The Lonely Lady (36 page)

“Which club are you in?”

“Neither. One, I really like watchin’. Two, I’m working.”

“You have a piece of this place?”

“I have an idea for opening a place like it when the time is right.”

“When will that be?”

“A year or two. When this place is gone. There’s only room for one of these places at a time.”

JeriLee didn’t answer.

“Fred tell you about our plans?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m happy for him. He deserves a break.”

“You’re not in love with him, are you?”

“No.”

“He’s in love with you. He wants to marry you.”

“Did he say that?”

Licia nodded.

“Shit.” JeriLee picked up her drink. He was not supposed to go that far.

“Sister,” Licia asked, as if she had tuned in to her head, “what is a woman like you doin’ messing around with a boy like that?”

“It’s better than being alone. And besides, there are no real men around.”

Licia reached across the table and pressed JeriLee’s hand.

In the same tone of voice and without moving her hand away JeriLee said, “Sister, why is a woman like you messing around with a girl like that?”

Licia’s eyes widened in surprise, then she laughed as she withdrew her hand. “It’s better than being alone. And besides there are no real women around.”

Suddenly there was an easiness between them. JeriLee laughed. “I like you,” she said. “At least you’re honest.”

“I like you too.”

“But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why are you doing all this for him?”

“Partly the money, but that’s not all of it.” Licia hesitated.

“What’s the rest of it?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Licia’s voice was soft but with an undertone of toughness. “This is a man’s world and I’ve gone about as far as a woman can go alone and still be tolerated. Men don’t like women who want to go all the way by themselves.

“I still don’t see what Fred has got to do with it.”

“I’m going to make him a success because we both need it for our own reasons. With him in front, ain’t nobody goin’ to stop me. I’ll go all the way.”

“I still don’t see it. What do you mean with him in front of you?”

Licia reached for JeriLee’s hand again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be obscure,” she said quietly. “You see, I’m going to marry him.”

Chapter 6

JeriLee folded the last shirt and placed it carefully in the suitcase. The new and expensive luggage, a gift from Licia, looked out of place on the bed. “That should do it,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Finish dressing. Marc should be here any minute now.”

“Okay.” He buttoned the collar of his shirt and went over to the mirror to put on his tie. When he had finished he slipped into his jacket and turned to her with a smile on his face. “How do I look?”

“Great.”

He came over and kissed. “It’s only the beginning. When I come back Licia wants us to get a better apartment. One where we can have a piano.”

She snapped the last bag closed without speaking.

“Hey, don’t be down,” he said. “I won’t be gone that long. Detroit, Nashville, Los Angeles. Just a week in each place.”

He didn’t understand.

“While I’m gone you start lookin’ for another place. That way by the time I get back—”

“No,” she interrupted him.

A puzzled expression came over his face. “What is it, honey?”

“I’m not moving.”

“Come on. It’s time we got out of this dump.”

“I’m not moving,” she repeated.

“We can afford it, honey.”

“You can afford it.”

“What difference does it make? We never fussed about the bills here.” He put his arms around her. “Besides, baby, it’s time we got married.”

She buried her face against his shoulder. “No,” she said, her voice muffled against his jacket.

He held her away from him. There was genuine bewilderment in his voice. “Why not?”

She blinked back her tears. “Because it wouldn’t be right.”

“Is it because I’m black?”

“You know better than that.”

“I don’t know. There are girls who’ll make it with black guys but won’t marry them.” There was a subtle edge in his voice.

“You know that’s not it.”

“What is it then? I know it was okay with you for me to move in here. We were good for each other.”

“That’s right. Then. But that was not forever. Now it’s different.”

“The only difference is that now I’ll be bringin’ home the bread. And I can take care of you proper.”

She chose her words carefully. She cared too much for him to want to hurt him. “I’m glad you’re making it. You deserve everything you get. But don’t you see, I’ve got to make it too. I’ve got to do my own thing.”

