What Flynn was asking was almost too much to take in at past three o’clock in the morning. A wedding without Mama and Papa, without Big Ma, without my brothers. How could I do that? Flynn was silent, awaiting my answer. His face was so swollen and bruised, and all I could see as I looked at him was how much he was wanting me, and feeling how much I was wanting him. Flynn’s hands grew tighter around mine. Uncontrollably, I leaned toward him, knowing that if Flynn were to become my husband he would be all I would ever need. I was in love with this man, and he was what I wanted. I put my arms around his neck, touched my forehead to his, and whispered, “Yes, Flynn, I know I can.”
We were married the following Sunday.
CASSIE’S LOVE STORY
CHAPTER IV
(1949–1950)
All my life I had been wrapped in love. I had been blessed with love from my family, from the church, from friends, from others too. Now Flynn wrapped me in love. But this was a new kind of love, a different kind of love, all-consuming and all-giving. It was the kind of love that made me smile just thinking about it. It gave me peace, made me feel safe. It made me want to wake in the mornings and look forward to the nights. It was the kind of love that angered me when others encroached upon it. It possessively wrapped its arms around me and made me fear losing it. It was the kind of love I had dreamed would be mine, but each dawn when I awoke, I was still in wonder that it was.
Flynn had moved from his apartment and we had gotten another apartment in Los Angeles. It was small, one bedroom, but together we painted it with warm, vibrant colors and made it comfortable. The kitchen and living room were in one room. Also in the room and taking up a great portion of it was a large architect table Flynn had recently bought. I didn’t like its being there, but I kept my silence about it. We hung native rugs bought during our trips to Mexico and Arizona on the walls, and I dotted the apartment with greenery. We both loved music, especially jazz. Flynn already had a collection of records and they lined the floor next to his record player. Each evening after work we sat on the sofa, usually in each other’s arms, reading or talking, but always listening to the music.
Ours was a sweet life.
Weekdays were pleasant, quiet, and routine. Flynn continued working construction, but I was no longer working as a ticket taker at the Lincoln Theater since more and more I had been asked to work evening hours. Instead, I was working at a weekly Negro community newspaper. It too was on Central Avenue. My job was secretarial and proofreading copy from local contributors. It was low-paying and dull, but it was fine for now. One evening a week, Flynn and I both took noncredit courses at UCLA, Flynn in architecture, and I in law. The weekends were quite different. Sometimes we went to the neighborhood café that had good southern cooking, other times we went to more fashionable restaurants, but my favorite place to dine was at the Peña café. We didn’t go there often because the Peñas would not allow us to pay. We began to visit them at their home instead.
After dinner we would either go to a movie or take in a live performance at the Lincoln or a jazz club where we joined Justine and J.D. or others Flynn knew. Flynn didn’t much like to dance. He refused to be out there “bouncing around,” as he said. But I loved the dancing and so did most of Flynn’s friends, so I was never without a dance partner and Flynn didn’t object. He sat back and watched me as I danced, a smile on his face. He just wanted me to be happy. He was always proud of me and he liked showing me off. Occasionally I could get him up for a slow dance and he would tease me. “Can’t understand it. A Baptist country girl like you loving to dance.”
“Baptist country girl like me never got a chance to dance in the country,” I replied.
“A lot of things a Baptist country girl didn’t get to do.”
“I know . . .” I smiled up at him. “But I get to do them now.” And he laughed.
Saturday mornings were the best mornings of the week. We slept late, but by midmorning we were up and Flynn took off for the neighborhood basketball court in the park. Sometimes I went with him to watch him play with other young men of the neighborhood or throw a few baskets myself before the game started. Later in the day, we either headed up the coast, enjoying the small towns dotting the road leading to San Francisco, or down the coast to Tijuana, sometimes east to Arizona, or to Flynn’s mountain acreage, and sometimes to parts unknown. Flynn liked just to get in the car and drive, and I looked forward to that too. If we came across a place we liked, we explored it and spent the night either in the car out in the open or, if we could afford it, sometimes even at a motor court. We went to fairs and to ball games and to amusement parks and sometimes to pool halls, where Flynn taught me how to play pool.
It was all very exciting to me. I had never felt more free. I was truly a woman now. On Sunday mornings if we were in the city, I went to church. I couldn’t get Flynn to go with me. It wasn’t that he had never been religious. He had once been a Catholic, but now did not believe in organized religion. On those Sunday mornings I left him at the apartment and took the car. When I returned, he was usually gone, but was back by midday and ready for Sunday dinner at Justine’s or at the Peñas’. Sunday evenings we returned home early to ready ourselves for the next week. This was our life as the new decade began in 1950.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
In the short days before Flynn and I married, I had written Mama, Papa, and Big Ma and told them about Flynn. I told them that by the time they received the letter I would be married to Flynn. I couldn’t call to tell them since they had no telephone, but I did call my cousin Oliver in Jackson and asked him to go to the house on Saturday, so Mama, Papa, and Big Ma would know about the wedding before I married. I also called Toledo. None of my brothers were happy with me. “Why so soon?” Stacey asked. “Can’t you wait?”
