Wild Stars Seeking Midnight Suns

by J. California Cooper

  The flyers about the grand opening had gone out, as well as invitations to some customers. She hadn’t wanted to use her name, Lily, in the shop’s name. It might lead Maddy and her mama to her. She chose to name it “the Flowers,” a “Specialty Cleaning Shop.” Besides the cleaning of delicates, it was stocked with items of fragile, lacy female things to purchase, and even some exquisite silk ties for men.

  The evening of the opening he took her out to an early dinner. Well, what could be more innocent? Their friendship was still an innocent one. But he was old enough, and wealthy enough, not to care what talk would come from seeing him out with a young Negro lady smiling across a table at him. “We are business partners.”

  He smiled down at her as he asked, “Wear something nice, Lily. One of your new dresses, with the respectably lowered neck-line, the buyer just sent over to you. Please?”

  She had laughed, saying, “Of course. I needed help to know what to wear to the opening anyway.”

  Quite a few older, bored people, and those with business interests, came to the opening. Champagne and finger foods were served by formal waiters. Well, they were serving the “best” people, the richest women in the city, the larger department store owners and their wives. Mr. Jacob, the jeweler, came without his wife. “She had another appointment,” he said, chewing on crackers and crab, and staring at Lily Bea.

  Lily was dressed smartly, in good business taste. Her funny little body looked very attractive. Her shyness and happiness showed in her face, flowing from her smile. Many of the women saw only ugliness in a nice dress when they looked at her. Many of the gentlemen were much attracted to her. They listened closely, carefully, to every word she said about the shop and its services.

  Her charisma flowed from her; the fire of her dreams and charms of her inner beauty quite shone through, spreading out, filling the shop. She was plain, but not drab . . . at all. One gentleman told Weldon, “The lady, your manager, is a belle laide in my country.”

  Weldon watched the men, thinking, “Perhaps I will not be the only one to discover my jewel. I need to make some plan to keep her to myself.” It was true.

  Some of the men began to bring their wives’ satin gowns and silk lingerie to the Flower Cleaners. They let their servants pick the clothing up, but found excuses to stop by to see when the garments would be ready. Not one of them really knew why they were so charmed by Miss Kneed. (She used her maiden name.) A few gentlemen, working below the waist, even ventured to ask Lily out, on hidden, and secret, dates. She always refused because she understood, but she didn’t understand, Why?

  Within a month or so, Weldon knew he was in love with her. Deeply in love. She was like a narcotic he could never get enough of.

  He had arranged for her to move into a larger, two-bedroom apartment. He would come to her shop at closing time, then follow her to her apartment, or meet her there to talk business over a glass of crisp, cool wine while she broiled a steak or a fillet of fish for the both of them. He liked the way she cooked, the way she did everything.

  He never touched her familiarly, he was always a gracious gentleman. Their general amiability and kindness brought them close. They both had bashful feelings, and a delicacy of expression, which made it pleasant to be together.

  Lily Bea’s new life was a million miles away from her old, past life. She could not believe such a dream could be for her, “but it is happening to me, every day.” She thanked God, every day, for making her love books, to read, and to love learning. She thought those were the reasons she was where she now was, manager of her own (almost) shop.

  Weldon paid her lavish compliments. He came very close, several times in the past year, to telling her he loved her, but was afraid he would lose any opportunity to be near her. There were frustrating times when he thought, “It has to become a closer relationship. I don’t want my feelings to remain hidden, a treasure only for me. I want to hold her, I want her body close to mine. I want to be inside her mind and her body.” He thought about it almost constantly.

  His own business offices saw more of him, during the last year, than they could remember. His private secretary knew, but didn’t know all. She had to work with Weldon so she studied him. “Why in the world, when, if he wanted a girlfriend, he could have really pretty women?” Then she would remember her own plain, shoulder-slumped husband, and smile to herself. She was a good secretary; she kept his personal business in her mind.

