Sugar (22 page)

“You old and crazy, ain’t no man over there.” Sugar waved her hand at them again.

“Who told her she should go and dye her hair?” Fayline asked. She had a sly look on her face.

“I did, but that don’t mean she’s fucking for money now too!” Sugar’s patience was running out.

“You a devil!” Shirley said and shook her two balled fists at Sugar.

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Sugar replied, her voice rising.

“God’s gonna damn you to hell!” Shirley was screaming now. Minnie was tugging at her, trying to get her to follow her back to the car where Clair Bell was already waiting.

“Shirley, I been in hell all my life.”

“C’mon, Shirley, let’s go.” Fayline turned and descended the stairs. The fight was over. It didn’t go at all the way they’d envisioned it. For some reason they thought the sheer number of them against Sugar would be enough to send her packing. They were wrong. Shirley gave Sugar one last long look and then she turned her back on her. Before she could get her foot firmly rooted on the last step, Sugar called to her.

“Shirley, are you jealous of me? Hmmm, jealous that ain’t nobody been sniffin’ around your skirts for a while? Even that man you got don’t come sniffin’ anymore. Well, I guess maybe you ain’t pay no mind to it. Maybe you thought you and him was past that stage in your lives. You and, oh, what is his name again?” Sugar raised her head and scratched her chin. “What is his name?” She searched her mind or pretended to. Shirley turned around, his name escaped her mouth as soon as she thought it.

“Herbert.”

“Oh yes, ole Herbert! He okay? I ain’t seen him for a while.” Sugar smiled smugly and was more than satisfied with the look of despair and hurt on Shirley’s face.

“Tell ’em I miss him,” Sugar added gleefully.

“Y-you ain’t never had my man. You ain’t never had my man,” Shirley chanted. She was moving back up the stairs toward Sugar.

“Sure I have, he a nice old man. And you know what, I don’t even mind that his dick don’t stand up no more. Shoot, there are a hundred other things I can do to get his juices flowing.” Sugar’s head tilted back with laughter.

“You lying. You lying,” Shirley whispered as she edged dangerously closer to Sugar.

“Am I now? You sure about that? Think now. Think about them nights when he claimed he was hangin’ out down at the Rib Shack with the rest of them old men, think now. Could he have been with me? Could he have?”

“He wouldn’t,” Shirley said. Even as the words left her mouth she was unsure about them.

“How would you know? You too busy minding everyone else’s business except your own. Counseling people on how to take care of their men and here you ain’t even taking care of your own man.”

“Shut up, you whore!”

“Oh yes, you fucking in everyone’s life except your own!”

It was sudden and quick. Shirley’s handprint seared scarlet on Sugar’s jet black cheek. The echo of the slap reverberated through the fields that surrounded them.

Sugar wasn’t sure what had happened. She saw Shirley’s hand rise and then hang suspended before her, she heard the sound and saw Shirley’s mouth form a large circle and then she felt the sting and knew she’d been assaulted. She stumbled backward, tears clouding her eyes, her anger increased.

“Did you smell me on him, Shirley? Did you smell my pussy all over Herbert? Think! Think hard now!” Sugar’s voice was loud and hysterical. “Ya’ll better think about it!” She pointed at each woman and shook her head knowingly at them.

“Fuck you,” Shirley said as she turned to walk away. She had never used that word aloud. Did not even find it suitable to use on the worst of God’s two-legged creatures. Never thought she would be saying it to another woman. Would never know she had said it to her own grandchild. Nevertheless, those words felt comfortable and familiar as they flowed from her mouth. “Fuck you,” she said again.

Chapter Fourteen

P
EARL
squeezed Sugar’s hand as they ascended the three steps that would lead them into Bigelow’s First Baptist Church. They were late, and the place where she and Joe usually sat was already taken. The minute Pearl and Sugar walked in heads turned and stayed turned. The men slid down low into their pews and the women followed Sugar’s hips with hot contempt. Sugar had dressed in the most demure dress she owned, a midnight blue sleeveless sheath that clung to her body, the neckline a flurry of sheer silk that cascaded like a waterfall down the front. The dress was supposed to sit open revealing the side curves of her breast, but Pearl had taken the time to pin it closed.

