Dominion (39 page)

“I didn’t realize what was happening until you pointed it out. I’m sorry for that.”

“I know. And I didn’t blame you. I wouldn’t expect you to notice. I mean, it isn’t happening to you.
I
probably wouldn’t notice either if it was happening to someone else.”

Jake looked at the five people standing in front of them. “Man, this line’s taking forever.”

“The girl who’s taking orders. Recognize her?” Clarence asked.

“She’s been here almost every day since Marcia quit two weeks ago. Don’t really know her yet.”

“How would you describe her? Friendly?”

“Super friendly. Why?”

“Okay, Mr. Veteran Journalist, let’s do a little research here. Watch how she relates to the two guys in front of us.”

“Okay.” Jake watched and listened.

“Will that be all, sir?” she asked. “Thank you. Hope you enjoy it.” The customer said something to her, and she laughed delightfully. The man in front of Clarence and Jake stepped forward.

“Yes, sir? Managing to keep dry today? What can I do for you?” Same enthusiasm. She rang up the order, took his money, and said “Thank you, sir. Have a great day.”

“Watch closely,” Clarence whispered to Jake as he stepped forward.

The girl looked down as if she were reading something off the register. “Can I help you?” she asked Clarence. Jake noticed the warmth and enthusiasm were gone. So was the “sir.”

Clarence ordered. They didn’t engage in small talk. She handed him his change, saying nothing. Clarence stepped away, and she looked at Jake.

“Afternoon! How can I help you, sir? Can I talk you into our special? Turkey on rye with cream cheese.”

Jake looked stunned.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“No. I don’t think I am. My friend who was in front of me. Why did you talk to him like that?”

“Like what?”

“You were…different with him.”

“Different? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.” She looked around as if fearing a supervisor would overhear this.

“Drop it, Jake,” Clarence said.

“No, I won’t.” He looked at her. “My friend here—”

“I said drop it.”

Jake set his jaw and ordered the special, even though he hated cream cheese.

They got to the table and put down their plastic number. It reminded Clarence of the evidence markers on Dani’s porch.

“Clabern, why did you tell me to drop it?”

“I was just making a point, not trying to solve the world’s problems. It sounded like oversensitivity. She probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it. Just the way she was raised, I guess.”

“But she did treat you different.”

“Of course she did. This is the third time I’ve been here since she started working. It was just like this the other two times.”

“Well, I don’t appreciate how she acted. It isn’t right.”

“Yeah, and most of the world
is
right, is that what you’re saying? Hey, you’re not going to change this woman,” Clarence said. “No telling what she’s been through. Maybe some blacks beat her up once. Who knows?”

“Well, that doesn’t justify how she treated you.”

“But if I hadn’t told you to pay attention, you wouldn’t have even noticed it. That’s why when you ask whites—my fellow conservatives, anyway—if there’s still racism, they’ll say maybe a little, but not much, and they’ll go on and on about reverse racism. I don’t really blame them. They can only see what happens to them. They can’t see what I see, because they don’t live inside black skin.”

“It bothers me, Clabern. I want to do something about it.” Clarence thought he saw a tear in the corner of Jake’s eye. It surprised him.

“You did the best you could. You saw it. You didn’t tell me I was just oversensitive, that I imagined the whole thing.”

“It was so obvious,” Jake said.

“Only if your eyes are open to it. Same thing happened when we were in here last week. You didn’t notice then. It’s no different than what I get a dozen times a day.”

“Really?”

“Really. Well, maybe not a dozen any more. But a couple anyway. Remember a few weeks ago when Geneva and I were out to dinner with you and Janet?”

“At Red Robin’s?”

“Right. When the waiter brought the check, do you remember me being a little irritable? Later Geneva told me it showed.”

“Yeah, I
do
remember. You seemed upset. Janet and I couldn’t figure it out.”

“How many times have we been out to dinner together, the four of us?”

“I don’t know,” Jake said. “Over a dozen.”

“Pop quiz. Every single place we’ve been, every single time when the servers come up with the check, what have they done with it?”

“Put it on the table.”

“Well, yes, but who do they put it in front of?”

Jake looked bewildered, then the light turned on. “Me?”

“Every time. No exceptions. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Like the white man has to pick up the tab for the black man. Like black men don’t make money, or if they do they spend it on drugs or fancy cars. I know the dance, Jake.”

“You always want to pick up the tab,” Jake said. “I have to arm wrestle you so I can pay my share.”

“Usually I don’t let it bother me like that. But I’ve just been fed up lately. Geneva says I’m under stress. Anyway, that’s what happened that night. Then we went over to the mall, to Meier & Frank, remember? Well, we hadn’t been there five minutes before the security guard was on me like white on rice. Finally, Geneva and I went and sat on a bench. It just takes the fun out of shopping.”

