I Wish I Had a Red Dress (21 page)

THE FRIDAY NIGHT THE
festival opened, we were all excited, but nobody was more excited than Tee. We expected a capacity crowd, including the ten brave male souls who came with Nate and who were prepared to remain segregated and silent throughout the postfilm discussion, although they were allowed to mingle and exchange pleasantries before and after.

All but two of them were members of Bill’s workshop and he said they were shocked when he outlined the ground rules. He let them vent for an appropriate amount of time and then surprised himself by launching into a ten-minute educational diatribe on the crushing burden of sexist oppression borne by women worldwide, from cradle to grave, the role of all men in that shameful patriarchy, his students’ personal responsibility to understand and fight against it, and, as part of that ongoing
struggle, their absolutely sacred duty to learn how to listen to women when they talk, especially about themselves.

He said he felt like he was channeling the voices of all those women, me and Sister included, who had helped him see the light and become the liberated paragon of political correctness he is today. (His words!) By the time he finished his lecture, eight of them signed up for the trip and we were sold out.

Lynette Smitherman wasn’t here yet, but she had been working on her Dorothy Dandridge remarks all week. She had also found time to take a small loaf of her special lemon bread by Nate’s and he had set her mind at ease about any possible bad reaction to his happening upon her in what should have been a private moment. When he realized he had her to thank for the “silence is golden” rule regarding the boys, he told her he’d have to keep an eye on her in the future, which she told him wasn’t likely since that was a full-time job.

Geneva had put together a small display with some photographs and clippings about Dorothy, including an autographed program from the premiere of
Carmen Jones,
which everybody touched with the proper amount of reverence and delight at finding it
here.
Tee was going to welcome everybody and I was going to lead the discussion afterward. Deena had the child care covered and Sister had brought over enough popcorn to supply all of Lake County.

By eight o’clock, even though Halle Berry hadn’t accepted our invitation to attend, it looked like just about everybody else had. All our regulars were there, except Nikki. A group of girls came together from the high school because it was Black History Month and viewing a movie about Dorothy Dandridge was worth twenty points of extra credit.

Sheila Lattimore managed to catch a ride with Patrice. I was
happy to see her, and I could tell she was glad to be back. By the time Sister arrived with Geneva and Nettie in tow, every chair was taken and people were scattered around the floor on pillows waiting for the show to start. The kids were set up in another room with
The Lion King,
and Simba was already frolicking around on the savannah, unaware that the voice of his beloved father is really James Earl Jones, who is also Luke Skywalker’s daddy, which sort of makes them half brothers, but
that’s not this story.

When the Smitherman twins arrived with Sister, Tee saw them before I did and dashed into the office to get our desk chairs for them. They smiled their gratitude and kissed her, let her take their coats and settled in beside each other as excited as the kids in the other room singing “Circle of Life.” Sherika Hill offered her chair to Sister and curled up on one of the floor cushions near enough to Regina to tease her and far enough away not to get swatted for it, and I went over to greet the new arrivals.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, hugging Sister, then greeting Nettie and Gen.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” they said together, and Sister laughed. It was going to be a perfect night and we were all old enough to know it.

Tee, a stickler these days for starting at the time we say we’re going to, blinked the lights like they do at the theater and stepped to the front of the room. She had pulled her braids off of her face and her eyes were shining with pride and anticipation.

“I’d like to welcome y’all,” she said, “to the first annual Sewing Circus Film Festival for Free Women.”

The room burst into spontaneous applause, and Tee blushed with pleasure. There are moments when everything comes together and you can actually see the results of your labor in the
faces of young girls who now unapologetically identify themselves as free women. Of course, we’re not really there yet, but like Sister keeps reminding me, the beginning of wisdom is to call all things by their proper names. If that’s really the case, we’re on our way.

WHEN THE LIGHTS CAME
up at the end of the movie, there was a stunned silence. The Smitherman twins were wiping away tears, and they were not alone. The tragedy of Dandridge’s life is so perfectly portrayed in the callousness of the police photographer taking photos of her naked body that we just sat there together for a minute absorbing it, our postfilm discussion questions forgotten in our shared despair at the waste of so much beauty and talent and heart.

“How come we not showin’
Carmen Jones?
” Tiffany said, finally, still sniffing.

“You voted not to,” I reminded her. I had shown them a few minutes of it and they groaned and giggled and complained mightily about the strange music and the stilted language. When I suggested we show it as a companion piece to Berry’s film, they
voted it down unanimously, assuring me nobody would want to sit through it.

“Well, we were wrong,” Patrice said quickly. “Let’s vote again.”

Before she could even state the question, everybody in the room raised a hand, even the boys, manfully silent but totally engaged. The Smitherman sisters nodded their approval and blew their noses delicately. Tee turned to them and her voice was gentle.

“Will you come back and watch it with us?”

“We would be honored,” Lynette said, smiling.

Tee smiled back. “So would we. Miz J, your turn . . .”

We had passed out our questions and the discussion was lively and opinionated. At the end of the allotted time, the women in the room were exhilarated, the men were enlightened and the kids were ready to go home. To call the evening a huge success would be to diminish it with the inadequacy of understatement.

