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Authors: Victor McGlothin

Ms. Etta's Fast House (3 page)

BOOK: Ms. Etta's Fast House
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“From what I hear, the Little General keeps count of every cotton ball and bandage at HGP,” Ollie said, looking up from his cards.
Delbert scratched his head, took out a small piece of paper then read over it. “Did I miss something? I thought orientation was Monday morning.”
“Some of the fellas got in early and went over to scout around,” Bill informed him. “Said they had a nice time grazing over the weekend stock.”
“I heard there're over two hundred nurses on staff,” Delbert said with a mischievous leer, eager to have his way with every last one of them. “I guess that's why they call Homer G. Phillips Hospital, HGP, the Halls of Good and Plenty.”
M.K. poured himself a stiff shot of whiskey and sampled it. “Round these parts, it's also known as the House of Good Pussy.” Everyone in the room laughed and applauded that particular acronym.
After the laughter died down, Ollie tapped his shirt pocket insinuating there was something vitally important inside it. “Matter of fact, I had the notion to test out that theory and I convinced one of the madams of the house to meet me for dinner. Hope she don't mind springing for it 'cause I'm busted.”
“Just keep ole M.K. Phipps on deck in case she does mind,” M.K. offered. Whether Ollie's date was interested in either of them was of no concern, they were in St. Louis and itching to blow off some steam in the way of female companionship. Soon enough, they'd get their fair shot at releasing a lot more than just steam.
Delbert had been waiting over two months for an opportunity to prove himself in the operating room and now he realized he had to do the same with the ladies in order to keep step. There he was in the midst of other talented black men, who had also taken it upon themselves to endure the rigors of long hours and intense scrutiny for little to no money. Improving the quality of life for their patients, along with the perks associated with being single physicians was their reward. Delbert was feeling better about his chances to make a big splash in a deep pond and although he felt more at ease than he'd anticipated, he quickly came to discover that keeping his head above water wasn't quite so easy.
3
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he following morning rolled in nice and easy. As the community came alive, Penny was there to witness it. Watkins Emporium had closed by the time she made it back to town the evening before, so she sat on the curb outside of the dry goods store all night, with her knees tucked against her chest, waiting and watching. She watched a large woman in the gray house across the street open the front door and kiss a fellow good night. Then, Penny's eyes were glued to the milkman as he parked in the driveway, stepped inside, and made a fifteen minute in-home delivery before returning to the dairy truck while zipping up his pants. She also witnessed another man arrive in a work uniform, with a meal pail in one hand and the
St. Louis Comet News
in the other. Penny scratched her nappy hair wondering how the poor woman in that gray house managed to get any sleep between the second and third shifts. By the end of the week, Penny would come to learn that the woman wasn't all that interested in sleeping.
While the revolving door across the street kept on spinning, an attractive woman, satin-brown skinned and jazzy, strolled along humming a pleasant tune. She sashayed in her tangerine colored cotton dress and matching pumps as she surveyed the young girl curiously. “Penny King, that you?” she asked, surprised to find her there.
Penny glanced up, smiled cordially then went back to spying at the gray house where all the activity had taken place. “Yeah, it's me. Morning, Ms. Etta.” Jo Etta Adams was the closest thing there was to a society woman without actually being one. She owned the most popular nightclub in “The Ville,” St. Louis's upper-crust colored neighborhood. Negroes from all over the country visited Ms. Etta's Fast House
,
the rhythm and blues haven of the Midwest, where national celebrities made frequent appearances to shake up the local scene. Dizzy Gillespie played a nearby theater to a packed white-only audience the month before. After the theater owner paid him, Dizzy loaded up the tour bus and drove it thirteen blocks to the front door of Ms. Etta's so his band could cut up with the colored folk all night long. The famous musician wouldn't accept money from Etta but he didn't pass up on the free beer and all the home cooking his band members could eat.
“What are you doing, sitting there on the sidewalk this early in the day?” Etta inquired with her brow furrowed, as if this was one of the strangest things she'd ever seen.
“I was waiting for Watkins to open up while watching how these city folk start off their day,” Penny answered nonchalantly. “Now I'm just waiting.”
“I don't understand. You waiting for Halstead?”
“Nah, he' dead,” Penny told her, as if he'd merely skinned his knee. “I'm waiting to see what happens now since that man showed up after working all night and finds the milkman's hat in his bedroom. See, he had it on going in but not when he come out.”
