Little Black Girl Lost (4 page)

M
arguerite bathed and prepared herself for a rendezvous with a married preacher named Richard Goode, who also served as the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. She usually met her clients, as she called them, while Johnnie was in school or after she went to bed. Goode had been paying for her sexual expertise for years, unbeknownst to the Klan for obvious reasons. Their sexual liaison was a closely guarded secret, but like most secrets, word leaked out. The few colored folk who knew about it kept quiet for various reasons. Most of them feared repeated reprisals from the Klan, but Robert Simmons had his own reasons for keeping it quiet.

Simmons was a black man who owned the Savoy Hotel. His family owned it since he was a little boy. Now, he managed the hotel's daily operations and often greeted guests at the main desk. The hotel earned its reputation for allowing mixed couples to check in several years earlier when Simmons let one of his friends bring a white woman there to make love.

Simmons was against it at first, fearing the white populace might burn down his hotel if word ever got out. Slowly, the news spread that it was okay to bring white women to the Savoy. Late one night, Richard Goode brought Marguerite to the hotel. He was surprisingly cordial, but he made Simmons promise to keep it quiet. If he agreed, Goode promised he would see to it that nothing happened to his hotel. When Simmons asked how he planned to do that, Goode told him he would simply tell the Klan that any white woman who would sleep with a nigger was trash and was of no use to the white race. It would be best to let the degenerates leave the race so the pure white women would remain.

Simmons agreed. Since then, mixed couples had the freedom to go to the Savoy to indulge their carnal appetites. Strangely enough, racial problems continued to pervade the city. The Savoy was the only safe haven in New Orleans for such activity. Simmons, as did many of the black men who worked there, hated the idea of black women sleeping with white men. Nevertheless, Simmons allowed it to go on in his hotel because these illicit affairs made him a lot of money.

It had been hot all day, but now it was quite cool. The wind felt good on Marguerite's skin at first, but she was getting cold. She folded her arms to keep from shivering. She was standing at the corner of Waite and Henry Streets just two blocks from where she lived, wearing a short black skirt and pumps. She wasn't wearing any panties because Goode loved to feel her up as he drove down the street, grinning.

She heard a car coming.
It's about time.
She thought it was Mr. Goode, as he demanded she call him, arriving to pick her up, but it wasn't. It was Sable Parish Sheriff Paul Tate, who was a regular client before his wife found out. He stopped the black and white, then rolled down the window.

“Now, what's a fine thing like you doing out here, Marguerite?”

Sheriff Tate got out and leaned against the patrol car with his arms folded. He was wearing a beige uniform and a black wide-brimmed Mounty hat. He was tall and slender and sported a thick mustache.

Marguerite walked over to him, feeling sexier with each step, and said, “Hi, Sheriff Tate. How you doin' tonight?” She reached out and patted his beer belly. She could smell beer on his breath. “Still drinkin' in the squad car on lonely nights, huh?”

“You gettin' beside yo'self, woman. Don't think you can talk to me any way you want. I'm still the fuckin' sheriff.”

“I know you the sheriff, Paul, honey. I know,” she said, rubbing her hands across his chest.

“You waitin' on the preacher to pick you up for one of his late night snacks?”

“Uh-huh,” Marguerite said, sliding her hand down to his crotch. She could feel him stiffening in her hand. “You need a snack tonight?”

Sheriff Tate couldn't contain his lust. He never could with her. She was the sexiest woman he had ever known. He couldn't be in her presence two minutes without wanting to take her. He tried for years to leave her alone, but his lust kept him coming back for more. He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her deeply.

“Now, Paul honey, you know I have a date tonight,” Marguerite said, pulling away. “If you want to see me, all you have to do is call.”

“You know I shouldn't be seeing you, Marguerite. Why do you torture me so?”

“Am I torturin' you?” Marguerite teased.

“You know you are,” Tate said and kissed her again.

