Then there was the Band Box Club, just off the Avenue on 131st. A man could go there and hear the purest jazz he could hope for. And what about the Tree of Hope? Folks said it had magic. Entertainers hoping for a break would rub it. On a good night, a man could see any number of stars under it: jazz singer Ethel Waters, Fletcher Henderson, and Eubie Blake. Across the street was Connie’s Inn. Bill “Bojangles” Robinson and Earl “Snakehips” Tucker entertained hundreds of guests on Connie’s raised dance floor nightly. Below Connie’s was the Barbecue, the best rib joint in Harlem.
David took a deep breath. There was talk everywhere about Harlem enjoying a heyday, and if he could believe his eyes, that was certainly the case. But what no one wanted to talk about was the poverty lurking behind the glitz.
“I’m glad to be here,” she said suddenly, “but Harlem ain’t an easy place to live. Ever since I been up here, I been hearing talk about the ‘New Negro,’ but what does it mean? I feel the same and I don’t see where nothings changed. There’s a lot of white folks stepping up here to go clubbing. But what do we get out of it? A few jobs and nothing more. The places they go, we cain’t go. There’s a lucky few—some colored writers and painters and singers I hear tell about. But there’s always a lucky few that breaks through, whose star gets to shine a li’l brighter. But what about the rest of us—the reg’lar folk? When’ll it be our turn?”
He smiled at her. “What would you do if you had the chance?”
“I’d paint,” she said. “Every now and then, I’d paint.” She laughed. “But them’s all dreams. My pappy, he said dreams is like water: Too li’l of them and you dry up. Too much of them and you drown.” She shook her head and looked up at him. “Don’t get me dreaming. I can’t afford to do that.” She looked down at her work-worn hands and sighed. “No, I can’t afford to do that.”
28. For Richer, for Poorer …
David married Rachel two days later in a City Hall ceremony, then took her to the Bamboo Inn for a small celebratory dinner. When he brought her home, there was no party, great or small. Rachel would have preferred one, but she acceded to his wishes for privacy and quiet.
“I want to be with you alone,” he said.
“Perhaps we can have a party later. Introduce me to society?” she asked.
He hesitated, then agreed. He carried her across the threshold of the front door, then eased her down. She slid to her feet as agile as a kitten. She stood for a moment, just looking around, then piled her coat and purse on Annie’s waiting arms. David caught the disapproval in Annie’s eyes and made a mental note to talk to Rachel. Now, however, was not the time.
He followed his new wife as she walked through the parlor, touching things here and there.
“So beautiful,” she whispered. “These are all ours … for as long as we both shall live.”
Turning to him with an adoring smile, she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a deep, lingering kiss. He groaned. Loving Rachel was addictive. Bending, he grabbed her up and carried her up the stairs to his room. Once in bed, she opened his shirt and covered his bare chest with hard kisses. She ran her fingertips lightly over his body, playing it as though it were a familiar instrument, as though she had loved him every night in her dreams. Then their clothes were gone and the world fell away and he was lost, lost in tidal wave of need that for a time suspended all the fear and doubt and self-recrimination that plagued him.
“It’s hard to believe that I’m finally here … with you,” she whispered afterward.
He kissed her naked shoulder and gathered her in his arms. “Are you happy?”
“Very.” She gazed into his eyes. “And you?”
“Quite.”
“You’re so quiet.”
He smiled. “That’s because I’m sated with love.”
She slapped him playfully on the cheek. “You and your fancy talk. Don’t make fun of me.”
“Never,” he laughed out loud, and hugged her.
It felt good to be here, with her, to be able to forget, at least for a while, the nagging fear that someone would learn his secret. And yes, it also felt good to not think about Lilian.
Rachel sighed happily and gazed around the room. “It’s a bit dark in here. Lilian’s room’s brighter. And bigger.” She inclined her head. “You ever think about moving in there?”
“No. And if I ever had thought about it ... well, I wouldn’t want to do it now.”
She nodded. “I know. I can understand that.” She was quiet for a minute and then: “But the room ... it’s just too nice to go to waste.”
He half-raised up. “Rachel, I’m not moving in there. That’s where my sister died. Eventually we’ll do something with the room—it will not ‘go to waste’—but we are not, I repeat not, moving into it.”
“Shhh. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just asking, that’s all.”
He eased back down. “It’s just difficult, you know? Just difficult.”
She leaned down and kissed him. “Know what I’m thinking about?”
“I have no idea, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“I was remembering these boys at school when I was eight.”
“Not even one day married and you’re already thinking about other men?”
“Hush. These boys—I wish they could see me now. They told me I was dog dirt. Got me in a corner one day and tried to do nasty things to me. Then they yanked my hair and made fun of my clothes. And there was this rhyme they kept singing over and over.
Cat on the scene, cat on the scene.
Yella sits pretty in a black limousine.
Brown sits humble in a Model-A Ford.
They going somewhere. Oh yes, my Lord.
Monkey on my back, monkey on my back.
Black gals climb on a donkey’s back.
They never getting nowhere, eating out a sack.
They never getting nowhere, just ugly and fat.
