by Ann Roberts
I finally plopped into a corner chair and just watched. Kiah was dancing with Mr. Rubenstein, and Mac was dancing with Mama. I’d never seen her dance with Pops. I didn’t know she knew how, but each time Mac spun her around she went in the right direction and flew back to him. I found myself bopping in my seat it was so entertaining.
Then the song changed to a slow one, and Mr. Rubenstein traded Kiah for his new wife. She came and sat by me, and we watched the four adults. Mr. Rubenstein gazed into his wife’s eyes and whispered in her ear. Mac held Mama closely as they circled around, and she pressed her forehead into his chin. I glanced back and forth, comparing the couples. I didn’t see a difference.
“Oh, no,” Mama murmured over the music.
They’d all stopped dancing and were gazing out the window.
Kiah and I jumped up and followed Mac out the front door despite Mama’s protests. Billy Smith strutted down the walk with a brick in his hand. Out on the street I saw a dark blue truck, and I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I saw Will sitting in the passenger’s seat. When Mac sauntered down the steps, Billy stopped.
“We don’t want any trouble today, son,” Mac said.
Billy looked at him with disgust. “I ain’t no nigger’s son. And I saw you dancing with her.” He spat the words and held out the brick like he was preparing to throw it at Mac.
“That’s none of your business,” Mac replied.
“It’s everybody’s business. This is a house full of nigger lovers, kike lovers, spics and homos.”
Mac took a step toward him, and he moved back.
“Chicken!” one of the boys called.
“Don’t be a pussy, Billy!”
He glanced at them and charged Mac with the brick held over his head.
“Mac!” Mama screamed. She started to run down the steps, but Mr. Rubenstein grabbed her.
Mac ducked when Billy swung the brick and punched him in the stomach. We all heard him groan and saw him double up in pain. He dropped the brick in favor of holding his sides while Mac stood over him, urging him to take some deep breaths before he stood up.
“Nigger!” Billy screamed.
He ran back to the truck still hunched over. His four friends pushed him into the back and drove away, but not before they flipped the bird and said a lot of swear words. I noticed the boy I thought was Will had slunk down in his seat.
“I’m sorry, Jacob,” Mac said when he returned to us holding the brick.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he declared. “We’d be a lot sorrier if that brick had gone through the window. I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mac. Thanks for saving the day.” They shook hands, and then Mr. Rubenstein looked around the startled guests and grinned. “Now, who wants some wedding cake?”
We headed back inside, but it didn’t take long before a police car showed up. I imagined that Billy Smith had run home and told his mother what had happened—a black man had assaulted him. The officer asked to talk to Mac but Mr. Rubenstein insisted on being present, bringing along the brick for evidence.
We watched from the sun porch as the police officer and Mac listened to Mr. Rubenstein. I could tell he was explaining what happened, and he kept pointing to the brick. The police officer read from his notes, and Mr. Rubenstein listened for a while and then started shaking his head and pointing to the brick again. While he talked, the cop gazed at Mac who stood quietly with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t hang his head and he didn’t look mad. He just looked respectful. Then the officer scratched his ear as if he was trying to decide what to do. He motioned for Mac to go back inside, and Mac joined Mama on the sun porch, taking her hand.
I turned back to Mr. Rubenstein and the police officer. They stood close, and I didn’t think he was talking about the brick. He pointed toward the north, and the officer nodded slowly. He scratched his head, and then shook his hand before he drove away.
“Is everything all right, Jacob?” Mrs. Rubenstein asked as he stepped back into the house.
He smiled and kissed his new bride. “Everything’s fine.”
Mama touched his sleeve. “What happened? What did you say to him?”
“Well, first I pointed out that the brick is from Smith Brickyards and actually has the Smith stamp on it. There’s no question who it belongs to. Then I pointed out that there were twelve eyewitnesses who knew the truth, and they’d be happy to testify in court to support Mac. And then I asked him if he was taking advantage of the special discount for law enforcement officers on the subdivision going up on Michigan Avenue. When he said he hadn’t been able to get on the list, I told him he was on the list now if this all went away.”
