Femme Noir (22 page)

What would their homes and businesses tell me? Were they different from me? Were they nobler because they had suffered and I had always been middle class and well insulated from overt abuse? Would their eyes know things? Would they be blacker than me?

I drove by Tisdale’s Barbecue again, a place called Southern-style Barbecue, May’s Barbecue, and Elijah’s Barbecue where the sign out front proclaimed, “Thou Shalt Not Kill, no profanity, open all night.”

I saw persistent devastation and struggle present in north Tulsa. Even though I’d read that Greenwood had rebuilt itself and was thriving in the thirties even better than its previous peak years, it had survived by segregation. Once the white merchants realized that a black dollar and a white dollar were equally green, and integration began, Greenwood died. The heart of the black economy dried up. Black businesses perished. The greater segregation began. Put all the successful businesses and shops and services on the south side and abandon the black residents of the north side who were now forced to travel far and wide for goods and services. Weeds grew in the middle of Greenwood Avenue for fifty years. No renaissance for north Tulsa. No resurgence of merchants setting up shop to serve the mostly black dollars.

I noticed all that was absent from north Tulsa. Things that should have been there to bind the community together, but weren’t. North Tulsa had no theaters, no grocery stores, where on the south side, there might be three supermarkets all dueling for business on four corners. North Tulsa had no offices, only one bank, no shopping centers or malls, no boutiques, no restaurants other than the four barbecues, no municipal landscaping, only two parks and no mid- to high-range services offered. Hardly any legitimate businesses at all. And the north side had all the train tracks. It was a cultural desert. Blocks and blocks and miles and miles of depressed housing. All the projects were on the north side.

What there
was
and plenty of it: pawn shops, body shops, mechanics, rent-to-own shops, bleak, bland industrial parks and enormous factories, abandoned warehouses, off-brand stores with cheap goods, resale shops, quik marts that accepted only WIC, auto parts superstores, check cashing and cash fast outfits, storefront loans, cheap food chains, a drugstore or two with bars on the windows, filthy, deep discount superstores, bars, bars, bars, and churches, churches, churches, churches.

The poverty was obvious. What was also evident was that the city of Tulsa didn’t give a damn. The ugliness of a lot of this part of town tore at me and depressed me.

But also, in a way, north Tulsa was nice. I had the feeling of being in a subculture that was undetectable to the mainstream radar. Like I could do what I wanted and no one would care or tell. North Tulsa was so so far from the courthouse where the cops parked. It was so far from Whitey and his neighborhood covenants and codified behavior.

And some parts were beautiful simply because they had been left alone. There was a Baptist church that was shaped like a huge upright purple teardrop. There were fields and fields of clover and wisteria gone wild. It was quiet and peaceful with no traffic. On the north side, there was personality and individuality. On the north side, there was architectural interest in buildings from eras that believed in design and quality. Homes and yards had actual differences, not that neo-suburban conformist look. In the north, there were open-air fruit and vegetable stands; there was a nightclub painted hot pink; there was a large new university, still isolated by fields; there were beautiful historic homes that had been built in the early oil boom; there were wide, pretty streets and jungles of old urban trees.

I preferred this laid-back area full of real people and real buildings and even real ugliness to the flat, bland, white mainstream corporate commercial mall culture sprawling farther south. Cookie-cutter homes, cookie-cutter shops, cookie-cutter businesses, cookie-cutter cars, and yes, cookie-cutter people. I firmly believed that the suburbanization of the nation was killing the individual soul. I saw that the nation was becoming gated communities with super malls connected by turnpikes. That caused me pain about Los Angeles, so I stayed in my particular middle-class ghettos that pleased me, so I never had to look at the further destruction of my hometown. With everything the same and everyone safe and tame, who would be the fools? The wise men? The artists? The lunatics? The saviors? The eccentrics? Creativity and sensuality needed chaos, mess, and individualism to thrive. But with all the people going from their just-alike homes to their just-alike malls with their just-alike clothes and eating the just-alike food, America was losing its heart. People became more afraid of difference rather than less. The great United States was becoming bland, homogenized, risk-free, and average. What was the difference between Seattle and Chicago? The Starbucks were on different corners.

