RL's Dream

Twenty-Three

Late in the morning Kiki found herself lying on the floor. A blade of sunlight speared her brain through the left eye. Her right hand and arm were swollen, numb things that had lost circulation under her head. She remembered throwing up twice; the smell was all around her but she couldn’t get up.

She was stuck to the floor, plastered down as if by a bucket of thick glue. The sun jabbed into her. Her stomach was dry leather. Her bowels grumbled and threatened. But motion was what she most feared: getting up, getting up and walking across the room.

A shudder went through her and then a dry heave. Her eyes closed but the left eyelid was bright red and throbbing from the sun. Even when she was asleep the hurt was wide awake.

When she opened her eyes again, Soupspoon was coming through the door. He had on the same clothes as at the street fair. His tie was loose but everything else was the same.

“Kiki! What happened to you?”

“Hi, daddy,” a very young girl answered. “Where you been?”

It took a long time to get Kiki off the floor and out of her clothes. While she ran a hot tub he mopped up. After that he made old-fashioned grits swimming with butter and topped with fried onions.

He brought a bowl to her bath.

“Not right now, Soup. But could you get me a beer out the refrigerator?”

“You don’t need that, honey.”

“Please get it. It’ll settle my stomach.”

“Kiki, it’s booze done turned your stomach upside down.”

“I want a beer.”

“But, honey...”

“Will you please get me a beer right now, Atwater?” Kiki ordered.

When the beer was finished she was in a better mood.

“Where were you last night?” she asked in a friendly tone.

“I went out wit’ some friends.”

“You get some pussy out there?” She sounded sober but Soupspoon could tell by her language that she was leaning toward drunk.

“Kiki, we gotta talk.”

“About what?”

“Bout this thing wit’ yo’ job an’ the money we stole.”

“Don’t worry about that, Soupspoon. They can’t prove I did it.”

“But they could find me. I mean, I signed them forms. All they gotta do is ask around and they could find where I am.”

“But not for a while, honey. Insurance companies have to do an investigation first. They have to prove that it was a forgery or fraud or whatever first and then they have to prove who did it. We still have time.”

“But time for what? What could we do?”

“Go somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know... down south.”

“What?”

“I been thinkin’ about goin’ back down home anyway, daddy. You know, to Arkansas.”

“How a black man and white woman gonna hide down there? Are you crazy?”

“Crazy enough to help you, Mr. Wise,” she said.

And Soupspoon knew it was true. As true as the music playing even then in his mind.

He wasn’t worried about the law. He was way past the law now. It was time again to move on, but he couldn’t do that until he made sure that Kiki was safe. But that was like trying to carry a frightened cat from a burning house. All she knew how to do was hack and scratch. It came naturally, like breathing and death.

In the early afternoon Kiki was only on her third beer. Soupspoon was playing chords out of the broken window. A knock came at the door and she went to answer it. Randy and a black man with a battered face and dressed in a pink suit stood at the door.

“Hi?” she said with the question in her eye for the stranger.

“I’m Billy. Remember? We met yesterday — at the street fair.”

“Yeah.” Kiki smiled. “It was about some kind of job, right?”

Billy smiled back. Kiki’s hand moved to her purse before she realized that she wasn’t carrying it.

“Hey, Kiki,” Randy interrupted. “Spoon here?”

“Huh? What? Randy, did you bring me home last night?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t you remember?”

“Why’d you leave me on the floor?” The question was sweet, like the smell of bug spray.

“You told me to go home. Don’t you remember?”

Kiki remembered wanting something, needing something — her desires slipping away. She felt as if she were falling sideways. All she could see was objects and people against a pitch-black background. The gun she got from Hattie; Soupspoon; the pitiful brown flowers her father bought leftover to put on Katherine’s grave; and this black brute who smiled and smelled like the devil. Everything she saw was in bold detail against the night, as if they generated their own light. And there was that smell, a smell like her father that still turned her stomach even after all these years.

“Billy got an offer for Soup,” Randy said when Kiki didn’t answer.

“How much?” Soupspoon asked.

