Tananarive Due Read online

  So Sarah told him about her pressing comb and the lighter oil she was developing, made with petrolatum, to help the comb make hair less kinky. He listened with great interest, his palm flattened against his cheek as he sat with his elbow on the table. Occasionally, he nodded his head and said yes, yes, encouraging her thoughts, and sometimes his brow was furrowed in silence. Suddenly Sarah felt the strangest sense that she was no longer talking to her employer, but to a peer. The feeling came so unexpectedly, it made her temples throb.

  “Those ads with the two photographs—wonderful! When you begin publishing them, they’ll bring in sales full chisel,” he said. “At the outset, you’ll have to spend more money than you’re making so your product and manufacturing line will be in place. If you don’t, you’ll have disappointed customers warning people away. You always want your customers to come for more. Repeat business is the key.”

  “Yes, that’s what C.J.—” Sarah stopped herself, deciding that C.J. Walker’s nickname didn’t sound professional enough to use with Mr. Scholtz. “That’s what my partner says.”

  “What about shampoo, Sarah? Everyone washes their hair. You should have a special shampoo with carefully selected ingredients, and tell your customers it’ll make the hair grower work better. They shouldn’t want to buy one without the other. Increased sales, you see?”

  Sarah felt a jolt of adrenaline that made her toes tingle, the way she felt when she was exchanging ideas with C.J. and when her mind was racing late at night. “That’s true! And maybe . . . a skin cream, too. I should have a whole shelf of products from Madam Sarah.”

  At that, Mr. Scholtz began to chuckle. His chuckle soon turned to a full-fledged laugh. “Sarah, I must tell you . . .” he said, shaking his head when he’d found his voice. “When I asked you who you really were a moment ago, I expected to hear ‘I’m a mother, I’m a wife, I’m an elder in my church. I sing, I sew, I nurse my aging parents.’ I didn’t expect this Madam Sarah and her whole shelf of products!”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Scholtz,” Sarah said, smiling. “Nobody else is expecting it neither.”

  Mr. Scholtz folded his newspaper under his arm and stood up. “Well, I’d be a fool to encourage you, wouldn’t I? I’ll lose my cook! My wife isn’t happy when she’s exiled to the kitchen even for a day, and I’ll confess I’m not too keen on it myself.”

  “Now, I can’t lie ’bout that, Mr. Scholtz,” Sarah said. “I got a hair appointment waitin’ for me when I get home tonight. Before too much longer, I’ll have to leave this job or else faint.” Maybe it was a foolish thing to say, but Sarah said it anyway. He deserved the truth.

  Mr. Scholtz considered that, then blew air from his lips in a silent whistle. He began to walk away. “As for your hair grower, I’m sure you know which oils you should use . . . ? Coconut, almond, rosemary, olive . . .” he said, as though he were speaking to himself. He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Sarah’s face. “Don’t you?”

  “Coconut and . . . olive oil?” Sarah said, intrigued.

  Mr. Scholtz once again made his way toward the doorway, his voice still sounding distant and distracted. “And if I were going to sell a shampoo, I wonder what ingredients I’d use besides glycerine, of course. And henna. Yes, I think henna would work nicely. But I’ll want to give that some thought. . . .” He was still talking, but his voice faded as he walked away.

  “Mr. Scholtz!” Sarah called, following him. The halfway-iced carrot cake on the table was nowhere on her mind. “What’s that you said?”

  “I said I wouldn’t quit my cook’s job quite yet if I were you,” Mr. Scholtz called back, giving her a coy glance. “There are some circumstances, I think, where a little patience can be very valuable. It gives a busy man time to think about all sorts of possibilities.”

  Sarah put her hands on her hips. That sounded like blackmail to her, all right, but it might be worth the trade. A little more cooking for a few good ideas? Why not? She needed the money anyway, at least for now, and he clearly wasn’t eager to have his wife in the kitchen.

  “So, Mr. Scholtz . . . You think that busy man would think better with a can of hair formula he could study?” she said. “I can bring one tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I think he just might, Madam Sarah,” Mr. Scholtz said. With that, he vanished through the doorway, and she could hear him chortling as he walked down the hall.

