Nobody Said Amen (13 page)

Nefertiti watched Luke as his eyes followed Willy and Perkins. When he turned back to her, she touched her glass to his. “You like that music, Lightnin’?”

“No. Jungle music, Titi. I’m too redneck for that stuff.”

She smiled. “But not too redneck to teach this jungle bunny quite a few things my daddy never told me about.”

He tilted his head, meeting her eyes. “The jungle bunny had quite a few things to teach me that I hoped my daddy was never going to know about.” He laughed. “’Course our housekeeper, Josie, knew, ever since she found us in the tack room buck naked, and observed you admiring how much I had grown in those few years!”

She hooted. “Seein’ was believin’, but it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing, and we were both too scared to find out. Lordy, Lordy! That was when you were fourteen and I was twelve. I had to wait a whole year, Lucas, wonderin’ and wonderin’ how it would be.”

“We couldn’t wait that long, Titi. I was so hot for you that I borrowed my daddy’s jeep and drove us out to that spot near the levee outside of Greenville. Even had moonlight on the river for that first time. You remember?”

“You’re one crazy cracker, Lucas. You think a girl don’t remember her first time?” She gazed at him tenderly. “Not that the first time was very successful, lover! You were so eager that you got there without me. That’s the night I called you White Lightning! Christ, are you blushing? No need. We made up for that on more great times than I can remember.” Her gaze drifted to the dancers on the floor. “Willy’s one lucky lady, Luke.”

When Perkins and Willy returned to the table, Titi rose and embraced Willy. “Last time my daddy brought me to Claybourne’s, you came back with Lucas and I saw he’d found what he was waitin’ for. Can we all have a nightcap when I’m done with the next set? Gotta go to work.”

They started to applaud when she crossed to the mike and a loud voice called, “‘I Would if I Could,’ baby. Sing it!” Nefertiti grinned and held up her hand for silence.

“The old songs are the best songs, after all. Music, maestro.” The snare started its roll and the bass took up the beat as the sax nestled close to the singer.

Now I would if I could but honey I can’t no more,

Yes I would if I could but honey I can’t no more,

I can’t get no cooperation, the way I did before. . . .

“I like your friend, Luke,” said Richard, grinning. “Now there are folks I know who would not believe what I have just seen with my own two eyes.”

“The old songs are the best songs, after all?” Willy echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You think so, Luke?”

He didn’t answer because Nefertiti’s throaty voice cut through the smoky room. But his eyes met Willy’s over the glass as he finished off the whisky.

Now you’re gettin’ slow and easy,

You’re as patient as can be,

You don’t ask for too much lovin’

And that’s what’s botherin’ me.

Tell me, papa papa, just what are we waitin’ for?

Yes, I would if I could, but I don’t get a chance no more.

When the last car had pulled out of the parking lot, Bronko locked the door behind him and followed Nefertiti to the bar. “Pour us a sip, lover, while I tote up my riches,” she said, methodically counting the bills and writing down the numbers like her daddy used to do. When she finished, she made a small separate stack and carefully slipped it into an envelope and handed it to Bronko. He grinned, enjoying the charade they played every Saturday night.

“And who gets the envelope, Titi?”

She closed the register, moved around the bar and sat next to him. She nuzzled against him, chuckling. “You get the envelope, lover.”

He put his arm around her, and she lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. “And who keeps the envelope, Titi?”

She laughed like a tired child, pleased with their game. “Sheriff Dennis Haley keeps the envelope.”

He raised her head and kissed her long and hard. “And what does Bronko get?”

She slid from the stool. “Bronko gets a sip, a taste, and a lot of lovin’ from the Queen of the Nile.”

He locked the bar and led her through the dark stand of trees to the little cottage that her daddy had built after the war. “And how come Bronko gets a sip, a taste, and a lot of lovin’?”

She led him to her bed. “Because Bronko is my handy man. Didn’t you know?”

When he left, it was two in the morning and Nefertiti was deep asleep. Her gentle touch and tenderness was the only balm in the crabbed and lonely world of Stanley Bronko. She never wanted him there when she awoke, and he longed to stay. But he stole away from the room like a burglar. He hated that feeling.

