The Women of Brewster Place (10 page)

Now the problem was to make his way to the back of the church before she left without seeming to be in a particular hurry. A half-dozen back slaps, handshakes, and thank-you sisters only found him about ten feet up the aisle, and he was growing impatient. However, he didn’t dare to turn his neck and look in the direction where he’d last seen her. He felt a hand on his upper arm and turned to see a grim-faced Mattie flanked by the woman in the scarlet dress.

“Reverend Woods, I really enjoyed your sermon,” Mattie said.

“Why, thank you, sister—sister?”

“Sister Michael, Mattie Michael.” While he was addressing his words to her, the smile he sent over her shoulder to Etta was undeniable.

“Especially the part,” Mattie raised her voice a little, “About throwing away temptation to preserve the soul. That was a mighty fine point.”

“The Lord moves me and I speak, Sister Michael. I’m just a humble instrument for his voice.”

The direction and intent of his smile was not lost to Etta. She inched her way in front of Mattie. “I enjoyed it, too, Reverend Woods. It’s been a long time since I heard preaching like that.” She increased the pressure of her fingers on Mattie’s arm.

“Oh, excuse my manners. Reverend Woods, this is an old friend of mine, Etta Mae Johnson. Etta Mae, Reverend Woods.” She intoned the words as if she were reciting a eulogy.

“Please to meet you, Sister Johnson.” He beamed down on the small woman and purposely held her hand a fraction longer than usual. “You must be a new member—I don’t recall seeing you the times I’ve been here before.”

“Well, no, Reverend, I’m not a member of the congregation, but I was raised up in the church. You know how it is, as you get older sometimes you stray away. But after your sermon, I’m truly thinking of coming back.”

Mattie tensed, hoping that the lightning that God was surely going to strike Etta with wouldn’t hit her by mistake.

“Well, you know what the Bible says, sister. The angels rejoice more over one sinner who turns around than over ninety-nine righteous ones.”

“Yes, indeed, and I’m sure a shepherd like you has helped to turn many back to the fold.” She looked up and gave him the full benefit of her round dark eyes, grateful she hadn’t put on that third coat of mascara.

“I try, Sister Johnson, I try.”

“It’s a shame Mrs. Woods wasn’t here tonight to hear you. I’m sure she must be mighty proud of your work.”

“My wife has gone to her glory, Sister Johnson. I think of myself now as a man alone—rest her soul.”

“Yes, rest her soul,” Etta sighed.

“Please, Lord, yes,” Mattie muttered, giving out the only sincere request among the three. The intensity of her appeal startled them, and they turned to look at her. “Only knows how hard this life is, she’s better in the arms of Jesus.”

“Yes”—Etta narrowed her eyes at Mattie and then turned back to the minister—“I can testify to that. Being a woman alone, it seems all the more hard. Sometimes you don’t know where to turn.”

Moreland Woods knew Etta was the type of woman who not only knew which way to turn, but, more often than not, had built her own roads when nothing else was accessible. But he was enjoying this game immensely—almost as much as the growing heat creeping into his groin.

“Well, if I can be of any assistance, Sister Johnson, don’t
hesitate to ask. I couldn’t sleep knowing one of the Lord’s sheep is troubled. As a matter of fact, if you have anything you would like to discuss with me this evening, I’d be glad to escort you home.”

“I don’t have my own place. You see, I’m just up from out of state and staying with my friend Mattie here.”

“Well, perhaps we could all go out for coffee.”

“Thank you, but I’ll have to decline, Reverend,” Mattie volunteered before Etta did it for her. “The services have me all tired out, but if Etta wants to, she’s welcome.”

“That’ll be just fine,” Etta said.

“Good, good.” And now it was his turn to give her the benefit of a mouth full of strong gold-capped teeth. “Just let me say good-bye to a few folks here, and I’ll meet you outside.”