“Don’t worry,” I said, knowing what he was asking. “I’m not in trouble.”
“Well, then, why are you rushing this? You know Mama and Papa always expected you to get married at home, at Great Faith.”
I didn’t tell Stacey that the rush toward marriage, despite my first objection to the idea, was now all very exciting to me, for within the week I would be Flynn’s wife. Instead, I said, “You didn’t get married there. Or at Dee’s church either.”
“Well, that was different.”
“How come?”
“It was wartime,” he attested. “I thought I’d have to go to war.”
“Well, anyway, you were in love and you got married. Well, I’m in love, so we’re getting married because Flynn doesn’t want to wait and I don’t either. Besides, we can’t afford to take off work and make that long trip across country to get married down home. There’s no reason to wait. Just be happy for me.”
“Can’t you just wait long enough for Uncle Hammer and Aunt Loretta to get down there? Have some family there with you.”
“I’ve already called them. They’ll be here on Saturday. Uncle Hammer’s going to walk me down the aisle and give me away. It’ll be a church wedding right after services on Sunday. Aunt Loretta says she has got the perfect dress for me. It’ll be floor-length and white.”
“Well, at least that’s all good.” There was quiet on the line, then Stacey said, “You know Moe won’t be happy to hear this.”
I already knew how Moe would feel and it had weighed heavily on my mind. “Well, I’m sorry about that, Stacey, but I always told Moe he wasn’t the one.”
I heard Stacey sigh. “You sure you love this man?”
“I’m sure.”
“You sure he loves you?”
“I’m sure about that too.”
“Then, Cassie,” said my brother, “be happy.”
I wrote Moe. It wasn’t an easy letter to write. Moe did not write back.
After the wedding, when I got the letter from Mama, she said basically the same as Stacey had, and added that they were hurt and disappointed that I had not married there. The
y had hoped I would marry someone from down home, someone they knew, but they trusted I had good sense about the kind of man I chose. They all wished me happiness and hoped that I would bring Flynn to meet them soon. As always, their letter ended with their love for me. I wrote them back and told them not to worry about me. I told them I was happy. And I was.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
The only worry I had during the first days of our marriage was the resisting arrest charge against Flynn. But when Flynn appeared in court with a lawyer and told the circumstances of the arrest and that he had never touched either of the officers, the judge accepted his statement and the charge was dropped. Since then, nothing else had marred our happiness. I was, in fact, gloriously happy. Still, I wanted more. I wanted a place to stretch out, a place bigger than the tiny space of our cramped apartment. I knew it would take a few years to save for a down payment on a house, but I figured we could afford a bigger space than what we had, a place I could make more homelike. I began to look in the classifieds and one day saw an ad describing an apartment I thought we should see. It seemed perfect, both in pricing and in space. I called the number listed and the apartment manager gave more details about it. I was really excited, but when I told Flynn about it, he looked at the paper and shook his head. “We won’t get it, Cassie.”
“Why not? We can afford it.”
“You know where this street is? Westwood.”
Westwood was certainly not our neighborhood. Memories of police and the carload of white boys flooded my mind. I looked again at the ad. “It sounds really nice though, and the lady was friendly.”
“The lady was friendly . . .” Flynn repeated, “and the lady probably did not realize she was speaking to a black woman. She probably thought you were white. Keep looking, Cassie. We’ll find another place.”
I stared at the paper. “I want to see this one,” I stubbornly insisted. “Woman won’t rent it to us, she can just say it to our face.”
“It’s a waste of time.”
“Well, it’s our time to waste.”
Flynn was right, of course. When the woman opened the door to us, her face changed from pleasant to startled. “I’m afraid you’ve made a trip for nothing. The apartment’s been rented,” she said.
“You told me earlier there was no chance of your renting it before we had a chance to see it,” I said.
“Well, I was wrong,” countered the woman. “Good luck finding a place in your own neighborhood.” She shut the door.
I started to knock again, but Flynn stopped me. “Let it be, Cassie.”
“I want her to know we know that apartment’s not rented and why she’s not renting to us.”
“I’m sure she already knows we know. There’s nothing that says she has to rent to us.”
“Well, there ought to be.”
I shouldn’t have gotten so upset about not getting the apartment, but I did. Flynn tried to calm me down and promised he would give me a house of my own. “I’ll build you a house on the land one day,” he said. “But before then, you’ll have a house.” Soon after he made that promise he began working weekends. He told me that he had gotten a job remodeling a house with a friend in San Bernardino, more than sixty miles away. In order to start working at eight on Saturday morning, he left immediately after work at the construction site on Friday evening and made the drive to San Bernardino, where he spent the night sleeping in his car. He worked full days both Saturday and Sunday but did not drive back on Sunday evening. He said he was too tired to make the drive. Instead, he spent the night in San Bernardino and drove directly to work early Monday morning. It was lonely without him over the days and nights we were apart, but I knew that what he was doing was in the best interest for our future. Flynn said it was for only a few months and we were young and could endure that. He was right. The time we did have together became more precious. Surprisingly to me, the fact that Flynn and I were apart made me feel truly married, maybe for the first time.
