“That’s right,” Linda co-signed.
“Bridesmaids are the next best thing to getting married, ain’t that right, Linda?”
“You know it is,” Linda agreed wholeheartedly. “The next best thing.”
“So, look here, if you plan on being able to get around without that clipboard broke off in yo—”
“Whoa-oh!” blurted Bob. “I think she’s got it.”
Shelia sucked her teeth and let it go. “I’m just sayin’ we need a little time to be alone with our best friend before we have to share her with a man who might not let her come out and play when we want her to. Is that too much to ask from the next best things? I didn’t think so. Poof, wedding planner be gone, and take Bewildered Bob with you.” Grace laughed at two of the sweetest friends a woman could wish for as they did the best they knew how to engineer some private time. Shelia handed Grace the snapshot taken by the waiter at the restaurant who was working for a larger tip. “Friendship personified,”she said, with a heavy sigh. “Remember this?”
“Of course I do,” Grace cooed lovingly. “I didn’t know you kept it. And don’t worry, both of you will always be my girls. Always.”
Linda slammed the door and locked it after Bob finally agreed to leave, following a terrible tantrum. Shelia primped Grace’s hair while admiring how angelic she looked in the mirror. “You’ve been through a lot, Grace,” Linda said sympathetically,also peering at her reflection. “If anyone could have come out of it on top, it had to be you.”
“Yes, Lawd,” Shelia chimed in. “We bet each other a car note over that vow of celibacy you were so serious about beforemeeting Wallace.”
“And who won?” Grace asked them. “Who bet that I’d hold out all the way?”
“Uh, actually, we both bet that you wouldn’t,” Linda admitted reluctantly. “Shelia gave you sixty days, tops, before you fell on your face, and on some man’s, too, while you were at it.”
“Uh-uh, neither one of you heffas had faith in me,” Grace chuckled. “It was hard, real hard at times.”
“We know, we know. But you made it through unscathed,” Linda assumed incorrectly.
“Not quite, I did fall on my face, but I repented, asked forgiveness, got my head together, and got back on the right track.”
Shelia smirked at her reflection. “So, was Wallace one of the faces you fell on, Sister Grace? Huh, inquiring minds want to know.”
“Sho’ do, real bad.” Linda cocked her head to the side.
“Y ’all know I usually don’t do this, but I’ll tell you. I showed my tail before Wallace and I became an item. A minor hiccup, but that’s it. Since then, I’ve been exclusive and waiting until tonight. I do expect to pull a few muscles though, making up for lost time.”
Someone had to voice what Grace’s closest friends were thinking. Shelia stepped up and laid it on the line. “Grace, honey? I know that Wallace is a real sweetheart and everythingbut ... What if he can’t do what you need him to do, when y’all doing it? And what happens if he’s not real tall?”
“That is a valid question, Grace. It would be wonderful if Wallace could keep up in the bedroom,” Linda stated suggestively.
Grace had considered that, of course. Successful marriagesweren’t all dependent on good sex, but deep inside she prayed for Wallace’s health, width, and length during their journey together. “Ladies, thanks for your concern, but I am hopelessly intrigued, utterly devoted, and positively in love with this man. That’s what’s important. But if by chance there is a glitch in the program, I’ll just have to tutor him day and night until he can catch on and keep up. I’ve spent a lot of time on my knees to get this far. And now that I’m here, I’m looking forward to spending a lot more time down there, with my husband.”
After spending a few days locked in the wedding suite at a remote island resort, Grace was certain that her vow of celibacy, although she’d fallen short, provided an avenue for God to work out things in her life that she couldn’t see comingon the horizon. Once the rhetoric had been put aside, Grace was also certain that Wallace could do more than merely keep up. The blushing bride sent out a stack of postcards,when she came up for air, on the fourth day. The messagesshe addressed to Linda and Shelia were written in code. “Dear ladies, We’re having a great time. The room is very nice. Hallelujah, Wallace is tall, reeal tall. Grace.”
