Then Sings My Soul Page 19

  "When you get to New York, look up my old friend Sarah. You remember I told you about her. 'bout how she and me ran away from home together. We both fell for the same man, but she got him. Willie Joe. I couldn't stay mad. Well, when Willie Joe died, I think Sarah blamed me. I don't know why, but she did. But you know what I always say, "no need to cry over spilt milk." Too much living to do. Look her up. She's good people."

  I finished the letter and handed it back to her.

  "So, here I am. Funny, one day she was living it up and the next, she's at death's door."

  I spoke before I could think. "Do you know what she died of?"

  Edna laughed, "Maybe somebody put the evil eye on her."

  A chill passed through my body. I glanced over at Tyreshia. She was busy looking out the window. "I'm just kidding. I don't believe in that stuff. Last time I spoke with Sadie she'd been to the doctor and the doctor said she had cirrhosis of the liver. Everybody told her to lay off the booze. But you know Sadie. She always was a heavy drinker."

  Just at that moment, I heard the door open. Hazel burst in. "Tyreshia!" she shouted. The girls ran toward each other and hugged.

  "Hazel, didn't I teach you better than that. Say hello to Miss Edna."

  Edna hugged her. "You're getting so pretty," she said.

  "Come on, Tyreshia. Let me show you my room." Before I could say anything, the girls were gone.

  "What I really came to ask you was could Tyreshia stay with you a few days?" Edna said, sitting back down on the sofa. "I'm looking for a job and a place to stay and seeing as how I don't know nobody else in the city. When I ran across Sadie's letter, I thought I'd just look up her old friend."

  I held my breath as she went on. "I been wanting to get out of that hick town and make a fresh start with my little girl. You know how it is."

  I started to ask about the cousin she said who lived nearby and about the bus she had to catch. Why tell me all that when what she really wanted was for Tyreshia to stay with me while she looked for a job? Was she really here to look for a job? I felt ashamed at my suspicions. Then I remembered all she'd done for my mother.

  "She can stay until you get yourself straight," I said. "Hazel would enjoy the company."

  "I knew I could count on you. Tyreshia," she called. She got to her feet as her daughter came back followed by Hazel. "Now I'm only gonna be gone a few days. You mind Aunt Sarah. No backtalk. You be good." She turned to me. "I'm going now. I'll be in touch in a few days."

  She kissed Tyreshia and Hazel on the cheek. "God bless you," she squeezed my hand.

  As she was leaving, she set down a small cardboard suitcase I hadn't noticed. It all happened so fast, I didn't have time to think. Hazel was so happy to have her friend with her, I soon forgot my misgivings about the girl, at least for a while.

  *****

  Tyreshia stayed with us a week. At times during the week, I would find myself watching her, searching for what? I couldn't say. She was a normal twelve-year-old as far as I could see. At the end of the week, Edna came back and they left. I don't know if she'd found a place, got a job or anything and I didn't ask. I gave her a bag of Hazel's old clothes and even though they were a little small, Tyreshia loved them.

  A few months went by, then one day, as I was cleaning the apartment, I decided to sweep under Hazel's bed. Lord knows, even the cleanest child seldom sweeps under her bed and Hazel was not the neatest. I pushed the bed out so that I could clear out whatever was under it. That's when I saw the box. What's this? I said to myself. Curious, I picked it up and examined it. It was flat with a strange design on it. I tilted it and out dropped a playing board. It looked like a checker board only it wasn't. It had the word "OUIJA" in big letters on it and other symbols. It slipped right through my fingers and on to the bed. I tried to remember where I'd heard that word before. Then it came to me. One time, long ago when Willie Joe and me use to play cards with Esther and her husband Herman, she mentioned a board where you could receive messages from spirits. I think she called it a "Ouija" board. I put the board back in the box, sat down on the bed and waited until Hazel came home from school.

  As soon as she hit the door, I lit into her. "I don't want no black magic in this house, you hear!" I yelled.

  She looked startled. Then she saw the box in my hand.

  "Whatchu doing in my room messing with my stuff?" She tried to grab it from me.