Randy led Billy into the room around Kiki. She watched them go over to the window.

“Rudy says one hundred dollars plus tips,’ Billy said. He kept turning his head to regard Kiki as she came over to them.

“A hundred dollars a night?” Kiki put her hand on Billy’s shoulder to punctuate the question.

“Well, at least tomorrow night,” Billy said.

Kiki squeezed his arm.

“Uh,” Billy continued. “We have to see how he do after that.”

Kiki’s heart skipped. She couldn’t inhale. In her mind she traveled back to the woods where Hector was holding her down, keeping her from even a wrong breath. She smiled and could see that same smile come into Billy’s face.

“Tomorrow night?” Kiki asked.

“Yeah.”

Kiki forgot about Randy and Soupspoon. Every particle of her mind was on Hector or Billy or whatever he was called. Her hand clutched his arm, the fingernails would have drawn blood if not for his jacket.

“That’s good,” she said.

“What time?” Soupspoon asked.

Kiki was surprised to hear his voice. She turned toward the window; he was still there, still holding his guitar.

“Eight o’clock, Spoon.” Billy pulled away from Kiki’s grasp but then he touched her chin with his knuckle. “Later if you want it. But not after nine.”

“I’ll be there,” Soupspoon said.

“Me too.” Kiki was looking at Billy’s profile. She started to laugh.

“What’s funny?” Randy wanted to know.

“Nuthin’.” Kiki shrugged. “You all boys want some whiskey?”

They drank a celebratory toast to their new business. Then they drank to Soupspoon. Kiki took a drink all on her own. Billy toasted her full glass with his empty one.

“I got to go out,” Soupspoon said to Kiki after he’d downed the drink.

“Out where?”

“Just t’see some friends. Might be pretty late. But I want you t’take care’a yourself. Okay?”

The redhead poured herself another drink and toasted Billy’s empty glass.

“Okay, hon,” she said to Soupspoon while gazing into Billy’s eyes. “I’ll be here all night. I need the rest.”

“We could have dinner, babe,” Randy said. He went up close to her, touched her arm lightly.

“No, Randy. I got to rest. You know I had too much to drink last night. Mm. I’m gonna be all right. Buck naked in the bed.”

“I could come over...”

“Tomorrow, baby. We’ll go over to this man’s club and hear Soup.”

The men left after a while. Each of them went his own separate way. Randy went to his tiny room of old magazines and T-shirts. Billy went to the bar. And Soupspoon went to a little café near St. Mark’s to meet Chevette.

“Bye,” Kiki said to Billy at the door. She pinched his forearm hard and showed him her teeth in what might have been a grin.

She was napping in her chair, with a half-full glass of sour mash in her hand, when her eyes snapped open. She didn’t know what happened so she took a sip. The tapping, which she remembered now, came again at the front door.

“Yeah?” Kiki called out.

The tapping came again. Suddenly Kiki was completely sober and straight. She stepped out of her shoes and went lightly toward her purse. She removed the revolver, threw the safety, and went to the door.

“Who is it?” she asked in a hoarse alcoholic voice.

Tapping again.

It was a light sound, quick and feminine. But it still could have been Fez. He could have gotten her address from the company database before they suspended him.

“Who is it?” she asked again. She leveled the barrel at the height of a big man’s chest and held her breath.

The hammer made very little noise as she cocked it into place. One, two, thr—

“Does a Mr. Atwater Wise live here?” A woman’s voice. A black woman. A southern black woman.

Kiki ran to put the pistol on the top shelf in the closet. “Just a minute!” she shouted. Then she ran back to the door and opened it, fixing her hair and shaking from the desire to kill somebody.

Mavis wore a plain blue dress with dark seams and a white collar. The dress was in an old style, maybe as far back as the sixties, and a little too short, Kiki thought, for an older woman. She was hatless. Her hair was straightened and tied back into two inter-woven braids. She held a blue pocketbook before her like a Roman shield.

“Does Atwater Wise live here?” she asked again.

“Who’s askin’?” Kiki said back. She didn’t feel angry but she said it just the same.

