Babylon Sisters (21 page)

58

It took me half an hour to talk Miriam out of that closet, into her clothes, and then into the car so we could go to Miss Iona’s, where Louis, Amelia, and B.J. were already waiting anxiously. Miriam was still terrified. When she heard Sam’s voice—
how could she forget it?—
she had immediately assumed he had come looking for her.

“When did you hear his voice before?” B.J. said, when we had settled into Miss Iona’s neat little living room like a protective shield around Miriam, who sat between me and Amelia on the couch.

“He came in with the others who took us to work every day, but they were shining a light in our faces so we couldn’t see him,” she said. “Only his voice.”

“Could you hear what he was saying?”

She nodded miserably, as though somewhere in her brain, it would be playing over and over on an endless loop until we found her sister. “He was saying ‘that one,’ and ‘that one,’ and ‘that one,’ like he was picking out the ones he wanted. The next day, they took Etienne off with two others from our group and then she was gone.”

Louis walked over to the fireplace, where Miss Iona kept several pots of bright green ferns; then he turned back to B.J. “Tell me what you’ve got on this guy.”

B.J. already had something on Sam? I was surprised. He’d never mentioned it.

“He’s been on the housing end for a couple of years. Quincy Davenport is just a front, and he’s so scared now, he’s telling everything he knows.”

It dawned on me that B.J. must have known about Sam’s involvement when he got here. Then an awful thought popped into my brain. Was he just using me to get a story? Had I believed all that dancing in the dark was one thing when it was really just a good reporter following a lead?

“We used to have to worry about white folks riding up in here with sheets over their heads,” Miss Iona said, wearing her company apron over her pale blue sweater and skirt. “Now they just send a brother.”

“Is there anything that ties him to the prostitution?” Louis said. Over his shoulder on the mantel, there was a picture of his father sitting at his desk in his shirtsleeves, putting another issue of the paper to bed.

“Nothing on the record. These guys are making so much money, they’re ruthless. Nobody wants to be the one who told.” B.J. looked at Miriam. “Are you absolutely sure that was the voice you heard?”

Miriam nodded. “Oh, yes. I remember thinking, How could someone with such a beautiful voice use it to bring us such misery? I’ll never forget it.”

Why hadn’t it occurred to B.J. that it might be dangerous for me to be so close to Sam without knowing he was about to show up in a story? Now I was a dupe for B.J. and a spy for Ezola. All because I was trying to pay my child’s tuition. Committed motherhood can sure make for some strange bedfellows, especially when you’re used to sleeping alone.

B.J. looked back at Louis. “I need another couple of days and I’ll have what I need to corroborate what Miriam’s telling us. If what I think I’m hearing is true, Sam Hall is the one who’s supplying women to the guys from Miami who started this whole circuit. Now he’s ready to go out on his own, and to do that, he needs a steady supply of girls to keep it going.”

“How long are we—”

Miriam shuddered a little bit, and Amelia put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and shook her head almost imperceptibly at Louis.
Too many details.
He stopped in midsentence. “Should we talk about this later?”

Amelia rewarded him with a smile. “I’ve got an idea. Listen, Miriam, why don’t you and me and Miss Iona go out there and hook up some dinner while these folks figure out what we’re going to do next?”

Miss Iona stood up immediately and held out her hand to Miriam. “Come on, little bit. You still gotta eat.”

Miriam followed them out to the kitchen and left me and B.J. alone with Louis, who was trying to process this new information. So was I.

I turned toward B.J. and he smiled, oblivious. I took a deep breath. “Did you suspect Sam was involved when you asked me to set up an interview?”

Louis looked surprised. “You already interviewed this guy?”

B.J. nodded. “His name had already shown up a couple of times, so he was on my list when I got here. When I realized Cat was working for him, I took her up on her offer to put us together.”

When he got here?
He suspected Sam the whole time and never said a word? “That night at the Pleasant Peasant, when I was rattling on about my new client, you already suspected Sam in all this?”