“It was the first time I realized that my own people can cut deeper than any ofay.” She paused. “I never expected nothing from whites no-how. I trusted my own people. But they was the very ones who tried to knock me down.
“I remember looking for a room to rent. So many times a Negro landlady took one look at me and slammed the door in my face. And then, when I was trying to find a nurse’s job, one supervisor said to me: ‘Children is afraid of dark skin. We can’t afford that.’ Can you imagine?”
He stroked her back. “Rachel, a lot’s been done to our people to make us hate ourselves. Sometimes we colored folk ... we’re our own worst enemy.”
She snuggled up closer to him. “Well, I’m protected from all them evil people now. I got you.”
He sighed, thinking of the danger his past represented. It was time he told her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she hushed him with her fingertips.
“I don’t want to talk no more. Not right now. I don’t want no more looking back.”
They snuggled deeply under the blankets together. She began to dream aloud of the parties she’d give. She named the names, like the Nails up the street, of the people she intended to invite.
“We’ll have luncheons, bridge parties, and formal, white-tie dances. And we need a new car. And a boat. And didn’t Augustus buy a summer house in Martha’s Vineyard?”
He listened with half an ear, his thoughts elsewhere. “Sweet’s due back in about a week.”
She looked up at him, realizing that he hadn’t been paying attention. She didn’t seem to be annoyed, though. Getting Sweet out of the house was a real concern. She understood that.
“I’m sure he’ll want to move out,” she said. “Now that you’ve decided to stay, he won’t feel comfortable.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“I’m sure you can handle it.” She gave him a kiss on his chin. Then, apparently full of confidence in her beloved husband, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
But he lay awake, worrying.
I should’ve told her. And I sh
ould’ve done it before we got married. When she could’ve made a choice, when she was still free to—
C’mon, an inner voice said, she would’ve married you no matter what and you know it.
Yeah, but—
And she still wouldn’t have wanted to run away. She’s a fighter. Be glad you’ve got her in your corner. No, my friend. She’s not your problem. You’re the problem.
David rubbed his eyes. He’d arranged by telephone with his secretary in Philadelphia to shut down his office there. He would also give her a list of colleagues who would be willing to take over his cases. His life in the City of Brotherly Love was over. Now he had to deal with the question of just what kind of work he could do here.
The same kind you did in Philadelphia. Defend the indigent. Just under your own name, as yourself.
Only to have it all destroyed by, how did Nella put it? The right word in the wrong ears? How much time would he have to build up anything anyway? He would’ve liked to rejoin the Movement, but how could he? With his past hanging over him and with Sweet in the Movement?
Speaking of...
Was he really going to let Sweet get away with his part in Lilian’s death?
He sighed. Be patient, that inner voice said. Sometimes it takes years to gather proof and evidence and put them together in a way that means a conviction.
And what about Rachel? he wondered. He’d promised to drop the inquiry.
That little voice laughed mirthlessly. Are you kidding?
29. The Lizard Lounge
Over breakfast the next morning, he watched Annie and Rachel avoid one another, circle one another like cats in an arena. It was subtle, but it was there. Rachel would tell him what she wanted, and it was up to him to tell Annie. Meanwhile, Annie acted as though Rachel didn’t exist.
He took a deep breath. Annie wasn’t happy about his decision—stated decision—to drop his inquiry into Lilian’s death, and though he hadn’t mentioned Rachel’s part in it, Annie seemed to sense the connection.
He watched her move about. She was indeed much slower than she used to be.
She looks exhausted, he thought. But after more than half a century of cooking and cleaning for others, she has every right to he.
Since reading Lilian’s manuscript, he’d watched Annie and listened to the words behind her words. He knew little of her life before she’d joined his family—to him it seemed that she’d always been there—but he did remember a story she’d once told him about her childhood. He was twelve and angry that Augustus had made him stay home to do extra homework. Annie had brought milk and cookies to his room. There, she’d sat down with him.
“Want to hear about my tenth birthday?” she said. “I’ll never forget it. I was so excited. I’d been dreaming of this doll I’d seen in a store window. She had this long blond curly hair and a pretty dress. I’d never seen nothing like her. I didn’t know how much she cost, but I do r’member thinking: Mama’s gonna get me that doll. I just know she will.
“Well, the day of my birthd’y come and I bounced outta bed real early. And there was Mama, and Uncle Clement. And sure ‘nough, they had a big box, wrapped up all pretty. Jumbo size. I couldn’t believe it. And then I opened it.”
Annie sighed. “You won’t believe this—I didn’t at first. It was a bucket. A bright, shiny, spanking new washerwoman’s bucket. And while I was trying to get over that, Mama went and fetched my second birthd’y present. Guess what it was. A mop. That’s right. A mop.
“I was ten years old and my Mama was giving me a mop and a bucket for birthd’y presents. That hurt. That cut deep. Up till then I’d always gotten a toy, even if it was just a rag doll. And I woulda been happy with another rag doll. Mama knew she didn’t have to gimme that ‘spensive doll, but why’d she have to go and gimme a mop and a bucket?
