Little Black Girl Lost (8 page)

W
hen she heard the car door slam, the woman next door quickly rushed to the window to watch her new neighbor leave. She wondered how soon she'd move in. She decided to bake the woman a sweet potato pie and welcome her to the neighborhood.

Johnnie looked at the window and saw the woman again. This time she waved to let the woman know she would be a friendly neighbor. The woman smiled and waved back enthusiastically. Both women thought they had made a friend even though they hadn't spoken to each other.

As they backed out of the driveway, Johnnie looked at the two-car garage and wondered if Earl would buy her a car. She decided to test the water. “Earl, how am I supposed to get to school livin' way out here?”

“The same way the other children get to school. On the bus.”

Earl thought about what he had just said.
Children?
He forgot just how young she really was. In all the time he had known her, except for the first few times he slept with her, he never thought about how old she was. She looked like a woman. She acted like a woman.
She is a woman. After all, I made her a woman, didn't I?
But still he felt guilty for even being in the situation with her. He just wanted to fuck her a few times and be done with her, but she had grown on him like no other woman had in his life. There was no way he was going to give her up now—not ever.

Johnnie hoped her comment about school would make Earl think she was still attending so she could continue to have the freedom to do as she pleased. That way, during the day, she could sneak Lucas Matthews over, or maybe even Martin Winters. She wanted to work during school hours and invest her money. Plus, she could say she was going to the library to study, just in case she wanted to see them at night without suspicion.

“What hotel do you want to go to?”

“The Bel Glades. Isn't that where you used to work?”

“Now, you know they don't allow Negroes in there. But if you play your cards right, maybe one day I'll sneak you in.”

“If I play my cards right, huh?” she said wryly. “In that case, take me to the Savoy. I shouldn't have any trouble gettin' in there, even with you. I hear tell that's where all the coloreds from the ghetto and the upper class whites go to fornicate.”

“The Savoy it is.”

“Earl, I want you to get those guys to hurry up with the house. I don't want to stay in the hotel for a month. I'm going to need furniture and everything. Do you mind if I don't get carpeting? I like the floors as they are. I prefer rugs. Is that okay?”

“Anything you want.”

 

 

Entering the Savoy, they were greeted by a short, stocky colored man with a balding head. He opened the glass door for them and smiled a professional smile like he'd done so many times that it was second nature. As they walked to the front desk to register, he shook his head. When he was sure they were far away, he shook his head again and said, “What a waste. Beautiful black girl like that givin' it up to the white man.” It wasn't anything he hadn't seen a thousand times at the hotel, but each time he saw it, he would say the same thing. He turned his attention to the guests now entering the hotel.

The clerk was on the telephone when they reached the desk. He smiled and put his index finger in the air. A moment later, he hung up the phone and said, “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Earl said. “We want the best room this hotel has to offer.”

J
ohnnie opened her eyes the next morning, refreshed from a good night's sleep in the comfortable queen-sized bed. Earl, after dipping his pole in Johnnie, swaggered home to his wife and children in the middle of the night. Johnnie turned her head to the left, looking at the clock. It was 7:30. As she lay there, she thought of all the things she had to do that day. It was Friday. School would be starting in half an hour. It felt good to know she didn't have to go.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Mama.”

“Are you okay?” Marguerite asked, relieved she finally called.

“Yes, Mama. I'm fine.”

“Well, when are you comin' home? And how come you ain't in school?”

“Mama, I'm never comin' home again. At least not to live.”

“What do you mean you're not comin' home?”

“I mean I'm not comin' home, period. But if you don't mind, I'd like to see your deed.”

“See my deed for what?”

“Well, Earl is buyin' me a house and—”

“Girl, that man ain't gon' buy you no house. All men lie like that. Ain't you learn nothin' from me in all these years?”

“Mama, I'm not a child anymore. And yes, I've learned quite a bit from you; especially about men.”

“If you have, why would you believe that shit about him buyin' you a house? They all talk that shit. I'm gon' buy you this. I'm gon' buy you that. They just a bunch of talk as long as you givin' it up. Then when they got enough, they gone.

“Well, Mama, Earl is different, he did—”

“Earl ain't no different. Do you know how long he begged me to have you? He been wantin' you since you was twelve years old. Now that he done had you, it's just a matter of time before his perverted ass gets tired of you and moves on to the next colored woman that makes his dick hard.”