“I was told that he lived here by Rudy Peckell. He called me just a little while ago and happened to mention it. You see, I’m Atwater’s wife, Mavis Spivey. At least...” Mavis seemed confused for a moment. “At least I was his wife a long time ago. I got a divorce but he was the only one that I ever actually married.”

“Come in,” Kiki said. She led Mavis to the table that served as the dinette inside the studio.

Mavis looked around at the bad plaster near the ceiling, at the men’s socks and pants on the floor.

Kiki felt embarrassed under the scrutiny. “You want something to drink?”

“No thank you.” Mavis sat in the chair holding the pocketbook tight against her knees.

Kiki poured a little extra whiskey in her glass. “Soupspoon’s been staying here with me for a few months now.”

“Is he your man?”

“No, I think he’s scared’a girls. Did you want to see Atwater?” Kiki asked after taking a sip.

“No. I already seen ’im. Now I wanted to see where he was livin’. And, and if he needed anything.”

“He doesn’t need anything here,” Kiki said. “We got food and we’re gonna get a sofa bed so he could sleep better.” She kicked the pants so that they slid under the couch. “I told him that I’d take the couch and that he could have the bed, but you know Soup — he’s a real gentleman.”

“An’ you know how t’take care of a sick man with cancer?”

“He was sick, ma’am. He had cancer. But we took him to the doctor in time and that’s all cleared up now. He’s all better now.”

“Hm! Well. I’m glad to hear that. I guess these doctors nowadays can do things that we couldn’t even think of when I was comin’ up.”

“Soupspoon, I mean Atwater, just went out,” Kiki said. “I don’t know when he’s gonna be comin’ back.”

“That’s okay,” Mavis said. “I don’t need to see him. You could tell’im that I was here.”

“You want to leave a number or something?”

“He know how to get me... if he want.” Mavis leaned forward in her chair as if she were about to stand up. “I’ll be goin’ now. But lemme tell you somethin’ before I do that.”

“Yes?” Kiki found that she had to hold her head sideways in order to see straight.

“You in the wrong business here.”

“What?”

“Livin’ wit’ a bluesman is bad business no matter who you are or who he is. It don’t even matter that he’s old an’ maybe gonna die soon. An’ ain’t no young white girl gonna bear up under that,” Mavis said. “I’m just sayin’ it. I don’t expect you to hear it.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Spivey. Soupspoon hardly even plays now. And he’s just a man anyway. It doesn’t matter what he does with his time.”

“You could think that if you wanna, honey. But a man like that only know how to be sorry. They broke him down and killed him fifty years ago but it just ain’t caught up wit’ him yet.”

“Atwater’s a good man. He’s better than mosta the trash you find in these streets.” Kiki was trying to be strong against Mavis’s will.

“Yeah, he’s good, like an angel is good,” Mavis agreed. “But we ain’t made t’mess wit’ angels, girl. Angels draw up to all the evil and all the hurt in the world. They watch babies dyin’, that’s what they do. They take all the pain and shout it out. Angels livin’ with evil and with death. That’s their stock in trade. Murderers and thieves and times so hard that you could cry blood. That’s where you find angels. I’d no sooner spend a evenin’ with an angel than I’d whore out here in these streets. I’d kill myself before I’d break bread with a angel.”

Kiki was under the spell of the older woman’s words. She felt as if Mavis had something special just for her. And that something was beautiful and hard like diamonds. The only thing in Kiki’s mind was to keep Mavis there in front of her, to keep her talking.

“Why don’t you stay with me and have a drink, ma’am? Nobody’s coming back for a while yet.”

Mavis got comfortable but she didn’t drink. Kiki asked her about where she was raised and where she first met Soupspoon. Soon came the story of how Mavis had left her common-law husband Rafael and gone out to Texas where she and her son Cortland lived in a house near a levee. She grew red roses all around the house and sold them to white people in Houston on Friday and Saturday nights. Blood-red roses that were sleek and handsome with tight petals and a rich dark scent. She’d sell half a dozen for a dollar and could make up to twenty dollars in a week. Cort was five and spent all of his days like a river rat; out of the trees and into the water. He had friends everywhere and he loved everybody as much as they loved him.

