Too Black for Heaven (10 page)

Chapter Eighteen

M
AIZIE WAS
pleased to see Dona. “I missed you,” the black-haired waitress said, “I watched for you to come in for supper. Then, when you didn’t come in all day yesterday, I asked the desk clerk and he said you’d moved to a cottage on one of the lakes.”

Dona ordered the Number 4 Club breakfast. “That’s right.”

Maizie called the order through the kitchen slot and brought Dona a cup of coffee. “It just goes to show that in this racket, you never can tell who you’re waiting on. Come to think of it, though, you’re fairer, but you do look a lot like Estrella. She’s one of my favorites.”

“I’m glad you like her.”

“No wonder you can drive the boat you do. Which lake did you move to?”

“Loon Lake.”

“Not into Blair Sterling’s place?”

“Yes.”

“After all I told you about the guy? Honey, with your looks, you’re asking for trouble.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That’s what the deep sea diver said before he met the female octopus.”

The food was as good as it had been the first morning. Dona ate, conscious that Maizie was eyeing her from time to time, undoubtedly wondering if she concurred with Sterling’s idea of ‘fun.’ When she’d finished her breakfast, she walked out into the lobby. Two bellboys were standing by one of the potted palms. Neither of them was Beau. She asked one of the boys if Beau was on duty. When the boy told her he wasn’t, she located a writing desk in an alcove and wrote Beau’s name on a hotel envelope. Folding the bills Sterling had given her between a sheet of stationery, she put it into the envelope, sealed it and walked over to the desk.

Dona wondered when the clerk slept. He’d been on duty every time she’d stopped at the desk. He greeted her cordially. “Nice to see you, Miss Santos. How’s the cottage on the lake working out?”

“Fine. I had a swim this morning before I drove into town.”

“Nice picture of you in this morning’s paper. I didn’t have the least idea we had such a celebrity staying with us.”

“It’s my mother who’s the celebrity.”

“Even so.”

Dona handed him the envelope she’d addressed. “Will you please see that the big bellboy, the one who limps, gets this? I believe I have the name correct.”

The clerk looked at the envelope. “Beau Jackson. That’s his name.”

“I forgot to tip him when I left.”

The clerk laughed as he put the envelope into one of the bottom rows of slots in the key rack. “I’ll see that Beau gets it as soon as he comes in. He probably can use it. Beau got himself into a little trouble yesterday and it may be a day or two before he can come back to work.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Served him right. I mean, getting clipped a time or two. We’ve never had any trouble with him. He’s always done his work fine. But even if he was a captain in the army and did lose a leg in Korea, he’s got no right to sass a white man. Why he practically called Mr. Sterling a liar.”

Dona didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded and walked through the lobby to the street. The scene was a duplicate of the previous day. The faces were different but similar. The carousel organ was playing a Strauss waltz. All that remained of the accident was a smear of grease, sanded over, in the exact center of the four-way intersection.

On impulse, she walked counter-clockwise around the courthouse square, studying the faces of the men and women she passed, thinking of what Jack Ames had said when she’d asked him what he thought of intermarriage. He’d said: “This thing’s too big for me.

She felt, suddenly, the same way about her own problem, like a mental pigmy in a world of giants. Killing Blair Sterling wouldn’t change anything. What was done was done. By killing her father, all she would accomplish would be to descend to the same low level on which he existed. Her thinking was confused, had been confused since this knowledge had been thrust upon her. Otherwise, she couldn’t have done the things she did, acted as she had acted. This wasn’t the end of the world. It was merely the end of the world she’d known. Everyone had a cross.

She could see it in the lined faces and stooped backs of the men and women in the square, trying to forget for one day by gathering with their kind, in the small pleasures they could give their children, in popcorn and peanuts and ice cream bars and soda-pop, in rides on a pink horse bobbing on a battered carousel, the different weights and problems that constantly sought to press them into the soil they tilled.

If the South was peopled with Blair Sterlings and beady-eyed little men whittling, spitting, sitting in the square, it was also peopled with men like Jack Ames and Judge Harris and Father Miller and dedicated men of all faiths who believed that ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself was not merely a phrase in a book but a firm and solid foundation on which to build a new and better understanding.

She passed Judge Harris’s office and impelled by something stronger than she was, turned down the shabby side street that led past St. Jude’s.

The door of the frame church was open. The same invisible hand drew her in. She was alone in the church. She made the sign of her faith, then knelt for a long time at the feet of the Holy Mother. When she left the altar she was crying. Her sins were still with her, but she felt spiritually refreshed and more like herself than she had since her talk with Estrella. Her mother had been so casual.

