Seen It All and Done the Rest (20 page)

THIRTY-FIVE

Z
ora wanted me to talk about the house without actually being there. She needed the footage and she hoped it would be easier for me to think about the place in a positive way if I couldn’t see it. That made sense. Looking at it made me mad and sad and semi-hysterical. Not exactly the preferred states for conjuring up childhood memories that could make this wreck of a house seem like a home. It was my idea to wear the kimono Howard sent, even though Zora thought it was a little too theatrical.

“I am a little too theatrical,” I said. “I don’t want them to think I’ve spent my life scrubbing out the bathroom sink.”

She conceded the point. “You’re right. There’s plenty of time for that later. Okay. Where do you want to sit?”

We agreed that outside by the pool would make people want this house, not our place, and the kitchen was a little too informal for my outfit. We finally settled on a cozy corner of the living room. There was a big brown chair with an arm I could perch on without feeling or looking uncomfortable and a nice little Tiffany lamp giving off what would probably be my last good lighting until this project was over.

“Ready?” said Zora, after checking to be sure her technology was doing as she intended.

“Should I introduce myself?”

“Yes.”

“And then just start talking?”

“That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay. I’m ready. Roll ’em!”

She laughed. “Nobody really says ‘roll ’em.’”

“They used to,” I said. “What do they say now?”

“Hit it!”
she said, so I did.

“Hello,” I said, looking where she had told me to look. “My name is Josephine Evans. I’m an actress and I grew up in that house you just saw. It didn’t look like that then, of course. It was a lovely house. Nice neighborhood, too.”

What the hell was I talking about? I took a deep breath and smiled at the little red light on the tiny little camera.

“So when I first came back, I had been away a long time…” How much detail did I need? Did I need to say where I had been? “I had been away working, but this house was special to me in a lot of ways, so when I saw it, I was shocked. I couldn’t believe it.”

This was harder than I thought it would be. I stopped again. Then Zora came to my rescue.

“Tell me one special thing about this house,” she said.

“Special to whom?” I always sound snotty when I’m nervous.

“I’m asking you, Mafeenie,” Zora said gently. “Special to you.”

That was as good a place to start as any. I tried to put myself back in the mind of that twelve-year-old girl arriving from Montgomery with my mother, already missing my family and friends. What had appealed to me about this house back then?

“Well, at first I hated that it was a duplex,” I said. “Even though there were two separate entrances, and no shared living space, I could never get over the fact that somebody who was not related to me was sleeping on the other side of my bedroom wall.”

Zora nodded encouragingly like this was the kind of stuff she wanted. I relaxed a little.

“The tenants were always quiet and well behaved,” I said. “Mostly they kept to themselves. I don’t remember ever hearing them talking on the phone or laughing out loud, although one of them used to sing hymns once a week while she got ready for church. That was Miss Simpson.”

As soon as I said her name out loud, I could see her face in my mind. A sweet face with a sad smile.

“She was about forty years old and she worked as a secretary at Spelman College, but that was all I knew about her. She never went out except to go to work or to church and, as a child, I found myself wondering about the story of her life. I would sit on the side of my bed on Sunday morning, listening to her singing, and make up little stories about who she might be and write them down in a little notebook. My mother found one of the notebooks once and said I shouldn’t make up things about people because it might hurt their feelings. I didn’t stop doing it, but after that, I made sure I hid the notebooks.”

Zora was still smiling and nodding and I felt like I was telling her something she really wanted to know.

“I didn’t know it at the time,” I said, “but what I was doing would stand me in good stead once I became an actress because the key to acting is the ability to fully imagine another human life, and that’s what I learned how to do in this house. That’s what I learned, all those nights lying in bed, wondering about Miss Simpson’s childhood and trying to figure out why she was crying in the backyard that day I came outside and saw her standing in the middle of my mother’s yellow roses, clutching a letter and sobbing loud enough for me to hear her, see her standing there, and run back to my room to write it all down.”

When I heard myself say that, I realized I had walked up on the answer to Zora’s question.

“That was the gift this house gave me,” I said. “An understanding and appreciation of the mysterious, private, unknowable lives of other human beings, and that is a very special thing. And that is why I’m not going to let it go. Not now, not ever.”

