Tambourines to Glory (14 page)

“No, C.J.”

Suddenly he was angry. “Aw, you ain’t all that pure.” He took his arms away and put his hands into his pockets. Silence. Moonlight. Leaves.

“I’m not pretending to anything, C.J.—except I love you, that’s all.”

“You love me?” said C.J., as if he’d never heard the word before. “You really love me?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Marietta. I’ll be damned if I (pardon me, I’m a saint) I’ll be
dogged
if I don’t! Come on! I’ll walk you home.”

He didn’t touch her any more. He just looked at her in the soft drift of moonlight that came through the trees. Then C.J. stood up. Obediently, Marietta rose from the park bench and took his hand.

“If that Buddy guy, or anybody else, tries to touch you in New York City, or anywhere else, I’ll beat the living be-Jesus out of ’em.”

“Kiss me.”

“Marietta!”

SHOWER

T
he nights when Buddy stayed with Laura, in the morning he would take a shower and when he took a shower, to Laura Buddy was like iron walking through the room naked to the shower, as clean and hard before the water fell as afterwards, glistening clean.

When Laura took a shower and walked around the room naked, to Buddy she was like chocolate in summer on the verge of going soft, yal, about to become sticky, melt, before or after the water fell the same.

About Buddy nothing at all sweet-sticky to Laura. Nothing about Laura firm and unsticky to Buddy, body soft and gooey like chocolate over almonds in a summer almond bar. A too-sweet taste in the mind’s mouth, yal, too much.

To Laura no taste at all—the hard clean iron of tall brown glistening Buddy. Cool smooth nothing-to-rub-off, to skin like fruit, nothing to bite off, keep, dry like a flower in a book, smell, taste about Buddy, nothing.

Everything melting, to need-to-wipe-your-fingers-clean, sweet sticky softness about Laura, even after a cold shower. The smell of woman, even after a shower. Like it? Sure, yal! Love it? Naw! I get sick to my stomach.

“I need ten dollars for a couple of Scotches, baby, on my way to church. I said ten dollars, Laura!”

Buddy, don’t you ever, Buddy, Buddy, ever need to just hold, need to hold me, Buddy, hold me still and quiet still-like, do nothing but hold me? I am Laura! How can you be so big, organ-sounding words, brown, strong, straight, clean, big—and nothing gives at all, bends, melts to me, warms me in my heart at all? So damned-looking clean—iron legs, thighs, iron chest, iron arms, hard, hard iron lips, teeth, iron tongue—nothing gives. In the end nothing. I try to imagine, Buddy, I try.

“Throw me a towel—two towels—two big towels, baby.”

“I can’t hear you, Buddy, with the water running.”

“You
better
hear me, Laura, and throw me a towel!”

“Buddy …”

CROSS TO BEAR

M
eanwhile, that summer Essie moved to Mount Vernon, made the down payment on a little frame house there—a house with a front porch and a back porch and in the yard an old-fashioned rocking two-seated wooden swing that the former tenant left behind. She and Marietta loved it. They could sit outdoors all the afternoon in the back yard rocking, have a dog, a cat, canary birds, and Essie could go barefooted around the house again as she used to do down South, and fill the icebox with soft drinks and watermelon and forget the smell of wine and whiskey. Somehow she didn’t miss Laura. They saw each other every night but Saturday at the church. Essie became a commuter, up and down the steps of the 125th Street Station, from Harlem to the suburbs and back by train.

Now Laura had the fine apartment all to herself, which was just what Laura wished—except that she did miss Essie. And Buddy—whose birthday present had been the red car—didn’t stay there as much any more, now that he could stay freely. Just like a tomcat of a man! To Laura’s ears in the beauty shop came rumors, and the rumors turned out to be true. One day on Seventh Avenue Laura saw her with her own eyes sitting in the sleek new Cadillac with the top down and Buddy at the wheel. She had the kind of hair that blew in her eyes—this other woman—and was as young as Marietta.

“Jesus had a cross to bear, so has everyone,” quoted the beauty shop operator who served Laura, of course to another customer. “But that pretty little model’s a glamorous cross for Laura Reed to have to put up with—after all that money she’s spent on that Negro Buddy. A no-good dog!”

“Them handsome dogs is the worst kind,” said the customer. “I would not have no handsome man for mine, with all the women in town eying him. No, sir, not Claybelle Jones.”

“Miss Jones, nor would I,” said the beauty shop operator. “And if I did, I wouldn’t give him a thing but my money, not my heart. But that sanctified Reed sister loves that devil. I can feel the fever in her brow since he’s started acting up. I see her temples throbbing whilst I am fixing her hair. Laura’s going to have nervous prostitution if she don’t watch out. And all over Buddy Lomax, who everybody knows is a mother-fouler.”

“A good-looking rounder!”

“The Bible says, ‘As an eagle fouleth his nest!’ Miss Jones, how wide do you want this blond streak I’m putting in your hair?”

