An Elderberry Fall (4 page)

“I'm doing fine by myself.” I didn't need Nadine any more than he did. She was just the lady across the street.

“I hate leaving too, but baseball is my life. I can't wait to play
beside Pete Hill or one of them cats. They are some bad colored boys, Carrie. They are three times better than some of them white boys.” Simon's almond-shaped eyes lit up when he talked about playing ball, and for a moment, I felt embarrassed because I wanted him home with me.

“Simon, I don't think Nadine and me are alike at all. She's different . . .”

“I just don't want you to feel alone. You need somebody to talk to; that way you won't be worrying about me.”

“I like Mrs. Hall. She is so good to Robert, and she loves it when we sit on the porch with her.”

“She's old enough to be yo grandma, and she is white.”

“But she is nice, and that is all that matters.” In the back of my mind I thought,
and she don't have a longing for my husband.

“Okay, I thought you and Nadine could talk about husbands and children together. You know, cookin' and things about the house. The kind of things women talk about.”

“I am seventeen, and she's at least twenty-five. She's not my type, Simon.”

He shook his head, knowing there was no win for this conversation. He changed the subject.

“Let's do something instead of talking about Nadine. Why don't we go downtown today?”

I grinned. I hadn't been downtown but twice since I'd been in Richmond, though it was only several blocks to the east and another few blocks north past the lady dress shop that sold the cloche hats, and pleated chemise dresses I had been hoping to buy one day. The blocks were so much different than the yards of land in the country. Everybody lived feet and not miles away from each other. I loved walking the blocks. The sweet aroma of the food
cooking, and the sounds of chatter did something to me. It did the same thing to Simon too, because I had noticed the grin on his face whenever we spoke to someone sitting on the front porch or steps. The sight of children playing in the streets had both Simon and Robert enthralled, until I coaxed them to come along.

Everyone thought Robert's smile was electrifying. It was a strange thing to say, since I'd never heard anyone from the country mention electricity and smiles. And Robert smiled at everyone we walked past. It was a mild day, and even though the summer was dying and autumn was being birthed, it was around seventy-two degrees. We were walking along, and Robert holding tight to Simon's shoulder when we came across a sign that read, “PEARL BROWN TONIGHT.” It was in a bold print and all capital letters.

“Is that the Pearl we know?” I asked.

“She is a nightclub singer,” Simon reminded me in a sarcastic manner.

“The last letter I received from Ginny said she was still back home with Willie.”

“She's a singer. Jefferson is no place for a person like her. Everybody is trying to get away as soon as they can.”

“I just thought she was mourning Camm. He seemed to know how to get the best of everybody.” Simon saw the frown lines on my face and the sadness in my hazel eyes. He reached over and put the arm that was free around my neck. Robert and I both depended on his strength.

“Let's not think about him,” Simon said, and pulled me in closer.

“You can never be free of the folks you leave behind, can you?”

“Everybody is moving along. Ain't nobody staying the same. You, me, Robert and Ms. Pearl is doing something new. We are free.”

The sign was tilted in the window, and the meticulous side of
me got the urge to go inside and straighten it out—make it better, but it was only a thought. It was a quaint little club famous for bringing in fresh and new jazz talent to the Heights. We'd heard a few famous folks had been there, but Simon and I had not been anywhere since coming to Richmond, other than to the ice cream bar, for a cup of fresh churned, homemade vanilla cream.

“You want to come back tonight and hear her sing?”

I wasn't sure if I wanted to see her or not. She was the woman seeing my momma's husband, even though he was a sinner when they met. Ms. Pearl hadn't done anything to me, and the one time when we met at the church picnic, she had smiled at me and said I had the prettiest eyes. Momma didn't take too kindly to women like her. She felt a woman should work in the kitchen or for her children. I never heard her mention the bedroom, and I'm certain she didn't believe in anybody singing in anyplace outside of church.

