When You Dance With The Devil

by Gwynne Forster

  “I’m not going to cry,” she told herself. “Maybe I won’t have anything else to do with men.” She washed her face, put on her pajamas, went to the window and gazed out at the quiet, deserted night. “It must be my fault. All these women I see with men couldn’t be crazy. But what am I doing wrong?” Dispirited, she closed the curtain and, in doing so, banished the night and let her own gloom envelope her. Needing comfort, she reached for her book, but put it aside. Nothing the men in those books did matched what Harper did to her and how he made her feel. For the first time in months, she didn’t take one of her books to bed.

  The following morning, Monday, she arrived at the bus stop early, counted out the exact fare and boarded as soon as the bus arrived. She dropped two dollars and fifty cents into the slot and headed toward the back of the bus before she realized that Harper wasn’t sitting in the driver’s seat. Maybe he’d asked for another route. A twinge of pain settled in the region of her heart when she recalled his lecture prior to his parting words: “Be seeing you.”

  He didn’t have to quit his route just to get away from me. If he doesn’t want me, I sure don’t want him. Why hadn’t she told him that instead of running away, ashamed?

  Fear streaked through her when her boss met her at the door, for she was certain that he intended to fire her or at least give her a tongue lashing, although she couldn’t imagine what for.

  “I’m putting fifty dollars more in your pay envelope every week, Jolene. You’re doing okay.”

  She was stunned, for he hadn’t complimented her on her work or even suggested that he was satisfied, and her weak expression of appreciation caused him to gape. “If you don’t need the raise, I can put the money in the bank for my kid. Ask any of these operators whether I ever volunteered to give them a raise.”

  “Oh, no, sir. I’m so surprised, I didn’t know what to say. I’m grateful for it. I sure am.”

  His expression had the air of a man who appreciated himself. “That’s better.”

  “Can you help me for an hour after work today?” Vida asked Jolene while they sat in the back of the shop eating their lunch. “I swear I’ll be home at five-thirty sharp. I’m sorry about last time.”

  Harper probably wouldn’t be driving the six o’clock bus, and even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. She had nothing planned. “All right, but if you’re not there at five-thirty, I’m leaving.”

  Vida’s stare had a hint of hostility, but Jolene didn’t back down. She wanted Vida for a friend, but she didn’t want Fannie to make her leave the boardinghouse. “Last time, I didn’t get home till nine o’clock, and I had to listen to my landlady dress me down for missing supper. The cost of supper’s included in my rent, but I had to buy another supper ’cause you came home later than you said.”

  “I’ll be there on time, Jolene. Just please help me out this afternoon.”

  “All right. But I’m leaving there at five-thirty.”

  She enjoyed Vida’s twins and looked forward to being with them, but she sensed that it would be unwise to let Vida know it. At five twenty-five, she had an attack of anxiety. If she didn’t get to supper on time, she’d have an argument with Fannie and probably have to leave the most peaceful life she had ever known. But did she dare leave the twins alone? The two little brown faces looked up to her with brilliant smiles and sparkling eyes waiting for her to read more of Puss ‘n Boots.

  “I can’t do it,” she said to herself. “I’d die if anything happened to them. From now on, Vida can pay her sitter to stay here until she comes home from wherever she goes after work. She doesn’t bring packages home, so she isn’t shopping, as she said she was.”

  At ten minutes to six, she telephoned Fannie and asked her to have Marilyn save her some supper. “I can’t help it,” she said. “If you’re up when I get there, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  To her surprise, Fannie agreed. “We don’t usually do that, but you seem distressed, so I’ll put something away for you.”

  “Sorry,” Vida said when she rushed in.

  Angry beyond words, Jolene walked past her without speaking. Her mood hadn’t changed when she boarded the bus for her trip home, and not until the driver said, “What put that scowl on you face, sistah?” did she look at him. The voice did not belong to Harper Masterson.

  “I think you drove me to Salisbury this morning,” she said.

  “I did indeed.”

