Stork Bite

by Simonds, L. K.

  “Honey, please,” Miriam said. “Do we need to leave?”

  Mae shook her head. She pulled some napkins from the tin dispenser on the table. “No,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “I’ll get hold of myself.” The lady working the counter brought their sandwiches to the table. She did not linger or ask if they needed anything. “My heart was broken,” Mae said.

  “I have no doubt,” said Miriam.

  Mae paused. It was everything she could do to say the next words. “Jax was so kind. I guess he just swept me off my feet.”

  “Jax?” Miriam’s eyebrows furrowed. “Jackson Addington?”

  “I know, I know,” Mae said. “I can hardly believe it myself. I hope I haven’t made a horrible mistake.”

  “Do you love him?”

  The lie had been told, and now Mae could be truthful, mostly. “I don’t know, Miriam. I feel as if I walked through a looking glass. Everything is topsy-turvy. Nothing seems real.”

  “I guess so. Where are you living?”

  “At the Youree.”

  Miriam’s eyes widened.

  “I know. Jax has been spending money like a drunken sailor. We’re staying in a huge suite on the top floor, and Jax bought me that brand-new convertible. He told me to buy everything I want for myself and the house—oh, goodness! He bought me a house, Miriam! On Alexander Avenue, near Centenary.”

  “My word!”

  “Jax and his father had a terrible row last Sunday, and I was afraid Mr. Addington would cut him off. I don’t know what’ll happen to us if he does. But Jax isn’t worried at all, and he hasn’t slowed down one bit. He’s still spending money like crazy. I honestly wonder if his mother is paying for all of this.”

  Miriam picked up a potato chip. “Lucinda Addington came from old Baton Rouge money, so that’s entirely possible.”

  “I don’t think Jax can do any wrong in her sight.” Mae looked at her sandwich. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t think I can eat a thing.”

  “We’ll get them to wrap these up,” Miriam said. “They look delicious, but I’ve lost my appetite too.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Mae said. “Some lunch date I am.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You needed to get all this out. So, when do you move into the house?”

  “I don’t know. The other night, Jax asked me if I would like to keep living at the Youree and travel. He’s talking about seeing the world, Miriam.”

  “That would cost a fortune.”

  “I know, but he seems to think he can afford it. It’s tempting, you know?” Mae took Miriam’s postcard from her purse and laid it on the table. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to visit a place like Nice.”

  “It is beautiful.”

  “But I love the house too. I love to think about furnishing it and having all the girls over for luncheons.”

  “Do you think you’ll go back to school?

  “I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to work in an office. I’m good at dictation and typing. Of course, I can’t work if we’re traveling.”

  “You have a lot to think about, my dear,” said Miriam.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The army airfield’s base commander showed up at the dry cleaners during the afternoon lull. Cargie was recording the morning’s receipts and her office door was open, and Bill Cole was at the counter when the front door jingled and the colonel walked in.

  “Afternoon, Horace,” Mr. Cole said. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “May I speak with you in private, Bill?” the colonel said.

  “Sure. Just a minute.” Mr. Cole stepped into the doorway of Cargie’s office, his back to the colonel. “Mrs. Barre, Colonel Hickman and I are going to step out back for a few minutes.” Mr. Cole nodded toward the open window and mouthed, “Please listen.” Then he opened the counter flap and led Colonel Hickman out the back door.

  Cargie got up and turned off the fan. Soon she heard the men’s shoes crunch on the gravel of the alley. They stopped under her high window.

  “Here. This is good,” Mr. Cole said.

  “The most important thing is that this is completely reversible,” began Colonel Hickman. “I felt you should hear the facts directly from me because Jackson has been negotiating on your behalf. I probably need to tell Walter too, as a courtesy.”

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Cole asked.

  “The officer I tasked to negotiate with Jackson—a Captain John Lavender—is being court-martialed. He became involved in illegal activities in Bossier City—prostitution and distributing contraband.”

  “Contraband?”