“...he cried when the sun went down and he laughed at the moon,” she claimed. But then one day he was in the storm ditch dug out at the side of the road and there was a cloudburst coming. Mavis saw it moving like a slate wall toward their house. She called out to Cort and then ran. She got there before the rains but the water was already crashing down the deep ditch. Cort was gone. She was going to jump in after her missing son but a neighbor grabbed her and then the deluge hit.

“He’s gone out to sea,” Mavis said as if it had happened yesterday and they might still reclaim his body on the shore.

Kiki went through all of her cigarettes and started on Mavis’s during their talk. She had two full glasses of whiskey and a hard time to keep from crying.

“That’s why I had to leave Atwater,” Mavis said simply. “That’s why he had to go.”

“Why?” Kiki could hear an echo in the room, an echo she’d never heard before.

“Atwater married me, but it wasn’t ’cause’a me. Even when he was lovin’ me it was really Robert Johnson he was lovin’.”

“That man he keeps talkin’ about?”

“Yeah. I met him once and kissed him twice but when Atwater hears that I met Bob Johnson he all over me like white on rice. He’d do anything to feel what Robert Johnson felt.”

“Why’d you marry him then? If you knew that he was bad for you why didn’t you just leave?”

“I didn’t care, not at first. He wanna marry me that was okay. Maybe somethin’ good wanna come from that. It was like I didn’t have no mind’a my own.”

“You just did it? You didn’t even care?”

“That’s how most people live, honey. It’s just your white people got a li’l money think they could plan out a life. Ain’t no plan gonna save them. What do they know? It don’t matter what they say or how beautiful they is. And even if you really love someone, when things get hard everything goes. Everything.”

Kiki sipped her drink. She noticed that there was a small shiver running through the older woman. She wanted to say something, to ask why Mavis was so bitter, but she felt too weak.

“That’s why Atwater here wit’ you,” Mavis said. “He drawn to all that liquor you suckin’.”

“I brought him here. He didn’t come to me.”

Mavis nodded wisely.

Kiki wanted to rip her eyes out. “I did!” she yelled.

“Go back home, girl,” Mavis said.

“Is that why you left?’ Because he was a bluesman?”

The sneer on Mavis’s face showed like a bad taste in her mouth.

“I wasn’t that smart,” she said. “But I knew that somethin’ was wrong. Atwater was out playin’ his guitar all over the place. He was in them foul-smellin’ bars an’ then come home with that stink in his clothes an’ hair an’ skin. He come home smellin’ like whores an’ gunfights and blood.

“That was the first time Cort come to me.”

“Who?” Kiki asked, thinking that she had somehow missed part of the story.

“My boy.”

“But... he died, right?”

“Yeah. He did. At least he prob’ly did. But I wasn’t talkin’ to him really. It’s just that I was sittin’ ’round the house so much all alone, except when li’l Rudy come over, and I was always, always thinkin’ about Cort. I started talkin’ to’im an’ thinkin’ ’bout what he would say back.” Mavis looked up at Kiki and smiled a child’s smile. “You know he loved me an’ forgived me for lettin’ him drown.

“I was happy then to be alone and talkin’ to him. He came mostly when I was cleanin’. An’ if the house was all clean an’ bright, an’ if everything was calm an’ quiet, then I could sit for hours an’ talk to him.”

Mavis smiled in her memories but then she got serious. “I ain’t crazy, you know,” she went on. “Atwater went outta town to play. He be out in the road for weeks at a time an’ then he’d just be back for a coupla days. I liked it — for a while. It’d take me a whole mont’ just to get ready t’be in the same house wit’ him for a few days.

“You see, I wanted t’be clean. I wanted t’be pure. My life was always filthy an’ that’s why my baby died. I know it’s true. That’s why...”

Those were the last words Kiki remembered before she passed out.

An hour later Kiki realized that she was staring at an empty chair. Mavis was gone. Or, maybe, she’d never been there. But it didn’t matter much. Kiki had another idea.