An Elderberry Fall

by Ruth P. Watson

  “But she is nice, and that is all that matters.” In the back of my mind I thought, and she don’t have a longing for my husband.

  “Okay, I thought you and Nadine could talk about husbands and children together. You know, cookin’ and things about the house. The kind of things women talk about.”

  “I am seventeen, and she’s at least twenty-five. She’s not my type, Simon.”

  He shook his head, knowing there was no win for this conversation. He changed the subject.

  “Let’s do something instead of talking about Nadine. Why don’t we go downtown today?”

  I grinned. I hadn’t been downtown but twice since I’d been in Richmond, though it was only several blocks to the east and another few blocks north past the lady dress shop that sold the cloche hats, and pleated chemise dresses I had been hoping to buy one day. The blocks were so much different than the yards of land in the country. Everybody lived feet and not miles away from each other. I loved walking the blocks. The sweet aroma of the food cooking, and the sounds of chatter did something to me. It did the same thing to Simon too, because I had noticed the grin on his face whenever we spoke to someone sitting on the front porch or steps. The sight of children playing in the streets had both Simon and Robert enthralled, until I coaxed them to come along.

  Everyone thought Robert’s smile was electrifying. It was a strange thing to say, since I’d never heard anyone from the country mention electricity and smiles. And Robert smiled at everyone we walked past. It was a mild day, and even though the summer was dying and autumn was being birthed, it was around seventy-two degrees. We were walking along, and Robert holding tight to Simon’s shoulder when we came across a sign that read, “PEARL BROWN TONIGHT.” It was in a bold print and all capital letters.

  “Is that the Pearl we know?” I asked.

  “She is a nightclub singer,” Simon reminded me in a sarcastic manner.

  “The last letter I received from Ginny said she was still back home with Willie.”

  “She’s a singer. Jefferson is no place for a person like her. Everybody is trying to get away as soon as they can.”

  “I just thought she was mourning Camm. He seemed to know how to get the best of everybody.” Simon saw the frown lines on my face and the sadness in my hazel eyes. He reached over and put the arm that was free around my neck. Robert and I both depended on his strength.

  “Let’s not think about him,” Simon said, and pulled me in closer.

  “You can never be free of the folks you leave behind, can you?”

  “Everybody is moving along. Ain’t nobody staying the same. You, me, Robert and Ms. Pearl is doing something new. We are free.”

  The sign was tilted in the window, and the meticulous side of me got the urge to go inside and straighten it out—make it better, but it was only a thought. It was a quaint little club famous for bringing in fresh and new jazz talent to the Heights. We’d heard a few famous folks had been there, but Simon and I had not been anywhere since coming to Richmond, other than to the ice cream bar, for a cup of fresh churned, homemade vanilla cream.

  “You want to come back tonight and hear her sing?”

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see her or not. She was the woman seeing my momma’s husband, even though he was a sinner when they met. Ms. Pearl hadn’t done anything to me, and the one time when we met at the church picnic, she had smiled at me and said I had the prettiest eyes. Momma didn’t take too kindly to women like her. She felt a woman should work in the kitchen or for her children. I never heard her mention the bedroom, and I’m certain she didn’t believe in anybody singing in anyplace outside of church.

  “Yes, I want to go.” I replied, “I’ll see if Mrs. Hall wouldn’t mind watching Robert for me. She is always begging me to leave him with her.”

  “For us…,” Simon corrected me.

  We walked right past a crowded street trolley hissing along, made the right turn at the corner, a block from the nightclub, and waited in line for an elderly colored lady with high cheekbones to fill our cups with ice cream. It was good, and almost tasted as good as Momma’s, but she didn’t have strawberries. Robert’s eyes widened at the sight of the cup. We sat at the counter along with other free-minded colored people. Back home, colored-people were only farmers, and sitting at an ice cream counter was unheard of. Richmond was surely different from the country; colored people strutted instead of walking bent over, hiding their faces from the white man. It was a sight to see.

  Chapter 4

  Simon and I arrived around 7:30, just as a black Studebaker pulled up and let out banker, Mrs. Maggie Walker. People recognized the car and rushed in closer to see her. Simon and I watched nearby at the spectators smiling and waving at her. Simon stood straight up with his mouth wide open, gawking at the shiny, black new Studebaker. “You like that car, Carrie?”