Pearl and Sugar had an argument about the wig earlier. “Why can’t you wear your own hair sometimes? You got a good head of hair. Healthy and shiny,” Pearl asked as Sugar donned her short red wig. “You don’t need so much of that paint on your face, either. Why can’t you just be yourself, Sugar?”

“I guess I don’t know who that is, Miss Pearl.”

Eyes, both male and female, burned into them. Pearl avoided the stares and opened her Bible instead. Sugar leaned back, crossing her legs, allowing one arm to rest on the back of the pew while she fanned herself lazily with her handkerchief.

Even the Reverend stumbled through his sermon. Reverend Foster, whose words always flowed smooth as buttermilk, was having a noticeably hard time; it was clear his attention was somewhere else. Sugar smiled and shook her head. What would his dedicated flock think if she stood up and told them that their beloved Reverend Foster liked to rub his nose in between the soft mounds of her breasts and paid weekly visits to her house, without his Bible, hours before he stood in front of the good people of Bigelow?

The idea tickled her to death and she laughed again. Pearl nudged her in the ribs and gave her a quizzical look.

Sugar amused herself by counting the men who’d visited her. Almost all of them had been in her house at one time or another; socks on, boxers curled around their knees, drooling and wanting Sugar so badly they said it hurt. And now they didn’t even look at her. They kept their heads forward or lowered in shame.

Sugar saw Shirley. She sat almost directly across from her, and had not moved her eyes from Sugar’s form in the hour they’d been there. Sugar smiled at her, winked and blew her a kiss and even then, Shirley’s death stare did not waver. She saw that Clair Bell, who sat two rows ahead of them, and Minnie, who sat beside her, were doing the same. The heat and their perpetual staring eyes were taking their toll on Sugar, making her uncomfortable and causing her to shift restlessly in her seat.

“When’s the choir going to sing?” Sugar whispered to Pearl. Her behind was going numb against the hard wood.

“Soon,” Pearl whispered back, and dropped her eyes back down to her Bible.

The choir was made up of six women, three men and ten young girls and boys. And when they sang their voices climbed up into the rafters and spread out like blue flames. Sugar perked up and the heat that pulled at her skin was gone. She felt an autumn breeze sneak in through the windows and embrace her.

It started with one tapping foot and built up to the hand-clapping, foot-stomping, screaming frenzy that could only be found in small-town Baptist churches. Sugar was swept up in the music, and had forgotten about the staring, hateful eyes of the Bigelow women. And they had momentarily forgotten about her. People jumped up and danced down the aisles, calling out to the Lord. Some fainted while others bent over and wept.

When service was over, the congregation, emotionally drained and spiritually fulfilled, walked out into the September sunshine, still humming. Smiles stretched wide across a rainbow of black faces, and hands that shook in greeting, gripped longer, harder. It was Sunday and it was a feel-good day.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it, Sugar?” Pearl said as she adjusted her hat and stepped back to let a running child pass.

“Not at all, Miss Pearl,” Sugar responded.

People dressed in their Sunday best positioned themselves in front of the church, exchanging small talk, waiting for the Reverend to appear so they could compliment him on his strong sermon. Children ran around adult legs, laughing and forgetting that a torn stocking or soiled pants leg could mean the switch.

“Oh, hello, Fayline,” Pearl said when she saw Fayline pushing through the crowd of people toward her. Guilty, her hand went directly to her hair and then dropped back down again.

“Pearl,” Fayline said coldly as her eyes expertly traveled around her head like it was a familiar road. “So I see you’ve dyed it black.” Her words were clipped and she threw Sugar a dirty look. Sugar just crossed her arms and smiled.

“Oh, um, yes. Do you like it?” Pearl asked hopefully.

“Not really, Pearl. A woman your age don’t need to have no jet black hair. A rinse would have done you just fine. But then it ain’t my hair, so to each her own.” Fayline turned, exchanged one last nasty look with Sugar and walked away.

“Well,” Pearl huffed. “That’s Fayline, you know. She owns the beauty shop in town. Have you met her?” Pearl spoke to Sugar but her attention focused on the crowd and the three women who stood huddled just beyond its border.

