I Wish I Had a Red Dress (24 page)

I HAD JUST FINISHED
my morning meditation when Nikki pulled into the yard slowly as if she wasn’t sure I’d be awake. The words to that old blues song popped into my head:
Don’t you know I’m gonna be awake when you sleepin’, and there when you ain’t?

Nobody had seen Nik since the accident. She called and left a teary message on my answering machine, all sobs and second-guessing, promising to come by and explain, but she never did. There was nothing to explain. Tee had known all along what would happen, which is the advantage of long-term friendships. Even when your friends act a fool, the ways they do it are rarely a surprise.

I stepped out on the porch and waved her inside. She walked slowly up the back steps and I felt sorry for her. She had been all
alone for a week with only fear and guilt and her mother’s endless recriminations to sustain her. No wonder she looked shell-shocked and skittish.

“I was drivin’ by,” she said. “I saw your car was still here.”

I hugged her immediately and she hugged me back, relieved and grateful that I didn’t seem to be angry.

“Are you on your way to work,” I said, “or can you sit for a minute?”

“I quit that job,” she said quickly. “I’m lookin’ again.”

“Then come in and have a cup of tea,” I said, taking her arm and practically pulling her inside.

I closed the door and watched her take off her coat and hang it carefully on the hook closest to the door.

“You haven’t seen Junior yet, have you?” I busied myself with the tea, trying not to rush her if she had come to tell me something, or spook her if she hadn’t.

She shook her head and her eyes filled with guilty tears. “I didn’t mean to tell him, Miz J! I swear I didn’t mean to say a word!”

I put down two cups of chamomile, pulled my chair up close so we were almost sitting knee to knee and took her hands. “What happened?” I said gently, hoping she might know something that would help us figure out where he was. “Just tell me what happened.”

Tears were running down her cheeks, but I don’t think she felt them at all. “After Tee put me out—and she was right to do it,” she added quickly. “I don’t mean it like that!”

“I know. Go on.”

“I went back to stay with my mama, so you know how I was livin’, and Junior kept comin’ by the club, tellin’ everybody I was his woman. Wadn’t nothin’ I could do about it, but then he
ran outta money and he wanted me to get him in for free, like they gonna let me just bring him around back and sneak him in or somethin’, so I said I couldn’t do it and then I told him he was gonna get me fired if he kept comin’ around, and he just went off.”

She shuddered slightly at the memory and I held her hands tightly.

“Is that when you told him?”

She shook her head. “No. I went on to work, but when I got home that night, my mama had let him in, and they were sittin’ up in there, watchin’ TV. Soon as I walked in, he jumped up and started fussin’ all over again and I told him he wadn’t my man no more, so he didn’t have no right to be hollerin’ up in my face and he backhanded me across my mouth.”

“Where was your mother?”

She shrugged. “Sittin’ right there. When he hit me, she just went in the back and closed her door.”

I couldn’t imagine leaving any woman, much less my daughter, to the tender mercies of Junior Lattimore. Being betrayed at that level by your mother must be its own kind of hell.

“Then he said, ‘You can’t quit me, girl. You belong to me. I made you a woman. How you gonna quit me?’ And I said . . .”

“Go on.”

“I said, ‘Who you fuck first ain’t got shit to do with makin’ you a woman.’ Then he really started knockin’ me around and I heard my mom turn up the TV in her room so she wouldn’t have to hear it. She wadn’t gonna help me or call anybody to help me, so she didn’t even want to know what he was doin’ to me.”

She withdrew her hands from mine, picked up her tea and took a long swallow.

“So after a while he said, ‘You such a bad bitch. What you
gonna do now, huh? What you gonna do?’ And it made me mad. Tee always be tellin’ me I got to learn to control my temper. She always be tellin’ me that and tellin’ me that.”

She was crying again. I handed her a napkin.

“What did you do when you got mad?”

She stared down into her tea, ashamed now to relive the moment when she had put her friend at such risk with a few angry words. “I said, ‘Oh, you real bad now, but if you so bad, how come you ran so fast when Tee point that toy gun at your ass?’ ”

She looked up at me and her voice trembled slightly. “I never meant to tell it, Miz J. I love Tee. She like a sister to me—
no!
She
is
a sister to me and I would die before I’d do anything to hurt her.”

I picked up her hands again. “Do you remember the questions Sister wrote for the film festival?”

