Mama Black Widow (4 page)

I put my hands on his and said, “Please, Lovee, don't cry. You're
making me feel terrible. Come on. Let's go have a drink and dance some more.”

He jerked his hands away and blubbered petulantly, “Tilly, you ain't no nasty stinking whore, are you?”

I said, “No sweetie, I give it up for free if I go for a guy. I just met you. But I like you a little bit already.”

He pushed his neck down between his shoulders and hunched them.

He almost whispered, “No, that's all right, Tilly. I dig you. You just like most yellow nigger sissies. You don't fuck nothing but paddies and half-white niggers. That's all right, Tilly. I'm too black for you. That what's happening. So take your cute yellow self on about your business. But don't forget that old saying, ‘What goes around comes around.' ”

He had hit me a bad one below the belt with that crack about his blackness. I felt spasms of pity and sympathy for him. I hugged him around the waist and turned my face up with my mouth half open.

He whimpered and crushed me to him. His big wet mouth descended and rained sucking kisses all over my flaming face, neck and ears. His hand was doing madly marvelous things between my wide-open thighs. I was giddy with passion. I really was. I rolled my belly against his hard-on, and looked up into his tearstained face, so utterly ugly I thought it was one of the strongest and most beautiful faces I'd ever seen.

He said, “You gonna' go to my pad and have Big Lovee, pretty baby?”

I said, “Yes! Yes! I'm so hot. I haven't had a man in a year.”

We went down the stairs to the bar holding hands. Lucy was tonguing a young white guy with a whippet face who sported a yellow Nehru suit and a necklace of shiny beads.

Lovee went to the jukebox. Stel brought me a drink and leaned across the bar. She ran blunt fingers through her blond crew cut and darted her electric blue eyes toward the jukebox. Her masculine face was furrowed with concern.

She said, “Tilly, be careful. That bird gives me the creeps. He's funny. Not ha-ha funny, but cuckoo funny. He's a stranger. Mickey brought him here and dumped him early. He looks like a goddamn ass kicker to me, and a stud that ugly can have terrible noggin problems. You get what I mean?”

My stupid head was fouled up but good, afloat in a swishy sea of pills and booze.

So I snickered and said, “Stel, you're all wrong. He's just a lovable country bumpkin with his balls bursting for me. I need him in the most desperate way this morning. He's so sweet and adoring. He's going to beat the hell out of me with his tongue.”

Stel shrugged and walked away as Lovee took my hand and danced me across the floor. I drank and danced for another hour.

Then Lucy staggered to me and said, “Tilly, Stel hasn't got a vacant bed, so I'm going to rip off that creamy sonuvabitch at a hotel. I'll be at home in a couple of hours. Drop by and change clothes anytime today, but be careful not to mention the party. My old man will beat the holy shit out of me.”

I watched Lucy and whippet face go up the stairs. I went behind the bar and helped Stel tidy up, and in another half hour Lovee was at the wheel of my Plymouth driving me to his place.

He drove down the driveway of a gloomy old two-story house on Taylor Street near Sacramento Boulevard to the backyard almost filled with cars and parked. It was in a rough section of the Westside.

I raised my head from his shoulder and said, “Lovee, that isn't a very cheerful house. Please, let's don't go in there. I'd rather go to a hotel. I'll pay.”

His face tightened, then he grinned and said, “I'm glad to hear you got some bread, baby. Ain't no use to blow it since I got a pad. You gonna' think you in a Gold Coast crib when I turn you on. Now git out of the car, pretty butt, so I can bust that rear cherry you got wide open.”

I waited for him to come around to open the car door for me. He came and stood there sneering and motioning for me to get out.

I let myself out and said sharply, “Lovee, you're losing your sweet ways. I'm not going in that dreadful house with you. Now give me my car key. I'll drive us to a hotel or it's good-bye here and now.

“Hurry and make up your mind before I call off the whole damn thing. Lovee, you're no raving beauty, you know. I can pick up lots of good-looking guys who will treat me like a human being.”

I held out my hand for the ignition key. The brute snarled and punched me hard in the stomach. I threw up and fell to the ground, doubled up.

