Borrow Trouble

by Mary Monroe

  Baltimore climbed out of the taxi, accompanied by four good-looking women. It was an unusual scene, Baltimore and his harem unloading at the box-office window to purchase movie tickets. It felt like old times, when he ran women for a living, having Franchetta on his arm, with Daisy, Chick, and Melvina in tow. Several people, white and black, paused to stare, wondering if that lucky man was a Negro League baseball star or perhaps an entertainer. The snazzy new suit that Franchetta and friends had tailored specially for him earlier that day made Baltimore fit the part exquisitely. After the eight large boxes of popcorn, seven soft drinks, and an armful of candy from the snack stand had been consumed, Franchetta fell asleep, with her head parked on Baltimore’s shoulder, during the second feature. The other three women sat up, fully engaged, with their eyes glued to the screen until the final credits rolled. They couldn’t say “thank you” enough for the break from their normal routine, nor could they stop yapping about the films they’d seen. It was Lena Horne this and Harry Belafonte that, as if they were children on their first field trip. Baltimore understood how mixing up a normal afternoon every now and then was a treat for ladies, young and otherwise, so he enjoyed it as much as they did. It wasn’t so much that he had spent a few dollars to make them happy. They had money of their own. The day was special because a kind man came into their lives and considered them worthy of spending his afternoon with—in public, mind you—while expecting absolutely nothing in return.

  Later that same day, Franchetta’s jaw dropped when Baltimore sprung the news that he had reserved a table for all of them at the famous hot spot Reno Nights, where musicians traveled from far and wide to knock the walls down with the rhythmic beats and sultry tunes of the era. If there was a place to be when the sun set on Kansas City, it was at the Reno.

  “How do you like this mug?” Franchetta said, with a kiss.

  “Pinch me. I must be dreaming,” Chick teased, smiling from ear to ear. “I have just the thing to step out in. Bought me some glad rags last year, and I’ve been waiting on something special to show them off.”

  Melvina slapped her thigh when she got the news. “Baltimore, you’re not shining us on, are you?” she gushed and hugged him tightly. When she caught a glimpse of Franchetta clocking that twinkle in her eye, she tried to pass it off as a ruse. “Frannie, I knew you said that first night we shared him was a onetime kinda thing, but I have half a mind to fight you for him.”

  “Go on and knock each other out!” shouted Chick. “Then I’ll take on the winner.”

  Laughter filled the living room of the pale-colored house until Baltimore noticed how a certain somebody seemed to be toting a sad sack. Daisy hadn’t said a word either way regarding a night out on the town. After slipping on his coat, Baltimore winked at Franchetta, then signaled for her to follow his gaze all the way to Daisy’s flat expression.

  “Daisy Mae, what in the world could be the matter with you?” Franchetta asked her. “Haven’t you been listening? We gonna paint this town red tonight. Every one of us deserves to let our hair down, spread our wings, and fly! What could be wrong with that?”

  Daisy sat on the divan, leaned back, and began wringing her hands. Sensing that something was plaguing the youngest of the four roommates, her friends gathered around to hear her out. “I didn’t want to say nothing about it,” she whispered, barely audible and visibly distressed.

  “You’d better tell us what’s ailing you, chile,” Chick demanded, taking the role of protector. Baltimore had learned how the women often counted on one another to get bailed out of jail when busted on prostitution charges. There was even a story circulating about how Chick had taken it upon herself to shoot a man six times for sodomizing Daisy against her will and then sending her to the hospital, all torn up, beaten, and bruised. After the assault, Chick caught wind of a man thumping a young working girl to within an inch of her life and leaving her to rot in a nasty alley. Daisy had a broken jaw, and her mouth was wired shut, but her fingers still worked fine. She scribbled down the man’s name and where to find him. Chick located him, delivered him alone to the same alley where he’d accosted Daisy. She enticed him to drop his pants before he knew what she had plotted, and then Chick whipped out a small twenty-five-caliber gun. She blew his crusty, gnarled penis clean off and planned on leaving him like that, but he wouldn’t stop screaming and calling her demoralizing names, instead of apologizing for whatever he’d done to bring that kind of karma back to his doorstep. The idiot didn’t know when to stop talking his way out of a pine box.

