“You’ll have to wait until Tommy is out. Those are his lamps.”
“Well, might have to forget it, then. My witness that I’m bringing in might identify him as the man.”
“I’m telling you that Tommy didn’t do it.” She grabs his arm. “He’s innocent.” She starts to cry and Bob can’t hardly stand to see that. “I’m so hot and miserable,” she wails. “You’ve got to help me.”
“Seems to me that we’re on two sides of the fence.” Bob shakes his head.
“Let me go with you to get the witness.” She clutches his arm again, those pretty shiny nails glistening there on his uniform.
“Police work,” he says. “I can’t go carting around the mistress of the suspect.”
“Please, I’ll just sit right in the car and not open my mouth.” She runs around and opens the other door. “Let’s turn on the air-conditioner.” She slams her door and Bob gets in and slams his. He has never been able to say no to a begging woman. Besides, it would serve Corky Revels right to see him with a cute young woman, even if she is a little on the cheap side. Yessir, this will get Corky’s attention.
“You just sit right there,” he says and cranks the car, turns on the A.C. “Well ride around a few minutes and get cooled off. Got to look my best on the job.”
“Oh, I know what you mean. That’s exactly why I bought these shoes.” She picks up one of her legs and sticks that shoe practically in front of his face.
“I’ll ride by my place, show you how the other half lives, might ride by your boss’s house, show you what you could have someday if you get yourself straight.”
“You’re wrong about Tommy,” she says and puts her foot back down. “But I would love to see where Mr. Stubbs lives. You know that he said that I’m his protégée, that’s French.”
“I know French, all right.” He speeds up, leans back in his seat. That steering wheel is burning the hell out of his hands but he ain’t going to let on, just like that Chinaman on Kung Fu when he used to pick up that boiling hot pot, if you got the mind for it then you can handle any kind of pain. Bob Bobbin has that kind of mind. “Everybody knows French.”
“I didn’t,” she says and lifts her skirt up in front of that A.C. vent. She’s a hot number, all right. “But a protégée is somebody that learns everything from the boss, you know, advances fast.”
“I know what that means.” Bob flexes his fingers, damn they’re scorched. “You ain’t talking to your colored boyfriend, you know.”
“Tommy took French. He knows some German, too.”
“Um um, like he might have call to ever use it.” Bob shakes his head and laughs. He will never in his life understand how some people can get such big notions in their heads. “I got to tell you, Miss, that Mr. Stubbs weren’t too pleased about where you live and with who.”
“You told him?” Now that little face is as white as can be.
“Had to, had to check our your story. His wife weren’t pleased more than him.” Bob pats her on the knee. “Don’t you worry. You can start fresh and new.”
“But I like my job. I’ve worked hard to get that protégée position!” Lord, now she’s got to shed another tear or two. This girl can turn it on and off like a faucet. He can’t stand it. “I know what’ll cheer you up but we ain’t got much time.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.” He’s gonna ride her by his place; one look at where he lives and she’s bound to make some changes in her life, bound to set her sights a little higher, and after all, that’s as much a policeman’s job as arresting criminals, reforming those who ain’t on the right track, making them fit for society so that this world can be a better place, saving people. That’s why Bob had been so torn in his younger years as to whether to be a policeman or a preacher. The way he saw it, they had about the same kind of job, only a policeman had more excitement and a policeman did not have to live such a reserved life, and a preacher wasn’t allowed to carry a gun. All those things swayed him into his profession, though every now and then he has a little doubt or two, especially like last Sunday when his church voted to collect enough money to send the preacher, his wife and their four children on a mission to the Virgin Islands. Bob Bobbin would like himself a vacation in the Virgin Islands, that’s for sure, but there wouldn’t be any virgins left in the place if he went, which when you weigh it all out is why he’s a cop instead, and a damn good cop, got his sights set on chief of police and hell get there one day, he’ll get it sure as that preacher is going to get his wish of a mission over to Paris, France, after he has saved some souls in the Islands.