“Same width as from the left eyebrow to my right,” said Claybelle Jones. “Just a little blond ripple to tease the men.”

“Sister Essie’s got sense. She’s buying herself a home in the country.”

“So I heard.”

“And educating her daughter.”

“Pretty as Dorothy Dandridge.”

“They tell me that’s what started it all—Buddy tried to make Marietta.”

“Which is why Essie picked up her bed and walked to Westchester. I wish Buddy would try to make me. I’d give him at least a jigger of a break.”

“Buddy’s a keen-looking stud.”

“Heartbreaker! That Big-Eyed Buddy!”

“A cross for any woman to bear.”

“Yes, Jesus, Lord!”

“Now, girl, look in the mirror. How do you like your new hair style?”

“Solid, honey, solid! That’s boss!”

APPLE OF EVIL

W
hen in the dusk-dark of evening Laura’s big black Cadillac drew up to the stage door of the Temple and her new little old black chauffeur jumped spryly out to open the door for her, Laura could hear inside the Tambourine Chorus:

It sounded beautiful indeed. But since Laura did not see Buddy’s car parked anywhere in the street, there was a frown on her face as she went inside and down the corridor to the big room under the stage. Upstairs the evening song service had started.

The big room was empty save for Sister Mattie Morningside, the Mistress of the Robes, a title lately given that large and amiable woman who was Laura’s personal saint, attendant, and caretaker of her churchly garments. She was always downstairs faithfully awaiting Laura’s arrival every night.

“Evening, Sister Morningside! Ain’t Sister Essie here yet?”

“No, Sister Laura. You know, since she’s moved, it takes her a right smart time to get down here from the country.”

“Seems so. And Brother Buddy?”

“Not yet, neither. But the chorus is all upstairs, singing wonderful. That’s Sister Birdie Lee now.”

“I hear her,” muttered Laura, “attracting attention to herself. Hang my coat up carefully on a hanger in the closet—and
lock
the closet. Minks don’t grow on trees, Sister Mattie.”

“Sure don’t—and you got a
fine
piece of skin here for a lady minister.”

“Since prostitutes dress good, and call girls and madams, there’s no reason why saints shouldn’t.”

“Saints should look the best,” said Sister Mattie as she disappeared into the anteroom. While Laura was taking the heavy costume jewelry off her arms, Buddy came in and threw his camel’s hair coat over the table.

“So you beat me here tonight, heh, babes? My little red convertible can’t purr like your big old car, I guess.”

“You’re kinder late.”

“I started from the apartment just after you did.”

“No stops on the way?”

“Just a nip at the Shalimar.”

“Well, nip yourself on up the steps with some cases of that Holy Water for the congregation tonight.”

“Hell, Laura, why didn’t you let your driver pack them cases up?”

“He’s a chauffeur, not a saint—paid to
drive
. But you’re a part of this church now since your conversion.”

“You can’t say good ain’t happening. Marty’s grinning like a chesscat over the way his number writers have been picking up business since you been giving out them Lucky Texts—eighteen thousand dollars in this neighborhood last week.”

“That ofay gangster ought to be happy.”

“Laura, if you don’t tell nobody, I’ll let you in on a secret. Marty’s gonna give you a diamond wrist watch for Christmas.”

“I can sport it, too, baby.”

“Marty asked me what should he give Sister Essie, but I told him to leave her be,
period!
Just don’t give her nothing—and start that old hassle over right and wrong again. Seems like Essie even yet don’t think
I’m
converted.”

“You ain’t—and I’m glad she moved that daughter of hers out of your path.”

“Marietta’s squab for C.J., I guess. But
you’re
pig-meat for me.” And he ran one hand down the neck of Laura’s dress. But Laura drew back.

“Sometimes, Buddy, I’m disgusted with everything about you—but you.”

He laughed. “Cut the kidding, Laura! It’s hot down here. I’m gonna pack a case of Jordan Water upstairs and stand in the wings and listen to your rock and roll. Are you coming up?”

“I’ll be up directly. Looks like a big crowd, so I got to robe myself sweet tonight. Believe I’ll wear the scarlet with the gold stole.”

“Gild your lily,” said Buddy. “Decorate your righteous hide!” He disappeared into the corridor and up the iron steps to the stage with a case of Jordan Water on his shoulder, so Sister Mattie knew it was time for her to come back with the robes. She brought three of various colors for Laura’s selection.

“The scarlet one tonight,” said Laura, “maybe the Nile green tomorrow.”

Upstairs the music mounted and Laura knew that soon the congregation would be ready to give her a shouting welcome. The way that chorus built up the spirit, it was worth the money—even if the director had asked for a salary Laura never dreamed any church would pay a gospel musicianer. But the tambourines collected it all back, and more sometimes, in a single night.

Essie came in and paused at the foot of the iron stairs to drink in the music. “Sounds so good this evening.”

“Long as I don’t hear Birdie Lee croaking,” said Laura. “I believe I’m gonna have to get rid of that old woman.”