  Did that mean Harper didn’t work that day? It wasn’t his day off, she mused. “Where’s the man who usually drives this route?”

  He closed the door and headed for Pike Hill. “You mean Harper? He got in an accident last night on one of those back roads between Ocean Pines and Pike Hill. Got banged up pretty bad. I expect he’ll be out for a good while.” She wouldn’t have been more stunned if he’d shot her. She opened her mouth to say she was sorry, but no words came.

  The driver glanced up at her. “Was he your old man?”

  She didn’t dare tell the truth. “N . . . no. But we talked a lot. I’m . . . uh . . . If you go to see him, tell him I’m sorry.” And she was. About everything. She trudged to the back of the bus and sat down. She hadn’t caused Harper’s accident, but guilt pervaded her. She had the presence of mind to tell the driver good night when she got off the bus. As she turned off Bay Avenue into Ocean Road, looking neither right nor left, she grabbed her chest. “Oh!” she exclaimed, before remembering that the ghostly figure before her could only be her own shadow. She walked faster, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, until she reached the boardinghouse. Once on the porch, she leaned against the house to catch her breath.

  Almost immediately, Fannie opened the door. “Come on in. You seem washed out. I hope you don’t mind eating your supper in the kitchen. I don’t want the others to see you and think I make exceptions.”

  She wondered what Fannie’s moment of largess would cost her, but she was so glad for it that she smiled her appreciation and told herself not to be cynical. “The kitchen’s fine. Thanks.”

  Jolene followed Fannie into Marilyn’s pristine sanctuary, a kitchen furnished with polished stainless steel shelving, refrigerator, freezer, sinks and stoves, hanging copper cookware, all set off with brick walls and floor. She’d never seen such a kitchen.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “Cost me a fortune, but it’s worth it. If Marilyn can’t have the best working conditions, she won’t stay. Let’s sit over here at this little table,” Fannie said, bringing a tray of food for Jolene and a cup of coffee for herself. “What happened to you?”

  She told Fannie about her relationship with Vida and added, “My mother never let me have friends. Never. I was always alone, and I still don’t have any friends. Vida’s the only one at the shop who talked to me. I wanted her to be my friend, but she upset me today. I told her I wouldn’t get my supper if I missed the six o’clock bus, and she walked in the house five minutes before six. If I had left those little children alone in that apartment, I could have been jailed for it, and she knew it. It’s the third time she’s let me down, promising to be home by five-thirty and not getting there till it’s almost six o’clock.”

  Jolene stroked the back of her neck, trying to rub away the tension. She thought for a second. “Each time Vida asked me to baby-sit, she said she had to buy something for the children, but each time she came home without a shopping bag. Empty-handed. She’s not shopping. So, what is she doing? Why does she need me to baby-sit every day all of a sudden?”

  Fannie sipped coffee and tapped the table with the fingers of her left hand. “She’s using you. You want her for a friend, and she knows it, so she’s taking advantage of you. The woman’s not shopping; she’s probably seeing a man. You should put a stop to this right now. She isn’t behaving as a true friend, and you shouldn’t accept that kind of behavior from anybody.”

  “I just wanted to help her.”

  “No. You wanted a friend, and you did things for her that you thought would make her like you. Yo
u convinced yourself that she needed you. She doesn’t. Jolene, look straight at me. The richest person in the world can’t buy friendship or love. You can buy people’s company, but when the money’s gone, the people go with it.”

  “But I—”

  “What does she offer you other than a chance to play with her children? You don’t need playmates.”

  “I thought . . . I don’t know. I guess I’m not good at making friends with women or men.”

  Jolene lowered her gaze to avoid seeing the pity in Fannie’s eyes. “Honey, your mother was an unhappy woman who hated men and distrusted women, and she really did a job on you. Stop letting her attitudes weigh you down, girl.”

  Fannie was right in that Emma Tilman was a bitter, hate-filled woman, but she had never associated herself with it, hadn’t realized that she had assimilated her mama’s attitudes.