He kicked me in the butt and shouted, “You better git up, freak. I'm gonna' stomp your half-white ass into the ground.”

I struggled up to my feet and leaned over the fender and hood of the Plymouth. The metal felt cool and refreshing against my churning belly and burning face.

I mumbled. “Please don't beat me any more.”

I dipped into my bosom and pulled out a roll of bills. I started to turn toward him.

I said, “I've got over a hundred dollars here. It's yours. Please let me go!”

He snatched the money and hammered his fist against my spine. The pain cut off my breath. My legs slid from under me. I lay there on the ground gasping.

He was silhouetted against the dark careening sky like a gigantic creature from a horror movie. He stooped and picked me up and slung me across his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

I sobbed, “Let me go. What are you going to do?”

He laughed and stabbed stiff fingers into my crotch. I almost fainted from the shock as I bit the back of his topcoat to keep from screaming.

Like from a great distance I heard him say, “Shut up, yellow nigger. You're right. I ain't good looking. But you're gonna' remember me, sissy, 'til you die. I'm gonna' fuck your guts out through your mouth.”

I didn't struggle. I was afraid he would bash me against the ground and stomp me. I was hurting and sober as he walked toward the back door.

He knocked lightly on the door.

I heard it rasp open and a whiskey voice said, “What the hell is that, a stiff you got?”

Before Lovell could step inside or answer, a brilliant beam of light illuminated his legs and shoe heels.

A stentorian voice hollered from the alley, “Halt! Police!”

Car doors slammed. I raised my head, but all I could see was a blinding burst of light before I was spun away when Lovell whirled around.

I felt like crying in relief. I was so sure that I was going to escape. I looked up into the casual eyes of an old black man on a tall stool near the door looking toward the alley. Beyond the old doorman I heard cursing and the rattle of dice and the clink of silver money.

I heard pounding steps, and then very close the same loud voice, “You black sonuvabitch, put that white woman down and raise your hands.”

Lovell pulled me off his shoulder and stood me on my feet.

He raised his hands and in a tremulous voice said “Officers, you know me. Big Lovee. I work in this gambling joint for Fat Roscoe. I'm off tonight. I pad upstairs.

“You oughta' know this ain't no white lady. You know I got better sense than that. This ain't even a woman. This is my high sissy, drunk as a skunk. Look at him and see for yourselves.”

One of the cops holstered his gun and snatched off the wig, and then slapped it back on.

I stepped over beside the police and blurted out, “Officers, please make him give me the key to my car so I can go home. Please help me! I don't know anything about this guy. He beat me and robbed me of over a hundred dollars. I just met him tonight at a party. I'll sign a complaint against him.”

The cop ignored me and said to the doorman, “Rabbit, does this boy still work for Roscoe?”

The doorman said, “Yeah, he's still bouncing the shit-heels outta' the joint. He's the best Roscoe ever had.”

The other cop said, “And what's the rundown on the faggot?”

Rabbit pursed his lips, blinked his eyes and said, “That sissy been sniffing Lovell like a bitch dog in heart for weeks. Just one of them things, Officers, a lovers' hassle, that's all.

“Ain't nothing to what that sissy said about that dough. It wasn't no C-note. It was only about a coupla' double sawbucks. I saw them blow that together across the crap table.”

I screamed, “He's lying! He's lying! Come back and arrest me. I'm in drag. Come back. Please!”

I heard one of the cops laugh and say as they walked to the police car, “OO–EE! Did you notice the keister on that faggot?”

Lovell punched me in the back of the neck and kneed me in the kidney. I half fell into the house.

The air was fouled by the stink of feet and sweaty bodies.

Lovell shoved me past Rabbit down a dim hallway. We passed a brightly lit room jammed with shabby men and rough-looking women, cursing and quarreling around a long green felt-covered craps table. I tried desperately to spot a face I knew, but they were all strange to me.

Several feet past the room Lovell pushed me to a narrow stairway. I balked and started to turn around to plead with him to let me go. The fiend pinched me up and down my back and butt. I felt like he was using red-hot pliers. I wailed and scrambled up the stairs to the second floor.

He was laughing and chanting in a falsetto voice, “I'll sign a complaint against him. I'll sign a complaint against him.”