  “Whiskey. Captain Lavender has been supplying whiskey to some of the officers and enlisted men on base. In any case, certain individuals—associates of Jackson—used these activities as leverage to extort Lavender into signing a service contract for the airfield’s dry-cleaning business. All of it.”

  “With who?”

  “Addington’s Dry Cleaning and Laundry. Apparently, Jackson has secured a building in downtown Bossier and put out a shingle.”

  After a brief pause, Mr. Cole asked, “Who are these associates?”

  “That’s ambiguous. Lavender was reluctant to give details. They thoroughly intimidated him. I did get out of him that he was kidnapped from a brothel and taken to an empty warehouse in Bossier where his options were laid out for him, apparently quite rigorously. He was roughed up pretty badly.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “These men are professionals. Jackson may be in over his head.”

  “Lord, Horace. My niece married Jax a couple of months ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Bill. He’s mixed up with some pretty shady fellows.”

  “Yes sir. Sounds like it.”

  “Lavender has not demonstrated the sort of mettle the army expects from its officers. I have no qualms about abrogating the contract he signed. The full authority of the United States Army is behind me to honor our verbal agreement.”

  The men were silent a moment. Then Mr. Cole said, “I’m just wondering what might happen to Jackson if he doesn’t get that contract. He might be next.”

  Colonel Hickman said, “That’s entirely possible.”

  “I’m just thinking about Mae.”

  “I understand.”

  “Let’s leave it,” said Mr. Cole. “I’m not ready to risk putting Mae’s new husband in danger.”

  “I imagine he’s already in danger.”

  “Probably. Still, giving that contract to me isn’t worth the risk that it’ll make matters worse. Let him have it.”

  “If you’re sure. . . .”

  “Yes. I feel that’s the thing to do at this point.”

  “All right. But you shall have the officers’ business, and guests of the airfield. I insist.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Horace.”

  Colonel Hickman said, “I’d like your opinion about whether or not I should take this to Walter.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Mr. Cole said quickly. “Seems like I ought to be the one.”

  “Thank you, Bill.”

  Cargie turned on her fan and sat down. She was still going over the conversation in her mind when Bill Cole opened the door a while later, carrying their cold drinks and Spanish peanuts. “Did you get all that?” he asked.

  “I certainly did.”

  “I tell you, Cargie, I’m worried about Mae and what she’s gotten herself into.”

  Since their Sunday afternoon trips to Bossier City, Bill Cole had begun calling his bookkeeper by her Christian name. In private. This pleased Cargie, but she had not been able to bring herself to return the familiarity. “It’s not my place to say anything,” Cargie said.

  “Go ahead and speak your mind,” Mr. Cole said. “I’d like to hear your opinion.”

  “Well, Mr. Walter Addington is a fine man, and I know he’s a good friend to you.”

  “He is that.”

  “But that boy of his is nothing but trouble, front to finish.”
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br />   Cargie handed Bill the cash box. He opened it and took out a stack of bills to count. Cargie went to the file drawer and took out a fresh roll of paper for the adding machine. Bill Cole separated the bills by denomination, and Cargie tallied the receipts with staccato clacks.

  “I suppose there is a somewhat insincere quality about Jackson,” Bill said. “I’ve always tried to look past that, for Walter’s sake.”

  Cargie refrained from telling her friend that he never should have trusted Jax to negotiate the contract in the first place.

  After a moment, Mr. Cole added, “I sure never expected Mae to get caught up with him. I would never have agreed to let him work here if I’d thought—”

  “No sir,” Cargie interrupted. “There was no way to see that coming.”

  “I believe you are correct on that count. But still, it’s hard not to feel a little bit responsible.”

  Cargie stopped punching the keys. “Don’t you take that on. It’s not your burden to bear.”

  After a pause, Mr. Cole said, “I know you’re right. I’ll leave it.”

  Cargie added the last few receipts and advanced the tape. She tore it off and wrapped it around the tickets, as was her habit. “Thirty-six dollars and fourteen cents.”

