Sugar (24 page)

He slid in and out of her and breathed her name heavily in her ear and neck until they both cried out to the heavens.

They lay there beneath the sycamore tree, its branches whispering above them in the receding twilight.

They parted, no promises between them, not knowing their union had spawned a new life.

Pearl watched her husband remember some long ago indiscretion and as she was about to question him about the look in his eyes she heard her mother’s voice in the back of her mind: “What you don’t know won’t hurt you.” Pearl obeyed those words and went on with her story.

“. . . and Joe, she sing like you wouldn’t believe! Her voice just lifts you up and takes you where it wants to. It’s powerful, you know?” Pearl’s eyes danced when she spoke of Sugar’s singing. Joe smiled and touched a small damp curl that clung to the side of Pearl’s cheek.

“That’s how she make you feel?” he asked, realizing now how much Sugar had played in his wife’s transformation.

“Me and a whole lot of other people. Joe, I been to a juke joint. Twice.” Pearl’s eyes were lowered, avoiding the disapproving look she was sure Joe was casting on her.

“Is that right,” he said between bites of food. Pearl heard the surprise in his voice and replayed his words in her mind to locate the anger that she expected to be there.

“You heard me?” she said and raised her eyes.

“You been to a juke joint. Yes, Bit, I heard you,” Joe replied, stuffing another biscuit in his mouth.

“Well, ain’t you got nothing to say about that?” She was looking full in his face now.

“Uhm, no I don’t. You went ’cause that’s what you wanted to do, right?”

“You think it’s all right for a Christian woman to be keeping time in a juke joint?”

“Well, I never thought about it before, but I do know there are worse places than a juke joint a Christian woman could be spending her time at.”

“Like where?”

“Like Shirley Brown’s!”

They laughed together over Joe’s little joke and finished the remainder of their meal by discussing his trip to Florida. In between Joe’s words and her questions, Pearl thanked God that she had picked correctly, and had been picked correctly. There weren’t many men who could come home to an unkept house to find his woman, mother of his children, climbing out of another man’s car (morning or night) and not knock her clear out of her skin first and ask questions later. Not many men would cook breakfast for that same woman and listen with interest about the time she spent with a whore.

The rain fell all day long that day. The sky was a gray ceiling. Bigelow children moved restlessly about the rooms of their homes, stared despondently through rain-streaked windows or bounced a ball impatiently against a wall.

Young lovers pulled each other closer, delighting in the patter of the raindrops and the colorless day that looked in at them. Old lovers would once again feel the fires of passion and desire take root and remain tangled in each other’s arms until night fell.

The rain had that effect on people. And so did Sugar’s presence.

They were both tired. Joe had hardly slept during the long train ride home. Pearl had been up since six that morning. They walked upstairs, arms linked, whispering instead of talking in normal tones. They each took turns washing up over the basin. Pearl washed her face and brushed her teeth twice. The Memphis Roll’s homemade beer and the early morning breakfast had left a steely taste on her tongue.

Looking up from the basin, Pearl caught sight of herself in the mirror and laughed aloud, a light silly chuckle reserved for soft young mouths of school girls just discovering the magic and mystery of a boy’s touch. She cast a guileful smile at the cotton gown that hung expectantly on the back of the bathroom door and her eyes moved back to the woman smiling in the mirror.

After a moment, she flicked the light switch off and walked stark naked from the bathroom to her bedroom.

In the gloomy gray morning light of the bedroom, Joe lay on his side. His mind was slowly being pulled into the darkness of slumber and he barely heard Pearl enter the room. He would marvel later at the absence of the swishing sound that usually accompanied Pearl’s entrance and the giggle that replaced it. He would enjoy recalling how Pearl climbed in beside him and pressed herself hard against his back, her legs thrown across his own, her breath, heavy with lust, against his neck. He would lick his lips in retrospect on the exact moment her lips brushed against the nape of his shoulder while her hand found the slant opening in his boxer shorts. He would not know that at the exact moment he realized his wife was naked against him and demanding in hushed, heavy tones that he fuck her (those were her exact words) while she expertly guided his organ up and down between the soft palm and fingers of her hand, the memory of that moment would, for the rest of his life, dance across his mind causing a small smile to cross his face.

Chapter Sixteen

T
HE
first November morning was a warm sheath of fog that wrapped itself comfortably around Bigelow. People moved about cautiously, barely able to see their hands in front of their faces, much less an approaching car or person. The willow branches hung eerily over the main roads and brushed invisible against brown cheeks, causing women and some men to shriek at its touch. The sun was a dim lightbulb in the sky and the soil a deep wet brown that oozed beneath feet.

