Dollbaby: A Novel (31 page)

T
-Bone didn’t say a word as they drove along Louisiana Avenue and Birdelia snoozed in the backseat.

“That ain’t the first time,” T-Bone said after a while, breaking the uneasy silence.

“What do you mean?” Ibby asked.

“That Miss Annabelle. It ain’t the first time she done something like that.” He gave her a quick glance. “She come up to all the guys at the Audubon Stables flaunting her chubby white ass. She wasn’t picky, do it right there in the barn. Then up by the river, behind the trees down in the batture—saw her there once or twice too.”

Ibby looked away, not sure she really wanted to know if Annabelle’s escapades included him.

T-Bone shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, but I never did nothing.”

She kept her gaze on the window. “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

“Miss Ibby?” He touched her hand.

When Ibby turned around, he was leaning toward her. She thought he was about to kiss her, so she leaned in and closed her eyes.

“You know I like you, but—” T-Bone started to say.

Ibby opened her eyes to find T-Bone sitting about as far away from her as he could, leaning against the door.

“But you’re black and I’m white,” she finished for him, “and I’m only supposed to kiss white boys. At least that’s what Doll told me.”

“She said that?”

“Yes, after I kissed you at my party. I got a lecture.”

“She gave me a lecture too. Said we’re like—”

“Family. I know,” Ibby said.

They sat there for a moment, not quite knowing what else to say.

“Miss Ibby, there was something else I was trying to tell you just now. . . . The band I played with tonight is going on a tour of Europe, and they asked me to go with them.”

“I’m really happy for you.” After a few moments, she said, “T-Bone?”

“Yes, Miss Ibby?”

She wanted to say
I still like you
, but she knew that would be selfish on her part, so she said, “Don’t forget to send me a postcard.”

By now it was three in the morning. The roads were deserted. As T-Bone turned the car onto Prytania Street, Ibby suddenly felt exhausted. It had been a long, trying day. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed. Ibby hoped Fannie was asleep because she was probably going to be in trouble for coming home so late.

Birdelia was just waking up when they pulled up in front of Fannie’s house. She stretched her arms and looked around.

“What’s Poppy’s Cadillac doing in front of Fannie’s house?” She pointed to the car parked in front of them.

“Can’t be his car—you took it home not too long ago. Weren’t everybody asleep?”

Birdelia put her nose up against the glass, trying to get a better look. “That’s it. Recognize the dent in the back bumper.”

No lights were on in Fannie’s house, the only illumination coming from a single streetlamp that cast a paltry haze over the street.

“Sure is quiet,” Birdelia said as she got out of the car.

T-Bone glanced over his shoulder at the old Cadillac. “Something’s not right. I better walk you to the door, make sure everything’s okay.”

“I’ll come too. Not sitting out here all by my lonesome,” Birdelia chimed in.

As they started up the front walk, a flash of light spooked them. All three stopped short.

“What was that?” Birdelia whispered anxiously.

“Came from the tree,” T-Bone whispered back.

“What you mean?” Birdelia grabbed his shirt and held on.

Then there was another flash. This time it was pointed at them.

“What you doing here, boy?” came Crow’s voice, his head just visible above the hole in the ground. He was shining a flashlight at T-Bone.

“Daddy, what’s going on?” T-Bone asked.

Another head popped up. “Birdelia, why you all here?”

“Doll?” Ibby inched closer. “That you?”

“Oh Lawd, Miss Ibby. What y’all doing out this time a night?” Doll said.

“Who’s there?” came another hushed voice from below.

Doll looked down. “Shhhh, Mama—you gone wake Miss Fannie.”

“
Queenie’s
down there?” Ibby asked as Crow disappeared back into the hole, taking the flashlight with him, leaving them once again in the shadows.

“Shhhh,” Doll said again. “Why y’all up?”

“Been to the chicken drop,” Birdelia said. “What you doing in that hole?”

“I found it,” Crow said.

“You remember where you put it?” Queenie asked.

“Yes, woman. I found part of it. Lookey here.”

“Found what?” T-Bone put his hands on his hips.

Doll was standing on a ladder peeking out from the hole as Queenie and Crow searched with the flashlight for something down below.

“Long story, brother,” Doll said before turning her head. “Mama, you get on out and let T-Bone come down. He got better eyes.”

Soon Queenie’s head appeared. “Help your mama out, boy.”

T-Bone took Queenie’s arm and led her out, then backed down the ladder and disappeared into the hole.

“Birdelia, you skinny, go on down there,” Queenie said, “see if you can lend a hand, and take this garbage bag down with you.”

“What the heck is going on?” Ibby peeped over the edge.

Queenie took Ibby’s arm and led her to the front steps, away from all the commotion. “Come have a seat next to me.”

As Ibby sat, she could just make out Queenie’s profile in the dark. She was brushing off her dress. When she finished, she took Ibby’s hand in hers.

