Out of the Easy(76)

I tried to lock the shop as quickly as I could. I didn’t want anyone to see me, especially Frankie. I walked the opposite way, taking a circuitous path that would eventually lead to St. Peter. But each time I approached the street, my feet kept moving, and I ended up in the other direction. Men tipped their hats to me on the street. Others turned around and smiled. A chill draped across the back of my neck and shoulders, quickly becoming a cold sweat. Something bubbled at the back of my throat, making me think of the red beans and rice incident on Gedrick’s sidewalk.

I had spent so many years trying to be invisible. The stares and smiles meant people saw me. Could makeup and a nice dress really do that? The chapters of David Copperfield fluttered in front of me:

I. I am born.

II. I observe.

III. I have a change.

IV. I fall into disgrace.

Light fell, and so did my confidence. I turned down another street. Three young men stood on the sidewalk in front of an auto repair shop. One of them whistled as I approached. My stomach knotted. One of the boys was Jesse.

The other two called out. Jesse didn’t even look up, consumed with an engine part in his hands. Relieved, I quickened my pace, praying he wouldn’t lift his gaze.

“Where ya going in such a rush, beautiful?” said one of the boys, stepping out to block my path.

Jesse glanced briefly my way and quickly returned his eyes to the pipe in his hands. His head suddenly snapped back up. I looked down and tried to walk around his friend.

“Jo?”

I stopped and turned to him. “Yeah. Hey, Jesse. What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to turn the conversation to avoid the inevitable questions.

Jesse looked at me. His eyes didn’t roam my body like his friends’, and his lips didn’t twitch like the men I passed on the street. He just looked at me. His hand, sleeved in grease to his elbow, loosely motioned to the auto shop behind him. “My car. This is where I work on the Merc.”

One of the guys elbowed Jesse. “Show the pretty lady the Merc, Jess. Wait till you see this car.”

“Maybe she’d like to go for a ride,” said the other with a grin. “You got any friends for us, doll?”

At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to take a ride with Jesse Thierry, leave New Orleans, drive straight to Shady Grove, tell him everything, and ask for his help. But his face had the same confused look it did when he’d dropped the hammer in front of the bookshop. It made me feel uncomfortable, guilty.

“C’mon, Jesse, aren’t you gonna ask her out?” asked the friend.

Jesse stared at me and shook his head. “Obviously someone else already has.” Jesse walked into the auto shop. His friends followed, looking back at me.

Jesse was judging me. How dare he? He didn’t know me. I turned around and marched straight to Lockwell’s, a blister burning at the back of my heel.





FIFTY-TWO


The sky hung low and dark when I walked through the gate. Gas lamps flickered, and banana palms swayed, sifting shadows on the decrepit, trickling fountain in the center of the courtyard. A chill tightened the skin on my arms. Music floated from Lockwell’s apartment in the corner. He stood leaning against the wall under the gas lamp outside his door, smoking a cigar. He watched me approach, smoke furling around his face and shoulders like gray organza. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them. First the shoes, up my stockings, pausing at my groin and again at my chest, leading up to my lips, and then back down again.

He opened the screen door for me, silent. The sultry alto sax of Charlie Parker pressed at me with a swell. The lights were a low gold. I swallowed, trying to free the moth that was trapped in my throat, fluttering and making it difficult to breathe. I felt the heat of him behind me.

“Thought maybe you had changed your mind,” he said quietly into my ear.

I shook my head and took a step forward to escape the cage of his presence. I put my hand on the back of the sofa to steady myself. Sweat from my palms leached through the new blue gloves. I tugged at my hand to take them off. His hands were immediately on mine.

“Slower,” he said, circling around in front of me. “One by one.” He walked to the table and picked up a tumbler of liquor. He watched as I removed each finger from the long blue gloves.

“Have a seat.” He motioned to the sofa. “What are you drinking?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

“You’ll have champagne. All girls like champagne.”

All girls didn’t like champagne. I preferred root beer. Willie preferred anything that smelled like gasoline and burned her throat. She could hold her liquor better than any man, and I wished she was there to help me navigate John Lockwell.

I stared at Lockwell’s back, his hair freshly trimmed across the neck, revealing a golf-course tan. His white shirt, once crisp with press, was now damp with humidity and anticipation. He held a linen towel to capture the cork and then poured the champagne. He sat down close to me and handed me the tall flute.

He raised his glass. “To new beginnings.” He took a big swallow. I tilted the glass and let the champagne touch my closed lips. I put the glass on the table in front of me.

“You look gorgeous, Josephine. The neckline’s a little high, but your modesty makes you even sexier.” He slid his hand onto my thigh.

The moth flapped harder at my windpipe.