Etta was even more confused than before. “What's this about some dead milkman?”
“Uh-uh, Halstead is the one who died.” Before Penny continued her ragged explanation, they heard a loud commotion coming from across the street. There was shouting, screaming and things getting smashed inside that gray house. Penny's eyes sparkled when the man in the work uniform came barreling through the screen door with the milkman's hat clutched in his hand. “Ooh, she sure is strong,” Penny marveled, thrilled that a woman had the strength to body slam a grown man.
“I'll say,” Etta agreed.
“And stay out!” the woman's voice shrieked from the front porch, as she lumbered back inside. “I don't take to getting roughed up by no man, for no reason!”
“Looks like he found the hat,” Penny assessed. “But he's gonna have to find another place to lay his head now.” As the man crawled to his car, Penny cheered the woman's decision to fight back, even if she had been in the wrong for shuttling men in and out under his nose. “Wow! This is even better than the picture show. You think she'll let him come back, Ms. Etta?”
“She'll have to,” Etta answered, keeping an eye peeled on the action. “That's his house. She's just renting a room.” After the man of the house cranked up his sedan and sped away, something dawned on Etta. “Did you say Halstead passed on?” Penny quickly explained how Halstead caught on fire, how she'd burned down the house and a few other secrets Etta made her promise never to share again. “Don't tell anyone else you were there when the still blew up and never mention anything about setting fire to the house,” Etta warned. “People go to prison for stuff like that. If there's something to be said, let me handle it.” Since Penny couldn't imagine trading one prison for another, she shook her head ferociously.
“Yes, ma'am. I mean, no, ma'am,” Penny stammered. “I ain't gon' say nothing else about it, to nobody. I'm free and aim'n' to stay that way.”
“Good. You look hungry. I was on my way over to Clarisse's Beauty Parlor but we can stop and grab a bite along the way.”
“
We
, Ms. Etta? I can come and wait with you at Madame Clarisse's?” Penny had seen women coming and going from the neighborhood hair salon since she could remember, but Halstead only slowed down long enough to ogle at the customers through the storefront window.
“Seems to me all you've been doing is waiting,” Etta said, trying to imagine how Penny would look if she had the chance to spread her wings. “It's high time you started living.”
Penny's mouth watered when that familiar cream-colored convertible came to a stop in the street behind Etta. It was him again, the stranger who said nice things, threatened Halstead and helped her off the ground. He'd even winked. He winked! With him showing up again unannounced, Penny was really living now and each moment appeared to get topped by the next. “ 'Morning, Jo Etta,” he hailed, after killing the engine.
“Baltimo' Floyd,” Etta announced. She was genuinely happy to see him, not ecstatic but happy enough to hug him around his neck. “When'd you get into town? Billy Eckstine fell in last night and bunched 'em in from wall to wall. He mentioned how you'd relieved him of his new automobile while he was up in Philly.”
“Well, some people ought to stick to what they're good at. Billy happens to sing a lot better than he plays poker.”
“He might be catching on, 'cause that's pretty close to what he was cackling about last night,” Etta informed him. “Now that I get a look at that fine coach, I can see why he was putting up such a fuss.”
When Etta noticed Baltimore's eyes drifting past hers, she turned to see what had drawn them away. She sighed when his expression hardened. It appeared that Penny was hiding something from him, by purposely concealing the left side of her face from view. “Penny, I think I need to have that talk with your papa,” Baltimore declared solemnly.
“Naw, suh, ain't no need for that now,” she assured him, like he had to ease her troubled mind the day before. “He beat on me for the last time. God made sure of that. You might say He fixed it.” Suddenly, Penny raised her head, stuck out her chin and nodded to both Etta and Baltimore.
“There's nobody better for setting things straight,” Baltimore said, sincerely. “Let's get some grub, then see if there're any loose ends The Man Upstairs might have overlooked.” He opened the car door to help Etta into the front seat, while Penny gladly jumped in the back.
“So, how do you know Penny?” Etta asked Baltimore, while admiring his classy automobile.
“We met yesterday on that very spot, right, Penny?” She nodded again, as he placed the sack in the seat next to her. “Yeah, she put me in the mind of the first girl I fell hard for,” he reminisced, climbing in behind the wheel. “Uh-huh, I was stuck on her for some time too.”
