Sailor & Lula (50 page)

She left the check on the table.

“Gimme a drag on that Camel, willya, Sail?”

He handed his cigarette to Lula and watched her suck in Winston-Salem's contribution to the good life.

“Feel better?” Sailor asked, as she exhaled and handed it back to him.

Lula nodded. “It's terrible, but I do love tobacco. Must be it's in our blood, comin' from North Carolina.”

“ ‘Member that woman kept a vigil out front of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis for three years, place where Martin Luther King got shot? She was protestin' it bein' made into a civil rights museum, 'stead of a medical clinic or shelter for the homeless.”

“Kinda do, honey. What happened to her?”

“Cops dragged her away, finally. Don't know where she went after.”

“Why you askin' now, Sailor? That was a long time back.”

“Oh, I'm thinkin' it might be interestin', long as we're in Memphis, go look at the Lorraine, maybe see the spot James Earl Ray aimed from. I mean, it's our history.”

“Think James Earl Ray ever shot a bird when he was a boy?”

“He did,” said Sailor, “don't guess it bothered his mind none.”

“Had me a buddy for four or five years named Felix Perfecto,” said Wesley Nisbet, as his Duster finished off Rankin County. “Perfecto family come over to this country from Mariel, Cuba, on the boatlift in '81. Guess they musta settled in Miami or somewhere in Florida for a while before movin' to Miss'ippi, which is where we met, right here in Jackson. Felix was a good-lookin' cat, dark-skinned with blond hair and blue eyes, which he got from his mama, who was of German extraction. Think her grandaddy was a Nazi fled to Cuba end of WW Two. All the girls went for Felix Perfecto. ‘Señor Perfect' they called him. Boy had more women than Madonna had push-up bras. That's why what happened to him's such a tragedy.”

Consuelo shifted her left leg out from under her and folded in her right. She couldn't wait to get away from Wesley and was relieved to see the Jackson city limits sign, but she relaxed, knowing it wouldn't be long now, and decided to humor him.

“Somethin' bad happened, huh?”

Wesley whistled softly through his front teeth.

“It ain't pretty.”

“
D
what?”

“French for tell me. Venus been teachin' me.”

“Felix was goin' steady with a girl name of Felicity Tchula. Señor Perfect and Miss Felicity was quite the couple around here for a good while. She was a red-haired beauty, too, full of freckles with big green eyes and a figure like nothin' this side of Sophia Loren when she was young. Ever see her in that movie,
Boy on a Dolphin,
with Alan Ladd, who had to stand on a box to be as tall as her? She don't wear nothin' but a thin, wet shirt, stays plastered to her tits. Hope Alan Ladd had a bite or two on them bullets.

“Anyway, Miss Felicity's parents weren't altogether keen on her hangin' out with Felix Perfecto, since his main source of income come from dealin' dope. Nothin' serious, mind you. Felix sold reefer, is all, and
maybe some pills once in a while, but no crack or ice or hard stuff. He started dealin' in high school and just stayed with it afterward, so's he wouldn't have to work for nobody. He was a happy guy, Felix Perfecto, and didn't never hurt people. They was sorta an ideal couple. Felicity was studyin' to be a registered nurse.”

“We're almost to where I'm gettin' off,” Consuelo said, “so you'd best tell me the terrible part.”

“DeSoto Tchula, Felicity's daddy, decided to try and persuade Felix to break-off with his daughter. He went to see Felix with three or four of his employees, construction workers from off one of the Tchula Buildin' Company jobs. Felix told DeSoto to get fucked and the goons broke both of Felix's legs, ruptured his spleen and kicked him so many times in the balls that one of 'em had to be surgically removed. Felix knew it wouldn't do no good to bring charges against the man, seein' as how DeSoto Tchula was so powerful in the town, so he waited until he healed up good as could be expected before he got his revenge.”

“What'd Felicity do after her daddy mangled Perfecto?”

“Felicity's mama, Pearl, took her on a long trip to Europe. When they come back, Felix was about fit, and Felicity went to see him. He hadn't wanted to see none of his friends while he was recuperatin', includin' me, and he didn't let Felicity in, neither. Told her to go home, but warned her not to ride in a car with either of her parents.”

“I can guess now what happened. Real burnin' love business, like me'n Venus.”