“I won’t be stopping you. I jus’ want to make it easier for you. Take the nickel and dime heat off.”

Her eyes were dry now, her voice steady. “If that was what I wanted I would never have divorced Walter.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Sometimes I don’t understand myself. I only know that I want to be free.”

“If you loved me you wouldn’t feel like that.”

“Maybe that’s it. I love you but not in the same way you care about me. It’s like we’re very close and we’re friends and everything is good between us—the vibes, the sex, everything. It’s great as far as it goes but it’s not enough for me. Something is still missing. Maybe it’s inside me, something I may never find, but until I do I won’t be ready to give myself up to a relationship. And I won’t be able to do that until I feel free and whole.”

“If we get married, we can start a family,” he said. “That’ll get you together.”

She laughed. That was the ultimate male answer. A baby made everything right. Maybe it did. For them. But that was not what she wanted. “That’s not exactly what I meant by freedom. I don’t know if I ever want a family.”

“It ain’t natural. Every woman wants a baby.”

“I don’t. Maybe I will someday. But not now.”

The buzzer sounded from downstairs. He went over to the window. “Marc is double parked,” he said.

“You’d better get going.”

“I’m not takin’ no for an answer.”

“Don’t fight it. You have your own life and your own career. Leave me to mine.”

The buzzer sounded again.

“You mean you don’t want me to come back?”

Her eyes fell, then she raised her head and nodded. “I think it would be the best thing for both of us.”

When the buzzer sounded again, insistently, he erupted with anger and frustration. “I’m coming! Goddamn it! I’m coming.”

He stood in the doorway. Anguish altered his voice. “JeriLee.”

She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Good luck, Fred. Sing pretty for the people.”

He put down the bags and took a step toward her. She drew back. His voice grew thick with pain. “Fuck you, JeriLee,” he said. “An’ fuck your bullshit honesty or whatever you call it. It’s just your excuse for the fact that you don’t give a shit for nobody but yourself!” Then he was gone, leaving the door open behind him.

Abruptly she covered her face with her hands.

He was right about what he said. She knew enough to recognize the truth when she heard it. Her own mother had said the same thing.

There had to be something wrong with her. Why else couldn’t she be satisfied with the same things as other people? Why did she always want more, why did she always feel incomplete?

***

When the doorbell rang she swore to herself and checked her watch. She had just an hour before she was due at Fannon’s office. “Who is it?” she called.

“Mr. Hardy, the super.”

Shit, that was all she needed. She put an expectant expression on her face and opened the door. “Mr. Hardy.” She smiled. “I was just about to call you. Come in.”

“I came about the rent,” he said in his peculiar thin voice.

“That’s what I was going to call you about,” she said quickly.

“You got it?”

“That’s what I wanted to explain,” she said. “You see—”

“It’s the twentieth of the month already,” he interrupted. “The office is on my back.”

“I know, but I’m waiting for a check. I was going out just this minute to see the man who’s going to produce my play. Adolph Fannon, the famous producer. You’ve heard of him, I’m sure.”

“No. The office wants me to give you an eviction notice.”

“Come on, Mr. Hardy. What are they worried about? They have a month’s security.”

“They’ll apply it to this month’s rent if you leave.”

“I’ve always paid. You know that.”

“I know it, Miss Randall, but I don’t make the rules. The office says the rent ain’t paid by the twentieth, serve the notice. That way you’re out by the end of the month and nobody’s the loser.”

“I’ll pay you by Friday.”

“That’s three days from now. They’ll have my ass.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Be a nice guy, Mr. Hardy.”

He looked around the apartment. “I ain’t seen your boyfriend around the last few weeks. He split?”

“No,” she said. “But he’s gone.”

“I’m glad, Miss Randall. I never told the office that you had someone here with you. You know your lease calls for only one person, and besides they find out you got a Negro in here they’d a gone through the roof. They don’t have no spics or Negroes living in this building. They don’t want the place run down.”