“Mama, will you listen to me for a second?”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“Okay, listen, he took me to the house yesterday and I—”

“Girl, stop all that lyin'. That man ain't took you to no house. And if he did, it was his or somebody he knows. Don't be so gullible.”

“I'm not stupid, Mama.”

“If you believe a white man like him is gon' buy you a house, you outta yo' mind.”

“Mama, I'm sittin' here lookin' at the deed.”

“You lookin' at it, huh? Is it real?”

“I don't know. That's why I want to come by and look at yours.”

“Well, bring it on by. I wanna see this.”

“Mama, I was in the house. He had the keys and everything.”

“Where this house at?”

“Ashland Estates.”

“Ashland Estates! That's where them stuck-up niggas live. They think they better than us. Maybe he knows somebody colored that owns the place. Maybe he owns it and gave you a phony deed. But anyway, those houses are expensive out there. You sure it was Ashland Estates?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And you say yo' name is on the deed?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmmm, okay, bring it on by. I gotta see this.”

“Okay, I'll be by after I do some shoppin' at Sears.”

“At Sears? You got money to shop at Sears?”

“Mama, I have plenty of money. I even have a stockbroker who bought me some stock in the company, so it only makes sense to shop there.”

Marguerite was quiet. She was thinking about what her sixteen-year-old daughter was telling her.
What if he did buy her a house? That man must sho' nuff be in love. Ain't no other explanation.

“Mama? You still there?”

“Yeah, honey. I'm just thinkin' about what you said.”

“Okay, well, I'll be by later on.”

“Okay, now tell me why you didn't go to school today.”

“I'll talk to you about that later, Mama. I'm about to take a shower.”'

“A shower, huh? Where you at, girl?”

“The Savoy Hotel. I have a nice room. Why don't you bring the deed down here and see the place? If you like, I can show you the house. I have the keys.”

Marguerite wondered if she should tell her daughter that she plied her trade at the hotel regularly, then quickly dismissed it.

“Sure, I can come down there. What time?”

“Oh, you know what?” Johnnie said, remembering her plans to catch up with Lucas Matthews. “I have some stuff to do at the house anyway. How about I bring the deed, take care of some things, and then I can show you the house? You can see the hotel later, okay?”

“Okay. Talk to you then. Bye.”

“Bye, Mama.”

“U
mm , umm, umm,” Simmons muttered, shaking his head. “I'd like to break my dick off in that. Is she fine, or what?”

Johnnie entered the lobby of the Savoy, attracting attention from every direction. She was wearing a yellow outfit—sundress, hat, purse, shoes, and sunglasses.

“Yes, Lawd!” Myron, the daytime doorman, said.

Johnnie could feel all the attention. As usual, she felt a little self-conscious; especially when men stared at her ass. They stared at it so long that it felt like they were attempting to look into the crack. Nevertheless, she smiled politely.

“How you doin', you beautiful creature from heaven?” Myron asked, as cool as he could.

“I'm doing just fine. And you?” she said as she walked past him.

Myron took her politeness as an invitation to more conversation and followed her.

“Where you think you going, Myron?” Simmons asked. “You're on the clock.”

Myron stopped in his tracks and went back to the desk, frowning at Simmons. “You can get mad all you want,” Simmons said. “You're gettin' paid by the hour.”

“That's bullshit,” Myron said. “You just want to get the first crack of that sculptured ass.”

“That's right,” Simmons said and followed her. “I'ma have her climbin' the walls.”

When Simmons got to Trudy's Café, he stood at the door and admired Johnnie's beauty from a distance, wondering what his chances were. He and many of his friends shared the notion that colored women who dated white men wouldn't date colored men.
What the hell? What have I got to lose? All she can do is say no.
He walked over to the table and asked courteously, “Is this chair taken?”

He didn't wait for an answer. He was sliding the chair back before he finished the question. Johnnie recognized him immediately. He was the man she had seen yesterday going into the house in Ashland Estates. Simmons was an average looking man, nothing at all like Lucas Matthews, Johnnie thought.

“Hi. I'm Robert Simmons, owner of this establishment. And you are?”

