Little Black Girl Lost (16 page)

H
aving extinguished the fire that burned in them, Johnnie and Lucas lay in bed exhausted, looking up at the ceiling. Johnnie contemplated the differences between Earl and Lucas, wondering if it was the size that made the difference. Then it came to her. It wasn't the size at all. It was how she felt about the two men. Sex with Earl was an obligation. Sex with Lucas was even more pleasurable than masturbation because it wasn't just the climax that made the experience mind-blowing. It was the taste of his kiss, the warmth of his body, the intoxicating scent of him, and the flavor he emitted. She cared for Lucas, but she didn't feel the same way for Earl, so quite naturally, she deduced it would be better with a man she cared about.

“You thinkin' about your mom, Johnnie?”

“No. I was thinking about you,” she said and faced him. “Am I a good lover, Lucas?”

“Yes.”

“You mean it?” Johnnie asked, desperately wanting to please him.

“Yes, the best ever.”

Johnnie resisted the urge to ask him how many women he'd had. She feared that if she asked him, he could ask her. Even though she had only been with Earl, Martin Winters would be coming by for a date one day soon.

“Lucas, do you think I'll end up like Blanche Dubois?”

“I was hoping that movie didn't bother you, Johnnie.”

“You were?”

“Yes. I watched that story and I was thinkin', boy, we picked the wrong day to go to the movies.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I did feel like that was me up there on the screen. I felt so sorry for that woman.”

“I didn't.”

“You didn't?”

“Hell naw.”

“Why?”

“As long as colored folks have to fear white folks, I don't give a damn what happens to 'em. You think they care about us? Everywhere we go we gotta wait until they're finished then take whatever they don't want. Like tonight. We have to sit in the balcony if we wanna see a movie. Why? Because they don't wanna sit up there.”

“Next time, let's just go to the Sepia Theater on Main Street. Then we can sit wherever you want.”

“Okay, but the shit just pisses me off, ya know. Like if we want something as simple as a drink of water, we have to drink from a rusted fountain. And where's the fountain? Right next to a clean, sparkling white fountain. If they don't want us to drink the same water from the same fountain, fine. But why does our fountain have to be rusted and theirs in perfect workin' condition? When we get books at our school, how come the white folks had it first? How come we gotta bow our heads and worry about shit that don't even cross their minds? And how come they can have sex with our women but we cain't have sex with theirs?”

Lucas realized he shouldn't have said that, but it was too late. It had already slipped out. He quickly changed the subject, hoping he didn't hurt her feelings.

“I'll tell you something else too, Johnnie. Wasn't no colored man that killed your mother either.”

“Who do you think did it?” Johnnie asked, wondering what his suspicions were.

“Everybody knows it was a white man that did it. Who else would do something like that? What is the sheriff doin' about it, huh? Nothin', I'll bet. All them crackers are alike. Killin' colored folk when it suits they fancy. Stringin' up colored men for lookin' at they precious white women. I'll tell you somethin' else too. If the white woman is so precious, why cain't he leave our women alone? How come he don't sow his seeds in her? Make her pregnant. Did you know Ashland Estates is full of colored maids that the white man keeps? It's like his own little harem out here.”

The telephone rang.

“Hello.”

“Johnnie,” Earl whispered, “I've got some terrible news.”

Johnnie looked at Lucas and put her forefinger to her lips. Lucas looked at her and curled his lips, then sucked his teeth.

“What's wrong, Earl?”

“I can't talk right now. I'm back in town and I'll be by tomorrow night to tell you all about it.”

“Okay, Earl,” Johnnie said. Just before she hung up the phone, she heard a second click, which puzzled her.

“See what I mean,” Lucas said then got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

A
fter a couple of hours of vigorous lovemaking, Lucas and Johnnie held each other and lay quietly in bed. A cool wind found its way into the bedroom and dried the sweat on their naked bodies. They were quite comfortable, lying there, basking in the glow of physical love. So relaxed were they that they were on the edge of sleep. Suddenly, they were aroused from the stupor-like slumber when they heard the neighbors across the street yelling at the top of their lungs.

They got out of bed and went over to the window. Dennis Edwards, the local tailor, and Denise, his wife, were having a knock-down, drag-out argument about Dennis' whereabouts earlier that night. Denise accused him of sleeping with a maid, Lee Shepard, who lived two blocks away on Freedom Boulevard.

According to Sadie, everybody knew about the affair, but Dennis didn't care. Lee Shepard treated him the way he thought his Christian wife should. Whenever he went over to her house, she had a hot meal ready. She bathed and massaged him without having to be asked. Denise, on the other hand, was a pistol, finding something to complain about nearly every day. She gave him hell about the least little thing, constantly comparing him to her daddy, who had spoiled her to the point that few men would have been able to satisfy her.

“Ya been with that whore again, haven't you?” Denise said, pointing her finger in his face.

“Don't point your finger in my face!”

“I'll point my finger wherever I fuckin' please,” Denise continued, her finger almost touching his nose.

“I said don't point your finger in my face!”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“Denise, take your finger outta my face!”

“I can smell that bitch's scent on you, Dennis!” she yelled, still pointing her finger at the tip of his nose. “Yeah, I know you was with the bitch!”

Lucas and Johnnie were on their knees with their heads resting on their crossed arms, watching the fireworks in amazement. They could see everything through the open bedroom window. Dennis tried to grab his wife's finger but Denise moved it and pointed the other one in his face. When he tried to grab that one, she pointed the other. They went back and forth like this for several minutes, with Denise yelling, “She's a trampy-ass bitch!” over and over each time he grabbed at her finger. Frustrated, Dennis turned to leave. Denise grabbed his shoulders from behind and screamed, “Where you think you goin'?”

