Out of the Easy (17 page)

Willie’s house was filthier each day as Mardi Gras approached. I arrived at five
A.M.
and saw cars parked deep in the belly of the long driveway. Willie rarely allowed cars in the drive. She said it was an excuse for cops to look at the house. Fortunately, the police became more lax around Mardi Gras.

The girls worked late and slept late. Evangeline had settled into her new room. It no longer smelled like Mother. Willie was exhausted, but I didn’t dare deviate from our normal schedule. I held the coffee tray and tapped the bottom of her door with my foot.

“That better be my coffee, and it better be hot.”

I pushed through the door and found Willie sitting up in bed, surrounded by bulging stacks of cash.

“Shut that door. I don’t need the girls seeing this green. They’ll ask for a bonus—like I don’t know they’re all pocketing extra on the side as it is. Do I have ‘Stupid’ tattooed on my forehead?” She dropped her hands in her lap. “Well, what do you have?”

“The usual Mardi Gras leftovers.” I emptied my apron pockets on her bed. Single cuff links, silk ties, lighters, party invitations, hotel keys, and a bulging money clip.

Willie reached for the money clip and counted the contents. “That’s the Senator’s. Seal it in a plain envelope and give it to Cokie. Have him deliver it to the Pontchartrain Hotel. That’s where he’s staying. We’re lucky he was with Sweety and not Evangeline. What else?”

“Evangeline’s pillowcases are torn.”

“Yeah, she had the scratcher last night,” said Willie.

“Speaking of Evangeline,” I began carefully, “I noticed she’s got some new jewelry in her box.”

“It’s not stolen. She’s got a big man.”

“Someone new?” I asked.

“No, he comes by every once in a while.” Willie placed a tall stack near the end of the bed and continued sorting. “Three thousand. Bring me a warm washcloth. This cash is filthy.”

“Evangeline’s new date is a jeweler?” I called from the bathroom.

“Nah, he’s a developer from Uptown. Builds hotels and shopping centers. I don’t like him. He’s got a twisted need for power. But he throws cash like rice.”

I stood at Willie’s bedside and cleaned her hands with the warm cloth. She leaned back against her pillows and sighed.

“Willie, your hands are swollen. What happened?”

“They’re yeasty. Too much salt.” She pulled her hands from my grasp and quickly gathered up the bills, stacking and rubber-banding them by denomination. “I cleared three grand just last night. If this keeps going, it’ll be the best season yet. The safe is open. Put these in and bring me the green box from the bottom shelf.”

Three thousand dollars. Willie earned a year of tuition to Smith in one night. I placed the stacks in the safe next to the other rows of cash and grabbed the green box she requested. The word
Adler’s
was etched in gold on the top. I knew Adler’s. It was an upscale jewelry store on Canal. Everything was beautiful and expensive. I had never set foot in Adler’s, but I sometimes looked in the window. I handed the box to Willie.

“Shall I tell Sadie about Evangeline’s pillowcases?” I asked, gathering up two glasses from Willie’s desk.

“Cut the act. You’re not thinking about pillowcases right now,” said Willie.

I sucked in a breath. I put the glasses back down on the desk so she wouldn’t see my hands shaking.

“You may think some things slide by me, Jo, but they don’t. I’ve been in this game a long time, and my mind is like a trap.”

I nodded.

“Stop hiding near the desk. Come here,” she barked. I approached her high bed.

“Here.” She thrust the green box at me. “Open it.”

The top creaked and popped open on its hinges. Wrapped across a white bed of satin was a beautiful gold watch. The words
Lady Elgin
curved in a soft arc across the face. It was the female companion to Forrest Hearne’s watch.

She knew. This was her way of telling me she knew. I drew a breath. I couldn’t look at her.

“Well?” she commanded.

“It’s beautiful, Willie. Do you want me to put it on you now? I know you hate small clasps.”

“Me? What are you talking about? Don’t you have something to say, idiot?”

The jig was up. “Willie, I’m sorry—”

“Shut up. I don’t need to hear it. Take the watch and say thank you. You think your good-for-nothin’ mother will remember? No. But don’t go expecting something every year. Eighteen is a milestone. And don’t show the girls. They’ll just start whining about a trip to Adler’s, and I need them to be focused tonight. Valentine’s Day is always a doozy. Don’t forget to pull the decorations from the attic. Why are you just standing there? What, you need to hear me say it? Happy birthday. There. Now, get the hell out.”

My birthday. I hadn’t forgotten, just thought others would. I backed up toward the door. “Thank you, Willie. It’s beautiful.”

“Well, take the glasses. Just because you’re eighteen doesn’t mean you can fall down on the job. And remember something else, Jo.”

“What?”

Willie stared at me. “You’re old enough to go to jail now.”

TWENTY-SIX

By the time I finished cleaning and pulled the Valentine decorations from the attic, the girls were in the kitchen having coffee.

“Happy birthday, sugar!” said Dora. “Sweety reminded us last night.”

“You mean happy death day,” said Evangeline. “The madam she’s named after died on Valentine’s Day.”

“Can you imagine dyin’ on Valentine’s Day?” said Dora. She twisted her long red hair on top of her head and stuck a pencil through it. “There’s somethin’ so sad about that. But y’all know I’m gonna kick it on St. Patrick’s Day, ride out in a coffin lined in green satin.”

“Did Willie give you anything for your birthday?” Evangeline asked, rubbing her palms across her thighs.

“Vangie, Willie don’t give birthday gifts—you know that,” said Dora. “You’re just fired up about presents because you think your big man might bring you a Valentine’s gift.”

“A big man? Do you have a new boyfriend, Evangeline?” I asked.

“Mind your own business,” she snapped. She swiped the pencil from Dora’s hair and stomped out of the room.