  "Where'd you get this thing from? Who gave it to you?" I stood over her.

  "A friend," she said.

  "Who, Tyreshia?"

  "What if she did!" She looked at me defiantly. I swore she had that same look I'd seen on Tyreshia's face long ago in the yard at Mama's. That did it. I slammed the board down so hard, it broke in two. Then I whipped Hazel's behind so hard my arm hurt and sent her to bed without supper. For months after that the only person she spoke to was Melvin.

  From time to time, whenever I picked up the mail, if a letter came to her from Tyreshia, I'd tear it up without opening it and throw it in the trash. I didn't want no communication between that evil girl and my daughter. Eventually, though, as everything does, our relationship got better though we never got as close as we once was.

  Chapter 43 - Hazel

  Just as Hazel was getting into her Toyota, she spotted Manfield standing beside his car smoking a cigarette and talking with another man. Having to use the restroom, she'd thought she'd lost him. But there he was; a few rows from where she'd parked. She slid behind the wheel, and glancing into her rear view mirror, she watched the two men in what seemed to be a friendly conversation. Jones threw back his head, laughing at something the other man said. Then he opened his car door, slid behind the wheel, and waved as he maneuvered the 1954 blue Cadillac down the aisle towards the exit. Hazel followed, not too close behind. With all the traffic, she could stay behind him and not be spotted. He made a right onto the 10 Freeway, joining the line of cars heading east. Driving 40 mph, he leaped frog from one lane to the other, wherever there was an opening. This made it difficult for Hazel to keep up; however, she managed to see his car just as he swung off at La Brea. She dived headlong into the far right lane to the consternation of the other drivers who sounded their horns in disgust. Manfield's car loomed in the distance, going north on La Brea to Olympic where he turned right. Praying she wouldn't be caught by a red light, Hazel increased her speed to keep him in sight. When she got to Olympic, she didn't see his car anywhere. It had disappeared. She glanced up and down the boulevard. Disappointed, she pulled into a strip mall and idled the engine.

  Feeling defeated, she thought, this is crazy. What would I do if I caught up with him? He could kill me. Glancing down at her watch she saw that it was almost seven p.m.

  'I'd better call the girls so they won't be worried.' She turned off the engine, stepped from the car and searched for a phone booth. Spotting one on the other side of the busy street, she cautiously crossed the boulevard against the light. Once in the graffiti ravaged booth, she picked up the sticky receiver only to discover the insides had been torn out. Frustrated, her shoulders slumped.

  In the growing darkness, the neon lights from a Budweiser sign outlined in red and blue caught her eye. The bar sat between a mini-mart and a hardware store. The hardware store was closed. Through the window of the bar, Hazel saw a pay phone on the wall. She entered the almost empty bar and walked over to the phone and dialed her home.

  "Where are you, are you all right?" Tricia's voice sounded anxious.

  "I decided to stop off at a friend's house but I'll be along soon," Hazel said not wanting to increase their worry. "Don't wait on me for dinner, and be sure you and Shanell do your homework. Clean up the kitchen and look in on Ma’dear."

  "Yes, mother," Tricia said patiently, and added something about knowing what to do before she hung up.

  Hazel smiled. As she turned to leave, she noticed sitting at a booth in the back was Manfield Jones. Two middle-aged white men in dark suits walked in and sat down across from him. One was t
all and had broad shoulders. The shorter one was built like a wrestler. Despite his expensive looking suit, his jacket barely contained his bulging muscles. Both wore hats pulled down so she couldn't make out their features.

  Seeing the booth near them unoccupied, she slid in and hoping to make herself invisible, huddled in the corner, her back to the occupants in the next booth.

  "What'll you have, Miss?" The waitress stood beside her notepad at the ready. A bored expression on her face, the woman patted her foot impatiently.

  Startled, Hazel said quickly, "Wine, I'll have a glass of wine."

  "White or red?"

  "Red," she said, in almost a whisper.

  The waitress sauntered off, wiping tables and straightening chairs as she went back to the bar. Hazel leaned her head against the vinyl upholstery. She lit a cigarette and tried to catch the conversation in the next booth.

