Little Girl Lost 6: The Return of Johnnie Wise (10 page)

The woman looked at her watch and said, “I’ve been watching you for the last twenty-six minutes and fifteen and half seconds. If you’re not going to buy anything, you’re going to have to leave the premises.”

The memory of being molested by the store detective back in New Orleans surfaced. She also remembered Marla Bentley. Not that the woman looked anything like Marla, who was drop dead gorgeous. All Johnnie saw was another white female who was trying to steal something like Marla, Cynthia, and Sharon Trudeau had. Three different white women sure, but they all had the same attitude as far as she was concerned. But Marla Bentley was the worst of them all because she had stolen a piece of Lucas, which was the equivalent of stealing a piece of her heart. Now another white woman was attempting to rob her of what little dignity she had left.

As all the negative incidents with white men and women flashed in her mind, Johnnie glared at the woman and said, “But
I am
going to buy something, ma’am. I just haven’t made up my mind yet. And I’m quite sure there are a number of white women that have been here longer than the twenty-six minutes and fifteen and half seconds you say you’ve been watching me. And not only are they still here, they haven’t purchased anything either. Now . . . I was told to ask for Mr. Saunders. Is he here?”

“Mr. Saunders is a busy man. He doesn’t have time for the likes of you. I get so sick of you niggers coming in here and stealing us blind.”

Chapter 18

“
You’re not married, are you, Linda?”

J
ohnnie took a deep breath and blew it out hard before saying anything, while at the same time, looking around the store to see who was watching, attempting to avoid a destructive scene that would get her kicked out of the store before she bought anything. But she was incredibly frustrated and very tired. To be accused of stealing when she had never stolen anything in her life was insulting, particularly since she had been rich. The irony of it all was that white folks had always stolen from her, starting with her virginity, which was far more precious than any dollar amount assigned to it. A white woman had stolen her money. A white woman had stolen her man, too. All of this was clinging to her at that moment and it took all of the strength she had to keep from slugging the woman. She conveniently forgot about the white men she had stolen from white women.

“I’m not here to steal,
Mrs. Woolworth
. I have money. Besides, Mr. Saunders is expecting me, ma’am. Hank over at Lucille’s called and told him I was coming over to pick up a few items and that he was to put it on Lucille’s tab. But if he didn’t call, as I said,
I have money
.”

“I’m not Mrs. Woolworth. I’m Linda Schumacher. And—”

“What? You mean you aren’t the owner of this establishment?” Johnnie said, driving home her point, knowing full well she wasn’t Mrs. Woolworth. “Are you the store detective then?”

Again, she remembered what it was like to not only have plenty of money, but to have the full weight of Napoleon Bentley getting her the kind of respect from white folks that other Negroes only dreamed of getting. She felt weakened, reduced in stature, and insignificant all at the same time. She now knew that a loss of money equaled a loss of power. She also realized that while being in a new town offered a new start, it also meant she had to build a new reputation. Her pride told her to walk out the store at that very instant, but her sensibilities quickly vetoed the notion of a boycott as she knew that being broke and Negro meant that she had to endure a certain level of indignity from white folks who were often in a worse financial situation than she.

Having been thoroughly cowed, Johnnie angrily snatched open her purse. When she pulled out her last forty-five dollars, a folded piece of paper fell to the floor. Without opening the paper, she instantly knew that it was the five-thousand-dollar check bequeathed by Nathaniel Beauregard, her white grandfather. She showed the woman the cash, and then she picked up the folded piece of paper and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” the woman asked.

It’s a note from the principal you dumb bitch!
“Open it,” Johnnie said softly, trying to control her anger and frustration.

When the woman opened it, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Five thousand dollars?” she blurted out without thinking. “It would take me seven years to make that much money.”

After that comment, Linda Schumacher’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. She said, “We’ll have to check this out with Mr. Saunders.”

Chapter 19

“
You hear me, Johnnie?”

J
ohnnie snatched the check out of her hand and was thinking,
You do that, Simple Simon
. After that final exchange with Linda Schumacher, Johnnie searched for a phone booth, smiling and speaking to everyone she saw. Now that she had found a life preserver in the form of money, she was filled with energy. Having money in her purse had a unique way of relieving stress that was better than many of her sexual encounters. Money made financial worries disappear. Sex made problems insignificant as long as the participants were in the moment, but when the moment was over, not only were the problems still there, so was the stress. She needed to tell her sister-in-law the good news. She wanted Brenda to know that even though Benny had blown his prize-fighting purse, they were not destitute, not yet anyway. They still had one card left in the Seven-card Stud game aptly titled,
Life
. She knew she had a new lease on life, and if she handled her money properly, in a few years, much of her fortune would be restored.

