Part 16 (2/2)
”Can I talk to you a minute?” she asked me.
She walked me to a small doorway that led into what can only be called an alcove.
”You wanna have a drink with me?” she asked.
”Yeah but I just started the game with Brown.”
”That's okay. I got to go buy a li'l bottle first anyway.”
”Oh,” I said. ”Good, I mean, I'd love to have a drink with you.”
”I need two dollars for that and some pork rinds.”
I forked over my last three singles and said, ”Get yourself somethin' sweet too, baby.”
She smiled and brushed my lips with hers.
I had to walk carefully back to the chess table to conceal the erection that Charlotta raised.
22.
BROWN KNEW HIS CHESS. He beat me the first game because I underestimated him, gazing around the room and trying to overhear conversations as we played. He beat me the first game because I underestimated him, gazing around the room and trying to overhear conversations as we played.
That game was fast, us taking no more than thirty seconds for each move. But I got serious in the second go-round. I took my time at strategic moments and outmaneuvered him so that he had to give up when half the men were still in play.
He won the third game. It was rare that anyone beat me twice in a night.
Brown had worker's hands and a hard look when he concentrated. At first glance I thought he was in his twenties, but then I could see where he was at least ten years older than that.
”Where you from, Brown?”
”Illinois originally,” he said. ”But they tell me I was born in Mississippi.”
”Jackson?”
”Greenwood.”
”Delta boy.”
”I got the blues in my spit,” he agreed.
”How long you been in L.A.?”
”Two years. Most'a that time I lived down at Redondo Beach, workin' on this mackerel fis.h.i.+n' boat they got down there.”
”How come you left?”
”When I realized that I was gettin' seasick on dry land, I knew it was time to leave fis.h.i.+n' behind.” He had a nice, friendly laugh. ”So I moved here to Miss Moore's just a few days ago and got a job cleanin' tuxedos and silk dresses.”
Charlotta had returned from the store and was sitting next to Brenda Frail. They were working on a quilt together.
Deciding to play with Brown turned out to be a mistake because of my pride. We traded wins back and forth for two hours, until the late news came on.
Good evening, this is Bob Benning with KTLA news. The police were summoned to a grisly scene late this afternoon at the Bernard Arms Residence Hotel on Fountain. The body of Lance Wexler was found by police, who had been trying to get in touch with Mr. Wexler for the past three days. There was no sign of a break-in. Just two days ago Wexler's sister was found dead in Griffith Park. She was also the victim of foul play. When asked about a connection between the two crimes, Captain Howard North told reporters that the police were looking into every detail of both homicides. . . . Maestro Wexler, oil distributor and real estate developer, offered a reward of ten thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of his children's killers. . . .
My heart was thundering by the end of the report. I wondered if the randy porter Warren had put together the delivery Negro at the back door and the death of his tenant. I worried that I might have left a fingerprint or maybe my wallet fell out on the toilet floor. I actually reached for my billfold to make sure that I still had it.
As bad as I felt, I was still able to beat Brown. That gave me hope. Maybe fear gave me clarity.
”Another game?” Brown asked.
”You good, man,” I said. ”Tomorrow.”
Brown stuck his tongue in his cheek and smiled. The grin stopped at his mouth, his eyes bearing no relation to mirth. That's how it was for so many displaced southern, and even midwestern, Negroes in those days. Coming to California, they had to dig out from under nearly a century of white oppression. Everybody, black and white, was a potential enemy. People that had been mired so deeply in poverty that that's all they could ever expect. And so when faced with hope, many became distant and watchful. Even when relaxing, people like Brown were on guard, ready for any threat.
”MR. HENDRICKS,” CHARLOTTA CALLED AT MY BACK.
I was halfway down the hall, headed for my room. You know I had to be shaken by that news report to have forgotten her in the sitting room.
”Hey.”
”Did you forget our drink?”
”No, baby,” I said. ”I just didn't want to give people the wrong idea. I mean, what would it look like if I just walked up to you and said let's go upstairs?”
Charlotta was slightly taller than I and a few pounds heavier. She pressed me up against the wall and kissed me, hard. She knew how to kiss. The worry was still in my head but all the details fell away. When she stepped back to see my reaction, she had a smile on her face. I took a stutter step to keep on my feet.
”I like bein' treated like a lady,” she said.
We kissed down the hall and up the wide stairway. It took me three minutes to unlock the door because Charlotta had worked her hand down the front of my pants. When she found what she was searching for her eyes opened wide.
”Is that real?” she asked me.
”Does it feel real?”
”Yeah.”
”Then it is.”
There are only three things that I've ever had pride in: my intelligence, my bookstore, and my s.e.xual endowment.
Charlotta and I barely made it to the bed. Once there, we hardly let go of each other.
Somewhere in the middle of our pa.s.sion I realized how much I needed the release. It wasn't lovemaking, but that was all right. I needed to be pushed around in a situation where I could push back. She didn't need to love me but just what I was doing-how hard and how long.
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