“Uh huh. First, Pearl Tchula's T-bird blew up with her in it in the parkin' lot of the Winn-Dixie on Natchez. Couldn't tell her brains from the canteloupe parts. Quarter-hour later, DeSoto Tchula bit metal in his Lincoln Town Car when he started it up to leave a construction site out at the Ross Barnett Reservoir.”

“The cops catch Felix Perfecto?”

“He was already gone by the time the bombs went off. Hijacked a private plane from the airfield, a baby Beechcraft belonged to Tchula, and headed for Cuba. He got there, too, at least in the sky over Havana, but the Cubans wouldn't let him land, sayin' they'd shoot him if he did. He told 'em he was runnin' out of fuel, but they didn't care.”

“He explain about his bein' born in Cuba, and all?”

“Suppose he tried, but whatever he said apparently didn't do no good, 'cause the Beechcraft went down a few minutes later in Havana harbor. Felix never got out, drowned inside the cockpit.”

“What happened to Felicity?”

“Inherited her parents' money, married a banker from Memphis and moved there. Has three kids, includin' a son name of Felix.”

“Fittin',” said Consuelo. “You can drop me up here, at the A&W.”

Wesley pulled into the drive-in and let the engine idle.

“Sure you don't want to hang out a bit, get to know me better?” he asked.

Consuelo opened the door and got out.

“You prob'ly ain't such a bad guy, Wesley, but I got my own agenda, you know? 'Preciate the lift,” she said, and walked off.

Wesley leaned over and swung the passenger door closed. Something about the girl made him twitch where it hurt but felt good at the same time, and he made the not-so sudden decision to make sure this one didn't get away.

Marietta Pace Fortune and Dalceda Hopewell Delahoussaye were in the corner nook in Bode's Diner sipping sour Cokes following the Daughters meeting. The nook had been their regular spot at Bode's for more than sixty years, since they were little girls and used to go there with their mothers. The diminutive Misses Pace and Hopewell had been special favorites of W. Saint Louis Bode, the original owner. Saint Lou, as he was popularly known, made it a habit to present a brand-new copper penny to each child who came into his diner to spend in the gumball machine next to the huge old National cash register. Marietta and Dalceda once figured out that during their girlhoods, Saint Lou had gifted them with approximately two thousand pennies apiece.

W. Saint Louis Bode had retired when the girls reached sixteen, and his only son, W. Cleveland Bode, known to the residents of Bay St. Clement as Mister Cleve, had run the place for the next forty years, until his death, fourteen years ago. Mister Cleve, who had discontinued the policy of passing out pennies to kids after Saint Lou's death three years following his retirement, had never married, and following his funeral the diner was sold by his heirs, cousins who lived in Pensacola, Florida, to the P. L. Ginsberg Group, which owned most of the real estate in downtown Bay St. Clement. To the relief of regular patrons, such as Marietta and Dalceda, who despaired at the thought of doing without their sour Cokes and quiet chats in the corner nook three or four afternoons a week, the Ginsberg people decided to keep the place as it always had been, at least for the time being, which, as Marietta pointed out, was the only time one could count on.

“Clyde wouldn't mind, Dal, do you think? I mean about Santos stayin' at the house.”

“Ain't worth thinkin' about, Marietta. Clyde's dead too many years now for what he mighta thought to matter. The world changes, don't it? He'd had to change his thinkin', too, along with the rest of us driftin' souls. If Louis Delahoussaye the Third was still alive, he'd have him a firm opinion, I know.”

“And what might it have been?”

Dal sucked some sour up through her straw and let it slosh around her bottom teeth before swallowing.

“That you was disgracin' Clyde's mem'ry. But Louis was a fool far's them things go, Marietta. Best parts about him was his earnin' power and love of small animals.”

“You don't really miss him, Dal, do you?”

“Like a old rug was always lyin' in the same spot on the floor till it got walked over so many times it needed replacin'.”

“You never replaced Louis.”

“Turned out the floor looked better uncovered, after all.”

Both women laughed and bent to their straws.

“Amazin', though, how well Marcello and Johnnie keep company, Dal, don't you think?”

“Neither of 'em got much teeth left, Marietta. One's a widower and mistress murderer with nothin' but down-time to show for the past couple decades, and the other's a lifelong bachelor who never had the guts to take what he thought he wanted.”

