2: Mary Margaret

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id53.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="1: New Orleans"><U><B>1:  New Orleans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>2:  Mary Margaret</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id55.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="3: Rumrunners Row"><U><B>3:  Rumrunners' Row</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id56.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Speakeasy"><U><B>4:  Speakeasy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id57.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="5: Sys Deal"><U><B>5:  Sy's Deal</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id58.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="6: Reunion"><U><B>6:  Reunion</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id59.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="7: Disaster"><U><B>7:  Disaster</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Petofi"><U><B>8:  Petofi</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id63.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="9: Cuddeback"><U><B>9:  Cuddeback</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id64.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Angelique"><U><B>10:  Angelique</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id65.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="11: Making Plans"><U><B>11:  Making Plans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id66.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12: Chicago"><U><B>12:  Chicago</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id67.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="13: Nora"><U><B>13:  Nora</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id68.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="14: The Gypsy"><U><B>14:  The Gypsy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id69.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="15: The Trap"><U><B>15:  The Trap</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="16: The Gift"><U><B>16:  The Gift</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id71.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="17: Beth"><U><B>17:  Beth</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="18: Together Again"><U><B>18:  Together Again</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: Petofi Strikes"><U><B>19:  Petofi Strikes</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U><B>Taking Wooden Nickels</B></U></A></div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>2:  Mary Margaret</B></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      Quentin had been to New York City plenty of times before, but never as the driver of his own car.  It was a lot larger and busier than he remembered, and being back again excited him.  Every time he'd been here before, it was a stopping place; he was always going somewhere else.  Dave directed him into the part of New York called Harlem; George and Jack were going to find rooms together and asked to be dropped off.  All that remained was for Dave to take Quentin home with him.  He really hadn't been too surprised when Quentin accepted his invitation.</div> <div>      "My mama takes care of the building she lives in," Dave was explaining, "so she doesn't have to pay any rent.  It's just her and my sister now.  They'll be surprised to see YOU."</div> <div>      "I hope it's all right.  This isn't putting you out, is it?"</div> <div>      "No, no, they'll wonder about you, but that's all right.  I wondered about you, too.  I still do, sometimes."  Dave chuckled.  "Okay, turn right here.  It's that brownstone half way down the block."</div> <div>      Quentin parked.  There were some people walking on the street that gawked at him but no one said anything.  Dave led him up four flights of stairs to an apartment, and banged on the door.  It was opened by a very attractive young woman with bronze skin who looked delighted to see Dave and threw herself in his arms.  "Why didn't you call!"  she squealed.  "Wait until Mama hears you're home!"</div> <div>      Dave picked her up and swung her around, walking into the hallway with her.  "How've you been, Mary?  Why aren't you in school?"</div> <div>      "Oh, David, come ON!  I'm done with school-you know that!  I don't have to go to work until three!"  The girl stopped, suddenly noticing Quentin.  Quentin was staring at her in frank appreciation of her beauty.  She turned her head to the side, shyly.</div> <div>      "Mary Margaret, this here is my friend, Frank," Dave said, making the introductions.  "Franky, meet my baby sister, Mary Margaret."</div> <div>      "Hello, Mary Margaret," Quentin said softly, taking her hand.</div> <div>      "Hello," she answered shyly, trying to meet her eyes.  She couldn't.</div> <div>      Dave cleared his throat uncomfortably and took his sister's hand.  "Where's Mama?  We got any food in the house for lunch?  We're kind of hungry."</div> <div>      "Mama's upstairs, doing the floor," Mary Margaret explained.  "Why don't you go up and say hello?  I'll fix you something to eat and it'll be ready for you when you come back."</div> <div>      "Fine, sounds fine," Dave said enthusiastically, propelling his sister toward the kitchen.  "C'mon, Frank, let's go say hello to my mother."  Quentin watched Mary Margaret walk into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her.  "Frank!" Quentin looked at Dave questioningly and saw that Dave had an odd expression on his face.  "Come on, man," he said, almost testily.</div> <div>      They walked up a flight of steps to the next floor.  There was a woman on her hands and knees with a scrub bucket and a brush, making strong circular motions on the floor.  "Mama?"  Dave said, and the woman froze.  Slowly, she turned her head and then stood up.  She looked tired and careworn, but her eyes were bright with happiness. </div> <div>      "Oh, David!  You've come home!  Why didn't you write me?"  She dropped the brush back into the bucket and wiped her hands on her apron.  Then she hugged and kissed her son.  "It's SO good to see you!  It's been too long!  How long will you be staying?"</div> <div>      "Maybe quite a while, Mama.  I'm gonna look for a gig up here for awhile," Dave answered.</div> <div>      "Oh, praise the Lord!" his mother exclaimed.  "I've missed my baby so much!"</div> <div>      "Oh, come on, Ma," Dave said, embarrassed.  "Ma, I brought a friend here with me.  This here is Frank Scott.  Frank, this is my mama, Ethelette Fisher."</div> <div>      "Nice to meet you, ma'am," Quentin said politely, offering his hand.  Surprised, Ethelette took it.</div> <div>      "Nice to meet YOU, Mr. Scott," she responded just as politely.  She looked at Dave questioningly.</div> <div>      "He isn't like any kind of white boy you ever met, Mama," Dave said.</div> <div>      Ethelette was shocked.  "David!" she said, giving Quentin a mortified glance.</div> <div>      "Mama!  You'll see!  He's bailed me out couple times while we were down in New Orleans," Dave explained.</div> <div>      "I'm grateful for any help you extended to my son," Ethelette said sincerely but a little stiffly.</div> <div>      "Mama, he needs a place to stay a couple days.  Can he stay in the front parlor?"</div> <div>      "Why-" Ethelette began, surprised.  Then she looked embarrassed.  "David, you wouldn't put him on that ratty old sofa!  He can stay in my room."</div> <div>      "Oh, no, ma'am," Quentin protested.  "I've slept on floors before.  It won't bother me, and I don't want to put you out of your own room."</div> <div>      Ethelette shrugged, with a little laugh.  "Well, it's fine with me if you stay over with us, but I won't hear `bout you sleepin on the floor!  We'll talk about it some more."</div> <div>      "Thanks, ma, are you gonna come down for lunch?  Mary Margaret's fixing us some."