She nodded, clearly startled by the question.

“ ‘When did things go wrong?’ ” I said softly. “Remember that one?”

She thought for a minute. “When I told Junior Tee had the toy gun?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

She frowned and thought for a minute more and then I saw her understand the real question I was asking. I could also see that she knew the answer.

“When I went back to Junior and lied about it to Tee.”

I nodded slowly. “It’s always the lie,” I said, remembering what we used to say in high school whenever anybody got caught doing something they had been lying to the rest of us about: If you can’t admit it, you probably ought to quit it.

Nikki sniffed loudly and dabbed at her eyes.

“Why don’t you come to the hospital with me?” I said.

Her panic returned instantly. She hadn’t seen Tee since the accident. “Now?”

“I was on my way when you pulled up.”

She stood up nervously and reached for her coat. “Tee don’t wanna see me.”

“Sure she does.”

She wasn’t sure if it was safe to be relieved yet. “She ain’t mad?”

I shrugged. “I know she wants to see you. If she’s mad, she won’t stay mad.”

That made her smile. “That means I just gotta wear it, right?”

I smiled back. “Right.”

She hesitated but just for a minute. “Well, it ain’t like I gotta get to work or nothin’.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” I said. “Why don’t you ride with me?”

An hour later, Tee and Nikki had been through apologies, tears, fussing and forgiveness. I had offered Nik a job at The Circus filling in for Tee and she accepted, pending Tee’s approval, which she received immediately and enthusiastically. Their friendship restored, they sat there looking at each other like neither one could believe their mutual good fortune. Good friends are hard to find.

Then Nik narrowed her eyes critically. “You know somethin’, Tee?”

“What?”

“You need a new look.”

Hair hadn’t been a priority, but I had to admit, although I’d been tying her hair back in bright scarves, Tee’s braids weren’t
looking so good. Some of them had come out, leaving various lengths of real hair behind. Some of them were unraveling at a rapid rate, poking their ragged ends out wherever, and I don’t have to tell you we hadn’t been keeping up with her edges, which had been thoroughly sweated out and were now framing her face in fuzz.

Tee tried to look hurt. “Is it that bad?” she said, her fingers fluttering over her hair, a frown of concern on her face. I was bringing Mavis for the first time tomorrow and she wanted to look as good as she could for her daughter.

“Pretty bad,” Nik said, reaching into the unruly nest of Tee’s braids and pulling away several that had been hanging on by a thread. “See what I’m sayin’?”

Tee frowned, using her good hand to point to the cast that made her right hand useless for combing hair. “You see I’m helpless here, right?”

Nikki grinned, looking around for the comb. “You ain’t never been helpless in your life and you know it.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Tee said.

“No chance,” Nikki said, parting Tee’s hair in a series of deft strokes and then leaning to kiss her friend’s cheek lightly. “No chance at all.”

THE NEXT DAY, BILL
slipped a note in with the mail in my box at home. When I finally staggered in after taking Mavis to see her mama and presiding over my second tearful Tee reunion in as many days, the big envelope stuck out like a promise among the bills.

“Little Sister,” it said in Bill’s big chockablock printing style:

After considering your suggestion that I try to be a more directly positive influence on the young brothers in my charge, even in regard to matters that do not seem to impact directly on my role as poet-in-residence, I asked them to create a character who was a good man. In arriving at the all-important common definition for such a rare
being, we utilized your model for free women. I thought you might be interested in our thoughts on the matter. By the way, please forgive my insensitivity the other night. Too much wine is not good for writers even in the best of times. In moments such as these, it is incumbent upon us all to keep our wits about us.

He signed it, “your friend and love slave,” and there was a postscript at the bottom. “What would I do/without you/to keep me/Honest?”

Bill’s workshop had narrowed down to six boys, four juniors and two seniors. Their list was entitled “For Men Only”:

1. Tell the truth
   
2. Get a job
   
3. Show up on time
   
4. Pay your own bills
   
5. No hitting women & kids
   
6. No raping
   
7. Use a rubber
   
8. If you make a baby, be a father
   
9. Respect the old-timers
   
10. Bring the love (Bill’s note: “I added that one.”)
    

Of course you did,
I thought, delighted by their efforts. That’s always the poet’s job, isn’t it?