I was shaking as he forced me down the hallway to a steep dusty stairway at the rear of the house. We went up creaky stairs to a padlocked door.

Lovell unlocked it, and we stepped into a musty attic. Ragged spikes of dawn light punctured a soot-blackened octagonal window. He pulled a string and a naked light bulb flashed on a battered brass bed with tangled dirty covers and an old lopsided chest of drawers beside a small, blistered table.

I stood trembling in the center of the dreary room. He doubled his six-feet-six frame to avoid the low-beamed ceiling and went to the table. He picked up a quart bottle of Old Taylor whiskey and guzzled a big belt. He came and leaned close to me. His wild eyes were bloodshot and oscillating.

I said, “I wasn't really going to sign a complaint against you. Let me go and I'll forget I ever met you. I'm not in the mood to sex you.”

He backhanded me across the eyes. I fell to the floor curled in a knot, blinded with pain.

He roared, “Git them clothes off, freak, and git in that bed before I stomp you into a puddle of yellow shit.”

I crawled to the bed and sat on the side of it. I tried to focus my eyes, but he was just a triple shadow stripping off his clothes. I got my clothes off somehow, and then he came into focus.

He was standing right in front of me naked and hard. I stared at it and cringed away. It was terrifying—horselike—monstrous—deformed—impossible!

He stooped down and sank his teeth into my chest. I screamed and rolled across the bed.

He pressed himself against me and whispered, “I'm going to croak you, sissy, if you holler again. Now git on your knees and break down like a double-barreled shotgun.”

I blubbered, “Christ! Jesus! Please, Lovell, don't, don't. I'm too tight and close built. I can't let you do it. I'll do anything but that.”

He laughed and started grinding my flesh, from my face to my feet, between his teeth and saying, “Git on your knees like I told you.”

The pain was so bad, but I was afraid to scream. I got to my hands and knees. I was trapped with my head against the wall. Then horrible rending pain exploded through the raw core of my being like I had been halved by an axe. I screamed and a merciful bludgeon smashed down on the back of my neck. I jetted into blackness.

L
ovell was grinning as he held a long switchblade knife above his head. It was a gleaming blur as it plunged toward my throat. I scuttled away and heard the whoomp of the blade hit the pillow.

I screamed and opened my eyes. I was sure my head and the back of my neck were encased in fiery lead. I slapped the top of my head to find out if I was wearing the wig. I wasn't. A jolting fist of pain clouted my insides.

There was no beamed ceiling! There was familiar robin's egg blue paint spangled with golden early-afternoon sunshine. I was lying in a fresh clean bed, and I heard the bellow of a truck.

I panicked. Where was Dorcas? Had she seen the female clothes I had borrowed from Lucy? I listened for movement in Dorcas's bedroom next door. I couldn't hear a sound.

I inched my aching body off the bed and went to the closet. The gray suit I had left at Lucy's was hanging there. I patted the suit pockets for my ring of keys. I glanced at the dresser top. The ring was there, and I felt relieved.

I caught a flash of white in the inside pocket of the suit jacket. I pulled out the sealed envelope and saw Tilly scrawled across it in
Mike's handwriting. I slid the letter back in the pocket, and fuzzy bits and pieces started to blizzard my mind.

I remembered the attic and how Lovell punched me into unconsciousness each time I came to and screamed under his torture. Then he had forced me to empty that quart bottle of whiskey with him.

At some hazy time Rabbit had banged on the door and Lovell had gone down the stairs to bounce a bad craps loser. I had been too punished and drunk to try escape.

Much later I had stood reeling with my clothes on. I had stood and looked down at Lovell's ugly face—mouth gaped open—snoring.

I had searched his pockets and found my wad of money and my keys and his switchblade knife. I had gone back to the side of the bed and stood there above him with the deadly point of the blade almost touching the leapy heart pulse in his chest.

I sobbed and shook. I had wanted so much to drive the knife into his rotten heart. I really had. But then I remembered that Reverend Martin Luther King had said, “Black folks have got to stop killing each other,” and I just couldn't do it.

I remembered Lucy giving me the letter from Mike and telling me how he had waited for hours at her place for me to show. He had missed me at Stel's by ten minutes.