“Sort of, I guess. When she’d get back she’d stay at the apartment there, not going out at all. Sleep until noon, play those records, watch the TV, and do those exercises of hers. One thing about that woman, Mr. McGee, she kept herself fit. She’d lie down on the floor and hook her feet under the edge of the couch and lace her fingers behind her neck and do situps, dozens of them, just as slowly as she could. Sometimes she’d try on everything she owned and leave it all stacked around for me to put away again. And there were two girlfriends she had. Sometimes when she was staying home neither of them would come around. Other times it would be one or the other, and a few times they’d both come by. They’d fool with each other’s hair, fixing it in different ways. And they’d play gin rummy. Gambling. You never heard such language.”
“Do you know the names of the girlfriends?”
“DeeDee was one of them. Small and redheaded and a little bit heavy. Let me think, now. For fun sometimes they’d use her full name, to tease her. It was.… Delilah Delberta Barntree. Usually it was DeeDee or DeeDee Bea. She seemed more educated than the other two, but she had the dirtiest mouth. And she was the same age as Miss Western, in her middle to late twenties, I think. The third girl was younger, early twenties, and very slender. She’s a natural blonde, with very thick and heavy hair, that creamy kind, and she wears it usually in some way that leaves her little face sort of peering out from under all that weight, a pretty little face with sharp features and black eyebrows and black lashes. Not naturally that way, just to make more of a contrast. I don’t know her last name. They called her Del.”
“What kind of a car did Tami Western own?”
“A red Mustang convertible with a white top.”
“How long would she stay in the apartment after her cruises?”
“A week or so. Ten days. Then she would start going out. Usually then she did a lot of shopping. She’d be out a lot in the evenings. And then she’d start not coming home at all at night, three or four nights a week, and when she was home and I was there, sometimes there would be phone calls and she’d lie on her bed and make love talk into the phone, and wink at me and make a face if I walked by. Once she was crying and begging into the phone to somebody, but it didn’t mean a thing. The wink and the face were the same. Then after a while she’d start packing to go on a cruise.”
“Did men come to the apartment?”
“No. She had a thing about that. She said it was her place and out of bounds and it was going to stay out of bounds.”
“The man in Seven C knew her. Griff.”
“Yes. I know. A big man with a mean look. I don’t know what the relationship was. He’d call up and she’d go next door for a little while.”
“What if you had to make a guess at the relationship?”
She frowned. She pressed a slim brown finger to the corner of her mouth. When she stepped out of her housemaid role she had that slightly forced elegance of the educated Negro woman, that continuing understated challenge to you to accept her on her terms or, by not doing so, betray the prejudice she expected you to have. I cannot blame them for a quality of humorlessness. They carry the dead weight of all their deprived people, and though they know intellectually that the field hand mentality is a product of environment, they have an aesthetic reserve, which they will not admit to themselves, about the demanding of racial equality for those with whom, except for the Struggle, they would not willingly associate. They say Now, knowing that only fifteen percent of Negro America is responsible enough to handle the realities of Now, and that, in the hard core South, perhaps seventy percent of the whites are willing to accept the obligations of Now. But they are on the move with nowhere to go but up, with the minority percentage of the ignorant South running into the majority percentage of ignorant Negro America, in blood, heartbreak, shame and confusion. I hoped that this penny-colored dedicated pussycat wouldn’t stick her head under the wrong billy club, or get taken too often to the back room for interrogation. If, even on the word of one of their shrewdest lawyers, Sam Dickey, she was willing to trust a white man, it meant she had a vulnerable streak of softness in her, which could guarantee martyrdom sooner or later.
My intolerance is strictly McGee-type. If there were people around colored green or bright blue, I would have a continual primitive awareness of the difference between us, way down on that watchful animal level which is a caveman heritage. But I would cherish the ones who came through as solid folk, and avoid the slobs and fools and bores as diligently as I avoid white slobs and fools and bores.
