Second Sunday (19 page)

Oscar’s friend Christmas Jefferson also started noticing how good Mozelle was looking lately. He’d always known of her fine
character, but now he could see that she was a fine-looking woman too. Nothing like that combination, Christmas always said:
a beautiful woman who was good stock. And since his friend Oscar was getting more action than the law allowed from Queenie
Tyler, Christmas thought it might be worth hanging around Mozelle a bit more. Maybe she was lonesome and needed the comfort
of a real man.

But Mozelle was sad, not crazy. She could see straight through Christmas Jefferson. He was a player down to the bone and would
be one until the day he died. She told Louise over the phone, “Girl, why in the world would I want to trade in a mean old
tight-butt for a trifling old buzzard? Louise, it’s all I can do to hold on to my religion when Christmas around and not cuss
him clean out. And as a matter of fact, next time he come creepin’ ’round here, he gone get his self told.”

Louise wasn’t surprised by Christmas Jefferson’s foolishness. But she told Mozelle, “I don’t think you need to cuss Christmas
out right now. Instead, next time he get all up in your face, ask him to take you to the Mellow Slick Cougars Club.”

“Oh, Louise, I don’t know,” Mozelle said. “I don’t know if I want to make much trouble with Oscar. He would lose his mind
if I came up in that club.”

Louise blew air out of her mouth, right into the phone, as loud as she could. Sometimes Mozelle walked around like she had
rocks up in her head.

“Mozelle, don’t you want to know what is so special about this club, that it got your household all tore up? I know I would.
How you gone get this thing straightened out if you don’t know what you dealing with? Right now, all you got is pure speculation.
And speculation, without fact, will put you at the losing end when you call Oscar on the carpet.”

Mozelle got real quiet. It hadn’t actually occurred to her that at some point she would be calling Oscar on the carpet. She
couldn’t even think of a time when she had confronted him, and wondered if she had it in her to do it. She sighed heavily,
tired of all of this, wishing it would just go away. But she said, “I guess you have a point, Louise.”

“I have more than a point, I am plain right and you know it. This mess has gone on long enough, and it’s time you put a stop
to it. Mozelle, you need to get into that club. To do that, you got to have an invitation from a member—a member like Christmas
Jefferson.”

“And what if he won’t take me?”

“Mozelle, you been married to Oscar Lee too long. Don’t you know how to butter a man up?”

“Louise! I ain’t gone give that man no—”

“Mozelle, please. You know doggone well I ain’t telling you to go off actin’ like a street woman. Use your head, girl. What
you need to do is cook Christmas a big dinner. He a bachelor and don’t have nobody cookin’ for him on a regular basis. You
know how men love for a woman to fix them some food.”

“Oh, so is that how you got next to Louis Loomis, Miss Louise?” Mozelle teased.

Louise blushed so hard, Mozelle could practically see it coming through the telephone. “Uh-huh. Thought so,” Mozelle said.
“You been cookin’ for that boy. Ain’t you been doin’ that, girl?”

Louise giggled a little. “Well, I did whip up a little something for Louis, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. He been looking better lately—like a man who got a woman taking care of him.”

“Because he does have a woman looking after him. He got me.”

Mozelle did as Louise suggested and cooked Christmas Jefferson a good old traditional chitlin dinner. The menu would have
made any respectable black St. Louisan’s mouth water: chitlins with a few hog maws mixed in, mustard and collard greens, a
mustard-based potato salad, spaghetti, corn bread, and dessert. In this case, dessert was two lemon icebox pies—one for Christmas
and another one for Oscar.

Having a fancy St. Louis chitlin dinner in the middle of the week put Oscar in such a good mood that he didn’t pick at Miss
Mozelle while he was eating. And the dinner was so good, he asked her if she would fix him an extra plate to take to the club,
making Miss Mozelle wonder if he was taking those psychedelic drugs that so many people were concerned about. He had to be
half out of his mind to believe it was okay or even safe to ask your wife to fix a plate for your woman.

But since she had some plans of her own, she cheerfully fixed the plate, making it look extra pretty and even including little
packets of salt, pepper, and hot sauce, fancy paper napkins, and a plastic fork and knife. As she wrapped the food in wax
paper, she also wondered about Queenie Tyler. She didn’t know of too many women who would eat food a man brought to her piping
hot from his wife’s kitchen.