</div> <div>      "Well, I'll be along in a few minutes.  You go on.  I just want to finish up here.  Go on," Ethelette answered, dismissing them.</div> <bR> <div>      Mary Margaret had made them thick sandwiches and had cold beer ready for them.  "So what kinda job you got that you're working three in the afternoon?" Dave asked.</div> <div>      "Just a factory. Making pieces of something," Mary Margaret answered.  "We could use the extra since Naomi got married and left."</div> <div>      "Who brings you home?"  Dave wanted to know.  "You seein anyone?"</div> <div>      His sister's face went a darker color.  "No, I catch the train with two girlfriends."</div> <div>      "Long as you're not goin alone," Dave said, the concerned older brother.</div> <div>      Quentin wasn't really listening.  He sat sipping his beer, enjoying the sandwich and enjoying looking at Mary Margaret.  She was a long limbed, graceful girl with big, expressive eyes.  "Don't worry `bout me.  What you gonna do?  You here for just a little while?"</div> <div>      "Naw, I think I'm gonna stick around for a little while.  See if I can't find me a gig up here.  I hear it's pretty good up here for horn players."</div> <div>      "Here and uptown," Mary Margaret agreed.</div> <div>      "And how would you know?"</div> <div>      "I go out sometimes, David.  I'm not a baby anymore.  There's a fellow can play the piano…mmmmmhmmm.  Calls himself Duke Ellington."</div> <div>      "I play the piano," Quentin put in.</div> <div>      Mary Margaret looked at him with undisguised interest.  "Maybe you'd like to hear this man, you like our kind of music."</div> <div>      Dave cleared his throat.  "Heard from Joe?"</div> <div>      "Not recently.  Haven't been to see him-makes Mama feel too sad," Mary Margaret answered obediently.  She looked at Quentin out of the corners of her eyes to let him know she was still interested.  "Oh, and Lena has gone and gotten big again.  Hoping for a boy this time."   Quentin tuned out again.  This seemed to be family talk, which he didn't find very interesting.  </div> <div>      Ethelette came down and joined them.  Mary Margaret got another glass of beer for her brother and Quentin.  While Ethelette and her children talked, Quentin kept stealing glances at the sister.  He wondered if she'd ever had a boyfriend.  She was very pretty; it was hard to imagine that she wouldn't have young men trailing after her.  However, she seemed to be very shy.  That didn't bother him.  He could draw even shy girls out in conversation.</div> <div>      "Why, it's silly for Mr. Scott to have to sleep on that ole sofa," Mary Margaret was saying.  "I don't sleep so good when I get home.  Why not let him and David take my room for the next night or so, and I'll take the sofa?"     When Ethelette began to protest, Mary Margaret said, "Mama, you know half the time I sit up most the night anyway.  And if I can't sleep, I can go right out on the fire escape, like I usually do.  How can I do that if I got to crawl over these two?"</div> <div>      Ethelette looked at Dave, who shrugged.  "Don't make no never mind to me.  Franky?"</div> <div>      Quentin realized they were looking at him.  "Well, ah, I don't want to put anyone out," he said, thinking.  Actually, this might not be a bad idea…  When Mary Margaret insisted that this was what she wanted to do, everyone gave in.</div> <div>      "Come on, Frank, let's take your bag back here," Dave said.  The apartment was like a railroad car, Quentin realized.  The front room was the kitchen; next was the room referred to as the "front room", and the next two bedrooms were side by side down the hall.  There was a very old fashioned bathroom at the end of the hall.  Nodding toward it, Dave said, "We're lucky here.  Not all these apartments got their own john.  Some's got to share with the other flats on the floor."  Quentin was surprised.  Imagine not having a private bathroom!</div> <div>      Mary Margaret's room was plain but feminine, furnished with a double bed and a dresser topped with what Quentin thought of as female things-mirror, brush, rose water, sachet, and other little things.  Dave sat down on the bed.  It sagged a little.  "Well, the springs stick you some in the back, but it's better than the ground," he said.  He stretched out, yawning.  "I got some connections I can talk to, but I think I'll wait on it awhile.  Beer's made me kinda sleepy."</div> <div>      "Why don't you rest?  I can walk around.  Give Jamison a call.  He'll want to know I'm here, at least," Quentin said.</div> <div>      "Yup," Dave said, closing his eyes.</div> <div>      Quentin walked back down the hall to the kitchen.  Ethelette had already gone back to scrubbing floors or cleaning somewhere else.  Mary Margaret looked at Quentin, and then ducked her head, smiling shyly.  She was washing up the lunch plates.  "You're very pretty, you know," he said softly.  "Are you seeing someone?"</div> <div>      "Go on, you're just saying that," she answered.  After a pause, "No, I'm not."</div> <div>      "I'm surprised.  I thought the fellas would be knocking your door down."</div> <div>      "Not really.  There's other girls prettier'n'me."</div> <div>      "Maybe those fellas are just blind."</div> <div>      "Go on."</div> <div>      "No, I mean it.  Look, it's almost three.  How do you get to work?  Can I drive you?"</div> <div>      She looked startled and a little frightened.  "Usually I take the train."</div> <div>      "Is it very far?  I could drive you."</div> <div>      "No, thank you, Mr. Scott.  I wouldn't want you to get lost."</div> <div>      "Well, can I walk you to the station then?  I won't get lost doing that."</div> <div>      She was silent a minute, then nodded.  "All right, Mr. Scott.  I'd appreciate that."</div> <div>      "Please call me Frank.  When you call me Mr. Scott I feel old."</div> <div>      She laughed.  "You not old.  You don't look old."</div> <div>      "I know.  So call me Frank.  Please?"</div> <div>      "Frank," she said, very softly.</div> <div>      He not only walked her to the station, he took the subway with her to the factory where she worked.  He was aware that people were looking at them, but he didn't care.  She didn't seem to care either, although she still seemed very shy and unsure.  She explained how to take the subway back to the apartment.  He followed her directions, totally forgetting to call Jamison.</div> <div>      When he got back, Dave was up and restless.  "What took you so long?"  As Quentin was thinking up an excuse, Dave went on, "Well, come on, you want to see where I might go work?"  </div> <div>      Dave and Quentin took another subway for a few blocks and got off, walking to a building that was very plain on the outside.  Walking down the steps, Dave rapped at the door and was admitted to a small clubroom.  The man who let them in seemed to know Dave, greeting him with a smile, but he gave Quentin a long, searching look.  Quentin could hear a piano playing.  </div> <div>      At the piano was a light skinned, good looking man who was improvising as he went.  There were telegrams tacked up to the walls around him.  The man looked over and stopped playing, giving Dave a cool, and appraising look.  "Well, well, I haven't seen you in a dog's age!  Thought you'd gone down south!"</div> <div>      "Well, I did, and now I'm migrating back up north.  I'm looking for a gig-I'd kind of like to stay up here for a while.  You hear of anything?"</div> <div>      "Oh, I don't know," the man said loftily.  "Why don't you go talk to Fletcher Henderson?  I've got about twelve people now.  You'd make thirteen.  You can come back and see me when I've got number fourteen coming on."</div> <div>      "You ain't changed much."</div> <div>      "Thirteen's bad luck, David.  You know that.  Who's this?"</div> <div>      "Oh, this here is Frank Scott," Dave said.  "Frank, Duke Ellington.  He's the fella Mary Margaret was talking about.  