When You Dance With The Devil Page 5

  “Wednesday.”

  He didn’t respond until after he’d parked in the parking lot of a roadside movie house on the outskirts of Ocean City, got out of the car and opened the door for her. He stood beside the car, inches from her, staring down into her face until her nerves seemed to stand on end. After what seemed like ages, with his fingers raking over his tight curls, he said,” Would you like to go out to dinner?”

  She caught herself a split second before she said, I’m paying for my supper at the boarding house. “Thanks. I . . . uh . . . I’d like that.”

  He didn’t respond. Somewhere, she’d made a mistake, for he had little to say then or on the drive back from Ocean City, and he didn’t suggest that they swim as she had hoped he would.

  “I’d like to get home early. PBS is showing a story on Muddy Waters tonight.”

  “I wish I could see it,” she said. “I can’t imagine the folks at the boarding house letting me watch that in the lounge.”

  He parked, went around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. “They probably won’t. Well, I’ve received several calls requesting references for you, so you’ll soon be working, and you can put a television in your room.”

  When she walked into her room, two thoughts plagued her: Gregory hadn’t offered to give her a television for her birthday, and he didn’t kiss her on the cheek as he’d previously done.

  At supper that night, she wanted to ask Joe Tucker, her seat mate, what he thought of Louvenia, but decided against it and was glad she did when the two of them began to carry on a conversation across from her. She wondered if any of the other boarders felt as lonely as she, an outsider who the others ignored. In the far corner, Richard Peterson, who joined the group after she did, carried on what appeared to be an amiable conversation with Fannie. Everybody talked and smiled with someone. Everybody but her. How she wished she could understand the emptiness, the constant ache inside of her! On Wednesday, she’d be thirty-six, and nothing interesting had ever happened to her.

  Gazing up at the two white-globed chandeliers that shone bright above the green and white and red and white checkered tablecloths that gave the room its hominess, she saw them as remnants of the gaslight era, anachronisms well suited to Fannie’s house laws and restrictions. Bob didn’t think she belonged there, and he was probably right, but she needed a family, and the boarders were the closest approximation to one that she had.

  Gregory arrived at six-thirty that Wednesday evening, dressed in a business suit much like the one he had worn to church, and she was glad she’d worn her good black dress with the ruffled collar. But if he noticed how she looked, he didn’t comment on it. He didn’t bring flowers, either, but maybe men didn’t do that in Ocean Pines and Pike Hill. She’d have to ask Fannie.

  When they walked into the restaurant, she stopped and stared at her surroundings. She had never been in that kind of place. Soft lights, candles on the tables, white tablecloths and napkins and three or four long-stemmed glasses beside each plate. She couldn’t believe what she saw. A man led them to a table, and she gasped when she saw the beautiful vase of tea roses.

  “Are they for us? I mean, can we keep them?”

  “They’re for you,” Gregory said. “I hope you like them.”

  She didn’t think she ought to tell him that no one had ever given her flowers. “They’re beautiful. I definitely like them a lot. Thanks, Gregory.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She watched him carefully so that she wouldn’t make a mistake. With three forks, two knives and two spoons facing her, she felt lost, almost as if she were the butt of a joke. He didn’t talk much, but she didn’t notice that until they were leaving the restaurant.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. Don’t you feel well?”

  “I’m fine.” The man who showed them to their table handed her a small shopping bag into which he or someone else had put the tea roses. Gregory gave the man a bill. “Dinner was delightful. Thank you.”

  “Who’s that man? Is he the owner?”

  “He’s the maitre d’.”

  “Oh.”

  He disappointed her when he didn’t ask if she wanted to go anywhere else. It would have been a good time for him to start her on the dance lessons he’d promised to give her, and she said as much.

  “Isn’t there any place around here where people dance?”

  His right shoulder flexed in a quick shrug. “Probably, but this isn’t the night for it.” He said hardly anything on the way back to Pike Hill, and let the jazz voice of Billie Holiday erase the silence.