  As Baltimore remembered that story, Chick instantly assumed the worst. “If I need to strap on my man upstairs, you know I will,” she threatened through clenched teeth.

  “No, Chick, it’s nothing of the sort,” Daisy explained before they all jumped to the wrong conclusion. “It’s hard to explain, but I’ll try.” She sighed hard and stared at her hands, one taking turns comforting the other. “See, it been a long time since I’ve left home. Rooming with y’all here has been more of a home than I had before Frannie took me in, all broke and worried down to a nub. I won’t lessen my joy here by making it seem I could have been welcomed anywhere and fit in just the same,” Daisy added, glancing up at Franchetta’s caring eyes.

  “Chile, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you was working your way up to leaving us,” Melvina said, hoping she was wrong.

  “That’s a screwy idea,” Chick said in a dismissive tone.

  “That’s, that’s exactly what I was fixing my mind to do,” Daisy answered sorrowfully. “I was ready and willing to spend the rest of my life with y’all, but then he came along.” She raised her eyes and tossed her gaze on Baltimore.

  “Ahh hell,” said Franchetta, shaking her head slowly. “I know that look.”

  “Well, somebody needs to tell me ’cause I don’t,” Chick panted. She was completely clueless as to what had been building since the very moment they opened the door and saw two strange men standing on the porch with Franchetta.

  Melvina cast a roving eye on Franchetta, and toward Baltimore, and then returned it to Daisy. “Ahh hell is right. We done slipped up and let this chile fall in love.”

  Franchetta reached up on the hat rack behind the door and handed Baltimore the first hat she pulled down. When he tried to complain about it not being his, she shushed him and ushered him out of the door. “This ain’t none of your business,” she told him. “It might have been your doing, but what Daisy’s in there torn up about has to be doctored on by women folk. Believe me, it always ends up this way. We spent centuries picking up the pieces behind men, and it don’t appear that’s about to change now.”

  “Well, when can I come back?” Baltimore asked, with both hands tucked in his front trouser pockets.

  “Yeah, show up around seven or so. We’ll do our best to undo what you did to her, although can’t nobody fix what you done to me, so it’s likely not gonna work on her, either.”

  As Baltimore backed off the porch, contemplating women and love, he shrugged his shoulders and frowned. “I’m sorry, Faye,” he offered, when nothing better came forth. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  “If that’s what you think you did, Baltimore, it’s just one more reason for Daisy to want herself a man like you.” Franchetta felt the wind kick. She folded both arms and held herself tightly. “You big dope. Get off my lawn before you have my nosy, upstanding, church-going neighbor ladies ready to pack up and move on, too. Don’t know what I’ma do with you.”

  “Hold me tight like your bottom dollar, and cry for me when I’m gone,” Baltimore suggested, as if she didn’t know that song by heart.

  Franchetta went back inside to help deprogram Daisy, but it was no use. Baltimore had reminded Daisy that she was a twenty-one-year-old who had a lot to offer a man, although she wouldn’t be able to keep a good one on a leash when it came down to it because of her profession. She knew that whores had everything and nothing a man wanted, both at the same time. And, for the first time in her life, Da
isy believed she was good enough to fall in love and have that man love her back. It just so happened that the way Baltimore made Franchetta feel had rubbed off on her somehow, and she liked the way it felt. For Daisy, the world wasn’t depriving her any longer. It was she who had neglected to strike out and see what it had to offer, as an adult. In essence, Baltimore’s arrival had ripped off the veil she’d used to cover her shame from childhood. Now she felt liberated and couldn’t wait to live on the other side of that veil. Daisy couldn’t wait to be loved like a woman was supposed to be.

  CHAPTER 13

  IN THE ROUGH

  Baltimore had walked four blocks before an empty taxi rolled by to carry him from place to place. He didn’t know where to search for Henry, so he leaned against the backseat and told the man to drive. The first place he checked was Abel’s Diner. The cabbie waited outside while he stepped in to investigate. As soon as Baltimore hit the door, there stood Hattie on her meaty legs. She hosted a mean leer to stare him down. He hadn’t insulted her, not to her face at least, so the crooked demeanor she put on was lost on him.

