Little Girl Lost 6: The Return of Johnnie Wise (26 page)
Read Little Girl Lost 6: The Return of Johnnie Wise Online
Authors: Keith Lee Johnson
“Maybe he wants something to eat, Hank?”
“I just bet he does. Them crackers cain’t wait to get their pale faces between a black woman’s legs. That’s the kinda eatin’ he wants to do.”
Johnnie just stared at him without blinking.
“Uh . . . so . . . uh . . . They won’t let me in there, not that I wanted to go in any way. I cook better than anything they’re makin’. So . . . um . . . what was it like?”
“The food was good. I had chili and grilled cheese and a few bones of barbecue. They play lots of country music in there. It’s nothing like here.”
“You don’t say. Well . . . listen . . . there’s a big game this weekend. The Tigers are playing Alcorn. We always stay open until midnight when the Tigers play. Can you work that long for us?”
“Until midnight, and then come back at 5:30?”
“Yeah. Come on. If me and Lucille can do it, surely a young girl like you can do it.”
“But Hank, I don’t know if I can do all that and stay on top of the stocks and stuff.”
“Sure you can, Johnnie. It’s only two days a month. The other two days they’re on the road.”
“I’ll think about it, Hank. When is basketball season over?”
“March, but then there’s track and baseball, and then there’s football. I’m thinkin’ when them college boys get a look at you, we’re going to clean up fo’ sho’!”
“What’s my compensation going to be?”
“Your what?”
“My compensation . . . my pay for drawing a crowd.”
Hank folded his arms and said, “Your pay for drawing a crowd?”
“Yes.”
“Do we have to pay you for everything you do around here?”
“Yes. Business is business, and I lost a fortune. The only way to get that money back is to work, save, and invest. You wanna use my good looks to bring in the crowd, which in essence means you want me to bring in money. I expect to get paid for that.”
“I see what you’re saying.”
“Good. I hope we don’t have to have this conversation again. If you and Lucille want me to do anything that brings in money for your pockets, I expect to line my pockets, too. That’s only fair. Otherwise, you’d be using me. I’ve allowed myself to be used before, but that was in the past. I’m not going to allow that anymore. I hope you understand, Hank.”
“I do, Johnnie. I do. What’s fair is fair.”
“Thanks so much for understanding. I’ve learned that a girl has to stick up for herself or be run over. I’m sure you wouldn’t want someone running over your wife. So, please, don’t take advantage of me. I’ll do my part, and you do yours by compensating me for my pretty. That’s a fair exchange, don’t you think, Hank?”
“Well . . . I hadn’t thought about it like that. But when you put it that way, I have to agree with you. So, I’ll make sure we compensate you for your pretty and your work, okay?”
“Thanks!”
Chapter 48
“
When do you need an answer?”
I
t was approaching 10:45 when Johnnie saw Lucille coming down the street through the picture window. She had been gone for less than twenty minutes, which meant that Johnnie could catch her breath since Lucille could take orders and serve. The breakfast crowd was thinning out, but Hank had told her that the lunch crowd would soon find their way into the restaurant about ten minutes after eleven. She knew Lucille would be entering her restaurant any minute, and Johnnie wanted to collect all her tips before she put her apron back on. That way, there would be no confusion as to which tips belonged to whom.
She was just making her way over to Paul Masterson’s table when she heard the sleigh bells ring out, letting her know that Lucille had entered. She looked up to confirm that it was her, just in case another customer had entered with her. Lucille was alone, so she stopped at Masterson’s table, coffee pot in tow. He was finishing off his thick, cheesy western omelet, French toast, and grits.
“So did you enjoy your meal, Mr. Cowboy Preacher,” Johnnie said. “You sure can put it away. Somebody must have their hands full trying to prepare enough food for you three times a day.”
Masterson took a swallow of his coffee and said, “Actually, I cook for myself.”
“Do you now?”
“I’ve been cooking since I was a little boy. Perhaps I can whip up something for you before I leave town tomorrow.”
“I’ll probably be working tomorrow when you’re ready to leave. I start at 5:30, and I don’t get off until 1:30. I guess I’ll have to wait for you to come back to try out your culinary skills.”
Masterson put his cup to his lips and guzzled down the last of his coffee before saying, “It’ll be worth waiting for I can tell you that.”
She filled his cup again. “Uh-huh. And what’s your specialty, Mr. Cowboy Preacher?”
“My specialty? I don’t know that I have a specialty, but I can make just about any dish you have a hunkering for.”
“Why can’t you make something for me tonight?”
“I’ve got revival tonight.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Don’t revivals normally last a week?”
“Normally, but I’m a one-night only kind of guy.”
Johnnie smiled and said, “Why does everything you say have a double meaning, Mr. Cowboy Preacher?”
Masterson frowned. “A double meaning? What do you mean by that?”
“My sentiments exactly!”
“Tell me what you’re talking about. You’re obviously the only one who has a clue as to what you’re driving at.”
“You said you’re a one-night only kind of guy. Are you trying to imply something? Are you trying to seduce me right here in this restaurant? Or what?”
Frowning, Masterson said, “What?” No! Of course not. I’m an evangelist.”
“Yeah, but are you a real one, or are you just some jack-legged preacher trying to make a living off the good Lord?”