  “Well, you’re in a mood,” C.J. complained as they walked down the rainy street underneath his broad black umbrella. It was late; they had just left a formal meeting at a colored lodge, where Sarah had addressed more than a hundred women, telling her familiar story about her hair grower and her divine dream. She’d sold out of all the jars they brought with them, and her appointment book was so full that she’d had to tell some of the ladies they would have to wait at least two weeks to have their hair pressed. “It went well tonight, Sarah.”

  Sarah hadn’t spoken a word to C.J. since they’d left the meeting hall. C.J. had advised her to buy at least one new dress, since he said it wasn’t becoming to wear the same clothes to every occasion, although Sarah hated to sacrifice to buy clothes when the two good dresses she had were perfectly neat. Still, she’d gone out the day before and bought a beautiful royal blue velvet dress decorated with rows of gold braid, one that even made her waist look slim because of the cut of the jacket. Her nieces had fawned over her, telling her they’d never seen her look so lovely, but when C.J. picked her up at the door, he hadn’t remarked on the dress. He’d only puffed his apologies about being late and rattled off things she should remember to say and do.

  Whose hands to shake. Whose eyes to catch. Which people to avoid. All night long, she felt as if he’d led her around like a trained pony.

  “I need to eat,” Sarah finally said. “Why don’t hinkty Negroes ever serve any real food? Those little wafers and whatnot just make me hungry. They act like they’re ashamed of fried chicken and pig meat.”

  “Well, Jake’s is close, and they’ll have food this late. But it’s a bar. . . .”

  “Fine by me, C.J. I just need food.”

  With a small, frustrated sigh, C.J. gently steered her around the corner. Sarah knew he was dying to crow about how well the hair grower had sold, but she wasn’t in the mood. She and C.J. had visited meetings to talk about the Wonderful Hair Grower almost every night this week, thanks to C.J.’s knowledge of local social circles, and he grated on her nerves more each night. If he asked her, she wouldn’t even know how to explain why. Even his smile annoyed her. Now, as they walked, she was very conscious of how close they were as they both sought refuge under his umbrella from the pelting droplets. He had a protective arm around her, and her breast was crushed against his side. His lady friend would feel scandalized if she saw them now, she thought. Sarah had seen them together at a nickelodeon two weeks before, and the sight of them together had made her stomach go sour.

  Jake’s, which was near Union Depot, was crowded with men in varying degrees of dress; some, like Sarah and C.J., looked like they had just finished a night on the town in their crisp suits and hats, and others were wearing grimy overalls, as if they’d just gotten off work at the train station. Their laughter, arguing, and good-natured jostling in the smoky bar were loud to Sarah’s ears, so boisterous compared to the prim event they had just attended. A piano player hidden behind the crowd was playing Maple Leaf Rag, which made Sarah remember how she’d met Scott Joplin the first night C.J. took her out to supper. Then she remembered the feel of C.J.’s moist lips and tongue against hers, and her stomach squirmed.

  The scent of C.J.’s perfumed shaving soap floated to her nostrils as he leaned close to her to be heard over the din. “There’s a table in back,” he said, pointing.

  As they walked through the crowd, Sarah noticed an intense pair of eyes upon her. The eyes belonged to a dapper man in a brown jacket who was grinning wide. “C.J. Walker? Where you been, Redbone?” the man said, although his eyes were planted on Sarah. She turned quickly a
way as the two men greeted each other.

  “Been busy, Len.”

  “So where’s Paulette, boy? I thought”—the man spoke into C.J.’s ear, obviously believing Sarah would not hear him, but her honed ears picked up his words—“I thought you said you didn’t deal in no coal, C.J. What you doin’ with some lovely brown sugar like that?”

  Sarah saw C.J.’s face turn dark. “Neigho, pops, don’t be puttin’ no words in my mouth. You watch yourself in front of this lady. This is Madam Sarah, and she’s about to be famous in Denver. We’re doin’ some business together.”

  “Oh, is that what you’re callin’ it now?” The man slapped C.J. on the back, laughing.