“Yes, I want to go.” I replied, “I'll see if Mrs. Hall wouldn't mind watching Robert for me. She is always begging me to leave him with her.”

“For us…,” Simon corrected me.

We walked right past a crowded street trolley hissing along, made the right turn at the corner, a block from the nightclub, and waited in line for an elderly colored lady with high cheekbones to fill our cups with ice cream. It was good, and almost tasted as good as Momma's, but she didn't have strawberries. Robert's eyes widened at the sight of the cup. We sat at the counter along with other free-minded colored people. Back home, colored-people were only farmers, and sitting at an ice cream counter was unheard of. Richmond was surely different from the country; colored people strutted instead of walking bent over, hiding their faces from the white man. It was a sight to see.

S
imon and I arrived around 7:30, just as a black Studebaker pulled up and let out banker, Mrs. Maggie Walker. People recognized the car and rushed in closer to see her. Simon and I watched nearby at the spectators smiling and waving at her. Simon stood straight up with his mouth wide open, gawking at the shiny, black new Studebaker. “You like that car, Carrie?”

“Yes,” I answered, anxiously waiting to catch a glimpse of the famous Maggie Walker. When she got out of the car, she was taller than me, and her light-yellow skin smoother and softer in appearance than what I'd expected. She had me mesmerized. I'm not sure what I thought she'd look like, but she was not the person I'd envisioned. She had a gregarious smile and shook hands with anybody who dared to walk up to her. I stood glued to the stone pavement. I wanted to do the same, but my feet wouldn't move—felt like I was carrying around bricks on my feet.

The air was thin and fresh, and every star in the sky was out and in place. The colored folks were exquisitely dressed, the ladies with dropped-waist chiffon dresses embellished with sequins and pleats. The men wore church suits and hats. It was a parade of beautiful people walking in with their backs as straight as a pole, demanding the attention of those of us eager to get a glimpse of the new fashions I could only dream about.

I had never been in a place like this. I didn't think I was old enough to be there, but who could turn us away, a married woman and her husband. The one time I'd been in a place similar was when I was in Jefferson County and my momma let me go with her to hunt down her drunken husband. We went to the joint and she told me, “Now sit out here. I've got a few questions to ask.” Once she was inside, I got out of the wagon and peeked in the side window. It was full of a bunch of church folks drinking whiskey and some of them were drunk and leaning sideways in their chairs. But, when Momma returned, she said to me, “Now this is no place for a lady. Only floozies hang around this place.” She helped her drunken, “corn liquor seeping out from his pores” husband into the wagon, and we went home.

This place was different, though. The patrons were businesslike. The dungarees had been replaced with trousers, ironed and creased. The women Momma called floozies were business owners, and leaders in Jackson Heights. It was a warm place. And, I fit in just like the rest of the ladies. I had on my same tan dress, but it had been altered and updated once I saw how the ladies dressed in Richmond. I made it into a dropped waist by cutting the bottom of the dress below my hips and sewing on black fabric I had pinned into pleats. It was as pretty as the rest of the dresses, and it was a tailored fit. I'm so glad Momma had taught me how to sew. My hair was curled under, and I had on a little rouge and pink lipstick. “You look like a China doll, baby,” Simon whispered to me at the club. Mrs. Hall had already told me I looked like a grown woman instead of the teenager I was. Simon was as dapper as the men coming into the club. He had on a dark-brown suit with a bowtie. This was the first time ever I'd seen him dressed this well. He almost looked like Mr. Camm, but I reminded myself how most men in the city dressed distinguished.

The money Simon had made on the road could possibly have been spent in one place, yet he was frugal. He ordered us both a Pepsi-Cola, and we snacked on the complimentary peanuts already in a dish on the walnut-stained tables. Through the dim light, we gazed at each other passionately. There was something mystical about the lights being low. I felt vulnerable, and maybe even sexy. Simon eyed me intensely, like he could bite me, and I blushed and smiled like a Cheshire cat. The place was beautiful. Each of the tables had a lamp, the low light casting a romantic glow and my Simon gazing at me like he had something he wanted to say.

