Doom Fox (30 page)

Reba leans and extracts bills from the drawer of her professional sewing table. Junior takes the bills, stuffs them into his black leather jacket pocket. He pecks cheeks all around and moves toward the front door. He pauses at a rack near the den archway loaded with tagged garments. He fingers a man's stylish light blue leisure suit.

'Damn!' he exclaims. 'This is bad! With a little alteration it could fit me.' He examines the tag. His eyes sparkle with mischief. 'Theodis Grant' he reads. 'Mama, ain't that the young Post Office stud that's been on your case to be his woman?'

Reba smiles. 'Some young men think they want to make out with a motherly type with a nickel's worth of looks left. He's just a customer, Junior. Drive carefully on the trip.'

Junior opens the door, hesitates. 'Mama, can I bring Papa to Christmas dinner?'

Reba sighs, glances at Belle and Sadie. They shake their heads.

Reba says 'Maybe ... I'll let you know.'

Junior grins and blows a kiss as he steps through the door. Reba fills her glass to the brim from a decanter of Collins' on the sewing table. She drains the glass half empty. Belle, snipping at Reba's locks, frowns at her in the wide make-up mirror on the table. Reba glares back as she lights a cigarette.

'Ree,' Belle says softly, 'After your last heart a ... uh, illness, we all were told that alcohol and cigarettes were like poison for you. Please, Ree! We don't want to lose you.'

Sadie comes to stand at Reba's side. Reba ignores them and puffs at her cigarette. Baptiste drifts back into the living room with a fresh glass of whiskey. He sits down in a chair and opens his tattered Bible.

Sadie presses her cheek against Reba's as their eyes meet and hold fast in the mirror. Sadie says, 'Mama, Belle's right, on. And God knows you know how much we love you. Mama, I ... ah would never try to dictate to you. But it seems clear to me that to let Papa come here Christmas, in your condition, is well, absolutely mad ... after what he did to us all ... Papa was a maniac up there.' She dips her head toward the bedroom chamber of horror padlocked and boarded up since
that
afternoon.

Sadie continues, with heat. 'Well, let's face the truth ... I'll say it! Mama you just can't logically expect anything except more trouble and grief from any contact with Papa. Mama, he spent three years in a hospital for the criminally insane! Then seven years in a cage!'

Belle says, 'Sadie is right, Ree. Can't you see it? Papa loved us, loved you in his own sad way. But don't you see? It was a crazy charade, a bomb that exploded because you never loved Papa. You don't owe Papa anything, Darling!'

Reba empties her glass, stares past through their faces in the mirror at the specter of long years of secret guilt as she says, 'Ladies, no offense, but let me live my life. I'm hip drinking and cigarettes are nudging me into my pre-paid real estate at Forest Lawn. But who the hell, except punishment freaks, wants to live on this rotten mother forever?'

'Please, Mama!' Sadie exclaims as she rakes fingernails across a sudden rash of hives on her wrist.

Reba takes Sadie's wrist to touch the welts with her lips. 'Baby I didn't mean to upset you.'

Reba leans back and embraces their waists. They stand, with auburn tresses fashionably coiffed with bangs and long bobs. Their beautiful faces are solemn. They look successful, trim and chic in their navy and black Lillie Anne suits watching their shaky savoir.

Reba squeezes them close, closes her eyes, tipsy now, as she passionately muses, 'No, it's true, I never loved Joe with a "c'mon sock it to me Sweet Daddy" kind of feeling. But I know now, I loved the security of his ugliness, loved him better, stronger for his manhood, for his honesty, his scars, his bad, crazy nigger toughness ... and tenderness, loved him because he adored me, worshipped me!... and I could trust him! You hear me! I could depend on him! But he couldn't depend on me to be faithful. I should have been patient. I should have cared enough to teach and guide him so he could've filled my sexual needs. He deserved that!'

She catches her breath, wrings her hands in despair before she continues. 'In or out of the nut house or a cage, I'd bet Joe Allen, right now, is more real man than most of the high-jiving jerks out there ... he wasn't even a maniac that day upstairs ... didn't touch me when he caught us ... he was sane, ladies! Why, Felix could have gotten off with just a whipping if he hadn't panicked ... looking back, I've convinced myself Joe Allen was never the villain. I'm the one who crapped in our nest. We all owe Joe our love and respect. Your father will be welcome for Christmas dinner!'

