by J. J. Murray
"It was your nickname back in the day, wasn't it?"
Mrs. Thompson slaps her hands together. "You ain't too old to be slapped, old lady!"
Mrs. Phillips cackles again. "Don't you be buckin' at me, Anita Little." She turns to me. "Anita Little Johnson here used to get a whole lotta-"
"Shut your mouth!" Mrs. Thompson takes a wide swing and misses Mrs. Phillips by a foot.
"Everybody know you can't fight without kickin', scratchin', and dislocatin' somethin', Anita. Sit your black ass down."
I turn to Kevin and whisper, "Boy, you gotta play something to calm these wenches down"
"What?"
"Shit, boy," I say as Mrs. Phillips rises from her chair. "Play some damn Barry White!"
Kevin breaks into "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe," and both ladies turn to him, smile, sigh, and sit back down. I blink at Diana, and she blinks back. Dag, they ought to be playing some Barry White over there in the Middle East. Can't no one do nothin' but some lovin' listening to Barry.
Kevin plays a medley of Barry White songs till the ladies leave (and mean of Mrs. Thompson even tips him!), and Diana calls a meeting. "Kevin, you just play what you play from now on, and if anyone got a request, everybody in here got to agree on it. Okay?"
"Okay by me"
"And any time you want to play some Diana Ross, you go on and do it."
Kevin looks past me to the window. "Got a customer."
I turn and see Soapbox Sam himself, hat in hand, bald head shining, just cheesing and pointing at us. I dust off my chair with a towel. Then he steps in and practically leaps into my chair so it spins once around. "Sam," I say, "you ain't got no hair."
"Sure I do, sure I do," he says. He points to a few sprouts of gray hair just above his left ear. "Here they are"
"There ain't but ten, maybe twelve tops"
He smiles. "They need to be cut" He rubs a completely smooth part of his head. "Got to be aerodynamic, you know, especially in the dark"
"You nasty, Sam," Diana says.
He puts his hand over his heart. "I wasn't bein' nasty, dear lady. I have to be aerodynamic to make my narrow escapes"
"From who?" Diana asks. "The po-lice?"
He winks at her. "You play your cards right, it might be you tonight, Miss Diana."
"Get over yourself, Sam Harris," Diana says. "I ain't your type"
"And what is my type?"
"Young and dumb"
He nods. "Well, in your case, I'll settle for one out of two"
Diana's mouth drops open. "Oh no you didn't just say-"
"You look so young, Miss Diana," Sam interrupts.
Kevin packs his guitar away and walks to the door. "Where you goin', boy?" I ask.
He turns and smiles. "It's gettin' right thick in here" He flexes his fingers. "Need a break anyway."
"Okay," Diana says. "You can start your second set when you get back"
I pull out a straight razor and a can of shaving cream. "You sure you want it all cut off, Sam?"
He eyes the razor. "Just make sure you keep that thing above my neck" He smiles at Diana. "Now I'm bein' nasty, Miss Diana."
"Hope we have an earthquake while she's cuttin' you," Diana says. "You could use a little slowin' down, Preacher. "
"The Lord said to be fruitful and multiply," Sam says as I spread the shaving cream on his head. "I'm just doing my small part to bring beauty into the world."
"Like Angie?" I ask.
His head snaps to me. "Which one?"
I blink. "You have more than one daughter named Angie?"
He shrugs. "Doesn't everybody?" He laughs. "I'm just messin' with you. Yeah, Angie's mine. She's Deacon Rutledge's granddaughter."
"Really?"
He nods. "Now, there's a man who needs a good spanking. He hasn't spoken to his daughter, Paulette, since Angie was born. Why you probably ain't seen her comin' around to the church"
I shave off Sam's hairs all in one stroke. "Y'all ought to come to Antioch this Sunday. I'll play something special for you." I smile. "Like `Jesus Loves the Little Children.' "
"Why, Mrs. Borum, are you invitin' me to Antioch?" "Yes."
"Will it be a date?"
"Puh-lease," I say. "I'm much too old for you, Sam."
"True."
"And I want you to bring Paulette and Angie, too. The good deacon sits on the right side, third row, and the row in front of him always has room" I wipe off the extra shaving cream. "No one wants Deacon Rutledge lookin' down that pointy nose of his at them during the service."
