Different Drummers (9 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

Two days later they moved from Bennington Street to Petrie Avenue. Bob walked from room to room, checking the appliances, testing the chairs, admiring the little red tiled terrace at the back.

“Come here, woman,” he said playfully as he sat on the edge of the comfortable bed. Kathleen stood in front of him while he slowly undressed her and tossed each article of clothing casually to the floor. Best of all, the bed didn't creak when they made love, and even if it had, there was nobody else in the house to hear.

Later they went to the A&P and bought enough food to fill the fridge, including a bottle of wine to celebrate their first night in their very own home.

She gave him a sidelong glance as they placed the groceries in the car. “We need to open a bank account. If we put a hundred dollars in a savings account, it'll be a start. The rest should be in a checking account.”

“OK, let's go.”

In the bank, Bob sat back and looked around while Kathleen filled out the necessary paperwork. They both signed their names and were handed a checkbook as well as a savings book.

“I've got one more stop to make,” Bob said as they pulled up in front of Phillips Hardware. “You wait here. This'll only take a minute.”

A Help Wanted sign hung on the door and she saw Bob look at it as he went inside. She knew by now he wasn't particularly skilled at anything and this job was probably as good as any he could get. He came out with a charcoal grill, a bag of charcoal, and some lighter fluid.

“This is for the steaks we bought. Bet you've never had steaks cooked on a grill over charcoal.”

“No, I haven't.” She leaned back, enjoying the comfortable banter. “But I bet they'll be delicious.”

He hadn't mentioned the Help Wanted sign and because she didn't want to nag, she let it slide.

They sat on the terrace and drank their wine while the steaks cooked. Kathleen leaned back in the lounge chair, letting the wine go to her head. It didn't matter now they hadn't gone to the beach or even that Bob had written that glowing letter about how he loved to walk in the surf. She took a sip of the wine and let out a satisfied sigh. Already they'd made so much progress. Here they were, living in a little dream house in the most affluent part of town, she'd landed a job making more money than she'd ever dreamed of. OK, so she had a father-in-law who was a little bit off the wall, but that was small potatoes now. Otis was no threat to her here on Petrie Avenue. She smiled up at Bob as he poured the last of the wine in her glass. Things always had a way of working out.

The next few days were idyllic. When they weren't making love, they busied themselves around the little house. Bob gave her two exquisite Dresden figurines he'd bought for her in Germany, a shepherd and shepherdess, and which he'd forgotten about until he emptied his foot locker. Kathleen was enchanted and spent ages finding the best vantage point. Eventually she placed them ever so carefully, on the sideboard. She bought small frames for photographs of the family and a large one for the wedding photograph of her and Bob. She shopped for new clothes, and from Laura's Dress Shop on Main Street, she bought a blouse and skirt and two new dresses.

She'd seen nothing of Mr. Tate since moving in, but on Friday morning when she sleepily opened the door, a copy of the latest edition of
The Eddisville Gazette
was on their doorstep with a note attached.

“See you Monday, Kathleen. Hope you like your new home and that you have a nice weekend.” It was signed WT.

She made a cup of tea and carried the paper out to the terrace. On the second page she found what she was looking for. She was touched by the flowery heading, “Local Boy weds English Rose,” and knew her family would love it. The honeymoon picture she'd given to Mr. Tate took up a quarter of a page. The man had been thorough and left out nothing. She smiled to herself as she imagined her dad in the Ring O' Bells, beaming with pride as he showed the clipping to his mates around the bar. Kevin and Dorothy would take it to school and Mother would show it to her friends. As offhanded as Nina always tried to be, Kathleen knew she'd show the article to her customers in Betsy's Beauty Parlor. She knew too that it would be posted on the wall of the shop for everyone to see.

Eventually she turned to the classified advertisement section. Under the Situations Vacant column was the ad for a salesmen at Phillips Hardware.

Bob joined her on the terrace, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and a cup of coffee in his hand.

She held up the paper. “Mr. Tate left this on the step.”

