Gumbo: A Celebration of African American Writing Part 64

It was in Charleston, a tiny Delta town thirty minutes west of Oxford, that the Lord's second and most important life-changing miracle for Theophilus occurred. It was his second miracle, the one he prayed for deep in his heart, not even aware of how intensely G.o.d was listening to him and not aware that the Lord loved him so much-He really did know the exact number of hairs on his head.

He drove to the "Smoky" section of the town and found the Negro boarding house. As he walked in, he took care not to let anyone sitting in the living room area catch a glimpse of his robe. His workday was over and he didn't want to have to explain if he happened to run into someone from the boarding house over at Pompey's. He felt a little twinge of guilt about going to Pompey's after preaching a revival, but he shrugged it off by telling himself that Pompey's was probably the best place he could go to have some peace. The last thing folks at Pompey's would be looking for was a preacher to tell their troubles to.

His room was simple, immaculate, and comfortable. The high double bed looked inviting with its starched white linens, and yellow and white cotton patch quilt. There was a large gray, yellow, and white rag rug in the middle of the worn but freshly waxed beige linoleum floor, and crisp white cotton curtains at the one window facing the bed across the room. There were even fresh daisies in a plain white pitcher with a yellow satin ribbon tied around it sitting on an embroidered linen runner on the dresser.

Theophilus put his things on the bed and unzipped his garment bag to get some fresh clothes. He had no intention of showing up at Pompey's in the navy chalk-striped suit, white s.h.i.+rt, and blue, black, and white tie he was now wearing. He selected a pair of silvery gray slacks and a pale gray silk knit sports s.h.i.+rt with silver b.u.t.tons down the front, and matching pearl gray silk socks. He got his bathrobe, toiletry bag, fresh underwear, and left the room in search of towels and the bathroom so that he could take a quick bath and shave.

Thirty minutes later, he pulled into a dirt parking lot across the road from Pompey's Rib Joint. The smell of succulent ribs and the light from the hot pink neon sign that blinked POMPEY'S RIB JOINT-BEST RIBS IN THE DELTA led a straight path in the black night to the old brick building sitting off to itself on the other side of the road. Inside, where there was a rough wood floor, light purple walls, and unfinished wood tables and chairs, was packed. As soon as he walked in, Theophilus saw that the only seats left were at the bar.

He pressed his way over to the bar and put his hand on a stool just as a short, round woman wearing an orange print dress and holding a big white pocketbook on her arm was about to sit on it. He had begun to apologize when she spotted some friends and gave him the seat. Mouthing thanks, he squeezed through the narrow s.p.a.ce and a thin, light-skinned man with freckles and a broad smile moved his stool to make more room for him. He lifted his shot gla.s.s in a neighborly fas.h.i.+on when Theophilus nodded a quick "thank you" and settled his large, muscular frame on the shaky barstool.

He got more comfortable and started looking around the room, unintentionally making eye contact with two women who were dressed in identical lime green chiffon dresses. One of the women ran her tongue over the top of her lip and blew him a quick kiss when she was certain her man wasn't watching her. He nodded at her, taking great care not to get caught by her man. It was one of those no-win situations. If he ignored that red-bone woman with "good" hair, chances are she would get mad at him and say something about him man. If he were too friendly with her, then her man, a wiry fellow with a process and dressed in a red suit, would get insulted and probably be inclined to fight. And the one thing he knew about little wiry-built men was that they were easily insulted, mean, and carried a serious weapon.

Theophilus was relieved when the waitress finally came to take his order, making it possible for him to have a decent reason to stop the eye contact with that woman and her friend. But it took him aback when she walked up to him and right into the s.p.a.ce between his legs as she rubbed his knee and whispered in his ear, "What you think you be wantin' tonight, baby?"

All he could do was smile at first. He was fully aware that he should know better than to respond to such outrageous flirtation. But the man in him, the part that loved getting attention from good-looking women, couldn't stand to let her get the best of him. He just had to give her back as good as he got. So Theophilus sat back on his stool and smiled, looking her up and down, admiring how good she looked with her sepia-colored skin in that skimpy black satin dress she was wearing. He stroked his chin and said, in a voice that sounded to her like midnight on a clear summer evening, "I don't need much, sweetheart. Just a tall gla.s.s of iced tea with a few sprigs of mint leaves and a rundown of what you have to eat. And make sure it is something succulent for a hungry man like me."

