“So the blacks were sacrificed so others could work?”
“Sacrificed? Damn, Zelda, you make it sound like dey was put on some Mayan altar and beheaded,” Mazie said.
“What Zelda is saying is that it seems unfair that just the black people around here appear to be unemployed,” Daniel clarified.
“Daniel,” Mazie huffed, obviously annoyed by his comment, “don’t tell me you’re one of those too.”
“One of what?” Veronica asked.
“If you’re asking if I’m one of those concerned about my people, then, yes, I am,” Daniel said, looking at me. I smiled and nodded my appreciation. “You’re educated. I’m surprised you aren’t concerned.”
“I am, I am, but . . .” Mazie said, stammering and huffing as she most often did when she was frustrated. “I swear, Zelda, look what you did. You got Daniel on your side. You always touting that Black Power stuff. Does it ever occur to you dat dey like how dey live? Right, Veronica?” she said, soliciting support.
“How can anybody like this?” Veronica asked.
“’Cause I know dem and y’all don’t, and dis is what dey like,” she said, looking directly at me.
“Three years of college and you consider that a well-reasoned argument?” I said calmly.
“You don’t live here, so you don’t know. Everybody round here is just fine, so just cool it. Northerners always think they got it better than us in the South. But it ain’t no difference, except y’all have concrete under your feet and we have red clay. Our racism is out in the open, where y’all’s is niced up.”
After that tirade, no one said a word.
A few minutes later Winston pulled into a narrow street and parked in front of a big corner house.
“We’re here.” Mazie beamed. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
The neighborhood was nice and quiet. The house was big, three stories and stately. The bricks were painted bright yellow, set off by white shutters, and the landscape was pristine. It looked like it should be on the other side of town. Winston and Daniel got our bags out of the trunk.
A woman was standing in the doorway smiling. “Hey, baby,” she said, opening the screen door wider and stepping out onto the porch. “And who do you got yere?” she asked with a Southern twang much more pronounced than Mazie’s slight drawl.
“Hi, Mamma. These are some of my friends from Spelman. They’re staying with us.”
My jaw dropped. Mamma? She must have had Mazie when she was four years old. She didn’t look her age at all. She looked just like Mazie, with the same twinkle in her eyes and deep dimples in each cheek.
She was slightly more petite and shapely, had dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and was wearing dark blue shoes and a modest floral-print short-sleeved dress with a white lace collar. With just lipstick, her skin was positively, perfectly flawless.
Mazie hurried up the steps to hold the screen door open for us to enter as her mother greeted us individually.
“Veronica, so nice to finally meet you. Mazie just goes on and on and on about you and y’all’s family. I feel like I already know you. And y’all must be Daphne. Why, you are just as beautiful as my Mazie said you are.”
Then her showy Southern smile faded slightly as she turned to me. “And you must be Zelda, the revolutionary,” she said. “My goodness, what on earth have we got yere?” she asked, staring up at my hair.
“It’s called an Afro,” I informed her politely.
“Yes, of course. But it’s so big and . . . uh . . . uh . . . big.”
Instead of taking offense, I gave her my brightest smile. “Yes, it is, thank you.”
“And powerful,” Daniel added.
Mazie rushed over to him and intertwined her arm with his. “Mamma, this Daniel. He goes to Morehouse College,” she announced with a familiarity I didn’t appreciate. Daniel winked at me and I felt a little better.
“Well now, a college man. Dere ain’t a lot of college men round yere. I always say that Mazie needs to get herself a college man. And you are handsome to boot. Are you married or engaged?” she asked boldly.
“Neither.”
“You have a girlfriend?” Mazie asked.
He glanced at me and smiled. I looked away. “Where can I put the suitcases, ma’am?” he asked.
“Oh my goodness, dey must be heavy. Y’all can put the girls’ cases at the top of the stairs. Daniel, take your bags all the way up to the third floor. That’s where the young men stay.”
Daniel and Winston took the bags into the house, then Winston hurried back to the car and left after giving Mazie a quick kiss goodbye.
We walked into the foyer, and there was an old-fashioned French-style writing desk with an elegantly scripted WELCOME sign sitting on top. The parlor was small and cozy with a big black wood stove in the corner, a sofa, two wing chairs, and a marble-top coffee table with neatly stacked copies of newspapers and magazines.
