Jezebel

by Koko Brown

  “How you’ve been?”

  Celeste barely mumbled a reply before the other woman continued, “Can you believe the turn out? And look at all these other people,” Her eyes lighted on Shane and she winked, “and no one pitching a fit.”

  Since she was sitting with “one of them”, Celeste cracked a wan smile. As if sensing, her dilemma, Nettie’s eyes widened, then took on this ravenous gleam like a cat spotting a baby bird fallen out its nest. A knowing smile punctuated her intentions and Celeste braced herself.

  “I am so rude,” she purred, taking her date’s arm. “Let me introduce you to my beau, Milton Parker. Milton this is Celeste Newsome, an old associate of mine from The Inn. She’s one of the finest female hoofers I’ve ever seen.”

  Celeste ignored the added emphasis on old and friend. Instead, she acknowledged Nettie’s date with a polite, “hello” and “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Please to meet you as well,” Milton grinned, revealing a gold crown wrapped around his front tooth.

  Celeste knew Nettie wanted her to reciprocate, but the devil held her tongue and she turned around. Unfortunately, she couldn’t ignore the invisible wall falling between them as the lights dimmed.

  ***

  Once the play ended, Shane ushered them out the theater and into a waiting cab so fast, Celeste barely had her cape buttoned. He didn’t repeat the evening’s earlier pleasantries either. He chose to brood in silence.

  He couldn’t fault anyone, but himself. He’d acted like a heel, leaving her alone in a diner without any explanation. In turn, she’d embarrassed him by not acknowledging him. Shane fisted his hands. With each city block, his mood darkened. He needed to hit something!

  “Stop!” Celeste leaned forward and tapped on the back of the driver’s seat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re getting out here.”

  Shane looked out the window. They were more than twelve blocks shy of her brownstone. “Why?”

  With a sly grin, she slid over and pressed against him. She was so tiny, but curvy all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and protect her from the world, including him.

  “Still hungry?”

  Shane nodded. Light from the exterior gas lamp bathed her brown skin in a warm golden glow she appeared almost angelic. In spite of his self-directed anger, Shane felt like crushing her against him and kissing her breathless.

  She’d slap him into next week, he deduced. He’d done enough tonight to warrant nothing less. Before he ended up with a busted lip and completely embarrassing himself he shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t live by the same rules because she placed her hand on his chest. Her touch jolted through him like a hot branding iron, making him feel alive. Not like some machine going from fight to fight with no other purpose than to pocket enough money to buy his way out of the past.

  “Shane…”

  Shane blinked. Had she spoken to him? All he could see were those delicious lips of hers moving.

  “Shane…”

  “Yeah,” he managed, fighting his physical urges.

  “…open the door.”

  She gifted him with the sweetest smile and Shane fumbled with the door handle.

  “What do you have in mind?” he asked, paying the cab fare. As far as he could tell, everything up and down the block looked residential.

  “We’re going to a rent party.”

  Shane hesitated on the curb. “You’re getting even aren’t you?”

  “Just planning on having a little fun.”

  “At my expense of course?”

  Instead of answering, she winked then looped her arm with his.

  Shane ground his teeth. He didn’t like to be anyone’s pansy, but if he had to suffer through a rent party he’d do it to make amends.

  They walked a couple of blocks west then turned north. At this time of night, Shane expected the street to be dead, people in their beds fast asleep. Not in Forte Green. Lights blazed in windows up and down the block, a group of youngsters, warmly dressed against the elements, played stick ball in the street and some guys played craps under a street light at the end of the block.

  But this wasn’t their final destination. Celeste walked them deeper into unknown territory until they finally stood outside a red brick tenement. Rather unremarkable, the building copied the half-a-dozen or so other buildings lining the block. However, the building seemed to sway and keep time with the music pulsing within its walls.

  Shane actually looked uncertain. “Are they’re expecting us?” he asked.

  “You don’t need an invitation for this party, daddy. Everyone’s welcome.”

