Too Black for Heaven (4 page)

Chapter Seven

D
ONA WAS
glad the cabins on the river had been impossible. She knew now, deep in the back of her mind, that she hadn’t intended to rent one, after Judge Harris had mentioned the Sterling house. She didn’t care what it was like, she was going to rent it. She couldn’t ask for a better or more natural way to meet and size up the man who was her father.

From time to time, as they drove, she glanced sideways through the heat at Beau.

“Judge Harris said you were in the service,” she said to make conversation.

“Yes, Miss.”

“What branch?”

“The Infantry.”

“A private?”

“No, Miss Santos. A captain. I went through the O.C.S. at Fort Benning.”

“Now you intend to study law?”

“Yes, Miss Santos.”

The swampland through which they were passing gave way to rich dark loam on a series of small tenant farms. The road ran straight for several miles, then curved in a wide bend toward a heavily weeded area. The lake appearing through the trees was the color of amber. Huge trees overhung and shaded it. Its green banks were rimmed with rushes except for one break. In front of a varnished log cabin, where sand had been pumped in, was a smooth sandy beach. Here, under the trees, it was almost cool.

As Beau stopped the car before the cabin, a flight of white egrets feeding in the shallows on the far bank looked up incuriously.

The cabin was small but well-planned. Smartly styled studio couches and a natural stone fireplace set off the well-furnished living room. A small kitchen and a bath opened off a hall.

“It’s never been occupied, has it?” Dona asked.

Beau remained in the doorway, holding his hat in his hand. “Not that I know of, Miss Santos.”

“How much is the rent?”

“I don’t know. Mr. Sterling just listed it with Judge Harris.” He started toward the phone on a stand near the door. “But if you like, I’ll call Mr. Sterling and ask him how much the rent is.”

Dona stopped him. “Wait. How far does Mr. Sterling live from here?”

“About a mile, Miss Santos. On the far side of the lake.”

“Then why don’t you drive me over there and let me talk to him?”

“Whatever you say, Miss.”

Beau opened the screen door and held it with one arm. Dona started out, then turned her head for a last look at the living room and one of her heels caught on the metal threshold. She stumbled and would have fallen if Beau hadn’t caught her.

Their faces only inches apart, he seemed unable to release her. His face glistened with perspiration and the muscle in his jaw twitched.

Dona caught at his wrist and twisted free. “You clumsy nigger.”

Beau’s chest rose as he filled his lungs with air. The muscle in his jaw stopped twitching. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

As they rode Dona tried to sustain her anger. She couldn’t. The fault had been hers, not Beau’s. Beau had little reason to respect her. He’d seen her practically nude and drunk. He’d seen the wages of her body hire on the night-stand. She was female. He was male. She tried to think of some way to retract the name she’d called him. There was none. Anything she said would only make things worse.

It was hotter here than it had been on the shore of the lake. The leaves of the aged trees rising out of the lawn drooped limp and lifeless in the sun. The lawn had a parched look, but the grounds were beautiful. The house was square and large, with a great open gallery, the mansard roof supported by tall, fluted colonnades. Behind it, some distance from the house, were several smaller buildings and behind them, an orderly row of white-washed cabins. This was the Deep South as she had visualized it.

Beau limped around the car and opened the door for her. “Do you want me to talk to Mr. Sterling, Miss Santos? Or would you rather?”

“I will, if you don’t mind.”

There were some people lolling in canvas deck chairs under a large oak tree. The men were in sports clothes. The girls fitted the description given by the waitress in the coffee shop — party girls, but expensive.

Dona took a cigarette from her bag and lit it. “Which one of them is Mr. Sterling?”

“He isn’t in the group, Miss Santos.”

“Thank you.”

Dona crossed the wide gallery to the screened front door. She rapped with the brass knocker on the wall. An aged colored man, wearing a stiffly-starched white coat, appeared on the other side of the screen.

“Yes, Miss?”

Dona drew off one of her white gloves. “I’d like to see Mr. Sterling.”

The servitor opened the door. “Please to come in, Miss. Who shall I say is calling?”

“Miss Dona Santos.”

Dona walked on into the room the servant had indicated. There was a fireplace at each end. Good taste was reflected in the period furniture and harmonious color scheme. A concert grand piano was dwarfed by the size of the room. Fresh flowers in large vases added to the room’s charm.

“Miss Santos?”

Dona turned slowly to look at the man who was her father. He was tall. His light brown hair was cut short. He wore a closely-cropped mustache. His right profile was handsome but the left side of his face was marred by a scar that ran from the outer corner of his eye to the cleft in his chin. His tanned face was lined with dissipation.

The lines deepened when he smiled. “To what good fortune am I indebted for this pleasant surprise?”

Dona snuffed her cigarette. “Well, this is really a business call. I’m stopping at the hotel in Blairville. This morning I inquired of a Judge Harris about a cottage. One that I saw and liked was your lovely little cabin. What rental are you asking?”

