South Street (30 page)

Brown stood under the cold shower until he felt like he was capable of imitating someone who was completely sober. He stepped out, shivering, pulled his robe around him, draped a towel over his head and rubbed his hair briskly as he went through the bedroom to the kitchen. He raised the towel and reached out to turn on the gas beneath the coffeepot, but discovered that the burner was already on. “I figured you’d want some,” Vanessa said from behind him. Brown jumped two feet, twisting around in mid-air like a cat. “Jumpy?” Vanessa inquired sweetly.

“Don’t do that any more,” Brown said. He took a mug from the cupboard, poured himself a cup of coffee, added milk and four sugars.

“You gonna
drink
that?” Brown looked up at her, then at her cup, which held black coffee.

“Nope,” Brown said. “I’m going to shove it up your nose unless you get the hell outa here.”

Vanessa smiled. “Can’t I finish ma coffee?”

Brown stared at her. “What the fuck do you want anyway?”

Vanessa raised her cup, sipped daintily, put it down. She smiled at Brown, rose gracefully, moved around the table. Brown moved quickly to keep the table between them. Vanessa stopped, put her hand on her hip. “God, you sure is jumpy!”

“Just somethin’ I picked up playin’ with frogs,” Brown said.

“What do you play with now?” Brown glared at her. “Careful, darlin’. Your kids’ll be idiots, an’ you could go blind.”

“All right,” Brown said. “Now will you please get outa here and let me get some sleep?”

“I could use some sleep maself,” Vanessa said.

“So get it,” Brown said.

Vanessa looked at the door to the bedroom.

“No,” Brown said. “Thank you.”

Vanessa looked at him. “You queer or somethin’? I ain’t never known nobody to turn it down that wasn’t queer.”

“Yeah,” Brown said, “I’m queer.”

“Well, don’t worry ’bout that, sugah. I know all the tricks.”

Brown looked at her. “Yeah,” he said drily, “I can just believe it.”

Vanessa smiled. She kicked her shoes off and moved around the table, pressed herself against him. Brown’s hands stayed motionless at his sides. She pressed her cheek against his chest, leaving dark smears of make-up on his robe. Her hand moved toward the belt. “You’re wasting your time,” Brown said. “I don’t have any money.”

Vanessa jerked away from him, slammed a fist into his stomach. Brown grunted. “You sonofabitch,” Vanessa said. She backed toward the door. “You think I got to be standin’ here beggin’ some square-ass half-queer muthafucka for some a his little shit? I’m sorry Mistuh Mother, I didn’t know I was talkin’ to Jesus Christ.” She glared at him for a solid minute before she burst into tears.

Brown sighed. “I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean—”

“You think you’re sorry now, you wait ten minutes. You gonna be wantin’ to change your mind but it’ll be too damn late. Christmas don’t come but once a year, an’ reindeer ain’t got no reverse.” She wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve.

“Look,” Brown said, “you want another cup of coffee?” He grabbed her cup, poured it full again. Vanessa stayed where she was. “Come on,” Brown urged.

Vanessa looked at him sourly, came over and sat down. Brown handed her the cup. She raised it, her dark eyes showing over the rim. Brown sat down across from her, rocked back on the rear legs of his chair. He looked at her musingly. Vanessa slammed her cup down on the table. “Why you keep starin’ at me like that?”

“I was just wondering why you—”

“Just lucky I guess,” Vanessa said sarcastically.

“Good answer,” Brown said. “Wrong question. I was trying to figure out why you made me a cup of coffee.”

“Oh,” Vanessa said. She peered at him. “You talk funny, you know? Like you was a schoolteacher or a professor or somethin’.”

Brown looked at her steadily.

“Well, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Some kinda schoolteacher or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Brown said. “Or somethin’. You hungry?”

“Huh?”

“Hungry,” Brown said. “Food. Eaty-eaty. Big nigguh buck gonna make-make wid da cook-cook. You wantum eat?”

Vanessa stared at him for a minute, then broke into a fit of laughter, throwing her head back and bringing her hands up beside her face and grabbing the top of her head as if she were trying to keep it from coming off. The laughter went on for too long, took on a harsh, rasping undertone. Brown moved uneasily. Vanessa stopped laughing suddenly, as if someone had thrown a switch. “I’m all right.”

“Sure,” Brown said. “You want somethin’ to eat?”

“Like what?”

“Eggs,” Brown said firmly.

“I don’t like eggs.”

Brown shrugged philosophically. “Me neither.” He grunted and rose from the chair, went to root around inside the refrigerator.