  It had been a little over a year when, one evening over their glass of wine, Weldon spoke to Lily Bea in a certain way. “Lily, dear, I have been thinking about affairs of the heart.” She smiled a little, giving him her entire attention. He continued, “What do you think of love? Do you ever think of it, love?”

  She thought a moment, in silence, then answered, “Everyone thinks of love, sometime.”

  “I’m not asking everyone, Lily, I am asking you what you think of love.”

  “Well, Weldon, I think it must be one of the most wonderful things in this world. It’s the only thing that makes anything beautiful. Worth having. I also think it is very hard to find, to have. People seem to have such a problem with it, at least the people I have known.”

  “Have you ever loved anyone, Lily? I mean, I know you were married, once. Did you love him?” He lowered his head, still looking at her, and asked again, “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I have . . . good feelings about . . . some people. I have good feelings about you. All your kindness, and the things you have done for me. You might say . . . I love you . . . in a way.”

  His heart expanded buoyantly in his chest, and he reached his hand across the table toward her as he said, “Do you mean that, Lily? Could you, do you, love me . . . a little?”

  She became nervous, thinking, “What is he asking? What does he want?” She laughed gently and slapped his hand lightly. “Who could help but love you? Of course I love you. You are my friend; my best friend. I have no other.”

  He looked at his empty hand a moment, then started to withdraw it, but left it lying there, waiting. “I want you to love me . . . more than a friend.” He took a deep breath. “Because, you see, I am in love with you. More than a friend. I love you.”

  She did not take his hand, yet. But she continued gently smiling at him. In a very soft voice, she asked, “What could we do with love, Weldon? You are married. You have a life. I have a different life. Even if we love each other, what would, what could, we do?” They sat in silence for several moments. He withdrew his open palm from the table, placing it out of sight in his lap.

  Her nervousness tightened her throat. She reached her hand across the table as she said, “Oh, Weldon, you have done so much for me; my life is different, my world is different, everything I know is different. No one could help loving someone who has done all you have done for me. But you will not lose; the shop is doing great, making money. I sell a lot of things. But, I will sign it back over to you; I will not take advantage of your kindness, your thoughtfulness. I know you felt sorry for me, so you gave me a chance, an opportunity. I had hoped I could pay you back, in some way, so you would know . . .”

  He flinched at the words pay you back. He stood up to leave, as he thought, “This is not what I wanted. If I can never have her love . . . I’m a foolish old man to have wanted so much from her. I’ll just leave her alone, as long as she remains somewhere close to me.”

  He said aloud, “Lily, you are the business. It is your business. I wasn’t trying to . . . buy you. We are both making money in our business. You owe me nothing. It has been my pleasure to even have you near enough to talk to. My life was like being alone in a desert . . . having to talk to myself. You have changed my life also.”

  She was silent as she watched him get ready to leave. She hadn’t treated him as a guest for a long time. He knew where his coat and hat were; he had put them wherever they were. He was not a guest, he was really at home, in her mind. A little love bubbled up in her mind, or was it pity? There was no reason to
pity him. Love? Gratitude? Lily sighed, and rose to see him out.

  He stopped her. “Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out. And, my dear friend, I’ll probably see you tomorrow!” Then he was gone.

  Lily Bea didn’t see him again for almost two weeks. She left several messages with his secretary, Mrs. Gaines, for him to call her. She asked Mrs. Gaines, “Is he all right? Is he sick? Has anything happened to him?”

  All Weldon’s employees thought Lily was just another employee in management. Besides, she was African-American. “Nothing wrong with her, just, Mr. Forest surely wouldn’t, well, you know. He is strictly business.”

  Mrs. Gaines could hear the sincere concern in Lily’s voice, so she answered, “Sometimes he goes out of town, Miss Kneeds. He runs his business so well, we roll along without him. He’ll show up any day now, or I’ll hear from him, and let you know. Do you have an emergency, or anything I can do?”