Sam rubs his hands together. "Service is at ten-thirty sharp, right?"
"Right."
"We'll be there" He steps out of the chair. "What I owe you?"
"Nothin', Sam. Just your presence in church Sunday with ... with one of your families."
He stands taller. "Ain't enough room in that church for all my families, but we all part of the family of God, right?" He steps up to Diana. "You want to be part of my family, pretty lady?"
"Already am," Diana says with a groan. "Shakura Barlow is my cousin."
He squints. "Y'all blood-related?"
Diana nods. "I ain't interested, Sam" She nods at me. "Seen what a hypocrite preacher can do to a friend of mine."
He slumps and pouts. "I'm no hypocrite, Miss Diana. I practice what I preach. I preach lovin', and I do me some. Nothin' hypocritical about it." He bows to us. "Good day, ladies. Got to go back out there and preach some more lovin'."
"Dag," Diana says. "Kevin was right. It is gettin' right thick in here"
He pulls his hat over his head. "Ladies, it's been a pleasure. Just remember this: it's a God eat God dyslexic world out there" He leaves.
"What the hell did he just say?" Diana asks.
"I haven't the slightest idea."
Customers stream in steadily during the day and early afternoon, and Kevin makes 'em all smile, hum, sing, or do little chair dances-and no one throws out a hip. The boy has talent, and whether he's playing some Luther Ingram or some Aretha Franklin, his expression doesn't change. Guess he lets the music do that for him. Kind of like me. All folks see of me is my back while I play. Kevin and I let the notes give us our personalities.
Tonya calls Diana's late in the afternoon. "Y'all busy?"
"Full house," I say. "What you need done?"
"Just my nails."
"You got a date?"
"Nah. Givin' my coochie a rest. Why don't you come over tonight?"
Dag, two women who are prettier than me are gonna be home on a Friday night? "I'm beat, girl. Gonna go home to my bed"
"Anybody waitin' there for you?"
"No.
"Just checkin'. See ya"
We have to stay open past seven since the Calhoun Civic Center is having one of those black folks shows running, you know, the ones with singing and gospel and a title like "Stop the World Cuz I Wanna Get Off Since Mama's Mad at Everybody." Can't have one of those shows unless "Mama" is in the title.
I feel light-headed on my walk home in the dark since I haven't eaten all day and have to rest before going up the stairs to my apartment.
"Hey," a voice says.
I turn and see Jar-Man camped out in the yard next door. "You trespassin' again?"
"No. Pork and beans at the jail tonight. Beans taste like rubber, sauce has too much sugar."
"So ... you're just sittin'?"
"Tried to get inside, but evicted folks is right conflicted. They been kicked out, but they won't let anyone else in."
"You could stay with me. My couch is free"
"Nah. Just need me a basement or something, something close to the ground" He pulls the glass off his ear. "Can't hear God if I'm too high in the air. Got to be close to the earth"
I get all sorts of chill bumps. Jar-Man's jar ... is his direct line to God? "What's God tellin' you today?"
"Havin' trouble today. Too much interference from all those damn satellites up there"
I try not to smile, but I can't help it.
He scowls. "Didn't expect you to believe me"
I move closer to him. "No, I do believe you, Jar-Man. Really."
"Fred"
"Huh?"
"Name's Fred"
I squat in front of him. "Hey, Fred" The man has some serious funk, but his scowl is gone. "We got a laundry room in our basement you could use. Ain't no one doin' any laundry on Friday night." Except for maybe me, but I'm too tired to do it. "No one will bother you"
He smiles. "You got any Salisbury steak?"
I stand, pains shooting into my hips. My squattin' muscles is for shit. "No, but I know I could whip up something quick."
"Okay. I guess I can settle for whatever you got"
I lead him to the laundry room, which really ain't a laundry room. Yeah, it has a washer and a dryer (each at least thirty years old), but there isn't a place to fold your clothes, there ain't no hot water for your whites, and the heating element in the dryer needs to be replaced. Your clothes get dry in a couple hours, but they come out all cold.
He hands me the Mason jar. "Mind cleanin' and fillip' that with something?"
"No. Iced tea okay?"
"Is it sweet?"