Marguerite could see Goode's dark blue Chevrolet out of the corner of her eye, just down the street. She knew he was watching. She pulled away and backed off, then she folded her arms and smiled. “Yo' wife still houndin' you about seein' me?”

Tate told her that he promised his wife he wouldn't see her again, but Marguerite wanted to keep the money coming in. She had a nice little nest egg saved up. “Let's leave my wife outta this.”

With a serious tone, Marguerite said, “Sheriff Tate, are you going to arrest me tonight or what? 'Cause if you are, go ahead and arrest me. If you're not, then you need to let me handle my business with the preacher.”

“Marguerite, you know I'm not going to arrest you. I just don't understand why you would take that hypocritical Klan leader as a client.”

“Oh please, Paul. Where you get off callin' anybody a hypocrite? Look at you. You're the parish sheriff and you drink on duty. You pay me to have sex and you're married.”

“Yeah, well, at least I'm not a redneck racist.”

“You're not, huh?”

“No, I'm not.”

“So, you don't call us niggas?”

“Hey, I only call the bad ones that.”

“Just the men, you mean. Yet you wanna fuck me every chance you get.”

Sheriff Tate got back in the car and started it. He looked at her again, and said, “Put me down for tomorrow night.” Then he drove off.

R
ichard Goode waited until Sheriff Tate was out of sight before starting the car and turning on the lights. He pulled up to the corner where Marguerite was waiting, then rolled down his window and yelled, “Get your black ass in the car!” Marguerite laughed. His verbal abuse was part of his mating ritual. Goode always wanted oral sex, and while she gave it to him, he would call her a dirty black Jezebel. During intercourse, he whispered, “I hate you for making me do this.”

Marguerite dutifully walked around to the other side of the car and got in. Goode turned on the ceiling light. She pulled up her skirt so he could see she wasn't wearing panties. As he looked intensely at her luscious crotch, she often wondered what was going through his demented mind. She spread her legs for him. He put his hand there, attempting to feel her heat, which made him long to taste her sweet nectar. When he found her spot and Marguerite began to lubricate, an inane grin emerged on his face and he pulled off.

Whenever Goode had an appointment with Marguerite, he would call Simmons so that he would take the proper steps to insure secrecy. Simmons would register them under a phony name and sneak them in through the back door. He always gave them the same room close to the exit to make it as convenient as possible. One night, as Simmons was going out the back door to smoke a cigarette, he heard the strangest thing going on in the room and began listening to them.

Simmons couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had to see what was going on in there for himself. After they left, he drilled a small hole in the wall of the next room. When they came back, he would check them in, get a clerk to cover the desk, then go to the room he prepared to watch what was going on.

When they arrived, Simmons checked them in and gave the Klansman time to finish his business, as he wasn't interested in seeing a live sex act. Simmons was interested in what they did when the sex was done. He went to the kitchen and made himself a turkey sandwich with Monterey Jack cheese, bacon, lettuce, and tomatoes, with a pickle and chips on the side. He grabbed a bottle of Rolling Rock beer out of the refrigerator and went to his perch for a bird's eye view.

Simmons could still hear the creaking of the bedsprings when he arrived. He took his time walking over to his stool, where he watched the show. Even though he wasn't interested in the sex, he peeked in early anyway to see. Goode was pumping her hard, saying, “You goddamn gorilla. You beast of the field! You fucking animal! Oh, it's so good. Lord in heaven, why do you make me do this? I'm coooomiiiing!” Simmons shook his head.

Later, Marguerite came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a black bra. Goode was naked and lying on the bed. Simmons took a bite of his sandwich and watched Marguerite, who seemed to be beside herself with glee. Simmons could tell she enjoyed this part. Perhaps this was the reason she consented to the name-calling, he thought, and took a swallow of the beer.

“Do it, you evil black bitch!” Goode demanded.

Marguerite rubbed her hands over the back of his head and smiled. She grabbed a hunk of his thick hair and snatched his head back. His neck reddened as she pulled.

“You like that, Richard?”

“Yes, Mommy. I've been a bad boy. I deserve a whipping.”

