The Secrets of Silk (25 page)

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ubbernecking motorists and pedestrians gazed at Silk with awestruck expressions when she pulled up in front of the parking meter, driving her brand-new, red, convertible Cadillac with white-wall tires.

With her hair flowing down her back and wearing a tight-fitted dress, Silk felt like the colored version of Marilyn Monroe as she swiveled her hips, walking along Sproul Street with Dallas in tow.

“You look beautiful, M'dear,” Dallas said adoringly.

“And you're beautiful, too. Now pick up your step so we can make it to your ballet class on time. We don't want those crackers saying colored folks are never on time. I want you to show those little white girls that you can do those ballet moves way better than their asses can.”

“Yes, M'dear.”

Silk walked Dallas inside the YWCA building. “I can't stay to watch you practice today. After dance class, I want you to go straight to the locker room and change into your swimsuit and get in the pool. You better make sure every strand of your hair is tucked under your swim cap because I can't deal with any nappy-ass hair, ever again. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, M'dear.”

“Okay, then. I'll be back to pick you up after your swimming
lesson is over. Now, go put those no-dancing, white girls to shame.” Silk patted Dallas on the back, urging her to get moving. With a wave of her hand, Dallas proceeded to the room where her ballet class was held.

Ed had yet to see Silk's new car, and over the phone, they'd made plans for Silk to take him for a little spin, and to also get into some hanky-panky while Dallas was taking classes at the Y. But Silk changed her mind, realizing she wasn't in the mood for Ed to be slobbering between her legs.

Instead of driving toward the blackberry field where she'd promised to meet up with Ed, she steered the Caddy back toward her own neighborhood and glided into the parking area of the Flower Hill bar.

Had Buddy been at home instead of working overtime on such a gloriously sunny Saturday afternoon, he could have stood out on their front porch and easily spotted Silk's car.

On Saturdays, folks started filtering into the Flower Hill as soon as it opened in the morning. Silk sat in her car, reapplying lipstick and brushing her hair. She felt a shiver of excitement each time the door to the bar opened, emitting raucous laughter and thumping music. The place was already in full swing and she was in the mood for a good time.

A peek in her side mirror, revealed pesky Sonny Boy coming out of Max's store, carrying a load of boxes, which he stacked next to the trash can. Silk sank down in her seat, but she wasn't quick enough. To be half-blind, Sonny Boy sure had good vision when it came to spotting Silk.

Siiilk! Siiilk!” Sonny Boy waved excitedly as he yelled in his thick, sluggish voice.

Lord knows I don't feel like being bothered with this retarded motherfucker today!

Limping at a fast pace, Sonny Boy rushed over to Silk's car.

Panting with excitement, he grinned at Silk. “Is this your car, Silk?”

“Yup, and it's spanking, brand-new. Do you like it?”

“It's purty. I can wash it up and shine it for you when I get off from work.”

“It's already clean and shiny. It don't need any polishing,” Silk said with annoyance.

“I can run a rag over it, and wipe off any smudges or dust. I'll keep it nice and spiffy for you, Silk.”

“Not today, Sonny Boy. Why don't you stop by my house in a few days and I'll let you clean it off.”

“Thank you, Silk. I'll be knocking on your door in two days.” He held up two fingers.

A glance in the rearview mirror exposed Franny crossing the street, heading for the bar. The closer she got, the clearer her features became. And she wasn't smiling like Sonny Boy. The evil way she glared at the Cadillac made Silk wonder if Franny was contemplating putting sugar in her gas tank.

By the time Franny had approached, her hard expression had been replaced with a cheerful smile. “Did your husband buy you this car?”

“He sure did.”

“It's gorgeous,” Franny said, stroking the car door.

“Watch it, girl. Don't be putting smudges on my baby,” Silk said irritably.

Franny snatched her hand away. “Sorry.”

“Sorry don't cut it. You better be more careful.” Rolling her eyes, Silk opened the door and got out of the Cadillac.

“I'll run and get a rag and wipe the smudges off the door,” Sonny Boy chimed in.

Franny put a hand on her plump hip and glowered at Sonny
Boy. “Shut up and mind your business, Sonny Boy. I ain't put any smudges on that car door.”

Silk patted Sonny Boy on the arm. “You better get on back to work before Max comes looking for you.”

“Okay, Silk. But remember, I'm gonna shine up your car for you in two days.” Again, he held up two fingers, and then limped back in the direction of Max's store.

Cozying up to Silk, Franny kept in step with her. “Honey chile, I swear you look like a film star. You remind me of that girl in the movie,
Carmen Jones.
That dress you're wearing is sharp, and it fits you like a glove. Did your husband buy that for you, too?”

“Of course he bought it. Buddy likes to see me dressed glamorously, and he loves spoiling me,” Silk said, rubbing her good life in Franny's face. Franny had four crumb snatchers at home and there wasn't a man in sight to claim nary a one of her brood.

“Shame about the twins,” Franny mumbled. “They didn't stand a chance what with being born so small and sickly.”

“Yeah, it's heartbreaking for my family and me. During these sorrowful times, I have to stay strong and be the rock for everyone to lean on.”

“Buddy's a lucky fellow.” Franny jerked on the handle of the bar door.

“That's exactly what Buddy tells me every single day,” Silk replied boastfully as she entered the Flower Hill. As always, eyes darted in her direction. Male eyes lit up in delight. But the women, with facial features as hard as marble, sized her up through wary, narrowed eyes.

While Franny stopped to chat and mingle with a few people she knew—no doubt trying to bum a cigarette and a free drink—Silk sauntered over to the bar and took a seat.

“How you doing, Silk? You're looking good, baby,” Wally, the
bartender, greeted in a welcoming tone. “What are you drinking—Schlitz beer?”

