Coffee Will Make You Black (15 page)

“I hates a liar!” The man stamped his foot. “I hates a liar! He swore up and down that they was through.” The man wiped his eyes, smearing his black eyeliner.

“My mother says all men are dogs. Some are just more doggish than others.” I said, trying to make him feel better.

“Your mama is right, honey. I should kill the sucker!”

I wondered if he had a gun. Because this little man didn't look like he could even whip Kevin.

“No, you might end up in jail. And besides you wouldn't want to have that on your conscience, would you?”

“It wouldn't bother me one bit to have that on my conscience.”

I swallowed.

“But Ted and that hussy ain't worth going to jail behind.”

“That's true,” I said, feeling relieved.

The man sniffed and threw his head back. “Besides, mens are like buses. If you miss one, there's always another one coming,” he said, clapping his hands.

I smiled. “That's the spirit.”

“Thank you so much, honey, you are a beautiful person.”

“You're welcome.”

“Well, let me go catch this bus,” the man said, switching away in his tight polyester pants.

High school seemed a million miles away to me.

chapter 13

“Don't you think you're a little too old to be spying on people? You need to forget about that sissy!”

I ignored Carla and strained to see through the slit in the red curtains behind the plate-glass window of the Peek-A-Boo Lounge.

“Stevie, you as pathetic as that sissy you told me about!”

I was just curious. Every now and then I looked to see if Ted was in there with that hussy. So far, I'd never seen him again.

“Carla, come look!” I shouted.

“Girl, I don't have time to be …”

“Is that a white lady sitting up at the bar, or do I need glasses?”

“… peeking through a window at some old sleazy white broad some nigger dragged in the Peek-A-Boo Lounge.”

I looked at the slightly plump red-haired woman sitting alone, hunched over a drink, supporting her head with one hand. She turned and looked nervously toward the doorway. I was able to see her face. It looked strangely familiar.

“Stevie, if you don't bring your tail on … It's cold out here.” Carla started down the street.

“Carla, it looks like Miss Humphrey!”

“Girl, you must need bifocals!” Carla teased. “Miss Humphrey wouldn't be sitting up in the Peek-A-Boo.”

“Carla, it
is
Miss Humphrey, 'cause that's the same green blouse she had on in Art class under her smock today!”

“Okay, this I gotta see. Sho is Miss Humphrey, I can't believe it!”

“Carla, she's getting up, she's walking toward the door!”

“Let's go, Stevie.” As we turned away from the window, we bumped into each other, and I dropped my books and papers. I bent down and began picking them up.

“Would you two like to come inside with me?”

I looked up, surprised to see Miss Humphrey just smiling back. Carla turned around a few feet away.

“Come on, you look like you could use a drink.” Miss Humphrey helped me up from the sidewalk and then motioned to Carla. She walked toward us kind of stiff.

“But … but …” I swallowed. Miss Humphrey just pulled open the glass door and pushed us into the dark room.

“Hey, C.C., two Shirley Temples for my friends.” The shapely woman with a blond afro behind the bar nodded.

I turned around on the high bar stool, sipping my drink, which tasted like a 7-Up. There were two men in leather jackets playing pool. One of them had a bald head, and he reminded me of Isaac Hayes. There was an attractive couple at one of the tables, and a sorry-looking man was slumped over the other end of the bar. James Brown was singing “Cold Sweat” on the jukebox. I started tapping my foot and began to relax a little. Mama never had to find out.

Miss Humphrey pulled a cigarette out of her pack.

“Can I have a smoke?” Carla tossed her head.

Miss Humphrey hesitated, then handed her one.

Carla doesn't smoke, I thought.

Miss Humphrey lit Carla's cigarette. Carla coughed and tried to pretend like she was clearing her throat.

“I call myself hooking up with this nigger and it looks like he's turning out to be jive.” Miss Humphrey muttered like she was starting to get pissed.

I scrunched my face up. Miss Humphrey didn't talk this way in Art class. I hated it when white people tried to talk like they were black. And Miss Humphrey sounded so phony. I guess she thought she sounded cool.

“Maybe he's on C.P. time.” Carla blew out smoke.