“Hey,” Vanessa said, “you better get a longer bathrobe or paint your ass blue to match.”

“It’s a normal ass,” Brown said. “You may turn your head, regard it in quiet reverence, or kiss it. Take your pick.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa said, “I heard all about how you likes folks to kiss your ass.”

Brown had been backing away from the refrigerator, his arms loaded with eggs, bacon, cheese, and bread. He stopped dead. “Where’d you hear anything about me?”

“It’s all over the street that some cat named Brown made Leroy Briggs eat shit.”

“Oh,” Brown said, “that.”

Vanessa looked at him. “‘That’
could
get you killed.”

“I’m worried,” Brown said. He began breaking eggs into a bowl one-handed, moving in an easy rhythm, box to bowl to garbage bag. Vanessa watched him with interest. Brown took the fourth egg from the carton, cracked it on the counter, allowed the contents to fall into the garbage, and dropped the shell into the bowl. He looked down, shook his head. “Shit.” He began fishing out the pieces of shell.

Vanessa giggled. “You know what that reminds me of? That cartoon, you know, with the horse, an’ he’s shootin’ this gun an’ then he blows the smoke away an’ shoots it again only one time he blows when he should be blowin’ an’ shoots when he should be blowin’, you know, an’ he blows his head clean off.” She grinned at Brown, but the grin faded. “You don’t remember that?”

“Not exactly,” Brown said.

“I guess you never watched much TV. I useta watch it all the time, ’fore they came an’ took it back.”

“Well,” Brown said drily, “it’s just as well they took it back. It woulda kept you off the streets.”

“Damn,” said Vanessa. “What kinda cheap shit is that?”

“Brown cheap shit,” Brown said. “Sorry. I got a weird sense of humor.” He opened a cabinet and began taking down spices and sauces. Vanessa’s mouth dropped open as he started dumping things into the bowl with the eggs.

“What the
hell
are you puttin’ in there?”

“A shot a salt, a pinch a pepper,” Brown said. “Plus oregano, paprika, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, ketchup, A-1, mustard, grated cheese, parsley—”

“An’ you’re gonna
eat
that?”

“God, no,” Brown said. “I’m gonna turn it into a steak first.” He waved a fork above the bowl, mumbled a few words, started to whip the mixture up, using strong sharp flicks of his wrist. He started to whistle, stopped in surprise, and chuckled at himself. He looked at Vanessa and shook his head in wonder, then turned back to the stove.

“You ain’t nothin’ like I figured you’d be,” Vanessa said. “I figured you’d be like Leroy. Big, tough, mean.”

Brown sighed. “At least I’m mean. Now if it’s not against your religion, would you mind explainin’ why you spend so much time worryin’ about me?”

“It was either you or some other gorilla,” Vanessa said. “An’ it costs thirty cents to get to the zoo.”

“Uh, huh,” Brown said. “Interested in primates, are you?” He poured bacon grease into a skillet.

“Yeah,” said Vanessa. “See, I been tryin’ to finish ma education so I can get a good job, maybe be a go-go dancer or a secretary. Only I don’t know if I can stand the cut in pay.”

Brown poured the mixture into the snapping grease, stirred it around with a fork. “You sure you don’t want no food?”

“I told you, I don’t like eggs.”

“Ain’t eggs,” Brown said. “Didn’t you see me turnin’ it into steak?”

“Hell,” Vanessa said, “I ain’t fallen for that kinda shit since this old man told me he could change ma pussy into silver. He did, too. Took me back in the alley and stuck his finger up me for half an hour an’ then he give me a quarter.”

Brown said nothing. He watched the bubbling eggs, stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon.

“That turn you on?” Vanessa said.

“I ain’t no pinball machine,” Brown said.

“Oh, I am,” Vanessa said. “‘Slot-machine ’Nessa. Five balls for a dime.’ That’s what they used to call me, ’fore I got smart an’ stopped givin’ change, just like the subway. How ’bout that?”

Brown flipped the omelet over.

“See,” Vanessa said, “I got your ass figured out, professor. You one a them social-workin’ muthafuckas come down here to see what’s happenin’ with the fuckin’ natives. Doin’ some kinda bullshit study for the guvment so they can figure out some kinda poison that’ll kill off all the rats an’ roaches an’ the dirty-assed niggers without hurtin’ y’all knee-grows. I got your bag figured.”

Brown slid the omelet onto a plate, carried it over to the table, and sat down. “Good. You got me figured. Now you can get up off me for a while.”

