Then Sings My Soul Page 17

  As he drove the 405 to San Diego, weaving in and out of lanes, he searched the radio for a jazz station. Then he pulled out a cassette and stuck it into the slot. Every once in a while he glanced over at me and smiled, his cigarette dangling from his lips. Even though traffic was heavy, the car kept moving along wherever there was an open spot. He chattered away, something about the artist and the song; but I was so busy watching the road and holding on, I couldn't repeat what he was talking about to save my life. Then the traffic was behind us and I began to relax. Sinking back into the seat cushion, I got into the music.

  The ocean looked so calm, the ride so smooth, the music hypnotic; I drifted off to sleep. Suddenly I was aware that the car had stopped. I opened my eyes and looking around I could see we were in the parking lot of Motel 8.

  Hi C was coming out of the office.

  "Why're we stopping here?" I asked. I knew San Diego wasn't that far away though I'd only been there once when we were kids and Momma took Shanell and me to the San Diego Zoo.

  "I need to catch a few winks," Hi C said, opening my door. "I been up all night and if I'm gonna be at my best, I gotta take a nap. There's a diner across the street. We can go and get something to eat first."

  That was fine with me. We left the car in the parking lot and walked over to the diner. I was so hungry. I hadn't realized that I hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast. I ordered spaghetti. Hi C ordered steak and potatoes. He joked as we ate about how once I got famous, I probably wouldn't know him.

  "It's a shame you're underage. There're a lot of people I could introduce you to. I'd be your agent and we'd go places."

  I told him my birthday was last week. "I'm eighteen. You can wish me happy birthday now. I don't usually make a big thing about my birthday. My mother said as soon as things calm down, we would have a big celebration." I told him about the problem with Donald, not telling him everything, just about some people looking for him. I don't think Hi C was even listening. He looked around for the waitress and when she came over, he asked for the check. I followed him back across the street to the motel.

  "You can sit in the car if you want. I'll be out in about an hour or you can come in and watch TV while I sleep," he said.

  I thought about it and decided time would pass quicker watching TV than sitting in his car in the parking lot of a seedy motel. Taking my overnight bag from the back seat thinking if I changed into what I'd planned to wear and put on my makeup, I'd save time. I followed him to his room.

  It was a small ugly room with a full size bed taking up most of the space, a little oval table sitting up against the wall, a dresser with a nineteen inch TV set sitting on top of it. I flipped it on and sat down at the table. Hi C went into the bathroom. I made myself comfortable, put my feet up in the other chair, and settled down to wait, with a bag of Doritos and a can of Pepsi I bought from the vending machine in the hall. The only drawback was the TV had no remote. I'd have to get up to change the channels. Oh well, I thought, just for an hour.

  Hi C came out of the bathroom wearing only his boxer shorts. That should've been my first clue. If he was just going to nap an hour, why did he need to take off his clothes? He pulled back the covers and hopped in.

  "Why don't you join me? We gonna be up late tonight and you wanna be at your best."

  "I'm fine," I said. "I got some sleep in the car so I'm not tired."

  "How about a drink to relax you." He offered me a sip from the flask he carried and placed on the nightstand beside the bed.

  "No, thank you. I don't drink."

  "Com'on, baby. Loosen up. How you gonna perform tonight if you're so uptight.?

  "Hi C, I thought you stopped here to take a nap."

  "I did, but I want you to join me."

  "Maybe I'd better wait for you in the car." I picked up my bag and started for the door.

  Before I could get it open, he grabbed me around my waist and pulled me toward the bed.

  "Don't!" I told him when he started pulling down my pants. He tried to pin my arms behind my back and started to kiss me as he pushed me down. When I bit his lip, he smacked me across face. I screamed. I kicked him in the balls and scratched his face.

  "Bitch," he yelled, holding his groin. "Shut up, you stupid..."