Frank's a piano player, too."  Quentin shook hands with the man called Duke Ellington.  Quentin was aware that the man was scrutinizing him, evaluating him behind a carefully neutral face.  He looked very guarded.</div> <div>      "What is that nice girl saying about me?" </div> <div>      "Good things.  She likes the way you play," Quentin said.  "I do, too.  Where'd you learn to play?"</div> <div>      "I've always had my own style.  It suits me.  What about you?"</div> <div>      "I just sort of picked it up."</div> <div>      Ellington laughed.  "You know what they say about us piano players?"</div> <div>      "No, what?"</div> <div>      "That we're queer.  You don't look queer-are you?"</div> <div>      Quentin was shocked.  "No!  I'm not-are you?"</div> <div>      Ellington laughed again.  "Nah!  But you find out all kinds of things coming down to these places, Mr. Scott.  White folks like to come down and visit here.  See how we live and all.  What do you think of us colored folk?" </div> <div>  Quentin didn't know what to say; he was still shocked.  He thought he was being tested.  "What do you mean, what do I think?"</div> <div> "He's all right," Dave put in.  "He don't seem to see colors.  He ain't like any other white boy I've met before."</div> <div> Ellington got up.  "So you like to play, too?  Let's hear."</div> <div> Quentin flushed.  He wasn't sure he liked the man; he especially didn't like the man's lofty attitude.  No wonder he was called "Duke"!  Quentin sat down in front of the keys.  He felt unsure of himself all of a sudden, and he didn't like the feeling.  He let his hands move over the keys lightly for a few moments; then, feeling irritated by being made to feel insignificant by a musician he'd never heard of, he began to play.  He closed out Dave and this Duke, and just played out his annoyance.</div> <div> He'd been going on for a minute of so when, to his surprise, the Duke sat down next to him and took the left part, playing between basses and chords.  Quentin himself improvised on the right.  They played together for another minute, and then Quentin stopped, looking at the good-looking man sitting next to him.  "You just sort of picked this up, huh?  You really like playing stride?"  Ellington asked.</div> <div> "Is that what it's called?  I didn't know.  I just like to watch when I hear something I like.  Usually I can learn," Quentin answered.</div> <div> "My band is called the Washingtonians.  We're small--the really big band here is Henderson's.  We play the small clubs right now.  You want to come watch some night, you might hear something you'd like to learn.  You learn that quick by watching, you'll pick it up."</div> <div> "Thanks," Quentin said, surprised.  He guessed he'd passed.</div> <div> "David, I'll keep my ears open.  Lots of small bands around, lots of places to play.  As I was saying, the white folks like to come to the clubs and hear us play.  They like to mingle with us.  So I'm sure something will turn up to keep you in New York.  And if I get a fourteenth man, you're on with me."</div> <div> "Okay, thanks, and don't be too surprised if you see us turn up.  This boy likes music."</div> <div> "Well, you know what they say about music and its charms," the Duke said, moving to take over again.  Quentin knew the reference and felt his hair prickle a little.  Dave was already leaving, so Quentin took his leave, too.</div> <div> "Listen, he's an okay person--just acts high and mighty," Dave said, when they were back on the street.  "Already some of the clubs here in Harlem only cater to the white folks--they keep us out.  And this is our own neighborhood.  Guess he just wanted to make sure you weren't one of those uptown white folks that kind of want to be with us but still look down on us--y'understand?"</div> <div> "No, but I've never had to worry about any of that, being a rich uptown white man," Quentin answered.</div> <div> "Yeah, you are, Franky, but you're more--open minded.  That helps."  Quentin accompanied Dave to several more small clubs.  It was coming on to the cocktail hour, so Dave stopped at a friend's.  He was recognized and allowed in to the bar for a drink.  As usual, the patrons stared at Quentin but no one said anything.  Since he was with Dave, he was tolerated there.  Dave had managed to secure a place for not only himself, but for George and Jack as well.  "We stick together, it'll be easier for them.  They don't have the friends here I do," Dave explained.  After sharing a drink together, they went to the apartment George and Jack had gotten together.  They were to start that night--at nine, and would play through the night.</div> <div> Quentin started out the evening with them.  There were a few other white people in the room, sitting together at a table with a couple of their black friends.  The liquor flowed, the band played, and the room filled with the smoky odor of cigarettes--and something else. Quentin looked around for it and saw one of the white men with the special cigarette.  It had a name on the street--"tea", probably because of the way it looked before you rolled it.  He'd tried it a couple of times in the West Indies, and it was very pleasant.  He wondered if Dave would know where the fellows had gotten it--maybe somewhere in this club.</div> <div> It was going on toward eleven, and Quentin remembered Mary Margaret.  She'd be coming off work.  She usually went home on the train with her friends, but the place she worked wasn't so far from here.  Maybe if he went to meet her, she'd come and have a drink with him.  She herself had talked about this "Duke" and the gentleman himself had said he was welcome to come and watch his band play.  When the band paused between sets, Quentin approached his friend and outright lied for the first time.  He wasn't sure why he did it; he just felt Dave wouldn't like it if he knew he was going to pick Mary Margaret up from work.  He told Dave he felt like calling Jamison--he hadn't made the call yet to let Jamison know he was in town.</div> <div> "You gonna come back?"</div> <div> "No, I'm kind of tired.  Maybe I'll just go back to your place.  Is that okay?"</div> <div> "Yeah, that's fine.  I'll try not to wake you when I stumble in.  It'll be late."</div> <div> "That's all right.  I don't sleep all that lightly."</div> <div> "See you later, then."</div> <bR> <div> Quentin waited outside the door of the factory as one shift came out and the other went in.  He saw Mary Margaret come out with two girls.  She looked at him sharply, whispered to her two friends, and walked over to him.  The two girls looked at him, surprised and concerned, and they put their hands over their mouths and whispered and giggled to each other.  They didn't go away but stood nearby, watching.</div> <div> Quentin walked a few feet down the block with Mary Margaret so he could talk to her out of earshot of her friends.  "What are you doing here?" she wondered.</div> <div> "Why, I came to pick you up.  I thought maybe we could go out for a little while."</div> <div> "Go out?  Now?"</div> <div> "Don't you want to?  I thought we could stop and hear that man you were talking about.  What was his name?  Duke something?"</div> <div> "Well, but I don't know what my Mama would say, or Dave--"</div> <div> "Dave's working.  You want to call your mother?"</div> <div> Mary Margaret licked her lower lip, thinking.  Quentin put on his best "aw please" look.  He saw her put her hand behind her back, beckoning to them.  "She wouldn't like it if I was with a boy…I mean, a man…."</div> <div> "Why don't we all go?"  Quentin asked, understanding the gesture immediately.  It was okay with him.  He liked girls.  Mary Margaret quickly explained to the other girls her predicament.  They were eager to help.  Mary Margaret introduced them as Barbara and Pearl.  </div> <div> "I can go back inside and call from there," Mary Margaret decided.  Quentin made small talk with Barbara and Pearl until she came back.  