Harlem Redux

by Persia Walker

  “I wish I could. But I can’t, not yet. Not until I prove—” He cut himself off.

  “Prove what?”

  He paused, then said, “That he killed her.”

  Her eyes widened.” What?”

  “That Sweet killed her. I know he did and I’m going to prove it.”

  She looked stunned, bewildered. “No,” she breathed, “You can’t mean that.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  Her small face paled. She grabbed him and her hands were cold on his wrists. “But why would you think that?”

  “They weren’t happy—”

  “So what! That’s no reason to say he killed her.”

  “He didn’t love her, Rachel. I know he didn’t. He loved someone else.”

  She pulled back. “You can’t believe that—”

  “Gem wanted him. And he must’ve wanted her. Of course, he denies it, but that’s to be expected.”

  Her sweet face was miserable. “But the police didn’t find nothing wrong. Do you think you know more than they do?”

  “The police didn’t care enough to dig. I do.”

  They argued. She accused him of being suspicious due to his own sense of guilt. He denied it. She asked him whether he was just being a snob, suspecting Sweet because Sweet was born poor. He denied that, too. Finally, she accused him of being willing to do anything to fully reclaim the house.

  “Yes, I want the house back! But that hasn’t got a damn thing to do with

  it!”

  “Think about this. Please! Sweet’s not just anybody. He’s got important friends. Byron Canfield treats him like a son. I’m afraid for you.”

  “You needn’t be.”

  “But do you have any proof? Any evidence—”

  “No—”

  “Then why—”

  “I have my instincts. And they rarely lie.”

  Her expression became grave. “My God, David, has your sense of guilt driven you this far? Is the idea of murder actually easier for you to live with than suicide? Murder’s ugly enough, but suicide is even uglier, isn’t it? Suicide makes you feel guilty. Murder means you can blame someone else.” She stroked his cheek. “Oh, I ache with you. But why won’t you understand that no one is responsible for Lilian’s death? No one.”

  “Someone is responsible. And no, the idea of murder isn’t easier than suicide. It amounts to the same thing. My sister’s dead when she should be alive. And I refused to come back when she needed me.”

  Rachel dropped her hand. She stared at him and her eyes were beyond sad. “You’re determined to go ahead with this?”

  He nodded stubbornly and his eyes narrowed. “Now if you know something, then you’d better tell me.”

  She turned away, fidgeting with a button on her blouse.

  “Turn around, Rachel. Turn around and talk to me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Rachel?” He lightly but firmly put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Seeing her fearful expression, he softened his tone: “Please tell me what you know. Tell me now.”

  A moment went by. She averted her gaze. “All right,” she whispered. “All right.” She wrung her hands. “I knew Sweet was trouble to begin with. He was never no good.”

  “You knew it?” he repeated. His grip tightened and he took her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. “Why the hell didn’t you say something to her, warn her?”

  She wrenched away. “I tried to, but Lilian wouldn’t listen. She was lost the minute she met him.”

  He struggled to keep his mounting anger in check. “So, Lilian’s diary told the truth. He never loved her.”

  “No.” In the face of his furious stare, she squared her fragile shoulders. Folding her arms across her chest, she hugged herself. “Look David, Lilian was a grown woman. She made her own decisions—and her own mistakes. Eventually, like all of us, she came to regret some of them.”

  His eyes widened. “How dare you! Who’re we talking about here? You or Lilian?”

  Her nostrils flared and her pretty lips pressed into a bitter line.

  His anger exploded. “Let me tell you something, baby, you’re not the first woman who’s been left and you won’t be the last. Now, I’m sorry I hurt you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take you lying to me.”

  She looked as though she’d been slapped. “Get out,” she said. “Get out!” She took a step toward him, her hands balled into fists, and screamed. “Get outta my house! Get outta my life! GET OUT!” “Gladly,” he said and left.