  He grabbed my arms and tried to pin them over my head as he reached down to pull off his shorts. Jerking my body to one side, I must have caught him off guard because he slid to the floor. This gave me just enough time to scramble off the bed. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. He pounded on it a couple of times; then he stopped. I peeked through the keyhole and I saw him putting his pants on. Then I heard the outside door open and slam behind him. Even when I heard the car engine start, I couldn't move and I couldn't stop crying. I must've lay there a good hour or more. Outside it was growing dark, the only noise in the room was from the TV. Flickering light cast shadows against the wall.

  Cautiously, I unlocked the bathroom door, crept back into the room and slid the dead bolt praying he wouldn't come back. Then I climbed into the shower, turned on the hot water full blast and let it wash away the shame I felt. I don't know how much time went by before the water turned cold. I picked up my clothes; my blouse was ripped. Glancing into the mirror, I saw that one side of my face was swollen. How could I go home looking like this? What would Momma say? In the back of my mind I knew I should report what HiC tried to do to me; but I knew I couldn't prove I hadn't come with him willingly. I was eighteen years old, no longer jailbait. I was in a motel room in or near San Diego. So many thoughts went round in my mind. Then it hit me. I was stranded. How was I gonna get home?

  Swallowing my pride and humiliation, I walked up to the front desk and asked the manager if I could make a call. The manager, a chubby woman with short gray hair and bifocals, looked up from her plate, on which sat a half-eaten pork chop. Dabbing her lips and wiping her hands on a napkin, she frowned. Then something in my face must've told her how desperate I was; she softened.

  "It's against our policy, but there's a telephone on the corner, next to the diner. You got any money?"

  I shook my head. I only had a dime. She handed me a dollar in change. "You young girls always getting yourselves in trouble. How old are you?"

  Before I could answer, she went on. "I got a daughter your age. I hope if she gets into trouble, somebody'll help her out."

  The clock on the wall behind the desk said 9 PM. Had I been there that long? As I walked to the corner telephone, I wondered who I could call. I didn't want to call Momma. I was so ashamed and I knew she'd be mad as hell. Besides, I'd rather deal with that when I felt better. Grace? Kanisha? No, Gracie had her number changed and I didn't have her new number since she got back from down south. The only other person I could think of was Darien. I dialed his number. After a few rings, he answered. I told him I was stranded and asked him if he could come and get me. He didn't ask no questions. Said he'd be here in about an hour. I went back to the room and waited. While I waited, I cried some more.

  He was as good as his word. In exactly an hour, Darien came. I got into his car and we drove all the way back to L.A. in silence. It was only when we parked in front of my apartment that he asked if there was anything he could do. I told him how grateful I was that he'd come to my rescue.

  "I can't explain anything to you now. But I will." I climbed out of the car and went upstairs.

  Momma and Shanell met me at the door. Momma started yelling at me for being out late and not telling anybody where I was.

  "Just because you're eighteen, and still living under my roof, you will obey my rules!"

  Then she noticed my swollen face. "What happened? Who did this to you?" she asked. I broke down and cried. She put her arms around my shoulders. "Don't worry. You'll tell me when you want to."

  "Damn! What happened to you?" Shanell asked. Momma threw her a look that shut her up.

  I didn't say anything. I only wanted to go to bed. Shanell followed me to our room. Looking at me with eyes f
illed with sympathy. "How did the gig go?" I hadn't realized that she knew where I'd gone.

  "How did you know?" I didn't remember telling her. "I didn't make it," I smiled weakly. "I'll tell you all about it someday." I undressed and hopped into bed. She hugged me.

  Chapter 40 - Ma’dear

  When I got to Philadelphia, I called my aunt. Mama had told her I was coming. I sat in the bus station for what seemed like hours until she came to pick me up. Then there was the long drive to her home. Her house was in a middle-class, respectable part of the city, a large Victorian-style house with plenty of small dark rooms filled with dark, oversized furniture that instantly made me depressed. Aunt Phoebe was a large woman. A few years older than Mama, she was as unlike her sister as night is to day. Where Mama was gentle and quiet, Aunt Phoebe was bold and had a lot of opinions that she didn't mind expressing. She was married to an undertaker. They had two grown children that didn't live at home. Mr. Booker, as she called him, ran the only Negro undertaking parlor in the city. You could say they didn't hurt for money.