  “To the penny.”

  “Why, Mr. Cole, I believe you’re getting the hang of this.”

  He laughed and held up his Coca-Cola. Cargie clinked her bottle of Orange Crush against it.

  “We’re a good team, Mrs. Barre.”

  “Yes sir. The best.”

  Just then, the bell on the front door jingled, and Mae called, “Uncle Bill? Are you here?”

  “Oh, Lordy,” said Cargie.

  “I suppose there’s no time like the present,” Mr. Cole said.

  “Would you like me to watch the counter? You could talk with her in here.”

  Mr. Cole thought a moment. “Maybe it’s best if I just close up for a little while. I’d hate for a customer to overhear if she’s, well, crying or whatnot.”

  “Very well.” Cargie put the receipts in the file drawer and collected her purse and hat. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

  “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  Cargie opened the door as Mae was about to knock. “Good afternoon, Miss Mae,” she said.

  “Hi, Cargie. Hi, Uncle Bill. I just dropped by to visit for a little while. Is there anything you need me to do?”

  “I’m just heading out,” Cargie said. “Thomas is expecting me home early today, so I best run along.” Cargie said goodbye and hurried out the door.

  Cargie rode the streetcar to the Strand Theater to see The Public Enemy and get her mind off the afternoon’s developments, even though the Strand was a white movie house and going to picture shows there violated Cargie’s policy of not giving her hard-earned money to white businesses. The Strand’s owners were happy enough to take her quarter at the box office, the same as if she were white too. But after that, Cargie was expected to enter an alley so narrow she had to squeeze between the wall and the steep iron staircase that climbed the theater’s three-story wall. She was expected to climb the rickety steps while they rattled and squeaked in protest—feeling for all the world as if they were about to come off the wall—and take her seat in the upper balcony. Where the white folks wouldn’t have to look at her.

  Cargie did all this to watch The Public Enemy, and it wasn’t the first time she’d done it either. The first time had been to see All Quiet on the Western Front. Cargie had happened across the novel by the same name in the library on Texas Avenue. The book was written by a former German soldier who, like Bill Cole, had endured the trenches of the Western Front. Private Cole’s diary was plenty disturbing, but Cargie was shocked at how much brutality he had left out. Mr. Erich Maria Remarque—despite having a lady’s name—had not been shy about letting folks who read his novel in on every grisly detail about the trenches and No Man’s Land, the prisoners of war, and the poor civilians and even animals who were brutalized in the wanton conflict. Even though the book was fiction, it was just as real as Private Cole’s diary. Cargie had to stop reading several times, so intense and vivid were the scenes. Yet she was captivated and kept going back until she finished.

  When the moving picture based on the novel came out, Cargie wanted to see it. Badly. But it did not play at the colored theaters. So—after wrestling with and subduing her convictions on the sidewalk in front of the box office—she crossed her personal picket line for the first time in her life and gave her quarter to the Strand.

  All Quiet on the Western Front had kicked off Cargie’s closeted literary and cinematic life, which she lived within the brackets of what she had come to think of as her white life. Cargie’s white life began each morning when she said goodbye to Thomas and their children and boarded the streetcar, and it ended when her family met her at the corner each evening. Sometimes, when Cargie laid her head on the pillow next to Thomas’s, she wondered how it was possible that he could not hear and see all the people and action going on inside her noggin.

  When Cargie pushed her quarter under the box office glass to see The Public Enemy, crossing a picket line was the farthest thing from her mind. The top balcony of the Strand was a good place for her to have a minute to herself before she went home. She needed to get used to the idea that the business expansion she and Bill Cole had planned for so long was not going to happen. She was angry—very angry—about it. She was furious with Jackson Addington. Cargie had known that boy was no-count the first time she laid eyes on him, and he had done nothing but prove her right at every turn. Jax was the worst kind of troublemaker, the kind who never admits the truth to anyone, least of all himself.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  When Mae left her uncle, she drove directly across the Traffic Street Bridge to Bossier City. She wheeled her little yellow convertible all over downtown until she finally found Jax’s business, a two-story building that took up half a city block. The brick exterior had a fresh coat of white paint and foot-tall black letters proclaiming, “J. Addington’s Dry Cleaning and Laundry.” The slogan beneath the business’s name promised, “Cleaner Than New.”