  “Yes,” I answered, anxiously waiting to catch a glimpse of the famous Maggie Walker. When she got out of the car, she was taller than me, and her light-yellow skin smoother and softer in appearance than what I’d expected. She had me mesmerized. I’m not sure what I thought she’d look like, but she was not the person I’d envisioned. She had a gregarious smile and shook hands with anybody who dared to walk up to her. I stood glued to the stone pavement. I wanted to do the same, but my feet wouldn’t move—felt like I was carrying around bricks on my feet.

  The air was thin and fresh, and every star in the sky was out and in place. The colored folks were exquisitely dressed, the ladies with dropped-waist chiffon dresses embellished with sequins and pleats. The men wore church suits and hats. It was a parade of beautiful people walking in with their backs as straight as a pole, demanding the attention of those of us eager to get a glimpse of the new fashions I could only dream about.

  I had never been in a place like this. I didn’t think I was old enough to be there, but who could turn us away, a married woman and her husband. The one time I’d been in a place similar was when I was in Jefferson County and my momma let me go with her to hunt down her drunken husband. We went to the joint and she told me, “Now sit out here. I’ve got a few questions to ask.” Once she was inside, I got out of the wagon and peeked in the side window. It was full of a bunch of church folks drinking whiskey and some of them were drunk and leaning sideways in their chairs. But, when Momma returned, she said to me, “Now this is no place for a lady. Only floozies hang around this place.” She helped her drunken, “corn liquor seeping out from his pores” husband into the wagon, and we went home.

  This place was different, though. The patrons were businesslike. The dungarees had been replaced with trousers, ironed and creased. The women Momma called floozies were business owners, and leaders in Jackson Heights. It was a warm place. And, I fit in just like the rest of the ladies. I had on my same tan dress, but it had been altered and updated once I saw how the ladies dressed in Richmond. I made it into a dropped waist by cutting the bottom of the dress below my hips and sewing on black fabric I had pinned into pleats. It was as pretty as the rest of the dresses, and it was a tailored fit. I’m so glad Momma had taught me how to sew. My hair was curled under, and I had on a little rouge and pink lipstick. “You look like a China doll, baby,” Simon whispered to me at the club. Mrs. Hall had already told me I looked like a grown woman instead of the teenager I was. Simon was as dapper as the men coming into the club. He had on a dark-brown suit with a bowtie. This was the first time ever I’d seen him dressed this well. He almost looked like Mr. Camm, but I reminded myself how most men in the city dressed distinguished.

  The money Simon had made on the road could possibly have been spent in one place, yet he was frugal. He ordered us both a Pepsi-Cola, and we snacked on the complimentary peanuts already in a dish on the walnut-stained tables. Through the dim light, we gazed at each other passionately. There was something mystical about the lights being low. I felt vulnerable, and maybe even sexy. Simon eyed me intensely, like he could bite me, and I blushed and smiled like a Cheshire cat. The
place was beautiful. Each of the tables had a lamp, the low light casting a romantic glow and my Simon gazing at me like he had something he wanted to say.

  “You all right?” Simon asked.

  “Yes. This is so exciting! I ain’t ever been in a place like this,” I said, looking around and admiring the faces and fashions of the beautiful people.

  He put his arm around me. He appeared comfortable, relaxed in this atmosphere. He was more like the patrons than different.

  “Have you ever been here?” I tried to resist asking him, knowing I might get jealous of his answer.

  “I’ve been here before.”

  It was not the answer I expected to hear, although I could tell he was in familiar territory. So, I got a little concerned.

  “Were you alone?”

  “No, I came with a few cats from the team. When we come in town, we occasionally get dressed, and have a drink.”

  I didn’t know my husband was a drinker of anything outside of Pepsi and water.

  “This is not something I do all the time,” he added, “and it is not the kind of place you should come to by yourself,” he said, smiling and pointing. It was as if he were giving orders to me. It was more like a fatherly lecture than one of a husband.

  “I’m nervous; do you think I will fit in?”

