I Wish I Had a Red Dress (18 page)

TEE GREETED THE IDEA
of working with Lynette Smitherman almost as unenthusiastically as she did Nate’s request for an appointment. She had finally agreed to hear him out tomorrow afternoon, but she was adamant about Nettie.

“She don’t wanna be with me,” she said, frowning at me like she suspected my hand hidden in there somewhere. “She don’t even know me.”

“She’ll get to know you,” I said.

Tee frowned and tossed her braids with a defiant flick of her wrist. “That ain’t my idea of a good time, Miz J. You like hangin’ around with those old ladies. I don’t.”

“I’m not asking you to hang around with her. She wants to help. Somebody close to her just passed and she’s trying to keep her mind off of it.”

“When you get that old, somebody always gonna be dyin’,” Tee sniffed with the arrogance that is only possible while you’re still young enough to believe that in the history of the human race, you’re going to be the first one who never gets old, never gets sick, and never,
ever,
dies.

“You’re opening with
Introducing Dorothy Dandridge
, right?”

“You know we are.”

Dissent made Tee snippy sometimes, but I didn’t care. “Well, these ladies met her.”

She was instantly impressed. “The real Dorothy Dandridge? Where?”

“At the premiere of
Carmen Jones.
You remember where Halle Berry steps out of that limo with that white fur and walks up the red carpet, suddenly a
star?
”

Tee nodded. Of course she remembered it. That scene is pivotal. The best moment of Dorothy’s life and the worst. Her professional triumph marred by the betrayal of Otto Preminger, her lover and director, who appeared at the theater escorting his white wife. Not that escorting a
black
wife would have been any better, but all the questions raised would have been different. Not less hurtful, but undeniably
different
.

“You tellin’ me they was at the premiere?”

“Not only that, they went to a party with her and a bunch of her famous friends right before.”

She couldn’t resist. Proximity to celebrity was almost as good as celebrity itself. Her imagination took what I gave her and ran with it until I delivered the coup de grâce. “They’ve even got photographs.”

“Of the real Dorothy Dandridge?”

“Of everything that went on that night. The party, the premiere,
everything. Lynette had a camera because they knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

“You think they’d let me see the pictures?” Tee said. “Maybe we could make a display or something.”

“Let’s go ask them.”

She looked at me and something dawned on her. “You’re not slick, Miz J. I see what you doin’. You tryin’ to get me to take on this old lady ’cause she got some stuff I can use.”

“Is it working?”

Her slow smile told me what I wanted to know and she reached for her coat. “So far, so good.”

Once we got to the Smithermans’, and I made the introductions, I was politely informed that I didn’t need to stay since, as Lynette put it, they had to learn to talk among themselves right off, or they never would. Tee looked at me in a sudden panic at being left there alone, but I knew she could handle it, so I told her I’d be back in two hours and went back to The Circus.

Two hours later when I returned with Mavis in tow, Geneva had put together a little supper and set the table for the five of us. Lynette and Tee were sitting in front of the fire with their heads together, surrounded by photographs, clippings preserved in plastic and playbills spilling out of old folders. Mavis climbed into her mother’s lap for a kiss and I caught the last line of what had obviously ended up being a serious strategy session.

“That’s the way to maintain control of the situation, dear,” Nettie said, patting Mavis’s cold cheek affectionately. “Seen and not heard. That’s the way to go.”

“What are you two plotting about?” I said, wishing I had a camera to capture a picture of them, the old Idlewild and the emerging new one in what appeared to be a newly minted but absolutely mutual admiration society.

“We’re not plotting,” Tee said, grinning at Nettie and giving Mavis another squeeze. “We’re organizing!”

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” Geneva said from the doorway, “stop doing it and come to supper. That child’s hungry!”

“I’m hungry, Mama,” Mavis said on cue, and we all laughed and headed for the table. Organizing is always a good thing, but Geneva’s squash soufflé is even better.

WHEN WE WENT BACK
to The Circus to pick up Tee’s car, it wouldn’t even pretend to turn over.

“This car is startin’ to work my nerves,” Tee said, giving the steering wheel a disapproving thump.

“I can drop you,” I said.

“It can’t be the battery. I just got a new battery three weeks ago!”

“Forget it,” I said, settling Mavis in my backseat and opening the passenger door for Tee. “As good as things went today, you deserve a ride home.”

“I’ve never met anybody like them before,” she said.

