Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 02 - City of Beads (12 page)

“Very nice,” he said.

“I’ve got all my things packed,” she said with a laugh, pointing to her nightgown folded neatly on top of Mike’s wife’s coat. “I’ll return the coat tomorrow.”

Tubby smiled. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said. “I’m glad you’re going with me.”

“It’s no problem,” he said.

“We’ll see when we get there,” she said, and Tubby thought she was trembling a little.

“Just give me a minute.” He went upstairs to get his handgun. He rummaged around for his holster but it had disappeared. He tried sticking the barrel of the pistol through his belt, first in front, then in back. No way. It must weigh ten pounds. I’m going to permanently damage myself with this, he thought. He put the gun back in the drawer and settled for his Uncle Henry pocketknife instead. Now what good would that do? It just made him feel better to have something in his pocket.

He got Tania into the car, and they drove toward the Irish Channel. He told her he had enjoyed her company and, truthfully, he was sorry to see her go. It was nice having somebody to come home to. She didn’t say much. He picked up her scared vibes and turned on the radio, lucking upon Fats Domino. He hummed along to the music.

They had passed the National Maritime Union hall on Washington when she told him to turn off into a neighborhood of double shotguns with lots of gingerbread. She directed him onto Laurel Street and told him to pull over to the curb.

“This is my home,” she said faintly, pointing to a narrow white single story. It was bracketed by nearly identical houses on either side, but Tania’s was especially cozy-looking and had a well-tended flower garden and a sweet olive tree in its tiny front yard. He held open the iron gate for her, but she motioned him to go first.

She followed him up the steps and reached past him to test the door. It was locked, so she found the key under a potted cactus and opened the place up. Tubby went inside ahead of her. She reached around the doorsill and flipped on the lights. The room had been trashed.

Pictures were off the walls and broken, the couch was sliced up, its bright white stuffing haphazardly erupting, and books and magazines covered the floor.

Tania gasped and grabbed Tubby’s arm. Her grip was almost painful. She pushed him forward, as her shield.

The dining room was more of the same. A glass cabinet was broken and what had been nice china was smashed and thrown around. Tubby was propelled into the kitchen, which was similarly ravaged. Tania looked carefully at the floor around the sink, but Tubby didn’t see anything strange. He looked at Tania inquiringly, but she just shook her head in disbelief and pushed on until they were in the bedroom. Here also the mattress had been ripped open with a knife, no doubt, and clothing had been shredded and strewn about. Most of what could be damaged was.

She let his arm go and sank down on the bed, weeping. He sat down beside her to offer some comfort, but she got up right away and began digging out torn photographs from the pile on the floor. She was sobbing in great gulps. She wandered into the kitchen crying, picking up broken things and shaking her fists. Tubby just sat on the bed and listened to her going through the wreckage of her house. It had been a thorough job—a nasty job. The TV was on the floor broken. Destruction, not stealing, was the message.

The crying had stopped so he got up and went to the front of the house. Tania was standing by the front door, looking outside. He went up and stood silently beside her.

“The world’s burdens are heavy,” she said.

Tubby couldn’t think of anything to add to that.

“Would you like me to help you clean up?” he asked.

“Not now. I need to face this on a new day.” She started shivering. “I’m frightened to be here,” she said.

Tubby put his arm around her shoulder and they stood like that for a little while, watching the street get dark.

He felt her reluctance to bring it up.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” he asked.

“That would be awfully nice,” she said, exhausted.

After she gathered up some clothes from the heaps on the floor and found her toothbrush, they locked the house up and drove back to Tubby’s. He ordered pizza from Café Roma, and when it came they ate in front of the TV, watching “Matlock.”

“Do you want to tell me more about how all this involves you?” he asked her once during a commercial.

She looked like she was about to, but then she just shook her head. They didn’t do too much other talking. It was comfortable though, kind of like old friends.

After the news they said goodnight, and Tania went upstairs to bed. Tubby went around the house—checking his perimeter again, then went upstairs himself. This time he got undressed and crawled between the sheets. He was drifting off when he heard Tania moving around. He heard her leave the guest bedroom and walk softly down the hall. She hesitated outside Tubby’s door, then came in. She sat lightly on the bed.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“I just felt very lonesome, and I wanted to be with you.”