  “I had a good time,” she told him when they reached the boarding house. “It’s the best birthday I ever had.”

  “Is that so? I’m glad you’re happy.”

  He walked her to the front door, but didn’t go in. “I’ll see you Saturday afternoon.”

  She waited for him to kiss her, but he only half-smiled, winked, and left. She didn’t know what to make of it. She did know that she’d lost some ground, that he could be a useful friend—already had been, in fact—and that she had better find a way to straighten things out.

  “This is the third time I called. I didn’t think there was anything to do in Pike Hill but swim. Where were you? This is Bob.”

  She looked around to see whether anyone was in earshot. “A friend took me out for my birthday.”

  “Yeah? Congratulations. I’ll be over Saturday morning around eleven, and we’ll go over to Baltimore and see what’s happening. Okay?”

  Excitement coursed through her. She had a feeling that Bob Tucker lived by his own rules. “Great. What’ll I wear?”

  “What? Uh . . . whatever you want to. We’re not going to a grand ball.”

  They were nearly halfway to Baltimore that Saturday when she remembered that she hadn’t called Gregory to tell him that she couldn’t see him that afternoon. Oh, well. He’s not much interested now anyway. And Bob is a lot more to my taste.

  But she would find that she lacked the sophistication to keep up with Bob Tucker, for he was constantly coaching her. Nonetheless, she wanted entrée into his world of beautiful women, bars, and jazz.

  “What do you want? Beer or a cocktail?”

  “I . . . uh . . . I don’t drink.”

  “You don’t . . . is this some kind of joke?”

  “No. My mama wouldn’t have it in the house, so I never learned how.”

  “Want to learn now?”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather not. Maybe next time.”

  “You’re all right, babe,” he said, as the evening grew late. “Fannie’s gonna blow a gasket if you walk in there at two o’clock Sunday morning.” He took a few sips of beer, let his gaze travel slowly over her, not hiding his appreciation for what he saw.

  “Tell you what. You spend the night with me at my place.”

  She nearly choked. “I’d better not do that tonight, Bob. Fannie may put me out, and I need the boarding house.”

  “I got a feeling that this is something else you never learned how to do. What a waste! Am I right? You never stayed out all night with a man?”

  Feeling as she did when her mama found her diary and read it, she squeezed her eyes tight and prayed that she wouldn’t cry. She found the strength to nod, but in the depth of her shame, she couldn’t utter a word.

  He put the beer bottle on the bar and stood. “Stop beating hell out of yourself, babe. It’s no problem. There’s always another woman.”

  When she got inside the boarding house, she sneaked up the stairs as quietly as she could, but when she opened her door it creaked as if its hinges had rusted, a sound she hadn’t previously heard. She opened her cell phone, saw that she had four messages and closed it without checking, for she knew Gregory had called her.

  “Well, if he had been warmer the last two times we were together, maybe I wouldn’t have forgotten to call him,” she said to herself. You shouldn’t have made a date with Bob knowing you had one with another man, her conscience
nagged. She shrugged, undressed and crawled into bed as her watch confirmed that it was one-thirty, later than she had ever been out of the house in her life. She set the clock alarm to seven-thirty. If she went to church, maybe Gregory would forgive her.

  It did not surprise Gregory that Jolene went to church that Sunday morning, for he knew she would be seeking ways to make amends. He didn’t care what excuse she gave. If Miss Fannie didn’t know where Jolene went or with whom, that meant Jolene had deliberately stood him up. Lately, he had developed misgivings about her, but he had been willing to trust her until she proved unworthy of it. He’d never cared for women who expected gifts from men, and she had sorely tested him when she hinted that she’d like to have a television. Giving her a cell phone had sent her the wrong signal.

  His anger at having been stood up, wasting his Saturday afternoon, had already abated, and he was glad, because he had been furious enough to insult her. His passion for her had tempered, and as far as he was concerned, her behavior the previous afternoon had served as a wakeup call. He’d been traveling too fast. She was still in him, but he didn’t have to do anything about it.

