Black Orchid Blues (18 page)

“Things went wrong from the moment I stepped into that place. Junior couldn’t be with me anymore. He just couldn’t … if you know what I mean. Everything had been fine up until then. But from that first night on … he couldn’t do it.” She shook her head.

“At first, he kept making excuses. And I bought ’em. I mean, I really thought he was sick or tired or had a headache or something. Then one day I came home and found him moving all of his stuff into a separate room. No warnings, no discussions, nothing. I asked him if I’d done something wrong. He said I hadn’t, but he refused to move back to our room and would rarely let me step foot in his.”

“When did that happen?”

She thought about it. “Back in September.” Soon after Queenie appeared on the scene. “He was going out most every night. He said it was with friends, but Junior didn’t have any friends, no one but me. So I knew then that—”

There was a knock at the door. Sheila and I exchanged glances.

“Yes?” I called out.

“It’s Mrs. Mercer. Open up.”

I went to the door and Mercer handed me an envelope. “Taxi driver brought it,” she said, mounds of flesh jiggling on her hips as she walked away.

I shut the door and ripped open the missive.

“What is it?” Sheila breathed at my side.

“Another note from the kidnappers.” It was typewritten on the same plain paper as the other ones.
Take the money and drive to Mount Morris Park. Enter on the north side and look for a stake with a white cloth attached to it in the northeast corner.
I looked at Sheila. “Are you ready to do this?”

She nodded.

“What about the dough?” I asked.

Sheila grabbed the satchel and yanked it open. “It’s all here.” She handed it to me. The bag was full of bundled bills.

“Did you count it?”

Sheila shook her head. “I saw Dr. Bernard counting it.”

“How did you get it if you didn’t tell him about the letter?”

“I saw where he hid it—in the piano bench.”

I had a bad feeling about this. “Are you sure you don’t want to bring the police in?”

“Oh, no! We can’t do that. These people are crazy. Look what they’ve already done. And now they say they’re gonna do worse.”

“That’s all the more reason for you to call in the cavalry.”

Sheila’s eyes looked sorrowful. “I’m afraid you’re all the cavalry we’ve got.”

C
HAPTER
27

M
ount Morris Park was a small square of greenery surrounding an imposing rock. It interrupted the north-south run of Fifth Avenue, from 120th to 124th Streets. I parked the car on the northeast corner of 124th and left Sheila locked inside with the satchel carrying the money. The park was dark and shadowy and a cold wind cut through my clothes. The wind was uncomfortable, but it turned out to be a good thing. Without it, I might’ve missed the white fluttering cloth tied to the stake.

Under the cloth was a tin can; inside the can was another note. This time, the instructions said to drive east to 124th Street and Park Avenue. There we’d find another white cloth.

I hurried back to the car. It was just as cold inside as out. Sheila was shivering when I returned.

“What happened?” she asked, with chattering teeth. “Did you find anything?”

As I started the car, I told her about the note. There was no traffic at this time of the night, so it only took a minute to get to the next piece of the puzzle. The cloth was tied to an iron railing in front of a brownstone. We saw no note or other form of communication. I steered us to the curb, then left the window cracked and the engine running to keep us warm.

“What do you think will happen now?” Sheila asked.

“I guess we’ll get more instructions.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know.” I noticed a pay phone on the corner. “Over there?” I pointed. “Maybe they’ll call us on that.”

“But how’ll they know?”

“They’re probably watching.”

She studied the telephone. “If it rings, will we hear it?”

I had wondered about that too. I rolled my window down a bit more and a blast of arctic air hit me in the face.

Next to me, Sheila shivered. We settled into silence, preoccupied with our private worries.

“We’ve been sitting here a long time,” Sheila said after a while.

“I know.” I glanced at my watch. “Fifteen minutes already.”

“You think they’re just testing us?”

“For sure.”

“To see if we called the police?”

I nodded.

Sheila turned to me. “I mean, you
didn’t
call them, did you? You didn’t tell anyone?”

How I wished I had. I shook my head.

“Good,” she exhaled. “We don’t need to worry then—about the police messing things up, I mean.”