“If I have to make a guess,” she said, “from what I overheard, those three were lining up men who’d take them on trips. They were whores who kept it from looking like ordinary whoring, and they’d clip the men for all the traffic would bear. So I guess they’d have to have some kind of protection, some muscle they could call on if the customer got ugly about it. It had to be something like that, with that man Griff scaring them off. And maybe he even helped find the customers in the first place somehow.”
“When they were talking together, did the names of other men come up?”
“The other two kidded Del about some man. Somebody named Terry. They’d kid her in a very rough way, and she’d get angry.” She shook her head. “No other names I can remember.”
“Do you know if she kept much cash on hand?”
“I know she paid cash for everything, even the rent. But that’s all I know about that. Oh, wait a minute. One time, months ago, I finished up and it was time for her to pay me the twelve dollars. She just had some ones in her purse and she told me to wait. She took her purse into the little kitchen and closed the swinging door. She was in there a long time. Five minutes, maybe. Then she came out with the ten-dollar bill for me. I don’t think she worried about me being honest, not after the time I took a pretty pleated blouse of hers home with me to wash and iron for her. It was Italian, hand made, and she’d bought it in Nassau. The minute I got it wet, I saw the shadow through the little pocket, and there were four hundred-dollar bills in there, folded into thirds and fastened with a paper clip. I dried the money out and took it back to her the next time, and she thought it was the funniest thing in the world. I told her we good church-going Baptist ladies, we don’t hold none with stealin’. She made me take twenty dollars for bringing it back.”
“Did she tell you this time she was leaving?”
“No. I had to go there last Monday, expecting her to be in bed when I unlocked the door and went in. But she’d packed up and left. I looked around and saw she’d taken all her best things and all her luggage, so I knew it would be a long trip. It was a mess there, believe me, things thrown all over, empty glasses, drawers all open. It looked as if she had to leave all of a sudden. So I straightened it all up, made the bed fresh, and decided she’d get in touch with me when she got back.”
“Just one last thing, Mrs. Walker. Would you know where she usually went when she went out in the evening?”
“Good places along the beach, I’d say. Before she gave up smoking, that’s what the book matches would say. The Ember Room, and Ramon’s and The Annex. Places like that. And when the other women were there, sometimes they’d talk about places like that, who they saw there, things like that.”
“I certainly appreciate your help, more than I can say.”
“I want to ask questions about what happened to her, and I have the feeling you don’t want me to.”
“I’ll make a deal with you. When this is over, one day I’ll look you up and tell you how and why it happened, because by then there couldn’t be any danger to you in knowing.”
She nodded. “And I haven’t talked to you at all.”
“Right.”
We went out toward my car. She stopped and said, “I’ll walk home from here, Mr. McGee.”
“No trouble to drop you off, Noreen. They’ve kind of shorted the neighborhood on street lights.”
She turned so that the porch lights shone on her face. Suddenly she grinned i
n a mischievous way, giving me a glimpse of the wry humor she kept so carefully hidden. She backed away a full step, crouched slightly, and with a little snap of her right wrist, a slender four-inch blade appeared. She held it with an ominous competence, palm upward, knife hilt butted into the heel of her hand, thumb holding it against the bunched fingers.
“Mess wid me, you studs, you no use to no gal henceforth. Back off outen my way.”
“I’m suitably impressed.”