“I didn’t think Miss Fannie knew, but the way she’s been pacing on this porch makes me think she must have seen me and Crow out here that night all those years ago.” Queenie rocked herself as she always did when she was thinking about something that upset her. “For a long time now, you been wanting to know about that room upstairs, the one at the top of the stairs. Well, child, I’ll tell you about that night. It weren’t too long after Master Balfour died and your father got sent off to boarding school. Miss Fannie, she’d only been home a couple of weeks after going to the hospital with a nervous breakdown. She was still fragile. I kept an eye on her, especially when Mr. Norwood would go off on his stints on the river. When I look back on it, I shouldn’t have gone off to the market that day. Things might have been different.”

When no one was around, Fannie liked to listen to music. She’d go upstairs, open the windows, and turn up the phonograph until music filled the room. Occasionally a neighbor complained, but most of them had gotten used to the sounds of Glenn Miller or Tommy Dorsey in the late afternoon. On this particular day, Fannie was standing in the middle of her and Norwood’s bedroom in her bare feet, listening to “In the Mood” by Glenn Miller. She turned the phonograph up as loud as it would go, so loud the glass in the windows rattled, and danced
around waving a silk scarf, letting it float around her. Then she’d stop and go the other way, spinning slowly with her eyes closed until she grew dizzy. It was her way of chasing away the loneliness when Norwood was away on the river. She’d been up in their room for several hours now, pretending she was with him in front of a big stage in New York. She’d never been to New York, but he’d promised he’d take her there one day.

She was so wrapped up in her dreams that it took her several minutes to notice there was someone at the door to the bedroom. It was one of Queenie’s cousins, named Muddy, who came around every so often looking for money.

“You have no business up here, Muddy. You know better.” She waved him away, annoyed that she’d been disturbed in the middle of a song.

Muddy was a large man, over six and a half feet tall, pushing three hundred pounds. His face was void of expression, as if he hadn’t understood what Fannie was saying. He was a bit slow. She tried to explain so he’d understand.

“Queenie’s not here, Muddy. She’s off at the market. Now go on. You can wait downstairs in the kitchen.” She then turned her back and went back to dancing. When she opened her eyes a few moments later, Muddy was standing a few feet away from her. “What are you doing? I told you to go on downstairs. Now do as I say.” This time there was anger in her voice. She didn’t like people getting that close to her, much less an uninvited guest in her bedroom. “Did you hear me?”

Muddy stood there as if he wanted to ask her something but was afraid.

“You want money? That’s what you want?” she asked. “Here. I have some right here.”

She opened the drawer to the table next to the bed, where she kept cash and a small pistol. She counted out ten dollars and tried to hand it to him. He looked down at the money. Fannie thought he was trying to decide what to do. Maybe he thought it wasn’t enough.

“Here, go on. Take it and get on out of here like I told you.” She tried to put the money in his hand.

He swatted it away and shook his head. He took a step closer.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She felt a tinge of panic rise up in her, but she still thought he just didn’t understand. “Take the money and go!” she demanded.

The next thing she knew, he had pushed her to the floor and pulled up her dress. She tried to fight him. She clawed at his face, but he was strong. He slapped her across the cheek, startling her. She began to cry. He pushed her down. She felt his big belly on her chest as he thrust himself inside her. She tried to scream but nothing came out except a tear that trickled down the side of her face. There was nothing she could do but listen to the music and the sound of Muddy’s guttural moans.

When he finished, he rolled over and fell fast asleep. She pushed him aside and crawled out from beneath his leg. She reached into the open drawer by the bed and pulled out her pistol. She stood over the sleeping man and pointed the gun at him.

“How dare you,” she hissed.

She shot him five times, then once more in the face for good measure. Then she slumped down on the floor next to him with the gun still tightly gripped in her hands, the music that once made her so happy now drowning out her cries as blood seeped from beneath the body and inched close to where she was sitting. She didn’t move. She didn’t move even when she heard someone come into the room.

“Lawd, Miss Fannie, what have you done?” Queenie bent down next to Fannie and coaxed the pistol from her hands. “I got word that Muddy had gotten out of the asylum a few days ago. I’m sorry, Miss Fannie. I’m sorry I weren’t here when he came by. He usually no trouble. . . .” She rambled on as she helped Fannie up. “Come have a seat over here on the bed. Let me get you cleaned up. Then I figure out what to do with Muddy.”

Fannie vaguely heard her talking, but she was in a fog. Nothing
seemed real. She let Queenie help her onto the bed. She stared up at the ceiling. The music was still playing, but her tears had dried up, as if there were none left to be had.

Queenie came over to the bed with a damp washcloth and began to wipe her face. “Lawd, Miss Fannie, they is blood all over your dress. We got to get you out of it before Mr. Norwood comes home. When he coming back from the river?”

“Tomorrow night,” Fannie answered in a faint voice that didn’t even sound like hers.

“You in shock, Miss Fannie. You just lay there nice and calm while I clean you up.”

Fannie grabbed Queenie’s hand. “He mustn’t know. He must never know! It would kill him.”