“Staying with a man is one thing. Marrying him is another. When a woman marries, she wants babies. That’s why it’s only fair you know. You might have — different — babies.”

Dona crossed the lawn to the rectory and knocked on the wood of the screen door. A pleasant-faced middle-aged white woman came to the door with flour on her hands.

“Is Father Miller in?” Dona asked her.

The housekeeper shook her head. “No, he isn’t. He’s out in the parish somewhere. Would you care to come in and wait?”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then I’ll come back,” Dona said. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

She walked on up the street, the same way she’d strolled on her first morning in Blairville. She could come back and confess to Father Miller or wait until she returned to Chicago and let Father Ryan decide her penance. She knew now that she could never go through with the plan. She’d been out of her mind to think of killing Blair Sterling. She’d been mad to drive south. Two wrongs didn’t make one right. A greater sin neither obviated nor condoned a lesser one.

As soon as she was completely certain of herself, of her emotional control, she would drive back to the cottage and pack. There was nothing she could do about Charles. But Estrella need never know she’d even left Chicago.

When she reached her car she decided to drive out of town on the far side. The soil was more fertile here, rich with cotton, huge magnolia and gum trees and an occasional tall pine, dripping moss. Rutted white sand roads led back to single farms and combination cross-road stores and filling stations.

From time to time she passed entire families, some white, some colored, most of them in cars or pickup trucks, a few in buggies and wagons. They were all scrubbed and wearing their best, bound for court day in Blairville.

Where the road wound closest to the river, Negro children waved cans of bait they were trying to sell. Occasionally, far back off the road, at the end of winding tree-lined lanes, large plantation houses stood. One room Negro shacks were common. Some were painted. Some were covered with rolls of composition siding stamped to resemble bricks. Some had never been painted. A few of them had windows but most of the cabins boasted only gaping holes protected by wooden shutters. All of them had open porches, small outhouses and weathered, sagging barns.

Whole families worked in the fields, the women and children chopping weeds, picking corn, thinning sweet potato vines, the men following mule-drawn plows. It was easy to understand what motivated the collarless, tieless, little man and his fellow loafers in the courthouse square. It was fear. They were expendables. They had no special skills or talent of their own and the colored population of Blairville County outnumbered the white by almost three to one.

Dona drove for hours, then turned around shortly before sunset and ate in one of the combination filling station and restaurant places that appeared at frequent intervals along the road. The coffee was hot and strong. The chicken fried in a batter was tasty. She took a chance on ordering hush puppies and found that they were fluffy balls of corn meal mixed with egg and buttermilk and minced onion and quick-fried in deep fat.

It was dark when she passed through Blairville. She was amused when she thought how frightened she’d been at first. Now it was just another town, a nice town with a courthouse square, a few statues erected to the past and a hotel.

The moon was rising when she reached the cottage. She sat in her car a moment, watching the crescent of silver disentangle itself from the top branches of a tall pine. She would miss the lake. She would miss a number of things. For all its anomalies, the South was beautiful.

She unlocked the cottage door and closed and locked it behind her. The wind was off the lake. A metal slat in one of the venetian blinds vibrated noisily. Dona laid her bag on the phone stand and took off her driving gloves. Then she crossed the room to light the lamp and, with the same uneasy feeling, stopped in the spot where she’d stood the night before. This time she wasn’t mistaken. She knew she was being watched.

The wind off the lake felt less cool. Her throat felt constricted as she walked to the bed and felt under the pillow. The revolver wasn’t there. She opened the drawer in the table. The gun wasn’t in the drawer. She knelt on the bed and felt between it and the wall. The gun wasn’t there, either. Still kneeling, she turned and looked over her shoulder, as a slurred voice drawled, “Looking for something, Miss Santos?”

Blair Sterling was sitting in the chair in which Beau had sat. His eyes were over-bright. His lips were slack. The harsh glare of the lamp faded his suntan to a sickly yellow and emphasized the deep lines in his face. His long legs stretched in front of him were encased in well-creased gray flannel. His matching gabardine shirt was spotted with perspiration. Small beads of moisture glistened on his sunken cheeks. The bottle from which he’d been drinking stood beside the chair. As Dona watched him, he lighted a cigarette, dropped the burned match on the floor, then felt his close-cropped mustache with one finger.

Dona sat sideways on the bed. “How did you get in here?”

“With a key,” Sterling said. “I own the cottage, remember?”