Summer had battled autumn and won and now it threatened to drag into war the approaching winter. Only the calendars that hung on kitchen walls and the daily newspaper confirmed that winter was quickly approaching. Thanksgiving would soon be upon them and frost had not yet replaced the morning dew that settled on the thin blade grass.

Talk about Sugar had not completely ceased, but had melted into a low hum. People had less of a reason to stop and point at Sugar. In fact, she had blended into the woven cloth that was Bigelow, like a small imperfection or crooked stitch. Brightly colored dresses, pedal pushers and cropped tops were slowly replaced with cool calm blues, whites and greens that hugged Sugar’s figure more like an old friend than a lustful one-night stand.

She replaced the blonde and red wigs with subtle auburns and ravens that complimented her face and brought attention to her eyes.

Joe and Pearl accompanied Sugar to the Memphis Roll practically every Saturday night now. The bartender, waitresses and quite a few of the customers called Joe and Pearl by name, and they even had their own table, center front. The more time Sugar spent with the Taylors, the less time she spent with Lappy Clayton. He’d cornered Sugar on one occasion, grabbing her roughly by the arm as she stepped down off the stage. “Where you been?” His breath was sour and his eyes bloodshot. Sugar snatched her arm away from him. “I been around,” she said in disgust and started to walk away from him again. He stepped in front of her. “Yeah, you been around, but you ain’t been with me.” Sugar threw a quick look over his shoulder and saw Pearl’s worried eyes looking back at her. Pearl’s hand was resting on Joe’s shoulder, pushing him gently back down into his seat.

“Look Lappy,” Sugar said between clenched teeth, “this ain’t the place or the time—”

“Yeah, it is the place and the right goddamn time!” Lappy was yelling, spit flew from his mouth and his eyes rolled in his head. “You ain’t never home and when you here you with them.” He turned and glowered at Joe and Pearl. His words were slurring and he stumbled back a step. “Who they to you now, huh? They your pimps now? Ma and Pa pimp!” He let out a reel of crazed laughter.

“You have had too much to drink, Lappy,” Sugar said in a low voice. People were starting to look at them. “You need to go on home and sleep it off.” She stepped around him and he turned and grabbed her again. This time Pearl could not keep Joe in his seat. He was up and on Lappy before Pearl could say a word.

“Problem?” Joe asked. He stood a full foot taller than Lappy and outweighed him by at least one hundred pounds. Lappy stepped backward and looked up into Joe’s angry face. “I said, is there a problem?” Joe repeated himself and took a step toward Lappy. Lappy’s hand fell from Sugar’s arm.

“Naw, man. Ain’t no problem here,” Lappy responded in a small voice that made Sugar turn her eyes away. Even though he didn’t deserve her pity, Sugar still felt ashamed for him.

“You gonna pay,” Lappy hissed at Sugar. Sugar rolled her eyes and dismissed his threat as drunken rhetoric.

Joe stood his ground until Sugar moved past him to the table and Lappy sulked his way out the front door, swearing vengeance.

Sugar sat beside them every Sunday in church. She understood the words Reverend Foster read from the large worn Bible that sat on his podium and little by little she began to apply them to her life. But her greatest joy, the thing that made her sit straight up in the pew, was the sometimes gentle and more often turbulent voices of the choir. They left her shaken, wet-eyed and weak with happiness. “You should join the choir,” Pearl suggested this each and every Sunday. Sugar smiled and shook her head no, each and every time. Bigelow definitely was not ready to see her stand before them singing the Lord’s praises.

Shirley, Minnie and Clair Bell offered Pearl short acknowledgments whenever they had the unfortunate pleasure to stumble across her path. Pearl told Sugar that they would eventually come around. Sugar knew they wouldn’t, but agreed when she saw the slight sadness that misted Pearl’s eyes as she stared at their swiftly retreating backs.

“Something’s going to happen,” Pearl said, mostly to herself. Her hands moved quickly, snapping the long firm green beans in half. She was halfway through the bowl and her eyes moved from her work to the window and back. She shook her head and mumbled to herself.

“What you say?” Sugar asked, lowering Sam Cook’s crooning voice on the transistor radio.

“Nothing,” Pearl said, and looked nervously back at the window. The fog was becoming denser, the humidity increased and the temperature rose by at least ten degrees. “Lord, Lord,” Pearl uttered and quickly wiped her hands across her apron. She walked to the window and peered out into the solid gray. Unsatisfied, she moved to the front door and swung it open. Hesitatingly she stepped onto the porch and was swallowed by the smoky heather. She stepped back quickly and promptly shut the door.