She had taken all she could. “Mr. Hardy,” she said in a cold voice, “why don’t you just go back and tell your office to go fuck themselves!”

He stared at her with an expression of shock. “Miss Randall, what kind of language is that for a nice girl like you to use?”

“Mr. Hardy, the office may own the building but they don’t own the tenants. Nobody has the right to tell me how or who to live with. The only thing they have a right to is the rent, which I said I’ll pay you on Friday.”

“Okay, if that’s how you feel about it,” he said, taking an official-looking piece of paper from his back pocket and pressing it into her hand.

She looked down at the words printed boldly across the folded page: EVICTION NOTICE. “Why give me this?” she asked. “I said I would pay you on Friday.”

He went to the door. “You can always give it back to me with the rent,” he said. “That’s just in case you don’t.”

Chapter 7

The moment she saw Fannon she knew it wasn’t going to be good.

“I wanted to get back to you sooner,” he said after kissing her on the cheek. “But things have been hectic.”

“That’s all right. I understand.”

“Cigarette?”

“No, thanks.”

“You look tired.”

“I haven’t been sleeping too well. The nights have been hot and the air conditioner broke down.”

“You should get out of the city. What you need is some country air.”

She looked at him without answering. There was no point in telling him that she didn’t have the money.

He picked up the copy of her play and stared at the cover. “I like you,” he said abruptly.

She tried to keep her voice light. “But you don’t like my play?”

His eyes seemed to bore into her. “Do you like your pills sugar coated?”

“I’ll take it straight.”

“I don’t like your play.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to, believe me. I think you can write. But this doesn’t work. It’s an emotional exercise, a series of scenes that don’t go together, a story that doesn’t work. But I haven’t given up on you. I think someday you’re going to write a play that will turn this town on its end.”

“But not this time,” she said tightly.

“Not this time.”

“Not even if I rewrote it?”

“It still won’t work. There’s no real story, no focus. It’s all open and spread out, like a kaleidoscope. Every time you turn it you lose the picture. By the time I finished reading it I was too confused to understand what I had read.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I’d put this on the side. Maybe in time it will straighten itself out in your head. Then you can go back to it. Right now it won’t work. I think you ought to start on something else.”

She didn’t answer. It was easy enough to tell someone to do something else as long as you didn’t have to do it.

“Don’t get discouraged,” he said. “Every successful playwright has had plays that don’t work. The important thing is that you keep writing.”

“I know,” she said, meaning it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting to his feet.

She looked up at him, realizing the meeting was over. She managed to keep her voice steady. “Thank you anyway.”

He came around the desk, gave her the script and kissed her cheek again. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said. “Keep in touch.”

“I will.”

“Call me next week, we’ll have lunch.”

“Yes.” She hurried through his secretary’s office, fighting back the tears. She didn’t want anyone to see her. All the way down in the elevator she was fighting back the tears.

When she reached the street, she saw a trash basket at the curb. In a fit of rage and self-pity she flung the script into the wire basket.

She had gone almost a block before turning and running back to retrieve the script from the bottom of the basket.

Maybe she had unconsciously thought that it should have been discarded, even while she was working on it. But there was no way she could have stopped herself. She was too much into it. She had to write it out.

Now it was over and she would have to begin again. But where? And how? There were other things she had to take care of first. Like the rent and the bills. She would have to get some money to carry her over until she could find a job. Then maybe everything would fall into place.

***

“Hello,” her mother answered.

“Mother, I need help.” There was no point in wasting time on the preliminaries. The moment her mother heard her voice she would know the reason for the call.

“What is it this time?”

JeriLee kept her voice calm. “I need two hundred and fifty dollars to get me past this month’s bills. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get a job.”

“Why don’t you ask your friend? I’m sure he can give you something.”

“He’s gone, Mother,” she said, controlling her voice. “We broke up almost a month ago.”