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SLEEP DON’T COME EASY
1
The night before lightning struck, Vera Miles witnessed one thing she never thought possible. When she came up empty after trailing a client’s husband over a week, it appearedout of nowhere like a flash. It had to be the first time in history a black woman became fighting mad because her man was not sneaking around. Most of them, still in the marketfor a good man, would never have considered the thought of dismissing a good man, so Vera knew right off that somethingabout Sylvia Everhart didn’t fit. The hired snoop stood in her client’s plush office, which was excessively decorated with fine furniture and extravagant original artwork, wonderingwhy the woman glared at her with clenched teeth after hearing that her husband Devin had not cheated nor displayed any evidence to suggest he was the philandering type. Even after Devin Everhart babysat a few drinks at an upscale, happy hour mix-and-mingle joint, he kept to himself,despite several women offering a menu of after-hours innuendo they assumed he was there to get.
For seven days, Vera followed Devin from his office building to a residential hotel a few blocks away, where he rented a room on the first floor. During that week, he ordered fast food and stepped out for quick bites, then returned to his single room with double beds, but always alone. Having been a private investigator for more than three years, Vera found it easy to make rational assumptions when shadowing a person for any length of time. She rarely had to guess whether there was a weakness for gambling, a predilection for sexual deviance or struggles with the bottle, because habits, especially bad ones, always had a way of showing themselves, like a stubborn pimple dabbled over with severallayers of makeup. Before too long, it was bound to rear its ugly head.
During the previous week, Vera grew to appreciate the kind of man Mrs. Everhart’s husband was, probably more than she’d care to admit. Not only was he nice to look at, he had proven to be a conscientious worker who believed in being on time for the nine-to-five grind and back on the clock after lunch at exactly an hour on the dot, with no deviations.Most women would have been smart enough to admire his dependable and responsible work ethic. While contemplatingthe drastic measures other women would have gone through to snag a quality mate like Devin, Vera found herselfstaring at a family of college degrees on her client’s wall. Coincidentally, she tried to figure out how a woman with so much book sense suffered miserably when it came down to the good old-fashioned common sense necessary to cherish a fine man like hers.
Maybe Vera had tipped her hand by allowing myriad unprofessionalthoughts to slow dance around that notion in her head too long. Perhaps Mrs. Everhart read those thoughts clearly enough to recognize Vera’s lustful deliberations with her husband in mind. Whichever the case, Mrs. Everhart was mad as hell and didn’t have any qualms about letting Vera know it when she finally switched her gaze from the client’s accomplishments to the client’s strained expression. That was the first time the private eye noticed how the woman’s head seemed too big for her frail body. It had a lot to do with her outdated Mary-Tyler-Moore-flipped-up hairdo nesting above her shoulders and the fact that Sylvia Everhart was swelling with a rising tide of contempt. Seeing as how being hit with contemptible behavior from clients typically came with the territory, Vera shrugged off Mrs. Everhart’s evil eye like water down a duck’s back. After all, her client wasn’t necessarily a bad person despit
e her soured disposition. Actually,under other circumstances, she might have even been tolerable. The woman’s complexion was a shade lighter than Vera’s, more of a toffee-brown hue. However, her spindly legs and slight build packaged into a perfect size four was enough to make Vera dislike her from the beginning. In fact, Vera considered all skinny women to be evil until proven otherwise. So far, not a single one of them had been given the benefit of the doubt. Not one.
After another long bout of silence, which was attached to that lingering glare Mrs. Everhart had propped up with a healthy dose of attitude, she decided to work her strategy from another angle. “I see,” she said, looking Vera over as if she wasn’t close to being satisfied with her abilities as a PI and just as displeased with the snug fit of the navy colored corduroy slacks hugging her curvy hips. Vera, whose figure floated between sizes ten and twelve depending on the cut, was partly to blame. At the time, she was an everyday twelve, hoping to get by with half a wardrobe that should have been given up, let out, or traded in. And Vera should have given it a great deal more thought before leaving the house with that particular pair of dress slacks wrangled over all her womanly goodness. True, it was an error in judgment to think that no one would have noticed, but that was beside the point. Mrs. Everhart’s disapproving sneer overshadowed Vera’s first mistake of the day. She’d graded Vera with her narrowed, condescending eyes, which pushed Vera farther away from observing professional courtesy and much closer to opening her mouth with something she had been dying to say.