  The man’s laughter followed them to their table, and C.J.’s face was rigid with irritation long after they were seated. He apologized to Sarah, muttering that he should have known better than to bring her to Jake’s. “A lady like you deserves to dine in a place more proper,” C.J. said, nearly mumbling, his face buried in his menu. “A dress that pretty will catch unwanted attention.”

  So he had finally noticed her dress! It was easier to grab an eel out of the water than to get a compliment from C.J., Sarah decided. “So you like it?” she said. She hated to sound so eager, but couldn’t help it. When she was around C.J., all sorts of strange voices flew from her.

  C.J. glanced at the thin gold-colored braids strung across her bosom, then he looked back at her eyes. “I’m a fool for certain, but I assure you I ain’t blind, Sarah. Of course I like it.”

  “Well, I didn’t know,” Sarah said softly. “I guess I need to hear the words.”

  C.J. sighed, squirming. He looked over both of his shoulders in search of someone to take their food order, and Sarah figured he wouldn’t mind ordering a drink, either. When he didn’t see any employees, C.J. turned back to Sarah, twisting the dinner napkin in front of him. “I think I know why you’ve been so fit to be tied tonight,” C.J. said.

  Sarah’s heart pounded. Instead of answering, she waited for him to go on.

  “You’re a lady in a new town, you’re meeting a lot of new people, including a few gentlemen, and you’d like to have more of a social life. You don’t want to spend every waking hour thinking about business. I understand that.” He paused, but he didn’t look up at her for a response. “I know it’s hard, Sarah, but you’re not the only one it’s hard on. This is just one of those sacrifices folks have to make when they want to rise above the rest. You know, I don’t . . . I don’t have much time for a social life either.”

  Sarah lowered her gaze, leveling it at him. “You seem to do fine.”

  “Well, it’s not like you think, not no more. How do you expect any young lady would feel if a man wanted to spend two, three, and four nights a week with someone else? Let’s just say we’ve both had to make sacrifices.”

  Again, Sarah didn’t answer, although her thoughts were at a boil. Did that mean he’d parted ways with his lady friend? Why couldn’t he just say so and go ahead and profess his feelings for her? Either C.J. plain didn’t feel the special attraction between them, or he thought she was fool enough to believe it wasn’t there simply because he refused to ever acknowledge it. Neither scenario suited Sarah.

  C.J. cleared his throat. “It works out best this way, you know,” he said in a low voice, staring at the table. “This way we keep business at the top of our minds.”

  The music and all the other voices in the room seemed to vanish, until Sarah thought she could hear their heartbeats mingling. “Must be nice to be able to bridle your mind like that,” Sarah whispered. “Wish I could.”

  At last his eyes found hers, and she saw sadness there. “I do the best I know how,” he said, his eyes glassy. “What do you want me to say, Sarah? That I’m like a thief stealing stares every time you turn your back to me? That I have to wipe my palms dry like a boy in short pants after I help you step down from the wagon? Or should I tell you how I couldn’t hardly muster a single sensible thought in my head when I first saw you in that dress tonight?”

  Sarah’s heart flipped in her breast, and she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath. She’d heard C.J. say those words to her countless times in her imagination, but her daydreams hadn’t prepared her for the spell of his professions to her ears.

  Slowly, as if answering her thoughts, C.J. shook his head. “I could say those things, Sarah, and we both know they’d be gospel truth instead of just a few pretty phrases. But there’s no point to it. I’m old enough to know where I’m weak and where I’m strong. God as my witness, Sarah, I fail every time when it comes to the art of love, but I can sell a business better than anything or anyone. If you were me, which would you choose?”

  “I don’t see where it has to be a choice,” Sarah said.

  “Oh, yes, it is, Sarah. You might as well pour red ink and black ink in the same inkwell. The color you get ain’t red no more, and it ain’t black no more. And once it’s done, there’s no changing that ink back to what it was.”

  So, there it was, plain as day. He loved her, but his head would overrule his heart. If that was true, Sarah thought, it would have been better if she’d never met Charles Joseph Walker. She’d been living her life just fine without the faintest notion that her heart had always been wide awake inside her, just waiting for him.