“Huh?” Miss Humphrey sounded confused.

“Colored people's time,” I said, acting cool.

“Oh, yeah, right, colored people's time. At first I didn't hear you.” Miss Humphrey tried to play it off.

“Miss Humphrey, the button on your blouse popped open,” I said, trying to be polite.

“Look,” Miss Humphrey smiled, “let me show you something.”

She pulled at her bra strap, showing us a small tattoo of a rose right above her left breast.

“That's really slick,” Carla said.

“Yeah, it's pretty,” I added.

“Do you get it, though?” We shook our heads. “It's a rose, and my name is Rose. Get it now?” Me and Carla nodded.

Then the front door opened, and a big, tall, handsome man walked in. Miss Humphrey's eyes looked like they were gonna melt. She turned, almost falling off the bar stool.

“'Bout time you brought your black ass on in here.” Miss Humphrey sounded more loving than tough. But I still didn't like her saying “black,” and a teacher saying “ass.”

“Thanks for the drink, Rose.” Carla was putting out her cigarette.

“Yeah, thanks.” I was heading toward the door.

“Why y'all beautiful ladies leaving when I'm just getting here!” the man said, laughing. I smiled, feeling shy.

“You want us to stay?” Carla batted her eyes.

“Yeah, come on back,” the man laughed.

“Okay.” Carla grinned, turning around.

“Okay.” I smiled, following them.

“I just love to be surrounded by beautiful ladies,” the man said.

“What time did we say?” Miss Humphrey frowned, looking down at her watch.

“Be cool,” the man said, smiling. “I couldn't leave the plant till three-thirty. I had to go through some changes, traffic and what-not,” he explained.

“What's happenin, mama?” he yelled to the waitress.

“Nothing, cool,” C.C. answered from the back.

“Okay, okay, you're here now. James Robinson, this is Carla Perkins and Jean Stevenson.” Miss Humphrey pointed at us.

“Y'all can call me James,” the man said.

“You can call me Stevie.”

“You can call me anything.” Carla put her hands on her hips.

“Let's get a booth,” Miss Humphrey said, grinding out her cigarette.

“I've got to visit the little girls' room,” Miss Humphrey said after we ordered drinks.

“How come you with a white woman?” Carla asked as soon as Miss Humphrey was out of earshot.

James started clearing his throat and hemming and hawing. “I ain't with a white woman; me and Rose are just messing around,” he explained.

“Well, how come you messing with a white woman when my sisters are sitting at home?” Carla wanted to know.

“Look here, the white man used black women during slavery and beyond.”

“You just using Miss Humphrey?” I asked.

“Let's just say I'm a brother trying to get over, that's all. Hey, when the revolution starts I'll be right there on the front line,” James insisted, patting his afro. “Rose is just a nice side dish, that's all,” he explained.

“Don't you like Miss Humphrey?” I asked, still confused.

“I like what I'm gonna get.” James smiled.

“You too cold,” Carla said, grinning, “but you a bona-fide brother. At first I thought you was like my Uncle Willie. He told my Uncle Melvin, ‘Man, you need a white woman to go with that car.' See, my uncle had just drove up in a brand-new Cadillac. I thought maybe you had a brand-new car too. Maybe you'd take us for a ride in it.”

“No, Carla, it ain't even hardly like that, I'm driving a sixty-two Chevy. But that's a good one: ‘You need a white woman to go with that car,'” James said with a smile. “I'll have to remember that. You need a white woman to go with that car.” He laughed.

We all laughed, but I didn't feel happy.

I was drinking my second Shirley Temple, wondering if Miss Humphrey really liked James. “Sip it,” Carla whispered in my ear. I looked across at James and Miss Humphrey and noticed that they were sipping their drinks. I stopped drinking and commenced to sip.

“I wish we were all somewhere really nice.” Miss Humphrey smiled.

“Like where?” Carla asked.

“I wish we were all lying on a beach in the warm sand. The sun would feel so good against our skin.”

“Don't nobody need a tan but you.” James snickered.

“The sky is so blue, you can see just a few puffy white clouds,” Miss Humphrey continued, closing her eyes. “Everything is peace and love and we're feeling groovy. You can smell the ocean.”