  “Hey, Hattie, how you been?” Baltimore asked apprehensively, behind his best manufactured grin.

  “Oomph, I was a whole lot better before that lech’rous friend of yo’n come creeping up my skirt,” she answered, too loud, in fact, to be on the job.

  “Is that so?” Baltimore grunted, not caring one way or the nother if it was.

  “Hell, yeah, it is,” she hissed. “He ain’t been around since the day before yesterday, and the no account stood me up last night. Had me wash my hair and set out my new dress, and for what? Ooh, I can’t stand that lying scoundrel.”

  Baltimore nodded his head like an empathetic friend who felt her disappointment down to his toes. “Sorry to hear that, Hattie. If you happen to see him, tell him I’m out and about on his heels.”

  “You know what you can tell him for me?” she quipped rudely.

  “I know,” he answered quickly. “I have him to call you.”

  “Would you please, Baltimo’? Tell him to ring my phone right away,” she begged, all pretenses aside. “I think we had a good thing going.”

  “I know, Hattie,” Baltimore replied as he hit the door, “I know.” He was embarrassed for her, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. A woman nursing a love jones for a man who was finished with her was as prevalent as the common cold and just as difficult to get over.

  At 5:17, Baltimore paid his fare and tipped the man. Uncle Chunk’s wasn’t due to get busy for another two hours, and that made it a good time to settle up with the owner for his hospitality. The front door was unlocked, so Baltimore didn’t bother to knock. In the time it took his eyes to adjust from the sunlight to a darkened den and low florescent bulbs, a chunky mountain of a man appeared out of nowhere, wearing three yards of fabric tailored into a giant pair of dress slacks. Baltimore lurched backward when the big man raised his hand to scratch at his vastly receded hairline.

  “Man, look at you all jumpy. Musta got hold to some good reefer,” Uncle Chunk teased. He knew that Baltimore never drank or smoked, because he felt the vices he did surrender to kept him busy enough already.

  “Unca, how’s tricks?” Baltimore offered, rubbing his eyes. “You behind on your light bill?”

  “Ha-ha, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that lame ass joke…I got a good one for you, though,” Chunk said, as if it were a proposal as opposed to a riddle. “What do you call a fool with three hands in his pockets?”

  Baltimore’s gaze drifted toward the floor, as if the answer might have been written down there. “That’s a stopper, alright. Three hands, huh?”

  “Yeah, two of his own and one of hers,” the older man added, assuming the sad truth would slap Baltimore across the head. When it didn’t happen fast enough, the proprietor nudged him over the edge. “I’d call it a sucker named Henry.”

  Baltimore’s eyes met with Chunk’s dingy peepers. He reared back, objecting to what he heard. “Don’t tell me you mean Henry’s gotten himself latched to a barracuda?”

  “You ain’t no genius, but I will give you credit for your timing. Daddy Warbucks is still back yonder, with a lady’s arm shoved so far down his pants, you’d think it sprouted a root.” While Baltimore contemplated the most courteous approach to attack his best friend’s desperate situation, Chunk’s belly started jiggling up and down.

  “This ain’t no laughing matter,” Baltimore asserted.

  “I’m laughing at you ’cause yours ain’t no better. A fella who goes by the name of Tipton came flying through here with his face all twisted up. Said how he was gonna get even with you for dipping into his honeypot,” Chunk informed him, delighting greatly in doing so. “Oh yeah. He was foaming at the mouth and making a big deal about ripping your head off and pissing down your neck…or something like that,” the wily old troublemaker added, to fan the flame.

  “I ain’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet, but I sho’ am dog tired of him running my name down in the street,” said Baltimore, seething with disgust. He was beginning to foam up as well. “This Tipton, what can you tell me about the man, other than his flavor for slapping his woman around?”

  “Not much more than his rep for being a hothead at times, his weakness for gambling, and a burning in his gut to kick yo’ ass.” Uncle Chunk was laughing and jiggling again, although this time it wasn’t any funnier than the last time.