“Not at this level,” B.J. said quickly. “I thought he was in the housing end because of his father. Not the prostitution.”

“That’s not the point,” I said. “The point is, you didn’t tell me! I’m working for these people, and the whole time you suspect them of absolutely awful crimes and you never say a word?”

“Not the whole company. It’s just him,” B.J. said. “There’s nothing that points to Ezola Mandeville in any of this.”

He was still not listening. I looked at Louis, who clearly wished he could join Amelia in the kitchen. “Did you know about this?”

B.J. jumped in. “I hadn’t had a chance to share it with him yet. It’s all coming together pretty fast.”

Louis didn’t say a word.

“I think Miss Iona needs some more help in the kitchen. What do you think?”

“Miss Iona’s wish is my command,” he said, easing out of the room like Cab Calloway at the end of a long evening at the Cotton Club.

B.J. looked confused. “What’s wrong?”

“You should have told me!”

“I thought it was better not to,” he said calmly. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable at work.”

Like he was looking out for me.
Uncomfortable
was an understatement. This job was probably over. “Not until you got your story, anyway.”

He looked hurt at my accusatory tone. “I would think you’d want me to find out everything I could about this guy. Look at what he’s doing!”

That wasn’t fair and he knew it. Or he should have. “Did you think I wouldn’t cooperate if you told me the truth right up front?”

He looked at me, and his voice was almost defiant. “I didn’t know how much the contract meant to you. I couldn’t take a chance that you’d tip them off before I had a chance to check it out.”

He didn’t even feel like he owed me an apology. “What makes you think I won’t go tell them now?”

His tone softened, and he smiled at me like we were friends again. “Because I know you better now.”

I was too mad to be distracted by that nonsense. He had used me. Now I had to look out for myself.
Just like always.
“I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth.”

“Of course.”

Of course.
“Is there anything at any level that points to Ezola Mandeville? Anything at all?”

He shook his head firmly. “No. Not a thing.”

“Have you looked specifically for her?”

“I’ve looked harder for her to show up than I have for Sam.”

“Why?”

His voice was gentle, but unapologetic. “She would make a better story.”

I stood up. “I respect her. I respect the work she’s doing and why she’s doing it.”

“I know.”

He probably never even heard of Bessie and what she did for Bigger and what she got back in return. Did I owe him more than I owed a black woman trying to do business on behalf of other women?

She was strange, but she respected me in a way that B.J. didn’t seem to at all. Sam was on his own, but Ezola deserved better. “I have to tell her.”

That got his full attention. “You can’t tell her. What if she tells Sam?”

“She won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

Because,
I wanted to say,
she wants him busted as bad as, if not worse than, you do. Because if she has a little advance warning, she can do some damage control and not lose everything she’s built and is still building.

“Trust me,” I said. “She won’t tell him.”

I sat back down and B.J. came and sat beside me. “This story is very important to me, Cat. If I do it right, it can make up for all those years I spent drinking and talking and wasting time.”

It sounded like the chorus of a country song.
Just drinkin’ and talkin’ and wastin’ time.

“My professional relationship with this woman is important to me,” I said. “I can’t let her get blindsided like this when she’s not even implicated.”

He stood up and started pacing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Cat, but if it’s about the money, I can help.”

“What are you talking about?”

His voice was still very gentle, like he was afraid I might bolt, as I had done in the restaurant. “Louis told me you only took the Mandeville job to pay for Phoebe’s college. I want you to know, I can help.”

Now he was my knight in shining armor? “Louis was wrong for discussing my finances with you, and you are wrong for trying to discuss them with me. I don’t want anything from you, and Phoebe’s tuition payments are not your problem.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that this story is important for all the right reasons. I don’t want to risk it by tipping our hand.”

“I’m not interested in tipping anybody’s hand,” I said, stepping back outside of that
our.
He still hadn’t apologized for withholding information, placing me in a highly volatile position with my clients and exposing Miriam to a fright that really shook her up. “But until we spend a little more time together, I don’t think you should assume you know me as well as you think you do.”

“What does that mean?”