When Oscar had been gone a good hour, Christmas Jefferson pulled up in his shiny black Lincoln Continental and strutted up
to the front door. He was dressed up extra special in a hot pink silk, Superfly maxi coat with matching pants, dark purple
silk shirt with a matching tie, and a black hat with a pink and purple silk ribbon around the crown.

“Evenin’, Mozelle darling,” Christmas greeted her, in that smooth voice that blended the Mississippi Delta and North St. Louis
street. “Mighty sweet of you to fix me a meal on a weeknight.”

“Well, Christmas,” Mozelle said carefully, “Sometimes you led to do something nice, and I was led to cook you dinner.”

“I see,” Christmas replied, and followed her into the kitchen.

When he took a seat at the table in the kitchen, Mozelle had to be careful not to stare too hard at his socks and shoes. They
were so snazzy, they were kind of sexy-looking. He was wearing some sheer silk men’s hosiery in hot pink with dark purple
specks, and his shoes were made out of the softest, shiniest patent leather she had ever seen.

“No wonder Christmas has so many women,” Mozelle thought. “I’d bet some money at the racetrack that boy starches his draws.”

Mozelle watched Christmas carefully while she was fixing up his plate. When she knew he couldn’t see her face clearly, she
caught him looking at her bosom, hips, and thighs like he was thirsty and wanted a drink. When she faced him, Christmas checked
himself and sat back in the chair, leaning on his elbow and gazing into her eyes. Unnerved, she quickly glanced down at the
floor.

“Mozelle, darling, what made you invite me into your kitchen?” Christmas asked. “You ain’t never fixed me a whole dinner before,
and I don’t know why you’re changing up on me now.”

He reached out and took her hand in his, letting his fingers slip through hers, down to her fingertips, caressing them just
long enough to get away with it. Mozelle was surprised at how soft and strong Christmas Jefferson’s fingers were. She had
always thought that when a skirt-chasin’ man like Christmas touched you, the mere idea that he had Bible knowledge of all
those women would make you cringe. She felt just the opposite from his touch.

She jumped back from him so fast, he almost laughed, but he knew better. Mozelle Thomas was one of those good true-blue women.
Any mockery or teasing about her lack of knowledge of men would scare her off.

Christmas couldn’t help but think that Oscar Lee was a fool. How could the man have been married to this girl all these years
and never seen the fire and passion in her? But then he remembered how Oscar kept his wife underfoot, making it impossible
for him to even glimpse the real Mozelle. Christmas had seen her more deeply in these last few minutes, he figured, than Oscar
had seen in over forty years of marriage.

He was tempted to call Mozelle’s bluff about cooking him dinner. Christmas was a player from way back in the day, and he could
always tell when a woman was up to something even when he didn’t know what the something was. But he decided to play along
with the girl. A St. Louis chitlin dinner on a weeknight,
plus
the chance to watch Mozelle work in her kitchen, got his nature going big time. When he’d been messing with her hand, he’d
been glad his coat was folded over his lap and hid the physical changes she had caused in him. The girl had him feeling like
he did when he was a young blood of forty.

“Mozelle, darling, this food smelling mighty good. You so sweet to pack it all nice and fancy for me. I don’t get my food
fixed up like this often. If there is anything that I can do for you to repay the favor, let me know.”

“Well, I’m okay, Christmas.”

“Naw, girl, I mean it. You need anything—
anything
—just tell me. I’m a gentleman and can’t take advantage of your hard work with all of this good food.”

He watched her fidget a bit, trying to figure out a way to ask him for what she really wanted. Mozelle was so cute and funny
as she tried to work her way around him that Christmas was sorry when the truth came out.

“Well, Christmas, things not going well with me and Oscar,” Mozelle said. “And I was thinking that if I went to y’all’s men’s
club, I would be able to figure out what’s wrong.”

Christmas had to fight to keep his eyes from narrowing into hard slits. Oscar, always that doggone Oscar Lee. What he wanted
to tell her was that there wasn’t nothing wrong with Oscar Lee Thomas, other than he was a selfish, narrow-minded fool who
had been coochie-whipped by Queenie Tyler. But he held his peace and said as nicely as he could, “You wanna go tomorrow night,
Mozelle?”