“Aw, professor,” said Vanessa, “don’t you want to hear no more stories ’bout what it was like growin’ up in the ghetto? You can make a whole book outa it. Call it
Slot-Machine ’Nessa.
Don’t you wanna hear how I first got turned out?”

“Not while I’m eating,” Brown said.

Vanessa settled back into her chair. Brown forked food into his mouth, chewed diligently. He stared out the window. “Shit,” Vanessa said. “I thought you was somethin’ special. I figured you had to be, frontin’ off Leroy an’ gettin’ the whole damn street runnin’ around tryin’ to find out who you are.”

“I sent my Superman suit to the cleaners,” Brown said.

“Yeah, well, I guess you can’t do me no good then, can you? I guess you’re just doin’ your silly little thing like every other simple fool.”

“Probably,” Brown said. He put the last forkful of egg into his mouth, stood up, put the plate in the sink. The fork slid off and clattered loudly against the stained porcelain. When he turned away from the sink, she was looking at him, or he thought she was until he realized that her eyes were staring right through him. He sat down in the chair and looked at her. “I’m a bartender,” Brown said.

Vanessa sighed.

Brown nodded. “Yeah. An’ how the hell did it get to be any a your damn business what I am, or what I do?”

“I better go home,” she said, rising. Brown got up too, stepped behind her as she went to the door. She opened it and turned, brushing against him. She looked up and Brown saw tears in her eyes. He stood woodenly, staring, while the tears spilled over and ran down her face, eroding deep gullies in her make-up. Brown patted her arm awkwardly, and she let herself sag against him. Brown felt an unmistakable warming in his body, and it amused him and disgusted him and made him feel foolish. She slipped her arms around him. Her face, muddy with make-up, rubbed his chest. Brown shifted his weight, trying to avoid the friction and warmth, but she followed him, rubbing against him like a cat, purring softly. He sighed and stroked her back. “You want me,” she said softly. There was a note of wonder in her voice. She pulled her face away from him, ran her fingers lightly over his arm, his chest. She raised her hand and pulled his head down.

Brown kissed her dutifully, allowing her probing tongue to force his lips apart. Somewhere in the moist darkness her tongue met his and a darting battle began, his tongue forcing hers back, pursuing it hotly into the cavern of her mouth. Brown felt her hands on him. He tried one last time, tried the trick of sliding out and looking down from above and laughing at himself, but he found himself chained by her tears and warmth and darting hands. She stepped away.

“I’m a whore,” she said. “I’m a whore an’ I don’t want to do it—like a whore. Don’t come in for a minute, okay?” She looked at him pleadingly. Brown nodded, watched as she went to turn out the light, then made her way through the darkness to the bedroom and closed the door.

Brown shook his head, went over and sat on the windowsill. He looked out over the alley, trying to straighten out the feelings of desire and disgust and amusement and sympathy that whirled inside him. He wished that he smoked so that he could light up and hold something in his hands for a few minutes and then flip the butt and watch it go glowing down into the darkness below. He heard the bed creak. He heard her call.

The bedroom smelled unfamiliarly of perfume. He stumbled over something going through the door. The bed protested the added weight as he climbed into it. Her voice was a voice in darkness; she eluded him on the far corners of the sheet. “Sometimes,” she said hoarsely, “sometimes it don’t work too good. I’m just tellin’ you so you know. It’s like—like I can’t tell when I’m not workin’, you know?” She came to him, pressed against him. Brown ran his hand up and down her back. “It’s gonna be all right this time,” she said. “It’s gotta be.”

E
ARLY MORNING FOUGHT THROUGH
the smog and fell exhausted through the open window, glinting redgold in the hair on the back of Brown’s hand. The hand moved slowly, casting a shadow as it traced out letter shapes, word shapes, with a cheap ball-point pen. Brown wrote on a paper bag—he had run out of lined legal pads—and struggled to keep the words in nice neat rows, but they insisted on wandering downward as they stretched out toward the right margin. The hand moved hesitantly, spasmodically, like a hand on a Ouija board, writing a word, crossing one out, writing another, crossing out two more. His grasp on the pen was tight; the normal pinkness under his nails was tinted by pressure a bizarre greenish-white. Beneath the skin of his forearm, muscles moved visibly, and drops of perspiration glistened in the hair. Brown, hunched over the table, face close to the paper, did not look up when the bedroom door swung open and Vanessa stumbled sleepily into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes with balled fists. She lowered her hands and stared at Brown, shifted her weight, causing a board to creak; Brown did not notice. She cleared her throat once, then again, more loudly. Brown made a period with his pen, put it down, and looked up. “Good morning,” he said brightly.