She grinned at Theophilus, moved closer to him and spoke into his ear, this time allowing her lips to brush the tip of his earlobe, sending a rush of warmth across his neck and shoulders.

"We has a rib tip sandwich special tonight. And baby, them ribs so good till they will make you want to do something real bad and nasty, if you know what I mean."

Theophilus gave her a sultry smile to let her know that he knew exactly what she meant. Then he winked at her and said, "So, tell me, sweetheart. What's on this sandwich that makes it so good it'll make me want to do something na.s.sty?"

She felt a little quiver in her thighs and had to take a few deep breaths before she said, "Them tips is just good, baby. They soaked in hot, homemade barbecue sauce, with potato salad on top, and Wonder Bread."

He smiled at her again. "I'm gonna trust you and take one of those sandwiches. But, sweetheart, if the sauce is real hot, bring me some ice water along with my order. I think I'll need more than a gla.s.s of tea to cool me down with a sandwich like that."

She leaned on him one more time, a big smile spreading across her face. She inhaled the scent of his cologne some more before saying in the s.e.xiest voice she could, "I'll bring your tea real fast and then go get your order settled."

Theophilus smiled to himself as he watched the waitress walk away, deliberately giving him an eyeful of her fat, fine behind just swinging and swaying all for him. He thought to himself, "Boy, get yourself together, carrying on like that. Just a few hours ago you were all down on your knees at church and glad to be there, too. Shame on you, Reverend Simmons."

The waitress brought his tea just as the band performing tonight, Big Johnnie Mae Carter and the Fabulous Revues, finished setting up on stage. The Fabulous Revues was a good-size band-ba.s.s player, lead guitarist, tenor saxophone player, trumpet player, pianist, and drummer. These men, who were anywhere from the ages of thirty to fifty, looked good in crisp black pants with razor-sharp creases, light-purple silk s.h.i.+rts, s.h.i.+ny black Stacy Adams shoes, and slick black straw hats c.o.c.ked on the side of their heads. When everybody was in place, the drummer raised his drumsticks high in the air, brought them down hard on the first beat, and Pompey's Rib Joint got to jumping.

Big Johnnie Mae Carter, a tall, husky, square-shaped woman with big b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a headful of coa.r.s.e bleached-blond hair piled high on top, was in rare form tonight. Decked out in a long light-purple evening gown with slits up to the knee on each side and rhinestones glittering in her ears, she strutted her stuff to the funky Delta blues rhythms of her band, from the front door of Pompey's all the way up and on to the stage. Then she finally stepped up to the microphone, throwing back her shoulders and whipped out the words of the song: "If you was a bee baby, I'd turn myself into the sweetest flower.

"And if you was the rain, Daddy, and me the Mississippi? I'd flood this old Delta 'cause I couldn't keep all of your sweet lovin' all to myself.

"And if you just happened to be the devil. Then, Lawd, Lawd, Lawdy, just help me please.

"'Cause see, I'd be tryin' to up and sell my soul just to make sure you kept on lovin' up on me.

"I said, Lawd, Lawd, Lawdy, Help, Help, Help me please.

"'Cause I know I'd be doing so wrong just to keep you lovin' up on me."

Big Johnnie Mae looked like she was feeling that music from head to toe as she stretched out her arms, snapped her jeweled fingers, and moved her hips from side to side. As the lead guitarist stepped forward to pick out his solo, she s.h.i.+fted aside, still dancing, rolling her hips in a sinuous way, and finally s.h.i.+mmying on down to the stage floor. The guitarist looked down at Big Johnnie Mae and smiled. She, in turn, smiled back up at him, pulled that dress up to her knees and rolled her hips some more. All the other musicians stopped playing and just let the lead guitar, accompanied by Big Johnnie Mae's dancing, carry the song.

Now Big Johnnie Mae began to weave her way back up, all the while crooning around the melody, stretching to her full height in front of the microphone. Then the band rose up behind her full and strong, as she reached for a note that sounded like it had started way down deep in the bas.e.m.e.nt and came on upstairs to blow the roof off the joint.

A man sitting only a couple of feet from the stage jumped up and shouted, "d.a.m.n, baby. You sho' 'nough is hot tonight! Lawd! What I wouldn't give to be that there micro-ro-phone you holdin' on to right now."