“Girl, you oughta patent that speed and sell it to the airplane companies,” Mattie said outside. “‘After that sermon, Reverend, I’m thinking of coming back’—indeed!”

“Aw, hush your fussing.”

“I declare if you had batted them lashes just a little faster, we’d of had a dust storm in there.”

“You said you wanted me to meet some nice men. Well, I met one.”

“Etta, I meant a man who’d be serious about settling down with you.” Mattie was exasperated. “Why, you’re going on like a schoolgirl. Can’t you see what he’s got in mind?”

Etta turned an indignant face toward Mattie. “The only thing I see is that you’re telling me I’m not good enough for a man like that. Oh, no, not Etta Johnson. No upstanding decent man could ever see anything in her but a quick good time. Well, I’ll tell you something, Mattie Michael. I’ve always traveled first class, maybe not in the way you’d approve with all your fine Christian principles, but it’s done all right by me. And I’m gonna keep going top drawer till I leave this earth. Don’t you think I got a mirror? Each year there’s a new line to cover. I lay down with this body and get up with it every morning, and each morning it cries for just a little
more rest than it did the day before. Well, I’m finally gonna get that rest, and it’s going to be with a man like Reverend Woods. And you and the rest of those slack-mouthed gossips on Brewster be damned!” Tears frosted the edges of her last words. “They’ll be humming a different tune when I show up there the wife of a big preacher. I’ve always known what they say about me behind my back, but I never thought you were right in there with them.”

Mattie was stunned by Etta’s tirade. How could Etta have so totally misunderstood her words? What had happened back there to stuff up her senses to the point that she had missed the obvious? Surely she could not believe that the vibrations coming from that unholy game of charades in the church aisle would lead to something as permanent as marriage? Why, it had been nothing but the opening gestures to a mating dance. Mattie had gone through the same motions at least once in her life, and Etta must have known a dozen variations to it that were a mystery to her. And yet, somehow, back there it had been played to a music that had totally distorted the steps for her friend. Mattie suddenly felt the helplessness of a person who is forced to explain that for which there are no words.

She quietly turned her back and started down the steps. There was no need to defend herself against Etta’s accusations. They shared at least a hundred memories that could belie those cruel words. Let them speak for her.

Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it’s all over. Mattie realized that this moment called for all three.

“I’ll see ya when you get home, Etta,” she threw gently over her shoulder.

Etta watched the bulky figure become slowly enveloped by the shadows. Her angry words had formed a thick mucus in her throat, and she couldn’t swallow them down. She started to run into the darkness where she’d seen Mattie
disappear, but at that instant Moreland Woods came out of the lighted church, beaming.

He took her arm and helped her into the front seat of his car. Her back sank into the deep upholstered leather, and the smell of the freshly vacuumed carpet was mellow in her nostrils. All of the natural night sounds of the city were blocked by the thick tinted windows and the hum of the air conditioner, but they trailed persistently behind the polished back of the vehicle as it turned and headed down the long gray boulevard.

Moreland Woods was captivated by the beautiful woman at his side. Her firm brown flesh and bright eyes carried the essence of nectar from some untamed exotic flower, and the fragrance was causing a pleasant disturbance at the pit of his stomach. He marveled at how excellently she played the game. A less alert observer might have been taken in, but his survival depended upon knowing people, knowing exactly how much to give and how little to take. It was this razor-thin instinct that had catapulted him to the head of his profession and that would keep him there.

And although she cut her cards with a reckless confidence, pushed her chips into the middle of the table as though the supply was unlimited, and could sit out the game until dawn, he knew. Oh, yes. Let her win a few, and then he would win just a few more, and she would be bankrupt long before the sun was up. And then there would be only one thing left to place on the table—and she would, because the stakes they were playing for were very high. But she was going to
lose that last deal. She would lose because when she first sat down in that car she had everything riding on the fact that he didn’t know the game existed.