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Everhart continued, after a pinch of silenceskirted by, “perhaps you didn’t adequately apply yourselfon my behalf, Ms. Miles.”
“Vera,” the PI whispered uncomfortably, after having been chastised.
“Excuse me?”
“I said Vera. Call me Vera.”
“Like I was saying, Ms. Miles, I’ve paid you good money and I expect good results.” That inflated head of hers begun to bobble slightly from side to side as she pressed hard with an ink pen against her checkbook. “Why don’t I sweeten the pot? Some people need more inspiration than others to try harder.” Mrs. Sylvia Everhart reached out her hand, accessorizedwith a host of diamond trinkets. “Here is a check for two thousand dollars. Perhaps doubling your weekly fee will entice you to get out there and bring me something I can use,” she spat irritably.
A prideful disposition kept Vera from taking the check which dangled from the tips of the rich woman’s skinny fingerslike a doggie treat offered from a doting master. The only thing missing was the customary pat on the head that generally followed such an gift. Pride that Vera’s grandparentsinstilled during her upbringing wouldn’t allow her to bow and shuffle. It made her feel like a pooch presented with scraps from the eccentric woman’s table, one with far more money than couth. That’s when Vera sized her up for another reason. She figured Sylvia to be about five-five, a few inches shorter than herself, and guessed that she was at least thirty pounds lighter. Before Vera realized it, she’d imagined how silly Mrs. Everhart would look face down on the mean streets of Dallas after tossing insults then immediately being introduced to the concrete on the heels of it. But, they weren’t on the mean streets and there was no real reason for Vera to get all worked up behind some stuck-up rich chick, black woman or not. Besides, no one would have known about the stack of situational ethics Vera kept tucked deep down in the bottom corner of her purse had she taken the money, added two-thousand digits to her bank register, and then sat at home on her butt watching Tru TV for a week. There were a number of ways to get even with the stick figureof a woman whom she couldn’t stand but violence was the first one that came to mind. No one would have been the wiser, except Vera and that stubborn pride of hers. The same pride that made her strong some times played her like a fool. This was one of those foolish times.
“On second thought, Mrs. Everhart,” Vera said, declining the money, “why don’t you keep that money to buy yourself a clue? And if you happened to smarten up, you’d use it on a gang of marriage counselors to help you keep that good man of yours. I’ve had the pleasure of watching him for a solid week and he was a model husband, even when presented with some pretty nice can’t-miss opportunities, if you know what I mean. Now here’s something else you probably didn’t know. Most men are generally as honest as their options but not Devin—he appeared to be a man who was missing his wife and wishing he was home.” Sylvia put Vera in the mind of a toy poodle when she marched her child-like frame towardher in an angered rant.
“That shows just how little you do know, Ms. Miles. Mr. Everhart left home on his own accord, so I know he’s out there running behind some tramp willing to degrade herself by doing the things men fascinate themselves with. I’m not into greasing his ego or anything else for that matter. I don’t have to and I won’t.”
Vera couldn’t believe her ears or her reaction. “Well, maybe you should have. Then your man might’ve stayed home.” Those eleven little dirty words just slipped right out of her mouth before she could tell them to go sit down and mind their own business.
“How dare you!” Mrs. Everhart yelled, from somewhere above the top of her lungs. “Get out!”
Vera swore that all three of the wall mirrors in that office were going to shatter against the woman’s loud screeching pitch. Laughing in her client’s face behind a teenaged-style tantrum was Vera’s next thought commingled with one that served the situation a tad bit better, so she went with the latter.“OK, I’ll leave, but not before I tell you what I think the problem with you really is. Uh-huh, it seems to me that you were hoping your breakup was brought on by what some other woman was doing, but then you looked at me like I had on two different colored shoes when I showed up and informedyou that Devin had not taken up with anyone else. That’s disturbing, because it forces you to look at yourself and open to other folks’ questions as to why your man ran off. I might be wrong but I doubt it. The way I see it, Sylvia, this is a big mess you’ve gotten yourself into and there isn’t anyone else around to blame it on.”