“I knew something was wrong,” Jake said. “But I had no idea what.”

“You know how you’re always trying to get me to go to that IHOP over on Burnside?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been able to figure out why you won’t meet me there.”

“Because one evening I dropped by there late. A waiter mistook me for a troublemaker who’d walked off a few days before without paying. He was giving me a hard time, brought over the manager and the whole deal. I explained he was mistaking me for someone else; he said he was sure it was me. I got up and walked out. Never been back since. This waiter just couldn’t live with the inconvenience of having to distinguish one black man from another. Could have happened anywhere, but it left a real bad taste in my mouth. And bad tastes and restaurants don’t go together.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Clarence shrugged. “Sounds like whining, doesn’t it? Like I’m another oversensitive black man. Besides, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Still, I wish you’d told me. It makes sense now, but I was in the dark. Clabern… I didn’t realize stuff like this still happens.”

Clarence shrugged. “Did you hear what happened when I dropped by Hugh’s house a few weeks ago?”

“What?” Jake didn’t know Hugh well, only that he was the ex-all-American sports editor.

“We go into his house and his phone rings. I’m standing right there when he answers, and I can tell he’s uncomfortable. He says, ‘No, everything’s okay. Thanks for calling. No, I understand.’ So I’m standing there trying to get Hugh to tell me who it was.”

“So who was it?”

“The neighbor lady. One of those neighborhood watch communities, you know. She was calling to tell Hugh there was a black man on his porch. When Hugh told me, I busted out laughing.”

“But it really wasn’t funny, was it?”

“No.” He looked deadly serious now. “Sometimes you laugh because you’re tired of getting mad. Sometimes it doesn’t bother me, I’m so used to it. But when I’m at a low ebb, it gets to me. The thing is, at my last two churches in Gresham, I was the only black man. People think they know me, but they don’t. They don’t describe me as the smart guy or the friendly guy or the guy that loves his family. I’m ‘that big black guy.’ I don’t blame them for that. But my skin color doesn’t say anything about what’s inside, good or bad.”

“To be honest,” Jake said, “a few times I’ve thought maybe you were reading in racism when it wasn’t there. But I’m starting to see it differently.”

“I’m sure sometimes I
do
read it in. But when you know it’s real with some people, it’s hard not to assume it’s there with others. Like when I was working part-time as a chauffeur when I was in college. All the guys would tell what they made in tips every day. And I always made the least, even though I swear I worked harder than any of them. There’s no way I can prove white people wouldn’t give me decent tips because I was black. But I’ll always believe that. Maybe it’s my own fault. I put my expectations too high. Now my dad, he learned not to expect too much, so he’s usually not so disappointed.”

After several seconds of silence, Jake reached across the table and squeezed Clarence’s hand. “Thanks for telling me this, friend.”

“Thanks for listening.”

“How about next time we come to your house for dinner, Geneva fixes up soul food? Sometimes you talk about the stuff you eat, and I don’t even know what some of it is.”

“Like what?”

“Collard greens or chitlins, for instance. Never had ’em.”

“You don’t know what chitlins are, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Tell you what, you promise me you won’t look it up in the dictionary, and we’ll have you over this weekend. We’ll serve chitlins out the wazoo. I’ll talk to Geneva tonight.”

“Great.” After the conversation went a different direction Jake said, “Have you talked to Ollie yet?”

“A couple of times.”

“About the brutality charge?”

“No.” Clarence felt his shoulders tense.

“When you do, ask him about Bam Robie.”

“What about him?”

Jake told Clarence a story he wasn’t sure he believed. He jotted down the name Bam Robie on the back of a business card. After another few minutes, the two men headed for the deli’s front door. As they walked out, Clarence heard a friendly voice twenty feet away talking to someone else. He wondered if Jake heard it too.

“Good afternoon, sir. Keeping dry? Seen our special? What can I do for you?”

Clarence checked his e-mail back at the
Trib.
Eight messages. One was from Raylon Berkley. He selected that one first.

“Clarence, Jess tells me you’re headed to Chicago to do background for a column. I have an old friend, Sam Knight, who owns the Chicago Ritz. He’s always saying come and stay and he’ll pick up the tab. I’ve never had time to take him up on it. Well, I called Sam yesterday, and it’s all set. You’ll be staying there all three days. Contact Mimi for details. P.S. Who says the
Trib
doesn’t treat its employees first class?”

Clarence sighed with mixed anticipation and frustration. He’d planned on staying at his cousin Franky’s, in the old hood at Cabrini Green. Not that it was a nice place to stay, but there was a certain nostalgia, and besides, it was part of his research for a feature article related to inner-city life, and a few columns to boot. Oh, well. The Ritz would be a lot nicer and a lot safer.

Not that I have much choice. You don’t turn down Mr. Raylon Berkley’s generosity.