“Here we are,” Bob says and drives through the parking lot.
“Where?” She asks and looks so funny. Bob realizes now that though this girl’s got right much going for her in the looks department, that aside from being cheap, she’s a little dumb.
5
Rose Stubbs Tyner has never been in so much pain in her entire life. She wishes that that doctor down there, framed by her legs in those stirrups, would give her some drugs to knock her out or just give her drugs and cut her stomach wide open like they did for Petie Rose. God, not a word that anybody has ever told her is true, and to think that Lady Di got herself in this position and huffed and puffed and sweated like a pig. She clutches Pete’s arm and digs her nails into him. He tries to get his hand away and she’s not about to let him, stupid son of a bitch; it’s his fault anyway.
“Relax, now, pause,” that doctor says and Rose just grits her teeth. What the hell does he know anyway? He’s never had to squeeze a watermelon out of himself, probably never has had a hemorrhoid and here he’s saying that he’s just going to clip hers after the baby is out, God, if that baby ever comes out. Relax? How the hell can she relax with her legs pulled up off the table.
“Okay push, now,” the doctor says, just as calm as can be.
“You push!” Rose screams and digs into Pete’s arm again. “You damn push!” Oh, Lordy, it’s killing her. “Jesus! God! Jesus!” she screams and Pete off to that side panting like some dog, telling her what to do. If he knows so damn well what to do, then he ought to get up on this table and have the baby and have the hemorrhoids and have had the enema and the shaving and the episiotomy.
“It’s okay, honey.” Pete rubs her face. “Come on, breathe with me.” He pants again and if she wasn’t in so much pain, she’d spit right in his panting mouth.
“Fuck off!” she screams and it feels so good that she says it again. “Fuck off! Fuck off!”
“Rose, honey.” Pete has pulled his hand away now and is staring at her. “How can you say that when our baby is being born?”
“Fuck off!”
“Okay, I’ve got the head,” that doctor says and Rose rises up as far as she can and screams. “Push, don’t strain.”
“Jesus God!” Rose lies back down. “Don’t fucking strain,” she gasps.
“Rose,” Pete says like he might be talking to Petie Rose, calling her down for saying “poot.”
“It’s okay,” that doctor says. “She won’t even remember this probably.”
“The hell I won’t!”
“She never talks this way!” Now Pete has gone down there to watch, like there might be a movie between her legs, the doctor, the nurse, and Pete all staring into her crotch and her hurting so damn much!
“A lot of women do this.” That damn doctor has the nerve to smile about it all. “They should have warned you in your Lamaze.”
“Fuck Lamaze!”
“Okay, here we go,” the doctor says, and Rose can barely hear him cause her ears feel all stopped up from pushing so damn hard.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Pete’s a damn fool, standing there in the front row of the show and asking what’s happening.
“Shut the fuck up!” She screams and rises up from that table again. Now there is a nurse there with a cool cloth on her head.
“Almost there,” that nurse says, and it makes Rose burst out laughing and crying. Everybody i
n that room is about to burst out laughing or crying because of her baby. It’s like a current running through the room, like everything is flashing and buzzing and it’s about time. Jesus, it’s time.
Granner is starting to feel like she just might give up on having birthday celebrations, the way that everybody acts, not a one of them pays her a bit of attention, won’t even wear those Uncle Sam hats that are such a tradition. If Buck Weeks was alive they’d wear them, cause Buck Weeks had a way of making people do things; he could make people feel so guilty down in their guts. Granner thinks right now that she might be ready to die, to drop dead with that Uncle Sam hat on her head and then they’d be sorry, then they’d have to live the rest of their lives out thinking about her stretched out on the porch dead as a doornail at her own party. Corky had her hat on for a second and then took it right off, probably cause she thought that boy might not like her looks in it, and Juanita just up and said that she didn’t want her hair going flat. Kate didn’t even offer an excuse. Kate said that it was bad enough to all sit out on the front porch like a bunch of hicks.