  Shane doubted that was the complete truth. They were in the heart of Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn’s largest African American community.

  Even if he had reservations, he wasn’t turning tail now. He knew what she was up to and she wasn’t going to win.

  Shane slipped his arm from hers, but caught her hand at the last moment.

  “Let’s light the place up.”

  With her sputtering behind him, they climbed the front steps and went inside.

  Shane instantly regretted his decision.

  The tenement’s foyer was dark and dank and smelled of human excrement and boiling pig feet. The only bright spot was the sound of a trumpet blaring somewhere above them.

  As if she frequented slums every day, she gamely stepped over empty whiskey bottles and other discarded items to reach the stairs.

  “What in the blazes…”

  Celeste followed Shane’s line of vision to a mountain of garbage in the corner. Knowing anything could be under that pile containing everything from discarded underwear to banana peelings, Celeste tugged on his hand.

  Shane remained fixated. The pile had begun to pulsate, come to life. A warning was barely on her lips when a rat, the size of a three year old child, came scuttling from underneath.

  “You could’ve warned me,” Shane muttered as he took the stairs in one leap.

  Celeste touched her lips. “It was right here, I swear.”

  Looking highly doubtful, Shane gazed down at her. “I’m calling your bluff.”

  He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Caught off guard, Celeste gasped, opening herself to a full mouth kiss that made her toes curl, but ended all too soon.

  “Sweet, but deadly,” he rasped, thumbing his bottom lip. His gaze was so intent and so feral, she looked away. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand and heat shot up her arm. “Let’s get a move on before I do something I’ll regret.”

  Celeste led the way up six flights of stairs and down a narrow hallway lined with identical sets of doors, peeling, chipped and sagging woefully against their frames.

  They passed several residents slouching in the hallway, imbibing liquor from brown paper bags. Some yelled and screamed about petty things, one man even used the bathroom where he stood, turning his back for privacy.

  As they neared their final destination, Celeste snapped open her clutch and withdrew an embroidered change purse.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “You can’t get in until you pay the host. And that should be enough for both of us.”

  “No one pays my way.” He shoved his hand in his pocket, withdrew a money clip and a wad worthy of any egg and butter man, then peeled two five dollar bills off and handed them over.

  To avoid an argument, Celeste took the money but that didn’t mean she had to spend it. Turning her back to him, she knocked loudly on the door.

  As if on cue, it opened. Heat, music, and the pungent odor of pig feet pushed into the hallway almost knocking her over with its intensity. On the other side of the threshold, a large woman squeezed into a burnt orange dress, teetered on swollen ankles.

  “Food and refreshments are in the kitchen,” she drawled, holding out her hand. “Music’s in the par…” The woman’s gaze narrowed on Shane. Celeste held her breath. One never knew how folks t
ook to having mixed company.

  “Who’s he with?” she asked.

  Celeste gripped Shane’s hand and pulled him into the tiny apartment. Since the foyer was smaller than a tinder box, the hostess scuttled backward.

  “He’s with me.” Celeste greased the woman’s palm with a crisp five dollar bill—more than enough to cover a week’s worth of rent.

  A makeshift dance floor had been set up in the living room. They’d removed most of the parlor furniture and replaced it with several folding chairs and a single red light bulb hanging from a cord.

  A few couples cavorted in the middle of the room while music rattled from an old phonograph. Others sat around holding plates filled with food or sipping on mason jars brimming with bathtub gin.

  Celeste turned away from temptation and headed down a narrow hallway, vaguely smelling of mothballs.

  “Here give me your coat,” she said as they entered a small bedroom.

  Sparsely furnished, the room was tidy and clean. A dresser with a mirror sat against one wall. A wrought iron bed covered with several coats and hats hugged the opposite wall. A little boy, fighting sleep and holding a glass bowl filled with coins in his lap, sat on a wooden chair next to the bed.

  “I need to get in on this racket,” Shane muttered. “The poor kid should be in bed.”