“Then you’re even. They’ve never met anybody like you before either.”

We were so busy talking about the Smithermans, we didn’t
see Junior’s car until we pulled into Tee’s yard. It was parked right beside Nikki’s and the couple inside sat up quickly as our lights hit the rear window.

“Oh, hell no!” Tee said, getting out before I even stopped the car completely. She jerked open the passenger door of Junior’s aging gray Buick and Nikki stumbled out of the car, adjusting her clothes. I could see Junior doing the same behind the wheel. Mavis remained blissfully asleep and I suddenly understood the value of a cell phone. In a war zone, emergency communications are an absolute necessity.

“Listen, Tee.” Nikki was holding up both hands in front of her as if to ward off an anticipated blow. “The car was acting up when I got ready to leave the club and Junior . . . Junior just followed me home in case it broke down, you know, so I wouldn’t be stranded on the road.”

“So what were you doin’? Sayin’
thank you?
”

“Aw, Tee, you ain’t got to go there.” Nikki tried to look hurt.

Tee ignored that. “Tell him to get out of my yard.”

“He goin’ right now, Tee. Right, Junior? You already headin’ out, right?”

Mavis murmured softly and I patted her shoulder gently. Nikki turned to look at Junior, and I could see the expression on her face: scared and confused. Hoping he’d go on home and not make a bad situation impossible; knowing he wouldn’t.

He looked at her without blinking. “You
invited
me up in this muthafucka, remember?”

“I know, baby,” she said, pleading. “But you gotta go now, okay?”

“Baby?”
Tee’s voice was outraged. “Since when you go back to callin’ that nigga
baby?
”

“That ain’t none a ya business,” Junior said, stepping out on his side of the car but making no move toward us.

“It is if she doin’ it in my yard,” Tee said, her voice as icy as the ground.

I stepped out of the car, hoping there was safety—or at least increased intimidation—in numbers.

Junior narrowed his eyes and pointed a thick finger in Tee’s direction. “You gonna get tired of gettin’ in my business.”

“I’m already tired of it,” Tee said.

“Not as tired as you gonna be,” he said.

“That’s a crime.” I spoke up quickly.

He turned toward me. “I ain’t touched her!”

I could feel my heart beating in my throat. “You threatened her. That’s enough.”

“He didn’t mean nothin’.” Nik was flitting around helplessly, being careful to stay out of both Junior and Tee’s reach. “I swear, he didn’t, did you, baby?”

Always the pragmatist,
Baby
looked at us and decided that if I was telling the truth, we weren’t worth the trouble.

“Fuck this,” he said, climbing back into his car and peeling out of the yard in a hail of rock salt and day-old snow.

Tee looked at Nik with an expression I’d never seen before.

“Let’s go inside,” I said, unbuckling Mavis, who had slept through the whole thing. Tee seemed to be at a loss for words. So did Nikki, who was standing close by, trying to be invisible. “I’ll put Mavis to bed while you two sort it out.”

Tee looked at me. “She still asleep?”

I nodded.

“Good. I don’t want her to see this kinda shit in her own damn yard!”

Tee was trying hard to stop cussing, especially around Mavis, but when she got mad, she lapsed back big time. Besides, Mavis was asleep, so all bets were effectively off.

“I’m really sorry,” Nikki started apologizing again as Tee opened the door to the house and reached for her daughter.

“Why don’t I put her to bed?” she said to me like Nikki hadn’t spoken at all. “If I talk to this fool right now, I know I’m gonna say somethin’ I’ll be sorry for later.”

“Sure,” I said quickly. “Take your time.”

Nikki, hearing what she probably thought of as a reprieve, even if it was only a few minutes long, shut up instantly so she wouldn’t say anything to make Tee any madder before she disappeared into Mavis’s room.

When we heard the door click behind them, Nik let out a rush of held breath and flopped down on the couch. “I have really fucked up now.”

She didn’t need me to add
you got that right,
so I put the kettle on and rummaged around Tee’s kitchen cabinets to find some tea.

“You believe me, don’t you?”

She was looking for an ally against what she feared would be a merciless recitation of the string of bad decisions that had led her to this moment.

“Are you telling the truth?”

She tried to look hurt, but I had seen her head pop up over that big front seat. I wasn’t going for it any more than Tee was. “Of course.”

Of course
. It was going to be a long night. “You swore you were done with Junior,” I said. “I was the witness, remember?”