Miss Iona stuck her head out of the kitchen door and waved us in for dinner. “Come on to the table before it gets cold!”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” I stood up and looked down at B.J., knowing there was no way to explain how it felt to know he hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me the truth about Sam. Or to wonder if that was the way he felt when I told him about Phoebe. “Let’s eat.”

59

After dinner, Louis and B.J. went back down to the
Sentinel
office to meet with the police detective we’d talked to a few weeks ago. We had more information than they did, but it was important to keep them in the loop. Amelia suggested that Miriam move her things from my house to Miss Iona’s. That was still close enough to walk to work without leaving West End, but she wouldn’t have to worry about another drop-in visit. Miss Iona said Sam didn’t know her from Adam’s house cat. It was a good suggestion, but it left me alone to consider the events of the last couple hours. B.J.’s almost casual revelation about Sam had thrown me for a loop, but his complete inability to see why it bothered me really made me feel frustrated and powerless, a dangerous combination for someone like me, who prides herself on being in control.

This was exactly what Ezola had been talking about. Being misled by men we thought we could trust. Looking foolish or careless or both because we had misjudged B.J. and Sam. The things they had been doing behind our backs were coming back to haunt all of us in different ways, but I knew she wasn’t going to like it any more than I did. B.J. had said her name didn’t show up in his investigations, and I knew better than anybody that her loyalty to Sam had seen its best days. I flipped through my Rolodex for Ezola’s private number and picked up the phone. She had a right to know, and I had a responsibility to tell her.

She answered before the second ring. “Yes?”

“It’s Catherine,” I said, feeling suddenly not quite sure about where my loyalties should lie. B.J. and I were on the same team, but Ezola and I were in the same sisterhood. “I have some bad news, but I thought you should hear it from me.”

“Go ahead.”

“The next story in the
Sentinel’
s series has Sam’s name in it. Quincy Davenport was just a front. Those slum houses all belong to Sam.”

“I was afraid of that.” Ezola’s voice had sharp edges around its always strangely girlish tones. “What else?”

“They think he might be involved in prostitution.”

“Are they sure it’s Sam?”

She didn’t want me to have it right. She wanted to believe her spies had been off again. They had been known to make mistakes.

“Someone recognized his voice.”

She gave a dry little chuckle that didn’t find a damn thing funny, but had to acknowledge the irony. “I always told him it would get him in trouble.”

I didn’t say anything. Like most spies, even though I had done the job I had been asked to do in service of a righteous cause, I didn’t like myself a whole lot for doing it.

“Was there anything else?”

“No,” I said, suddenly wishing all this were over. “Except that I’m going to take a few days off until you make some decisions about how Sam fits into the future of the company and whether or not I do. It would be awkward for me to try to pretend nothing has changed.”

“Sam has no future at this company,” Ezola said firmly. “My search for a new vice president starts now. I’d like to announce the appointment before the story breaks.”

“The story will be out in a few days,” I said, surprised at how fast she intended to move. “Do you already have someone in mind?”

“Of course, dear,” she said. “You.”

60

In my dream, B.J. is like he used to be, but better. His arms are as strong, but his lips are sweeter. His eyes are as sad, but his heart is truer.

In the dream all I want to do is open up every part of me that’s been closed for so long and pull him so far up into where all the real mysteries meet all the real magic that he’ll never want to leave and I’ll never want to let him.

In my dream, he is lover, father, friend, family, forgiveness. In my dream, the past is prologue, the present is a precious jewel, and the future stretches out before us like a ribbon of promise.

In my dream, we are like we used to be, but better.

61

At one a.m. my dreams woke me up from a sleep that wasn’t as sound as I wanted it to be. I lay there for a minute trying to figure things out, but all that kept coming back to me was that B.J. and I still hadn’t had an exchange where all the cards were on the table. I was holding back about Phoebe. He was holding back about Sam. We were both holding back about each other. Half the truth is no easier than an all-the-way secret, and if we were going to have any chance at all of being friends, or something more, we had to come clean once and for all. Just because he hadn’t told me about Sam didn’t mean I got to lie about spying for Ezola. What’s that great Gandhi quote?
An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.