It turned out that Pearl lived in the same building, but on the second floor, and Barbara lived across the street from the Fishers.  Mary Margaret came back, looking flushed and pleased.  "We can't stay too long," she said.  "Just a little while.  Because it's just us girls."  The three friends all giggled.</div> <div> Mary Margaret knew exactly where Ellington and the Washingtonians were playing that night.  They sat at a little table and shared a bottle of cheap champagne.  Between dancing and talking, Quentin honestly tried to keep his eye on Ellington when he heard something he liked.  He felt like he was truly getting almost the full benefit of the evening.  Just before one, Mary Margaret said they had to go or her mother would be angry.  Quentin accompanied them on the train back to their stop.  </div> <div> Just before they got to the house, they stopped. Pearl and Barbara thought they knew what to do and went on ahead.  Quentin moved a little closer to Mary Margaret and was disappointed when she looked at him with huge eyes and said, "Please, Frank, let me go in by myself.  Otherwise Mama will wonder…"</div> <div> Well, there were other nights to steal a kiss.  Quentin shrugged.  "All right.  I'll make a phone call first, and then I'll come in.  She won't know.  Where can I go?"</div> <div> "Station has a public phone.  Thank you, Frank!"  She stood up quickly on tiptoe and kissed him quickly on the mouth.  Before he could respond, she turned, and ran up the steps to her building.  Quentin laughed.  He walked back to the subway station.  He should call Jamison.  Then it wouldn't be a total lie that he'd told Dave.</div> <div> As he picked up the phone, he thought about the hour and wondered what he'd do if the whole house was sleeping.  What if Edward answered?  Well, the hell with it, he'd just hang up.  The phone rang a few times and then, not surprisingly, someone picked up the phone.  Usually SOMEONE was always up, even at this hour of the night, Quentin thought, smiling bitterly.  Fortunately, it was Jamison.</div> <div> "Hello, Jamison, it's Frank."</div> <div> "Frank!"  Jamison sounded startled, but not sleepy.  "Are you in trouble?"</div> <div> Quentin made a face.  "No, I'm just calling to tell you that I'm in New York."</div> <div> "At THIS hour?"</div> <div> "Were you sleeping?  I can call back another time."</div> <div> "No!  No!  I was just surprised, that's all.  Well, where are you staying?"</div> <div> "I'm with a friend. I'm going to be here a while if you want to come down.  We can talk, go out for some laughs.  What about it?"</div> <div> "Absolutely!  I can come down for 'business' on the train tomorrow and stay the weekend."</div> <div> "Will you bring your wife?  And your daughter--er, Elizabeth?"</div> <div> "Well, not this time, Frank.  You see, Ruth's expecting--she's had some difficulties, and the doctor told her she needed bed rest.  But after the baby comes--how long will you be around?"</div> <div> "Oh, I don't know.  I wasn't going to leave anytime soon."</div> <div> "Splendid, splendid!  Can you come and meet me then?  At the Waldorf Astoria?  We can have dinner together and then go out.  I'm really anxious to see you again, Quentin!"</div> <div> "Hey!" Quentin said sharply.</div> <div> "I'm sorry.  No one's around.  Everyone else is sleeping.  I'm just excited."</div> <div> "Me, too, Jamison.  But it's Frank, okay?  Frank."</div> <div> "Right, Frank.  I'll meet you at the Waldorf tomorrow night?"</div> <div> "I'll be there."</div> <div> They both hung up.  Quentin was actually feeling pretty good.  He'd enjoyed the evening with Mary Margaret.  She was shy and virginal, and that somehow made her even more appealing, and now there was a reunion with Jamison to look forward to.  It'd been--how long?  Ten years or so since he'd last seen Jamison, in London.  Too long.  Whistling, Quentin returned to the Fishers' building, feeling very satisfied with himself.</div> <div> He woke up, thinking he was in the cockpit of his plane.  There was an engine roaring in the room.  Disoriented, he opened his eyes and then remembered where he was.  Propping himself up on his elbows, he realized the engine was Dave--snoring.  Dave drew in a rasping breath--and stopped breathing.  Just as Quentin was becoming alarmed and was about to shake his friend, Dave suddenly blew air out of his lungs in an explosive blast.  The chainsaw roar started over again.  There was warm sunshine streaming into the room--it had to be late, and time to get up.  </div> <div> Quentin slipped into the bathroom, glad to be unseen and unnoticed.  He had to go, and he had his usual morning erection.  Jenny hadn't understood about that.  He'd had to explain to her that men just woke up with hard ons--it had nothing to do with being excited (usually).  She'd been so amazed.  In spite of all her sexual sophistication, she'd been remarkably naïve.  He wondered what made him think of her now--and then remembered Mary Margaret.  She was exotically beautiful, like Jenny had been.  She had an air of innocence--like Jenny had.  The only difference was that Jenny had been so sexually--well, experienced was the word.  Mary Margaret seemed to be still innocent there.  Quentin stopped back in the room long enough to get dressed, then wandered down the hall way to the kitchen, attracted by the good smell of fresh perked coffee.</div> <div> "Good morning, Frank," Ethelette said pleasantly, standing at the stove and frying bacon.  She'd been up for hours, he guessed.  She looked like she'd been working hard and was sweating lightly.  "Would you like some coffee?"</div> <div> "Yes, ma'am," Quentin answered enthusiastically.</div> <div> Ethelette smiled and poured a mug of coffee for him.  "You have good manners, Frank.  Your mama did well teaching you."</div> <div> "My grandmother," he said.  "I don't remember my mother.  She died when I was a little boy."</div> <div> "Oh, I AM sorry," Ethelette exclaimed.  "Poor child!  My own mama is still alive, God bless her.  Do you like milk and sugar in your coffee, child?"</div> <div> "No, ma'am, I take it just like this."</div> <div> "Well, why don't you sit and enjoy that cup of coffee a while.  I thought I would take a break and come and make breakfast for everyone.  You young people keep such late hours, I knew it was no use trying to make breakfast for everyone in the morning."</div> <div> "What time is it?"</div> <div> "Going toward noon.  That's all right.  I'm used to these backward hours.  Only trouble is, I don't feel like I hardly get to see Mary Margaret much before she gets going off to work again.  And David!  I never know when he'll be around.  But I'm here, like always, like some old dependable wind-up clock."</div> <div> Quentin laughed.</div> <div> "I'm just glad David is back.  I've missed him so," Ethelette added wistfully.</div> <div> Quentin had detected an accent in her voice.  She didn't sound like Dave or Mary Margaret.  Her voice had almost a sweet, musical touch to it.  "Were you born here, Mrs. Fisher?" he asked.</div> <div> "No, I was actually born in Mississippi.  Lived there most of my life," Ethelette answered.</div> <div> "Mississippi?"  He repeated.  He remembered the fear on Dave's face when they'd been stopped.</div> <div> "Yes, my family were share croppers.  It was a hard life, but we made do.  Had a little piece of property.  We lived in--well, I guess you'd call it a shack.  It was a tiny little cabin.  Had only two rooms to it.  It was mean, but I didn't realize it then.  You don't know what your life is like until you see what the rest of the world is like."</div> <div> "Yes, ma'am," Quentin agreed.  "So you moved to New York?"</div> <div> Mrs. Fisher had a strange look in her eyes, as if she were remembering something painful.  "We had to go--we couldn't stay there no more.  It wasn't safe for us, you see?  There was always some kind of trouble going on down there.  Folks would get riled up and something would happen.  