People need inner cities and windows that open and front porches and secret paths and old women growing herbs in their front yards. People need to hear a rooster in the distance and to have wildlife around them and wild people too. Society needs beautiful bridges and breathtaking parks and unique shops and wildflowers and wonder. Wonder. The mall killed wonder. The mall killed daring. The mall killed window-shopping.

Why don’t the cities at least tell the truth about themselves and make postcards of the malls and the snarled traffic around Banana Republic? I didn’t understand it. If cities wanted to show themselves as having stunning architecture, why didn’t they continue to make it?

“It’s everywhere, not just Tulsa,” I chided myself, while realizing that if I were to settle in Tulsa for some reason, I would choose to live north.

I returned to Max’s. Both Sloane’s and Max’s cars were gone. I went inside and collapsed into a deep, troubled nap.

I woke to a phone ringing. I stretched and saw I had been asleep for five hours. I had half an hour to get to Lila and Reese’s.

I showered, took more allergy pills, dressed, and searched Max’s wine rack for a bottle I could give Lila. I consulted the map and plotted my course and left after placing a note to Max on her pillow, telling her where I had gone and when I might be back.

“I’m already whipped,” I muttered hatefully, not entirely disliking it.

Chapter Twenty-One

At Winthrop Tower, the doorman buzzed the couple to make sure I was expected.

“
No-Ra!
” Lila cried, holding her cigarette holder high and extending her other hand for a kiss. “So glad you could come.” Lila embraced me, holding too long. Reese cleared her throat and Lila let go reluctantly. Reese stuck her hand out and I gripped it, winning the macho butch-off. Reese seemed to strain and stretch for tallness and once again, I was fiercely proud of my chiseled body and skyscraper height.

“My pleasure,” I purred to Lila as I handed Reese the bottle of wine, dismissing her. Reese just rubbed me the wrong way and I wanted to rankle her. “My, Lila, have you gotten more beautiful since the last time I saw you? What am I saying, of course you have.”

“Oh, you darling poppet. You simply must stay in town as long as you can,” Lila cried giddily. Reese glared at me. It would be a long evening.

“Let’s sit. Nora, you come here close to me.” Lila clattered grandly over the parquet floors in her leopard-print mules and settled on the love seat, drawing her billowy, leopard-print dress out of the way and patting the space next to her.

“I believe I will. Tulsa is the welcomest place I’ve ever been.” Knowing I was flirting with danger as well as with Lila, I grinned big and sat.

“How soon will you be on your way then, Norene?” Reese asked, sitting in an overstuffed chair on Lila’s right, touching Lila’s knee to bring her attention back.

“Nora,” I said. Reese shrugged. “I’m not sure, maybe longer than I planned.” I smiled unpleasantly at Reese.

“We’ll have to keep her forever. Isn’t she just adorable? We’ll have to make sure she never leaves, right, Reese Cup?” Lila’s eyes smoldered at Reese, who didn’t rise to the bait.

“What are you drinking?” Reese rose, shaking the wrinkles from her pressed khakis, and stood before the bar.

“G and T.”

“I’ll have my usual, Reese darling,” Lila said.

“Right. Vodka rocks and gin and tonic. Bombay all right?”

“Sure.”

“I had a lover who drank only gin and tonics,” Reese said casually, mixing drinks.

“Really?” My chest felt tight. I couldn’t ask who it was because I didn’t know anyone here and to reveal my Max attraction to this barracuda would be fatal. There was also something going on between Lila and Reese. An undercurrent of rage and passion. They had either fought or fucked recently. Probably both. I knew that Lila’s flirtation was just to get to Reese. Well, fine with me. I’d been a part of plenty of ugly lesbian scenes and cruel head trips, one more wouldn’t hurt. I knew this territory and was good at it.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry, Nora darling, I don’t know where my head has been.” Lila glared at Reese’s back. “I should’ve invited a nice single woman for you.”

“We don’t know any nice ones,” Reese said, bringing drinks.

“We could call someone now if you have a friend in mind,” Lila offered.

