The Starlight corporate headquarters was a ten-story stone building in the middle of a block of high rises on the northern side of Sutton Street, just a few blocks from Mr. Leclerc’s tailor shop, identifiable by a logo hanging in burnished gold near the side of the front door. Aside from the logo it looked just like every other building on the block, but as soon as you passed through the door you realized they had their own thing going on. The front hall was a high-ceilinged rotunda flanked by eight-foot-tall bronze statues of the living logos that accompanied the copy for their most successful products over the years. Wally the Raccoon, Bennie the Baker, the Starlight twins with their big, beady eyes and toothy smiles—all brought together to stare down at visitors making their way to the lobby. As Jennie walked past them she found she couldn’t help but think about Mamie taking her place among them one day. How dignified and regal she would look, eight feet tall and bronze.
She passed through another set of doors and entered the lobby. She walked across the thick red carpet, past a bank of low couches toward a large wooden desk where the receptionist sat.
“May I help you?”
“Jennie Williams. I have an appointment with Mr. Holder.”
It felt good to say that, to know it was true.
The receptionist opened her agenda. “Oh. Oh, yes, here it is. We were told to expect you.” She stood up. “Just one moment.”
She disappeared through the door behind her desk.
Not having anything else to do, Jennie looked at all the framed photographs on the walls. Most of them contained images of white men either smiling and shaking hands or handing one another plaques of one sort or another. A few were framed articles taken from New York City papers, heralding the progress of Starlight Industries. They were full of headlines like “Confident predictions” and “Increased market share all but assured” followed by accounts of the various transactions that had mediated all the hand shaking. The most recent article was dated just a month before and was a triumphant account of the recent purchase of Better Butters Corporation. Jennie knew Better Butters, knew it so well in fact that it was hard to look at the name without thinking of their slogan.
Better Butters means it’s never bitter.
It was a quality brand, but she had not approached them because they only marketed food.
“Yes, the latest headline.”
She turned around and saw Mr. Holder push through the door, followed by the receptionist.
“Starlight has been on quite an acquisition frenzy lately. Gobbling up other companies left and right. We in product development have no actual say in this, of course. Just have to find a way to adjust.” He smiled. “Hope you weren’t waiting long, Miss Williams.”
“Not at all,” Jennie said and followed him inside.
They walked down a long hall lined on either side by small offices. Jennie noticed there weren’t any other black people in there and assumed it was why more than a few people stopped what they were doing and stared as she passed. She didn’t let that bother her. She’d worked too hard to get there and didn’t care what anyone thought. They might not know what she was doing there but she did. She was there because she’d been sent for; she was there because she’d earned the right.
When they reached the elevator Mr. Holder pressed a button. He turned to her and said, “Now, Jennie, when we get to the seventh floor I’m going to have to ask you to try to look past the current chaos.”
“Chaos?”
“Yes, well, as I was saying before, Starlight has been on quite an acquisitions frenzy. And the truth is these expansions always necessitate a period of internal adjustment, a reconfiguration of the existing order. We are, at present, in the midst of such a period.”
When the doors opened on the seventh floor she thought she understood his meaning. The place was indeed in apparent chaos, people moving frantically up and down the hall carrying large cardboard boxes and stacks of paper in and out of the offices that lined either side of it.
“What you see is largely a result of our most recent acquisition, Better Butters. We were approached with a private offering just a few months ago, a deal which, I imagine, must have appeared too tempting to pass over and yet, in my view, might have also been considered suspiciously cheap. We are now being told there is some question regarding the legality of the sale. It seems the heirs of the former owner were not at all in agreement about the asking price. Thus, due to a lack of diligence, Starlight finds itself, on top of all else, involved in a family dispute.”
They walked past a man shoving papers into a shredder.
“An emergency board meeting has been called to discuss the matter. That’s what all this is. Part of the scramble to make sure that everything is in order for their arrival.”
He stopped in front of a set of double doors.
“You’ll remember that, won’t you, Jennie? What I just said? It is intended as a preface for our meeting, the circumstances of which, I assure you, are temporary.”
“Yes, sir. I think I understand.”
He nodded, then took a deep breath, gripped a handle, and pushed.
On the other side of the door was a conference room with a wooden table large enough to accommodate twenty people. To Jennie’s surprise, a man was already seated at the head of it. He was wearing a dark suit and was scowling over a large stack of folders set out on the table in front of him.
“This is Mr. Dumont, who has come to us by way of just this acquisition we have been speaking of. He has asked to sit in on our meeting today,” Mr. Holder said. “It seems Better Butters has taken a keen interest in our negotiations.”
“Oh?” Jennie said. “Wouldn’t have expected that.”
The man looked up. “And why is that?”
“Because Better Butters manufactures food, of course,” Jennie said. “My product is a healing salve.”