“How long will y’all be with us?”
“They’re just staying the night, for my birthday party.”
Mazie led us up a narrow staircase to a wide hallway. Before directing us to our accommodations, she showed us a second staircase down the hall that led to the outside.
She put her finger to her lips and whispered, “I used to sneak boys up to my bedroom all the time. They come up the fire escape, in through the window down at the end of the hallway.” She giggled. “My mother doesn’t know.”
We went inside our room and looked around. It was large and old-fashioned but nice. There were four single beds in the room. I collapsed onto one of the beds. It felt like heaven. Veronica and Daphne sat down, talking as I lay there, and Mazie went into town with her mother.
16
I TOOK A NAP AND WOKE UP A FEW HOURS LATER TO THE smell of a cake baking in an oven. It smelled amazing. I put on my shoes and went downstairs. Veronica was headed to the front door. “Where’s Daphne?” I asked.
“Talking to Mazie and her mother. I’m going outside. I need some air.”
I joined her. As we passed through the screen door, we found an old man sitting on the front porch outside with a pipe in his hand and a newspaper in his lap. He looked up wearing thick glasses, like the bottoms of soda bottles. He smiled at us, greeting us with a wide, toothy grin. “Good day, young ladies,” he said.
We nodded and smiled. “Good afternoon, sir.”
He was wearing a dark suit and a freshly pressed white dress shirt with a big blue bow tie and suspenders pulling at his pants. His shoes were shiny, like he had just polished them.
“Ya smells dat? Yes sirree, ’spect that cake will be ready shortly. Smells good, don’t it? I’m partial to a slice of pecan cake or cornbread cake myself, but that lemon pound cake in the oven got my mouth a-watering. Been all over these United States, but I ain’t never had no lemon pound cake like baked right yere in this house. I lived in Alabama in the thirties, a place called Belle’s. Dat’s when I drank whiskey and such. I thought she had the best tasting cakes ever, but I was wrong. Must be the water round here.” He shook his head, seeming to ponder the remark. “Yep, must be the water.”
He took a deep puff from his pipe and blew it out slowly. He tapped the ash and embers into an ashtray, then bit down on the well-worn stem. He reminded me of my grandfather, with his deep, raspy, preacher voice and pipe smoking.
He motioned with the pipe. “Cherry tobacco, the only kind I smoke. Picked it up from my paps. Though his pipe wasn’t fancy lak dis one. It was whittled by his own hands out of a real corncob. He chuckled. “Pocketknife, a tree branch, and an old dried-up corncob. I watched him make it. The name’s Jonathan Jackson.”
After we introduced ourselves as Spelman students, he smiled and chuckled heartily. “Well now, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Ain’t that just something? My wife’s name was Zelda. She had eyes dat sparkled and a smile dat lit up the night sky. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out. We got ourselves wed June 9th, 1898. It
was a bright and sunny Thursday afternoon. I was twenty-six years old and she was my angel, heaven on earth, just for me. God, I loved that woman, every bit of her. Don’t get me wrong, she was a handful, my Zelda. ’Spect she’d say the same o’ me. Marriage ain’t easy. Lawd knows dat’s the truth.”
“I don’t want to get married, ever,” Veronica said plainly.
“Then don’t,” I said. “Your father can’t make you.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with marriage,” Mr. Jackson said firmly.
“It’s not a marriage for love; it’s a business deal,” I told him.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with dat. Many a good marriage start out arranged. You youngins thinkin’ you knows, but you don’t knows nothing. Dez been arranged marriages since the world been round. Some good, some bad—don’t matter none in the end. Marriage is hard, going in, you each got your own ways. Don’t matter if’n it’s arranged or not. You gets to know dat person, and he gets to know you. In the end y’all see what’s what. My Zelda and me, wez arranged by her daddy, and I loved dat woman till the day the good Lord came and got her,” he said, wiping his eyes with a big white handkerchief.