The freckle-facedman leaned over toward Theophilus and said, "Now, that Negro don't have no sense. 'Cause the way she was movin' down on that flo', any fool would know he need to turn hisself into some wood."

Theophilus could only smile at this observation and raise his tea. He stopped short of nodding his head in agreement. He wasn't so sure he wanted to "turn hisself into some wood." because he wasn't so sure he was man enough to hold all of the woman that was Big Johnnie Mae Carter. Theophilus thought that perhaps he could be the sound system that carried her voice to the ears of her listeners. He sipped his tea and nodded his head at that thought. It would be nothing short of a religious experience to feel her voice coursing through his body and on out to the eager audience. He sipped on his tea some more, bobbing his head to the beat of the next song. The tea felt good, too-cooling him down at the same time that Big Johnnie Mae and the Fabulous Revues were warming up his soul and making him feel almost as good as he had felt at church.

Just as Big Johnnie Mae ended this last song and started up on one with a calmer rhythm, a different woman came toward Theophilus with a plate of food in one hand and a big gla.s.s of ice water, a napkin, and silverware in the other.

"You the man who ordered the rib tip sandwich and gla.s.s of ice water?" she asked.

He said, "Ummm-hmmm."

She pushed the food out toward him.

"Here, this is yours and you owe me buck twenty-five."

Theophilus took the plate, silverware, and gla.s.s of water from her and put them on the bar. He reached back to get his empty tea gla.s.s off the bar and then fumbled in his pocket for some money.

Watching him, the woman had to agree with the waitress, who was now stuck helping the bartender fix drinks, that the man in the "silver gray outfit" was sure enough a "big and pretty chocolate man." She tried to steal a better look at his face without his noticing it. She knew that you didn't look at the men coming in here too hard unless you wanted to send them a message you hoped they wanted to answer.

Then he smiled at her, handing over the money while looking her over so thoroughly until she wished she had worn her large cook's ap.r.o.n. It covered a lot of her body but she hated bringing customers their food in that barbecue- and grease-splattered thing. But at least that grimy coverage would have slowed down the speed with which this man's eyes took in her body. She was standing there in a s.h.i.+rt and Bermuda shorts, so her only defense was to narrow her already slanted eyes and give him a nasty look. He wouldn't be the first man to get this look. But he was the first one who made her wonder if she had looked at him just a little too mean when she walked back to the kitchen.

Theophilus shrugged off the glare that little woman had given him and turned toward the bar to eat his food. The sandwich was so thick and juicy he had to eat it with a fork. The tips were tender and dripping in some of the best barbecue sauce he had tasted in a long time. And there was a generous helping of potato salad spread evenly on each slice of bread. The waitress hadn't lied about this sandwich. It did taste good enough to make you "want to do something real bad and nasty."

As he ate, Theophilus found his mind fixed on the image of that mean-acting little woman. She sure was a fine little thing, with that dark honeycolored skin, thick reddish brown hair held in place with a light blue headband, heart-shaped face, full lips, and those s.e.xy slanted, light brown eyes cutting him in two when he stared at her too hard. And she looked cute in those baby blue Bermuda shorts with her pet.i.te, hourgla.s.s figure and her backside swinging her own natural, uncontrived rhythm when she walked away from him.

Umph, umph, umph, he thought to himself. If that girl didn't have some big pretty legs, I don't know who did.

Just then the waitress came switching back to him to ask if he needed anything else from her. Figuring she was offering more than just another gla.s.s of tea, he thought that he had better add a little extra sugar to his smile before he asked a question he knew she wouldn't want to answer.

"Who brought me my food, sweetheart?"

She looked confused and said, "Something wrong with your food?"

"No. I just want to know who was the woman who brought me my food. She didn't look like she was a waitress. And judging from the way she just walked off with my money after I paid her, she didn't act like one, either. I mean, look at you. You're standing here all sweet-like, making sure I'm alright."

"She wasn't nasty-actin' was she?" the waitress asked. She knew Essie Lane was good for giving these men that old nasty, slit-eyed look of hers.

"No, sweetheart, nothing like that. I just want you to tell me who she was."

"That was Essie Lane. She the cook on duty tonight."