Mr. Fisher and I--we wanted to keep our children safe--decided to come on up North.  He figured he could get hisself a job and we'd be better off.  And truth is, it has been better for us up here."</div> <div> "Where is Mr. Fisher?"</div> <div> "Pneumonia took him off 'bout ten years ago."</div> <div> "Oh!  I'm sorry!"</div> <div> "Well, he was a good man, all right.  Good provider.  Frank, you want to come over here and help me?  You know how to cook?"</div> <div> "A little.  I'm not very good," Quentin admitted.</div> <div> "Well, you got your coffee in you.  Get another cup and come over here and learn.  I won't always be here every  morning and you all have to shift for yourselves sometimes."</div> <div> Quentin got up obediently.  He felt shy and awkward, but if Ethelette felt the same way, she hid it well.  She took the bacon out of the pan to let the pieces drain.  The pan was still full of bacon grease.  "Why don't you crack the eggs into the pan for me?" she asked.  "I'll toast up some bread.  You like fried eggs?  Or we can scramble them."</div> <div> "Fried is fine," he answered.  He picked up an egg, feeling stupid.  Smoothly, she took it, showed him how to crack it on the side of the pan and then gently ease it into the pan.  It crackled and sizzled and began to turn white almost immediately.  He cracked the rest of the eggs himself and only broke one yolk.  </div> <div> Ethelette was setting out plates and had brought out a pitcher of freshly squeezed juice.  "You want yours over easy, you take that flipper and ease it under the egg once it's almost solid.  Sunny side up, you just let them be," she explained.</div> <div> "Mornin," Mary Margaret mumbled in the doorway, heading down the hall.</div> <div> "It doesn't matter to me," Quentin said.  "How does everyone else like their eggs?"</div> <div> "Over," Ethelette answered.  "Here, I'll show you on this first one.  Then you do the others."  She seemed pleased with his efforts.  When Mary Margaret came in a few minutes later, everything was just about done.  </div> <div> "Why don't you go wake Dave," Mary Margaret suggested.  She looked at Quentin with a secretive, pleased expression in her eyes.  "I'll help Mama with all this."  Quentin looked back at her, tingling.  It was like they shared a secret.  He left the kitchen hurriedly and went to wake Dave.</div> <bR> <div> After breakfast, Quentin had the afternoon to wait.  He was hoping to be able to find a way to escort Mary Margaret to work, then kill some more time until dinner.  Then he'd go to the Waldorf to meet Jamison.  Dave took Quentin to the same little clubroom they'd gone to the day before to get a beer.  The band was practicing in the afternoon.  "Why don't you come down?" Dave invited.  He explained to Quentin how to get to the Waldorf from where they were staying.</div> <div> "Some people were smoking tea at the table last night," Quentin said.</div> <div> "Yeah, it's easy for them to find what they want--part of the attraction of coming here.  Lots of booze, lots of women, lots of drugs.  You can get tea, heroin, cocaine, opium--pretty much anything you want," Dave answered.</div> <div> "You know who I'd talk to about that--if I wanted some?"</div> <div> "Yeah, you talk to me.  I talk to my friend.  I get what you want to you.  You just let me know, Frank."</div> <div> Quentin nodded.   He'd tried cocaine and opium before and didn't care for either.  He didn't know about heroin but was curious.  And tea was pleasant now and then.  They were coming out of the speakeasy and were on their way to the club when they ran into Cholly.</div> <div> "Hey, man!  Let's have the glad hand!"  Dave said in greeting.</div> <div> "Changed your mind?"  Quentin asked.</div> <div> "It was boring there without you all," Cholly answered, shaking hands enthusiastically with both of them.  "I missed you.  Decided maybe it was time to come home, myself."</div> <div> "Home?  Brooklyn?"  Dave asked dubiously.</div> <div> "Nah, I got myself some digs in Greenwich Village."  Cholly looked at Quentin.  "You set up yet?  I've got an extra room."</div> <div> "He's stayin with me at the moment," Dave put in.</div> <div> Cholly nodded.  "Well, you change your mind, remember that room."</div> <div> "Thanks, Cholly."</div> <div> "C'mon with us man.  We got us a gig down here.  Just goin to a jam session to loosen up before tonight," Dave said.</div> <div> "Well, okay, but I didn't bring the trombone."</div> <div> "I can SEE that, Cholly.  Don't worry bout it.  Just come along for the ride."</div> <div> Quentin realized he'd missed Cholly, with his easy sense of humor.  He was always cracking jokes and kept them laughing.  He could play the trumpet and cornet as well as the trombone, so he did join in with the others now and then.  Quentin checked the time and made his excuses.  He was going to meet Jamison, he lied.</div> <div> "Hey, Frank," Cholly said.  "Drop by one night when you're bored and we'll go find a party, huh?  There's some really nice places around.  Might meet some people that can help get us into business again--like before, eh?"</div> <div> Quentin noticed Dave's grim expression at that, but he said, "Sure, Cholly.  See you later."  He'd actually been thinking about that.  He knew there was a lot of traffic over the Canadian border and thought it would be fun to get in on some of it.  He'd heard you could go by car or by boat and was curious to know which was harder (and more fun--more risks).</div> <div> He waited for Mary Margaret at the entrance to the subway station.  She was alone, he was pleased to see, and he noticed that she looked both pleased and flustered to see him.  "Does David know you're taking me to work?"  she asked.</div> <div> "Ah, no, I didn't think it was his business," he answered.  "Do you?"</div> <div> "I don't know--I don't know if we should be doing this."</div> <div> "This?  What are we doing?  All I'm doing is taking you to work."</div> <div> "And later?"</div> <div> "This evening, I might still be with my nephew Jamison.  That's one reason I wanted to go with you this afternoon--so you'd know.  But if not, I'd like to come and pick you up again--if you don't mind."</div> <div> "I don't mind," she answered softly, ducking her head shyly in a very appealing way. "I just don't know if it's right."</div> <div> "Why not?" he pressed.  "We aren't doing anything.  We ARE friends, aren't we?"  He took her hand.  She swallowed, looking at their entwined hands.  She put light pressure on his hand and then, very gently, pulled hers away.  He took it again.  This time she didn't pull away.</div> <div> "Friends," she agreed softly.  He could see she felt confused and torn between her feelings.  She probably was attracted to him, just as he was to her.  She probably was fighting her feelings because of her inexperience, maybe, and probably because he was white and she was not.  She was so pretty, though.  Her eyes were very large and expressive, and when she looked at him…he felt himself stir a little.  Uh uh uh, he told himself.  Better think of something else.  Jamison.  He'd think of Jamison, and it worked.</div> <bR> <div> He was shocked at the change in his nephew.  The last time he'd seen Jamison was in London, almost ten years ago.  Both of them had chafed at U.S. reluctance to enter the war, and both had coincidentally joined the RAF.  They met by accident in a pub in London, a surprising and joyous reunion for both.  But Jamison had looked so young then--he actually had been Quentin's age then.  Now he was nearing forty, and Quentin was stunned at Jamison's increasing resemblance to Edward at that age.</div> <div> Although dark haired where Edward had been blonde, Jamison had the same receding hairline.  He was sporting a moustache, too, although he hadn't waxed and curled it like Edward had.  It had been almost thirty years since Quentin had seen his brother, but it was almost like looking at him.  If Jamison noticed, he didn't give any hint of it.  