I shared this with Justine. Although Justine and I were still not close as friends, we both loved Flynn and that made us family. “He feels the same,” Justine said. “He loves you, you know. Never seen my baby brother like this before. You’re his wife and he takes that seriously, no matter what. Always remember that.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
She was in front of me before I knew it. As I stepped from the newspaper office I saw the woman crossing the street from her car and I knew she was headed for me. She didn’t introduce herself. She didn’t need to. It was Faye. She got right to what was on her mind. “You think you know where Flynn’s been all these weekends, don’t you, Mrs. De Baca? Well, Mrs. De Baca, I’m here to tell you what you think you have, you don’t have. Flynn isn’t yours, never has been and never will be. You think he’s been working in San Bernardino all these weekends. Well, he hasn’t. He’s been with me all these six weekends you thought he was working. What I’m telling you, Mrs. De Baca, is that Flynn’s been lying to you so he could be with me. He’ll always be with me, always want to be with me, and if you stay with him, he’ll always lie to you about it. He belongs to me, Mrs. De Baca, and he always will.”
Then the woman turned and crossed back to her car. I hadn’t said one word. I was stunned into silence. This woman, Faye, had come into my perfect day, into my perfect world, into my perfect love, into my perfect marriage, and socked me right in the gut. I stood silently on the sidewalk and stared after her as she drove away.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
When Flynn came home, he encircled me in his arms as he always did and tried to pull me to him. I pushed him away. “What is it?” he asked.
“Your lady friend came to see me today. She stopped me right outside of work.”
Flynn’s lips parted slightly, but he did not speak. He sat down on the sofa. I sat in the chair beside the sofa and tried to keep my voice calm. “She told me you haven’t been working in San Bernardino. She told me you were spending the weekends with her.”
“And you believed that?”
“I believed you were working. Were you working?”
“I was working, Cassie.”
“Then you weren’t with Faye? Why did she say you were?”
“Because she’s Faye. The woman’s unstable, Cassie.”
“She knew exactly how many weekends you’d been away and where you were supposedly working. How would she know that unless you told her or unless she was with you there? Was she there?”
“She was there, Cassie. I saw her unexpectedly.”
“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” I had always been jealous of Faye, and now that jealousy was red-hot. It was an insanity. Yet I kept my voice steady. “You were spending weekends with Faye, then coming back to me?”
Flynn spoke, his voice as calm as always. “Cassie, I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d react like this.”
“Did you sleep with her?” Flynn just looked at me. “Well?”
“I’m not even going to answer that. Faye did come to San Bernardino. Twice. But it wasn’t like what you think. It was all about the car.”
“What about the car?” Flynn did not answer. “Flynn,” I repeated. “What about the car?”
“She wants it. Faye co-signed the note on the car when I bought it. I missed one payment and she paid it. Now she’s using that payment to claim it.”
“You mean to tell me all this time I’ve been riding around in a car you were able to buy because of her? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Cassie, the car belongs to me. I repaid Faye for the payment I missed, but now she’s just being vindictive and she wants me to sign the car over to her.”
“Then give it to her! I don’t want to be riding around in a car she has claim to!”
Flynn’s eyes went cold. “That’s not going to happen. The car is mi
ne.”
“Then I guess that car’s more important than I am.”
“Now you’re just talking foolish, Cassie. You know that’s not true.”
“Then get rid of the car!”
“I already said no to that.”
I rose and went into the bedroom. Flynn did not follow me. I slept alone. The next day things between us were no better. Flynn hadn’t told me about Faye’s involvement with the car or about her trips to San Bernardino. As far as I was concerned, he had broken the trust between us. I figured as long as he kept the car, Faye would have a hold on him. But Flynn refused to give up the Mercedes. He said it was his. He had paid for it and he was going to keep it. Flynn was stubborn and so was I. I refused to ride in the car. Flynn refused to give it up. It remained a point of contention between us.
During the next weeks we argued constantly about the Mercedes. We also argued about the fact that Flynn continued to go to San Bernardino each weekend. He said he had a contract and he was going to honor it. I continued to sleep in the bedroom; Flynn continued to sleep on the sofa. Finally, I grew tired of the arguing. I told Flynn I was going home. It had been almost three years since I had seen my brothers, Mama, Papa, and Big Ma, and maybe now was the time for me to go. Flynn didn’t try to get me to stay. I bought a one-way ticket to Toledo. There was no warmth between us as I left. Justine drove me to the train station.
CASSIE’S LOVE STORY
CHAPTER V
(1950)
The Dorr Street house was full, and I added to it. Rachel was there, tending to Becka, who had recently given birth. Becka had been ill throughout the pregnancy and was still ailing. Rachel had come to help take care of her and the baby; she was sleeping in the upstairs sun parlor. Three of the Davises, Dee’s younger brother Zell and two of her cousins, also had come up from Mississippi. Zell slept on the Sunday room plastic-covered sofa, the two cousins on a cot on the dining room floor, where there was just enough room between the wall and the dining room table and chairs to squeeze in a mattress. Man slept on the sofa bed in the living room. As I had done before, I slept with Rie and ’lois in their bedroom.
All the Days Past, All the Days to Come Page 20