She straightened, sighed, thumbed the blade shut, slipped the knife into the jumper pocket. She looked up at the stars, no expression on her face. “We housemaids have to keep in character. This is the ghetto. The laws don’t work the way they work outside. We’re the happy smiling darkies with a great natural sense of rhythm. You can’t hurt us by hitting us on the head. We’d still be nice and quiet except the Communists started getting us all fussed up.” She looked at me and I saw bitterness on her face. “In this state, my friend, a nigger convicted of killing a nigger gets an average three years. A nigger who rapes a nigger is seldom even tried, unless the girl happens to be twelve years old or less. Santa Claus and Jesus are white men, Mr. McGee, and the little girls’ dolls and the little boys’ toy soldiers have white faces. My boys are two and a half and four. What am I doing to their lives if I let them grow up here? We want out. In the end, it’s that simple. We want out, where the law is, where you prosper or you fail according to your own merits as a person. Is that so damned much? I don’t want white friends. I don’t want to socialize. You know how white people look to me? The way albinos look to you. I hope never to find myself in a white man’s bed. I don’t want to integrate. I just don’t want to feel segregated. We’re after our share of the power structure of this civilization, Mr. McGee, because, when we get it, a crime will merit the same punishment whether the victim is black or white, and hoods will get the same share of municipal services, based on zoning, not color. And a good man will be thought a credit to the human race. Sorry. End of lecture. The housemaid has spoken.”
“When I next see Sam, I’ll tell him that his Noreen Walker is quite a gal. And thanks again.”
When I got turned around and headed out of the driveway, I saw her way down the dark street, saw just the swing of the arms in the long sleeves of the white blouse under the jumper dress.
Nine
A very talented old-time con man once coached me very carefully in the fine art of appearing to be very very drunk.
At midnight, after having changed to an executive-on-a-convention suit, I reappeared, stoned to the eyebrows, at the bar of The Annex. I walked with the controlled care of a man walking a twelve-inch beam forty stories above Park Avenue. I eased myself onto a bar stool in stately slow motion. As I stared straight ahead into the bottle racks, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the contented weasel approaching to wipe the spotless bar top.
“Good evening, sir,” he said with that small emphasis which was in tribute to the dollar tip way back during the cocktail hour. “Plymouth over ice?”
I swung my stare toward him, without haste, focused ten feet behind him, and then on him. I spoke with deliberation, spacing each word to give it an unmistakable clarity. “I have been in here before. You have a very good memory, my man. Plymouth will do nicely. Very nicely indeed. Yes. Thank you so much. Very nice place you have here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When he had put the drink down, he hovered. I stared straight ahead until he began to turn away, and then said, “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.”
“Sir?”
“What is your name, my good fellow?”
“Albert, sir.”
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Words of one of the poets, Albert. I made a great deal of money this month. A vulgar quantity.”
“Congratulations, sir.”
“Thank you, Albert. You have understanding. It is a rare virtue. My tax attorneys have arranged that I keep a maximum amount of that sum. My associates are eaten by envy. My dear wife will smile upon me. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, Albert. In one of those tomorrows, I shall pry loose another plum from the tree of life. But will it be meaningful? What is the symbolic value?”
“Well, money is money. I mean you can’t buy happiness, sir, but it sure takes the sting out of being unhappy.”
“Unhappy. I knew you had understanding. And bored, Albert. The days become the same.” I turned on the stool and looked around at the lounge area. The brown-breasted piano player had changed to a blue gown with a V down to the navel, and evidently with some concealed device which kept it anchored just unboard of the nipple areas. When I swung back I swayed slightly, closed my eyes, opened them again, lifted my drink and looked at the cocktail napkin. “Yes. Of course. The Annex. I have been in a great many places this evening, Albert. I have talked with many many many people. Few of them had understanding. They cannot comprehend the tragic trauma of our times. Someone suggested I return here. I have forgotten who. Perhaps I was misled. A rather large fellow, as I remember. The evening blurs. That is what happens to evenings. They all blur, merge, become meaningless. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Albert, I know you have understanding. You have proven that. But do you have tolerance for the mistakes of others?”
“The way I see it, anybody can make a mistake, sir. Right?”
“You are also a philosopher. My mistake would be tactical, Albert. The large chap at an unremembered place implied … get that word, Albert … implied that here I might find an ear, a little pussycat ear into which I could tell my tale of sadness, my need of cheer. Man is a lonely animal, Albert. And every place is a lonely place. If I have asked for some service the house does not, could not, would not provide, I am truly sorry for having offended you. I beg your pardon most humbly, my dear fellow.”