“This will probably be the last party,” Granner says and takes off her own hat, puts it down beside the chair.
“You say that every year.” Harold pulls his foot away from Juanita and plants it firmly on the floor cause he’s starting to feel the spins a little. It must be the heat, because Harold very rarely gets the spins.
“I mean it this year.” Granner rocks back and forth, crosses her arms because now that the whole porch is shady and a slight breeze has picked up, she’s a little chilly. “I doubt if I’ll be around.”
“Oh mother,” Kate says, and Juanita cannot help but think how much she sounds like Patricia, who is now back on the far end of the porch. Petie and Harold, Jr., stayed inside to watch T.V., and Juanita wishes that Patricia had too in case Harold starts shooting off his mouth again. “Please don’t start with that old story today.” Kate runs her hand through her hair and it slicks straight back, with those dark roots showing. Juanita would like to know right now what Patricia or Tricia or Patty Patsy thinks of that hairdo, since she thinks that Kate Stubbs is so great. “You know that we do everything that we can to make you comfortable and here you start trying to make somebody feel guilty.” Kate turns and faces Ernie now. “If they don’t call soon, we’re going to have to go on home. Look at me.” She lifts a strand of that hair and lets it fall back. “I look like I’ve been working in the yard and I’ve got to have plenty of time to shower and fix my hair before the party.”
“You’re right,” Ernie says and nods. She does look like she’s been working in the yard:
“I know that you think I’d be comfortable in a home.” Granner crosses her feet and flexes them so that the arthritis won’t set.
“Please, don’t start that.” Ernie looks at her, and she thinks he looks right pitiful now. He knows how to do that, probably did it to his own Mama for years and years.
“No, I know what’s so.” Granner nods her head while she rocks and stares out into the yard. “Nobody wants to spend any time with an old person, just leave ’em alone, find ’em after they’ve been dead awhile.”
“Harold has already covered that, Mother,” Kate says. “Besides, we check on you constantly.”
“Oh bout once a week. Mr. Abdul checks more often than that.”
“Mama, I come over here near about every single day,” Harold says and props his foot back up. The spins are gone now and he places his foot further away from Juanita than it was before. He wants to see if she’ll inch her way back over close to him.
“Yeah, to eat,” Kate says and shakes her head. “Oh, let’s talk about something else.”
“Let’s talk about how much you eat,” Harold says, and looks at Kate. “I’d say you eat a plenty.”
“I’d say that you’re drunk. God, I hope nobody that I know rides by here.” Kate crosses her legs and swings her foot back and forth like she’s fit to be tied, that barefoot sandal looking like it might slip and clatter to the floor at any second. It makes Juanita so mad, the way that Kate can make a person feel small. If it weren’t for her services, Kate couldn’t wear barefoot sandals.
“I’m not drunk,” Harold says, looks right at Kate, thumps his chest and burps great big. Juanita sees that boy with Corky trying so hard not to laugh, and it’s difficult to keep herself from laughing. All she has to do to keep from laughing, though, is to look over there at Patricia and see that sad look on her face. Patricia looks like she might cry at any second.
“I like those barefoot sandals, Kate,” Juanita says real loud, so that she can cut Harold off. “You have attractive toes.”
“What do you mean by that!” Kate glares at her. There ain’t any way that you can be nice to Kate Stubbs cause she ain’t going to let you.
“I mean the shape of your toes, those nice square nails that are nice for painting.” Juanita stretches her leg out and stares down at her own foot. “See, my nails are sort of fan shaped and the cuticle grows way up on them. Never have been able to paint my toenails. Now, Patricia, I mean Tricia, has nice nails as well and not a single hair on her toes.” Juanita smiles at Patricia but she looks away, and so does Kate when she mentions hair on the toes.
“I can see straight up your crotch with that leg lifted,” Harold says and shakes his head. “I reckon you think I’m interested in what you’ve got to show.”