Mr. Dumont looked at Jennie and frowned. “Perhaps I should clarify, Miss Williams. I have indeed arrived at Starlight by way of Better Butters. But I arrived at Better Butters by way of Pound for Pound. I assume you are familiar with that name?”
She was.
If you want the best value all around, look no farther than Pound for Pound.
They manufactured Rib King sauce.
She pulled back a chair and sat down at the table. “Mr. Pound, the founder of the company, retired seven years ago,” Mr. Dumont said. “The company has been sold twice since then, first to Better Butters and then to Starlight. I was in charge of the sauce division, which meant, in truth, that I was in charge of the management of the company as a whole. For the value of Pound for Pound was, as you are probably aware, based almost entirely on the popularity of a single product.”
He reached into his briefcase and, in an entirely unnecessary gesture, pulled out a mock-up of the Rib King label.
Jennie winced at the sight of it.
“It is my understanding that you know the Rib King personally. That in fact the two of you were employed in the same household when his original contract with Mr. Pound was signed. Is that not correct?”
Jennie said nothing. She looked at Mr. Holder, as at last she understood. The mention of chaos had not been in reference to whatever was going on in the hall, but rather to this man seated before her now.
“Miss Williams? Is that not correct? Are you not an associate of the man who posed for this image?”
“Posed for the image?”
Yes, she supposed he’d done that too. Murdered her employer, left her lying on the floor of a house he himself had set on fire. Then, without a word of explanation, left her to pick up the pieces of her life while he got fat and rich as the Rib King.
“That was ten years ago.” Jennie shook her head and looked down at the table. “I have not seen the man since.”
“Were you aware he intends to make an appearance this weekend?”
Jennie frowned. “I saw a flyer.”
“And were you also aware that this appearance has been scheduled in flagrant violation of a cease and desist order?”
She looked up.
Mr. Dumont sighed. Instead of explaining he picked up one of the folders on the table in front of him and pushed it toward her with the flat palm of his hand.
“Miss Williams? When Mr. Sitwell signed his original contract, he was indeed given the rights to the title ‘the Original Rib King’ in perpetuity. However, it was also made clear that in making public appearances he would be serving as the embodiment of a trademarked icon. The Rib King represents the epitome of the reliable servant, the trustworthy black cook, the pinnacle of professionalism and decorum. Someone you trust to have your dinner prepared to the highest standard of quality and served on time. In other words, the validity of the contract is dependent on the maintenance of a certain standard of behavior. What amounts to an implied morality clause.”
“Morality clause?” She opened the folder. Inside it was a series of newspaper clippings. To her confusion and surprise, none of them had anything to do with the Barclay fire. Instead they were articles taken from outlets across the country, all outlining some tawdry incident of public indiscretion carried out by the Rib King over the course of the past five years. There were two citations for public urination in Kansas City. Disorderly conduct charges in Memphis, St. Louis, and Kalamazoo. An assault charge in Boston and an incident of public exposure in Pittsburgh. They were all fairly petty crimes and seemed to have been written up because they made an amusing headline, due to the fact that the Rib King was involved.
“Do you really think this is behavior befitting a beloved public icon?”
Jennie stared. The whole time she’d been sitting there she’d been waiting for him to say something about the fire. So it took a minute to process the fact that Mr. Dumont’s agitation had nothing to do with that. It was something else, something that was happening now.
“It is the drinking, Miss Williams. That is the root of the problem. No one wants to picture the Rib King falling down drunk, frequenting gambling halls, or being swept up in raids in houses of fornication.”
“Fornication?” Jennie blinked. “That’s what you are upset about?”
It wasn’t so much that she didn’t understand what he said, because of course she could see how the type of behaviors he described were not befitting a public icon. It was just that they were all so petty in comparison to actual murder, which was what the Rib King was guilty of when he started his tour.
“Your associate’s fondness for courting controversy has been allowed to go on for far too long. Perhaps it was tolerated under Mr. Pound, but the brand is now under new ownership. Your associate has been informed on several occasions that we no longer want him appearing as the Rib King. Yet he continues to tour, emboldened by his limited understanding of the term ‘in perpetuity’ and his awareness of certain irregularities with respect to the original patent on the product itself. He seems to be under the impression that he can disregard our wishes and continue to behave with impunity. I assure you that in this, he is mistaken. Such behavior will no longer be tolerated, and if your associate persists in coming here this weekend, we intend to come after him with the full force of the law.”
“Why do you keep referring to him as my associate?” Jennie said. “I’ve already told you I haven’t seen the man in ten years. I don’t know anything about any clauses in the Rib King’s contract. I was not present for his coronation. Anyhow, I didn’t come here to discuss the Rib King. I came here to discuss Mamie’s Brand Gold.”