I knew he was probably still down at the paper. He told me he still liked to write really early in the morning, or really late at night, depending on how you looked at it, and Louis’s office had become his favorite spot. He said he did his best thinking stretched out on Louis Sr.’s big old leather couch, and that was exactly what I needed now—his best thinking, and mine. Not to mention the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He’d be disappointed that I had already spoken to Ezola, but I trusted her, and in a few days it wouldn’t matter anyway. Everybody would know all about Sam.

I filled a thermos full of hot coffee and headed over to the
Sentinel
to make peace before my fantasies drove me crazy trying to make love. I eased into a spot near the front door. It was so late that the other businesses around were closed for the night, and since we were out of West End, I had to be careful, but I could see a light in Louis’s office. He had blown up a picture of Etienne to poster size and prominently displayed it in the front window. Underneath the photo, it said:
Where am I?
Her face was so alive and happy that you had to smile when you saw it. You had to stop and see what the words meant. During the day, there were always a couple of people standing there, staring at it, or reading B.J.’s story that was posted nearby.

“Hang on,” I thought, trying not to think about where she was or where she’d been. “Just hang on a little longer.”

I rang the bell. The light went out immediately, leaving me bathed in the security spots, and everything inside the office a dark mystery. I stepped back involuntarily, and the light came back on as suddenly as it had been extinguished. B.J., in his shirtsleeves, opened the door to greet me.

“There is a god!” he said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Tell me there’s coffee in there.”

“I figured whatever you were drinking by this time of night would probably not be suitable for an innocent bystander.”

“You got that right,” he said as we walked past Miss Iona’s desk and into Louis’s office. Louis had left the mock-up of the front page on his desk, since he was still fiddling with it. All of this could now be done on computers, of course, but Louis is old-fashioned. He likes to actually touch his newspaper before he puts it to bed. “Sit down. What are you doing here so late?”

“Looking for you,” I said, sitting on one end of the couch while he took the other. “We can’t seem to stop keeping secrets from each other. Why is that?”

“Bad history?”

“Maybe.”

“Look, Cat, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Sam.”

“Me, too,” I said, “but that’s just part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

I took a deep breath. It was important to get it right. “I love you, B.J.,” I said, figuring context was everything and truth was the light. “Always have, probably always will.”

His face lit up so beautifully that I almost got distracted and threw myself into his arms, but I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve
got
a kid, and this has to be done right, for her and for me, or I’m not doing it at all.

“But that doesn’t mean I’ve just been waiting around for you all this time.” That sounded more defiant than I wanted it to. “What I mean is, you can’t come back into my life after eighteen years and start offering to take care of me. I’m taking care of myself and I’m taking care of Phoebe, and I’m doing a good job, too. Even when it’s not perfect, we do all right.”

Was I making any sense at all?

“Go on.”

“Listen, B.J., I don’t need you to take care of me. I don’t need you to do it
for
me, whatever
it
is. I need you to do it
with
me. I don’t need you to think you know better about what’s best for me, whether it’s about Sam or sex or where to go for dinner.”

What was I talking about now? Time to wrap it up.

“Okay,” I said, stalling for time. “I think that’s all I have to say right now, except I think we should take a moment and make sure we’re current on everything. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

B.J. looked startled. The question caught him by surprise. “About Sam?”

“About
anything.
”

“There are a million things I
want
to tell you,” he said, smiling, “but if you mean do I have any more secrets, no. No more secrets.”

I smiled back at him. “Good.”

“How about you?”

“Just one more,” I said, “and I’m ready to let it go.”

“Well, fire when ready.” He reached for the thermos with no idea what I was getting ready to tell him.

