Slim and Bird from the late 70’s. In the photo, Slim had on a quarter length fur coat with brown a Godfather brim tilted over his eye, a broad smile with a customary toothpick sticking out his mouth. Bird was wearing a full-length burgundy trench one arm draped around
Slim’s shoulders and the other hand clutching a drink and cigarette.
I studied the picture and then looked at Slim. In the photo, they were younger than we were. Growing up I never pictured them being that young; however Slim was undoubtedly aging gracefully.
Aside from his hairline he still seemed younger than he was.
Although my hero-worshipping days were over, I still held great admiration for the old guy.
Slim pulled out his best wine and poured two glasses and handed it to us, he then flicked some switch that had Al Green singing through the hidden speakers.
Slim poured himself some wine and took a seat on the sofa.
“So what can I do for you fellas, you need some money?”
Now Slim had an enormous reputation for being tight with his money, but he would always offer it to us like water. I guess it was his way of showing us that he cared and our way of reciprocating was still to refuse.
“No, we don’t need any money, Uncle Slim.” Priest said softly.
Neither Priest nor I had called him Uncle Slim in about ten years.
I shot Priest a look of concern I hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick.
Sensing Priest’s mood Slim sat up and put his drink on the table.
“What’s the Problem Priest?”
“People keep telling me these wild rumors about you selling the bar to Rico?”
“Those aren’t rumors, Priest its true.”
“Why sell Slim?” I asked.
“Man,” Slim said with anger. “I’ve been doing this a very long time, young blood and nothing last forever.
Plus the whole feeling of this shit hasn’t been the same since Bird past.”
Both Priest and Slim were staring at the floor.
The very mention of Bird could send Slim mourning down memory lane.
“You must need the money to sell to Rico.” Slim threw his head up then smiled.
“It ain’t the money Priest. Over the years I’ve made some sweet investments. I played the real estate game to perfection. I mean I got enough bread to paint the town in rainbow colors for the next forty years. You dig? I don’t even plan to be around that long. And you say why, Rico? Why not? He came to me correctly. He’s trying to straighten his money out, and you gotta respect that.”
Priest was looking perplexed his plans were going down the drain. Slim continued.
“I know this place has got a lot of sentimental value for you fellas, but you gotta put that behind you. So you can see what’s ahead.”
“And what’s that?” Priest snapped.
“This dude a player hater man, he ain’t gonna let me run a wheel!
They gonna freeze me out.”
“Did you talk to him, Priest?” Slim shot back with sincerity.
There was silence. Slim walked toward the bar shaking his head faster now with an annoyed look on his face like he was sure that
Priest already talked to Rico.
He laughed moved his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. Then smiled.
“C’mon baby, Rico didn’t get what he got without negotiating!”
There was a knock on the door.
“C’mon in,” Slim said.
It was Big Walt wearing his usual frown.
“Priest,” he said in a froggy voice, “you got people out here looking for you.”
“Thanks, Walt” Priest said then started primping, preparing himself for his public. He then turned to Slim.
“I ain’t finished, Slim,” Priest said.
Slim smiled. “Work it out young blood, work it out.
Priest headed out the door I followed when Slim put his arm around my shoulder.
“Talk to him, Moses. Don’t let him lose his cool.” “You got it, Slim.”
When we got out to the bar, there were two jokers by Priest’s booth comparing the bets they were about to lay. Priest put on a slight grin. These guys were regulars. They had been placing bets since Uncle Bird ran the wheel. Every payday they would give Priest a visit.
“Hey what’s happening fellas, you all here to take my money?” The two men looked at each other and chuckled.
One was J.B who worked at the Ford plant; he was short with an uncombed hair and a beer belly that challenged the elastic on his suspenders. The other man Freddie was just as short and little smaller at the waist. They both looked as if they were holding a keg of beer underneath their shirts. Freddie had a wild shaped Afro and scraggly beard that he would scratch when he spoke.
They slid into the booth as Dimples brought over some drinks. “Hey, sweet thing,” J.B said.
“Your boyfriend let you out, as fine as you are?” Dimples smiled.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
J.B and Freddie started grinning.
“Well, we gotta change all that,” J.B said.
Freddie was furiously scratching his beard. “Leave that girl alone
J.B your wife would kick yo ass if she saw you now, now me on the other hand.” Freddie said smiling. “I’ve been divorced for six years. I can show you a good time without a guilty conscience.”
J.B nudged Freddie with his elbow.
“Shit, I can too as long as my wife don’t find out.”
The two old dudes were laughing like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.”
Priest paid Dimples; she walked away we exchanged a smile.
I began to look around the bar, and in the corner, I saw Coco, a thick lady in her late 50’s with tri-color extensions in her hair that hung to her waist. She was weaving out of her seat like a snake out of a basket to the sound of Aretha Franklin’s “Rock Steady” She was a regular. Coco had known Slim since high school.