  Burdened by Fannie’s admonishments, Jolene stood to end the conversation. “Yes ma’am. Thanks for saving my supper.”

  “Are you going to baby-sit for that woman tomorrow?”

  “No, indeed. She can find somebody else. Not me.”

  Jolene tried to force herself to tell Fannie good night and go to her room, but her conscience flailed her, and she stood rooted to the spot. How do you think Harper felt when he realized you used him? Is that why he had the accident? And what about Gregory? Did you treat him right? In her mind, she denied both, but she didn’t believe in her innocence.

  She looked steadily at Fannie. “If a man asks you for a date, does that mean he cares for you?”

  Fannie’s lower lip dropped. “It means you interest him. Whether he learns to care for you depends on a lot of things including how you act, what you say and how you say it, what kind of person you are. He doesn’t fall head over heels for you just because you smile at him, wear a size thirty-eight D bra and swing your behind when you walk.”

  Jolene trudged up the stairs to her room, perplexed and confused. How different was she from other women? If I had a real friend, somebody my age, we could talk. She turned on the faucet, tested the water and stepped under the shower. “I want some friends,” she said aloud, “but not badly enough to let people walk over me. From now on, I’m gonna be careful.”

  While Jolene was gaining a better understanding of herself, Richard had begun to think about Francine more often than he deemed wise. “Would you join me for a swim?” he asked her one Saturday morning in mid-September as they left the dining room after breakfast. “I doubt we’ll have many more opportunities this summer.”

  Her hesitation was an unexpected chill, and he fought to shrug it off. He wasn’t accustomed to having a woman turn him down for any reason. A smile began to form on his face and, intent upon enticing her, he reached toward her but immediately withdrew his hand. He had to resist the Richard who charmed his way through life, and he didn’t want to be that man ever again. He intended to make his way honestly and to deal with a straight deck no matter who the person or what the circumstances, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy; a frog is used to croaking, and when night comes, that is what the frog does.

  Her smile surprised him, and he was glad he hadn’t shown her that womanizing part of him that he considered his worst side. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll be right with you. Meet you at the door,” she said.

  Richard leaned against the wall, gazing up at the stairs and, although he knew she was attractive, he hadn’t associated her with the blatant sexiness that her bathing suit and its fishnet coverall revealed. He was about to ask her why she wore that plastic pouch at her hip, its strap crossing her shoulder like a woman’s shoulder bag, but thought better of it. She could be one of those people who always carried identification, though somehow he didn’t believe it. He could get both of his fists into that pouch with room to spare.

  He had always loved the feel of sand between his toes, but not on that hot morning. “Want to go in?” he asked her, peeved that she seemed preoccupied with three men who stood together several yards from the water’s edge. The smile that she flashed reminded him of his own shallow charm and the ease with which he had meted it out.

  “In a minute,” she said. “This is so new to me.”

  He stared at her. Her behavior seemed to him out of character, and it perplexed him as to why. Nevertheless, he didn’t push her, but repaid her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes or touch his lips.

  His fingers dug into his hips. “Three beats one anytime.”

  But her attention was on the three men. She would have an explanation for it, but he wasn’t sure he cared to hear it. He had come to the beach for a swim so, without another word, he headed for the water.

  Just my luck, Francine said to herself. Right down to the pit of my gut, I know he’s the one, but what could I do with Richard Peterson standing three feet from me? From the corner of her eye, she saw Richard dive into a wave. And I have to cover my tracks from him, too. He’s sharp.

  She unzipped the sack at her side, took out a pen and small pad, made a few notes, replaced the items, zipped up the pouch and plunged into the water.

  “You’re quite a swimmer,” Richard said later, as they sat on a boulder drying themselves in the sun.

  She had to be, but he didn’t need to know that. “Thanks. It’s one of my favorite sports.”

  He stood. “I’m going back now. If you’re interested in going with me . . .”