  14. As Thick As Thieves

  He’d never intended to have a fight with Rachel, but she’d gone too far— lying to him like that. She’d known Sweet was trouble—had known it all along and lied to him. What the hell had she been thinking?

  He forced himself to take a deep breath. He needed to think clearly. Anger would only muddy the waters. He forced his thoughts in another direction. Back to the diary. What else had he learned from it? He’d learned that for Gem, the return to Harlem had been a misadventure.

  He’d never spent much thought on Gem or considered the possibility that she could be in emotional pain. She’d been arrogant and overconfident, and then she’d been brought low. He found it ironic that Gem, who had felt so lonely abroad, had come to feel even more so at home. But her alienation from home was a foreseeable consequence of her years abroad. The trust that she had developed with Lilian still surprised him, although after reading the diary, he found it more tenable. A sense of failed dreams ran like a common thread between the twin sisters. Perhaps it was this shared disappointment in the world that had provided a basis for mutual understanding and helped them to reconcile. But if their reconciliation had been real, and they had learned to value one another, then again: Why Gem’s silence?

  “The story of Miss Lilian is the story of Miss Gem ...”

  Isn’t that what Annie had said?

  He needed to know more about Gem, about what she’d been up to while she was in New York. He thought of Nella. She had offered to speak to him, not about Lilian, whom she claimed to have hardly known, but about Gem. Nella was a gossip, but an observant one. Despite her propensity for mixing dull fact with spicy fiction, much of what she could tell him would probably be true.

  Yes ... Nella was the next one to see.

  Nella’s Fifth Avenue living room was a lively combination of purple, raspberry, and turquoise fabrics used generously for weighty curtains and upholstered fat chairs. A Venetian glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, vases of calla lilies decked tables, and Oriental rugs covered the floors. Her desk near he window was a controlled chaos of glass paperweights, silver dolphins, and porcelain tigers. She greeted David’s unexpected visit warmly.

  “I thought you were leaving.”

  “I’ve decided to stay a while.”

  “Why?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  She chuckled at his evasiveness and promptly had her maid make him a highball, to get him in “the right mood,” she said. He decided not to ask her what she meant. He did, however, choose to sit in a narrow armchair a safe distance away from her, rather than join her on her couch. He sunk into the armchair, feeling claustrophobic and cramped, while she stretched out on her sofa, obviously hung over. She sipped her drink, laid her head back on a lace-covered pillow, and closed her eyes.

  “I do love liquor,” she sighed. “There are few things finer in the world than a good drink.” After a moment, she opened her eyes and stripped him with a lustful gaze. Then she noticed that his highball was untouched. “Don’t you drink?”

  “I prefer wine.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “How very, very cultured of you.”

  He chose to ignore both the mockery in her tone and the desire in her eyes. “Did you know Gem in Europe?”

  She needed a moment to shift mental gears. “No,” she said finally. “I met her here. She came to see me.” She paused, remembering. “I found her utterly marvelous. Full of primitive spirit. Sh
e was perfect for my villa gatherings. She has that rare gift, you know: the ability to do nothing—and to do with style. She’s a woman of unbelievable conceit, but you forgive her for it because she’s so full of life. I actually think I miss her.”

  She sat up and reached for a jewel-encrusted gold cigarette case on the marble coffee table before her. Pearls and emeralds had been worked together to give the case an intricate, eye-catching pattern.

  “An original by Cartier,” she informed him.

  He waited while she fitted a twelve-inch gold-tipped filter to her cigarette, then held a light for her. She was smoking Chesterfields, he noted. Strong stuff.

  “Does my smoking offend you?” she asked. “Do you think it improper for a lady to smoke?”

  He smiled neutrally. “I don’t mind.”

  “How very liberal of you.” Her smile was saucy and her eyes impish. “Smoking is relaxing, David. Would you like to try it? Would you like to smoke with me?”

  His eyes met hers. “No, thank you. Some habits I prefer not to develop.”