They stare at Reba aghast as she casually pats her hair. 'It's beautiful, Belle! Thank you hon,' Reba says as she glances at her watch, stands and kisses their cheeks. 'I'm going to get some coffee to perk me up for a long grind on the sewing machine. Want a cup?'

They shake their heads as they turn to gather up the baby and their raincoats.

Reba trills, 'See ya dolls' as she leaves for the kitchen. They chorus, 'Bye Mom.'

The sisters go into the living room and peck Baptiste's cheeks. He follows them to the door. He watches them tool their machines away in the rain. He shuts the door and goes to the den. He sits on the sofa, swathed in a white silk robe. He has a combative expression on his lined but still comely face. His gaunt frame is tense as he sips his whiskey.

Reba returns and sets a coffee cup and saucer on the table top. She ignores Baptiste as she swings up the sewing machine to the surface, flips on its light. She picks up a pinned garment draped across a chair beside the table, examines it.

Baptiste, irritated, characteristically wobbles his dentures to make a clicking sound that always annoys Reba.

Reba takes a sip of coffee, puts the unfinished garment aside with extravagant deliberation, turns and glares at him.

'All right, paragon of fathers, give me your licks.'

He leans in. 'You're a star natal fool if you let that crazy nigger come to this house. And you're killing yourself drinking and it's not fair to get salty with me for caring about you. God don't love ugly.'

She laughs in his face. 'Saint Whiskey, I've been salty with you since I was a little girl for not really caring for anything except robbing suckers with crooked cards.'

Baptiste takes off his glasses. His voice trembles. 'I got my throat cut and risked my life trimming suckers to support you and that strumpet in her grave. Where would you be if I hadn't been a stand-up father?'

She laughs. 'Chained to a sewing machine somewhere to keep a roof over my head.'

'It's your own fault that you don't have any money left from your mother's inheritance. You brought that string of lazy worthless niggers into this house to support and live in sin with you. You're the big shot boozer who set up the house in every sucker trap in town. Then you blew broke on those Vegas trips and on those clothes, diamonds and luxury cars for that last lowlife piss ant parasite. You could've bypassed all your grief if you had heeded when I warned you way back when you hooked up with Felix to quit Joe. There's always a misery backlash when you live like a bitch dog. I want to belt the hide off you when I think about how your notoriety fouled up the twins' chances to be well married high class ladies in this community.'

Reba ashens. 'They own the largest beauty salon on Crenshaw Boulevard. That makes them respected and successful business ladies in this community!'

Baptiste snorts. 'I know, they're not on welfare. But after your example it's God's miracle they aren't flipping tricks on Central Avenue. But Belle is divorced from a garbage collector, the best she could do for a husband. Sadie, well, I'll bawl sure as hell if I dwell on the bunch of dressed up bums who courted her. Like that idiot Pullman porter she just broke up with who gets busted out every payday by craps hustlers. Face it, the twins have been blackballed by all the eligible young black professionals they really deserve.'

Reba laughs nervously. 'My girls aren't complaining! Shut up about them and Joe!'

Baptiste sneers. 'You fool! Go on, let him back into your life. He'll kill you sure for those years of misery. I almost feel sorry for him. God and I are warning you. Don't let Joe Allen back into your life and mine. Hear us!?'

Reba's face is a cold mask of defiance. 'And hear me! Joe Allen is welcome to come to this house for Christmas dinner.' She turns and jerks up the garment. The machine whirs madly as she stitches.

Baptiste stands shakily, intones icily, 'I'm paying my way with my pension check and Social Security to help keep this property that you mortgaged to try to get even in Vegas. It's my house too! I'm going to get a box of shells for my shotgun. I'm going to protect myself. If Joe Allen raises his voice or tries to gorilla us, I'll blow him to pieces.'

Baptiste moves past Reba on his way to the kitchen to get a whiskey refill. Reba stops her sewing, loses color, presses a palm against her fluttery chest, gulps for air. Her hands shake as she unscrews a vial of pills. She pops one and chases it with coffee.

18

Joe walks through San Quentin's steel release gate dressed in a well cut but cheap glen plaid suit tailored by Percy. He pats Melvin's 'C' notes in the inside coat pocket, stashed by Percy beneath the tailor shop flooring for over a year. He carries an accumulation of personal effects under his arm in pasteboard cartons. He stands hesitantly, blinks spastically like a Gila monster on the concrete landing.