TEE GETS OUT TOMORROW.
I’m going to pick her up at noon. I gave up on my efforts to get her to come stay with me, but Geneva and Nettie Smitherman convinced her to come and stay in one of their big downstairs bedrooms until she can get around a little better. They even moved in a little daybed for Mavis.

It’s a perfect arrangement. Deena passes right by their house on her way in every day, so she can pick up Mavis and drop her off at night. Tee couldn’t possibly get better care or livelier conversation than she would from the twins. They all seemed to be looking forward to it, including Mavis, who had found in Gen Smitherman a bedtime story devotee to rival her mother.

The only problem was, they still hadn’t found Junior. There had been a couple of break-ins reported, but nobody could prove
it was Junior holing up until the heat dies down, even though we all know it was him. I’m sure Sheila knows where he is, but she’s hardly able to get out at all anymore. Patrice sees her every day when she picks up Duane and Daryl and said everything seems to be about the same at the Lattimore place, but I’m almost as worried about Sheila as I am about Tee and for the same reason: Junior.

Sheriff Tyler was sympathetic but told me for the umpteenth time that his hands were tied. He didn’t have enough men to guard Tee or anybody else around the clock or to mount any kind of sustained search. By now, of course, I understood that. What I didn’t understand was how I was supposed to tell Tee it was safe to come home when that was a lie. Nobody was safe around here. Not yet.

And why was that, I thought when I finally gave up on the sheriff doing anything more than looking concerned and headed for home.
Why was that?
Because, snapped the angry sister in residence just beneath my carefully cultivated peaceful exterior, because none of the brothers are prepared to accept responsibility. Because it never matters as much to them as it does to us. Because nobody can kick their asses and everybody can kick ours, especially if they’re named Lattimore, especially if they’re named Junior Lattimore, and why didn’t Nate do something? Maybe it was time to ask him.

He came to the door before I rang his front bell. “I conjured you up!” he said, looking really happy to see me. “Come in, come in. You okay?”

“Fine,” I said, sounding as stressed out as I felt.

“What’s wrong?” His voice deepened with sudden concern. “Tee okay?”

“Coming home tomorrow,” I said. “Remember?”

He let that pass. “That’s why I called you. Did you get my message?”

I shook my head. “I’ve been in the sheriff’s office all day trying to get him to take some responsibility for Tee’s safety once she gets here. She’s staying at the Smithermans’ and—”

“I know,” he broke in quickly, like he could feel me winding up, but I kept right on.

“They sure can’t protect her,” I said, starting to pace just a little. “They act like they don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“I know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I already talked to Lynette.”

That surprised me. “Talked to her about what?”

“About my idea. She loves it. They both do. They said it’s about time.”

I was getting more confused by the minute. “About time for what?”

“About time for some of the men around here to take some responsibility.”

“Exactly!” I said.

“Exactly,” he agreed, with a big slow grin. “Now that we agree on that, can I tell you the plan?”

“What plan?”

He drew me down beside him on the couch. “Tee’s coming home tomorrow, and if Tyler can’t guarantee her safety, then we will.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and Bill and Buddy at the market and Tim at the hardware store and Brian up at the school.”

“Sherika’s Brian?”

Nate nodded. “We were talking about it the other day. He told me his girlfriend was really worried about Tee coming
home.” Nate grinned a little wider and covered my hands with his own. “Mine too, I said, so he said if I thought of anything we could do to let him know. He’s agreed to take the shift between classes and football practice.”

“What shift?”

“That’s the idea,” he said. “We’re going to watch the Smitherman house in shifts around the clock until they find Junior, or we do.”

Something in the way he said it made me think Junior would have better luck with Sheriff Tyler.

“I’m taking the first shift tomorrow. Then Bill. Then Buddy. Then Brian. If we each do a couple of hours at a time, we’ll have it covered.”

I just looked at him. I could imagine him and the others standing at attention outside the Smitherman place like the guards at Buckingham Palace and for the same purpose: guarding queens. Of course, they wouldn’t have to stand outside and wear those funny hats and red jackets, but the principle was the same and just thinking about it made me so happy I started grinning from ear to ear.

“I think that’s great,” I said. “I was so mad when I drove up here. I wanted to fuss at you for not doing something, for not caring, for not figuring it out, and now . . .” I tried to find the words to express how this made me feel, but I couldn’t.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “This is my job.”

“Because you used to be a cop?”

He shook his head slowly. “No, because I’m still a man.”