“Johnnie Wise,” she said, extending her hand.

“Anyone tell you you're absolutely gorgeous?”

“All the time,” she said without sounding arrogant.

Simmons was staring at her breasts. He could see her nipples through the sundress, and yearned to see more. Johnnie let him stare for a while; she was getting used to it. She noticed how when staring at her breasts, the expression on a man's face seemed to reveal his true nature.

“Something I can do for you, Mr. Simmons?” she asked, awakening him out of his deep gaze.

“You can call me Robert,” he said, trying hard to keep looking her in the eye. “I just thought you might want some company now that your boyfriend is gone.”

“You're rude, Mr. Simmons.” Johnnie frowned.

“What do you mean, I'm rude?”

“For one, you invite yourself to my table and sit down without my sayin' it's okay.”

The waitress came back with Johnnie's fruit salad and placed it on the table. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” Johnnie said.

“How 'bout you, Robert?”

“No thank you, Trudy.”

“Enjoy your salad,” Trudy said, placing the bill on the table.

“Now, as I was sayin',” Johnnie began again. “You invite yourself to my table, you stare at my breasts like you've never seen breasts before, then you ask me personal questions as if we're old friends or somethin'.”

“Well, first, Ms. Wise, I invited myself because you were sitting here all by your lonesome and—”

Johnnie looked up from her fruit salad and said, “So, you think anybody who sits alone wants company?”

“Well no, but—”

“So, then it never occurred to you that I just might want to be alone, huh?”

Feeling like he was being cross-examined, he said, “If you didn't want me to sit down, why didn't you just say so?”

“You sat down before I even had the chance to answer your question, Mr. Simmons.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“If I do, will you?”

“I might.”

“Then there's no point in answering your question, is there?”

“Not really.”

Johnnie took a deep breath and let it out like she was exasperated, then resumed eating her fruit salad.

“What do you want, Mr. Simmons?”

“For starters, I want you to call me Robert.”

“The way Trudy does?”

“Yes. I'm just being friendly.”

“Are you friendly with all your guests, Mr. Simmons?”

“Only the ones I find extremely attractive,” he said, smiling again.

“So, are you having sex with Trudy?”

Simmons' guilt revealed itself on his face. He didn't like the idea of her asking about Trudy, especially since she was right. Johnnie knew she was on target and smiled. She shook her head in amazement then finished off her salad.

“What's that to you?”

“It's nothing to me, Mr. Simmons, but I would think one of us would be enough for one of you. What makes you think you can handle another woman?”

“Not to brag, but I'm insatiable.”

Johnnie didn't know what insatiable meant, so she said, “Went to college, huh?”

Simmons laughed. Johnnie was amazed at the reaction she got from the comment and decided to use it whenever she didn't know what a word meant. That way, whoever used words she didn't understand wouldn't know the extent of her education.

Johnnie picked up the check and Simmons gently took it out of her hand, making sure his hand touched hers. He looked in her eyes hoping for some indication of how good his chances were.

“It's on the house.”

“Thank you, Mr. Simmons,” she said and started walking toward the exit.

Simmons turned toward the cash register and shouted, “Trudy, put this on my tab.”

Trudy waited until he turned around, then turned up her nose.

“What do I have to do to get you to call me Robert?” he asked, catching up with her.

“I don't know, Mr. Simmons, but I'm sure you'll think of something.”

“How about lunch or dinner later?” he said as they walked through the lobby.

“I'll be busy later.”

“With that white man?”

“With my mother, if you must know.”

“So, the thing with the white man was just a one time thing, huh?”

Johnnie stopped walking. They were standing at the lobby exit. She put her hands on her hips, saying, “Is this how you plan to seduce me? By questionin' my relationship with a white man? How far do you think you'll get with that approach?”

“You're right, you're right. I'm sorry.”

“Is it askin' too much for you to show me some respect? The same respect you would show any white woman that comes to this hotel with a colored man. Would you disrespect her even if she was with a colored man? I don't think so. If you won't disrespect her, don't disrespect me. Good day, Mr. Simmons.”

Johnnie turned around and walked through the revolving door. Simmons stood there looking at her ass until she disappeared down the street. Then he turned around and saw Myron laughing.

“You can laugh if you want to, but I'ma get some of that.”