In the sudden explosion of free world sun, he glances down at the first step. He balks with pounding ecstasy. His hand shades his eyes like a salute to the dazzling expanse of FREE WORLD marvel, the shapes of current model automobiles in live color parked in the visitors' lot that he has only seen on T.V. and in magazines.

He does not spot Junior in the La Salle! Desperately he rescans the chromed jungle. Paranoia slams him. Well, I guess Junior has cut me loose, he thinks. Guess his wife Dottie poisoned him against me. She's afraid to have a murderer under her roof.

He eases a foot down on the first step, in a kind of sneaky assault, perhaps in the manner of a novice high diver fearful on the lip of the board. Then his other foot follows, then with successive attacks his feet take him down the concrete stairs and into the parking lot.

His heart drums. Now it's clear why Junior didn't show. A golden Venus alights from a Pontiac at the far end of the lot. Reba has come to take him home. It is! His mind shouts. It is! Her auburn tresses fire skyrockets in the sun. Her mane flogs her shoulders as she jerks her head in that characteristic way as she turns to lock her car.

It is Reba! Tears of happiness drown his eyes as his feet flail the concrete toward her. Her back is still to him as she fiddles a key into a faulty lock. 'Reeb! Reeb!' he groans six feet from her, giant hands reaching, when she turns with a startled, strange face and hurries past him.

He mumbles inanely, "Scuse me, lady' as he collapses, drained, on a car fender.

Then he hears. 'Papa!'

Or does he? Warily he glances about. No illusion this time! He rushes toward Junior who is sprinting toward him from the La Salle. The colossi collide, embrace as passers-by stare to see such monsters cry before they get into the car which Junior scrambles to the highway for L.A.

Joe tussles with the impulse to criticize Junior for the deplorable condition of the La Salle. But Junior's runover shoes and struggle-hardened face make him decide to let it slide.

Joe breaks a long silence. 'Junior, you sure it's all right with Dottie that I'm staying awhile in your house?'

Junior's face screws up in terminal anguish. 'Papa, she's fixing your favorite dinner, macaroni and cheese, short ribs, yams and homemade biscuits. And even when she's eight months gone. And evil! Now, you tell me if you ain't welcome.'

'How are my grandkids, and Sadie and Belle?'

Joe smiles. 'All are well ... evil ass Baptiste is still around with a gut full of whiskey and rocks in his jaw ... everybody is invited to Christmas dinner at Mama's ... you too, Papa, I'm pretty sure.'

Joe cracks his knuckles. 'You asked her to let me come, didn't you? She told you she wasn't sure?'

Junior fidgets behind the wheel. 'Well ... yeah ... but Papa, it's gonna be all right.'

Joe lights a cigarette, smashes an irritated gust of smoke against the windshield. 'I'm sorry you had to do that, Junie ... wish you hadn't ... I want you to know, I didn't leave my balls and pride back in that cage ...'

Junior laughs. 'Who you hunching, Papa, who you hunching?'

Joe says, 'The meat packers put you back to work?'

'Not yet ... still on welfare. I got lots of company.'

'Guess I'm lucky to get a parole gig with old Hoffmeister's son' Joe says as he snuffs out his cigarette.

Joe closes his eyes to secretly find his compass in the frightful chaos of the newly freed. His head aches. It's too soon to try, he decides. The hum of the tires lullabye him to fitful sleep. A pothole lurches the La Salle. Joe opens his eyes with the reflex convict impression that his cell has somehow become mobile. He shakes his head in the frantic manner of a pooch emerging from a dip in a creek.

He says, 'Junie, maybe now you can answer the question you side-stepped in your letters and visits. Didn't Reeb send me those unsigned food boxes and cards?'

Junior grins sheepishly. 'Yeah, Mama sent the cards, made me promise not to tell. She, Belle and Sadie took turns sending the packages.'

Joe cuffs Junior's shoulder. 'I won't spill it. Now look, I'm not uptight or planning to mess in Reeb's personal life, but is she on the hook with some guy in a serious way? Junie, I know everybody needs somebody to keep from being lonely.'

Junior shakes his head vigorously. 'Nobody Papa, nobody for several years. She seldom leaves the house. Only her sewing customers visit. Belle and Sadie beg her to let them take her to shows and stuff to take a break from her machine ... Papa, Mama's ticker is bad ... and she's drinking something awful. It scares me!'

Joe starts to speak when L.A. looms him silent. He waves Junior into a Ralph's Market parking lot. They fill a shopping cart with meats, staples and delicacies.