  He hoped she wouldn’t press him. She didn’t. Her eyes teased him, but she said nothing. She merely shrugged, sighed with theatrical regret, and took a drag on her cigarette.

  “I was curious about Gem, wanted to know all about her. She’d been in Europe, she said. Seeing this person, visiting that one. She laughed, saying she didn’t have a memory for details. I told her I had a feeling that her memory was excellent, simply highly selective. She didn’t like that.”

  “Did she say why she’d come back?”

  “I found out for myself. Like any lovely girl, she’d had several European sponsors. Her first was a Scandinavian cultural attache in London. Her last was a Portuguese count—or claimed to be. He actually married her.”

  This bit of news was unexpected. The twinge of pride he felt was even more so. His sister, a girl from Harlem, had married a Portuguese nobleman.

  “You sound surprised that someone would marry her,” he said.

  “I’m surprised that he did. Gem is a beautiful woman. But beautiful women are a dime a dozen in Europe. And usually these old fogies have nothing more than fun in mind.”

  “I suppose he loved her.”

  “Apparently, he did. He bought her a villa near Lisbon, and then conveniently died. His will was generous. Gem’s life would’ve been set. But the children from his first marriage contested the will.”

  “And Gem ended up with nothing.”

  Nella smiled at him languidly. She sucked on her Chesterfield. Lazy puffs of smoke encircled her words. “Do you know why I like Gem?”

  “Because she plays the exotic.”

  “Because she insists upon being herself. And she isn’t a complainer. Despite setbacks, and she’s had several, Gem still believes that the world is a nice place to live in. How many Negro woman see it that way?”

  “Very few. But then, not many have always found someone else to pay their way.”

  Nella was amused. “You really don’t like Gem, do you? She said you didn’t.”

  “Did she? Well, but you like her. That’s what’s important. You two spent time together.”

  “Yes, we did.” Nella arranged herself more comfortably. “In the short time Gem was here, she set a new standard for beauty. She had a permanent table at Barron’s. Only the best people go there. You and I should try it.”

  “I won’t have time.”

  She tilted her head and regarded him. “You’re like Lilian, aren’t you? A bit prim?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t know her.”

  “Touché.” She smiled. “I’m trying hard to provoke you. Why won’t you let me?”

  “Because I’m here to discuss my sisters, not me.”

  “But I think you’re fascinating, David. You remind me of Gem.”

  David raised an eyebrow.

  “I never knew what would happen with her,” Nella explained. “Like you, she came and went as she pleased. And she never let anyone get to her. One night, we all decided to go to some downtown restaurant—Gem, Adrian, Nikki, and I. My chauffeur had the night off and the men didn’t want to drive, so we all piled into a taxi. The cabby took one look at Gem and said he couldn’t take Negroes. Gem said she didn’t blame him. She couldn’t take them either. Then she told him to put his foot to the pedal and drive. Please.”

  David cracked a smile. Nella laughed merrily. She described how she and Gem had gone around together, dragging Nikki and Snyder in tow. The women loved to visit dance halls like the Renaissance Ballroom or the Rockland Palace, but they rarely danced. She and Gem stayed at their table, observing the others. The Charleston and the Black Bottom were all the rage then. The dancers could be wild, providing spectators with great entertainment.

  “We went to Small’s one night with Winston Charles, the playwright, you know. The music was copacetic. And those waiters! They’re a show in themselves. Twirling their trays on their fingertips! Marvelous! Winston was so taken with the place that he tried to dance on our table. Smashed several glasses. Nearly broke his neck.”

  Nella and Gem shared several characteristics, thought David, including a desire to watch and witness human foible, all the while remaining utterly blind to their own. He could imagine Nella and Gem as thick as thieves, but it was nearly impossible to see Lilian in this same scenario. Now he thought he understood why Nella said she’d known Gem better. But why had Lilian pretended that it was she who was friends with the Hardings—when even in her diary she had confessed that she disliked them?

  “Tell me more about when Gem first arrived.”