He was grinning broadly, thumped Quentin on the shoulder and hugged him.  "God, it's so good to see you again!"</div> <div> Jamison knew Quentin's secret.  They'd always been so close, and Jamison had been very involved as a child with Quentin's dabbling in the supernatural.  He wasn't surprised or shocked by what happened although he was no longer interested in the black arts.  He had a moderate interest in the family business, mostly due to pressure from Edward.  More than anything else, he was finally enjoying his life.  Quentin was glad for him.</div> <div> "Come--I know of a good place to get decent steak AND decent whisky!" Jamison said.  He took Quentin to what seemed to be a large gray stone private home just off Fifth Avenue.  The front door had a barred grill on it.  Jamison rang the bell.  The doorman opened the door cautiously.  His face lit up.</div> <div> "Ah, Mr. Collins!  How are you, sir?"</div> <div> "Just fine, thank you.  And this is my--cousin.  Mr. Scott," Jamison replied.</div> <div> The doorman let them in.  "And Mrs. Collins, sir?  Will she be joining you this evening?"</div> <div> "Afraid not," Jamison said gravely.  Then he grinned.  "I'm to be a father again!  She's home--resting."</div> <div> "Why, congratulations, sir!"  The doorman enthused. "Would you care for a refreshment first, before dining, sir?"</div> <div> "But of course!"</div> <div> The doorman escorted them to a large room and left them to a host.  Although the room was very big, it didn't seem so.  The walls were crowded with prints--although one was a genuine Matisse.  The room was also crowded with tables filled with so many people they almost seemed to be sitting on each other's laps.  The host found them a table and a waiter soon came by to take their order.  "They have the real McCoy here," Jamison explained.  Then he laughed.  "Did you hear about him?  They got him.  I never thought they would!"  The famous bootlegger who insisted on quality liquor had managed to elude the authorities for years before finally being ambushed in the waters off New Jersey.</div> <div> "Yes, I heard," Quentin answered.  "I'm surprised they got him too."  Actually, Quentin was glad Jamison had brought up the smuggler's name.  "He was pretty smart.  But there's still others out there, I'm sure.  I was."</div> <div> Jamison looked at him appraisingly.  "That's why you got arrested down in Mississippi?"</div> <div> "Yes, it was working well for awhile, but we ran into trouble by taking on an order too large for us to fill.  I suppose.  Anyway, it happened because I was running the surplus load over ground and got caught."</div> <div> "Tell me about it! It must've been exciting!"  Jamison exclaimed enthusiastically.</div> <div> "It was fun," Quentin agreed.  He knew he had Jamison hooked.  He went over the details of their operation in New Orleans.  "I thought about something similar here," he concluded.  "I'm just trying to figure out the details.  I thought you might be interested."</div> <div> Jamison's eyes were shining.  "Wouldn't Ruth's family love that!  Why, Quentin, maybe we could get enough to supply not only ourselves but also my in-laws' pubs!  They'd be thrilled."  Hooked.  "I think I could arrange to have us go out on a trip with someone I know.  He occasionally likes bring Canadian whiskey onto Long Island, although it's very dangerous.  He likes risks, though.  He's like you--Frank."</div> <div> "How does he do it?"</div> <div> "Well, it's different with him.  He usually doesn't pick up or drop off except for every once in a while.  What he does is, he goes out on his boat and picks up his cargo from a place he calls Rumrunners' Row.  Then he brings it into Hampton Bay or into Montauk Point somewhere."  Jamison agreed to talk to his friend.  He also wanted to talk to his brother-in-law, John Healey.  He was sure Johnny would be agreeable to having good, uncut liquor to sell to his customers.</div> <div> The crowd was thinning out now; they were ready to go upstairs for dinner.  Here it was much more formal.  Both men were dressed elegantly, as were the other guests, and they seemed a little out of place in the garish dining room.  The tables were all arranged against the walls, leaving plenty of room to move around the door and to dance, if desired.  The booth benches were upholstered with bright red leather.  Even the wainscoting on the walls seemed bright and out of place.  The curtains on the windows were black velvet.  Quentin blinked at the effect.  Well, it had a good reputation so taste wasn't everything…</div> <div> Jamison showed Quentin pictures of his wife and daughter as they waited for their dinner.  Quentin liked Ruth's looks.  She was a beautiful woman, with thick chestnut hair cut in a fashionable bob and a wide, happy smile.  The picture had been taken with her back to the camera, and she was looking over her shoulder.  Wow, he thought.  "Where'd you meet her, Jamison?" he asked.</div> <div> "In her father's mercantile store.  It was like love at first sight.  Just look at her!  You can believe that, can't you?  Well, it really started a war."</div> <div> "Edward and Judith didn't approve, I'm sure."</div> <div> "That's right.  They'd about given up on me ever getting married.  Here I was a set in my ways old bachelor, over 30 years old.  First of all, they felt she was too young for me.  She wouldn't know how to run a house.  She was a child. She was a flapper.  Blah, blah, blah.  Then there was the fact that her parents were first generation 'merchants'. What snobs!"</div> <div> Quentin laughed.  "How you managed to avoid being like them is a miracle to me!"</div> <div> "Well, I have you to thank for that, of course."</div> <div> The laughter stopped.  "I'm sure that's caused a lot of problems for you, though."</div> <div> "Well, perhaps.  But I'm a big boy.  I can take care of myself.  I married her, didn't I?  You should've seen Aunt Judith's face when the Healeys of Long Island came--the pub owners!  The disgrace!"  Jamison was laughing.  He stopped at the bitter expression on his uncle's face.  "Listen, it's not that bad--really.  In fact, I wish you'd come home with me--"</div> <div> "What?  No!"</div> <div> "Things aren't the same.  I think that's because of Ruth.  You should see what she's done to Father--Frank.  He's not the same man at all."</div> <div> "Oh, I can't believe that!  Edward would never change!"</div> <div> "You're wrong--he has changed.  Oh, he still barks sometimes, but he's actually become a mellow old dog.  I think Ruth's tamed him--and changed him.  You should see him with Elizabeth.  He was NEVER like that with Nora and me."</div> <div> Quentin snorted with disbelief.  "You haven't shown me a picture of Elizabeth yet," he said to change the subject.  Jamison proudly handed over a picture of his daughter.  "She's going to be a heart-breaker, Jamison," Quentin said softly.  She was a pert little thing, with fluffy thick dark hair and bright eyes.  She looked familiar.  He tried to think who she reminded him of.</div> <div> "She is one now, the little flirt," Jamison said proudly.  "She'll be six this year.  We've promised her a baby sister for her birthday."</div> <div> Quentin looked up sharply.  "Why did you do that?  What if it's a boy?"</div> <div> Jamison shrugged.  "I hope it WILL be a boy.  We'll think of something."</div> <div> "Jamison, don't make promises to a child you can't keep!"</div> <div> Irritated, Jamison took the pictures back.  "You're a fine person to talk about keeping promises to a child, Quentin!" he snapped.  "You have a lot of nerve."</div> <div> "I'm sorry," Quentin apologized immediately.  "I guess I was feeling guilty about that."</div> <div> "Is that so?  You should," Jamison snapped again, not about to let his uncle off the hook so easily.  "You know, it hasn't been easy keeping all this from Father all these years.  I felt terrible that Aunt Judith died, not knowing--" Quentin put his hand up, but Jamison continued.  "No, you listen to me.  It hasn't been easy.  You think that no one else cares about you.  Well, you're wrong.  I care.  And Father cares. And Aunt Judith did, too--and she died, not knowing where you were.  She wanted to see you."</div> <div> "I know!  You told me!"</div> <div> "Father would like to see you, too!"</div> <div> "Oh, I'm sure," Quentin said, sarcastically.</div> <div> "You're wrong, and you're being very foolish!  I think you'll be sorry you won't see him.  He looks sad sometimes--Frank.  Sometimes he wonders if you're still alive.  Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever find out if you died somewhere--"</div> <div> "Please stop, Jamison," Quentin said.  He was not only irritated, he was also beginning to feel uncomfortably remorseful.  He didn't like the feeling.</div> <div> It may have been something in his uncle's expression that made Jamison stop.  He did get in his final word, though.  "All right.  I will, for now.  But I'll bring it up again.  And again.  Because I think you're making a big mistake by refusing to see Father."  Dinner arrived and was set down before them.  The two men glared at each other momentarily.  "Look, let's not fight about this," Jamison said.  "After all, we're going to possibly be business partners, aren't we?"</div> <div> "I wouldn't want to be on the outs with you in any case, Jamison," Quentin responded.  The ill feeling between them dissipated instantly.</div> <div> Jamison told Quentin that Ruth played the piano and had brought an upright with her to Collinwood, explaining that although she was a classical pianist, she also liked the new tunes as well.  "If you like music that much, why don't you come to Harlem with me after dinner?  We can go see my friend Dave play," Quentin suggested.</div> <div> "Harlem?  Oh, go slumming!  That would be fun!"  Jamison agreed enthusiastically.</div> <div> Quentin almost regretted the suggestion because it suddenly occurred to him he would have a difficult time explaining Jamison.  He'd told Dave they were about the same age.  He hadn't thought Jamison would age so.  Well, there was no help for it.  Fortunately, the club was dark and Dave was playing, so Quentin didn't have to worry about it--now.  They stayed until well after two, and then Quentin got Jamison back to the Waldorf with a promise to get together again the following day.</div> <div> Quentin let himself into the Fishers' flat as quietly as he could.  He didn't want to disturb Ethelette or Mary Margaret, and he knew Dave wouldn't be back until almost dawn.  As he passed the front room, he noticed that no one was on the sofa and that the window was open.  He stopped, thinking.  Why not?  He moved quietly into the room and went to the window.  Mary Margaret was sitting on the fire escape, hands on her knees, cupping her chin.  Dressed in a thin gown, she looked out over the alley, deep in thought.</div> <div> "Can't sleep?" Quentin whispered.  She jumped and gasped, hands flying to her mouth.  He climbed out the window and sat on the grillwork at her feet.  "Gee, I'm sorry!  I didn't mean to scare you."</div> <div> "Frank!  I just didn't expect you.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to jump," she said, at almost the same time.  They laughed softly.  "No, I couldn't sleep.  I have trouble sleeping all through the night sometimes.  I come out here and I sit and look at the stars.  I think out here."</div> <div> "What about?"</div> <div> "Different things.  How the stars got there.  About trees--there's so many different kinds.  How they got there.  How pretty the lights are."</div> <div> "You're pretty," Quentin whispered.  He reached up and pulled her hand.  "C'mere."</div> <div> "Don't, Frank," Mary Margaret protested.  It sounded more like, "Do, Frank."  He pulled at her hand again.  "No, you come sit up here on the step with me," she said.  She moved far over to one side to make room for him.  They were very close.  She smelled of rose water and soap.  He leaned toward her, and she turned her face away a little.  He pressed his lips on her temple.  Then he moved down and kissed her cheek, very lightly.  "I'm afraid, Frank," she whispered.  He could feel her starting to tremble.</div> <div> "Don't be afraid of me.  I won't hurt you," he reassured her.  He brushed her face with the back of his hand, gently stroking her cheek.  "You're so beautiful, Mary Margaret."  She caught his hand in hers and pressed it to her lips.  He took it and gently used his fingers to take her chin and turn her face back towards him.  "I would never hurt you.  You're so pretty, though.  I just want to kiss you.  Can I kiss you?"</div> <div> "Yes," she answered softly.</div> <div> He kissed her on the mouth, very gently.  He put his arms around her and pulled her to him, moving his hands up and down her back gently.  She moaned a little, putting her head on his shoulder.  He kept massaging her shoulders and back and leaned over to kiss her neck. He moved slowly; he didn't want to scare her.  She'd picked her head up, moving toward him.  Now she wanted to kiss him.  He opened his mouth a little, trying to encourage her to do the same.  One hand kept massaging her back; the other moved to the front of her gown.  He could feel her breast under his hand.  It fit his hand perfectly; the nipple turned hard under his touch.  She gasped, though.  "Don't be scared," he murmured into her mouth.  Still, she pulled back a little.</div> <div> "Frank, I feel--I feel strange--" she said in a very husky voice.</div> <div> "You feel good," Quentin explained.  "So do I.  We like each other.  It feels good to do this.  But here, I won't touch you until you ask me to."  He put his hands in his lap as a show of good faith.  "Kiss me again?"  She leaned toward him, and he kissed her again.  It was very sweet; she was so innocent.</div> <div> "Up kinda late, ain't you?"</div> <div> Both of them jumped, startled and guiltily.  Dave was climbing out the window.  What's HE doing here?  Quentin wondered.  "David?" his sister gasped.</div> <div> "Who else did you think it was?" Dave responded, sounding at ease.  Quentin could feel the tension radiating off him, though.  "My, my, aren't we cozy out here?"</div> <div> "I--I couldn't sleep," Mary Margaret spoke rapidly, nervously.  "Frank just got here.  Didn't you, Frank?"</div> <div> "Um, yes," Quentin agreed.  He felt guilty, too, for lying to Dave and making trouble for Mary Margaret.  "I saw she was up and wanted to make sure she was all right."</div> <div> "That's right decent of you, Franky," Dave said, with irony in his voice.</div> <div> "She was just telling me how pretty the lights are from here.  And about the stars," Quentin continued.  He could feel Dave's eyes burning into him.  "About the different kinds of trees," he concluded, lamely.  He stopped talking.</div> <div> Dave yawned.  "Well, it's kind of late.  I suppose all us CHILDREN oughta be in bed, SLEEPING, no?"  He backed up, climbing back in the window.  He held his hand out for his sister.  "Mary Margaret, come on in now, honey."  She obediently took her brother's hand and let him help her climb in.  Dave leaned out the window again.  "Coming, Frank?  You need your beauty rest too, kid."</div> <div> There was nothing else to do but to follow them in.  Quentin and Mary Margaret couldn't look at each other.  They mumbled good night, and then Quentin left the room and walked down the hall.  He could hear them speaking softly.  He hadn't felt this guilty about being caught in many years--maybe not since Edward had caught him with Laura.  He walked into the room he was sharing with Dave, thinking.  What would he say?  He had to think fast--he could hear Dave coming now.  He turned to face his friend.</div> <div> "You sure look mad," Quentin said finally.  It was an understatement.</div> <div> "You are SUPPOSED to be my friend, Franky!  What kind of friend are you, messing with my sister like that?"