Little Girl Lost 6: The Return of Johnnie Wise (25 page)

“What?” Lucille questioned, thinking about all the money she and Hank could make if she stayed longer. They had already made two months of the retainer fee Johnnie required to take Hank on as a client. She was thinking Hank had been right—at least about how quickly they could recoup their initial fee. She thought that if Johnnie stayed another couple hours, they might have four or five hundred dollars. And if that happened for a full week, it would be as if they hadn’t paid her a dime to handle their portfolio. “Can’t you at least stay until the lunch rush is over? What if people continue coming in, Johnnie?”

“Think about all the tips you could make. I know you got about fifty dollars in your apron in three hours. Would you stay if you could get the raise and make another fifty or so in tips?”

“I might, but looking at what you’re making, I think I’ll need at least three dollars an hour. But like I told you and your husband, I need time to study the stocks and stuff, so I don’t think I could work much longer than eight hours,” Johnnie said. “I also have to figure out a way to get a stock ticker. I would ask Western Union to let me buy one of theirs, but they might want to know why I need one. They might ask a bunch of questions and start trouble, you know?”

“At first I wanted some white clients, but now that they know who I am and what happened in New Orleans, I don’t think I want to deal with white folk that I don’t have a relationship with. Gloria is one thing, but to get white folk involved might start some unforeseen trouble. Let’s just stick with our own people and Gloria if she wants to get involved, okay?”

“Suit yourself. Money is money. I say get all you can while you can. Look at all the white folk in here today.”

Johnnie turned around and saw lots of whites sitting at her tables, her booths, smiling at her like they wanted to meet the famous colored girl who had been accused and acquitted of murder. As she scanned each face, the men and the women, she began to consider the possibilities. The what ifs? She looked at Lucille. “And what if the stocks don’t make them money, and they lose? Who do you think they’re going to blame? Themselves?”

“I see what you’re saying. Then, you have to make sure you make them money. What did Hank say? Didn’t he say he doesn’t think about losing? Didn’t he say he thinks about winning? What if Hank is right? What if you win?”

“That’s impossible. I can’t guarantee success, not even for myself. Even white folk can’t do that. Otherwise the market wouldn’t have crashed in 1929, would it? But if a nigga calls herself a stockbroker, she better make them crackers money, or they’ll turn her into a human torch.”

“So, you’re going to continue to think about losing?”

“Listen to you, Lucille. You’re telling me to think about winning, and all you’re doing is thinking about losing. You haven’t even decided to invest yourself. Yet, you tell me I’m thinking about losing?”

“I’ll tell you what: Given what I’ve seen so far, I’m more inclined to invest. But I’ll admit I’m a bit squeamish about investing. So, here’s what I’m willing to do. Seven is the Lord’s number. If we have seven straight days like this, I’ll invest. How about that?”

“But it’ll cost you an additional eleven hundred, Lucille.”

“I know, and I’ll gladly pay it. It’ll be worth the risk at that point. And we’ll have a track record of people coming in regularly. Your fame may have brought them in, but Hank’s cookin’ is gonna keep ’em comin’ back for more. In seven days, at upwards of five hundred dollars a day, we’ll more than make back the fee we’re gonna pay you. Plus, we’ll be making back our initial investment, too. And think of the possibilities. If people come in like this for a month, we’re looking at making about fourteen thousand. If we subtract the twenty-two hundred dollar fee, that still leaves us almost twelve thousand. If we subtract Hank’s initial ten thousand from that, we’re still over a thousand to the good! That’s why I don’t mind waiting and seeing, and then investing. It’s worth the wait and the extra eleven hundred as far as I’m concerned.”

Johnnie smiled and said, “So, you’ve thought the thing through, huh?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Well, I can’t argue with your plan. Let’s see how things happen for seven days, and we’ll get you started, too. I’ll go ahead and make you a separate portfolio now since we’re expecting to win and not lose!”

Chapter 47

“
What’s my compensation going to be?”

S
eeing Paul Masterson was an unexpected, but welcomed surprise—a treat even. Meeting him the previous night at The Flamingo Den immediately came to mind. They locked eyes and smiled warmly. “Pick up,” she heard Hank yell a second time. She looked at the stainless steel grill counter. Two plates of food were ready to be served. She looked at Masterson again and put her right index finger in the air. Masterson nodded politely. Then, he picked up a white coffee cup and showed it to her. Johnnie nodded, letting him know she would bring the coffee as soon as she could. “Pick up,” Hank yelled again. She looked at the grill counter, and now there were three plates instead of two.

She rushed over to the counter and picked up the order slips. She couldn’t help looking back at Masterson, who was still looking at her, patiently waiting for her to get to him. She didn’t know why, but she was nervous now that he was there. She also didn’t know why she wanted to impress him with her newly acquired waitressing skills. She looked at him again. He was so handsome that she couldn’t help but stare. “Pick up,” Hank yelled a fourth time and set yet another order on the grill counter. Johnnie forced herself to concentrate as she read the orders before picking up the plates and delivering them to her customers. While doing so, she could feel Masterson’s eyes following her from table to table, back to the grill counter, and then to another table.

Of all the eyes following her around the restaurant, only Masterson’s eyes interested her. He had fought for her honor, and when he did, it made her want to get in bed with him and do lots of naughty things she knew the church wouldn’t approve of. The fact that he was a preacher did nothing in the way of stopping the images of them being in bed together, nude and intertwined, moving in a smooth cadence that they both enjoyed. Just as she was making her way over to Masterson’s table with a fresh pot of hot coffee, Hank yelled, “Pick up!” She quickly made her way over to Masterson’s table, poured his coffee.

As Johnnie walked over to the counter, she looked at the clock above the grill. It was only 10:26. That meant she still had another three hours of work to do instead of one. She wished she hadn’t told Lucille she would work until 1:30. She wanted to hear whatever Paul Masterson had to say. Nevertheless, part of her wanted to stay until they closed because she had made so much money in tips. She thought that if she stayed until eight, she would take two hundred dollars in tips back to the Clementine. That was enough money to pay for car repairs and nearly all the things she bought at Woolworth’s the previous day. She thought the novelty of being the new girl in town, the check that everyone knew about, and the talk of being accused of murder would eventually die down and things would return to normal, whatever normal was in Jackson, Mississippi. For all she knew, today might be the only day that she could make that kind of money.

When she returned to the grill counter, Hank said, “Johnnie, we’re having a great day. I think I’ll make all the money back, including the ten thousand in a week or so if this keeps up.”

“Yeah, that’s what Lucille was saying. I think she’s going to invest, too.”

“Thanks for coming to town. I’ve been waiting so long for this to happen to me. And now, it’s finally happening.”

“Thanks, but um, Lucille wanted me to stay until 1:30 from now on, starting today. I told her I’d do it, but I needed three dollars an hour to do it. Is that okay with you?”

“Wait a minute, are you tellin’ me a white man got you into The Flamingo Den, and when three white men tried to rape you, he fought them off?”

“Yeah, but how did you know they were white? I never said what color they were.”

“You didn’t have to. First off, ain’t no black folk supposed to be up in there. Second, white men are always tryin’ to rape our women. That ain’t nuthin’ new.”