  “Sure. These people are no better than you,” he assured me.

  “It ain’t that many country girls in here, I can tell. Most of them hold their drinks differently, and the women sit with their legs crossed instead of their feet crossed at the ankles.”

  He chuckled. “People are people. Country folks are like city folks; they just have different chores to do.”

  “The women remind me of my teacher, Mrs. Miller. She always had on a variety of dresses. She wasn’t plain like me.”

  “Tonight, you look like the rest of the women in here, but better,” he said.

  A girlish smile swept across my face, and I could feel my cheeks reddening. I no longer needed the rouge on my cheeks.

  The club filled up quickly. All the seats at the tables were taken and most of the wooden stools around the bar. Ms. Pearl could definitely fill a room. Everyone chatted and listened to the soft sounds, eager to get a glimpse of the singer. Mrs. Maggie Walker sat at the table right in front at center stage. All of the people at her table seemed to carry a certain demeanor. They appeared confident and relaxed. All of them were dressed so dapper, I had to stare. The black suits and bowties made the men stand out, and the ladies had fitted chiffon dresses of all colors. Simon and I were somewhere in the middle, but close enough to see everything that was taking place. I was jittery since this was my first time.

  At ten minutes past nine o’clock, in walked Ms. Pearl. She took long, deliberately slow strides straight up to the microphone in the middle of the stage. It was as if she were a swan, the way she glided and strolled delicately through the tables and up the side stairs to the middle of the stage. The crowd roared at the sight of her, and I started to sweat like a nervous little kid. I knew she was famous, but not this famous. Everybody stood up and the applause seemed to grow louder and stronger. Simon smiled and clapped his hands so vigorously his palms turned a bright pink.

  Ms. Pearl stood in the middle of the stage smiling and posing. The red chiffon dress she had on with sequins on the pleats fit her like a Sunday glove. Every curve on her body was highlighted, and her dress sparkled. Her makeup was flawless. The nutmeg powder and the rouge on her cheeks gave her a burst of color. She seemed too beautiful to have ever lived in Jefferson County.

  “Good evening, beautiful people!” she said in her sultry Southern accent.

  The crowd answered, “Good evening to you too, Mz. Pearl!”

  She pulled the microphone close to her rose-red lips and bellowed out some of the deepest tones I’d ever heard. Her voice was rich and heart-wrenching. When she started to sing, it sounded like every word flowed right from her heart and everyone felt it. She stood tall and statuesque demanding the ears of the patrons. Those who were chatting before she appeared on stage were engrossed soulfully into her rhythm. They clapped, and some stood up while others swayed from left to right. Simon and I both bobbed our heads. A few people danced in the aisles. Simon took my hand. “Want to dance?” I couldn’t dance, but I’d always wanted to. So, I grabbed his waiting hand and we went to the center of the hardwood dance floor, in the middle of the tables. I laid my head on his broad chest, and we both closed our eyes and inhaled the music to the fullest, along with the cigar smoke.

  We moved from side to side to the music.

  “How do you feel?” Simon asked me.

  “Good, just a little nervous.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve never danced in front of anybody,” I whispered to him.

  “I like how you dance.”

  We swayed cheek to cheek. It was warm. Beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. I was dancing for the first time alongside bankers and educators, and strangely, I was shy.

  As we turned to walk back through the crowd to our seats, I noticed Pearl gazing down at us, and when I glanced up at her, she grinned. I didn’t know how to act. It was a warm and cold feeling. The warmth came from seeing someone you know perform in front of an ignited crowd, with cheeks blushing with jubilation. I felt proud. The cold came from the reputation folk back home prefaced her with before speaking of her. Folk in Jefferson County were like that.

  The dimly lit room was the perfect setting for the sounds she delivered. The shadows of bobbing heads reflected along the wall. After Ms. Pearl had bellowed out the final tune with a thunder of applause, she sashayed down the stairs past the sophisticated crowd and came right toward us. She got to the table so fast that when I looked up, there she stood as straight as an arrow smiling down seductively at Simon and me.

  Simon hopped up. “Hi, Ms. Pearl. Won’t you have a seat?”