She had allowed Martin Winters to use her body in exchange for financial knowledge. The time had come to put that hard-earned knowledge to use. While she searched for the phone booth she was about to enter, she enthusiastically planned the rest of her day. The first step to rebuilding her fortune was to purchase a Wall Street Journal, which had been in existence since July 1889. Martin explained that the paper had been founded by newspaperman, Charles Henry Dow, who later sold it to Clarence Walker Barrow in 1901. Martin further explained that she needed to read the Journal regularly and had started a subscription for her. First, she would finish shopping. Second, she planned to go to the bank to open a savings account. Third, she planned to call New York, where the Journal was printed, and give them her new address immediately after checking into the Clementine Hotel.

A few minutes later, she was on the phone again with Brenda, telling her what happened. “Anyway, Brenda, the main reason I called back is because I have great news!”

“Sadie told me Ethel needed a housekeeper, so I took the job when she offered it to me. She had no idea who I was. She just wanted a Negro woman to clean her house for her. Probably made her feel like it was the good ol’ days when we worked for nothing. I just wanted to meet them. I heard mama talk about our white relatives from time to time and how well they lived and how unfair it was for us to live a life of squalor. Anyway, he died on Thanksgiving. Later on, I found out that our grandfather loved us enough to put us in his will. He left me and Benny five thousand dollars each. I had so much on my mind that I completely forgot about the check.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So Benny might as well collect his share while he’s there. When he calls, tell him to find an attorney named Parker Jamison. I’m sure he has an office somewhere in the financial district. He should be easy to find. He’s supposed to be the best lawyer in New Orleans. Anyway, Jamison has a check for Benny, too. And Brenda, tell him to bring it straight home to you. Tell him that if he doesn’t, you’re going to leave him and take baby Jericho with you. That’ll get his attention.”

“I sure will.”

“Make sure you tell him I’m in Jackson, Mississippi. I’ll be staying at the Clementine Hotel for a while. I haven’t checked in yet, so I don’t know the number. But just in case he calls before I get there, tell him he can call and leave me a message. I’m sure the operator can find the number.”

“Okay, but did you ever get a hold of your father?”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t.”

“Why not? Did you at least try to call him? I think he’d love to hear from you since your mother and that good-for-nothing Sheriff ran him outta town and made it impossible for him to see you.”

“I called, but his line is either disconnected, or he’s moved, or I wrote down the wrong number. I’m not sure which. So I’m just gonna stay here in Jackson for a while.”

“I’ve got to reinvest what little I have left. I can’t just spend it. I have to work for a living now. I suggest you do the same thing with yours. Invest at least half the money. It’s a way to make some real money.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Johnnie. We need money now. I can’t put money into stocks and wait for it to grow. We have a child now, and I already told you about your brothers’ spending habits.”

“I understand, Brenda. I do. When things ever change for the better, let me know, and I’ll try to help you, if I can. But listen . . . I’ve gotta go. Here comes that simple-ass white woman again with a white man. Maybe it’s me, but it seems to be so much easier dealing with a white man than a white woman. You know what I mean, Brenda?”

“Yes. But you keep your temper in check. Let the Lord lead you, and you’ll be just fine even down there in Jackson, Mississippi. You hear me, Johnnie? Keep your temper.”

“Okay, I will, Brenda. They’re almost here. Gotta go. Bye!”

Chapter 20

“
Then, let’s do business, sir.”

S
till watching Linda and the white man she had hoped would be Mr. Saunders coming toward the phone booth, Johnnie assessed their faces. Linda was smiling from ear to ear, like she was expecting to witness her destruction up close and personal. As far as Johnnie was concerned, it was personal for Linda, and it was certainly personal for her. She was sick of white women. As she looked into the gleeful face of her immediate nemesis, she remembered that her mother had told her two years ago that black women and white women didn’t get along. Given this latest incursion, and the string of similar incidents, she knew Marguerite was right again.

Focusing on the man now, she knew he was the weaker of the two because his eyes would betray him. She knew that once he got a gander at her, he would be hers to do with as she pleased. Her history with white men had proven this. She decided to be the aggressor this time. She was going to take charge from the opening bell. She pulled the handle on the door, stepped out of the phone booth, offered a phony friendly smile, and said, “You must be Mr. Saunders. Did you get a call from Lucille’s husband, Hank?”