“Well, you don’t have to look.” Juanita puts her leg back down and cannot control her mouth, even though Patricia is over there soaking in every word like a sponge. “I reckon you wanted to see.”
“Looks about the same, got a little more mileage, I reckon.”
“Even the preacher has stopped coming to see me,” Granner says to nobody in particular. A bomb could probably drop and Corky and that dirty-looking boyfriend of hers probably wouldn’t even hear it, they’re so busy staring at one another and touching hands.
“He’s a busy man, mother,” Kate says. “Besides, he’s out of town right now.”
“Yeah, I heard he went to the Virgin Islands,” Juanita says, and almost starts laughing when that old picture of that preacher singing "Jailhouse Rock" comes to her mind.
“Oh, mother!” Patricia leans her head up against that post, her hair falling all around her face.
“That’s what they’re called, The Virgin Islands,” Juanita says. “That’s some fine vacation.”
“Bet it cost a bundle.” Harold inches his foot just a speck. There, now he’s made the first move.
“The church raised the money,” Ernie says. “I think it’s wonderful, good man, and he deserves it. We’re lucky to have a man like him.”
“I reckon that church is as rich as it ever was,” Harold says. “Just as snotty as it ever was.”
“That’s not true, Harold,” Kate says. If there’s one of many things that makes her mad, it’s for someone to talk about the church. “We accept members of all kinds. Why, there’s one man in our church who works at a gas station and another that works at a grocery store.”
“Lord, that’s enough to get Juanita up and going every Sunday morning.” Harold laughs, but Juanita looks away.
“I go to church from time to time,” Juanita says. “But I go to the church where I was raised.”
“That church out in the county?” Kate asks and Juanita nods. “I had no idea that that little church was still there.”
“I’m going to join the First Baptist,” Patricia says. “All of my friends go there. Do you know Billy Foster, Aunt Kate?” Patricia creeps up a little closer.
“Sure, he lives next door to us. Is he a friend of yours?”
“Sort of.” Patricia looks away and gets all giggly and slump shouldered. “I’ve spoken to him a couple of times.”
“Oh where have you been Billy Boy, Billy Boy.” Harold waves his cap at Patricia and she goes back to her seat.
“Don’t tease her. It’s time that she starts having boyfriends,” Juanita says.
&nb
sp; “Oh mother, nobody says boyfriend anymore!”
“That’s cause of the sexes getting mixed up,” Granner says out of the blue, and everyone stops and looks at her. “I’ve read all about it, all about the boys liking boys and girls liking girls and some go back and forth trying to decide and getting that sickness.”
“That’s not why nobody says boyfriend anymore,” Patricia screams.
“Really, mother, don’t get on that again.” Kate crosses her legs the other way.
“All I know is that I’d rather know a person who had the first disease than one who’s got this second disease,” Granner says and stops rocking suddenly, glares at Harold. “That church hasn’t always been uppity.” She sits forward in her chair. “It was the pillar of the community when Buck and I first come to town. We tithed. We went to Wednesday night prayer meeting, too.”
“It’s not uppity, now,” Kate says. “People just say that about our church because we do have a lot of money and a lot of influential people.”
“Gotten too big to serve,” Granner says. “Used to the preacher went and visited old shut-ins.”
“But, you’re not a shut-in,” Ernie says. “If you wanted to go to church, we could pick you up some time.”
“What would a body who ain’t a shut-in be doing in a rest home?” Ah ha! Granner has caught him now. Besides, they don’t go to church near as much as they like to pretend. “How often do you all go anyway? Seems to me you’re out of town lots of Sundays.”
“Well, that’s understandable with Ernie’s business, but we do tithe, and sometimes we give well over ten percent when it’s for a good cause.” Kate says and looks around for some support. Ernie nods, Patricia smiles, but what in the hell does that ignorant little blasé child know? The rest of them are sitting there bathing in stupidity, Corky and that boy look like they’re about to bathe each other the way they’re getting closer and closer together.
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