“You bribed him?” I asked.
Mama gasped. “Vivian!”
He squatted down and faced me. “Miss Vivi, I want you to think about what I’m going to say. It’s okay to do a little wrong if it’s for a big right. Remember that.”
****
I sat perched in my bedroom window late that night. We’d had so much noise and commotion that I wasn’t ready for the quiet. My brain was still hungry for action. Other than the whole part with Billy Smith, it had been the best day of my life. We’d had our picture taken on the front stoop with Mac and Kiah, and Mr. Rubenstein promised to get us a copy of it.
Eventually everyone left, and Mac said Kiah could sleep over. I glanced at my best friend snuggled under the blankets. The moonlight was just at the point where it cut right through the window and straight to the place where she lay. It shone on her face in just the right way, like she was a movie star.
Apparently Mama couldn’t sleep either because she sat on the sun porch. She’d changed into her capri pants and a simple print shirt for the cleanup, but her hair was still up in the chignon and she’d left her fancy makeup on too. She was staring into the night, and I wondered what she was thinking about. Maybe it was her own wedding to Pops, or maybe she was reviewing the day. It had been a wonderful party.
A squeak broke the silence and Mac walked out on his porch carrying his pipe. I’d seen this at least a dozen times in the past few months, Mama on her porch and Mac on his. It was like they carried on a conversation without words. Once I’d stayed at the window, determined not to leave until one of them did, but then I fell asleep and woke up the next morning, my cheek pressed against the cold window and a terrible crick in my neck.
I was about to get up and go back to my bed and enjoy Kiah’s warmth next to me when the oddest thing occurred. Mama stamped out her cigarette and came down the steps into the yard. She stood in front of her rose bushes, her hands behind her back. It was dark, and I couldn’t tell if she was looking at him or the ground. He leaned against the post but even from a distance I could tell he was aware of her.
Then with a spring in her step she crossed the yard and climbed up the two little steps. She walked like she was delivering a sweet potato pie, which she’d done for over a year. Why she’d hesitated so long to cross the yard I didn’t understand until she faced him, for she didn’t have a sweet potato pie. It occurred to me that she had no reason at all to stand on a man’s porch, particularly in the middle of the night.
They were as close as they’d been when they were dancing, and I thought they might start again when she reached up and touched his cheek. He stood perfectly still, leaning against that post, one hand holding his pipe while the other remained at his side. Her hand slid down his face and followed the line of his open-collared shirt. He was still wearing his Sunday best, but he’d taken off his tie and there was enough moonlight to see her hand over his heart.
Kiah stirred but a raging fire on my bed wouldn’t have moved me from that window. A little worm of shame wrapped around my heart, telling me this was private and I wasn’t supposed to know. I wasn’t supposed to look. But I couldn’t take my eyes away, not until he took her hand and led her inside the dark cabin.
Chapter Fourteen
June, 2010
CC spent the weekend tethered to her computer and her phone, de
sperately searching for a way to delete the posting and remove the horrible photos. She’d started with the basic idea of cracking the password, until she realized Alicia had probably chosen something nonsensical rather than a favorite movie they had shared or a restaurant they loved. She didn’t want CC to delete the ad. She wasn’t being funny. She wasn’t playing a game. She was cruel.
CC yanked the locket from her neck and put it where it belonged—the trash can—before she attempted to navigate the PhoenixConnect website and determine how to delete the ad with the company’s help.
But fear returned as the elevator ascended to the H and B offices on Monday morning. There had been no direct way to contact the website except through an e-mail exchange. As she left for work it was still up, and she had no idea if she could have it removed. And what if Alicia showed it to Blanca? If straight-laced law firms were anything it was fearful of bad press.