  As soon as the service ended, he left church by a side door, walked around to the front and waited. She came out of the front door and he walked directly up to her.

  “Where were you yesterday at one o’ clock?” She didn’t have a car, so someone must have taken her somewhere, someone whose company she preferred to his. She gaped at him, and he knew he’d caught her off guard.

  “Hi. I . . . I meant to call you, but—”

  He cut her off. “I don’t care about that. Where were you? Miss Fannie couldn’t imagine your whereabouts.”

  “Are you going to fall out with me about it?”

  “Definitely not. That would be a further waste of my mental energy. See you around.” He dashed across M. L. King Jr. Avenue to Delaware Heights where he’d parked his car, got into it, and headed home. One woman was able to trick him because he was an idealist. If another one duped him, it would be proof that he was a fool. He was not a fool.

  Chapter Three

  Judd adjusted the pillow that separated him from the straw bottom of the white rocking chair on Fannie’s side porch, leaned back, and let the salty breeze sweep over him as he rocked. Richard didn’t think he had ever seen a man more at peace with all that was around him. He asked himself why Judd radiated contentment, while he himself was beset with agitation. Finding no answer, he put the question to Judd.

  “Old people don’t expect anything of themselves, and nobody expects them to do anything but waste away. If one of us starts being useful, there’s hell to pay, and we’re accused of taking jobs from the young people who have families to support. Never mind that we have to eat, and nobody’s prepared to give us anything.” What was he supposed to say to that? He hadn’t given the matter any thought.

  “Oh yes,” Judd went on. “You want to know why you can’t relax and live off your bank account. Well, it’s because people expect a man your age to work, and you think that way, too. Find something to do.”

  “I want to do something worthwhile, and I don’t mean manual labor, either,” said Richard.

  Judd rocked slowly as if to savor every minute of the rhythm he created. “I hope you don’t think I didn’t already know that. Richard: your pride was the first thing I saw when I looked at you. If you’d like, I’ll introduce you to the high school principal. He’ll give you something to do, and you’d be an inspiration to the students.”

  Richard didn’t see himself volunteering at a high school, but it would probably beat the boredom he had to tolerate. “Why not? It might prove interesting.”

  “Y’all want some sweetened ice tea?”

  At the sound of Marilyn’s voice, Richard stifled a groan. “I try not to consume too much caffeine. I’ve had my quota. Thanks.”

  “How about you, Judd? Next time, I’ll bring Richard some herbal tea. I blend great herbal teas.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Judd said and accepted the glass of tea that Marilyn handed him.

  Marilyn’s face lit up with a smile intended for Richard alone, and she left them, letting her left hand trail casually across Richard’s shoulder. As he had suspected, the woman was both aggressive and brazen in her pursuit of a man. In the past, when a woman expressed an interest in him, he had merely considered it his due and, if he liked what she offered, he took it with no thought of a lasting relationship. With that one heart-shattering exception. Judd’s laugh startled him.

  “I won’t ask what you’re thinking,” Richard said to the man who was becoming his friend.

  “You may as well have it out with her,” Judd said. “She’s gonna plague you till you either insult her or take her to bed and make a mess of it.”

  “If I insult her, she’ll probably serve brains for supper every night for a week, and if I make love with her and louse it up, she’ll broadcast it and ruin my reputation. I’ll have to think about this.”

  Judd turned his chair to face the ocean and the wind, settled back and eyed him with what Richard knew was compassion. “Try not to hurt her feelings. A little gentleness goes a long way with women. If you scorn a woman, you’ve made a life-long enemy.”

  Richard hadn’t spent much time worrying about how women responded to him; he had usually gotten what he wanted with a smile, a few words of flattery, and a stroke here and there. And he never worried about the effect on a woman of his subsequent disinterest. When he left, he was gone.

  “Tomorrow morning, I’ll take you to meet the principal. The school’s right across the park on State Street and Delaware.”