  “Well ... she was short on funds. She was too proud to ask me for help and, naturally, she wouldn’t approach Lilian. So I introduced her to Adrian, that marvelous man—”

  “You’re the one who introduced her to Snyder? How could you—”

  “He’s the perfect sugar daddy.”

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “He treated her like an empress—”

  “He dumped her.”

  “But he loved her dearly. It’s just that Adrian’s not the marrying type.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her?”

  “I assumed she knew. Everyone else did.” Nella was darkly amused. “Come, come. Admit it, you’re relieved. You wouldn’t want your sister married to a West Indian.”

  “I wouldn’t want her married to a racketeer.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Was he was the reason she left town?”

  “It wasn’t quite right, the way he did it. Still, I was surprised that Gem took it so hard. She wasn’t heartbroken, you know. Just humiliated. They’d become quite the couple around town. Everyone knew them. She tried to say she’d left him, but no one believed her.” Nella ground out her Chesterfield. She exhaled one last stream of smoke. “I don’t think she loved him at all.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “The point, my dear, is that she used him as much as he used her. And I don’t think he was the only reason she left New York. He was a front.”

  “For what?”

  “It was more for whom.”

  “She loved someone else?”

  “I never did find out who. She laughed when I asked her about it.”

  “Could it have been Lilian’s husband?”

  Nella laughed. “Jameson Sweet?”

  “Did she love him?”

  “No, she loathed him, absolutely hated Jameson Sweet. Apparently, he tried to seduce her in the parlor one day, but she’d have none of it. She said he was mad for her. She couldn’t be in the same room with him. His eyes were always on her.”

  So this was Gem’s version of events. David repressed a grim smile. It did not surprise him that Gem would have reversed the roles; it did surprise him that Nella, who seemed so astute, would have believed her. But then, why not? Gem was an attractive woman. It was easy to believe that all men found her appealing. He himself was having a hard time believing that Sweet had continued to resist Gem�
�s charms.

  “What do you know about Jameson Sweet?” he asked.

  “Ah, him,” she said. She cut her eyes over at David. “You’re thinking of taking him on?”

  He made a non-committal movement.

  “Well, good luck. Jameson Sweet is an impressive character. Extremely arrogant, but he’s earned the right to be. His given name is actually Jimmy. He elevated himself to Jameson later on. An only child, his family was dirt-poor. They’re from Virginia. His parents never finished school. Had no education to speak of. His father worked on the railroad, was away all the time. The mother took in wash. They were very proud people, clean, stable. They scrimped and saved to send him to school. Sweet himself has worked like a dog since he was a child. He’s a dedicated civil rights attorney, determined to make a difference. By all accounts he has a brilliant future. He’s sharp, cutthroat, and as tough as nails.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Nella raised an eyebrow … and smiled. “Don’t worry. He isn’t perfect, dear. He doesn’t hold a candle to you—not where it counts.” She frisked him with her eyes again and sighed a sigh that came from her very core. David ignored it.

  “What’s his Achilles heel?”

  “Come now, what do you think?”

  “Money.”

  She nodded to compliment him. “Sweet’s drawn to the lush life, but he’s acutely aware of the handicap of his color. He knew he could have never earned it on his own. Privately, when it comes to women, Sweet has an appetite for dark chocolate. But he never let that stop him. He went through a succession of wealthy female friends, sometimes discreetly crossing the color line ... before he found Lilian.”

  She watched him as she said this, but he knew his face expressed nothing. Lawyers learn fast to conceal their reactions. Inwardly, of course, his emotions were in flux. She was confirming what he’d supposed. That relieved him; it also worried him. Having his suspicions about Sweet’s character only increased his sense of urgency. He had to find proof of Sweet’s guilt and find it quickly.

  Then, there was the matter of Nella herself. Her ability to ferret out information both impressed and appalled him. After grinding out her last cigarette, she had immediately taken out another. He held her lighter for her.