Sterling’s smile broadened. “One hundred dollars a month and it’s yours as long as you want it.”

“You’re very generous.”

“Not at all. I’m honored to have so pretty a tenant. Besides, your face is very familiar. Haven’t we met? Pinehurst? Southampton? Nassau?”

“I’ve visited all three places.”

Sterling glanced through one of the tall French windows at the license plate on the cream-colored convertible. “Chicago, perhaps.”

He took her hand. “Anyway, now you’re here, I’m not going to let you get away.”

Dona forced a smile to her lips. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you can mail a check to Judge Harris for the cottage. Right now, you’re going to stay for lunch and dinner and a bit of a party I’m throwing for some house guests from Atlanta.”

“But we’re strangers.”

“We won’t be long.” Sterling led Dona back through the hall and across the open gallery. “Consider yourself my new neighbor.”

“But my luggage?”

Sterling patted the hand on his arm. “I’ll drive you into town later or send someone for it. Now I’m going to buy you something tall and cold.”

“That I would like.” Dona realized, mildly shocked, that she had altered her voice subconsciously. The words came out low and throaty with an insinuating over-tone, like Estrella singing a torch song. As they passed her car, she saw Beau still standing in the sun and stopped.

“But Beau — ”

“Beau?” Sterling was puzzled.

“The boy from Judge Harris’s office.”

“Oh, yes. The hero who’s reading law between pitchers of ice water.”

“If I stay now he’ll have no way of getting back to town.”

Sterling walked her past the car. “Let him walk.”

Chapter Eight

D
URING THE
late afternoon a few thunderheads formed in the east but no rain fell. Night continued as hot as day had been. Fireflies began to dot the lawn. The mosquitoes and sandflies became more numerous. Dona was pleased when someone in the group suggested they move inside. She could have been born in this house. She liked it.

She sat, nursing her drink, speaking when spoken to, forcing herself to smile at the increasingly off-color jokes. Sterling held his liquor well, but several of his guests were beginning to show the effects of a day of heavy drinking.

Dona returned her attention to Blair Sterling. He was a good host. After lunch he had insisted on driving her into town in one of his own cars and supervising the transfer of her luggage from the hotel to the cottage. Whatever his ulterior motive was, he’d been a gentleman.

She studied his face, probing for weak spots in his armor. He had two. He was a Sterling. His family had been landed gentry for a hundred years before the War Between the States. He owned more land than anyone else in town. He had the biggest house, the biggest cotton allotment. He employed more men, both black and white. He was proud that he was white, that his people had once had extensive slave holdings.

His other weakness was his libido.

Sterling saw her looking at him and crossed the room. “Might I freshen your drink, Miss Santos?”

Dona relinquished her glass. “If you please.”

Despite the constant drone of two huge fans it was hot in the living room. The screens shut out the mosquitoes but the sandflies found their way in. Dona’s arms and shoulders were on fire.

Sterling returned with Dona’s drink and noticed her discomfort. “The sandflies are bothering you, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Dona admitted, “they are.”

“I’m sorry. We who live in the South forget. We become immune. I’ll take care of it right away.” He called out, “Hattie, bring Miss Santos one of those bug-chaser candles.”

The maid, a pretty mulatto girl in her late teens, set a tray on a table. “Yes, sir. Right away, Mistah Sterlin’.”

There was nothing visible on the surface, but Dona knew. It was in the way the girl looked at Sterling, in the faint flaunt of her hips as she went about the errand on which he’d sent her. She returned with a lighted candle in a small open-topped globe and set it on the end table beside Dona’s chair.

The tempo of the party increased. A girl turned on the record player. Two local men dropped in. Dona danced with a man named Phillips, then with Sterling. He was a good dancer and deftly led her away from the others.

“Not having a very good time, are you, Miss Santos?”

Dona evaded the question. “I’m still tired. I drove too far yesterday.”

“You’d better let me take you to the cottage.”

“My car’s right outside.”

“Even so.”

Dona analyzed Sterling as they danced. She doubted if he had ever been denied anything he wanted. What he couldn’t get by persuasion, he bought. What he couldn’t buy he took by force. Not knowing who she was, her father wanted her. The thought offered interesting possibilities.

A man tapped Sterling’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind, Blair. An’ don’t bother to introduce us. I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Santos in the hotel lounge.”

Sterling reluctantly released Dona, and Jack Ames danced her to the far end of the crowded living room. Dona was furious with him.

“I thought you didn’t like Blair Sterling.”

Ames was cheerfully frank. “I despise him.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Two reasons. I heard you’d rented his cottage an’ I figured I’d find you here.”

“And your other reason?”

“Did you ever live in a town the size of Blairville?”

“No.”

“Then you wouldn’t understand. But I’ve been known to go down to the railroad station just to watch a freight train go by.”