“Whuu—whut happened to her?” Penny asked anxiously.
“We had nine children together before I came to realize we had nothing in common,” Baltimore replied, displaying his best poker face.
Penny was astonished. Her eyes were about to pop clean out of her head until Etta howled with laughter. When Penny caught on that it was a friendly joke at her expense, she doubled over in unbridled giggles. “Ooh, Mistah Baltimo',” she squealed with delight like a kid on an amusement park ride. “Ms. Etta, how you keep up with him?”
“Lucky for me, I ain't crazy enough to try,” Etta snickered, as the car pulled away.
Madame Clarisse's shop was a few blocks south, over on Papin Avenue. By the time they had eaten breakfast, Etta filled Baltimore in on what needed to be done with Halstead's remains and the possible methods of facilitating it. The threesome was as thick as thieves. Penny had no doubts that Baltimore was the kind of man who made things go down easy and she couldn't wait to see what lay in store next.
Baltimore glanced through the beauty parlor window and then eyed his wristwatch. “Jo Etta, I'm 'a take care of that Halstead matter, but I need to run by Henry Taylor's to let him know I'm back.” When she pursed her lips instead of saying what she thought about it, he suspected something was wrong. “Etta? What you holding out on?” His stern expression demanded an answer.
“Go on inside, Penny,” Etta directed firmly, so she could discuss grown folks' business, including her own. She held her tongue until the girl was out of earshot. “Not that it's any of my affair, but you won't find Henry in that cramped apartment over by the train yard. He went and talked himself into getting hitched. He,” she sighed before the rest came out slowly, “... married a country girl, who moved up here from Tennessee. They got a little place on Tenth.” It was obvious that Etta still carried a torch for Baltimore's oldest living friend. Most of his other friends had long since perished. Some of them received their send-off by Baltimore's own hands. Etta was very much in love with Henry, but hadn't fooled herself into thinking she was the marrying kind.
Caught by surprise, Baltimore started to comfort Etta but thought better of beating a dead horse. He offered a warm smile in place of empty words as Etta tapped his hand, signifying her thanks for leaving well enough alone. Then, as if she didn't have a care in the world, Etta eagerly strolled inside to direct Madame Clarisse in orchestrating a miracle, converting years of shameful neglect into a vibrant young lady. That transformation would take some time, providing Etta with the opportunity to figure out what to do with Penny after that. When the owner of the ritzy salon took one look at Penny's bruises and matted hair, she winced.
“Etta,” Madame Clarisse groaned wearily, “I'll do it 'cause you're my best customer and 'cause I like you.” She shook her head at Penny's faded overalls and run over shoes. “But I'ma need me a cigarette first.”
“I know, Clarisse, I know,” Etta agreed, smirking alongside her girlfriend. “Light up two and hand me one.” Both of the women sat there, smoking and staring at Penny's long twisted pigtails while she gawked at the expensive leather chairs, polished furnishings and spotless red and white checkerboard linoleum floor. Madame's shop was a lot classier than Penny had envisioned when passing by in Halstead's old truck all those years. Beginning to feel like she was something special, Penny laughed to herself on the inside because all of the anticipation kind of tickled. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn she was dreaming.
A few miles away, Baltimore set out to find Henry using the information he'd received from Etta. When he'd located the house matching her description, he parked along the street instead of pulling into the driveway, considering the outside chance he'd stumbled on the wrong address. The small red brick house had a cozy feel to it from the outside. The smell of fresh cut grass reminded Baltimore of spring baseball and all the great times he'd experienced barnstorming with colored teams while touring the country's back roads and Negro ballparks from coast to coast.
When he climbed the steps and knocked at the door of the red brick house, Baltimore saw a pair of bright eyes staring up at him from the other side of the small paned window. He assumed he'd chosen the wrong house for sure then and started to walk away until he heard a woman's voice yell out, “Henry, it's that man again!” Baltimore's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He wore a wide smile when the door flew open and his old pal Henry Taylor appeared in navy Dickies' work pants and a white undershirt. Henry was more than six feet, two inches, two hundred thirty pounds of sheer brawn, and waving a bat. Most men would have bolted for safety or at least flinched in close proximity to someone that menacing, tight-faced and huffing mad. But all Baltimore did was call the man's name.
BOOK: Ms. Etta's Fast House
2.6Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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