  “Well . . .” Slowly, painfully, Sarah exhaled. “I guess I’m not as good a master over my mind or any other part of me. I want what I want, C.J. Maybe when you’ve lost as much as me, you don’t take happy for granted. You scrape and hoard every piece of happy that comes your way. And if I have to go on tryin’ to convince my heart it’s not supposed to feel happy when you come to call, then . . . it’s near impossible for me to sell a damn thing.”

  Reaching across the table, C.J. patted Sarah’s wrist in his usual gesture of assurance. Then, after a hesitation, his hand simply rested on top of hers, warm and heavy. The spot where they touched seemed to kindle the entire length of her arm. C.J. left his hand on hers until Sarah felt tears pricking her eyes, then he moved it away. “Let’s get you some food,” he said.

  Sarah’s appetite was gone, but she managed to pick at a plate of chicken and dumplings. She felt a new appreciation for the laughter, noise, and music inside the bar because she wasn’t looking forward to returning to her lonely rooming house. She might have to sell Madam Sarah’s Wonderful Hair Grower by herself, then. Maybe she couldn’t do it as fast or as well on her own, but she knew she could do it. She’d started before she met C.J., and she could go on without him. She couldn’t spend the rest of her days hoping C.J. Walker might change his mind, not if waiting brought this kind of pain.

  “Excuse me, madam,” a gravelly voice said beside her, and she looked up to see the man in the brown jacket who had spoken to C.J. earlier. He held his derby in his hand, and there was no playfulness in his face this time. “I’ve been thinkin’ it over, and I hope you didn’t take offense at the way I was cuttin’ the fool with my friend C.J. before. I take it madam means you’re a married woman, and I didn’t mean no disrespect to you or your husband.”

  “I’m a widow, sir,” Sarah told him. She held out her wrist to him, and he kissed it, though his eyes never left her face. At the word widow, he brightened. “No offense taken.”

  “All right, Len, much appreciated,” C.J. muttered. “Now move on. We’re at a meeting.”

  The man ignored him, addressing Sarah directly. “My name is Leonard Styles, madam, and I hope you won’t take this wrong neither, but that piano kid sure is playin’ his heart out, an’ when my feet hear music, they like to dance—”

  “Nigger, you must be crazy,” C.J. interrupted him, angry.

  Politely, Mr. Styles took a step back. “C.J., unless I was mistaken, I’m talkin’ to this here elegant lady. She looks to me like she has the vocabulary to answer for herself.”

  Despite her sad mood, Sarah felt herself smiling. The thought of getting up to dance in a bar full of strange men, and in this dress! Lelia would
think she had lost the last bit of her reason. But she was a stranger here, wasn’t she? What difference would it make? The music did sound lively. Besides, just once I’d like to have a good dance without worryin’ ’bout kickin’ up a dust.

  “So what you say, Madam Sarah? One dance?”

  Cautiously, Sarah glanced at C.J. His eyes pierced her, but he waved her away glumly. “Do what you want,” he said.

  So she did. With the entire bar watching, Sarah walked alongside Leonard Styles to a small dance floor where one other very young couple was following the syncopated beat of the music with shimmying dance steps. Sarah was nervous, but she also felt invigorated, as if she were about to set something inside her free. To hell with what other folks might think!

  “I’m not such a good dancer,” Sarah admitted as Mr. Styles clasped both her hands.

  “Well, it so happens I’m a very good teacher,” he said, smiling.

  Rocking her arms gently back and forth, he helped Sarah hear the music’s bouncy rhythm, until her ears picked up the beat naturally. Then, following his lead, she began to shift her weight from side to side, then backward and forward. They danced arm’s length apart, never close enough that Sarah felt compromised. She glanced over her shoulder at C.J.’s table, and she saw him sprawled in his chair, holding his whiskey glass close to his face, watching them. Other men were watching her, too; some with their lips curled in distaste, others with mischievous grins.

  “Don’t you worry none about C.J., Madam Sarah. That old hound don’t bark.”

  Sarah laughed, slightly breathless from the dancing. The faster the teenage pianist played, the faster their feet moved. Mr. Styles began to show off for her, improvising quick-shuffling steps and twirling her around. Sarah felt the cloud over her spirits lifting as she forgot all about yesterday and tomorrow, feeling rooted in the music and her first bar dance.