I looked at Zora, who waited a couple of seconds to see if I was through, and then said, “Cut.”

“Was that enough?”

“Yes, Mafeenie,” she said. “That was perfect.”

THIRTY-SIX

E
ven though I had picked the place, Greer Woodruff had claimed it as her own by the time I got there a few minutes after noon. The lunchtime crowd was already gathering around the hostess stand, listening to their stomachs growling in anticipation and wondering why there was only one woman at that big old table in the back where the hostess could have seated that group of five and moved things along a little more quickly. I didn’t have to wonder. I realized this was Greer Woodruff’s turf, too.

She stood up to greet me and I shook her hand and slid into the booth across from her. She smiled at me and raised her hand for the waiter. It was MacArthur. When he realized I was the guest for whom Greer had been waiting, his stricken face confirmed Zora’s suspicions. I smiled as if seeing him was the pleasure of my day. That’s the thing about Atlanta. You are always going to see the person you are trying the hardest to avoid.

“Hello, MacArthur,” I said, enjoying his discomfort. “Got your camera with you today?”

“Good afternoon,” he croaked. “Welcome to Paschal’s. Can I bring you something from the bar?”

I decided against a drink and asked for iced tea instead. Greer had a cup of black coffee. I wondered if our picture would make the magazine.
Atlanta businesswoman meets with expatriate actress at historic Paschal’s restaurant.
It didn’t sound very sexy. And unless I miss my guess, we’re too old to make the tabloids. MacArthur brought my tea immediately without making eye contact.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Greer said. “I was sorry to get your message and I wanted to let you know that I’m still very interested in that property. I think in my haste to acquire it, I may have been insensitive to the fact that the parcel…
the house
has an emotional component as far as you are concerned that I didn’t factor in before we spoke.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said.

“I meant no disrespect to your mother,” she said. “Or to your memories of the house itself. Please accept my apologies.”

“Certainly,” I said, wondering if her apology included making me a better offer. “And I apologize for my abrupt departure from your office. You see, my mother gave me that house when she died so that I could always finance my own freedom. When I heard your offer, I was a little concerned. Fifteen thousand dollars doesn’t buy as much freedom as it used to.”

She nodded, looking so sympathetic I almost believed she was. Except for the eyes. They were too busy watching me to feel anything.

“May I be candid with you?” she said as MacArthur headed our way with a vegetable plate for me and a chicken salad for her.

“Please.”

She waited while he presented our food efficiently and glided back out of sight. We both ignored the plates he had put before us.

“I’ve been a power player in this town for longer than I care to remember,” she said, leaning forward as if she was going to share a secret with me. “And because I am a woman, a black woman, I’ve had to fight for everything every step of the way.”

She was trying to see if we could bond on the basis of our mythical sisterhood. Not a chance. I wasn’t mad at her for doing business. I was mad at the way she was doing it. If she wanted my house, all she had to do was make me a decent offer for it, not run it into the ground so I wouldn’t have any other options.

“The reason I am so interested in the land around your house is because, Ms. Evans, a very large conglomerate wants to put a major piece of commercial development right there on Martin Luther King Drive.” She paused dramatically and pushed her untouched chicken salad in the little tomato half with the scalloped edges to the side. “If they can get a parcel of land at a price that makes sense. The piece you’re sitting on is key.”

“Sounds like you may have undervalued it just a little,” I said.

“Exactly.” She smiled as if she had found the opening she needed. “Is it time to talk about money, Ms. Evans?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I thought we already did that.”

She pursed her lips as if she was disappointed in me for bringing up our off-on-the-wrong-foot meeting.

“Name a price you think is fair, Ms. Evans. You’ll find I’m a reasonable woman.”

“Well, sometimes I’m not,” I said. “Which is why my house is not on the market.”

“Everything has a price.”

“Everything or everybody?” I said.

“Ms. Evans,” she said firmly, sounding like she was speaking to a stubborn child. “This is a very good deal and there is a very finite window during which you can take advantage of it. These people aren’t going to give me much longer to put this package together, and frankly I can’t in good conscience recommend it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to go against your conscience,” I said.

“Taking care of your property was not my responsibility. It was yours,” she said. “Blaming me for your own neglect isn’t going to help either one of us.”