When she sat down at her computer she saw an e-mail from the tax department.
Shit.
Lydia Liles, a secretary to somebody important, informed her that she’d caught CC’s mistake and had personally made sure the handwriting request was routed through the right channels. In fact, she’d pleaded for an expedited review, and because she was so persuasive, she’d been assured that CC Carlson would have those results in two days.
She slumped back in her chair. She’d have to send her a gushing thank-you e-mail, praising her for her keen initiative and promising that she would mention the catch to her boss. Perhaps a promotion would be on the way.
She tapped her foot madly. Once the handwriting analysis was confirmed it was only a matter of time before it went to a judge. As far as she could tell, there was nothing Penn could argue. It was obvious that Viv was holding back. Maybe there was something she knew that could save her house, but she’d have to share her story. Since CC didn’t have any appointments until the afternoon, she grabbed her purse and headed for the enclave, telling the receptionist that if anyone asked, she’d gone to the law library at Arizona State.
The Nova and Beemer were in the carport, and Penn was sitting in one of the chaise lounges surrounded by files. When she saw CC, she stood up and crossed her arms over the powder-blue T-shirt that read in white bubble letters, The Cops Never Think it’s as Funny as You Do.
“Get out,” Penn said.
She shook her head. “We need to talk. I know you’re mad—”
“Get out—now,” Penn repeated. “You have no business being here.”
“I just want to help. The handwriting analysis is coming back—”
“And I’ll deal with it. Go.”
“Penn, please, I want to talk to you,” she pleaded.
“Nope.”
In a second she was slung over her shoulder like a bag of flour.
“Put me down!” she screamed.
“There’s nothing to talk about. You are clearly one of the most unscrupulous people I’ve ever met.”
“Unscrupulous?” she repeated, wiggling every which way to break free. “I’m trying to help! I care about Viv! And I care about you, too. Let’s talk about this.”
“Not on your life,” Penn replied. “If I—”
She let out a cry and suddenly they were careening to the pavement. CC found herself on top of Penn. She glanced back and saw that they had fallen into the same pothole.
“Son of a bitch,” Penn said. “How in the hell does that keep happening?”
“Are you all right?”
She stared at the sky. “I don’t know. Can you get up, please?”
She decided to take advantage of the situation. “No, not until you hear me out. I am not unscrupulous. Confused, probably. Possibly unemployed.”
Penn blurted, “CC, we’re lying in the middle of a road. If Lynette barrels around the corner like she always does, we’re dead!” Then she comprehended what CC had said. “Wait. You’re unemployed?”
She shrugged. “Hard to say but it’s all the more reason for you to listen,” she said calmly.
Penn tried to lean forward, but CC pressed her shoulders into the pavement.
“Damn it. Let me up!”
Her cobalt blue eyes stormed with anger, and CC almost released her, somewhat fearful of her expression. But as their bodies collided she saw that hint of interest from the first day, a flicker that occurred every time they were close.
“I’ll be quick and then you can get up, and I’ll leave if you want me to. First, Seth Rubenstein will be happy to see Viv sleeping in the street. Second, the handwriting analysis will be back in two days, so we don’t have much time to fix this, if there’s even a way. Finally, if you care at all, I have absolutely no interest in my ex. She’s a horrible person who’s done something really unscrupulous. You can’t call me unscrupulous compared to her.”
She took a breath and thought she might cry. Penn touched her neck obviously looking for the locket. When she didn’t find it, she asked, “What happened?”
“She showed her true colors,” she said simply. “You really want to talk about that now? We need to save the enclave.”
Penn looked distraught. “I’ve told you. She’s not going to help us. She probably can’t even remember anything.”
“She’s got to try, and you’ve got to make her, or you all get to find another place to live.”
They got up and headed for the farmhouse, Penn limping slightly.
“You really broke up with your girlfriend?” she asked suspiciously.