“Well, I took one look at her face and I knew. It was the end of my childhood. Mama said I’d been playing long ‘nough. I cried. Told her she was being mean. Said she wasn’t being kind to me. I’ll never forget her answer. Not as long as I live.
‘“I am being kind, honey,’ she said. I’s being as kind as a mama can be. I’m giving you the most important thing I got to give: a way to survive. I’m gonna teach you how to fend for yourself. Gonna make sure you learn. And I’m gonna start right now.’
“And you know what?” Annie smiled. “My mama was right. If she hadna taught me how to cook and clean, I wouldna found this here place with you and your sisters. Mama was being kind, as kind as she knew how. And I learned, from that day on, to always appreciate kindness—no matter what form it takes.”
Kindness. Would she say that kindness was what Lilian’s manuscript was all about?
He remembered the cautionary ending to Annie’s tale: “Sometimes, you gotta be a little cruel to be kind. And sometimes, what people claim for kindness ain’t nothing but cruelty.”
He looked at Rachel across the table and recalled what Lilian said in denying her help: I am doing you a favor. And then he reflected on his own decision to marry Rachel although he wasn’t in love with her.
Was he guilty of a milder form of cruelty masquerading as kindness?
As Annie pottered about, stacking the used dishes on a tray, Rachel’s eyes followed her. The moment Annie left, Rachel asked:
“You ever think about letting her rest?”
“You mean, retire her? Not really, why?” Of course, he had. Why was he lying about it? Because he felt guilty. That’s why. And protective of Annie.
She shrugged. “I just don’t think it’s right to make such an old lady work so hard, carrying groceries and wash baskets and such. She’s done her share for your family.”
“That she has. But she’d be miserable if she wasn’t working.” He took a sip from his coffee, then set the cup down. “You don’t like Annie, do you?”
She looked surprised. “What gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a—” He shrugged. “A feeling.”
“Well, it’s all in your mind. Oh, I had my run-ins with her in the past, but that was then. I was young and silly. Annie’s a member of the family. And she’s a great help, but I do think you take advantage of her.”
“All right then, I’ll talk to her about it. See what she wants to do.”
It was something to say. He knew full well what Annie wanted, but he wasn’t about to tell Rachel. He didn’t know much about women, but he knew a territorial cat-fight when he saw one. And if he got caught up in it, it would be his blood that was on the floor.
He looked at his new wife across the breakfast table and smiled. For her, the world could hardly be more perfect, but he still had certain steps to take in order to rebuild his life. Marrying Rachel had been one step; regaining control of the house would be another.
Reestablishing contact with Gem would be a third.
Rachel did not greet this news warmly. Her clear eyes darted over his face. “But why would you do that? Why contact Gem all of a sudden?”
“Because she’s the only family I have.”
“But you’ve never liked her.”
“Well, it’s time I learned. She’s the only sister I’ve got left.”
Rachel appeared stupefied. Her reaction to his decision to find Gem surprised him, but he thought he understood it. She had never liked Gem, and all brides tend to be on guard against in-laws. Well, once Rachel saw that Gem would not be a threat, she would calm down.
She would have to.
The idea to find Gem had seized him with incredible power. He would find her, even if it meant sailing to Paris. The time and money would be worth it. He would not try to convince her to return. Just seeing her would be reassuring.
Reassuring?
Finally, he was prepared to admit it, that he was worried about Gem—indeed, had been for some time—but he’d been so fixed on Lilian he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.
It began with those postcards.
Yes. They disturbed him. And Snyder’s words and
Nella’s admission that she couldn’t reach Gem in Paris, they troubled him, too.
The old fearful questions tumbled out, one after another. Why did Gem demand that public breakup with Snyder? Why didn’t she respond to Nella’s calls? Gem was flighty and free-spirited, but she’d always make time for a rich friend, especially one as generous as Nella. Why hadn’t Gem responded to word of Lilian’s death?
The answer was there, but he turned away from it. No, he didn’t want to think that something had happened to Gem, too.
That afternoon, David paid a visit to Birdie’s grocery store and went downstairs. “Jolene, you got an idea where I could find Shug Ryan?”
Jolene leaned across the bar. “Try the Lizard Lounge, up on 140th. Shug likes to shoot pool when he’s in town.”
Stella came up and caught what Jolene was saying. “The Lizard Lounge? Don’t send him up there. Them some nasty jigs.”
Jolene shrugged. “It’s his life, Mama.” To David, he said, “A broad named Bentley runs the place. Tell her I sent you. And tell her quick, b’fore one of them saps gets itchy.”
It would’ve been generous to call the Lizard Lounge a “hole in the wall.” David only found the place because he trudged up and down the east and west sides of 140th Street, from one side of Harlem to the next, checking out each door along the way. The place had no sign to mark it and that in itself told him what to expect inside.
The Lizard Lounge apparently consisted of a long, narrow room with no windows and one door. Through the haze of smoke and the murky light, David could barely see, but he could feel several pairs of eyes on him. Why would a sax player be hanging out in a dive like this? Usually, musicians went to places that catered to entertainers. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he made out the six pool tables, with green baize lampshades dangling over them.
Harlem Redux Page 27