“We had one fine son, Adam. He fought in World War One. He came home and marched down Fifth Avenue in New York City as a member of the Harlem Hellfighters in 1919. We watched him parade dat night, den buried him four weeks later. Got hisself beat in the head with an iron pipe. Ner’d find who done it. He gots all the way through the war and gets hisself killed on the front steps.
“I’m here now. Finally found a nice, quiet spot on God’s green earth to settle down before they bury my bones in the dirt and I join my Zelda. My only job now is to sit here and wait for Mr. Death. He’s taking his sweet old time.”
The screen door squeaked open and Daniel came outside. “Hey,” he said.
“Daniel, what you knows ’bout dis Zelda gal yere?”
Daniel smiled. I rolled my eyes. “She’s okay. A little bit stubborn and bossy, and she likes Motown music, but she’s okay.”
“I ain’t ner heard nothing bad ’bout a young lady named Zelda. You gots a boyfriend, Zelda?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Well, Daniel, dere you have it. She’s just right.”
Daniel smiled and looked at me. “Sounds good to me.”
I looked at him to reply, but the words caught in my mouth. I changed the subject. “You’ve seen a lot of history.”
“History, Lawd yes. I seen my fair share of goings-on. Some good. Some bad. Most will just sit a spell and be judged by folks way smarter dan me. I seens good men gets demselves killed and bad men wage war. I seens when we had no rights and now civil rights. I seens the beginning of radio, television, movies, buildings climbing to the heavens, the start of cars, the reign of trains, planes, and now we’re heading into space. Yes, sirree, I seens dem all.”
He tapped his pipe again and put it in his pocket.
“It’s a good fine day, and I sees the future when I look at the three of yous. Getting your education. Can’t nobody take dat from you, never. Dat’s something you hold on to all you life. ’Member that. Small-minded people kicking up strife don’t stands for long. I seens change and I seens men fight it. Den one day dere ain’t no more fight left in dem. Change is yere and it be a-comin’ fast.”
Daniel and I looked at each other.
“Wee-oo!” Mr. Jackson tipped his head up and smiled. “Dat lemon pound cake just about perfect. I ’spect I better gets myself inside and take a look-see.”
He reached down and picked up a long, thin cane beside his foot. “You young people stay out here in da cool afternoon. I’ma sit a spell and watch my television shows.”
“Think I’ll come with you, Mr. Jackson,” Veronica said.
He looked at Daniel and me and smiled. “Good idea.”
“He’s sweet,” I said, leaning back on the railing, alone with Daniel. “What are you smiling at?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. His smile broadened and my stomach did a somersault. “You, Miss Motown. I’m smiling at you. I like you,” he confessed, softly.
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I do. And I think I want to see more of you when we get to Atlanta. If that’s okay with you.”
“Hmm. I don’t know about that. See, Mr. I Only Like Real Music, I like guys who are fans of syrupy sweet love-machine music,” I said. “And since you’re not, well . . .”
He laughed. “Okay, well, you know, maybe Motown isn’t all that bad after all.”
“Maybe?” I teased. “Sorry. See ya later.” I stood to leave.
“Wait, wait,” Daniel said and quickly grabbed my waist and pulled me close. I laughed and tried to squirm away from him, but he held me tight. “I take it back,” he protested. “I take it back.”
“No, don’t,” I said, laughing. “You like what you like.”
“I like you, and I’m not taking that back,” he promised and started kissing me with loud, playful smooches.
I laughed and squealed until finally surrendering. “Okay, okay, okay, I believe you,” I said, yielding.
We stood together in each other’s arms, our eyes locked. The desire in his eyes reflected my own desire for him. My heart pounded as I ran my tongue over my lips. I wanted him to kiss me for real. He lowered his head and I tilted my head up to meet him. The kiss was short and sweet. I pulled back and looked into his eyes, seeing that he wanted more. He wrapped his strong arms around me and I melded to his body. We kissed again. This time it was different.
Our tongues intertwined in a passionate dance of burning hunger. He ravished my mouth, leaving me in urgent arousal. We clung to each other as passion swelled around us. I heard a deep guttural groan and knew we had gone too far. We parted breathless with my heart racing. We stood there on the porch holding each other.
After a while we heard talking and I stepped away. Daphne and Mazie came outside. Veronica followed. “Mazie’s taking us into town,” Daphne said. “Come on.”