  Aunt Phoebe showed me to my room on the third floor. I was so tired from the long bus ride, I just fell on the bed and went to sleep. I must have slept a long time because when I woke up, it was dark outside. I heard Aunt Phoebe knocking at the door.

  "Supper will be on the table in ten minutes. Get yourself washed up and come on down."

  The bathroom was located on the second floor. I washed up, changed clothes and went downstairs to eat. The table was loaded with food, pork chops, green beans, mashed potatoes and cornbread. The smells made my stomach queasy. It was all I could do to keep from throwing up.

  "I'm not very hungry," I said weakly. I just wanted to go back upstairs, be alone with my problems.

  "Nonsense, you need to eat something," Aunt Phoebe said, dishing food into my plate and setting it down in front of me. My smile was thin as I looked down at the steaming food. After she finished filling up the plates, she asked Mr. Booker to say grace. He nodded.

  "Let's bow our heads," he said in a deep voice. We did. As he said a long prayer, I peeked at the others. Besides Mr. Booker and Aunt Phoebe there was another man whom I hadn't met. When Mr. Booker finished, Aunt Phoebe introduced me to him.

  "Sarah, this is Mr. Livingston. He rooms here with us." He nodded. "This is my niece Sarah. She'll be staying here for a while."

  Mr. Livingston was a pleasant looking man, medium build, light complexion, high yellow, as we use to call people in them days. His face was covered with freckles. He grinned a toothy grin at me. That's about all I noticed about him except that he looked like my mother's age, his bald head glistened in the light from the chandelier as if he'd polished it up for the meal.

  We ate in silence the only sounds were chewing and swallowing, and an occasional loud belch from Mr. Booker. I managed to eat a bit, enough to keep from insulting Aunt Phoebe. I made it through most of the meal and as soon as I felt it was the right time, I asked her if I could be excused.

  "Don't you want dessert? I made apple pie especially for you," said Aunt Phoebe, clearing away the plates. She went into the kitchen and brought back a freshly baked pie and some dessert plates.

  "Thank you, but I'm not feeling well. I'd like to go to my room and lie down."

  She had a frown of disapproval on her face but she nodded. "You go right ahead. You're excused. Tomorrow, though, I expect you to help around the house."

  "You're part of the family now," Mr. Booker said. "No free rides here." He laughed.

  Though I was expecting in a few months, Aunt Phoebe managed to get me a job washing clothes for the white families across town. It was that or helping Mr. Booker at the mortuary. I'm not squeamish but I don't like being around dead bodies.

  Both my aunt and Mr. Booker were active in their local church, United Methodist. Every evening or so they went to meetings at the church and occasionally I went with them to Bible Study. Mr. Livingston accompanied us on Sundays. He turned out to be a very nice man, one I could talk to easily. He told me about himself, his wife died five years ago from cancer. They had no children. When I told him about Willie Joe and my life in New York, he was genuinely sympathetic. He didn't ask about the father of the baby I was carrying. In time I found myself dependent upon his company and on our talks. He took it upon himself to look after me.

  One evening after everybody had gone to bed, I crept down to the kitchen for a glass of milk. Milk helps me sleep. Mr. Livingston was at the kitchen table eating a piece of leftover chicken. He said he couldn't sleep either.

  "Sarah, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. I know we haven't known each other but a few months, but I've grown real fond of you," he said reaching across the table for my hand. When he asked me to marry him, I was a little surprised. I told him I didn't love him. He reasoned that we should get married if only so that my child would be born legitimately, not with the stigma of being born out of wedlock. He said he would make a good home for me and would raise the child like his own.

  I didn't answer him right away. I told him I had to sleep on it. He said he understood. I finished my glass of milk and hurried back upstairs to bed before he could get up. My head was spinning. The next day when I told Aunt Phoebe, she said it was a good idea.