"Well, I have to thank a woman who can cook some rib tips like that. Where is she?"

The waitress didn't look too happy about Theophilus wanting to talk to Essie but she said, "She back in the kitchen," and pointed him in that direction.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said as he gave her a s.e.xy wink and put some money in her hand.

She put her smile back on her face and said, "I just knowed you was the kind of man who really knows what to do with a woman," as Theophilus got up and headed back to the kitchen.

Sighing with regret, she looked down at her tip. The five-dollar bill she was holding in her hand stretched her smile into a big wide grin. Five dollars was a huge tip for a waitress working at Pompey's Rib Joint.

When Theophilus walked into that hot kitchen, Essie was drinking some ice water and stirring a big pot of collard greens. Sensing someone watching her, she turned around, hoping it wasn't that old drunk who kept waving a dollar bill at her every time she came out on the floor. When she saw that it was the good-looking man in silver-gray, she was kind of relieved but also wondering why he was standing in the doorway looking at her like that. Ready to run him out of the kitchen if need be, she put a hand on her hip and looked him dead in the eye.

"What do you want?" she asked.

Theophilus wasn't surprised by the att.i.tude in her voice. At the gut level he knew she was one of those good women who didn't allow for foolishness from a man. And as nasty as she sounded, he liked her voice. It was the kind of voice that could move swiftly from giving a command one dare not disobey, to girlish laughter, to a deep, throaty sigh. The desire to hear that sigh nestled itself quietly and comfortably in the most private, yet-to-be awakened region of his heart.

"I said, what do you want?"

He wanted to smile at her but didn't want to be chased out of this kitchen before he had a chance to meet her. So he decided to put on his "receiving line" face, which seemed to carry him a long way with most folks he greeted after Sunday morning service. He held that look in place as he tried to think of something to say that would match his disarming expression. The best he could come up with was, "Sister, that food was so good, I just had to come back here and humble myself before the chef," with what he truly hoped had a good dose of the preacher in his voice.

He knew better than to say what he was really thinking, which was Baby, you so fine, you make me want to say things that can only be whispered in your ear.

Essie just looked at him and said, "The chef, huh?" with a frown on her face. "You are talking about a 'chef' in a country place like Pompey's Rib Joint? You must think you in New York City. But you ain't. And since you ain't, get out of my kitchen right now, before somebody gets hurt." She edged over to a small table with a big meat cleaver on it.

Theophilus saw her reach for the meat cleaver and backed away, saying, "Hey, wait a minute, baby," before he could catch himself right.

Looking at him like he was out of his mind, Essie said, "Negro, I know you ain't calling me no baby."

Theophilus moved toward her gingerly, trying to placate her. "Look, girl, I didn't mean you any harm. Your food was good and I just wanted to see you-"

"Wanted to see me? For what? If my food was so good, why didn't your cheap self send me a note about my good food, along with a tip?"

Theophilus didn't even try to defend himself on that one, realizing he had been too distracted to tip her. She was looking at him real hard, meat cleaver firm in her grip.

He tried another tack, extending his hand and saying, "My name is Theophilus-"

"I believe I know your name, Reverend. I thought you looked familiar when I brought you your food. Ain't you that revival preacher who was in Jackson this week?"

Before Theophilus could answer her, she said, "You sure are. And now you back up this way spending up their offering money and thinking you can talk up some little juke joint cook. Man, sometimes you preachers can truly act as bad as the worst street Negroes." She blew a puff of air out of her mouth in disgust, adding, "And I'd be surprised if you ain't a married man to boot."

Theophilus was embarra.s.sed at the mess he had made in his effort to meet this woman. And now he had to convince her that he didn't see her as some "little juke joint cook." But the way she was holding that meat cleaver made him think real carefully before he opened his mouth again.

"I realize that I haven't made much of an impression on you this evening," he began. "But you have to believe me when I say that I didn't come back here to be disrespectful. I just wanted to meet you. You should call Reverend Murcheson James over at Mount Nebo Gospel United Church and ask him about me. Maybe a good word or two from him will make you feel comfortable enough to see me again."

"Reverend James is my pastor. I'm a member of Mount Nebo."

Theophilus felt like shouting. This woman went to Mount Nebo? Now he knew the Lord was truly on his side. He smiled at her as he said, "You should also know that I'm a single man, all by myself, just hoping to find a good woman."