Lucas Claybourne. White Lightnin’. Oh my God! Chilled, she had wakened at four, and slipped into her robe, staring into the darkness. After all these years, Lucas. She squeezed her eyes tight, conjuring that ghost from her fifteenth year.
Oh, Lightnin’, don’t go!

Her eyes opened, searching the coal black room, but she saw only the pale gray square of the dawn window. Shivering, her body tingling and vividly awake, Nefertiti tapped out a cigarette and lit it. In the bureau mirror she saw its pulsing glow and crossed to light the candle beside the glass. Dear Jesus. Lightnin’. It was like a moan. You loved me. The tears came, glowing where they fell, staining the dark velvet skin. Her eyes, wide and frightened, stared back from the mirror.

Richard Perkins heard the hiss of the sprinklers as they moved down the rows, and without opening his eyes he knew that it was already fierce out in the fields. Six weeks since the last rain shower that moved up from the coast? His head was still full of images from the night. Nefertiti, so damned exciting, and good-hearted, fucked-up-priorities Luke. Wants to be his daddy, good white master to his tenants. He grinned, still fuzzy from the hooch at Fatback’s. Poor Luke. He’d never seen a man turn that red. Luke and Nefertiti, the great white planter, redneck son of a bitch with his plantation playmate! He felt for old Lucas.

Perkins stretched, squeezing his eyes against the brilliant window. And Willy. Wasn’t she something? Take the A-train. . . . His body stirred at the thought, and then he let the thought in and felt Willy, seven months pregnant, moving in synch, letting the music decide. For real? Or for now? Or was it just Willy? You are full of surprises, Richard Perkins. Christ, he hadn’t let himself feel like that since Helen. His hand stretched out across the bed to nothing. An old habit. Dum de dum de dum. . . . How the hell did it go? Lonesome . . . .

Get the lonesome blues

Any time you’re far from me,

Get the lonesome blues

Deeper than the deep blue sea
. . . .

Blinking, he pulled up the blinds and looked outside. This sea was green, stretching endlessly under the glare. Only the sprinklers were moving, trembling across the hard-baked Delta earth.

The call from Richard Perkins came as Willy was finishing her coffee.

“Good morning, Willy. After such a big night I was afraid I might wake you calling so early.”

“No chance of that, Dick. I’ve been up since seven. I had to make breakfast for Luke before he headed to the cotton broker in Jackson. Why did you call?”

“I wanted to make sure that the lindy and the A-Train had not derailed you last night. I felt a little responsible.”

She smiled and sipped her coffee. “You were a little responsible. No. Not derailed, But maybe detoured. I haven’t been on that kind of a trip in a very long time. It made me wonder where that train was headed.”

There was a pause before Perkins answered. “Willy, I’d like to come over to talk. You mind?”

Willy put down her coffee. “You are full of surprises, Dick Perkins. Of course I don’t mind.”

Willy met him at the door with a grin and planted a kiss on his cheek. “My gentleman caller. Now how many women have gentleman callers before eleven in the morning! Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m not sure gentleman callers drink coffee. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure what gentleman callers do.”

“They have assignations,” Willy chuckled. “I read it somewhere and looked up the word. I don’t think this is an assignation.”

Perkins settled on the living room couch, watching Willy as she sat opposite him. “We’ve been friends for a very long time, Willy. I’ve come here a hundred times to see you and Luke. And this is the first time I’ve come to visit you alone. It’s not the first time I’ve wanted to. It’s the first time I’ve come.”

She met his gaze. “I’m aware of that.” Mischievously, she asked, “Do you think it was the A-Train that brought you?”

“No. I think it was because I’ve always felt something very important could happen between us, and until last night I didn’t want to let that happen. This morning I knew that I want that to happen, Willy.”

The merriment in her eyes faded. “Dick, we’ve been dearest friends. You’ve understood me better than anyone other than Luke. I love you like the dear friend you are and always have been.” She smiled. “Maybe it was the bourbon and the Basie at Fatback’s.”

“Willy, it wasn’t the bourbon and the Basie.” He moved from the couch and crossed to her side. Gently, he raised her face and kissed her.