“I don't know, but I'm gettin' the fuck outta here!” Dennis said, shrugging his shoulders in a vain attempt to get her off.

“You ain't goin' no goddamned where!” Denise yelled, jumping on his back and wrapping her arms around his throat. “You stayin' here.”

Dennis stumbled and took a few steps backward.

“You think I'ma let you leave so you can go back and fuck her some more? You gon' keep yo' black ass here and fuck me! That's what you gon' do!”

Denise wrapped her legs around Dennis' waist. As he struggled to break free, she tightened her grip. Dennis began spinning around in circles like a human top, hoping to make Denise dizzy, but she held on. The spinning made Dennis dizzy instead, and he stumbled backward again, falling onto the bed. Exhausted, he quit struggling. Denise loosened her grip and he rolled over. She stood up and looked down at her subdued husband, feeling like the queen of the Amazons. She undressed Dennis without opposition then she took off her robe and straddled him.

“Your mother was right, Lucas,” Johnnie said with a laugh. “A woman does what she's gotta do.”

J
ohnnie opened her eyes slowly, wondering if the previous night was another satisfying but empty fantasy. She smiled when she saw Lucas' massive arm wrapped around her waist. His embrace made her feel safe, and for the first time she felt wanted for who she was. Most men only saw a beautiful peach that was ready to be plucked; they didn't know she had the capacity to make them feel the kind of love that comes along once in a lifetime. The warmth of Lucas' naked body against hers made her want the moment to go on forever. She knew it wouldn't, but she wanted it to last as long as possible.

Lucas moved a little and Johnnie wondered if he was awake. She turned over and looked in his face. His eyes were open.

“So, you're awake,” Johnnie said and put her head on his bare chest.

“Yeah, I've been up for a while,” Lucas said and kissed her forehead. “I'm sorry, Johnnie.”

“For what?”

“For adding to your burden last night. For shootin' my mouth off about the way white men use colored women. I'm just jealous, ya know.”

“It's okay. I can understand you feeling that way.”

“It just kinda reminds me of being a slave.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, basically, the white man still owns us in a way. He determines what we can do, how much money we make, what kind of schools we go to and what kind of neighborhood we live in.”

“But Lucas, there's a lot of well-to-do Negroes living out here.”

“Yeah, because most of them are the kind of people that think they're better than the ones where I live. The white man loves it when we try to act white. Tryin' to be like him, hatin' our own people. House niggas. Most of 'em anyway.”

“You think I'm a house nigga too, Lucas?”

“No. You're smarter than him. My mother says a colored woman has to be smarter than the white man is. She makes him think he's usin' her, when all the time she's usin' him.”

“Well, I won't have to do it forever, Lucas. I need you to hang in there with me.”

“And I need to feel like a man. I decided to get a job, like you suggested. That way, I can at least pay my own way and occasionally pay yours. But from now on, I think we better find out what the movie's about, no matter how hot it is, okay?”

“Okay.” Johnnie laughed. “And we'll go to the Sepia, okay?”

“All right, baby,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“You want me to make you some breakfast, Lucas?”

“Yeah, I'm starvin'.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Whatever you make is good.”

L
ucas smelled the bacon and eggs all the way upstairs, and hoped the food tasted as good as its delicious aroma. He came downstairs and walked into the kitchen wearing the same clothes he'd worn the day before. Sweat stains were under the armpits of his shirt. Lucas showered and sprayed on some of Johnnie's perfume to camouflage the musty smell. Johnnie smelled the stench of his sweat but pretended not to notice. He tried to conceal the odor, and that was enough for her. She would feed him then take Lucas home so he could change his clothes.

“Have a seat,” Johnnie said. “The grits are almost ready.”

Lucas slid a chair across the linoleum floor, sat down and waited for her to sit with him. Johnnie came over to the table with the pot of grits and poured some into their bowls. She put the pot back on top of the stove and came back to the table. Lucas started filling his plate with bacon and eggs.

Johnnie cleared her throat. “Let's say our grace before we eat, okay?”

“I'm sorry, Johnnie. My mother taught me better table manners than that.”

“Will you say it, Lucas?”

“Huh? Uh, I'm not into church and stuff.”

“Don't you believe in God, Lucas?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay.”

Then she closed her eyes and bowed her head. Lucas did the same. Listening to her give thanks, he admired her belief in God despite everything that happened to her. When she finished, they said, “Amen.”

“I been meanin' to ask you about them angels you got carved into your headboard,” Lucas said.

“What about them?”

“What made you pick that headboard?”

“Lucas, you know my life. I gotta believe that God is watchin' me and balancin' out my own sins against the sins committed against me. Otherwise, I would feel like a little girl lost in a world that doesn't obey its own rules. You know what I mean?”

Lucas' mouth was full of food, so he nodded his head a couple of times. Johnnie watched him devour her food like he hadn't eaten in a week. She was going to ask him when he had last eaten, but she didn't want to put him on the spot.

“It's going to be strange when we go to the funeral.”

“Why is that?” Lucas asked then took several gulps of his orange juice.

“It's been a year or so since I went to church. I'm wondering how I'll be received. I used to sing in the choir and play the piano there. I led worship service and things like that. When I go to the funeral Friday, I'm wondering how it's going to go.”

“I won't let 'em bother you, Johnnie.”

“I'm not worried about them bothering me, Lucas. I'm concerned about what Reverend Staples is going to say.”

“Why you worried about him?”

“Because he's the reverend.”

“Is he a good reverend?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then there's no need to worry, is there?”