  Hearing Shane’s voice, the child’s eyes flickered open. Celeste bent down to talk to him. “What’s your name, cutie?”

  “Jeremiah,” the small boy whispered.

  “Well, Jeremiah, how much is it to leave our garments with you for safekeeping?”

  “A nickel a piece.”

  Shane dug in his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill. “This is for our things and the rest of the night. Now climb up on the bed and go to sleep.”

  To Celeste’s surprise, the boy gifted Shane with a toothless grin. Holding tightly to the jar, he then climbed on top of the bed and disappeared behind the mound of clothing.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” Shane said with a crooked grin. “I’m a growing boy.”

  Celeste eyed him up and down and her pulse quickened. Indeed. There was nothing boyish about Shane Brennan.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  With Shane on her heels, they skirted the living room where bodies glistened with sweat and limbs jerked in time to Jelly Roll Morton’s Wolverine Blues, like chickens trying to fly.

  In the kitchen, Celeste picked up two plates off the sideboard. Ignoring several sideway glances, she handed both to Shane.

  “Here,” she said. “You hold these while I fill them.”

  Armed with a game plan and Shane on her heels, Celeste sidled over to the kitchen table and joined a line five people deep. Of course, the procession moved slowly. People always took their time when feeding their faces.

  Starving by the time their turn came, Celeste abandoned her strategy. Instead, she would pile both of their plates with a little bit of everything.

  Plate in hand, a tall, lanky fellow in a royal blue zoot suit slipped in front of her.

  In different company, Celeste would’ve ripped into him. She was trying to repair her reputation with Shane not completely destroy it altogether. Going against her baser instincts, she pressed her lips together and silently bored holes into his back.

  As if suddenly sensing her cursing him to hell and back, the jerk glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t mind if I cut in, do you?” Not bothering to wait for her reply, he picked up a serving spoon and ladled some chitterlings.

  “I mind.” Shane shot forward so fast, he moved in a blur. He hooked a finger inside the other man’s collar, clamped his other hand on his shoulder and pulled him out of line.

  “Hey!” Caught up, the fellow tried to jerk around. Shane was just too light on his feet and the two ended up circling the kitchen.

  Tired and sweating, the other man eventually slumped against the kitchen sink.

  “Had enough?”

  “Throw him out,” a woman behind Celeste jeered.

  “Yeah,” another spoke up. “Make him pound pavement.”

  Ignoring the peanut gallery, Shane rattled the man’s collar. “Had enough?” he repeated.

  “Get your dirty mitts off me,” the man wheezed.

  “Back of the line?”

  The man shuffled his feet and mumbled incoherently. Afraid this could go either way, Celeste held her breath.

  Again, Shane jerked the man’s collar. “Back of the line or leave.”

  “I-I’m gone,” he choked. “I’m gone.”

  Shane spun the guy around and released him. Disoriented from being let go so abruptly, the man stumbled forward, crashing into the ice box. He bounced off it then staggered from the room.

  Celeste didn’t witness his walk of shame. She feasted on Shane as he lumbered back over to her side. His chivalry had to be the sexiest thing she’d ever witnessed. Fighting the urge to pull him into her arms, she turned toward the kitchen table. Groaning from the weight of several platters, it wasn’t as tempting as Shane, but it would keep her out of trouble for the time being.

  Very much aware of his presence, she filled their plates with everything from candied yams sprinkled with brown sugar to perlo rice and corn bread, collard greens, fried catfish and of course pig feet.

  “Did I miss anything?” She’d reached the end of the line and only a jar of pickled onions remained untouched.

  “The kitchen sink.”

  In a playful mood, Celeste stepped toward the wash basin.

  Growling, Shane stepped between her and the sink, then steered her into the living room.

  While they were in the kitchen, it seemed as if the party had grown exponentially. Eyeing a vacant chair, she took the plates from him. “Sit down and we’ll share it.”