“I’m not asking you for your help,” I said, realizing I should never have come here. Zora and I had made another plan, a better plan, and Greer Woodruff wasn’t part of it. Besides, there was something about her attitude that brought out the worst in me, and even though I didn’t know exactly what it was, at this point, I didn’t really care. It was time for me to go.

“Well, maybe you should be.”

That was enough. Who did she think she was talking to? I stood up, wishing I had ordered that drink so I could toss it.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time,” I said. “But I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

She stood up, too. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but before you go, I think it’s only fair to tell you that there are people interested in that land who won’t be as open to discussion as I’ve been.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, “but just between us, what are they going to do? Wreck the place?”

It wasn’t as good as a well-thrown drink, but as exit lines go, it wasn’t half bad.

THIRTY-SEVEN

I
walked back to West End from Paschal’s trying to decide whether Greer Woodruff was going to be a problem or just a minor irritation. She was clearly a woman who was used to getting her own way, but so was I. It was too early to tell what cards she was prepared to play, but so far I felt like I was holding my own. All I needed now was some work clothes that didn’t make me look like Granny Gump. If Zora was going to be around playing
Candid Camera,
I needed something practical, but with what Howard called “the possibility of panache.”

My route took me right by the West End Mall. Zora had warned me that my choices would probably be limited to generic sweats or low-slung jeans that showed more meat than I was prepared to share with strangers, but there was no harm in just passing through to see what I could find. I had to find something to wear while I was hauling all that trash around.

As I passed by the grocery store, headed for the mall, I heard somebody call my name.

“Miss Evans!”

I turned to find Louie emerging from the store wearing his lovely gray suit and a big grin on his face. I smiled and waited for him to catch up.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It just shocked me to see you walking right by.”

I laughed. “I live here, remember? How are you?”

“Fine, fine,” he said. “I’m cooking a special meal and I needed to put in an order for some mussels. This place has the freshest seafood in town.”

Why didn’t that surprise me?

“Did your chef finally realize who he’s got in the kitchen?”

Louie shook his head. “Not yet, but he has finally agreed to let me cook a meal for him. I told him I’d pay for everything if he would just eat my food one time and then consider adding some of my signature dishes to his menu.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m going to need it. This boy thinks he can really burn and he don’t know a roux from a ratatouille. My problem is going to be trying to educate his taste buds while I leave them wanting more.”

“From what I hear, that’s your specialty.”

He smiled. “I’ll have to cook for you one day so you can decide for yourself.”

Was he flirting with me? Maybe I had spoken too soon about the men not looking anymore. I think Louie had seen me just fine.

“I’ll look forward to it,” I said. “Which way are you walking?”

“To the bus stop,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I lost both my cars in the flood. Haven’t been able to afford another one.”

I wondered how long it took to get over it when you lose everything. I wondered if you ever do.

“You started work on that house?” he said.

“We start on Monday morning,” I said. “I’m on my way to the mall now to find some work clothes.”

He grinned at me, strolling beside him in a long, black trench coat, black pants, black sweater, and my signature silver jewelry.

“I thought those were your work clothes.”

He was definitely flirting. I just smiled. The bus stop was right outside the mall entrance and unless I was going to wait with him until the bus came, it was time to be about my business.

“It was good to see you,” I said. “The guy’s taste buds won’t know what hit them.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Good to see you, too.”

We both saw the bus turn the corner a few blocks away.

“You could really do me a big favor.”

I looked at him, but his easy smile told me nothing except he had a very pleasant face and very sad eyes.

“You should get Miss Abbie and Miss Aretha and your granddaughter and come for dinner on Monday night after your first day at work.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said.

“I’m the one asking for the favor,” he said. “I don’t know how to put on a pot for less than ten people, so whatever happens, I’m going to have a lot of really high-class leftovers.”

That made me laugh. “How can I turn down an invitation like that?” I said. “I’m sure my crew will be delighted. What time?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“We’ll be there.”

The bus rocked to a stop in front of us and people hoisted themselves and their packages slowly aboard.

“Good,” he said. “Knowing you ladies will be the ultimate recipients of this food will make me able to add the most important ingredient in any real New Orleans cuisine.”

“What’s that?”

“Love,” he said, touching his hand to his hat lightly. “What else?”