I didn’t particularly want to go, but staying here with Daniel was too tempting, so I left with them. Daniel stayed.
We went into just about every store in the town. Daphne and Veronica bought slacks and tops and I bought a scarf. Mazie, who had gone shopping earlier, bought shorts. When we got back to the house, we watched game shows and soap operas on the television the rest of the afternoon while Mazie’s mother cooked. By the time supper was done, we were more than ready.
We walked into the dining room, where we found a table full of food. There was also sliced ham on a buffet table, along with deviled eggs, corn pudding, and green beans. The fried chicken was about the best I’d ever tasted, and so were the potato salad, macaroni and cheese, and turnip greens. The corn bread had actual corn in it, and the candied yams were mouthwatering. There were also black-eyed peas, chitterlings, and red beans and rice. Even the ice-cold lemonade was delicious.
Mr. Jackson had thirds, then wiped his greasy mouth with a big red napkin and patted his stomach. “Well now, I’d say the only thing missing from dis table is fried okra and a couple of pigs’ feet covered with vinegar and hot sauce.”
Daniel, Mazie, and her mother—quite proud of the birthday spread—agreed. On the other hand, Veronica, Daphne, and I made faces and balked at the thought.
“Y’all Northern gals don’t know what real good food is,” Mr. Jackson said. “Ain’t I right, Daniel?” We laughed as he started naming other foods we’d never even consider eating. Tongue. Gizzards. Rocky Mountain oysters. Then he stood, kissed Mazie’s forehead, and wished her a happy birthday.
Mazie’s mother got up and headed into the kitchen. “Dat’s not all,” she said, bringing out a lemon pound cake with white icing. “Surprise!” she said and we began singing the birthday song.
After we finished eating cake and ice cream, we helped clean up the kitchen while talking about the evening’s plans. The phone rang and Mazie jumped to answer. “That was Mr. Sam. The car’s ready. The par
t came early,” she said. “Gunner is gonna bring it here when he gets off work. We can either go to the barn with him or you can drive your car,” she said directly to Veronica.
“I’ll drive. We can make sure the car is working fine before we hit the road tomorrow.”
“Come on. Let’s start getting ready.”
17
I PUT ON MY SHORTS AND A HALTER TOP WITH LONG straps that wrapped around my neck into a bow in the back and twice around my body to accentuate my slender waist. Veronica had on a one-piece strapless jumpsuit, and Daphne had on a simple V-neck shift dress, with short, puffy cap sleeves and a scalloped hem, and low-heeled sandals.
“What’s taking her so long?” Daphne asked as she flopped down on her bed and fidgeted with the crocheted afghan.
Mazie was still in her room getting ready. We heard her mother bouncing to and fro like a spinning top in a wooden box. She ran up and down the hall between her bedroom and Mazie’s room six or seven times.
“What is she doing?” Veronica whispered.
“Training for the Olympics maybe,” I joked.
“Hey, come on. Let’s go,” Mazie invited finally.
Mazie was posed in the hallway with her mother taking Polaroid pictures. My jaw dropped open. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Mazie, in a long blond wig, was wearing a skimpy white crochet mini shift dress that was nearly see-through. Beneath, I could see she was wearing black panties and a black bra. By all standards, her outfit was positively scandalous.
“Ta-da. Well, what do you think?” she asked proudly. She spun around, and the back was just as see-through and barely covered her buttocks. “My mother made it for me. It’s very lightweight, and it’s one of a kind.” She posed again, waiting for compliments. “I look pretty, don’t I?”
“You look beautiful, Mazie. Prettier than any girl there,” her mother said.
“Let’s go,” Daphne said.
“Yes! I don’t want to be too late,” Mazie said.
Daniel was waiting for us on the porch. He was talking with Mr. Jackson, who was sitting sipping lemonade with a pipe in his hand and the newspaper on his lap. Daniel grinned at me. I thought my heart would stop beating right then and there. Unshaven, in a dark navy shirt and slacks, he looked handsome, dangerously handsome. Better than Sidney Poitier, Ivan Dixon, and Harry Belafonte all put together handsome.
One Night in Georgia Page 14