  Shane slung his jacket across the back of the chair. In his shirtsleeves, he seemed bigger, taller. Celeste couldn’t help admiring him. He had to be one of the best formed men on the face of the earth.

  He patted his lap and Celeste faltered. Her gaze flitted around the room and she took in the surreptitious glances and out–right stares. Had she gone too far? It was one thing mixing company, quite another to breach a certain level of intimacy even the most open minded of people might not be able to stomach.

  Still, his chivalry in the kitchen and her desire to make amends weighed heavily on her conscience. Mind made up, Celeste plopped herself down on his lap. She even made a grand show of getting comfortable by wiggling against him. Of course, it took her some time to find a sweet spot, considering how rock hard his thighs were and the pleasure she derived from it.

  “Keep squirming and you’re going to be in deep trouble.”

  Celeste looked over her shoulder and was brought up short. Looking verifiably hot under the collar, Shane’s tanned skin had become flush and rosy. Celeste stilled her hips.

  Funny, how her effect on him caused her own ardor to rise. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy and her sex tingled.

  “What if I want trouble?” she asked, angling toward him.

  As if they were two magnets, he leaned in as well. Assuming he was throwing caution aside and aiming to kiss her, her gaze dipped to his mouth.

  Instead of an early Christmas, he simply smiled at her then relieved her of one of the plates. “Behave,” he paused to rip into a hunk of fried catfish. His eyes rolled to the ceiling as he slowly chewed then finally, “There’s plenty of time for trouble.”

  Celeste almost pressed him for ‘when and where’, but with the way he dove into his food she ended up watching him eat instead.

  Her eyes fixed on his mouth. Unusually plump for a man, his lips moved sensuously as he talked to her between healthy bites. Her mind filled with images of his mouth devouring her and Celeste almost groaned.

  “I’m going to run away with the hostess,” Shane declared, sopping up perlo rice with a hunk of golden cornbread.

  Even if he were pulling her leg, Celeste couldn’t kick the wave of jealousy washi
ng over her. “What about me?”

  “You can come. We’ll need someone to keep the place clean.”

  She moved to pinch him. He thwarted her by wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting her from his lap.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, setting her on her feet. “Round two.”

  The rent party was nowhere near winding down by the time she and Shane called it a night on the other side of midnight.

  “Did you have a good time?” Celeste asked as he walked her home. Unable to find a cab at such a late hour, they’d opted to hike the six blocks back to her place.

  Taking her hand in his, Shane nodded. “Reminded me of my childhood in Tennessee, but with more food and better music.”

  Interest piqued, she decided to dig deeper. “You grew up poor?”

  “Dirt poor. My mother worked her fingers to the bone. My father, well, he barely worked.”

  “Lazy?”

  “For sure, but also a drunk,” he sneered.

  Celeste cringed. She’d faced the same kind of contempt when she’d been too drunk to put one foot in front of the other. “He’s my biggest influence. He used to beat the crap out of me and my little brother. One day he couldn’t do it anymore. By the time I was thirteen, I stood a half a head taller than him. So, he kicked me out.”

  Hit by the parallels in their childhood, her insides twisted. Sickened, Celeste wrapped her arms around her middle as she walked ahead of him. She didn’t get far. He grabbed her by the arm, while edging her up against a street lamp.

  “Why the long face?”

  “Y-you’re imagining things,” she lied, even dredging up a cheeky smile to support her claim.

  “I thought you had talent.” Acknowledging the insult, Celeste tried pushing past him, but he crowded her.

  His bad behavior should’ve put her on edge.

  It didn’t. His nearness made her crowd him back until they stood toe to toe, almost touching. The affect heady and overpowering, she had trouble thinking straight.

  “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

  “I-I don’t,” Celeste stammered, her guard slipping. He believed she was sore about his upbringing. She did feel for him. She would be a hard–hearted Hannah if she didn’t. But a guilty conscience brought on by her drunken past weighed on her more.