“You all right?” Simon asked.

“Yes. This is so exciting! I ain't ever been in a place like this,” I said, looking around and admiring the faces and fashions of the beautiful people.

He put his arm around me. He appeared comfortable, relaxed in this atmosphere. He was more like the patrons than different.

“Have you ever been here?” I tried to resist asking him, knowing I might get jealous of his answer.

“I've been here before.”

It was not the answer I expected to hear, although I could tell he was in familiar territory. So, I got a little concerned.

“Were you alone?”

“No, I came with a few cats from the team. When we come in town, we occasionally get dressed, and have a drink.”

I didn't know my husband was a drinker of anything outside of Pepsi and water.

“This is not something I do all the time,” he added, “and it is not the kind of place you should come to by yourself,” he said, smiling and pointing. It was as if he were giving orders to me. It was more like a fatherly lecture than one of a husband.

“I'm nervous; do you think I will fit in?”

“Sure. These people are no better than you,” he assured me.

“It ain't that many country girls in here, I can tell. Most of them hold their drinks differently, and the women sit with their legs crossed instead of their feet crossed at the ankles.”

He chuckled. “People are people. Country folks are like city folks; they just have different chores to do.”

“The women remind me of my teacher, Mrs. Miller. She always had on a variety of dresses. She wasn't plain like me.”

“Tonight, you look like the rest of the women in here, but better,” he said.

A girlish smile swept across my face, and I could feel my cheeks reddening. I no longer needed the rouge on my cheeks.

The club filled up quickly. All the seats at the tables were taken and most of the wooden stools around the bar. Ms. Pearl could definitely fill a room. Everyone chatted and listened to the soft sounds, eager to get a glimpse of the singer. Mrs. Maggie Walker sat at the table right in front at center stage. All of the people at her table seemed to carry a certain demeanor. They appeared confident and relaxed. All of them were dressed so dapper, I had to stare. The black suits and bowties made the men stand out, and the ladies had fitted chiffon dresses of all colors. Simon and I were somewhere in the middle, but close enough to see everything that was taking place. I was jittery since this was my first time.

At ten minutes past nine o'clock, in walked Ms. Pearl. She took long, deliberately slow strides straight up to the microphone in the middle of the stage. It was as if she were a swan, the way she glided and strolled delicately through the tables and up the side stairs to the middle of the stage. The crowd roared at the sight of her, and I started to sweat like a nervous little kid. I knew she was famous, but not this famous. Everybody stood up and the applause
seemed to grow louder and stronger. Simon smiled and clapped his hands so vigorously his palms turned a bright pink.

Ms. Pearl stood in the middle of the stage smiling and posing. The red chiffon dress she had on with sequins on the pleats fit her like a Sunday glove. Every curve on her body was highlighted, and her dress sparkled. Her makeup was flawless. The nutmeg powder and the rouge on her cheeks gave her a burst of color. She seemed too beautiful to have ever lived in Jefferson County.

“Good evening, beautiful people!” she said in her sultry Southern accent.

The crowd answered, “Good evening to you too, Mz. Pearl!”

She pulled the microphone close to her rose-red lips and bellowed out some of the deepest tones I'd ever heard. Her voice was rich and heart-wrenching. When she started to sing, it sounded like every word flowed right from her heart and everyone felt it. She stood tall and statuesque demanding the ears of the patrons. Those who were chatting before she appeared on stage were engrossed soulfully into her rhythm. They clapped, and some stood up while others swayed from left to right. Simon and I both bobbed our heads. A few people danced in the aisles. Simon took my hand. “Want to dance?” I couldn't dance, but I'd always wanted to. So, I grabbed his waiting hand and we went to the center of the hardwood dance floor, in the middle of the tables. I laid my head on his broad chest, and we both closed our eyes and inhaled the music to the fullest, along with the cigar smoke.