"A little."
"Is it fresh?"
"Made yesterday."
"Okay, but not too much ice."
I leave him to get comfortable and fix him a salad plate because that's all I have. When I hold the plate and his jar out to him, he shrinks back. "That's rabbit food, woman"
"Rabbits live in the ground, don't they, Fred?"
He knits his eyebrows together. "Yeah, they do" He takes the plate and munches on a carrot. "Not bad."
I hand him the jar. "Just bang on the pipes when you're done."
"Okay." He takes a sip of the tea. "Too sweet"
The nerve! "I'll make the next batch with less sugar."
"You do that"
I return to my apartment, fall out on the couch, and laugh. Lord, what a day. I had Kevin at my feet, Sam in my chair, and now Fred's in my basement. I been surrounded by men all day, Lord. When You gonna make my phone ring?
And then, the phone does ring.
I race into the kitchen and grab the phone. "Hello?"
"Ruth, it's Junie. You made a decision yet?"
I make a face at God. "Yes, Junie. I will play at your wedding."
I have to hold the phone away from my ear as Junie whoops it up. Geez, I'm just makin' everybody's day but my own today. "Thank you so much, Ruth. God bless you!"
Don't bless me yet, Junie. "And Kevin Myers will also be playing."
"Kevin ... Myers?"
"Yes. Nicole Myers's boy. He's an absolute genius with the guitar, and "
"But I just want you, Ruth," she interrupts.
Hmm. "Well, if you want me, you gotta have Kevin, too. We are a package deal."
"Oh. I'll have to speak to Jonas about this."
"Why? It's your wedding, right? It's your day."
Junie doesn't say anything. "You're right. Urn, what will he be playing?"
" 'There Is Love.' You know that one?"
"Yes. It's pretty. Will Kevin be singing it, too?"
I get a wicked idea. What would it be like if I sang that song to Jonas and Junie? Oh, the cringing in the pews. And I wouldn't even have to sing it. I could just say the words. "We'll let you know, Junie."
"I'm so excited, Ruth!" And now, so am I. "Oh, how do you want to be listed in the program?"
Another wicked idea. "As Mrs. Borum, of course"
"Urn, well, Jonas prefers-"
"I know what he prefers, but it's what I prefer. My name is still legally Mrs. Borum, and we wouldn't want to print a lie in something folks are going to read in a church, would we?"
"Why, no, of course not"
"You take care, Junie."
"Oh, I will. I'll let you know when we're rehearsing."
"Thanks"
"And, Ruth, I just know God's going to bless you something wonderful for this."
I hang up and shout, "When?"
A moment later, the pipes rattle from down deep in the house.
I put a pot on to boil and get the tea bags ready. "Lord Jesus, I just don't know if I can handle all these blessings. Slow Your holy roll now. I don't want to get blessinged out"
fourteen
The phone wakes me before sunrise the next morning.
I think it's a wrong number and growl, "What?"
"Ruth? This is Dewey"
What time is it 5:38! Lord, Your on-time status is in jeopardy. This just ain't the time! "Hi, Dewey."
"Urn, the kids and I are goin' bowling later today," he says. I hear Tee's voice in the background saying, "Ask her, Daddy! Ask her!" Tee's up, too? What the hell's goin' on over there? "They want you to go along with us ""
They want me to go along. Hmm. What about the daddy? And what's he doing gettin' his city-born and -raised kids up at the crack of country dawn? "When y'all goin'?"
"Well, the kids are awake now, so as soon as Mountainside opens at eight. We'll be leavin' here about a quarter till."
So "later today" means when the sun finally rises, and I have to walk over to his place to participate. This obviously isn't a date. "I'll be there by then"
"Good. Well, uh, we'll see you. Bye"
I sit up and stretch. My feet are killing me, my knees are achy, and my hair looks like the ink-blot tests that bitch court psychologist showed me. I have no clean, casual clothes except for a black sweatshirt and sweatpants, I'm about to take an ice-cold shower, and I'm also about to go bowling for the first time in my life ... with a man who could have called two days ago so I could be ready to do this shit right! What did the biblical Ruth do to get a hookup with Boaz? Her mother-in-law said something like "take a bath and put on some perfume, homegirl, and wear your finest threads" Something like that. I flip through my Bible and find the passage: ". . . wash thyself therefore, and anoint thee, and put thy raiment upon thee, and get thee down to the floor: but make thyself known unto the man, till he shall have done eating and drinking."