“Oh,” Tubby said, but he didn’t tell her to leave.

“I don’t know what it’s like to trust a white man,” she said.

He sat up and put a pillow over his lap.

“That’s not so surprising,” he said.

“I was raised to treat everybody alike, but even when white people seem real friendly, I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“For their real selves to come out?”

“Yes.”

“It’s complicated,” he said.

She took his hands in hers.

He had never been in a bed with a black woman before, even though you couldn’t really say they were in bed together. He smelled the shampoo in her hair and felt the warm pressure of her thigh against his knees. He was helplessly aroused.

She bent down and kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “You’re a nice man.”

There was that misconception again.

Then she stood up and pulled her nightgown straight. She waved and whispered, “Good night.” And left.

Tubby sank back into the covers.

What the hell was that? he asked himself. A tease? But he didn’t think so. He wanted to believe she was the real thing. He thought about tiptoeing over to the guest bedroom and continuing the conversation, but he found he was struggling, too. Safety for the single always lies in inaction. He could try to get a grip on this in the light of day. He fell asleep.

In his dream, Tania lay down beside him and lightly touched his hair with her fingers. He stroked her back tentatively, and stared into deep eyes close to his own, asking questions. Her answer was to pull his mouth to hers. While they kissed, their hands began a gentle exploration of each other’s body under their nightclothes. He felt her soft breasts, nipples erect, and thought how smooth and warm she felt everywhere. He wished he hadn’t eaten three-fourths of a large pizza. She ran a hand down his back and on down to his hips. Suddenly Tubby was ravenous again. He rolled her on top of him and began seeking sweet places to feast. The moon’s glow from the window lit her neck and she moved with him.

Something he had read in the bar journal about having sex with clients flashed through his mind.

“I’m not your lawyer, of course,” he whispered hoarsely.

“No, no,” she moaned. “You’re whatever you want to be to me, baby.”

She rose, hands pressed on his shoulders, and slid herself up and down on him. Nothing but panting and rich feelings now. The bed creaked mightily.

Tubby woke himself up shortly after four o’clock. He was alone.

“Goodness,” he muttered to himself.

A great deal of the motivation for taking Nicole Normande fishing had not-so-mysteriously vanished, but when a lady has agreed to be dressed and ready by five in the morning, only a real jerk calls in sick. Tubby also felt that escaping a morning-after scene with Tania was a good idea, though he couldn’t have explained why since all the best parts had been in his fertile brain.

He got up quietly, showered, and left a short note for her. He signed it “Nice Guy.” Dressed in funky khaki pants and a sweatshirt, he checked the boat for life jackets. Once he had hidden a bag of money in that same spot. He saw that his ice chest was relatively mold-free, and loaded up two full gas tanks. It didn’t take long to hitch the trailer to the car, even though it was pitch black. Tubby was an old hand at quick flights from the city.

By 5:15 he was double-parked in front of the Royal Street address Nicole had given him. When he tapped on her door she appeared, freshly scrubbed and very appealing in blue jeans and a couple of shirts. She didn’t ask him to hang around while she got her makeup on. She was ready.

In no time they were cruising through Chalmette on Judge Perez Highway, drinking coffee from the thermos Nicole had brought. Tubby’s mood had shifted dramatically, and he was now thinking what a great idea this excursion was. They passed the last traffic light at Paris Road, and presently the homes and schools gave way to farms and then cypress swamp.

Not much farther and they turned onto a smaller road and soon crossed over a narrow, wooden-railed drawbridge where they saw their first shrimp boats bobbing picturesquely at their moorings. Their way ran straight along the bayou with house trailers and rickety fishing camps to the left and tin boathouses and docks jutting into the water to the right. After a few minutes Tubby pulled up next to one of the camps, which he said belonged to an old man he knew named Nolan. Nicole got out and watched while he checked the fishing tackle again and unplugged the trailer lights. Then she yelled directions as he backed across the road and eased the boat down a rough concrete ramp into the bayou. She held the rope to keep their humble vessel from floating away while Tubby parked the car next to Nolan’s camp.