Simmons put his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. He had watched the scene a hundred times. It became more hilarious each time he saw them.

“Good, because that's exactly what you're going to get.”

Marguerite went over to the mirrored dresser and picked up the black riding crop. She put her hand through the noose-like strap and went back over to the bed. She looked down at his vulnerable, pale body and proceeded to beat him mercilessly. Goode put his face in the pillow to squelch his cries. With each blow, a red welt appeared on his milky white buttocks. The beating was so fierce that Marguerite began to perspire.

Simmons sat there watching, shaking his head. A part of him was disgusted by this act in their sordid play. Another part of him enjoyed watching the leader of the Klan taking the kind of vicious beating he no doubt doled out to black men time and again; not to mention the random castrations and hangings that went on. Another part of him thought this was certainly God's divine justice in a world where justice was seldom realized.

“I'm ready!” Goode shouted.

Catching her breath, Marguerite grabbed the black dildo off the nightstand and inserted it in him.

W
hile making a pot of jambalaya, Johnnie found herself daydreaming more and more about Lucas Matthews, wondering how sex would be with him instead of Earl. When Earl came by, she made passionate love to Lucas Matthews. The daily fantasies about him fueled her lust, and the ruggedly handsome Lucas stayed on her mind like an incurable plague. Although they hadn't said anything more than hello to each other, she wondered how his lips and tongue would feel against her breasts and what it would be like to have his bronzed, naked body against hers. Johnnie often pictured Lucas coming over and taking her the way Earl did.

Instead of feeling guilty about it afterward, Johnnie believed she wouldn't feel any shame with Lucas. To Johnnie, he was her only true freedom from what her mother and Earl expected of her. With Lucas, she was free to run away from New Orleans and be a singer, even if it was only in her mind. As her fantasies about Lucas Matthews raced, she could feel moisture in her panties.

Johnnie was awakened from her lust-filled interlude with Lucas when she heard a key enter the lock of the front door. She knew it was Earl. After turning off the stove, she walked into the living room. The door opened and Earl entered, smiling broadly. Having seen that look on his face before, Johnnie knew he would recklessly invade her young body soon. She also knew he was going to want to share his day and whatever good news he had. She had come to understand Earl. All he needed was good sex on a regular basis, and a listening ear. That and a good home-cooked meal. In Johnnie, he had everything he wanted, except her love. And he would never have that.

“Hi!”

“Hello, Earl.” Johnnie yawned.

“Well, don't get all excited,” he said with a chilly tone.

“Earl, I'm tired. Don't expect me to get all excited just because you is.”

“Well, maybe this will excite you,” he said, reaching inside the breast pocket of his suit. He pulled out a white envelope and handed it to her.

“What's this?” Skeptically, Johnnie opened the envelope. To her surprise, there was a check for almost four thousand dollars. Overwhelmed, she said, “Whose money is this?”

“Who do you think?” Earl beamed. “Read the name on the check.”

She looked at the check again. Even though she saw her name, she still couldn't believe all that money was hers. It had been four months since she'd given Earl half of her money. He had kept his word.

Earl was rapidly moving up the corporate ladder, which was to be expected, being married to the boss' daughter. He wasn't a financial wizard by any stretch of the imagination, but Buchanan Mutual was growing by leaps and bounds. He simply bought her stock in the company. Everything was going according to plan.

Johnnie wanted to please Earl for making her all that money. She took off the red silk robe he'd given her on Valentine's Day, standing before him completely naked. Earl gazed intensely at her dark nipples, the contours of her body, then at her thick bush. The sight of her nakedness caused him to throb.

Johnnie undressed Earl, beginning with his jacket, then his shirt, leaving only his T-shirt on. She dropped to her knees and unbuckled his pants. They fell to the floor. She could see his hardness through his white underwear. She pulled them down and took him into her mouth. Earl placed his hand behind her head and moaned uncontrollably. She stood up and kissed his thin pink lips as if they belonged to Lucas Matthews.