  “No, Mrs. Gaines, things are just fine over here, too. I was just a little worried when I . . . You’re right; he is probably just fine. He deserves a little time . . . Oh, never mind. Thank you, Mrs. Gaines, and you don’t have to . . . Good-bye, Mrs. Gaines.”

  Mrs. Gaines surmised that Miss Kneed cared more about Mr. Forest than she had thought. “Good! Because he has a really good business going over there.”

  Lily spent the time she was used to spending with Weldon musing, thinking. About all the things that had happened to her in the last year. All the changes in her life. About her past, her mother, and Maddy.

  “I used to feel so guilty because I was born ugly. I wondered who my father was because no one else in my family looked like me. I thought I would be set apart from the whole world all my life, until I died. Because I was ugly. My whole life was a wasteland of ugliness . . . and loneliness. I had made a gift of my life, my future, to my mother . . . and Maddy. Now . . . look what Weldon has done for me. He changed my . . . No, he helped me change my life. I work hard. Thank God for self-preservation.”

  In the past year, she had thought with all her business activity, school, all the new things in her life, she would never be lonely again. She had been almost drunk with all the things she was discovering about life. “And it is, at last, my life. I exist; I am real.”

  After the first few days of Weldon not being around, a different kind of loneliness moved into her apartment with her. She had not acquired many new things, except for the things Weldon brought or sent to her. At last, she was able to buy as many books as she wanted. She now had a fine library in the second bedroom.

  One empty evening, after browsing through her “library,” she found nothing that interested her. She felt the loneliness move close, inside her, again. Right in her lovely apartment, right inside the expensive silk negligee lovingly covering her body. It surprised her when the thought came into her head, “I’m not satisfied. I’m still lonely. I need some . . . thing.”

  She sighed as she sipped from her glass of wine. “What more can I need? Is it love I am missing? They say you can’t miss what you’ve never had. And I don’t miss all that love music by Cole Porter, Dinah Washington, and Frank Sinatra. And all those Billie Holiday songs he loves to play all the time. I love music, but that stuff makes you want to haul off and kiss somebody, anybody.”

  She set the glass down. “Do I love Weldon? No, I know I don’t love Weldon. But I do love Weldon . . . in some . . .” She reached for the wineglass. “I miss Weldon; I need Weldon. So . . . I must love him. But, I thought there was supposed to be fireworks, bells, a certain feeling.” She finished the bottle of wine before she went to bed.

  Lily Bea had told herself, after Maddy, she never wanted to make love, have sex, again in her life. “At least, not for a long, long time.” She knew she felt something for Weldon, but . . . was it love? The next day, at work in the shop, she thought, “Wouldn’t I know?” What she did know was that she was extremely lonely, and worried about Weldon.

  Everywhere she turned her eyes, something made her think of him. In fact, she constantly thought of him. “Did I hurt his feelings? Was he just asking for a closer friendship? No, he said he loved me. Loved me? What can this wealthy white man want with me? If it was that, sex, why didn’t he just say it a long time ago? No, it can’t be sex. He didn’t say that. I know we are friends, close friends. Wouldn’t sex mess it up? Lord, I don’t know nothing at all. But, what am I going to do? Should I leave? No! I have a job! And a business down on paper. To hell with all this love shit! Oh, Mama!” But she began to huddle back inside herself again. Being without Weldon.

  Lily didn’t think she was in love with anyone, but she hated her loneliness. The loneliness she seemed to be making for herself.

  She did not want a sexual life with him, or anyone. But she wanted possession of him, and was possessive of him already. She wanted someone she could give what she could give, without anything being really taken from her. She was afraid of failure, of his really seeing her; she was afraid of being ugly again.