“What in the world is wrong with you, Miss Pearl?” Sugar was less than concerned. By now she was used to Pearl’s minor panic attacks, the way she got herself all worked up over the smallest things.

“It just ain’t right,” Pearl whispered as she walked back into the kitchen, throwing a worried look over her shoulder as she did. “I ain’t never seen no fog like this in my whole life.”

“It’s just fog, Miss Pearl.” Sugar’s hand moved to turn the volume on the radio back up, but Pearl shook her head. Disgruntled, Sugar returned to cleaning the bucketful of chitlins that rested in the sink.

“Humph! Things just
ain’t
, you hear me? Everything got a meaning and purpose. Ain’t you learn that yet?” Pearl’s eyes shone. Her words were felt like daggers in Sugar’s heart. She rolled her eyes at the pig intestines, knowing full well that she could run from her past, but never hide.

Joe Jr. had called early in the week to advise his parents that once again, he would not be joining them for Thanksgiving. Maybe Christmas, he said, before hanging up. Pearl swallowed hard after she replaced the receiver. Joe said nothing, just cleared his throat and left the room, leaving Sugar and Pearl alone.

“Joe Jr. been gone near thirteen years now. Been home maybe three times. Jude’s death shook him up a whole lot. He said the South ain’t noplace for colored people. I told him colored people
are
the South. I know he’s just scared, thinking the same thing might happen to him that happened to Jude. Can’t blame him, really, but I sure do miss him.” Her voice dripped with grief. “It’s like I done lost two children instead of one.”

“Well, why don’t you and Joe go on up North and visit him, then?” Sugar voiced, her tone light and carefree. She wanted to try to avoid the melancholy she saw quickly enclosing Pearl.

“He ain’t never invited us,” Pearl said.

“Well, what about Seth?” Sugar smiled brightly. She sang her words instead of speaking them.

“Ain’t heard from Seth for about four months. Who knows where that boy might be now. He always chasing his dreams and they never lead him home.” She walked upstairs, her last word bouncing off the loneliness she felt, leaving Sugar alone.

The kitchen oozed cinnamon and nutmeg aromas; with each whip of the large wooden spoon through the sweet potato mixture, the smell became stronger. In between football quarters, Joe visited the women, looking over their shoulders and examining their progress. Pearl shooed him away like a bothersome child, but not before allowing him a taste of dressing or a fresh baked biscuit drenched with sweet butter. For the moment Pearl’s attention was taken up by her work, the heavy fog outside her window forgotten.

The knock came late in the evening, just as Sugar was grabbing her sweater to go home. The day was done and the fog remained stubbornly in place like a cell block wall. Joe offered to walk Sugar to her door, but Sugar declined. “It’s just across the way, Joe,” she said in a bashful voice. She had only recently started calling him Joe, at his and Pearl’s own urging.

“I’ll get it,” Sugar yelled out as her hand reached for the doorknob.

“No you won’t, either!” Pearl was beside her before Sugar finished her sentence. She looked cautiously out the slim windows that framed the doorway. “You don’t know who or what is out there in that fog,” Pearl whispered. The knock came again, urgent now. Both women jumped. “Miss Pearl, you got me all spooked now,” Sugar said in mild annoyance. She sucked her teeth and once again attempted to open the door. Pearl slapped her hand away. “Leave it alone. Joe.” Pearl turned and called to Joe who was dozing in the living room. “Yeah, baby,” he called back through a sleepy voice.

All three now stood at the door, Sugar and Pearl behind Joe as he swung the door open. The fog moved in first, long tentacles of mist that wrapped around their ankles. Pearl looked down and kicked at it, then she grabbed Joe’s arm and began to shake. “Someone there?” Joe said and took a step forward. “No, Joe!” Pearl screamed and pulled him backward almost toppling him to the floor. “Pe—” Someone or something jumped out of the fog. Sugar, in the middle of trying to steady Joe, caught sight of the form and fled. She was up the stairs before she was sure she’d seen anything at all. It seemed her legs were reacting on their own, without the help of her mind. Pearl had not released Joe, but dug her fingers in, locking her hold on his arm and squeezing her eyes shut against the horror that was sure to be standing before her. Joe reacted by bringing his free arm up and out, his fist making quick impact with the face of whatever it was that then lay groaning at his feet.