He was drunk, very drunk. Dona had a feeling she’d lived through this scene before. It was an effort for her to force the words past the lump in her throat. “What do you want?”

Her father fingered the scar on his cheek. His smile was enigmatic. “We’ll come to that.”

Chapter Nineteen

T
HE LOOSE
slat continued to vibrate. Following his eyes, Dona looked down and saw that her skirt had slipped up over her knee, exposing a thin white line of flesh. She sat up straight on the bed and smoothed her skirt. “I asked you what you wanted.”

Sterling was amused. “And I said we’d come to that.”

They sat a moment with silence between them, the only sound in the cottage being made by the loose slat. Dona put one hand to her cheek. It felt hot and flushed. She forced herself to speak calmly. “Please say whatever you’ve come to say, Mr. Sterling. Then I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Why?”

“I want to pack.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tonight. Now. As soon as I finish packing.”

“Where?”

“Back to Chicago.”

Sterling was even more amused. “What’s the matter? Lose your nerve?”

Dona was afraid she was going to be sick on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

“No. Go away, please.”

“When I’m ready. And that may be a long time.” Sterling waggled a finger at her. “Little Miss Prissy-pants in person.”

“What do you mean?”

Sterling’s sunken eyes patted the taut bodice of Dona’s dress, then lifted to her flushed face. He was so drunk he was having trouble forming his words. “I mean you’re very pretty, my dear. The perfect example of the best in miscegenation. No wonder I was attracted to you.” His voice filled with self-pity. “It’s surprising but true. Once a man develops a taste for strong food and indulges it, pap is a very poor substitute. And you have just enough of the tar brush to excite me.”

Dona sat very still with her hands folded in her lap.

Sterling continued, “What was your original idea? You come down here to blackmail me? I thought your so-talented mother had all the money in the world.”

“I want nothing from you.”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

“You know who I am?”

“I do.”

“You’ve known from the first afternoon?”

“Let’s say I surmised.”

“How?”

“Santos isn’t a common name. And of course I recognized Beth, or Estrella, as she calls herself now, the first time I saw her on a television screen.” Sterling fingered the scar on his cheek. “How could I possibly forget her?”

Dona’s head was beginning to ache. She wished the blind would stop making a noise.

“Then imagine my pleased surprise when I read in this morning’s paper that you admitted being her daughter.”

“And yours.”

“I have no proof of that.”

“She was a virgin when you raped her.”

“That’s her story.”

“It’s true.”

“Can you prove it? Just how could you prove rape after a lapse of eighteen years.” Sterling laughed. “Besides, despite her fame, she’s been passing for the same length of time. She’s nothing but a bright skin and down South everyone knows a bright skin hasn’t any more morals than a mink. Anybody could be your father.”

“That isn’t so about Estrella.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me.”

Sterling waved the subject aside as immaterial. “Niggers are notorious liars. What I want to know is why you came south.”

“That’s my business.”

“I’m making it mine.” Sterling stood up. The whiskey hadn’t affected his equilibrium. He crossed the room and stood in front of her.

Dona’s flesh crawled at the thought of his touching her. He did, but not in the manner she’d feared. He slapped her face, first with his palm, then with the back of his hand.

“Why did you come south?”

Dona met his eyes. “To kill you.”

“At this late date?”

“I didn’t know until a week ago.”

“Know what?”

“That I have colored blood. That you are my father.”

“Estrella never told you she was passing?”

“No.”

“Why tell you now?”

“Because I became engaged.”

“To a white man?”

“Of course.”

“I see. And Estrella, the fond mother, felt it was only fair to warn you if you and the happy bridegroom-to-be had children — ” Sterling sucked in his breath.

“That’s about the way it was.”

“You were going to kill me with that gun I saw the other night?”

“I was.”

“You bought it for that express purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it now?”

Subconsciously, Dona slid one hand under the pillow. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Just that. I left it under this pillow.”

“It isn’t there now?”

“No.”

“A pity,” Sterling said dryly. “Now to get back to what you said when you first came in, your reason for asking me to leave.”

“You mean about wanting to pack?”

“Yes.”

“I mean it.”

“You intend to leave without killing me?”

“Yes.”

“What changed your mind?”

“A number of things.” Dona pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. “It wouldn’t solve or change anything. I was out of my mind to think it would. I think I’ve been out of my mind since Estrella told me.”

Sterling sat in a chair close to the bed and Dona swung her knees the other way. “A normal reaction.” He took a package of cigarettes from the pocket of his shirt and offered it to Dona. “Smoke?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I have some of my own.” Dona got her bag from the phone stand and found her cigarettes.