Don't see him till he's had his breakfast. I use star-sixtynine to call Dewey back since I can't remember the number from when I called him from Avery. "Dewey, have y'all eaten?"
"Yeah. We had us some Captain Crunch with those little berry things."
"Crunchberries"
"Yeah."
"Y'all have juice?"
"Nope. Just the milk."
"Oh" He has eaten and had some milk. "Just checkin' to see if I needed to bring y'all anything."
"We're fine."
"Okay. See you in a bit."
Guess it's time to get me down to the floor (of a bowling alley?) and make myself known to this man.
I brave the shower first. I turn it on and get wet; then I snap it off and soap up. I am shivering something fierce and decide not to rinse off. I ain't too young to have a heart attack, and this shower just ain't a blessing this morning. I towel off most of the soap and realize that I'll just have to be itchy and ashy today.
I tackle my hair next. I am probably the only hairstylist on earth with shitty hair. It's possessed. One day it lays almost right, and the next day it sticks straight up and out. This morning, it does the opposite of what I want it to do. I lift, it falls. I press, it springs up. I roll it and hold it for a minute, and it doesn't do a damn thing. It just ain't awake yet. Maybe I can trick it. I could fake like I'm about to lift it and press it instead ...
It's hat day. Again. I hope it's dark in that alley, because my navy blue visor does not go with black sweats.
I slip into the sweats and notice lint. Lots of lint. Black sweats are lint magnets. I don't have a lint roller, so I sit with a roll of masking tape ... and make a damn fool of myself. Now I have stripes about a half inch wide. I am going bowling as a zebra.
I take a whiff of my walking shoes before I put them on. They reek. I spray some of the bathroom air freshener in them, so now I'll smell like "Country Meadow" all day. I "anoint" myself wit
h perfume, but I still smell that country meadow. Least there ain't any cow patties in my meadow, and to make sure of that, I don't eat breakfast. I ain't gonna leave no clouds behind me when I bowl.
I look at my face carefully. I still have smooth, almost silky skin on my freckly face, but according to Tonya, "It ain't got no definition." She showed me once how to highlight my eyes, nose, and lips with a few simple strokes (and hide most of my freckles), so I attempt to do the same. Mascara, lipstick, lipstick pencil, moisturizing base ... This ain't gonna work. Who adds makeup to sweats and a visor? I end up looking like a black vampire. "I vant to zuck zum face," I say to my reflection, and I wipe that shit off. I do use some of the fancy oatmeal milk facial cleanser Tonya bought me for my birthday. Who figured that a bowl of cereal would be good for your face anyway? Someone out there has too much time on his or her hands. I sit back and stare at the woman in the mirror. She stares back, then starts cracking up. She has a nice laugh.
I rest a moment on the couch. It's quarter after seven. Do I go over early to see how they're living, or do I arrive on time? If I arrive on time, I prove to Dewey that at least one of us can be punctual. If I arrive early, I might seem too eager. But ... I'm curious. I gotta see how they're living. Hell, I'm dressed like a black cat-might as well go be one.
I leave the apartment and am almost down the stairs of the porch when I hear a voice. "Mornin'"
I turn and see Fred. "Why you out here so early?"
He twists the jar on his ear. "Better reception. 'Sides, somebody took a shower at an ungodly hour this morning. Damn pipes woke my ass up. You ought to get them pipes fixed"
"Yeah. Well, I'm off."
"Where you off to lookin' like you goin' on recon?"
"On what?"
"Recon. Put a little paint on your face, and you could be a marine. Except for them stripes. Y'all need a better dryer."
The sun ain't even up, and you can see the stripes on my sweats? Geez. "Were you a marine, Fred?"
He nods. "Two tours in Nam" Daa-em. One tour would be enough for anybody. "I'll guard the place while you're gone"
"It doesn't need guarding, Fred. There ain't nothin' inside worth stealing."
He screws the jar firmly into his ear. "That ain't what God tells me. Never know who might do some trespassin'." He winks. "You go on out on your date now."
