talk to someone else. And the councilman had moved on to a tall, thin woman with a beak nose and impossibly flat hair on the other side of the model. It was Verta Mae Sneed.

  Neither Markum nor Dr. Sneed were looking in her direction. Alex quickly ducked beneath the table so she could listen unseen.

  “You and I both know, Councilman, that this Harlem World project would be an atomic bomb,” Verta Mae Sneed was saying. She sounded angry, very angry. “You would destroy businesses, homes, people’s livelihoods, not to mention make a mockery of a long and beautiful history of Harlem’s arts and culture.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Dr. Sneed. I, too, want to celebrate our history. I believe Harlem World will do just that.”

  “History can’t be preserved by being turned into an amusement park ride.”

  “History dies if it doesn’t get passed on. This is a new day. We’ve got to reach out to the people where they are. The Board of Directors at your beloved Studio Museum are certainly excited about the new possibilities that Harlem World will bring. Open your mind, Dr. Sneed. Move with the tide, or risk being washed away.”

  “I assure you, I will do everything within my power to stop this project,” Verta Mae spat. Alex heard footsteps and lifted the tablecloth just a smidge in time to see the heels of Verta Mae’s shoes as she stormed away. Markum walked off in the opposite direction. So Verta Mae isn’t working with Markum, Alex noted.

  When the coast was clear, she crawled out from underneath the table. She took out her phone to text Jin and Elvin this new tidbit of information, but the screen promptly fizzled to black. Arrgh! Her phone was out of power, and she didn’t have her charger. Now what? Thankfully, it was almost time to meet her parents. She would be home soon and would text her friends then.

  Heading toward the coat check, Alex glimpsed two men huddled in deep conversation on the outskirts of the party near the membership desk. One of them was Councilman Markum. The other man, short and round with a pudgy moon face, also looked familiar. Alex squinted. It was the man Elvin had seen that night at the museum, the same one who had tried to kill all three of them with a wrecking ball. It had already been quite an adventurous evening, but Alex had to find out what they were talking about. She wove her way through the crowd, ducking behind waiters and unsuspecting guests, until she arrived at the desk and slid behind it.

  “Any word on the paintings?” Markum was asking the man. “They are the lynchpin of this entire development. Being able to showcase the missing paintings of a talented, yet conveniently controversial artist like Henriette Drummond will give the development historical legitimacy. As the founder of the Invisible whatevers, she’s a perfect symbol for community activists and artists alike. Displaying her work provides a veneer of authenticity and relevance that the project desperately needs. If those paintings are out there, we’ve got to have them. You won’t let me down on this one, will you, Pugnacio?” Markum sneered at the man.

  “Oh, no, sir,” Pugnacio said in his sniveling, whiny voice.

  “That’s what I want to hear. You deliver the goods, and you will helm Harlem World’s new art museum.”

  “And my father? You’ll find some ceremonial role for him, won’t you?” Pugnacio asked. “He’s had his heart set on running the new museum, but we both know he’s a bit long in the tooth for the day-to-day operation of such an important institution.”

  “Not to worry, my friend. Your father will be taken care of. But you are just the kind of forward-thinking person we need to lead the museum toward entertainment and profit. One who appreciates the value of collaboration,” Markum said, then paused. “Er, there’s just one other small matter. Dr. Sneed is really becoming a thorn in my side. Any way you could, uh, handle that?”

  “Leave her to me,” Pugnacio wheezed.

  “Very well. Good evening, Mr. Green,” Markum said, before Alex heard footsteps hurrying away.

  Pugnacio Green! Alex found a pen on top of the desk and quickly wrote the name on her hand. She peeked out from behind the desk. Pugnacio was headed toward the Egyptian art galleries. Alex followed—she couldn’t give up now, not when things were getting so interesting.

  Pugnacio Green walked briskly through the Egyptian wing and into the room that housed the Temple of Dendur, which, Alex remembered from a class trip, honored the goddess Isis. Alex crouched near the entrance of the room, and peeked inside. Clustered in front of the temple were Pugnacio, Rad’s friend T.J., and a tall, thin, older man with an Afro. The men spoke in hushed tones. From her perch, Alex strained to hear what they were saying.

  “Did you talk to him?” the old man asked. He wrung his hands and paced back and forth in front of the temple.

  “Yeah, Pop. I spoke to him,” Pugnacio snipped.

  Pop? Alex hoped she could remember all this stuff to tell Jin and Elvin.

  “And you told him the deal? That if we deliver the paintings, I get to run the new Harlem World museum?” The older man stopped pacing to look at Pugnacio.