The sun was just coming up when the motor obliged them by catching, and they puttered out over the water. White egrets and blue herons flew easily across the stream ahead, announcing their approach. The bayou was calm and flat, but for ripples here and there that showed the tide was pulling them out. A fish broke the surface in front of them, a promising sign.

Without talking much, Tubby and Nicole watched the fishing camps give way to marsh grass and wider and wider vistas. Soon there was nothing but clear blue sky and a broad channel of shining blue water, and grasses all shades of green running to the horizon. The white birds multiplied and sailed away on business of their own.

Their bayou emptied into a lake so wide that it could have been mistaken for open gulf. Tubby guided the boat to a point along the marsh shore and then cut the motor and pitched over the anchor. Two oil rigs were visible in the far distance, and scattered here and there were outposts of trees, little dots in a big saltwater lake. A morning breeze rocked the boat and tossed up sprinkles of cold salty water. Except for the waves slapping the wood and an occasional bird cry, the only sounds were ones Tubby and Nicole made.

“Let’s see what we got here,” Tubby said, getting out his tackle box and putting it between his feet. “The trout like cockahoes the best, but we’ll have to try a lure on them today.” Skillfully, he tied leader and lure on one of the lines and handed the rod to Nicole. While he repeated the process on his own rod, he watched her try to cast. The first time she got it out about a yard before the line stopped and the hook swung malevolently back at the boat. The second time she sailed a beauty out about fifty feet and dropped it near the grass just right.

“You’ve done this before,” Tubby commented dryly.

“I grew up fishing,” she said. “My mother and I used to go out on the lake all the time where we lived in Tennessee. We fished for bass.”

Finally I meet a woman who grew up fishing, and there’s a lady at home who believes I’m a nice guy, Tubby thought.

“What about your dad?” he asked.

She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “He wasn’t around much,” she said.

Tubby watched his pole. “If we’re lucky,” he said after a while, “we’ll hit a school of sacalait when they’re hungry. We might bring in thirty or forty fish in a matter of minutes.”

“Do you need a license for this?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tubby said. “I didn’t think to ask if you had one.”

“I don’t. Should I be worried?”

“Not you,” Tubby said. It would be his boat that would get impounded.

“What’s the name of this…” She gestured at the water.

“I think it’s part of Lake Petit. I’m not real sure anymore. See those trees out there?” He pointed at a stand of dying cypress poking from the water half a mile away.

“When I first started fishing out here, that used to be an island. It’s still on the charts as an island. I’ve walked on it—even hunted rabbits on it. In fact, there used to be several islands out here. Now we’re just about in the Gulf of Mexico.”

“What happened?”

“Erosion. Salt water from the Gulf coming into the marsh from all the canals the oil companies dredged killed the grass. The wake of ships in the ship channel and the Gulf Outlet washed away the soil. You hear lotsa theories. I can tell you a bunch of land has disappeared in a short time.”

“Unreal,” she said.

The morning progressed peacefully, that is, without too many fish. Tubby learned that Nicole was from around Memphis, that she had a brother who had done well for himself but who, she said vaguely, lived in a different world, that she had come to New Orleans to work for a tomato-packing company, and that the casino was a big step forward.

They pulled in lots of hardhead catfish—the kind that stab you, and you can either throw them back to catch a second time, keep them for crawfish bait, or shoot them, whichever seems like the least trouble. Crawfish rejoice over dead hardheads or just about any kind of rotting fish or meat.

Their biggest excitement was a strike on Nicole’s line that bent her rod, went around and under the boat, and had them both shouting advice to each other. She finally reeled it close enough to the surface for Tubby to recognize her catch as a stingray with three-foot wings. Then the game became trying to save the tackle. Eventually Nicole got the frightening creature to the side of the boat, and Tubby reached gingerly into what may have been its mouth with a pair of pliers and twisted out the hook. It slid into the water and with a flip was gone. But of trout or crappie, not a one.