He set to work increasing the gleam of an already polished glass. “Well, sir, let me say this. You won’t find a nicer place on the beach. Now suppose, just suppose some girl comes in here. Now understand, I don’t mean any hooker. I mean an upper-grade girl, and she’s restless, and maybe something has happened, boyfriend trouble, and she’s hurting a little. You understand? So she’s at my bar and she has one over the limit and maybe her judgment isn’t too good and some bum starts moving in on her. What do I do? When I say bum, I mean maybe he’s got a two-hundred-dollar suit, a billclip full of money, he’s still a bum in my book. What I do, I chill the bum off her, and when I get a chance, I see that she gets to be with the kind of man anybody can see is a real gentleman—like yourself, sir. That way nobody gets hurt. Nobody has any regrets. Anytime you get two nice people together, it makes you feel good.”
“Albert, you continue to amaze me.”
“Freshen that drink up, sir?”
“Splendid idea. But to go back to the topic again, it would mean I would have to be on hand at precisely the right moment. And so our discussion is purely academic.”
“Sir, in one way it is and in another way it isn’t. It’s really kind of a weird coincidence you came in here tonight again and we got into this kind of a talk. It’s like fate or something. It so happens there is this girl works cocktail waitress here. She’s really a great kid. Just great. And the trouble she’s been having …”
I held up my hand to stop him. I closed my eyes, swayed slightly, holding on to the padded rail.
“You okay, sir?”
“I do not mean to spurn your suggestion, dear chap. I wished one moment to recollect a few names the large fellow mentioned. Doubtless they are dear friends of his and, if I have the right place, well known here. A Miss Tami Western, a Miss Barntree, or a Miss … the name escapes me. Del something. Slender.”
Albert scuttled back into his weasel hole and slammed his little doors. He wanted some time to reappraise the situation, and so he excused himself and went down the bar and served the few other customers in his section.
When he came back he said, “None of those ladies has been in here tonight.” There was finality in his
tone.
“Albert, we seem to be losing our rapport. Have I done something wrong?”
“Wrong? Wrong? A customer asks about another customer, so I say whether they been in or not. Okay?”
My hand was on the bar, palm up. I pulled my thumb back enough to expose the corner number on the folded twenty.
“A fellow as deft, as kindly, as helpful as you, Albert, would know how to get in touch.”
Strangely, he hesitated, and then the twenty disappeared so quickly I half expected to see a little puff of smoke. He gave a cautious glance down the bar, then leaned over it toward me. His personality suffered an abrupt change. “Friend, what you just bought for the twenty, maybe you won’t like. But you are getting your money’s worth. Advice, you bought. I don’t know if you come in here with a case of the cutes, or if somebody steered you to a busted mouth for laughs. Either way it would be the same. There’s muscle don’t want you poking in that direction, not those broads, not Western and Barntree and Whitney. All I know about that operation, they got no room for what you got in mind. I’m doing you a favor. Forget it. For half a bill I set you up with a good clean hardworking kid. You want to get something you couldn’t forget so quick, hang around until two o’clock, for two bills you get the piano player, if after she looks you over she says okay, which she probably would because she isn’t booked and what she won’t take is fat or old, some kind of a thing about that, and either kid it would be for the night. But you come in here and give me the names you give me, friend, it has to turn me off. You following me?”
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.”
“Oh for chrissake!”
“In the vernacular, dear boy, my earlier acquaintance was having me on?”
“He was sending you to play in the traffic.”
“This muscle you mentioned, is it that dangerous?”
“You better believe it. Those broads can put on the cool pretty good, but if somebody doesn’t take a hint, then they get a real good hint, like a kneecap gets kicked loose out in the parking lot.”
Darker Than Amber Page 10