She had placed bets with Bird and now Priest. She was as intelligent as she was wild, whether sober or tipsy she was always thrilled, which in turn gave her the type of beauty that age couldn’t touch.
She owned and managed a beauty shop a couple of storefronts down; she came to Slim’s every other day to kick back.
Coco started to dance as if she was in a trance. Her arms were waving in the air. She appeared to be casting a spell. By Aretha’s second verse, Coco had captivated the crowd.
Scratching his beard, Freddie yelled out. “You bet sit down woman before you pull a muscle.”
J.B put his drink down in mid-sip.
“Muscle? Sit down before you hurt somebody with those hips!”
They both giggled, but their opinion was of the minority.
Most of the people were egging her on.
“Show these suckers what it’s like.” Someone shouted.
In the corner, I spotted Willie Spade tapping his feet. Everybody pronounced his name Wil-lay. They ended it with old because he was eighty-five going on a hundred and five.
He had done it all and seen it all. He was the cat who cosigned Bird and Slim into the rackets. A pioneer of the policy, He could recall when it played for nickels and dimes.
He was dark-skinned and thin; he always wore a suit and colorful tie to match his socks; a pair of thirty-year-old dress shoes with a shine like a sun. He kept his thinning hair slicked back. He wore a Stetson with blue feather and got around with the help of a cane.
Willie Spade was indeed a living legend. He received reverence only reserved for players who had long since passed away. All the cats around Slim’s age would make a stop at Willie’s table to say hello or have a drink and would always wind up slipping him a bill. He was like an ex-prizefighter in a Vegas casino.
He spoke soft and slow as if he measured every word, but if you had enough patience to talk to him, you could inherit a wealth of wisdom that would otherwise take a lifetime to learn. Afternoon till evening he would sit in
his corner seat, still as a mannequin, taking an occasional sip of whiskey. So I wasn’t the only one surprised to see him tapping his feet to the beat of the music. Then he began to rap his cane against the floor. He started to rise from his chair slowly. It was like we were witness to the return of Christ, everyone except for Coco, she was too busy gyrating her hips before you knew it they were dancing together. They were moving at different speeds but seem to be n sync.
Slim came out from the office to see the commotion when he saw what was going on he smiled and began pouring his expensive wine for patrons with empty glasses.
I glanced over at Priest; he was on his feet applauding the scene, notebook closed, cradled under his arm.
I looked around the place and noticed all the glowing faces even Big Walt was smiling. That’s when I realized that this wasn’t just a bar, it was what my apartment once was, a refuge from the outside world.
It was home.
The afternoon began to age in the evening. I went to pay my tab. I looked in my wallet and was stunned to see eight hundred dollars’ worth of big face Franklin’s staring at me. It was the money from Mr. Wilkes. I checked the clock on the wall. It was little before six. I thought I’d crash Melody’s crib and bless her with part of the money I owed her. I was almost at her house when I began to feel that, maybe I should’ve called first. Being more than familiar with her short fuse I figured an unexpected visit from anybody could have her exploding with attitude, but her reaction was nothing new to me. If she jumped out of pocket, I would throw the money on the table and vacate.
I turned on to Melody’s street. She lived in a lower-middle-class neighborhood not far from the inner city.
Half of the front lawns looked to be regularly cared for, while the others were out of control. There were a couple of boarded-up houses. The street cluttered with clusters of small children with compromising pride; I saw my reflection in their eyes and prayed they would get a chance to grow up at their own pace.
I pulled into the driveway. I questioned the timing of my visit.
I rang the doorbell a few times and could hear their Chihuahua Skittles barking up a storm. Melody peeked her head in the curtain, smiled when she saw it was me. She unlocked what seemed to be fifteen latches before finally opening the door.
“You got combination locks on there or something?”
She ignored my comment and looked at me like I was her long lost brother.
“Hey, Moses, come in,” Melody said.
I walked into the house passed the barking dog, trying not to step on it. I smelled the aroma of buttermilk biscuits; the delicious scent tickled my nose and teased my growling stomach, which Melody must have heard.
“Sounds like you could use some food. Dinners almost ready.”
Her mood began to make me suspicious. She was bopping around the house.
I looked to see if I’d find a half bottle of liquor to be the scapegoat for her behavior. I walked into the living room William was sitting on the sofa sipping tea, watching Jeopardy.
“What is Ivanhoe?” he said loud enough for the neighbors to hear him. I sat down next to him; he didn’t say hello. He turned and smiled at me when he found he got the answer right.
William kept on playing as if he was the fourth contestant. A commercial break came he looked at me.
“Hey Moses, what are you doing here?”
“I just thought I’d come and pay you all a visit.”
William began to chuckle under his breath.
“What you need to do is pay us that money you owe us.”
Jeopardy was back from commercial.
“What is kiss my ass?”
I got up and walked to the dining room; Melody was setting the
table.
“Take off your coat, have a seat, stay a while, little brother,”
Melody said, skipping around the table.
“What’s with the giddy gourmet routine, did Debarge get back together or something?” I said.