  From his peripheral vision, he saw Marilyn approaching with what he was willing to swear was a glass of herbal tea. “I grow herbs in my own garden,” she told him. “This is mint, and there is not a bit of caffeine in it.”

  A burglar caught climbing out of a window wouldn’t have been more afraid of captivity than he was at that moment. “I was just leaving,” Richard told her, realizing that the words didn’t make sense. What he wanted to do was pitch the glass across the lawn.

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and bathed her bottom lip with her tongue. “You have a minute for this, don’t you?” she asked him. “Anything I give you will make you feel good.”

  “I’m not going to test that.” He thought he’d said it under his breath, but the expression on her face told him that she heard it. “Did you hear what I said to her?” he asked Judd after Marilyn left.

  “Of course I did. You don’t think you whispered it, do you? But you needn’t worry; that wasn’t strong enough to make her back off. Truth is, I’ve never known her to change course.”

  Jolene had alienated Gregory, so now she had neither a particular focus nor a friend with whom to spend her time. “So what?” Jolene said to herself, as she thought about it. It was no skin off her teeth if he’d decided to ignore her. She spent her time wandering along the beach, which, she had discovered, held many facets. She walked in the town park, and when she didn’t feel up to pretending she was happy being alone, she stayed in her room.

  If only one of the six entrepreneurs to whom she had applied for a job would telephone her! That morning, after sitting beside the swimming pool for an hour, afraid to jump into it, she despaired, put her long blue skirt over her bathing suit and headed home. As she stepped up on the porch, she collided with Richard.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was sitting around there on the shady side with Judd. I hope I didn’t hurt you. Are you all right?”

  She refused his help, picked herself up and walked around him toward the front door, but he grasped her arm, startling her.

  “I said, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Peterson. Would you please let go of my arm?”

  He reminded her of a red-combed cock with his plumes raised and ready for a fight. “Yes, indeed,” he hissed. “Bubbling with friendliness, aren’t you? I’d like to know what you’re trying t
o prove.”

  She slapped both hands on her hips—something mama said a woman shouldn’t do—and glared at him. “I could ask you the same question. You’re not the only peacock in the yard. Excuse me.”

  She dashed up the stairs to dress and got the twelve-thirty bus to Salisbury for her appointment with the hairdresser. “You’re right on time, as usual,” the hairdresser exclaimed when Jolene walked in. “Have a seat, and I’ll be with you in ten minutes.” Knowing that the ten minutes might stretch into forty-five, Jolene sat down and slumped in the chair. She could just as well have gotten the one o’clock bus.

  “Did you see in The Maryland Journal today where Callie Smith got married last Saturday?” one woman asked another.

  “Did I ever! Can you beat that? We all thought poor Callie was gonna die an old maid.”

  “Well, not quite,” another woman chimed in. “Callie ain’t been no maid in thirty-five years. How old you think Callie is? Fifty?”

  “Pretty close to it,” Mabel, the hairdresser, said. “And she can wear the hem of her skirts up to her behind and get that weave with the hair hanging down her back, but when she gets in bed with that man, he gon’ know the difference between twenty-five and fifty.”

  “You telling me?” the woman holding the newspaper said.

  “He already know the difference,” another said, “but I guess it didn’t bother him none. He married her.”

  “What he look like?” one asked

  “Well, from this picture, he ain’t no Prince Charming, and he sure could use some hair. Course, hair ain’t what makes it swing it the sack.”

  “You telling me?”

  With her head half-bowed, Jolene’s gaze scanned the room. Every woman there, except her, had an opinion about Callie Smith, whoever she was. She walked over to the magazine rack, not for something to read—she seldom read anything—but for a means of appearing engrossed in something other than the conversation. Her eyes nearly doubled in size at the sight of a book, the cover of which showed a nearly nude blonde in the arms of a swashbuckling pirate. She glanced around, saw that no one looked her way, picked up the book and went back to her chair.