She twisted her hands in her lap and frowned, reorganizing the lie. “I am done wit’ him.”

“Then why was he here?”

“I already tole you. My car was actin’ up. He just gave me a ride!”

Her voice rose in indignant defense of the lie and Tee walked into the room quickly. Nikki shrank back against the couch and pressed her lips together like she was afraid anything she said could and would be used against her.

Tee looked at her for a long, silent moment. There was everything and nothing to be said between them. “Were you fuckin’ Junior in my backyard?”

Nikki winced. “I tole you—”

“Save that bullshit! Were you fuckin’ him? That’s what I’m askin’ you.”

There was no place to hide. “Tee, I . . .”

“Yes or no?”

Nik’s voice was a whisper. “Yes.”

Tee didn’t blink. “Then you gotta go.”

“Aw-w-w-w, Tee, don’t go there.” Nikki’s voice was a cross between a whine and a wheedle. “I’m sorry, okay? I said I’m sorry!”

Tomika shook her head. “That ain’t good enough. I told you, I’m not havin’ this shit around Mavis. You knew that. Now know
this.
I want you and all your stuff out of here tomorrow morning.”

Panic was rising in Nikki’s eyes. “Where I’ma go, huh? You know they rented my other place out.”

Tomika was unmoved. “Your mama got a spare bedroom. Call her.”

Nik stood up quickly, suddenly defiant in the face of her inevitable eviction. “Well,
fuck you,
then, Tee, okay? You gonna be all
toe the line
on me and shit, then just
fuck you!
”

“I didn’t do it, Nik! You did!”

Conscious of Mavis, neither one raised her voice above an angry whisper. We spend so much time controlling what we feel—the pain and the joy—because our babies are sleeping in the next room. I wonder how much of it they absorb anyway; how much of it appears in their dreams.

“Yeah, I did it,” Nikki hissed. “Because everybody ain’t like you, Tee. Everybody can’t just close that shit off and keep on like nothin’ happened. Some of us need a man’s hands, you know what I’m sayin’? You so busy savin’ your shit for some imaginary Denzel Washington clone, you done forgot how good the real shit can be.”

The teakettle was whistling weakly and I got up to turn it off.

“I ain’t forgot nothin’,” Tee said quietly. “But all you gotta remember is to get out my house before noon tomorrow.”

Nikki snatched her purse off the couch and flung herself out of the room. “You ain’t got to tell me twice!” She jerked open the door to the room she shared with Tee, but she didn’t slam it behind her. She was pissed and confused but not crazy.

Left alone, Tee and I looked at each other.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m cool.”

I hadn’t even taken off my coat. Things had happened so fast.

“I knew she was still messin’ around with Junior. I can always tell.”

The guilt of not telling her what Nikki had said about Junior coming by the club weighed on me. “You want me to stay awhile?”

She shook her head. “He ain’t comin’ back here tonight. It’s tomorrow I got to start thinkin’ about.”

“You think she’ll need a ride in the morning?”

Tee snorted. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that car.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I guess not.”

She walked me to the door. “You know what I was talkin’ about before?”

“What?”

“About gettin’ a real gun?”

“I remember.”

“I’m thinkin’ about it again.”

I SPENT MOST OF
the next afternoon trying to talk Tee out of her gun purchase and trying to get the sheriff’s office to take Junior’s threat seriously. In both cases, I could have saved my breath, so I was more than a little cranky when I pulled up in front of the school to drop off some festival information for Nate.

The kids were gone by the time I got there and he was working in his office. He was wearing a beautiful camel-colored sweater whose soft drape did nothing to hide the definition of his chest muscles. Miles Davis’s
Kind of Blue
was playing softly on a CD player squeezed into the overcrowded bookshelf. His music is so amazing, but I can’t help listening for that mean streak even on the sweetest tunes.

“Come in, come in,” he said, coming from behind his desk to greet me with a smile.

Our dinner at Dot’s had lasted until they closed up and threw us out, still talking and laughing and getting to know each other. What we’d seen so far, we both liked. Now if we could just find a minute to explore it in peace! But not today.

“How’s your day been?”

“I’ve had better,” I said, all business.

My tone brought him up sharp. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Same old thing,” I said. “But I wanted to drop off this stuff about the festival and let you know Tee’s ready to meet with you as soon as you can give us a day and time.”

“Slow down a minute,” he said. “Are you okay?”