Melody laughed.
“You're tripping, what? I’m not allowed to be happy?”
I had a comeback I could’ve used, but like my momma used to say never insult the cook especially if you haven’t eaten yet.
Melody went to the kitchen and came back with a plate.
The saliva dripping from my lips felt like Niagara Falls.
The food was good, but it just wasn’t my mother’s cooking.
I looked up, and Melody was chuckling at me, I started laughing, we took turns getting louder until William got up and came in.
“What’s the joke?” William said with a slight demand in his voice.
“Nothing,” Melody said nonchalantly.
Melody got up to go to the kitchen she was snickering no longer at me but at the silly look of rejection on William’s face.
Melody returned from the kitchen, pan in hand dishing out food. She plopped some green seaweed on my plate.
“What the hell is this?” I asked.
“Oh those are greens, William made them,” Melody said.
“These ain’t greens.”
“Well, what does it look like to you?” William said clutching his spoon.
“Looks like frog shit,” I said turning my head away from the plate.
“You got a lot of nerve to sit here and insult the people feeding you.” William shouted.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna sit here and eat this shit so you can feel like a chef.”
Melody by then profoundly annoyed dropped her fork to her plate.
“Moses if you don’t want it, here put it back in the pot and back in the kitchen.”
I went into the kitchen with Skittles the Chihuahua following behind me. I was returning the greens to the pot when a spoonful fell off my plate onto the floor; Skittles licked it all up like it was his last meal. I thought that might be the case, so I waited a few seconds to see if he’d kill over. I saw no ill effects, so I splashed some more on the floor for him. I took my seat at the table, and we ate in silence.
I was noticing William staring at me.
“What the fuck you looking at?”
Melody dropped her fork again this time it sounded like the clashing of cymbals.
“You two are starting to get on my nerves.” Melody said,
“Sorry about that Sis, I just came to give this to you.”
I dropped a wad of money on the table.
Melody smiled.
“Thank you, Moses. I appreciate this.”
I got up and grabbed my coat.
I walked toward the front door; Melody, William, and Skittles followed behind me.
“Moses,” Melody said. “The lawyer is going to read Mommy’s
Will.”
We watched our eyes weakening; I wanted to hold her, but an invisible grudge kept us apart.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.
Suddenly, Skittles started gagging, and then vomited green puke all over William’s shoes. I looked at Melody; her sad eyes were fighting back laughter.
I shook my head and headed for my ride.
When I got home, it was late. I loaded my camera, set my alarm clock. I was looking forward to trying to catch up to the elusive
Mrs. Wilkes in the morning.
Melody’s facsimile of my mother’s cooking was enough of a sedative to put me to sleep.
August 13, 1996
I woke up before the alarm went off, hoped in the shower and got dressed with Clark Kent speed. I grabbed my camera and keys and was out the door at a quarter till eight. I used a lead foot on the ride from the city to the suburbs. I arrived ten minutes early.
I parked further down the street this time. I saw the silver Mercedes pull out. I felt like reviving my engine, assuming that the speed demon would be pulling out soon. At that thought, she sped out the driveway. I got as close as three cars back when she ran a fresh red light. I sat stopped watching her vehicle getting smaller in the distance till she was out of sight.
&nb
sp; I hoped that I was going the right way. Her routine was the only choice I had.
I saw her car parked across the street. I sat in the van for a moment then decided I wanted to get a closer look. Walking toward the gym, I wondered if her good looks were a mirage. I strolled up the long flight of stairs to the gym. By the time I got to the top, my chest was beating like a drum. I didn’t look it, but I was out of shape.
At the entrance, a short blond girl, behind the counter was smiling and greeted me like I was a teen idol.
“Hello, and welcome to Universal Gym, where staying in shape is our job too, not just yours.” She said with the zeal of a high school cheerleader. “My name is Cindy how can I assist you today?”
“Hi, Cindy my name is Moses, I’ve been looking to get in shape, and I heard this is the place to do it.”
“Great!” Cindy said. “Just give me a second, and I’ll give you a tour.”
While waiting for Cindy, I sat down and skimmed through the nation of neatly organized health and fitness magazines on the coffee table.
I looked up and saw Cindy coming toward me. “Okay Mr. Moses, follow me!”
Over here is our free weight room, and to your left is our aerobics class.”
There was a class going on; it filled with a mix of young and old women sweating trying to cultivate their bodies to resemble the magazine models on the lobby’s table.
Cindy was talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was busy trying to locate Mrs. Wilkes; she wasn’t in the aerobics class.
We passed the nautilus area I saw a room full of fitness freaks and personal trainers. I felt like I was staring into one of those confusion colored paintings with hidden pictures. I gazed, I saw her. She was doing reps on a butterfly machine. In front of her guiding, her reps were who I assumed was a personal trainer. He was wearing the same T-shirt as Cindy; he was a muscular man about six feet.
Moses Scriptures Page 4