“No, I done moved up in the world. I'll have a scotch and soda on the rocks. But I don't want the cheap stuff. Pour me a double shot of Chivas Regal,” Silk said, recalling what Nathan Lee used to drink.

“We don't carry Chivas Regal. How about Johnny Walker Red?”

“That'll do.”

“I heard Buddy bought you a new Caddy; is that true?”

“You heard right. She's parked out in the lot. One of these days, I'll take you for a spin.”

Wally set the drink in front of her. “I'm gonna hold you to that, Silk.”

One sip of scotch and Silk's insides became warm. She felt amorous and there was a tingling sensation in her loins. There weren't any interesting-looking men in the place, Silk noticed as she glanced around the bar. She wondered if her cute white boy, Ed, was still hanging around their meeting spot, waiting for her. She thought about chugging down her drink and racing to the other side of town so that Ed could suck on her poontang, but she decided against it. She'd be enraged if she drove all the way to their special spot in the blackberry field only to discover that Ed had grown tired of waiting.

With a cigarette clamped between her fingers, Franny meandered over to the bar and took a seat next to Silk.

“Say, Wally, give me a Schlitz, and put it on Mr. Blackwell's tab.” Franny pointed to a white-haired gentleman who walked with a cane.

Franny sipped her beer and smacked her lips in satisfaction. But Silk wasn't doing so well. She squirmed in her seat, realizing that something needed to be done about her tingling pussy. She gazed
at Wally and shook her head. His big, ol' protruding belly was a sign that he probably wasn't working with very much dick.

A glimpse at Franny as she wrapped her lips around her cigarette, gave Silk the bright idea of trying to talk Franny into putting those juicy lips to good use. But before she uttered enticing words that would encourage Franny to slip inside the ladies room with her, the door opened and Tate sauntered in.

“Here comes trouble,” Franny alerted Silk, recalling Silk's adverse reaction the last time Tate had entered the Flower Hill.

“I don't see any trouble. All I see is a tall drink of water.” Silk fluttered her fingers at Tate and sent him a smile.

Tate's expression brightened as he glided across the barroom, heading in Silk's direction. He didn't bother to glance at Franny as he maneuvered into the space between Franny and Silk.

“I can't believe you finally decided to speak to me. You're a sometimey broad, you know that?” Tate spoke in a humorous tone.

“An experienced lady's man like yourself should understand that being moody is a woman's prerogative.”

“You're something else, Silk,” Tate said with a smile as he beckoned the bartender. “Give the lady whatever she's drinking.” He nodded at Silk.

“There's more than one lady sitting here,” Franny piped in.

“Yeah, well, I only have eyes for Silk,” Tate retorted.

“But me and Silk came here together; how you gonna just ignore me?”

Tate gave Franny a menacing look. “Do I have to smack you in the mouth to get you off my back?”

Franny flinched and muttered to herself as she pulled another cigarette from the pack that old man, Mr. Blackwell, had bought her.

“Why don't you scram, Franny. Give me and Silk some privacy,” Tate suggested with a sneer. The menace in Tate's voice prompted Franny to grab her beer and vacate the barstool next to Silk.

Watching Franny skulk off, mumbling and rolling her eyes, tickled Silk. “You're a real charmer, Tate,” Silk said with sarcastic laughter.

“That skank tried to get new with me. She knows damn well I don't give her the time of day, so why would I buy her a drink?”

“Can't blame her for trying.”

Tate waved his hand dismissively, indicating he was through with the subject. “So, what's good, Silk? Everybody's talking about your new ride. I'm parked next to you in the lot. That Caddy is sharp; makes me want to trade in my Thunderbird.”

“You can't keep up with me, Tate. So don't even try.”

Tate laughed. “You're probably right. You're a real humdinger, you know that? And I like your style.” His expression turned serious. “I'd like to get you alone. Do you think you could slip away from Buddy one night this week?”

“What's wrong with right now?”

Wally placed Silk's drink in front of her, and gazed at Tate as if he wished he were in Tate's place.

“Right this moment?”

“Yeah, no better time than now.” Silk gazed at Tate challengingly.

Tate rubbed the side of his neck. “I, uh, I have some business to attend to.”

Silk laughed. “You're all talk and no action, huh?”

“I've got plenty of action. Give me a few minutes to make some phone calls. I have to rearrange my schedule.” Walking toward the pay phone, Tate glanced over his shoulder and winked at Silk.

She ran her tongue over her lips.

S
ilk followed Tate to a row house on Tilghman Street. Kids were out in full force, riding bikes and scooters up and down the pavement.

“Is this where you live?” she asked after parking behind Tate's car.

“This is one of my spots.”

“How many do you have?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I'm the curious type.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said with a sly grin.

“Hey, Mr. Tate!” a little boy called from across the street. “Do you need anything from the store?”

“Not today, Junebug, but I have another job for you. I want you to keep an eye on both these cars—my T-bird and the red Caddy behind it. Make sure none of the kids ride their bikes too close to our cars, and don't let anyone lean up against them, either.”

“Yes, sir. I'll guard the cars,” Junebug replied, grinning.

“All right, little fella. I'll pay you when I come out.”

“Okay!” On foot patrol, Junebug paced back and forth between the two convertibles. The little boy, who looked to be around eight or nine, wore a serious expression as he kept guard.

Inside the neat house, the tiled living room floor was polished to a high shine and there was a faint smell of floor wax, which Silk
found rather pleasing. The sofa and chairs were protected with clear plastic covers, giving Silk the idea to have her living room furniture covered to prevent Buddy's children from wearing out the fabric. She looked around the environment, noticing numerous framed photographs of Tate at various ages that were displayed on the mantel, table tops, and some were hung on walls.