Masterson poured some cream into his coffee, and then put in a couple teaspoons of sugar. He looked at Johnnie. She stood there patiently, waiting to hear his answer. “I’m a real evangelist.”
“You sure don’t talk like one.”
“I don’t, huh? How does a real evangelist talk?”
“I don’t know. But I’m sure real evangelists don’t make sexual innuendos, do they?”
“So, you’re saying I made a sexual innuendo when I said I’m a one-night only kind of guy?”
“Yes.”
Masterson smiled and said, “If you believe I meant something sexual when I said that, perhaps it says something about you. Have you considered that?”
Johnnie pulled her head back and frowned. “What do you mean it says something about me?”
“Well, the fact that you would think that I was talking about a single night of sex with you tells me that it’s been suggested to you before. Given your beauty, I’m now thinking it’s been suggested to you regularly, if not verbally, nonverbally. Even when a man doesn’t mention it, his eyes are no doubt screaming it, I’m sure. It also says that if it could so easily roll off your tongue in the presence of a clergyman, you’ve accepted an invitation or two, or you’ve seriously considered accepting a proposition or two. The only question remaining may be an inappropriate one to ask.”
“Which is?”
“Did you accept any of the offers?”
“What would you think of me if I did?”
“I don’t know you, so I wouldn’t think anything of you.”
“Really, Mr. Cowboy Preacher? If I did I bet you wouldn’t be nearly as attracted to me as you are. And you certainly wouldn’t have thought about me all night long, would you?”
“I think any man would have trouble getting you out of his mind. You’re absolutely stunning.”
Johnnie smiled and said, “So, who was I in your dreams last night, Mr. Cowboy Preacher? Was I Tamar? Perhaps I was Rehab? I know it wasn’t Ruth, was it? Oh, I know. You think of me as Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, the Hittite, right?”
Masterson picked up his cup and took a swallow, carefully thinking about his response before opening his mouth and inserting his foot. “Is this a test, Johnnie?”
“You tell me, Mr. Cowboy Preacher.”
“How about I tell you over lunch at the Clementine?”
“See there you go again.”
“What do you mean there I go again?”
“I mean, that sounds like an invitation to sexual exploration to me.”
“Why? Because the Clementine’s a hotel?”
“Yes. Where they have plenty of rooms with beds. And you know how you white men are when it comes to laying down with a black woman. Preacher or not, white men can’t help themselves. You know that.”
Masterson ran his hand down his face before saying, “I most certainly don’t know that.”
“So, you’re different from the rest, huh?”
“I don’t know what the rest are, and neither do you. You may know a few, but there are a hundred million or so of us white men here in the continental United States. There are several hundred million more in Europe and Australia. There are even a sizable number occupying parts of Africa. Are you telling me you’ve been with all of them? And I’m the only exception . . . me? If you are, not only are you revealing a lot about yourself, but you’ve inadvertently answered my question concerning why your mind immediately embraced the underbelly of an activity that was originally meant for good.”
Unfazed by his denial and his provocative logic, she said, “So, you have no sexual proclivities, Mr. Cowboy Preacher?”
“Pick up!”
“I can see that this is a conversation that needs more time. How about I pick you up at 1:30 when you get off? I’ll take you back to The Flamingo Den for lunch.”
“I’ll think about it, Mr. Cowboy Preacher. When do you need an answer?”
“Pick up!”
“I’ll tell you what . . . I’ll be out front at 1:30. You know my truck. If you wanna have lunch with me, get in. If not, don’t.”
Chapter 49
A New Lover on the Horizon
L
ucas Matthews had been lying in his bunk, fully awake for half an hour before the Reveille bugle would blare, signaling the new recruits to get up and get into formation in front of the barracks. While he listened to his fellow Army recruits snore, he wondered if the cops had found Marla Bentley yet. It had been three days since he had killed her while they were naked and in bed at the Red River Hotel. While he knew it was an accident, images of their last night together stayed with him, torturing him, making him afraid, wondering when the police would show up and haul him off to Angola, where he would have to explain to Clancy “One Punch” Brown how he ended up back in prison after their lengthy conversation. He wondered what he would do if the police had found Marla and had learned the awful truth—that he was having an affair with her while she was married to a notorious mob figure that had known of the dalliance and did nothing to stop it. It was such a fantastic tale that no one would believe it; let alone a jury of twelve angry white men who no doubt couldn’t wait to get a noose around his thick neck and send a message to all Negro men who dared plunder one of their untouchable women.
Johnnie was still on his mind, too. He still loved her in spite of herself. He was still hooked on her, but no longer wanted to be. He knew it was stupid to continue loving a woman who would behave the way Johnnie had, but love demanded that he make excuses for her. And when he couldn’t make any more excuses, he set her house ablaze, hoping to obliterate all ties to New Orleans. He hoped he had been successful while wondering where she was at that very moment. The answer to that troubling question came to mind, lingered, and then angered him when he realized that even though he had hoped to set her free, what he had really done was send her into the arms of his rival—Napoleon Bentley. He suddenly realized that even though Bubbles had gotten her money back, instead of leaving, she went to Napoleon, and they were probably making love at that very minute, laughing at him, talking about how big a fool he had been and still was.