“Do we have to go to school there?” Carla wanted to know.

“Just take it all in. We're in the school of life.”

“Can I get y'all anything?” C.C. came out of nowhere.

“Just sink in the sand deeper and deeper on down.” Miss Humphrey rolled her head back.

C.C. looked at Miss Humphrey like she was crazy.

James shook his head, “You might need to get this one a straitjacket, but I'll have another beer.”

“Another bourbon please, and how about some goblin punch for my two trick or treaters?” Miss Humphrey kept her eyes closed.

“We're too old to go trick or treatin',” Carla said, groaning.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “we're in high school.”

“I got some hot cider,” C.C. said.

“Rose, you were really trippin' there for a minute,” James said, after C.C. left.

“No, I wasn't, I was just talking about something beautiful.” She belched.

“Well, are you back to reality now?” James asked.

“Love is my reality.” Miss Humphrey pounded the table. “I know what's beautiful; I'm an artist. These girls are beautiful. They think they're tough, but they're just innocent babies. Especially this one,” Miss Humphrey reached over and held my face between her hands. “She has the soul of an artist.” She still had sense enough not to reach for Carla.

Miss Humphrey pressed her forehead against mine. I wanted to tell her to get out of my face. I could smell the alcohol on her breath.

“I'm not a baby,” I said. “I just turned fourteen.”

“I'm twice your age,” Miss Humphrey said. “You know you've got a long time to be an adult, but only a short time to be a child, remember that. So enjoy it while you can.” Then Miss Humphrey kissed my forehead. I wanted to escape. I felt so embarrassed, plus I had to pee.

“Rose, leave the girl alone!” James commanded. “This ain't the Haight Ashbury, this is the South Side of Chicago. She ain't no flower child. Can't you see you're making a fool of yourself?”

“Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.” I split the scene.

“Don't turn cold like the world,” I heard Miss Humphrey shout behind me. “There's no more toilet paper,” she added loudly.

I sat holding a paper towel inside the bathroom stall.

“Stevie, it's me.” Carla handed me a roll of toilet paper under the door.

“I'm glad it's you and not her.” I sighed.

“Girl, I didn't know she tripped like that. I swear I'll never understand peckawoods. The broad really needs help.”

“Carla, I didn't know what to say.”

“She knew better than to get all up in my face like that,” Carla yelled from inside the other stall. “I would've asked that honky what her problem was. I would've jumped bad, do you hear me?” Carla tapped her foot against the cement floor. “What are you doing in there, are you constipated?”

“No, I'm reading. Faye loves Bobby,” I announced.

“That's nothing, Debbie digs Dick.” Carla laughed.

“Well Cathy is a hoe.”

“Shoot, Michael is a dog.”

“Let's space this place soon,” I said, flushing the toilet.

“Don't worry, we're at the library, remember? I told Rose our mamas think that. Let's just wait awhile, I think things might get juicy. Besides, James is what you call easy on the eyes.” Carla laughed.

“Okay, till six,” I said, combing my hair in the mirror.

When we returned, James had his arm around Miss Humphrey. Me and Carla slid into the booth.

“I know we've seen each other three times now, but I'm not sure I want to wake up next to someone who doesn't really care about me,” Miss Humphrey was saying.

The conversation had definitely gotten juicy, in my opinion.

“Now all of a sudden you're trying to act so prim and proper. Like you're so deep,” James complained.

“I'm not prim and proper, but I'm not superficial either,” Miss Humphrey insisted.

“The hell you're not. I know what you see when you see me, Miss Lady.”

“What do I see, since you know so much?” Miss Humphrey lit a cigarette and moved away from him.

“We got minors present, besides you know what you see.” James raised his eyebrows.

“Don't let us stop you,” Carla said eagerly.

I was ready to hear the dirt too.

“This is almost the end of nineteen sixty-seven,” Miss Humphrey reminded him. “These girls aren't that sheltered.”

“I thought they were innocent babies,” James said sarcastically.

“You think all I see is a nigger with a big black dick, don't you?” Miss Humphrey blurted out.