  "Well, you've been paid but you haven't delivered. What are you gonna do?" she heard one of the men ask. It didn't sound like Manfield Jones. It was harsh and grating as if the man's throat had been swabbed with sandpaper.

  "Look fellows. I did my best. I didn't know what was involved. I can't think of nothing else to do." Hazel identified Manfield's voice.

  "So, what do you want us to do? You said you could handle the job, you've been paid, now you'd better deliver," The other voice said. "Or else." His voice was soft but with a menacing quality that sent shivers up Hazel's spine.

  "Lenny," said the first man. "Why are we wasting our time on this two-bit bum. I told you I didn't trust him."

  "I'm sorry," Manfield said. "I'll try again."

  "You better come up with something or you'll be wishing you'd never met us." the second man said as both men slid out of the booth. Hazel tried to get a look at them as they passed her on their way to the exit. All she noted was that their suits looked of high quality, their shoes were polished and one wore a brand of cologne Kevin used.

  "Here's your wine. That'll be $5.00." The waitress set the glass on the table. Hazel dropped a $10 dollar bill on the tray. "I'll be back with your change," the waitress said as she moved on.

  Before reaching the door, one of them glanced back at Manfield. Hazel shifted hoping they hadn't noticed her. Then they were gone.

  The waitress returned shortly placing five singles on the table and stood for a moment until Hazel placed $1.00 on the tray. Hips swinging, gum cracking in her mouth, she strolled off to the next booth where Manfield Jones sat.

  "You look down in the mouth, Manny? Want some company?" the waitress asked.

  "Bring me another scotch and soda, Doll, and some matches."

  Hazel sipped her glass of wine slowly wondering what to do next. Deep in thought, she was suddenly aware of someone leaning over her. "Excuse me, Miss. You got a light?" Manfield stood before her.

  "Sure, here." She handed him her lighter.

  "Thanks." he handed it back to her as he took a long drag on his cigarette. He returned to his seat.

  "You mind if I join you?" Hazel said sliding into the seat next to him. "I hate drinking alone." Operating on autopilot, she didn't know where she was going. When opportunity knocks.... she thought. She took a chance that he wouldn't recognize her.

  "Naw," he shook his head and drained his glass just as the waitress set another one before him.

  "Here're your matches." She looked over at Hazel. "You work fast," she said, a frown on her face.

  "Bring her whatever she's drinking and put it on my tab, and bring me another, make it a double." Manny drained his glass again.

  "Whoa, slow down. You're putting it away too fast," Darlene, the waitress said.

  "Just bring me another one. I know my limit."

  Darlene shrugged and went over to the bar.

  Manny stared at Hazel for a couple of minutes.

  "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" he said exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I never forget a face."

  "Everybody's always telling me I look like somebody else," Hazel laughed as she picked up her glass. What do I do now? She wondered unnecessarily, because soon Manny had reached the talkative stage. Good thing he wasn't one of those ugly drunks, Hazel thought as his tongue began to loosen.

  "I just came in for a drink after work, and I noticed you sitting with your friends. I'm glad they left because it gave me a chance to meet you," she said. She could see he was eating that up. He smiled. Then he stared down at his glass.

  "What's the matter?" said Hazel. "You look like you've lost your best friend."

  "Like them white boys scare me. Shit...I'll wipe up the floor with them." His words slurred.

  "Your business partners?" she asked.

  "Are you kidding? I don't do no business with them. Well, we got a business deal going." He spilled half his drink but managed to get the rest down. His head started toward the table. "Get me another drink. Hey," he shouted towards the bar. "Bring me another double."

  "Naw, baby," Darlene rushed over. "You've had enough." She turned to Hazel. "Lookahere Lady. He can't have no more. You gotta get him outta here before Joe throws him out." She gestured over to the bar.

  "Isn't he a friend of yours?" Hazel asked.

  "He's a regular, if that's what you mean. Names Manny something or other. Nice guy when he don't drink too much."