Sterling laughed. “All you want from me is distance.”

“That’s one way of phrasing it.”

Sterling thumbed a cigarette into his mouth. “How about this man to whom you were engaged?”

“I broke our engagement.”

“You told him the truth?”

Dona inhaled the cigarette she’d lighted. The harsh smoke irritated the tender membranes of her throat but eased some of the constriction. “No.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I don’t see that that concerns you.”

Sterling shrugged. “Possibly not. All I was getting at is with Beth, or Estrella if you prefer, in California discussing a picture contract and you no longer engaged, there’s no particular reason for you to hurry back to Chicago.”

Dona picked up the largest of her two bags, set it on a folding luggage rack, and began to pack it with clothes she took from the closet. “Nevertheless, I intend to. In about fifteen minutes.”

Finished with the dresses, Dona crossed the room to the chest beside the bed and took out an armful of lingerie. She started to her case.

Behind her, Sterling said, “Perhaps.”

Dona looked at him over her shoulder. His voice was thick, as he repeated, “Perhaps.”

Dona tried to ignore him and continue packing but she couldn’t. A small lump formed in her middle and ballooned rapidly. “What do you mean?”

Sterling was annoyed with her. “Stop being so goddamned naive. You’re a big girl, Dona.”

Dona moved slowly away from him, until her back was to the wall. Her flesh felt feverish and unclean. The roof of her mouth was dry. The constriction returned to her throat. She no longer cared about her clothes. All she wanted was to get out of the cottage. “No,” she said, “you wouldn’t dare.” She snatched up her purse and opened the screen door.

Sterling made no attempt to stop her. “Good luck. But if I may make a suggestion, instead of returning to Chicago, perhaps you’d better drive out to Los Angeles.”

Dona stood in the open doorway. “What do you mean by that?”

“You can help Beth explain to the newspaper men and the producers with whom she is dickering.”

“Explain what?”

“Why she’s been passing as white for eighteen years.”

“No one can prove she isn’t white.”

“I can.”

“How?”

“Very easily. All I have to do is pick up the phone or drive into town and demand that Sheriff Early, acting on the information contained in a warrant charging Beth Wilbur, Negress, currently known as Estrella Santos, with assault with a deadly weapon with intent to kill, wire Sheriff Biscailluiz in Los Angeles, asking her arrest and detention until the proper extradition papers arrive.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I? Of course you can prevent that from happening.”

Dona walked into the bathroom, closed the door behind her and was sick. What Sterling was suggesting was unthinkable. Still, she couldn’t let this thing happen to Estrella. The newspapers would crucify her, not because they were cruel, merely because Estrella was news. And she, Dona, would be responsible. She mustn’t let it happen.

She walked back into the living room. Sterling was sitting on the studio bed. He said, “Now you’re being sensible. Come over and sit down and let’s talk this over.”

Dona stayed where she was. “We’ve nothing to talk over.”

Her father stood up and crossed the room. His lined face was beaded with perspiration. “That’s right. You’ve no choice.” Dona tried to make herself small as he took her in his arms. Her flesh crawled where he touched her. “You’re not going anywhere. Not for a long time.” As he tried to kiss her, she moved her head from side to side to avoid contact with his lips, then broke away from him.

“But you’re my — ” she choked on the word.

“I don’t choose to believe that. But the possibility does give you an added spice, I’ll admit.”

He reached for her again, and she knew that she couldn’t go through with it. She screamed, “No, I won’t, I won’t,” and tore away from him. Without looking back, she raced out of the cottage.

He caught up with her just as she reached the car. He pulled her around and pressed her against it with his body, muttering, “Don’t be a little fool.”

Dona tried not to think, tried not to feel as his lips came down on her eyes, her mouth, her throat.

She continued to struggle. “Please.”

Sterling slapped her. “I warned you.”

The shots came from the darkness behind them, so close to Sterling’s back that Dona felt she could reach out and touch the flashes. Running feet raced over the gravel drive and around the cottage and Dona thought she heard a faint splash in the lake.

Sterling coughed and released her as he caught at the car. It was an effort for him to stand. His eyes were faintly luminous in the dark. “Who was it?”

“You bitch. You bright-skin bitch,” he cursed her.

He pushed himself away from the car and climbed the steps of the cottage. Her palms pressed to the cool metal behind her, Dona watched the lamp by the door come on. Sterling stood in the doorway a moment, weaving like a tall flag pole in the wind. Then he picked up the phone and coughed, “113. This is Blair Sterling calling. From my cottage on Loon Lake.”