“You're a tough enough nut, Dal. Why I always admired you.”

“Only been cracked once, which is plenty.”

“You mean Truxno Thigpen?”

Dal nodded. “That boy had lived, my life mighta been a whole sight different. I ain't complainin', though. We had our moment.”

“You ever visit his grave?”

“Not for fifty years, Marietta, a whole half-century. Ain't that somethin'?”

“Sailor Ripley's gonna be fifty next week. He and Lula are goin' to visit Graceland for the occasion.”

“Trux done one thing for me I never will forget.”

“What's that, Dal?”

“After my dog, Clark Gable, died—'member him, the golden retriever?—Trux brought one white rose to my house every day for a month and left it in front of the door.”

“You never told me that.”

Dal's eyes clouded up. “Never told anyone. My mama and daddy didn't even know who done it.”

“How'd you know?”

“Didn't, really. I mean, I didn't see him bringin' the flowers, but I guessed it was Truxno. Couldn'ta been nobody else. Meant to ask him if he was the one, but then that bolt of ball lightnin' scorched the life out of him on the par-three golf course used to be over by the dump before Ginsberg built them apartments, and I never had the chance.”

“Dal, I'm thinkin' I might marry Marcello. He ain't got long to go.”

Dalceda looked at Marietta and smiled. Her eyes sparkled despite the water in them.

“I got just the dress for you,” she said.

“I have a collect call for Venus Tishomingo from Consuelo Whynot. Is this Venus Tishomingo?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Will you accept the charges?”

“Yes, I certainly will.”

“Go ahead, please.”

The operator cut out.

“Hi, Venus, I'm on my way.”

“Where you, Suelo, sweets?”

“Next to a A&W in Jackson. Just hitched a ride here from a weird dude in a nasty short. No boy wants to believe a girl ain't simply dyin' to lick the lint off his nuts.”

“He make a attempt?”

“Not directly. Told him you was my dream woman and I didn't need no further stimulation.”

“Sapphire and Simon know you split?”

“Don't think yet. Was a big train wreck in Meridian, I was there. Fireman on the scene said it's the worst in Miss'ippi hist'ry. Rescue squad'll be pullin' people's parts out of that mess for hours. Prob'ly be findin' pieces in the woods around for days.”

“I know, it's on the news here. How long you gonna be?”

“Depends on when I can get a lift. I'm gonna have me a root beer and a burger and catch another ride.”

“What happened to the hotrod boy?”

“Made him leave me off. He'd been trouble I woulda asked him to take me up to Oxford. Figure I'll make it in by midnight, I'm lucky.”

“Okay, precious. I'll be waitin' up. You call again, there's a problem.”

“I will, Venus. Love you dearly.”

“My heart's thumpin', baby. Be careful, you hear?”

They both hung up and Consuelo left the phone booth, which was on the side of the road, and walked up to the window of the drive-in.

“Cheeseburger and a large root beer, please,” she ordered from the fat man behind the glass.

“Ever'thin' on it?” he asked.

“No pickles.”

“Three dollars,” said the fat man, as he slid a bag through the space in the window.

Consuelo dug a five dollar bill out of her shorts, handed it to him, and he gave her back two dollars, which she folded in half and stuffed into her right front pocket.

“Y'all hurry back,” the man said, his gooey, small hazel eyes fixed on her breasts.

Consuelo smiled at him, tossed her blond chop and pulled back her shapely little shoulders and expanded her chest.

“Maybe,” she said.

The A&W was only a few hundred yards from the on-ramp to the Interstate, and Consuelo sipped at her root beer as she headed toward it. She took out the cheeseburger, dropped the bag on the ground and ate it as she walked. Next to the on-ramp was a Sun Oil station, and Consuelo spotted Wesley Nisbet's Duster, the hood raised, parked at a gas pump with Wesley bent into it, eyeballing the engine. She hoped he wouldn't see her. She also noticed a road-smudged white Cadillac Sedan de Ville with a man and a woman in it, about to pull away from the pump opposite the one occupied by Wesley's vehicle. Consuelo wolfed down the rest of her burger, wiped her right hand on her black jean cutoffs and stuck out her thumb as the Sedan de Ville rolled her way. The car stopped next to Consuelo and the front passenger window went down.