Suddenly, Mrs. Everhart’s top lip began to quiver. She was so mad that Vera nearly giggled at the mere thought of that swollen head of Sylvia’s popping off at the neck.
“Are ... you ... finished now or should I call the police to have you removed from my building?” Sylvia threatened.
“Yeah, I’m through but don’t think about stopping paymenton the check for the work I’ve already put in, or I’ll be back and not as pleasant as I’ve been today.”
Vera was well aware that people didn’t like paying for bad news, unless it was wrapped around some want ads and grocerystore coupons, so she raced to the nearest Wells Fargo branch to tender the check that was burning a hole in her pocket. She might have played a fool for the occasion, but she’d never once been mistaken for stupid.
It was just Vera’s luck that the windows at the in-store branch were closed, so she cussed the bank’s employees under her breath for closing down on time as she headed up the aisles to shop for a few female necessities. Getting over her last client’s upsetting idea of what a marriage was supposedto be still troubled Vera, so she cussed Sylvia Everhart’ssilly ideologies altogether. Several shoppers threw strange glances her way and each of them was extremely close to getting cussed out too. That’s what usually happened when CRUMBS (Clients, Reasonably Upset and Meaning to Bust Somebody) didn’t get what they wanted via Vera’s investigationservices. They’d smart off to her face and she’d cuss them out later, behind their backs.
That night, Vera applied all five of her bedtime beauty secretsthen slid beneath the covers to rest her troubled mind. She closed her eyes, repeating her personal PI Anthem while trying to feel good about the money she had made, until the sandman climbed into bed right along with her. Once the case is closed and the money is made, don’t matter win or lose. Some bills have been paid.
MS. ETTA’S FAST HOUSE
1
Penny Worth o’ Blues
Three months deep into 1947, a
disturbing calm rolled over St. Louis, Missouri. It was unimaginable to foresee the hope and heartache that one enigmatic season saw fit to unleash, mere inches from winter’s edge. One unforgettable story changed the city for ever. This is that story.
Watkins Emporium was the only black-owned dry goods store for seven square blocks and the pride of “The Ville,” the city’s famous black neighborhood. Talbot Watkins had opened it when the local Woolworth’s fired him five years earlier. He allowed black customers to try on hats before purchasing them, which was in direct opposition to store policy. The department store manager had warned him severaltimes before that apparel wasn’t fit for sale after having been worn by Negroes. Subsequently, Mr. Watkins used his life savings to start a successful business of his own with his daughter, Chozelle, a hot-natured twenty-year-old who had a propensity for older fast-talking men with even faster hands. Chozelle’s scandalous ways became undeniably apparent to her father the third time he’d caught a man running from the backdoor of his storeroom, half-dressed and hell-bent on eluding his wrath. Mr. Watkins clapped an iron padlock on the rear door after realizing he’d have to protect his daughter’svirtue, whether she liked it or not. It was a hard pill to swallow, admitting to himself that canned meat wasn’t the only thing getting dusted and polished in that backroom. However, his relationship with Chozelle was just about perfect,compared to that of his meanest customer.
“Penny! Git your bony tail away from that there dress!” Halstead King grunted from the checkout counter. “I done told you once, you’re too damned simple for something that fine.” When Halstead’s lanky daughter snatched her hand away from the red satin cocktail gown displayed in the front window as if a rabid dog had snapped at it, he went right on back to running his mouth and running his eyes up and down Chozelle’s full hips and ample everything else. Halstead stuffed the hem of his shirttail into his tattered work pants and then shoved his stubby thumbs beneath the tight suspendersholding them up. After licking his lips and twisting the ends of his thick gray handlebar mustache, he slid a five dollar bill across the wooden countertop, eyeing Chozelle suggestively. “Now, like I was saying, How ’bout I come by later on when your daddy’s away and help you arrange thangs in the storeroom?” His plump belly spread between the worn leather suspender straps like one of the heavy grain sacks he’d loaded on the back of his pickup truck just minutesbefore.
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