Sugar had chosen not to tell Pearl about the words that were exchanged with her friends earlier. Some things were better left unsaid, and that was one of those things. “I—I’ve seen her in town, but we have not been formally introduced,” Sugar responded, following Pearl’s eyes to the huddled mass of women just a glance away. Shirley, Clair Bell and Minnie stood, shoulders touching, mouths moving, looking directly at them. It was obvious that Pearl and Sugar were the topic of their conversation. Pearl shaded her eyes with one hand. “Good Lord, what are they up to now?”

“Morning, Sister Pearl.” Reverend Foster’s voice was moving past them, but Pearl caught him by the arm and gently pulled him back. Her smile said, “See, Reverend, I did what you asked me to.” She nodded in Sugar’s direction.

“Reverend, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Sugar Lacey. Sugar, this here is Reverend Foster.”

Sugar stepped in and extended her hand. All eyes were on them. The Reverend took her hand in his cold, shaking palm. He did not look her full in the face.

“So nice to meet you, Su—Miss Lacey.” His voice was uneven, swiftly changing from adult to adolescent in pitch.

“So nice to meet you, Reverend. What a beautiful service, just wonderful. You certainly are a
powerful
man.”

Reverend Foster pulled at his collar and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sister.” He wanted his hand back, but Sugar wasn’t letting go. She wanted everyone to see, see their beloved Reverend holding the hand of Sugar Lacey.

“Will you be attending next Sunday?” he said in mock optimism. He did not want to ever see Sugar sitting in his church again, and he would be sure to make that clear to her during his next visit.

“I sure will, Reverend. Miss Pearl got me for two months of Sundays, but I’m sure I’ll extend it beyond that.” She released his hand, and he fought the urge to wipe it against his robe. One final nervous smile, a nod of his head and then he was gone.

Sugar’s smile was mischievous as she turned to face all of those who’d been watching her. She looped her arm through Pearl’s and they began the walk home. Women turned their noses up at them, grabbed at their children and moved back, giving them plenty of space to pass. Men watched sideways, risking a slap on the back of their heads from the heavy hand of a watchful wife.

The air was dancing by the time they pulled up to the house. A storm was coming for sure. Black clouds fragmented the beauty of the pink slashes that could usually be seen right before pale yellow painted the sky.

They laughed together in Pearl’s kitchen and put an extra cup of sugar in the last batch of lemon pound cake. “This gonna ruin that figure you got, girl!” Pearl said and snapped the dish towel off of Sugar’s behind. “Sure will,” Sugar responded and then laughed, not caring if she spread twenty sizes bigger. Life suddenly meant more to her than a small waist and perfectly shaped hips.

The two women had spent every waking moment together. Talking, cooking or just sitting quiet together and marveling at the world that lay out before them. Sugar had never in her life taken the time to adore a tree or dote on a splendid blade of grass, but her growing friendship with Pearl was changing that.

Mornings found a trick from the previous night dressing in the background of her room and Sugar eager to get him gone so she could watch the dawn break alone.

“Joe coming back today or tomorrow.” Pearl smiled it more than she said it.

“You miss him, huh?” Sugar questioned, looking up from the chicken she was cleaning.

“Sure do,” Pearl said, looking into the bright light the sun lent to the kitchen.

Sugar was happy that Joe was coming home. Happy for Pearl. She tried to push her selfish feelings aside, knowing that what they had now would change or maybe disappear altogether once he was home.

That afternoon Sugar continued to bare her soul to Pearl in painful slivers. From her time growing up in Short Junction, to her migration to St. Louis, Detroit, Chicago and then back to St. Louis. She spent a long time speaking about Mary and Mercy. The scare that almost took Mary from her, the comforting feeling she got from Mercy’s tiny arms encircling her neck at night and the pain that plagued her still for leaving them. Once or twice Sugar turned away while she spoke and Pearl was sure she saw tears in her eyes.

Over the past week Pearl had taught Sugar how to bake, and Sugar showed Pearl, with the help of a large ripe cucumber, the technique of giving hand and giving head. Pearl wriggled her nose in disgust and shook her finger at her in reproach, but her eyes never left the cucumber. Sugar saw that Pearl had finally allowed curiosity and possibility to couple.

Pearl told Sugar about her happy childhood, meeting and falling in love with Joe. The birth of her three children and the hideous, aching loss of one.

“Jude,” Pearl said and her voice quivered. To Sugar, that name and the way Pearl breathed it out sounded like a great work of fiction. Pearl straightened her back, pulled back the years and finally began to tell Sugar about Jude.