Essie rolled her eyes at him. "All by yourself? I've never seen a preacher all by himself without a whole bunch of women to choose from. For some reason, women just seem to love preachers. I don't know why."

Theophilus decided to ignore that last comment and said, "Yes, there sure are a lot of women who love preachers and would be glad for one to choose them. But I just told you that I'm looking for a good one."

"And you gonna find her in Pompey's Rib Joint?"

"I'm talking to a good woman right now, right?" Theophilus said, standing over Essie, looking down at her, daring her to differ with him.

Essie knew she was a good woman, one who worked real hard to see that everybody at Pompey's knew it, too. To be sure, good-looking Negro men had crossed her path on many an evening at work. But they all made the fatal error of missing the point-that Essie Lee Lane was not only fine-looking with big s.e.xy legs, she was a woman of fine character who knew she deserved better than what they always wanted to offer her.

"You haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"I asked you if you were a good woman and you've been standing there staring at me."

Now it was Essie's turn to be embarra.s.sed. She hadn't realized that she was staring at him.

"So, I'm talking to a good woman in the kitchen of one the hottest juke joints in the Delta. Am I not?"

Essie struggled, trying to compose just the right answer to that question. The way he looked her over, head to toe, was jumbling up her thoughts. She frowned. "Why you looking at me like you got X-ray vision? You know that ain't right for no man and especially one claiming to be a preacher."

Theophilus checked his gaze, traveling down to get a fully lighted view of those legs. He wondered if her legs would feel as soft and satiny to his hands as they looked. But he wasn't about to apologize because he couldn't keep his eyes off her. "You know something, Miss-"

"Essie Lee. Essie Lee Lane."

"You know something, Miss Essie Lee Lane. I don't have X-ray vision. Truly I don't. But to be perfectly honest, at times like these I sure wish I did." He gave her a smile that started at his eyes and traveled leisurely down to his mouth.

Essie felt flushed looking at him smiling at her like that. Here was a man-a preacher, in fact-who told her he wished he had X-ray vision and gave her a look that said volumes about how he would use this gift if he were so blessed with it. She had always been skeptical of ministers-felt that too many of them didn't practice what they preached and had big-headed notions about themselves. But for some reason, she felt differently about this man, which was disturbing, the more she thought about it.

"What's the matter with you, Miss Essie Lee Lane? You got a thought you don't like?"

Essie couldn't believe he could see through her like that and said, "Nothing wrong, just thinking."

"Just thinking, huh?" Theophilus said with a warm smile that didn't have a trace of freshness in it. "I bet you're thinking you kind of like me and might just let me see you again, right?"

Essie sighed, trying not to let him see that he was getting all up under her skin. She would rather die than so much as breathe a "yes" in his direction.

"Yes, I bet you're still thinking about me, isn't that right, Miss Essie Lane? And it's bothering you that you want to see this preacher just one more time."

Essie just looked at him as if to say, "Don't flatter yourself." She said, "I ain't troubled about nothing that has anything to do with you. Just because you can see me again-nothing about it that needs extra thought to it. All you'll be doing is what you asked to do, seeing me again."

"Well, well, well, G.o.d is truly good. I think nothing short of an act of G.o.d would convince Miss Essie Lane to let me-X-ray vision and all-see her again."

Essie blew air out of her mouth and rolled her eyes as if to say "please." She said, "I think no harm could come from you visiting me."

Theophilus guessed correctly that this was about as close to a yes as he was going to get. But with a soft laugh in his voice, he pressed, "So, you're telling me that I can see you again, huh? Is that what you are saying, Miss Essie Lane?"

The slight smile on her lips made him feel certain that he was getting next to her, if only a little.

"Maybe I could see you tomorrow afternoon," he said. "If it's okay with you, I can stop by your house after my visit with Reverend James."

"Yes. Yes," she replied. "You can come by my house tomorrow and eat lunch with me."

His heart swelled with hope.

"With me, my mama, and my Uncle Booker," she continued. "That way you'll know without a doubt that there ain't no good times to be had down here with this little small-town Mississippi girl. Way I figure it, once you're certain about that point, you probably won't want to see me again anyway."

The expression on his face changed. Gone was the heat and in its place was a look she didn't know what to make of. Was it hurt?