  "Do you know where he lives?" Hazel asked.

  "Look in his wallet," Darlene said. "I gotta get back to work or I'd help you. Joe don't like drunks in here. He'd beat him up as look at him."

  Hazel shook him enough to wake him; then as she guided him towards the door, the waitress stuck the bill in her hand. Hazel handed over her last twenty.

  Now what am I gonna do with him? She whispered to herself as she maneuvered him to her car and shoved him in. His head dropped back against the car seat and in less than a minute, he was snoring. Gently she searched his pockets for his wallet. She found it in his pants pocket and opened it. On his license she noted his address, 43rd near Central Ave. "Damn," she said aloud. "That's all the way across town." Why couldn't she have shoved him into his Cadillac and left him?

  Forty-five minutes later, she pulled up in front of the address, a small house surrounded by a chain-linked fence. The place had seen better days. The house was sorely in need of a paint job and the yard needed weeding, but other than that, it was cute from what Hazel could see. The porch light was on and few people were on the street. A thought hit Hazel. What if he's married? What would his wife think me bringing him home like this?

  I'll just have to take my chances, she told herself.

  Coming around to his side of the car, she shook him until he was half awake. Managing to get him on his feet, she helped him stumble to the door. Finding his key in his jacket pocket, she opened the door, switched on the light, and spying a couch nearby, she half pulled him over to it and let go. He sprawled across it. Turning over into a fetal position, he went back to sleep and within minutes began snoring.

  Fortunately, the house was empty. Hazel went through the place quickly. A tiny kitchen, one bedroom, and a living room, all sparsely furnished. Paying close attention to the snores coming from the sofa, she returned to the bedroom and began examining his dresser but found nothing that told her much about him except a few photographs of him and different ladies, the kind of photos you take at a photo vending machine; bills, and racing forms. She had just about given up when she spotted a folded slip of paper in an ashtray on the nightstand near the telephone. She picked it up and read it. Along with her address, she saw Donald's name and another name and address she didn't recognize. Just as she slipped it into her pocket, she heard a loud cough and the sound of a toilet being flushed. She hurried back to the living room and sat down before Manny came out of the bathroom.

  "Who are you?" he growled. "And what are you doing here?"

  Her heart racing, she answered as casually as her voice would allow her, "Don't you remember? I brought you home from the Silver Spoon. You were too drunk to drive."

  "Oh
, yeah," he said. "Thanks. I need a beer. Everything's spinning."

  He staggered past her to the kitchen and pulled out a can from his bare refrigerator, bare except for a six-pack of Coors.

  "Could I make you some coffee?" she asked.

  "If you can find some. I'll stick with the beer." He popped open the can and guzzled down the contents quickly. "What did you say your name was?" He eyed her as she peered into his cabinets for a jar of instant coffee.

  "H..hu, Harriet. Harriet Emerson. You forgot that you invited me for a drink." Having found the coffee and whatever else she needed, she put water in the teakettle and set it on the stove.

  He lit a cigarette and got another beer. "I don't remember much when I drink." He gazed at her through a haze of smoke. She turned her head away, glancing around his tiny kitchen. A roach crawled up the wall. Her eyes followed it as it meandered towards the cabinets and then down towards the sink.

  He rose quickly and knocked it to the floor with his hand and crushed it beneath his feet.

  "Hate them things! Hate this place! Hate L.A.!" He began to curse but quickly apologized. "Soon as I get enough money, I'm outta here. Going back home, buy me some land, and..."

  The piercing whistle from the kettle drowned out his words. Hazel leaped up and shut off the stove. As she measured out the coffee and poured water into two cups, she responded, "I hate L.A. too. I'd love to live in the country," she lied. Manny went on about his dream house. After a while, she brought the conversation back to the present.

  "Tonight, at the Silver Spoon, you seemed upset about something."

  He lit another cigarette and stared at his cup. "Got mixed up in something I wish I hadn't." He shook his head. "But I can handle it." Changing the subject, he returned to his dream house. Hazel tried unsuccessfully to bring the conversation back to the Silver Spoon.