“Well, that Max Abbott seemed interesting.” I couldn’t resist, even though I knew it was a mistake.

Reese came to life. “Yes! Call Max.”

Lila tittered. “Call old Max? Maxi-Pad, as she is sometimes known, because she’s such a definite rag. Don’t be silly. She can barely string sentences together. And if we sing tonight,” Lila batted her eyes and tilted her head toward the gleaming grand piano perched in front of the sheet of windows overlooking the city, “she simply wouldn’t fit in. She has as much coordination as a quadro in a wheelchair and she can’t carry a tune with a handle on it. Besides, she has karate class tonight, I believe. But we can call if you both want to…” Lila shrugged primly, unembarrassed by her tirade.

“I thought that class was tomorrow,” Reese said.

“Or watercolor, or church or something.” Lila sipped her drink, blinking plaintively at me. “I guess you’ll just have to make do with little old me for tonight.” She placed her cigarette holder in her mouth and pouted around it.

“You’re more than enough woman for a dozen dykes,” I said, ever chivalrous in the face of raw need. I was trying to figure out why Reese wanted Max to come over. “I’m afraid I’m a bit like Max, though,” I began and hesitated only a little at Lila’s sharp, hateful look and Reese’s slow stare, “that I can’t carry a tune. But your singing makes my sap rise,” I added, making sure Lila felt exclusively adored.

“If only we could get Reese to leave, you could have me all to yourself.”

“We may be able to arrange that, my pet,” Reese said over her cell phone suddenly ringing. She reached into her pocket to get the phone, glanced at the number, and left the room to take the call.

“Reese.” Lila rolled her eyes. “Her business keeps her hopping.”

“What business is that, exactly?” I sipped my drink. Reese had given me only tonic water. I debated whether to freshen my drink myself or make Reese do it for me when she returned, but decided that adding alcohol to head games tonight was not a good idea.

“Her painting,” Lila answered, staring hungrily at me and licking her lips.

I swallowed this tale and my tonic with difficulty. “Her painting? Her painting keeps her busy?”

“Yes, she’s out all hours, meeting models, wining and dining clients, trying to land commissions, attending shows, putting on exhibits, volunteering at galleries.”

“Wait a minute. Part-time
portrait
painting keeps Reese busier than you and you own a restaurant/club and have a singing career?”

“I know. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? Well, it’s true.”

“Of course it is,” I said, knowing that it wasn’t true and also knowing not to push Lila out of this denial. “All the painters I know have beepers and cells.” Or maybe they had an open relationship. Maybe they had agreed on primary partnership with polyamory. Maybe that’s why Lila was flirting so hard.

“I miss her. She is gone so much. She doesn’t seem to realize anymore that I have needs.” Lila moved closer to me.

Oh, the old “needs” chestnut. “Of course you have needs,” I said without irony. “That’s what affairs are for.”

“Affairs!”
Lila drained her glass and handed it to me with a nod. “Reese and I are monogamous. I would
kill
her and she would kill me twice.”

I was troubled but refilled Lila’s drink. We sat in silence until Reese returned.

“Behaving yourselves?” Reese asked jovially.

“Nora thought we were nonmonogamous. It might’ve been a pass,” Lila said, pouting at Reese. I cringed, sighing.

“Never, my princess. You are my one and only queen.” Reese kissed Lila’s wrist. “I never even look at or desire any other women, Nora. I get my deepest pleasure from trust.” Reese stared into Lila’s eyes, melting her with sloppy affection. “Complete devotion, total trust, and unconditional love.” Reese bent and kissed Lila’s nose and forehead. Lila closed her eyes as if receiving a sacrament.

I shifted. “I’m not feeling so well. Perhaps we could postpone dinner.”

Lila opened her eyes and glared at me. “Out of the question. We have everything you need here. Ipecac, Pepto, Tums, Alka-Seltzer, milk of magnesia, Maalox, Ex-Lax, Tucks, Preparation H, aspirin, Advil, Tylenol, Benadryl, Visine, booze, sugar, and caffeine. I slaved over this dinner, you simply must stay.”