  He didn’t finish the thought, but she didn’t need more convincing evidence that she had vexed him by paying attention to the three men. “Of course, I’m going back with you,” she said as if he had no reason to doubt it. And to put him on the defensive, she added, “Why do you ask?”

  His left eyebrow shot up. “You seemed to have other interests, and I’d be the last one to interfere with your fun.”

  She squashed the smart answer that sat on the tip of her tongue, because she was at fault, and he deserved better. “I thought I knew one of those men. I still think so. Nowadays, bald men grow hair, get transplants and wear wigs, and young men dye their hair or shave it off. Some wear contact lenses to change their eye color. You never know.”

  “Is it important?”

  “I could be wrong,” she answered, finessing his question, “but my hunches are usually right. It’s getting hot. Ready to go?” He didn’t press her for a further explanation as she had known he wouldn’t, and she didn’t plan to offer more. She didn’t like lying, and if she said anything more about it, she would have to lie.

  “I enjoyed that swim,” she told him after they entered the boardinghouse. “I hope we can do it again.”

  When he didn’t reply, merely smiled and half-bowed, she knew that her response to his question as to whether recognizing the man was important hadn’t satisfied him. Well, it’s the best I can do, she said to herself with a shrug and headed up the stairs to her room. There, she emptied the contents of the pouch into her pocketbook, showered, dressed in white slacks, a lavender T-shirt and white sneakers, and took out her cell phone.

  “I’m sure it was he,” she said, “but my hands were tied.”

  “Not to worry. Dark clouds don’t always bring rain; there’ll be another day and another time.”

  “True,” she said and hung up.

  Jolene had spent Saturdays alone in her room, except the times when she had her meals, and by Sunday morning restlessness usually got the better of her. When Fannie called her to the telephone a few minutes after breakfast, she raced down the stairs wondering which of the men she knew would telephone her on Sunday morning.

  “Hello,” she said, nearly out of breath.

  “Hi, Jolene. I know you don’t usually go to church, and I have an emergency. Could you keep the girls for me this afternoon from one till five? I’ll probably be home before five. Can you? It’s terribly important, Jolene.”

  Jolene stared at the phone. I understand it now, she said to herself. You think I’m stupid. To Vida, she said, “Last time, you knew you’d made me miss my bus, and yo
u didn’t even apologize. You didn’t ask how I got home, either. Well, Vida, I am never going to baby-sit for you again no matter how many emergencies you have. I wanted us to be friends, but I realize I have a lot to learn. Try one of the other girls in the shop. Sorry.” She hung up, and she should have felt good, but she didn’t. She went into the lounge where Judd sat watching the US Open tennis men’s final.

  “Sit down. Sit down,” he said. “It’ll be over in a few minutes. I don’t see how those fellows can play in that heat.” She waited with him until one of the players fell to his knees, raised both arms in exaltation, and Judd turned off the television.

  “Why don’t I get us some ginger ale,” he said and headed for the machine before she could respond. He opened a bottle, poured half of it into a cup and handed it to her. “It’s nice to have company.”

  “Do you . . . uh . . . know any books on friendship that I could get from the library?”

  “You looking for a textbook or something casual?”

  “Something casual, I guess.”

  “Well, a few years ago, sister–friends books were very popular with black women novelists. I read a few of ’em. I could bring you two or three from the library when I go tomorrow night, but you be sure and give ’em back to me. I believe in taking care of library property.”

  “Sure I will. Thank you for being so nice, Judd.”

  He laid his head to the side and looked at her. “That’s what friends are for, Jolene.”

  “Yeah, but they take advantage of you.”

  “Only if you let ’em. Your own sisters and brothers will do that if you permit ’em to walk over you. Your husband will do it, too. The way people treat you is up to you.”

  “Thanks. All I learned at home was how to clean, scrub, run errands for my mother and my grandmother, cook, and let them make a slave of me. The first thing I ever did all on my own without my mother’s interference was arrange for her funeral, and that was a little more than six months ago. It’s a wonder I know how to walk straight.” She sounded bitter, and she didn’t care, for she was resentful.