“That is precisely what we are doing,” Mr. Dumont said. “Don’t you realize that? Because you see, Miss Williams, I have had occasion to look at your proposal and was struck by its specificity and detail. It certainly did not escape my attention that the arrangement you appear to be angling for at Starlight is quite similar to the one signed by the Rib King.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“No? Are we to assume that it is merely a coincidence? That two Negro inventors somehow miraculously emerged from the same household?”
“No, sir, not a coincidence.” She straightened her back. “There was but one inventor to emerge from that household and it was me.”
“You?”
“Mr. Sitwell didn’t invent that sauce. Wasn’t even a cook. He got that recipe from his mama, stole the seasoning from Mamie, the woman who did cook for the Barclays. And yet somehow you have managed to make enormous quantities of money from its manufacture. Imagine what a company like Starlight could do with a real product, a product that is truly innovative and that has an actual unique value. Because that is what I have to offer, what I thought we were here to discuss.”
“Be that as it may, Miss Williams, given my experience with your associate, I cannot, in good conscience, permit the board to go forward with any investment in your product without making certain they are aware of this unfortunate precedent. That given, I’m afraid it is highly unlikely that you will find the necessary support for Mamie’s debut. Financing is subject to board approval, and given the circumstances, I’m afraid they will not want to take the risk.”
“Risk? What risk? Because the Rib King is a drunk and a fornicator, I am a risk? How does that even make sense?”
“Perhaps it does not make sense. To you. And yet it is.”
“But I don’t even know the man. What is it you would have me do about the Rib King’s behavior?”
“Can you make him disappear? Before this goes to court?” Mr. Dumont asked. “Because I assure you the current situation will not be allowed to continue. But until it is resolved I’m afraid I simply cannot allow the board to permit this deal to go forward in good conscience.”
He picked up his briefcase and left the room.
Mr. Holder looked at her. “I told you. Chaos.”
He frowned. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this. I realize this must be a great disappointment.”
“I don’t understand. So there is no deal for Mamie? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, that is not what I’m saying. As I told you before, I have every reason to believe it is only temporary. This situation with Better Butters . . . is not one that can sustain itself.”
“Then what does it mean?”
“It means I have every intention of going forward with Mamie. But we shall have to wait until the current situation is reconciled.”
“And until then? What am I to do?”
“Well, seeing as though Mr. Dumont was telling the truth, that you do in fact know this man . . . perhaps you should speak with him.”
“Speak with him?”
“See if you can’t get him to come to terms with Better Butters. Believe me, he will be forced to come to terms eventually. Mr. Dumont wasn’t joking; the family he works for is quite litigious and has far too much invested in that product to allow the Rib King’s behavior to continue unchecked. Perhaps you could try to speed things up by working through unofficial channels.”
“Unofficial channels?”
“You could reach out to the Rib King directly while he’s here in town. Do what you can to put our work at a safe remove from the onerous dynamic this acquisition has introduced. Convince him to adhere to the cease and desist order.”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
“Well, Jennie, you clearly have a gift for marketing. You sold me on your idea. Perhaps you should think of it that way, as something you must endeavor to sell to him.”
“That is your answer? That I try to sell the Rib King an order to cease and desist?”
“It is not my answer, no.” He sighed. “But given the circumstances . . . all I can say is it would behoove you to try.”
That was pretty much it. Mr. Holder stood up and they exited the conference room together. Then he turned left and Jennie turned right and walked back to the elevator alone.
She stepped back out onto the crowded street. It wasn’t until she was on the sidewalk that she could actually feel it, the truth of what had just happened, and even then it didn’t seem quite real. Because of something the Rib King had done, a product she had spent close to a decade working on would not be distributed by Starlight. She did not understand why she was repeatedly being made to pay for that man’s crimes, or how it was possible she had been paying for so long.
She turned a corner and passed another ad for the cooking demonstration he was giving that weekend at the Fowler.
“Fuck you, Mr. Sitwell,” Jennie said. She didn’t even realize she’d said it out loud until she looked down and saw a little girl walk by, eyes staring wide at the outburst of profanity as she passed. She ripped the ad down, stuck it in her purse, and continued walking down the block, headed for the streetcar stop.
She climbed aboard a crowded car, and as she paid her fare, the implications of what Mr. Dumont said took firmer shape in her mind. No deal meant no Mamie on the shelves, no Mamie on the shelves meant no money. She had bills to pay and paychecks to sign; she had to come up with the money to cover Cutie Pie’s tuition. In less than a week she had gone from thinking she was about to get everything she’d wanted to being faced with the possibility of losing everything she had. And all because of the Rib King, because the two of them were associated.
“Push back!”