  “Yes, of course,” Pugnacio said quickly.

  “And don’t forget about me,” T.J. piped up. “Markum agreed to give me my own gallery show, right? I just had another idea for an exhibit. What if we invented special markers that made hip-hop beats when you drew with them? That way, people could create their own tag and beats to go with it, kind of like a soundtrack. Dope, right?”

  “Yes, yes, brilliant. I’m sure Markum will be open to that.” Pugnacio waved his hand in front of his face, as if he were swatting a fly.

  So that’s the game, Alex thought to herself. Pugnacio Green was playing both sides, willing to sell out his own father. She leaned against a rack of museum pamphlets while she took a few more notes on her hand. Suddenly, the rack shifted a couple inches beneath her weight, loudly scraping the floor. Surprised by the sudden movement, Alex lost her balance and tumbled. As she scrambled to get up, she felt a pair of arms grab her from behind. “Where you going, nosy girl?”

  Alex struggled as T.J. dragged her into the temple room.

  “You children certainly are tenacious.” Pugnacio tsked. “Makes me quite ill.”

  “Whaddya want me to do with her, boss?” T.J. asked, struggling to hold Alex, who was fighting to get away.

  As Pugnacio looked around the room for a suitable place to restrain her, Alex had an idea. She stopped fighting for a moment and stood still.

  “See, you tired yourself out,” T.J. said. Alex glanced down at T.J.’s high-top sneakers and estimated where his shin might be. She took a deep breath, lifted her leg, and kicked backward as hard as she could. Her pointed kitten heel made direct contact.

  T.J. yelped and let her go. Alex took off running and made it out of the gallery, the three men close behind her. Back in the corridor, she noticed an entrance leading to the next gallery and sprinted toward it.

  “She’s headed for the American Wing!” Alex heard one of the men shout. She glanced over her shoulder. The old man was doubled over, but T.J. and Pugnacio were gaining on her. She picked up speed and wove her way through the American Wing to the Arms and Armor gallery. She ducked behind a statue, which featured a group of knights on horseback, to catch her breath. She could hear T.J. and Pugnacio approaching.

  “Where’d she go?” Pugnacio wheezed at the entrance, just a few feet away. Alex held her breath. Suddenly, she heard someone stomping toward her from the opposite direction. Alex squeezed her eyes shut. Just let me live, just let me live, she sent a prayer out to the universe. When she opened her eyes, she was looking at the freshly shined shoes of a museum security guard.

&n
bsp; “What are you doing here? These galleries are closed,” the guard said sternly.

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “Sorry, I just got lost.”

  “Come with me,” the guard led her out of the gallery. Pugnacio and T.J. were nowhere in sight.

  For once, Alex was happy to see her parents, but they, on the other hand, were mortified to have a security guard deliver their daughter to them.

  “How could you embarrass us like this,” Cassandra whispered through her teeth, as she rushed Alex into her coat, while her dad did a little damage control.

  “Kids will be kids.” Richard shrugged, grinning broadly at the small crowd of couples that had gathered around them. “Good night all,” he said with a wave, and ushered his family out the door to their waiting car. Neither of Alex’s parents asked her how she was, or where she had been.

  Halmoni shook Jin awake early the next morning. “Your friend famous! That strange girl with the crazy hair and shopping cart—I thought she poor, but she famous!” She rattled a newspaper in Jin’s face.

  Bleary-eyed, Jin squinted at the article and bolted upright. Staring back at her from the grainy photograph was an elegant young woman, standing between two smiling men shaking hands. The girl looked nothing like the Alex she knew, with her expensive dress and fashionable hairstyle. It was only the scowl on the girl’s face that gave her away—that was all Alex. Jin couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She read the headline above the photo: “In Bid for Reelection, Councilman Markum Courts Roebuck Development for Harlem World Project.” Then she glanced at the caption: Councilman Markum pictured here with Richard Roebuck, Principal, Roebuck Development, and his daughter, Alexandra Roebuck.

  “Roebuck very big-time. Construct big buildings downtown, and even here in Harlem. You friend must be very, very rich.” Halmoni pointed at the photo over Jin’s shoulder.

  Jin reached for her phone and typed Roebuck Development. She quickly learned that Alex’s dad’s company was one of the top development firms in the country. They even had offices in London, Sydney, and Hong Kong. How could Alex have kept such a secret? Jin felt anger percolating in her toes. Then, like water boiling, her fury grew hotter and more active as it worked its way through her body. She threw the newspaper on the floor.