The Game of Love and Death(54)

“I’m warming up.”

“No, I mean in general. I think you could give more when you’re singing. Put your heart out there more.” He smiled, as if to let her know it wasn’t a judgment, more of an observation.

She held up a palm, as if to dismiss the notion. As they eased their way through the refrain, she gave in. Just to see. And then all the way, as she had once earlier at the Domino. It was different, singing without the full band. But Henry was good, so steady as he pulled sounds out of more than one string at a time. He was a natural. He knew how to connect. He improvised here and there, and for the first time since the day they’d met, she felt something inside herself open wide. The thing that surprised her most was that it was easier to sing this way when she was letting each note be what it wanted to be. She felt it in her chest, in her head, and finally everywhere.

As she came to the last line of the song, she heard footsteps. Someone was coming. More than one person, judging from the irregular tap of shoes on the treads. She cursed inwardly when she saw who it was: Mr. Potts and his crew. And they’d brought a police officer with them.

“I’m sorry, my uncle isn’t here yet,” she said. She rushed toward them, intending to usher them out before Henry realized who they were.

“We’re not here for your uncle.” Mr. Potts strode toward her.

They met in the middle of the room. The police officer moved forward and reached for the handcuffs dangling from his wide leather belt.

“We’re here for you,” Mr. Potts said. “On account of that bribe you offered us not too long ago. Turns out that sort of thing is against the law. You, my dear, are in a world of trouble.”

Flora felt all the blood leave her body. They’d trapped her. The club would have been shut down if she hadn’t paid a bribe. And now they were going to arrest her anyway for paying it. All while Henry watched.

“That isn’t fair,” she said, jerking her hands away from the police officer, realizing how stupid the words sounded. “Please.” She took a half step back and felt Henry behind her.

She looked the officer in the eye, and then glanced down at the name on his badge. J. WALLACE JR. “Come on, Officer Wallace. This is a misunderstanding.”

Mr. Potts interrupted. “Miss Saudade. We are acting in the interests of the law, and you are a public menace.” He lunged for her.

“That’s ridiculous!” she said. She dodged Mr. Potts, and Henry stepped between them.

“Isn’t there something that can be done about this?” he said. “Please don’t cart her off. I know some people…” A look of uncertainty came over him.

“What are you saying, boy,” Mr. Potts said. “Are you offering us a bribe? Making a threat? Because believe you me, that is not going to turn out nicely.”

“No,” Henry said. “It wasn’t like that. I —” He reached for Flora’s hand. She squeezed his fingers.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Mr. Potts said. “A young man has needs and he sometimes finds ways to take care of those that society wouldn’t like. It’s not illegal in these parts, not yet, even if it is shameful. But you do not want to lose your head here. A colored whore like this one —”

Henry’s fist was a white flash. There was a crack, and Mr. Potts put his hands to his nose. Blood oozed through his fingers. “You broke my nose!” he said. “You done broke it!”

The men restrained Henry. Officer Wallace, who said not a word, was at least gentle as he fastened the cuffs on Flora’s wrists. Henry did not enjoy the same kind of treatment. By the time he was in the back of the police car next to her, he had a pair of black eyes and a split lip.

“Oh, Henry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Their aim was lousy. They missed my nose completely.”

She couldn’t bring herself to smile at his joke. The backseat was too wide for them to touch, but she wanted to hold ice to his swollen face. She wanted to clean the blood from his lip with a damp washcloth. She wanted to kiss his forehead and apologize for bringing him into her world this way, with the roughness and injustice and frequent humiliations. She turned her face to the window. Thick clouds had gathered. It was sure to rain again.

Henry hummed the first few bars of the song they had been playing. “We’ll do it again. I promise. Someday.”

Flora’s forehead burned. Overwhelmed with anger at being set up, wondering what her next move would be, she flexed her fingers and strained against the handcuffs. With a start, she remembered her mother’s gloves. She’d left them next to Henry’s hat. Dammit. Her hands felt naked without them. It wasn’t just that they covered her skin and made her fit to be seen in public. They represented so much more. She tried to tell herself that they were just a pair of gloves, not her mother, that her mother’s hands hadn’t been inside of them for ages, and that any bit of her that remained inside had surely been worn away. She willed herself to hold it together as she leaned against the seat.

“Sure,” she said. “Someday.”

When she looked over at Henry, she wished she’d been able to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Flora,” Henry said. “Have a little faith.”

They arrived at the police station. Officer Wallace guided Henry out of the car, then Flora. They walked past a group of hungry-looking children leaning against the side of the building.