In the general flurry of coat gathering, baby bundling and securing of rides, I found Tee in the crowd.

“Not bad for the first one,” I said as she zipped Mavis into her jacket.

She turned her face toward me and her smile was radiant. “It was great,” she said, scooping up her daughter, whose sleepy head nestled contentedly on her mama’s shoulder.

“I stand corrected,” I said, kissing Mavis’s warm cheek. “It was
great
.”

“I’ll be here early tomorrow,” she said, heading out as Patrice corralled Lil’ Sonny and Deena bundled up first one twin and then the other. Tiffany, holding Marquis by the hand, was riding with Regina, who was carrying Diamante, who had stayed awake through the whole movie, proving himself to be a true
Halle Berry fan even at a mere few months old. “We can talk then.”

“Sleep in,” I said. “You deserve it.” And, if things go the way I hope they will at my midnight rendezvous, I’ll be sleeping in too.

Surveying the swirl of activity, it’s hard to say how happy it made me feel. I think Dorothy Dandridge would have loved it. To be taken seriously; to be understood and admired, analyzed, adored and truly mourned, so many years after her death would, I’m sure, have been a pure pleasure to her. It was almost like she had reached out and tapped Halle Berry on the shoulder like the spirits do in the movies and said, “Excuse me. I need you to help me tell my story. I think they can hear me now. Will you do it?” And she did. And so did we.

NATE HAD TO TAKE
the guys home and drop off the van at the high school before keeping our late date. That gave me just enough time to go home and transform myself from dedicated social worker to femme fatale. I was definitely up for the challenge.

“Are we still on for tonight?” he had whispered as we passed each other at The Circus, working, as usual.

“We better be,” I said, and he laughed deep in his chest in a way that made me blush in spite of myself.

He hasn’t pressed me to do anything or explain anything, but I still felt a little nervous. The world had changed considerably since the last time I was dating, but I was nervous then too. People who long for their youth are usually people who have forgotten
that it’s just as hard to be fifteen as it is to be forty. You just have more energy and probably more optimism.

The trade-off is that you should be a whole lot smarter than you were in high school if you’ve been paying attention at all, especially in the areas of sex and love, which are, of course, the best windows to the human soul, and of such great complexity that even thinking you can figure any of it out is arrogant and foolhardy.

All that said, I wouldn’t mind having back the skin I had at twenty-five, but short of that miracle, I wanted to look sexy without being obvious; age-appropriate but not dowdy; sensual but not slutty. Everything I pulled out looked too professional, too plain, too motherly, too tight, too casual, too dressy or just
strange,
and, of course, all black.

Finally, I decided on my favorite dress. It’s not new, but it has, on occasion, when accessorized correctly, allowed me to feel almost sophisticated. I like the fact that it’s long without being baggy and the scoop of the neckline shows the curve of my breasts. It’s a little lower than I usually wear, but if you can’t flash a little cleavage in your own house, then where can you flash it?

I put on my only pair of pretty panties with the demi-bra that matches them, slid into my dress, tied my braids with a bright blue scarf I borrowed from Sister and never intend to return, slipped on my best silver earrings and stood in front of the mirror to check the result of my efforts. I was rewarded with the sight of myself looking exactly like who I was: a free woman with a gentleman caller.

I WAS GLAD HE
brought red wine too. We put the champagne in the refrigerator and opened the Chianti first. Getting ready to make love for the first time in five years was giddy enough without champagne. The warm coziness of the Chianti in its little basket seemed more appropriate. He also brought a long box that he refused to let me open but promised to show me later.

“I felt like a kid coming here tonight,” he said when we had settled in front of the fire within arm’s length of each other but not touching. That’s the other big difference this time around. At fifteen, delayed gratification is death. At forty, you’ve learned to enjoy the journey.

“Good,” I said. “Then we’re even.”

“I think you might be a little bit ahead.” He smiled. “You’ve already got answers to questions I’ve never even thought about. I listened to you up there tonight and I said,
This woman is on it.
”

I smiled back. “Don’t worry. I’m prepared to tell you everything I know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His tone was so seductive that I took another sip of wine in self-defense. Did I even remember how to flirt?

“Why would I lie?”

He shrugged gracefully and slid closer to me in one smooth motion. “I don’t know. There’s always a good reason.”

“Wrong.” I said. “There’s
never
a good reason.”

“You’re right, you’re right!” he said, grinning and throwing up his hands in mock dismay. “See what I mean? I can’t even seduce this woman without putting my foot in my mouth!”

I closed the remaining distance between us. “Is that what you’re trying to do?”

“Absolutely,” he said softly, and put his big arm around me.

I cuddled into the delicious curve of his body. “Good,” I said. “Otherwise it’s going to be a very long night.”

He laughed against my mouth and his kiss was like a long, slow promise.

“How’d you get to be this way?” he whispered into my ear.

“I worked on it,” I whispered back.

“Did you?” he said, kissing me again. His lips were warm and outrageously soft.