  She faced her own truths. Thinking, “I haven’t really given him anything for all he has given me. The money the shop makes could be all his. He’s already wealthy. I have given him nothing, really.” She took another sip of her wine (she was sipping quite a bit of wine lately). After a moment, she asked herself, “What was it I wanted? What did I think I would have to do for what I wanted?” Another sip, and she thought, “Why . . . I wanted to be free. Well, I’m free. But when someone wants to love you, and they have given you your freedom . . . How do you keep your freedom at the same time you give yourself up?” Her mind was in turmoil.

  Weldon hadn’t been out of town. He had gone to a golf tournament, left early, gone home, and stayed at home. He was a little worn from a few sleepless nights and useless, boring days. Otherwise he was resigned to his life without the hope of Lily Bea. He reasoned, “She is a good businesswoman. Nothing need change, and I’ll still enjoy seeing her even if I can’t have her closer to me. She’s almost my only joy.”

  He was self-conscious when he stopped by the Flower Cleaners. He opened the door, trying to smile, but his heart was sad. Then he looked up to see Lily hastening toward him. Her eyes were bright with warm welcome. She was saying, “We’ve missed you, Mr. Forest! I’m so glad to see you’re back.” She held her hands out to grasp his, then she remembered they were in the shop, and quickly changed to a handshake.

  His heart immediately lifted. He thought, “The look in her eyes doesn’t mean she is changing her mind, or that she loves me, but her feelings are sincere.” When he was leaving, he said, “Later, you can fill me in on everything.” His spirit had lifted. He stepped lighter for the rest of the day.

  That evening when he went by Lily’s place, he didn’t put on any love songs, he played some Erik Satie they both liked. They had their usual glass of wine and talked. She didn’t want to seem forward, but she hugged him anyway. They slipped back into their usual ways. But now, she hugged him when he left to go home.

  Days passed and they slipped back into their comfortable routine. She noticed, though, he never played his romantic music anymore. He never played any music. She would put something on the record player herself because she wanted him pleased when he was with her.

  The days also brought her to the knowledge that she had the need to love, as well as her lifelong desire to be loved. Weldon had become someone she could share her joys with, her enthusiasms, and her sad moments. And her business, he was integral to that.

  At one point, she thought, “I could open my own business . . . for myself. I have money.” After only a few moments she realized Weldon Forest was the impetus for her success. The location, the clientele, the very atmosphere of success. “And it is him, him, him, who has made my whole life so good, so full, so wonderful, so new, so grand. He really cares about me.” She sipped. “Then why am I so lonely?”

  She thought another minute or two, then said, “I better go see my friend. I need help.”

  Then, she came to see me.


  Lately, Lily Bea always looked really good when I saw her. We seldom saw each other, we usually talked on the telephone. This day, she was wearing a black dress beneath a camel-hair coat. When I helped her remove it, that coat was as soft as a cloud.

  I fixed a little pot of green tea, so we could sit down and talk. She was fidgety, nervous. But she settled down as she told me the latest developments in her life. When she had brought me up-to-date, I asked her, “What do you really feel about Weldon? This man?”

  She fooled around with her fingers a minute, then said, “I could say, I love him, as a friend.”

  “You could?”

  “I do love him, as a friend.” She took a deep breath, and said, “He is a white man. A white man, my friend.”

  I couldn’t help it, I had to say it. “Almost everybody in the world talks about how God created everything and everybody. Yet, as soon as the time comes to act like it, they act like some people are better than some other people. God likes good people, not colors, Lily Bea. The way you talk about that man, he is a good man, don’t care what color he is.”

  She was looking dead in my face. She smiled at me.

  I asked her, “How do you think he feels about you, Lily Bea?”

  “He never makes me feel any color at all. I feel . . . I know he loves me as a friend.”

  “He seems to want more than a friendship, Lily.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I don’t know what to do, and you are my friend.”

  “I can’t tell you what to do with your body.”

  Lily tilted her head at me, saying, “What makes you think of my ‘body’? I didn’t say anything about a body.”

  “Well, what’s left? When friendship is not enough? What else could you be thinking about, Lily Bea?”

  “Well, I wanted you to help me with my mind.”