Actually, Christmas could have taken her tonight, but he decided that Friday would be better. If there was one night of the
week when Oscar would show up with Queenie Tyler on his arm, it would be Friday. And if Mozelle wanted to see what was going
on with Oscar Lee, he was going to give her an eyeful.

Mozelle thanked him, handed him the food, and walked Christmas to the front door. He slowed down his pace, deliberately trailing
Mozelle so he could get himself a good eyeful of her behind. Christmas couldn’t help but wonder if Oscar ever had sense enough
to grab himself a good handful of that high little booty, with the girlish bounce still left in it. Then he thought, “Probably
not.”

“Mozelle, Christmas gone be here in a little bit, and you still standing there, worrying and not getting dressed. Put on that
new pantsuit you bought at Essie Lee Clothiers.”

Mozelle held it up in front of her, just staring at herself and the suit in the long mirror in her bedroom. “Oh, I don’t know
about this, Louise. The suit fits real snug, and it’s such a loud pink. I don’t want to step up in that club looking like
I’m some kind of floozy.”

“And Queenie is just what a woman ought to be, right?”

Mozelle wanted to cry. She hated hearing about that Queenie.

“Get dressed,” Louise insisted. “Ain’t gone solve nothing standing there looking like Sad Sack. You know I want to help you
get at Oscar awfully bad to spend more than a thought of my time with that triflin’ old coot Christmas Jefferson. Don’t know
what all those women see in him. He whorish down to the bone, and I just cain’t stand no whorish man, especially an old one.
Run all around on a woman and when
her
nature get going, he through, and you cain’t even pray him straight.”

“Well,” Mozelle said, “I think he got all those women because he smooth, got debonair in him, and can back up all he throw
your way.”

Now it was Louise’s turn to stare, wondering how Mozelle knew so much about Christmas Jefferson.

“Close your mouth before a fly land in it,” Mozelle told her. “I didn’t do nothing. But last night when Christmas came by
here to get his dinner, he made a smooth pass at me. Do you hear me?
Smoooooth.
And if my old-lady eyes were serving me right, I don’t think you’d have to pray up a thing. More like, wear yourself out
trying to pray it back down.”

Louise started laughing and said, “You wrong. This time you know you wrong, Mozelle Thomas.”

“I may be wrong, but I show is
rightttt
on what I saw.”

“Girl, what did the boy do, to make you so rightttt?”

“Not a whole lot on the surface. He just touched my fingertips and slipped his fingers through mine. Now, I ain’t never been
a bit more interested in Christmas Jefferson than I am in the man in the moon. But I will tell you this much—whatever he did
with his fingers had so much heat and suggestin’ in it, I almost jumped out of my house shoes when he did it. So, he know
things that some men just don’t know.”

Louise started fanning herself and said, “Oooh, chile. Good thing I’m coming with you. He know I’m coming?”

“No,” Mozelle said, finally starting to put on the suit.

Louise watched her acting so self-conscious, thinking that Mozelle didn’t even have an inkling of how pretty she was, with
her pale brown complexion, gray eyes, and shiny silver hair, cut in the cutest style to frame her pixie face. She was sure
to draw attention from more men than Christmas Jefferson at the Mellow Slick Cougars Club, which is exactly what Louise was
hoping for. Much as the truth might hurt, it was high time that Mozelle realized she could do better than that nasty, womanizing
piece of work, Oscar Lee Thomas.

Louise sprayed Mozelle with some Estée Lauder perfume and fluffed her hair, examining her face to make sure she had on that
reddish-pink lipstick she had told her to wear. Then, just when Mozelle started looking like she might chicken out of the
plan, the doorbell rang. Louise answered it, tickled at the expression on Christmas Jefferson’s face when he looked right
into hers.

“Evenin’, Christmas.”

“Evenin’ to you too, Louise,” he said dryly, and followed her into the house.

“I really appreciate you taking me and Mozelle to the club tonight.”

Christmas took his hat off and held it carefully by the brim. It was off-white with a gold ribbon around the crown, matching
his white silk suit and the gold pinstripes running through it. Louise had to admit that Christmas was looking good tonight.
Very few men would have had the sense to match up a gold and white pinstriped suit with a navy blue and white pinstriped shirt.