I tucked my feet up under me and got ready to confess that I had called Ezola, when all of a sudden B.J. grabbed my wrist and put his finger to his lips for silence. I nodded to let him know I understood, and he got up and turned out the lights just as he had done when I arrived unannounced, but nobody had rung the bell, and as hard as I was listening, all I heard was silence. B.J. reached under Louis’s desk and quietly withdrew a double-barreled shotgun. My heart was pounding so hard I thought B.J. could hear it, but he was standing perfectly still, listening intently for whatever he had heard.

The whole scene reminded me of that photograph of Malcolm X standing at the window with a shotgun after somebody firebombed his house, where his family lay sleeping. Then I heard the sound of male voices outside. B.J. heard it, too. He gave me the
keep silent
gesture again and stepped out of the office, leaving me alone and terrified in the semidarkness. I crept to the door and peeked out after him. Who would be coming here this late, and why did Louis have a weapon under his desk? I heard B.J. open the door, and the faint smell of gasoline drifted in from the street.

“You brothers looking for something?” B.J.’s voice was cold.

They saw the shotgun and raised their hands involuntarily. A shotgun will make you do that. “Aw, man, you ain’t gotta come to the door with your shit in your hand,” said a young voice that was trying to sound aggrieved. “We come in peace, brother.”

“You always carry a can of gasoline on your peace missions?” B.J. said. “Step away from the building.”

“We got car trouble,” said a second voice. “Can’t you—”

“Step away from this building,” B.J. interrupted him. “Or I’ll blow your brains out, if you’ve got any.”

B.J. was standing in the half-open door with the shotgun aimed at two young black men who were backing up toward a black Cadillac Escalade idling at the curb. This couldn’t possibly be the car they claimed had trouble. Right in front of the window was one of those red-and-yellow gas cans, and the smell of the fumes was strong.

“See, that’s the problem niggas got,” said one young man who was dressed all in black and looked about eighteen.

“Yeah, they don’t trust nobody,” said the other kid, also about eighteen and all in black, like they were a pair of amateur commandos.

“Get in your car,” B.J. said. “And get going before I call the police.”

At the mention of the police, the driver’s-side door of the Escalade opened and a thickly built man in a dark suit got out and walked around the car. He was wearing sunglasses in spite of the hour, but even though they couldn’t see his eyes, the two younger men froze as he approached them. Something about him looked familiar, but I couldn’t make him out clearly from where I was standing.

“Get the fuck in the car,” he hissed, and the two guys scrambled over each other to obey. He waited for the door to slam behind them and then turned toward B.J., who hadn’t moved a muscle or lowered that shotgun.

The man spread his arms wide. “I’m not packin’ nothin’. I just want to deliver a message.”

“I’m listening.”

“You better figure out what time it is and stop askin’ so many questions all over Vine City.”

The voice wasn’t familiar, but something about the profile was.

“Are you finished?” B.J. said coldly.

“Yeah, I’m finished, and you better be finished, too.”

B.J. didn’t respond to that, so the guy got back in the car and squealed his tires as he pulled away. Through the window, I could make out what looked like a ponytail. B.J. brought the gas can inside before coming to check on me, still shaking in the office. He leaned the gun against the wall.

“You okay?”

I nodded. He went to the supply room, grabbed a big jug meant for the water cooler, ripped off the top, and headed back outside to slosh it over the gasoline they had started pouring around the base of the building before B.J. interrupted them. I wanted to help, but I figured the best thing I could do was stay out of the way. I went to the tiny unisex bathroom that Miss Iona always kept spotlessly clean, splashed cold water on my face, and tried to calm down.

I had never seen B.J. in a situation like that before. I had never seen
anybody
in a situation like that before, but I knew he had handled it like a grown-ass man, and for that I was grateful. I’m an independent woman, but when you’re in a war zone, you want to be standing with a soldier, and it looked like I was.

“Amateur arsonists,” B.J. said, after he had finished outside and locked the front door. “They’d have probably set themselves on fire before they figured out how to toss the match.”

“I think I’ve seen that guy before,” I said. My voice was trembling, and I cleared my throat to steady it.

“Which one?”

“The older one.”

“Where?”

“With Sam,” I whispered. “I think he works for Sam.”