I stopped, took a deep breath and looked at him, being careful to stand far enough away to minimize the mandatory tilting of the head. “I’m fine.”

“What are you so mad about?”

“I’m not mad.”

He looked at me. “Mildly irritated? At least give me mildly irritated.”

“Fine,” I said. “I might be mildly irritated.”

He nodded approvingly like at least we were making a little progress. “Any idea what might have produced this
mild irritation?
”

I shook my head.

He spread his arms wide. “If you don’t like the sweater, just tell me. I’ll go put on a suit.”

That made me smile a little.

“And a tie!”

“It’s not you,” I said.

“Thank God! Then what?”

There was no reason not to tell him. “Tee’s buying a gun.”

He raised his eyebrows, immediately concerned. “Why?”

“Nikki brought Junior by the house and he threatened Tee when she told him to leave. She’s scared.”

“Well, nothing wrong with owning a gun if you know how to use it.”

“Which she doesn’t!”

“Then why don’t you let me take her over to the firing range? If she’s motivated, it won’t take long to teach her.”

That hadn’t occurred to me and a wave of relief swept over me. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “If the problem is that she can’t shoot a gun, that problem can be easily solved. What’s she getting? A .38?”

To me the question of guns is always a huge moral dilemma, requiring much soul-searching and wringing of hands. Even when we had a real crack problem up here a few years ago, my brother-in-law practically had to beg me to keep a shotgun in the house.

“I . . . I don’t know what kind she wants to get.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’ve got a couple she can try. Once she shoots them, it’ll be easier for her to make up her mind.”

A couple she can try? “How many guns do you have?”

He smiled. “A couple.”

“Why?”

“I used to be a cop. Old habits are hard to break.”

This whole conversation was making me feel so sad I thought I was going to burst into tears.

Nate’s voice was a gentle rumble. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t know if I could explain, but I had to try. “I just never thought I’d be arranging shooting lessons for one of my girls.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

That just made me feel worse. Is this the real price of freedom? And if it is, what if it’s just too high?

“Do you feel free?” I said suddenly.

“Sure I do.”

“Why?”

He thought for a minute. “Bottom line?”

“Bottom line.”

“Because nobody can kick my ass.”

“There you go,” I said. “How many women can say that? Every man I see can probably kick mine.”

“But those are the bad guys,” he said, frowning. “All men aren’t like that.”

When you start talking about the bad stuff men do, the man present always want to be acknowledged as an exception. One of the good guys. I guess that’s fair and I usually don’t mind doing it, but sometimes I wish they didn’t need to stop the conversation so often to be reassured. I didn’t say anything.

He looked at me, and when he spoke, his voice was very gentle. “Can I apologize on behalf of the good guys for all crimes, real and imagined?”

I took another deep breath. “I’m sorry to be fussing at you about all this,” I said, letting that
real or imagined
slide. “But just imagine if the situation was reversed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if every woman you saw could kick your ass?”

“I can’t imagine it.”

“Try.”

“I can’t imagine it.”

I was speechless again. It is my feeling that trying to mold adult male behavior is a constant struggle in which consistency is everything. The reason so few men ever progress beyond the most basic understanding of who and what women really are is not that they get distracted. It’s that we get tired and start letting
them slide. Or we fall in love and our vision is so clouded by all that sweetness that we relax completely, convinced that this is the one relationship that will be able to avoid the sexist bullshit that has doomed all others. I know better. It’s like that old movement song: freedom is a constant struggle.

“Well,” I said, giving up, but irritated that even in his imagination he couldn’t conceive of a vulnerability that I know in my bones, “if you could imagine it, you’d understand why sometimes when I get mad, it’s important for you to hear what I say because the bad guys never will.”

“Never say never,” he said with that slow smile. “Things can change.”

“I guess that’s pretty much up to the good guys, isn’t it?” I said, real sarcastic. “All five or six of you.”

Now he was speechless, but I could tell he was thinking. “Something about this reminds me of how I felt the first time I made love in a black country,” he said slowly. “Just knowing there weren’t any white folks around for miles made it a whole different kind of exchange. Like not worrying about all that race stuff left a big space for something sweeter to walk in and sit down.”

“The problem is, we don’t have that option,” I said, wondering what
something sweeter
looks like when it’s up and walking about. “Most women aren’t going to be making love anyplace where there’s no men around.”

He looked at me like he was starting to understand how complicated this stuff could be. “I think,” he said, “I’m beginning to get your point.”