And so it went. All evening Etta had been in another world, weaving his tailored suit and the smell of his expensive cologne into a custom-made future for herself. It took his last floundering thrusts into her body to bring her back to reality. She arrived in enough time to feel him beating against her like a dying walrus, until he shuddered and was still.

She kept her eyes closed because she knew when she opened them there would be the old familiar sights around her. To her right would be the plastic-coated nightstand that matched the cheaply carved headboard of the bed she lay in. She felt the bleached coarseness of the sheet under her sweaty back and predicted the roughness of the worn carpet path that led from the bed to the white-tiled bathroom with bright fluorescent lights, sterilized towels, and tissue-wrapped water glasses. There would be two or three small thin rectangles of soap wrapped in bright waxy covers that bore the name of the hotel.

She didn’t try to visualize what the name would be. It didn’t matter. They were all the same, all meshed together into one lump that rested like an iron ball on her chest. And the expression on the face of this breathing mass to her left would be the same as all the others. She could turn now and go through the rituals that would tie up the evening for them both, but she wanted just one more second of this soothing darkness before she had to face the echoes of the locking doors she knew would be in his eyes.

Etta got out of the car unassisted and didn’t bother to turn and watch the taillights as it pulled off down the deserted avenue adjacent to Brewster Place. She had asked him to leave her at the corner because there was no point in his having to make a U-turn in the dead-end street, and it was
less than a hundred yards to her door. Moreland was relieved that she had made it easy for him, because it had been a long day and he was anxious to get home and go to sleep. But then, the whole business had gone pretty smoothly after they left the hotel. He hadn’t even been called upon to use any of the excuses he had prepared for why it would be a while before he’d see her again. A slight frown crossed his forehead as he realized that she had seemed as eager to get away from him as he had been to leave. Well, he shrugged his shoulders and placated his dented ego, that’s the nice part about these wordly women. They understand the temporary weakness of the flesh and don’t make it out to be something bigger than it is. They can have a good time without pawing and hanging all onto a man. Maybe I should drop around sometime. He glanced into his rearview mirror and saw that Etta was still standing on the corner, looking straight ahead into Brewster. There was something about the slumped profile of her body, silhouetted against the dim street light, that caused him to press down on the accelerator.

Etta stood looking at the wall that closed off Brewster from the avenues farther north and found it hard to believe that it had been just this afternoon when she had seen it. It had looked so different then, with the August sun highlighting the browns and reds of the bricks and the young children bouncing their rubber balls against its side. Now it crouched there in the thin predawn light, like a pulsating mouth awaiting her arrival. She shook her head sharply to rid herself of the illusion, but an uncanny fear gripped her, and her legs felt like lead. If I walk into this street, she thought, I’ll never come back. I’ll never get out. Oh, dear God, I am so tired—so very tired.

Etta removed her hat and massaged her tight forehead. Then, giving a resigned sigh, she started slowly down the street. Had her neighbors been out on their front stoops, she could have passed through their milling clusters as anonymously as the night wind. They had seen her come down that street once in a broken Chevy that had about five
hundred dollars’ worth of contraband liquor in its trunk, and there was even the time she’d come home with a broken nose she’d gotten in some hair-raising escapade in St. Louis, but never had she walked among them with a broken spirit. This middle-aged woman in the wrinkled dress and wilted straw hat would have been a stranger to them.

When Etta got to the stoop, she noticed there was a light under the shade at Mattie’s window, and she strained to hear what actually sounded like music coming from behind the screen. Mattie was playing her records! Etta stood very still, trying to decipher the broken air waves into intelligible sound, but she couldn’t make out the words. She stopped straining when it suddenly came to her that it wasn’t important what song it was—someone was waiting up for her. Someone who would deny fiercely that there had been any concern—just a little indigestion from them fried onions that kept me from sleeping. Thought I’d pass the time by figuring out what you see in all this loose-life music.

Etta laughed softly to herself as she climbed the steps toward the light and the love and the comfort that awaited her.