Dona was still angry with him. “But you shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t have you following me around.” Before Dona could say anything more, the music stopped until the next record would drop into place.

Jack escorted her to a chair. “You stay put, sugar, while I get us a drink. Then you can beat me over the haid with somethin’ if you want.”

As soon as he left her, Dona walked out onto the open gallery and leaned against one of the fluted columns. It was the type of party she would expect Sterling to stage.

On impulse, she crossed the neon-lighted lawn to her car. She was in no mood to cope with either Jack Ames or Blair Sterling. She wanted to think. She’d broken her engagement to Charles with a definite purpose in mind and she’d driven a thousand miles to fulfill it, not to be mauled or worse at a drunken brawl.

She almost wished she hadn’t come south and debated returning to Chicago. Now, tonight. No one in Chicago knew except Estrella. No one need ever know. But she knew. She would always know. She felt trapped.

Her car was sandwiched in between two other cars, both of them convertibles with their tops down.

Her keys were in the ignition. Dona cramped the wheels hard and drove across the parched lawn until she could get back on the drive. As she passed the open gallery she thought she heard someone call after her but she didn’t bother to turn her head.

She was half-way around the lake when she remembered she’d left her bag by her chair. She debated going back but drove on. It might not be so easy to get away the next time. The bag wasn’t that important. It wasn’t her money Blair Sterling wanted. If he noticed the unusual weight of the bag and investigated, she would tell him she’d purchased the gun to protect herself.

Dona was glad to reach the cabin. She climbed the stairs, locked the door behind her, and made a round of the casement windows, tilting the blinds to shut out the night. Her mouth felt furred. She was tired. The past twenty-four hours had been filled with sufficient liquor and emotional conflict to weight her the rest of her life. And this thing was just beginning.

She pulled her dress over her head and hung it in the closet. It felt good to kick off her shoes. The wind of the gathering storm blowing across the lake was soft and cool on her exposed flesh.

She sat on one of the studio beds and took off her stockings, reveling in being alone, wondering how much money Blair Sterling had. Judging from the size of his establishment and the scale on which he lived, the man must be a millionaire.

More, he’d had his money a long time, all the time Estrella had sung and danced in cheap cabarets in Memphis, New Orleans, St. Louis, Chicago, for money to feed and educate her, his child, the result of criminal rape.

“I begged him not to,”
Estrella had told her.
“I tried to fight him. But that only made him more determined. He ripped my clothes right off me. Then he knocked me down with his fist and did what he wanted to do.”

The elegant Blair Sterling. The champion of white supremacy. The polished cosmopolite. Haven’t we met? Pinehurst? Southampton? Nassau? On the dirty floor of a cotton gin with a sobbing fifteen-year-old girl.

The next day Estrella had cut him and left town. For years she’d worked in third-rate cafés, had taken any job that was offered. It had been a long uphill climb. Now Estrella had reached the top of her profession. Dona couldn’t be the one to hurt her. However she revenged herself on Blair Sterling, she would have to do it in such a way that Estrella couldn’t possibly become involved.

Dona picked her stockings from the floor and carried them into the bathroom to rinse them. As she did, a clap of thunder shook the cottage. Lightning brightened the dark windows. And then she heard the rush of rain.

She closed the bathroom window and returned to the living room. The wind-blown blinds were standing straight out from the windows. This rain was like nothing she’d ever seen. It was as if the lake and sky had been inverted. She had to pull up each blind, crank each casement window shut. After the last window was closed, she sat on one of the wet beds, gasping for breath. Her hair was as wet as if she’d washed it. Her underthings were plastered to her skin.

Then Dona thought of her car. The top was up but all the windows were down. Still gasping for breath, she snatched a negligee from a chair and fought the wind for the front door. It opened with a rush, carrying a great gust of wind and rain with it.

This she liked. The night and the storm matched her mood. The wind picked the pins from her hair and floated it behind her. Rain beat against her body like so many little wet fingers. Her bare toes squished in water and her negligee streamed out as she stepped down one stair and stopped.

A battered blue sedan had been drawn up between the stairs and her convertible. As she watched, the door of the sedan opened and Beau got out, with agonizing slowness. He’d lost his hat and his white shirt hung in tatters from his massive black shoulders. There was a great tear in his trousers and a smear of blood on his chest. Dona thought at first that he’d been badly hurt. Then she realized that he was drunk.

He stood clinging to the car door, studying her in the frequent flashes of lightning. While she stood, too terrified to move, he limped toward the stairs, weaving slightly as he came. At the foot of the stairs, he stepped so close that the fumes of the whiskey he’d consumed enveloped her.

“Go away,” Dona said. “Please, Beau.”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“They’ll hang you.”

Beau’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Then I’ll hang. But not unless you tell. A two-legged white man had you for one hundred dollars.” He fumbled a thick roll of bills from his pocket. “How much for a one-legged black man? Two hundred dollars? Three hundred dollars? Five hundred?”