“Yes.” I was feeling that kiss all the way down to my toes and realizing that five years is a long time between anything. I hope making love is like riding a bike: once you know how, you never forget it.

His lips were on my throat now, nibbling gently, and I could feel myself opening like one of those flowers Georgia O’Keeffe is so famous for painting and I wanted him.
It’s been so long!

“Tell me,” he said, his lips brushing my ear. “Tell me what you want to do.”

Everything,
I wanted to say.
I want to do everything!
But before I could get the words out of my mouth, the phone rang. We both froze. The moment of truth. Is the life outside more important than this moment? Is anything anyone has to say more important than his fingers learning how to caress my breast? More important than my hand feeling the warmth of his thigh?

It had been so long since I had any reason to turn off the telephone, I hadn’t even thought about it tonight. What if it was Tee? Or Nikki? What if Junior was on the move again?

Nate saw my hesitation and sat back slowly. “Get that if you need to,” he said, brushing my cheek with his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Maybe it’s a wrong number,” I said, reaching for the phone.

Sheila Lattimore’s voice on the other end was a barely audible whisper. “Miz J? It’s Sheila.”

“I can’t hardly hear you,” I said, immediately on the alert. “Talk a little louder if you can.”

“They right outside my room,” she said.

I could hear angry voices, mostly male, shouting in the background. “What’s happening?”

“Nik done tole Junior about the gun bein’ a toy,” she hissed urgently.

My face must have shown my distress because Nate moved over closer and touched my shoulder as if to say,
I’m here; don’t worry
.

“He didn’t believe her, so she said for him to ask me!”

I closed my eyes. “Are you okay?”

The background voices rose and someone was beating on her door. Sheila didn’t say anything, but she didn’t hang up. I could hear somebody, probably her mother, hollering Junior’s name over and over. Then they must have pulled him away and I could hear their voices and the confusion receding.

“Sheila?”

“I didn’t tell him nothin’,” she said. Her voice sounded dead; resigned to the terror the night would surely bring. “But he gonna keep askin’ me till I tell him what he wanna know, so I gotta get outta here!”

“Do you want me to come and get you?”

“Patrice comin’ soon as Junior leave. The boys already over to her house anyway.”

I tried not to sound as scared as I felt. “Where’s Junior goin’?”

“He lookin’ for Tee, Miz J. That’s why I’m callin’ you.
He lookin’ for Tee.
”

My heart was in my throat. “Can you stay out of his way until Patrice gets there?”

“I’ma go out the window and meet her on Baldwin Road.”

“Then hang up and go
now!
”

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered, but she didn’t hang up the phone.

“Sheila?”

“Yeah?”

I knew what was worrying her, but she didn’t have time to wonder about it now. “You did the right thing to call me. He’s your brother, but Tee’s your sister, remember?”

“I know.”

“Now go!”

I clicked off the phone. Nate’s face was a question mark.

“Junior knows about the toy gun. He’s looking for Tee.”

“Where is she?”

“I hope she’s at home.” I was already dialing her number, but her machine picked up. I didn’t want to frighten her, but she needed to know.

“Nik told Junior about the gun,” I said as calmly as I could. “Sheila says he’s looking for you, so come over to my place as soon as you get this message. It doesn’t matter what time,
just come!
” I hung up, hoping that was enough to convey the urgency I felt.

Nate was watching me. “What do you want to do?” He had asked almost this same question less than five minutes ago, but everything had changed and he knew it too.

“What I want is to see Tee drive up in my yard!” I said, looking out the window like she might be turning in at this very minute.

He nodded like that would be his first choice too.

A terrible thought occurred to me. “What if he’s already at her house when she gets there? She won’t know it until she drives up in the yard!”

Nate stood up and reached for his coat. “Why don’t I go over there and wait for her so there’s no chance of that happening?”

That was a great idea, but I didn’t want to make it his fight unless he was prepared to voluntarily step into the ring. “She might have gone to Patrice’s,” I said, giving him a way out if that’s what he was looking for. “What if she’s not there?”

“Then I’ll wait until she gets there and bring her here.” He looked at me and smiled slowly, touched my cheek again, but softly, softly. “Don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” I said, worrying furiously. “I promise.”

At the door, we kissed each other quickly.

“I want you to know,” he said, “that this Lattimore clown is wreaking havoc with my love life.”

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. “Mine too.”

“Maybe I should just go over there and kick his ass and be done with it.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, and it truly did.

“Only one problem.” One more quick kiss.

“What’s that?”

“These are not my ass-kickin’ clothes!” he said, taking the back steps two at a time and heading for Tee’s.

“Save me some of that wine,” he called back over his shoulder, “and take a look in that box I brought and see what you think!”

In the sudden confusion, I had forgotten all about the surprise box. I went back inside, trying not to worry, and picked up the mysterious box from where Nate had propped it near the coffee table. I sat down and opened it slowly, pulled back the tissue paper and lifted out the most beautiful red dress I’ve ever seen.

“For the most fabulous free woman I know,” said the card. “You’ll always be safe with me.”

Please let that be true,
I thought, closing my eyes and dropping the dress back into its nest.
Please let that be true
.