  "Mr. Livingston is a good man. I'm happy for the both of you."

  Mr. John Livingston and me were married a week before Hazel was born. We went before the Justice of the Peace. As soon as I agreed to marry him, John, who worked as a porter on the railroad, went out and found us a little house across town. We moved into that place and for the next ten years that was our home. I was able to get Melvin from Mama, and with the four of us together, I felt blessed. John was a good father to my children up until the day he died. We had ten wonderful years together, and then he was gone.

  When Hazel was eleven I took her and Melvin back to Farmville to visit Mama. She was ill and not expected to live much longer. I hadn't been back but once since going down to pick up Melvin long ago. Every year, though, I sent him down to spend summer with her.

  The house where I grew up looked the same except a little more run down. The garden Mama had planted was nothing but weeds. A few chickens wandered around the yard scratching at the ground for whatever food they could find among the weeds. A rusted tractor stood beside the weather-beaten barn that looked like it was about to fall down.

  My stepfather, Isaac, was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was a woman, who looked younger than me, traipsing around the house, dusting the furniture, straightening up, and fixing food for my mother.

  She looked familiar though I couldn't place her. A short busty woman, she wore a faded gingham housedress, and worn man's shoes with the backs folded under. Her hair was wrapped in a scarf, and she had a small mole above her lip. After greeting me she shooed Melvin and Hazel outside.

  "Yall go play in the yard while your Mama visits your grandma." She offered to bring me some lemonade, and before I could say yes, she disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen. I went into the parlor.

  Mama sat in her rocker looking so thin and frail. She couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds and when she tried to speak, she coughed. I kissed her forehead, pulled up a chair close to her and held her hand.

  I couldn't hide the shock on my face at how sick she looked. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a hanky and blew my nose, wiping away a tear that threatened to fall. I told her about my life, adding things to make her laugh, staying away from serious topics. We reminisced about when we all were together, Mama, Daddy, my sister and brothers.

  The young woman came in bringing a tray on which sat a pitcher of lemonade, a glass filled with ice and a plate of cookies.

  "She's already had her lunch," she said when I asked about a glass for Mama. When she left, I asked Mama, "Who's that?" My gaze followed the woman back down the hall.

  "That's Edna Mae. Don't you remember her? She was your best friend Sadie's little sister. She came to help me out when Isaac left."r />
  "Where is Isaac?"

  "Old fool done run off with the pastor's wife. All I can say is good riddance." She laughed than started to cough. I was just about to give her my glass of lemonade when Edna Mae came running in.

  "She can't have that! She got sugar. Let me get her medicine." She rushed back into the kitchen and returned carrying a glass of water and a bottle of pills. She helped Mama with the pills and water. "There," she said. "She'll be alright."

  I sat with Mama a while until she drifted off to sleep; then I took the tray back into the kitchen. Edna Mae was cutting up vegetables and putting them in a pot of boiling water.

  "You don't remember me, do you?" she smiled. "You and Sadie ran off together when I was just a little girl. Couldn't have been much younger than your daughter.

  A strange feeling came over me as I stood there listening to her talk about Sadie and how much her big sister had taught her. "I miss her so much."

  She asked me about what Sadie and me did after we left.

  "Sadie didn't write much. One letter she wrote she said she'd met a man and planned to get married. Willie Joe, I think she said his name was. She was so in love with that man."

  My heart almost stopped. "Willie Joe?" I said.

  "Yeah, Did you ever meet him? Anyways, later she wrote and said he'd gotten married. Next thing I heard was that he was dead. How you like that?"

  "Did Sadie tell you how he died?" I could hardly get the words out. I sat down at the table to keep from falling.

  "No Ma'am. She didn't say nothing about that. She was always promising to bring me up to New York to live with her. But that's Sadie. Always promising but never following through. Then I woulda got a chance to leave this old backwater town. Sure do miss her," she said again with a long sigh. She pulled a big cloth from her bosom, wiped the sweat from her face and stuck it back.