  “Here. Take this before I up and change my mind,” Baltimore warned. He slapped three hundred dollars smack in the middle of Chunk’s grubby palm.

  “Whuuut? If I’da known you was willing to pay me for poking fun at you, I would’ve been insult’n you from scratch.” Chuck looked at the money suspiciously and then eased it into his deep front pocket. “I don’t wanna know what you had cooking in that back room if this here amounts to some of the crumbs. Henry’s been tossing around bread all day long, and now you come in with your own bakery, too.”

  “I’m just saying thanks for the use of your phone line. You did right by helping me, and I appreciate that. Now I need to do the same for the three-handed man.”

  “And, what if he ain’t in the mood for accepting your idea of help?” the wise sage countered, with a raised brow.

  “He don’t have a choice,” was Baltimore’s answer, set in stone.

  Near the rear exit, Henry lay across a pool table, with his pants unfastened at the waist. Baltimore heard him giggling up a storm, but he wasn’t in the least bit amused. The suit Henry sported was a shiny green, satin three piece, with matching spats over his newly acquired dark-colored alligator shoes. Baltimore watched a woman’s behind wiggle back and forth, but he couldn’t see her face, because it was pressed against Henry’s bare chest. And though Baltimore couldn’t say for sure, the vast assortment of department store boxes piled on the nearby table affirmed his concerns.

  “Henry Taylor, get your thick head off of that billiard table so I can talk to you!” Baltimore shouted like a man who had thrown both courtesy and caution to the wind. When his voice bounced off the walls, Henry snapped his head up and guided the woman away from him.

  “Move now!” Henry growled. “Go on. Git! That’s the pal I been telling you about. Hi ya there, Baltimo’. I’ve been meaning to look you up. Got busy, though, picking up some extras,” he explained further, with a broad wave of his hand to show off his wares.

  Apprising the number of boxes heaped on one another, Baltimore was getting beside himself with anger. “Henry, don’t make me ask you twice. I need to know every place you been and who you been flashing your money to.”

  “Ain’t that a rip,” Henry’s fine brown frame spoke out on his behalf. “He’s a grown man and don’t have to answer to you.”

  Henry staggered off of the table and gathered his long-sleeve shirt from the lamp shade in an effort to make himself look presentable. “Shuddup, Estelle!” he barked loudly. “Can’t you see my friend is calling hisself, seeing after me?”

/>   “You can’t tell me to shuuudup!” she spat back. “Just ’cause you bought me a fur coat don’t mean you can lead me around by the nose.”

  “Not a fur coat, too?” Baltimore thought aloud. “Henry, are you trying to get us pinched? I told everybody, including you, to lay low and go easy on wide-open spending.” After his speech about drawing undue attention, Baltimore had expected to be on a northbound train before one of the boys made such a potentially grave mistake. “Do you still have my gun?” he asked impatiently. “I’m thinking of shooting myself right here on the spot.”

  “Uh-huh, I still got it,” Henry confirmed, staring blankly at Baltimore. “You want it now?”

  “Hell, yeah, I want it now, before you do something really dumb and have me coming after you. Henry, what were you thinking? Okay, you couldn’t have been thinking, or you wouldn’t have done what I said not to do.” Suddenly, a crisp chill brushed against the nape of Baltimore’s neck.

  “Which one of you is Baltimore Floyd?” a gruff voice fired from Baltimore’s left side.

  “That depends on who’s asking,” Henry said rather soberly.

  “So you’re the low-down snake who’s been sneaking around with my wife,” Tipton griped in Henry’s direction, assuming he was the culprit, after speaking up.

  Uncle Chunk pulled up a chair, with a tall can of beer and a bowl of popcorn. Baltimore had watched the previews from the sidelines long enough. “Nah, that ain’t the man you’re looking for,” he corrected Tipton, guessing the visitor had a weapon with him. “I’m Baltimore, but me and Macy, see, we didn’t do no sneakin’. We did our business out in the open.” He purposely goaded her husband, noting his immediate reaction.

  Tipton reached under his jacket and came out with a long saw-toothed knife with a bone handle. He held it up and assumed a fighting posture. “Let’s see how you feel with this blade stuck down that big mouth of yours,” he threatened.