“Definitely,” she said confidently. “It’s over.” An idea came to her. “And I may need your help with a computer problem, but let’s talk to Viv first.”
“Okay,” Penn said slowly.
They found Viv on the sun porch, adding details to her stagecoach. “You girls out having a little fun?” she asked without looking up. When they didn’t reply she set down her brush and slowly turned around.
CC had never seen Penn look so serious. She stared at Viv and said, “It’s time. We need to talk—about everything.”
“I’ve told you—”
“No,” Penn interjected. “You’ve told me what you wanted to tell me. Now I need to know the rest. You could lose your house. We could lose this place, too. It’s not just about you. Where will Lynette go with all those dogs?”
Viv’s telltale strength, that was as bright as the watercolors she used for Chloe, washed away from her face, and, for the first time, CC saw the muted tones and faded edges of the old woman she really was.
“You’ve resorted to guilt,” she accused Penn.
Penn stared at her steadfastly. “I’ll do whatever I need to do to help you, Viv.”
“It won’t matter,” she said softly.
“You don’t know that,” Penn replied.
She set down her brush and stood up slowly. “Let’s go inside.”
****
At Viv’s request Penn retrieved a tray of iced tea and three servings of sweet potato pie while she perused a tall bookcase in the hallway that was filled with Chloe books. Her finger trailed across the spines as she studied the titles.
“You’ll find, my dear, that art imitates life,” she said as she pulled five titles from the shelf and handed them to her—Chloe Makes a Friend, Chloe Bakes a Pie, Chloe’s Mom, Chloe and the Bully and Chloe Says Goodbye.
They passed the hutch by the dining room, and Viv picked up the two black-and-white photos that CC had noticed on her first visit. Penn joined them and served the pie.
“This is the best pie I’ve ever tasted,” Viv said, spearing the tip. “My mama couldn’t do much, but she could make a pie.”
Penn set her plate down, her impatience evident. “Viv, we don’t have a lot of time—”
“I’m tellin’ what I know, missy. Hush up,” Viv scolded. She picked up Chloe Makes a Friend and opened it to the dedication, For Kiah. “Kiah was my best friend in the whole world. She came here when they built the subdivision but, like in the story, she was different. She was black.” She held up
Chloe and the Bully, and the dedication read, For Mac. “Her father was Mac, who was the love of my mama’s life, but it wasn’t easy for any of us,” she said gesturing to the book. Her voice crumpled for a second, and she took a sip of tea.
She handed CC the other two books, Chloe Makes a Pie and Chloe’s Mom. CC read the respective dedications—For Jacob and For Mama.
“I understand why you would dedicate a book to your mother, but how does Jacob Rubenstein fit into your family?”
“He was an amazing man. This city is indebted to him.”
“How so?” CC asked.
“He helped everyone, him and his wife Della. She was my art teacher for a time, and Mama introduced them. A lot of businesses in this town wouldn’t have made it without a little charity or understanding from them.”
“So, I guess he was very powerful,” she summarized.
“Not really powerful,” Viv disagreed. “Power implies abuse. Jacob was careful and often the victim of anti-Semitic hatred. But he had money, unlike the Mexicans and the Blacks. Money creates power, which can command respect, but he chose to earn it.” She stopped suddenly and waved a hand. “Sorry, I get on my soapbox sometimes. The point is he did things for people. He was a true collaborator and not afraid to right a wrong even if it meant breaking the law sometimes.”
CC leaned forward, fascinated. “Can you give me an example?”
Viv smiled as she wandered into the past. “A young Chinese couple opened a market right on the edge of the area that was Phoenix’s unofficial Chinatown. But they didn’t realize they were on the wrong side of the street. In fact, they’d opened their shop on a block with white-only businesses who didn’t take too kindly to all the Chinese people traipsing down the sidewalk speaking their funny language. Nor did the whites appreciate the odd smells coming from the store. So the businessmen decided to push the Chinese couple out.”