When Willy took his hands from her face and kissed them, her eyes were troubled. “Darling Dick. If wishes were horses . . . beggars would ride. And Willy Claybourne would still be Willy McIntire and Mr. Wonderful from Colorado would ride out of the west and take her out to the world, probably on a horse. You’ve told me so much about that world beyond the Delta. How I would love to see that world with you!” She sighed, and her eyes held his. “You know how to truly embrace it. But for now, I’m Willy McIntire Claybourne, wife of Lucas, who is struggling to hold on to a farm that’s his life, mother of Alex and mother-in-waiting for a new Claybourne.” She rose from the couch. “Dearest Dick, you brought me a beautiful gift of friendship when you came to Shiloh. I will always love you for it.” She smiled wanly and held out her hand. “But wishes aren’t horses.”

Bronko let the water pound him, the throbbing shower bringing him back, but slowly. It had been a long night at Fatback’s, near two when the sheriff’s honky friends finally left. Mmm. Good lookin’ broad. That fast 50 from Haley’s friend will help. Sheriff’s been good to me. Hell, I been good to him, too. He smiled. Not as good as Titi! Mmm . . . . Jesus!

His eyes opened, the water cascading from his shaved head and his broad shoulders. Seeing the dark curve of his glistening stomach made him wince. He was putting on weight again.

He stepped from the shower, wrapped a towel around his shoulders, moved heavily to the sink and stared at the mirror. It always happened. He never knew how to stop it. His thick forefinger began to trace the curving, nearly white scar that started below his cheekbone and ended in the shadow of his ear. The buckle on Big Stanley’s belt. Bronko spat into the sink in disgust and then lathered to shave. The soap made a clown’s face of the heavy Negroid features and he searched the mirror. Two calculating blue eyes stared back at him. Fucking Polack eyes! Two Polack eyes and one Polack scar to carry for the rest of my fucking life. Should’ve killed that bastard when I found out he was the one who got her knocked up, but what does a kid know? Polack didn’t know his whore was mulatto, light as the sheriff’s wife. A great joke on everybody when I arrived. He spat in the sink, washed away the lather, and buried his face in the towel. How many times did he use the belt and the buckle on both of us? Throwed the old lady out, and me with her. She grabbed the next bus for N’Orleans and left me with the Sisters and I didn’t catch up with Big Stanley till I was eighteen at the work farm and he was a guard. He smiled at his image. Introduced myself by poling him with my rock hammer, woulda killed him then but they jumped me. He gone now, don’ matter leastwise where. I’d still be servin’ time weren’t for Haley.

Haley summoned Bronko that afternoon. “My friend Dick Perkins tells me you took good care of them at Fatback’s. You did good, Stanley. Any trouble out there?”

Bronko shook his head. “Not likely.” He placed the envelope on the corner of the desk and watched the sheriff slide it into his jacket pocket. “People don’t mess with me, Sheriff. And I don’t mess with them lest I got to.”

Haley settled back in his chair, studying the huge man. “Sit down, Stanley. I had a visit yesterday from the reporter who’s in town. You know who I mean. Tall guy named Mendelsohn?”

Bronko nodded. “Shit, he been everywhere those agitators been. No missin’ him. Yeah I seen him.”

“He came to see me with Jimmy Mack. You know Mack?”

“I know who he is. Hell, at this point everybody know who he is. Seems like as many people know him as know me, and I been takin’ care of business round here for a long time. He’s a tough little bugger. But this ain’t his turf. Maybe I gotta remind him of that.”

“That could be a real problem, Stanley. And I don’t want any problem I don’t need to have with the mayor on my back. It’s why I called you in.”

Bronko frowned, stirring uncomfortably in his seat. “So what you want from me?”

The sheriff rose from his chair and went to the large town map hanging on the wall. “You know that Baptist school used to be over on Summit?”

“Yeah. It’s been empty for three, maybe four years.”

“Well, Mack’s made a deal with the Elders to use the school as an organizing center, and they’re going to have a big public meeting next Sunday night to open the place. Folks going to be coming in from a whole lot of places.”

“Organizing the niggers for what? To tear up the place?”

“Organizing the farm workers in a union, Stanley. The mayor’s all upset about it, but there’s nothing legal we can do about stopping it. And there are a lot of Klan who are gonna be all upset about it, and there’s nothing legal they can do to stop it either. But that doesn’t mean they’re not going to try. So we got to know what the hell we’re doing every minute of that meeting. I want you and all my deputies at that Baptist school Sunday.”