I studied her profile. She was so very young and naïve and terribly, deeply in love.

She must’ve felt me staring at her, or maybe even read my thoughts, because she just started talking, picking up where she’d left off.

C
HAPTER
28

A
lone in her marital bed at night, Sheila often felt an overwhelming urge to cry. What had she gotten herself into? Was this how it would be for the rest of her life? She would allow a couple of tears to slip down her face, but then impatiently swipe them away. What was done was done.

The man she’d married was gone, if he’d ever really existed, and now she was stuck with a stranger. The man she’d married didn’t smoke or drink, but for the past few days she was sure she’d smelled both, not just on her husband’s breath, but his clothing as well.

Unable to sleep one night, she glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel and saw that it was ten minutes past two. Her gaze went to the window. Where was he? What was he doing out there?

And who was he doing it with?

Her mood shifted from anger to fear and back again. She went to her bedroom door and set it ajar. She would be able to see him when he came up the stairs, but he wouldn’t be able to see her sitting there, watching and waiting for him in the dark.

She climbed back into bed, kept her bathrobe on, and drew the sheets and blankets up to her chin. The robe was bulky under the linens, but she didn’t care. She needed the extra warmth. Her hands felt cold, her feet felt cold. She felt cold inside as well as out. Her eyes sought out the clock again. She could barely discern the hands in the dark. No matter, she could guess what time it was: not even five minutes later than the last time she checked.

Crazy thoughts swirled through her mind, thoughts about losing her husband, her marriage; about the Bernards and their sweet smiles, but worried eyes.

Had they known this would happen?

The idea of moving to New York City, to Harlem, and to a big, fine town house on one of the city’s most graceful blocks, had thrilled her. She’d been nervous about finally meeting her in-laws, but their reception made her feel warm and welcome.

Sheila paused in her memories. Her voice was steady, but her hands were trembling. She smiled grimly. “Mr. and Mrs. Bernard … they made a big to-do over me, talking about how happy they were that Junior had found me, had met someone like me. And that they were just overjoyed when Junior told them I’d agreed to marry him.

“Hmph. I should’ve known right then and there. First of all, Junior and I had kept our wedding secret. He said he hadn’t told his parents. So somebody was lying, them or him. But why lie over something like that? And then, I kept thinking, what mother is ever happy—I mean
that
happy—to see her only son come home with a bride? Something had to be wrong somewhere. That woman wasn’t just happy. She was grateful, and now I know why.”

Sheila looked down at her wedding ring, twisted it on her finger. “Mrs. Bernard, she was always watching. At first, I thought she was watching me. But she wasn’t. She was watching Junior. His father was too. Meanwhile, they were being real nice to me. Anything I wanted, I got. At first. But then the questions started. Mrs. Bernard would delicately ask me about how things were going between Junior and me, and I’d tell her things were fine. Again, I didn’t think anything of it, not initially. But when Junior and I were sitting at the dinner table, I would catch them cutting glances at us, like they were waiting …”

The first time Phyllis Bernard had introduced her as their daughter, Sheila had seen it as a sign of them taking her to heart. She’d considered herself lucky and blessed. So many mothers-in-law rejected the woman their son married and did everything to undermine their relationship. Not Mrs. Bernard. She was everything you could wish for in a mother-in-law. And Daddy Bernard, he was wonderful too. So caring, so protective. So … attentive.

In her room that night, understanding dawned. Sheila saw matters much more clearly. They wanted her to be happy all right. They needed her to be.

“They wanted me to spy on Junior, to keep him in line,” Sheila explained. “At the time, I didn’t know what for, but I soon found out. I thought he was having an affair, had a little something-something stashed away on the side. I wish it had been that simple.”

“You followed him,” I guessed. “Or had him followed.”

“I did it myself.”

He led her to the Cinnamon Club. It was a place she’d never heard of, a lifestyle she’d never conceived of.