</div> <div> "It's not like that--" Quentin began.  He saw the look on Dave's face and braced himself, but Dave didn't hit him.  He held his hands out.  "It's not what you think--" he began again and stopped. "What are you doing here, Dave?  Why did you leave the club?"</div> <div> "Well, I'll tell you.  Interesting thing, this neighbor of mine happens to mention a white man went off with my sister when she went to work.  And another neighbor says, 'Oh, Dave, who's that white boy stayin in your place and walkin with Mary Margaret at night?' And so I think to myself, hmmm, Frank's leavin the club kinda early tonight.  Maybe I'll cut out early too and see if he don't end up at home with my little sister.  And what do you know?  What do I find?"</div> <div>  "All right, I lied to you.  I'm a rat.  Why don't you sock me?  We'll both feel better."</div> <div> Dave turned away, shutting the door.  He held the knob tightly for a moment.  "No, kid, I ain't gonna punch you," he said, almost inaudibly.  "I ain't gonna."  He turned back to face Quentin.  He took two steps forward.  Quentin never saw the back handed blow coming.  He staggered backwards and sat down on the bed.  He shook his head to clear it.  "THAT'S for messing with my baby sister!"  He looked up at Dave, who still looked furious.  "You all right, Frank?"</div> <div> "I think," Quentin said, feeling his cheek.  Dave offered his hand, to help Quentin up.  Once he was up, Dave repeated his question.  This time, Quentin answered, "I'm okay." Dave backhanded him again, harder. Quentin was back on the bed, on his back this time.  His hand went to the other side of his face.</div> <div> "And THAT is for lying to your friend!" Dave snapped, still furious.</div> <div> "I'm sorry, Dave."  The words hurt Quentin more than the blows did.</div> <div> "My sister!  Why, Frank, why?"</div> <div> "I really didn't mean any harm, Dave--she's just so pretty!"</div> <div> "Yes, she's pretty.  But she's not for you, and you should've known better, kid!  She's MY sister!  You don't mess with MY sister, you hear me?"</div> <div> "Yes, I hear you.  I didn't mean any harm--"</div> <div> "Oh, come on, Franky!  I know you!  You didn't mean any harm?  She ain't never been with a man before, you know that?  And what did you plan to do once you'd got her in your bed and fucked her?"  Dave scolded in a low, tight voice.  Quentin was shocked.  "Don't look at me like that, boy.  You may not have intended on that in your head, but your friend Dick does your thinking for you when you're with a woman.  Don't you think I've seen you in action?  You're a tomcat, Frank.  And I ain't having my sister's reputation ruined by no tomcat."</div> <div> Quentin was wounded by the words, in spite of the truth behind them.</div> <div> Dave continued, "What's worse, you're WHITE!  If you'd been colored and you'd gotten her to bed and fucked her, well, you could get married.  But you can't have no intentions toward her that way!  Right?  You know it ain't legal, don't you?  You know what would happen to her then, kid?  Damaged goods, that's what.  No one would want her.  Not her own people--not after she'd been to bed with a white man.  And what if you gave her the clap, without meaning to?  How do you know, all the women you been with?"</div> <div> Quentin went a deep red.  He was embarrassed and deeply ashamed of what he'd done to Mary Margaret.  Dave was right.  He'd only been thinking of himself--he hadn't really given a thought to what might happen to the girl. There wasn't any use in explaining that he wouldn't pass a venereal disease to Mary Margaret--did it matter, anyway? "Dave, I'm really sorry.  I didn't think," he said.  The words sounded inadequate.  "Maybe I'd better get my stuff out tomorrow.  Take Cholly up on his offer."</div> <div> "Maybe you better," Dave said coolly.  "Especially if you think you can't keep your pants zipped around my sister."</div> <div> Quentin sat up, hanging his head in his hands.  "You really think that badly of me?"  On top of everything else, his feelings really were hurt.</div> <div> As if he realized, Dave's voice lost its critical, scolding tone.  "Franky, I'm the big brother. I know she's practically a grown woman, nineteen years old.  But I'm like her daddy since my pop died," he explained softly.  "You got to understand what I'm thinking.  If you had a baby sister yourself, you'd feel the same way.  No, I don't think badly of you, kid.  As a man, I can't blame you for the way you feel. She IS pretty.  But you understand--I got to look out for my own.  You do understand, don't you?"</div> <div> "Yes," Quentin said, feeling relieved.  "I just didn't want to spoil our friendship."</div> <div> "Naw, man," Dave sat down next to Quentin on the bed.  "I'm just glad I come in when I did.  If I'd'a caught you with your pants down--on top of her--I'd'a had to kill you, you know that, don't you?"</div> <div> "Yes."  Quentin shuddered.  "I think you're right, Dave.  I wouldn't trust me to 'keep my pants zipped'.  I better talk to Cholly."</div> <div> "Do that."  Dave began to laugh.  "You'll get plenty of action there.  You're welcome to come here whenever you want, you hear?  You can eat here, you can crash here sometimes.  You live with Cholly, and you'll be so busy you'll be too tired to touch Mary Margaret."</div> <div> "What do you mean?"</div> <div> "You tomcat around with Cholly awhile.  You'll see."  And Dave laughed again.  Quentin looked at him doubtfully.  He wasn't so sure this was such a good thing.</div> <bR> <div> Ethelette wasn't around when they all got up for breakfast, and they were all uncomfortable with each other.  Quentin went and looked Cholly up and found that the room was still available.  Cholly was delighted to have him as a roommate.  He returned to the apartment, hoping to find Mary Margaret so he could explain to her.  He was in luck. </div> <div> "David said something to you.  He's making you go," Mary Margaret said, not without resentment.</div> <div> "Well, he's right.  But you know what, you really are very pretty.  You're beautiful.  And you'll meet someone worth a whole lot more than me."  Quentin had his bag packed and was ready to go.  He hesitated, looking at her.  She really was so beautiful.  He put the bag down on the table and put his arms around her.  He kissed her, and she returned the kiss.  "Tell Dave I'll see him at the club," he said.  She nodded.  "Where's your mom?  I want to thank her for letting me stay here."</div> <div> "Downstairs."</div> <div> Quentin went down into the cellar, looking for Ethelette.  She was scrubbing out a basin.  There was a strong smell of cleanser here.  He cleared his throat.  "Mrs. Fisher?"  She turned to face him.  He'd been a little worried that she knew what was going on, but when he saw her expression, he was relieved to see that it wasn't so.  "I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to be staying closer to my family uptown."  This was, at least, true.  "I wanted to thank you for making me feel so welcome here, like I was part of your family."</div> <div> "Why, it was no trouble a'tall.  You're a nice boy," she replied. If you only knew, he thought.  She added, "You take care of yourself, child.  I know you have no mama to pray over you, so I will. You come back and see us anytime you want."</div> <div> "I will," he said, gulping.  She wiped her hands on a towel.  Then she walked over to him and hugged him.  Surprised, he hugged her back.  She went back to her work, and he picked up his bag and went back upstairs and out the door.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id53.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="1: New Orleans"><U>1:  New Orleans</U></A>     <A HREF="id55.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="3: Rumrunners Row"><U>3:  Rumrunners' Row</U></A>  </div> <div>  <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U>Taking Wooden Nickels</U></A>    <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>