She turned the paper to the second page. “Take a look at that,” she said with a smile.

Bob took it from her and looked at the picture, then gave a surprised, happy laugh. “I'll be damned,” he said. “Everybody in Eddisville gets this paper. We'll be famous, Baby.”

After a long look at the picture, he put the paper down, then stood and stretched.

“I can't wait to send it home,” Kathleen said as she picked up the paper again. “Mr. Tate didn't leave out a thing, even put in there about how we met in the Rialto.”

She looked up at Bob. “Aren't you going to read it all?”

“I will in a minute. Feel sorta sleepy still.”

Irritation surged through her. Maybe he was feeling sleepy, but it wasn't every day your honeymoon picture was in the paper with a write-up on how you met your wife. But she said, “I've never known weather this sultry. I hope it's not going to get much hotter than this.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and picked up his cup. “The summer's just beginnin'. It'll get hotter in July and then there's August. They're our two hottest months.”

“Oh, Lord. Well, thank goodness we live in this nice house. These trees give us a lot of shade. Why don't we look at those window fans they had in Phillips Hardware? I saw them in the window while you were in there the other day buying the grill. Don't you think one might help?”

He grinned. “Yeah, I guess it will. It'll make it a lot easier on us when we're in the sack together.”

Now was the time. “Phillips is advertising in the
Gazette
for a salesman, probably to work behind the counter. Here, you take a look. ‘Phillips Hardware looking for dependable salesman…'”

As he held the paper, she looked over his shoulder and read it to him, trying to give it emphasis.

“What do you think?” she asked as she folded the paper. “It wouldn't be so bad until something else comes along.”

He gave her a long, unfathomable look, and for a second she expected him to say yet again how he needed some time to settle down. “OK, I'll go over there and get us the window fan and have a word with old man Phillips.”

Within the hour he was back, struggling through the door with the fan encased in a huge box, and an envelope between his teeth.

“Come on. Let's fill out this application form before we mess around with the fan. You do it because you write so pretty.”

The form called for usual things like name and address. Where it said “previous experience” he told her to write “machine shop, U.S. Army.”

She handed him the fountain pen. “That's it. All you have to do is sign your name, and return it to Mr. Phillips.”

After he'd written his name, he folded the form and put it in his shirt pocket. “I guess I might as well take it back now and get it over with,” he said, his face oddly grim.

“Don't be so nervous, love.” She smiled encouragingly. “It's only a job. If you don't get this one, there'll be others.”

He was gone an hour. When she heard the car door slam, she ran to the window. She saw his smile and knew he'd been hired.

“He's offerin' twenty-five dollars a week to start. When I told him that ain't nothin' like you'll be makin' at the
Gazette
, he told me he'd be givin' me a raise in six months. Well, we'll see about that. I'm guessin' I'll be long gone from there by then.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek to let him know she was pleased. “I'll bet you will. Something better's bound to come along, but this is a beginning, isn't it? When do you start?”

“The week after you do. That'll give me a week to do some fishin'.”

* * *

On Saturday morning Bob said he was going to call at his parents' house and invite them to dinner that night. Even though Kathleen dreaded the thought of suffering through another evening with Otis, there was nothing she could say. They were his parents after all. But why was she worried, she asked herself. Otis would have no control over her here. This was their house, hers and Bob's.

The afternoon was hot and humid as she prepared the little table on the terrace. Because she wasn't a very good cook yet, and didn't want anything to go wrong, she asked Bob to cook steaks again on the grill. She made a salad and baked five large potatoes in the oven.

Kathleen was strangely moved at the obvious effort Beulah had made to look her best. She was dressed as if she was going to church.

“You look lovely, Beulah,” she said, taking her mother-in-law's hand and giving it a little squeeze.

Selma was in her usual tight skirt with an extra low-cut top. “I declare,” she said, “if this ain't the cutest little house I've ever seen.”

Bob turned to Beulah. “What do you think, Momma?”