“I wasn’t prepared for what I learned that night. Not at all.” Her voice cracked. “When I saw all those people, I … well, at first, I still didn’t know what was going on. I knew it was a sinning place, like the juke joints we had back home. I’d never been to one, never wanted to, ’specially not after what happened to my brother Lynn. He used to hang out in them kind of places. That’s where he met that woman who shot him. Him being killed like that, it gave me a righteous fear of bars and speakeasies.

“When I walked in that door, the first thing that hit me was that this was a place of happy people. Real happy people. They were laughing, jiving, having fun. It may sound strange, but it was the first time I realized just how miserable I’d been. For months, I’d been making excuses, rationalizing things. Standing there in that club, I actually envied those people.

“And you know what’s really crazy? I can’t believe how naïve I was. I must’ve been out of my mind, cause for the longest time I just stood there refusing to accept what I could see. That it was women with women, men with men, hugging and kissing and making out.

“I started looking for Junior. I kept wondering why he hadn’t taken me there. I could understand his need to escape that house, but I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t brought me with him. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t like that kind of place. That could be, but … we were married. We weren’t supposed to be keeping secrets from each other. Not unless … Maybe he just didn’t want me anymore. Maybe he wasn’t just trying to get away from that house, but away from me too. And that’s when I started really searching that crowd for his face.

“It wasn’t until he strutted out on stage, all dressed up, that I made the connection. Lord knows, I didn’t want to. He’s a pretty man, Miss Lanie, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he’s very attractive.”

“Pretty,” she repeated. “Like Rudolph Valentino. That’s what they used to call him at Howard. The colored Valentino. All the girls were after him. Another reason, I suppose, why I was so glad, so grateful, when he picked me.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I know I’m not exactly what men call attractive. Just passing, as Mama used to say. So I never expected, I didn’t dare hope that a man like Junior would …”

“Ever have eyes for you?”

She nodded.

“So when he showed interest, you were happy.”

“Thrilled,” she whispered. “Stupid fool, I was thrilled. I remember when I introduced Junior to Mama and Daddy. Mama took me aside later and she repeated something she’d always said, but I’d never really heard before. She said that a woman should never marry a man who’s prettier than she is. And you know what? She was right.”

“Sheila—”

She waved me off. “It’s okay. I don’t need, or want, any false comfort. I made a big mistake, and then I went and made it even bigger. I stayed for the show. Junior is a good entertainer, I have to give him that. And it was obvious that he belonged up there.”

“You really do love him, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Even after finding out about his double life?”

“You don’t just stop loving a person because of something like that. Well, I couldn’t. He was still my husband—and I know it sounds crazy to say this—but hurt as I was, it still felt real good to see him up there enjoying himself. I kept thinking,
This is the real Junior. Not the man you married, and not the man you’ve been living with
.”

“And of course it helped to know that he wasn’t with another woman.”

She nodded.

“But Sheila, you must’ve realized that just because he didn’t have another woman didn’t mean he didn’t have a man.” I didn’t intend to be mean. I simply needed her to be honest. We all needed her to be honest, Junior most of all. If he had started a relationship with someone, then that might well be the person we were looking for.

Sheila stared vacantly out the window at the dark, cold, empty streets and pressed her lips together. “I made sure he didn’t see me. It wasn’t that hard. The place was packed. Obviously, everybody knew about it—everybody but me. I watched most of Junior’s performance. Then I went back to the house and sat up for a long time, thinking. I couldn’t make up my mind what to do, but when he walked into the house just before dawn, I took one look at him and I knew.

“I didn’t say anything to him right then. I wanted to, but a voice told me not to. He came on up the stairs. The makeup was gone and he was back in his regular clothes. And I could see that he was in a good mood, humming to himself. He went straight to his room and closed the door.”

“Did you ever confront him?”

“The next evening, right after dinner. I told him I knew, that I’d followed him, that I’d seen him perform and I knew.”

“How’d he react?”

“He denied everything, said he’d been sleeping in his room the whole night.”

“Was he playacting?”

She hesitated and then shook her head. “That’s the funny part. I don’t think he was. At first, I was furious. I thought he was lying. But then I could see that he really didn’t remember. I told him again that I’d been there, that I’d seen him, so he could just stop with the charade.”