  Five white trucks with the cleaner’s name and slogan painted on their sides sat in a row beside the building, and Jax’s Sixteen was parked in front with several other cars. Mae considered marching right through the front door to see what was happening in there. She imagined confronting Jax in front of his employees, but that would only make her look like a fool for not knowing what her husband was up to in the first place. Better to have it out with him privately back at the hotel.

  Mae was about to drive away when she saw Red Malone come out the front door with one of the men who had been at her wedding reception in Hot Springs. She ducked down and peeked over the dashboard to watch them. They got into a car and pulled out of the parking lot. After they drove away, Mae sat up. She had seen enough to know that everything Uncle Bill had said was true. She drove to the Youree and went directly to their suite, where she made a gin and tonic to calm her nerves while she waited for Jax. The gin helped so much that she made another, stiffer, drink as soon as she finished the first.

  Jax came in at his usual time. “Hello, doll,” he said cheerily. “Wanna go upstairs for cocktails? Looks like you got a head start.”

  “We need to talk, Jax.”

  Mae told her husband everything Colonel Hickman had said to Bill Cole. She did not mention driving to Bossier to see the dry cleaners for herself because she wanted to see if Jax would try to deny the whole thing.

  Jax collapsed onto the couch and clutched his midsection. “Oooh! My gut!” he cried. He rolled around for a minute and finally stilled, slouching against the armrest. “I told Red you’d be upset if he opened a dry cleaners in Bossier. I told him your uncle was planning to get the army business. I just knew you’d be mad as a wet hen.”

  “Red? For heaven’s sake, Jax! I saw the place myself. It’s Addington’s Dry Cleaners. It
’s your business. Unless you married Red too.”

  “For crying out loud! Don’t talk crazy. I knew you wouldn’t understand.” Jax tugged his flask from the front pocket of his high drape pants and up-ended it, pouring Pepto-Bismol down his throat. Then he rocked back and forth with his arms folded across his stomach.

  “Understand what? That you stole Uncle Bill’s contract? You were supposed to be talking to the army on his behalf, Jax, not yours. What have you done?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t done anything. That’s what I keep trying to tell you. It’s Red’s business.”

  “You expect me to believe J. Addington’s Dry Cleaning and Laundry belongs to Red Malone?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. Red’s a businessman. Dry cleaning is what he does. He just asked to use my name because of Daddy’s reputation around here. Red thought it would give him an edge breaking into a new city. Oh, I shouldn’t’ve let him. I knew better. But it just didn’t seem to matter, and he offered to pay me every month for using the name. It seemed like a good deal at the time. But now I can see it was a stupid idea.

  “I haven’t talked to that army guy since, well, I can’t remember the last time—it’s been so long. I didn’t know a thing about Red going after that contract until it was already done. By then, it was too late to do anything about it.

  “I’ll tell you whose fault all this is. Cargie Barre’s, that’s who. If Mr. Cole hadn’t listened to her he would’ve already bought a building and been ready to go. She kept dragging her feet, ‘It’s not time. It’s not time,’ she said. ‘The prices are still going down.’ And now look what happened. Penny wise and pound foolish, that’s Cargie. This is all her fault.”

  “Well I don’t know about that,” Mae said.

  “It’s true! Mr. Cole should’ve been set up in Bossier months ago, and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. He was ready too. He had a warehouse picked out and everything. If he hadn’t listened to that darned Cargie, your uncle would be in business with the army right now, and Red Malone would be out of luck.”

  “Jax, Uncle Bill said some men beat up Captain Lavender. He said they’re criminals and they . . . well . . . they blackmailed the Captain into giving the army business to you. Could those men have been Red and the others who were at the reception?”