“I like it Bobby, I think it's real nice. But there's just one thing missin'. You just ain't got no place to put a garden.”

Kathleen deemed the meal itself to be a success. Bob regaled them with stories of going ashore on the beaches in Normandy, and Otis discussed his church in a matter of fact way that surprised her. Even Beulah managed to get in a few more words about how her vegetables were really growing up a storm and she'd be bringing them tomatoes by next week for sure.

“Shoot, I clean forgot,” she said, as the meal ended. “This letter came for you, Kathleen. It's probably from your folks.”

Kathleen looked at the envelope and saw Georgina Nightingale's name and address printed on the flap.

“No, it's from my friend in Chicago. The envelope feels stiff. I'll bet she's enclosed some of the snapshots she took.”

There were ten of them, some taken on the ship and others while they were in New York. Selma studied each picture carefully as Kathleen handed them to her, making various comments before passing them along. When she came to the last one, she gasped.

“Well, if that don't beat all. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that man Kathleen's dancin' with's a nigger.”

“What do you mean?”

Kathleen practically snatched the picture from her hands. “Why, that's one of the students we met on board. He's from Bombay and was on his way to Syracuse University.” She looked around wildly. “It's just a dance, for gosh sakes.”

“Well, I'll be,” Otis said, as he took the picture from Selma and stared wide-eyed at the photograph. “You mean he's pure African?”

“No, he isn't African. Bombay's in India, not Africa.”

Otis leered. “It don't matter. He sure looks like a nigger to me. And just look at you, kickin' up them heels to beat the band. Can't you just imagine what must have been goin' through the minds of them women you're sittin' with? What did other people on the ship think?”

“They didn't think anything about it. One of them took the picture. Here, let me see.”

She flipped like lightning through the pictures. “Yes, see here. This is Georgina Nightingale. She took the picture.”

Kathleen stared at them. “Why are you looking at me like that? Does everybody round here think like you do?”

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Bob said. “We don't do that kind of thing in the South. We don't hold with dancin' with niggers.”

Otis peered closely at the picture. “And if you don't mind my sayin' so, he certainly is holdin' you in a mighty suggestive way.”

Kathleen rose from her chair, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. She glared down at Otis, all fear of him forgotten.

“Yes I mind you saying so. My own father wouldn't speak to me in such a way, and I'll be damned if I'll take it from you. He's not a religious man, my dad, not in the same way you are, but he never taught me to hate. Maybe you haven't thought about this, but what are you going to do if you get up there one day and find yourself face to face with a negro, a colored man who says he's God?”

Otis's face was a mask as he shook his head slowly from side to side.

“What did I tell you, son? You married a heathen.”

“Hold on a minute, Daddy,” Bob said. “There just ain't no call for you to be talkin' like that. Kathleen ain't no heathen and she probably ain't no nigger-lover either. There ain't none around where she comes from so she just don't know much about them.”

Otis looked at his watch in elaborate fashion, as if trying to think of a reason to leave.

“I reckon it's time we were goin'. We have to get ready for church tomorrow. Before we go I just want to say we ain't in no position to be judging Kathleen. I guess Bobby's right. She is his wife and new to these parts. It's just gonna take time. Come on Selma, honey. Get your things together.”

Even in the midst of her misery, Kathleen noticed again how very seldom he spoke to Beulah and addressed only Selma when the three were together.

Nearly to the car, Selma stopped and half turned toward the house. “Well, shoot, I forgot to pick up my pocketbook.”

“I'll get it,” Kathleen said hastily, anxious now for them to be gone. “I think I saw it on the terrace.”

After she retrieved the purse from the bench, she hurried back through the house. When she reached the front door, Otis stood on the tiny stoop alone. The others were already at the car, which was hidden from view by the high shrubs. His piercing amber eyes seemed almost to glow in the dark as he looked her over in the same way he had that first day in the hallway when he'd walked out of his bedroom in his underwear. His eyes again lingered on her breasts as he took a step toward her, causing her to lean her back against the wall.