  “Hi,” I said, my eyes fixated on her oval face and flawless beauty.

  “What are y’all folk doing up here, in Richmond?” she asked.

  “We live here now,” Simon answered.

  The folks at the table beside us peered from across the way at her as if she had more importance than Mrs. Maggie Walker. We seemed to gain some of that importance by association. Ms. Pearl knew they were watching too, because she waved cunningly at the staring man, and grinned. His wife smiled too.

  “So y’all done moved away from Jefferson…that place is for old people and folk with no desires,” she jokingly said.

  “We like it here,” Simon told her.

  “I like it too. But it is just a stop on my way to New York City,” she stated with authority, still standing, towering over our table. As we looked up, we could see her large breasts oozing out of her dress. She was provocative, her top almost as skimpy as the young vaudeville singer everyone was talking about, Josephine Baker, who was gaining fame from dancing in shows all across the Midwest.

  “We are going to be here awhile,” Simon commented.

  “Richmond is nice, and I love it in Jackson Heights, but Washington is the place with all the money.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying to add to the conversation.

  “You don’t have to call me ma’am. I ain’t that old.”

  I smiled knowing anybody in their thirties was old to me.

  “How’s that baby of yours?”

  “He is good; just growing so fast.”

  “Does he favor his daddy?”

  A frown rolled over Simon’s face, and I sucked my teeth.

  Simon didn’t wait for me to answer her. He said, “He looks just like us.”

  “Good, because that son-of a bitch didn’t deserve a child.”

  If he was so bad, then why did you sneak around with him? He was a married man. The thoughts were there, but the words wouldn’t come out. I held my lips tight.

  “Look, I want y’all to come back to check me out. It is nice to see familiar faces in the room.”


  “We’ll be back,” Simon said.

  As she turned to walk away, her husband, Willie, walked over to the table.

  “Who is this?”

  “They are from Jefferson,” she answered.

  “How’s everybody doing?” he asked, and shook Simon’s hand first and then mine.

  I had heard Ginny say he was a stunningly handsome man, and he was a big chocolate man with a beautiful smile and dark eyes. He appeared strong, but he dressed like a lot of the men from Jefferson. He was in a dark suit with shined brogan boots. It was as close as he came to being a city man. They were an attractive couple. It was unfortunate she had spent most of her time in the arms of Herman Camm, a selfish man who did not care for anyone, but himself.

  “Now I want to see y’all back here soon. I am going to be performing here every Saturday night.”

  “We will be back,” Simon replied.

  I didn’t say anything because I had hoped to get away from Ms. Pearl, Herman Camm, and all the memories of Jefferson County. Now, I was wondering if I could ever put the past behind me. Would I always run into people like Ms. Pearl?

  “Let’s go,” Simon said.

  When we turned to walk away, I felt at ease. We left the handsome couple standing at our table. Just before we left the building I took one last look, and Ms. Pearl was already doing what she did best, titillating the crowd, leaning over the tables, smiling, and mesmerizing everybody around. Willie was not beside her anymore, but was standing off to the side watching her every move. As always, the men were hypnotized by her beauty and stature, and the women were sucking in their teeth because she’d once again stolen their husband’s or boyfriend’s attention. She even had that way with Simon. I was glad we were going home. She was a dangerous woman.

  Chapter 5

  Simon was already undressed and lying in between my thighs before I remembered the vinegar sponge Mrs. Hall had given me. It was my security. Getting pregnant was not an option for me, since Simon was traveling around with the Colored League, and I had decided I couldn’t raise another child alone. Tonight had happened too fast. With each kiss, he inserted his tongue deeper down my throat. After that, his tongue panned over my body, landing on my heavy breasts. The sensation was so heated. When his lips touched my neck, and then my breasts and belly button, I was lost. I trembled all over with pleasure, and my body locked with intensity. His eyes fixated on my bare body, my full breasts dancing with the rhythm. And I gazed at him, staring at his beautiful body, his manhood erect and thick. He was hungry. I let him have his way with me touching and thrusting inside me, and then I rolled on top and galloped uncontrollably until he was full on me. As he placed his lips on mine, I swallowed, my memory became foggier, and it took my breath away.