John Lockwell had Evangeline. I didn’t have my letter.

• • • 

I shot a quick glance over my shoulder, making sure I was alone. I dialed RAymond 4119. There was a click, then the double ring.

“Good morning, the Lockwell Company.”

“Good morning. Mr. Lockwell, please.” Was my voice shaking? I coughed into my hand. I pictured the receptionist, filing her nails and rolling her eyes.

“Hold the line, please.”

“Mr. Lockwell’s office.”

I took a breath, trying to sound pleasant, calm. “Hello, Dottie. How are you? This is Josephine Moraine phoning for Mr. Lockwell.”

Silence. “Is Mr. Lockwell expecting your call?”

Absolutely not. “Yes, he is, thanks.”

“One moment, please.”

More silence. Sal walked by carrying a king cake. I pointed to the phone and mouthed, “For Willie.” Sal nodded.

The voice on the line swayed deep and thick. “Let me guess—you want me to be your valentine.”

I looked down at the receiver. “No, Mr. Lockwell, this is Josephine Moraine, Charlotte’s friend.”

He laughed, then hacked some late-night cigar miasma from his lungs. “I know exactly who you are. You’re lucky you caught me. I’m not usually in the office this early, especially around Mardi Gras. I had to come in to sign a check. Closed a big deal. Why don’t you come over and make me one of your martinis to celebrate? Hell, I’m still drunk from last night.”

“I’m calling to follow up on the recommendation letter. I’ve got to send in my application soon.” It came out exactly as I had rehearsed it in my apartment.

“Have you gotten some new shoes yet?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got nice ankles, but those beat-up—whatever they were—make your legs look dumpy. You need some heels. High heels.”

My palm tightened around the receiver. “What I need is the letter.”

“Well, come over here in a nice pair of heels, and I’ll give you the letter,” he said. I heard a creak and a tap. I saw him leaning back in his red leather chair, putting his feet on the bureau in front of all the framed pictures.

“Give me the letter, and I’ll make you a martini,” I countered.

“Nope.” He chuckled. Maybe he really was drunk. If so, I needed to take advantage of it.

“Be here at six thirty,” he said.

“Three thirty.”

“Six,” he said. “Bye-bye, Josephine.”

It was a game to him. Just a little game. It was silly, really.

Then why did I have such a sick feeling inside?

TWENTY-SEVEN

Next to my dull exterior, it appeared newer than a new pair of shoes. The gold was so shiny it looked ridiculous on me. She’d had the watch engraved on the back:
Jo is 18.—Willie.

With all that was going on around Mardi Gras, she still remembered my birthday. And I was keeping something from her, breaking what was most important to Willie—trust. I was relieved to see Cokie’s cab pull up to the curb outside the bookstore. He walked through the door carrying a cardboard box and started singing and dancing.

“I’d rather drink muddy water than let you jive on me. Josie girl, it’s your birthday, so don’t you jive on me.”

A birthday serenade from Cokie was tradition. It still made me blush.

“I don’t think Smiley Lewis would appreciate you turning his song into a birthday tune,” I said.

“What you talking about? Smiley would be honored. He’s gonna record that song one day. I’ll tell him to play it that way just for you tonight. Happy birthday, Josie girl.” Cokie smiled from ear to ear.

“Before I forget”—I slid the envelope across the counter—“Willie wants you to drop this off at the Pontchartrain.”

“All right, then. Now that we got business behind us, let’s talk about the business of your birthday. I see you got Willie’s gift. But who wants a big ol’ mess a gold when you can have this?” Cokie set the floppy box on the counter in front of me.

I loved Cokie’s birthday gifts almost as much as I loved Cokie. Never fancy, but always meaningful. And he always claimed it was a puppy.

“Now, be careful when you open it so he don’t jump out,” warned Cokie.

“You’ve fed him already, though, right?” I asked.

“Sure did. I fed him early this mornin’.”

I pulled back the flaps and peeked in the box. An aluminum thermos with a red plastic top. A map.

Cokie bounced with excitement. “That’s brand-new from Sears. The ad says it’ll keep your drink hot for near a whole day. You can even put soup in it, it says. But you’ll need to put coffee in it.”

“I will?”

“Sure you will. How you gonna make it over thirty hours with no coffee?”

“Thirty hours?”

Cokie put the box on the floor and brought out the map. “I got it all figured out. Even talked to Cornbread, and he confirmed the route.” He spread the map out on the counter in front of us. “See, we here.” He pointed to New Orleans on the map. “Now, follow me.” His dusky finger traced along a line he had drawn with a red pen. “First you’ll go through Mississippi, then Alabama, then on up through Georgia.”

My eyes jumped ahead. The red ink ended abruptly in Connecticut. “Cokie, you did this?”

“Me and Cornbread. He knows the routes from truckin’. I got the idea from Willie. Sometimes when I’m drivin’, she talks. She ain’t even talkin’ to me, she’s just talkin’, like thinkin’ out loud. Well, she was hotter than blue blazes because you told her you want to go to some fancy college out East. She go on, sayin’ you’re too salty for those schools, and I said, ‘Why not? Maybe those schools need a little spice. They’d be lucky to have Josie girl.’ Ooh, she got mad and said gettin’ into those schools is political and you ain’t got the politics to get in and so on. But you know what? I think you can do it. My only worry is how you’ll get up there. So I talked to Cornbread. He said I could try to take you in the taxi, or maybe he could find you a rig route and you could ride up with a trucker. And then we charted it out. But I wasn’t sure which school you gonna pick—’cuz they all gonna want you—so we stopped the trail in Connecticut. Over fifteen hundred miles. That’s some long road.” He patted the top of the thermos. “So you’ll need coffee.”