She found a seat near the rear of the car. As she stared out the window, it occurred to her that this was hardly the first time she’d felt this way. How many times had she looked up to find that everything she thought she knew had changed? That one reality had been switched for another and all she could do was try to cope with it, find some way to keep moving, figure out some way to survive. If someone made a map of her life, all they’d see was a series of wild swerves out of which she had tried to forge something that resembled a path. Her mother leaving her, Cutie Pie being born, becoming the Williams Sisters, living life on a moving train. Then realizing Cutie was not a child anymore and settling down here, in the city. In some ways her whole life was just a struggle to stay upright, to maintain some sense of balance while the world pitched and rolled around her in ways she did not understand.
They reached her stop and she stepped off the train and found herself in the middle of a great throng of children marching two-by-two up the block. She grabbed one of them by the arm, made him stop and tell her what was going on.
“They got Bosswell.”
“Who? The Good Time Gang?”
“No. The police. Set up some kind of ambush up near seventeenth. Shot him in his car last night.”
“Last night? So what are you running now for?”
“We’re going to the rally.”
“What rally?”
“Harper’s Army. They’re protesting the violence. Want people to know they can’t just shoot us in the middle of the street like that.”
He took off running again.
Jennie shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she started walking again, headed toward Bosswell’s Pool Hall.
* * *
When she got there, a dozen men in dark suits were standing just outside the door. One of them put his hand out to stop her when she tried to walk inside.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I need to see Whitmore. Tell him it’s Jennie Williams. He knows me. We used to work together.”
The man squinted at her for a moment then disappeared inside.
A few minutes later, Mr. Whitmore stepped out.
“What the heck are you doing here, Jennie?”
“Hoping I could speak to you for a moment.”
“Speak to me? Now?” Mr. Whitmore shook his head. “Not a good time.”
“I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. Won’t take but a few minutes of your time.”
Mr. Whitmore looked out on the street and then back at her. He nodded for her to follow him inside.
He led her down a dark hall, up a flight of stairs, and into an office on the second floor. He took a seat behind a large wooden desk and said, “What do you want, Jennie Williams?”
“Hoping you could help me with a problem I’m having. One of Dewey’s employees, a man by the name of Roderick Peters, came by my beauty parlor yesterday afternoon and—”
“Let me stop you right there. I don’t work with Roderick. He’s one of Dewey’s people. That’s a different division. You got a problem with Roderick then you need to work it out with Dewey Jenkins.”
“I don’t know Dewey Jenkins. I know you.”
There was a knock on the door. A man in a checkered tie walked in and whispered something in Whitmore’s ear. Whitmore nodded and the man walked out again, shutting the door behind him.
“Jennie? Does it occur to you that I’m busy right now? Do you even know what is going on? We’re not sitting in a kitchen anymore. There’s a war going on. Police out there acting like they’ve lost their minds. They shot Bosswell and I’m in charge of security, which, for the time being, means I’m pretty much in charge of everything. I got an entire organization to think about. What makes you think I have time to talk about some beauty parlor?”
“That’s my organization, Whitmore. My business. Might not seem like much to you but it’s all I got.”
Mr. Whitmore sighed.
“Alright, Jennie. It just so happens I do know what you are talking about. Your name did come up recently, on a list of locations we might consider investing in.”
“My property is not for sale.”
“Nobody said anything about buying something from you. I said investing. Dewey doesn’t want to take your shop. He wants to share it with you for a little while. Things have gotten complicated lately and now that Bosswell is out of commission . . . Need some new locations to conduct business. It’s just temporary. We got to be a little more mobile for now, switch things up a bit.”
“It’s a beauty parlor, Mr. Whitmore. I got ladies coming in and out of there all hours of the day. I can’t have a bunch of men hanging out in there doing whatever it is they do. You’ll ruin my business.”
“I’m not the one doing it, Jennie. If I understand correctly, you did it to yourself. It’s your man who took out the loan. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s not my man. We had a business arrangement but it’s finished now.”
“If the two of you were married when he took out the loan then Dewey got a right to be paid however he sees fit. That’s the law.”
“The law? How are you going to sit there and talk to me about the law when everything you do is illegal?”
Mr. Whitmore frowned. “Oh, Jennie. You are confused, aren’t you? I’m not talking about the Man’s law. I’m talking about mine.”
He shook his head. “You haven’t changed, have you? I mean, look at you. Still fine. Still have terrible taste in men. Do you know there was a time when I thought you and me might have had something, some kind of connection? But you didn’t pay me any attention back then, did you? So busy chasing after the Rib King.” He smiled. “Looks like I got your attention now.”
“What’s that mean, Mr. Whitmore? You think I would have been better off with you?”
“Maybe. Probably not. All I know is I wouldn’t have poisoned your soup.”
Jennie nodded. “He’s coming back, you know.”
“Who?”
“The Rib King. Making an appearance this weekend.”
“I don’t have anything to do with that.”
“No?” She looked at him. “You know what he’s coming back here for?”
“I know it don’t concern you.”
“What’s that mean?” She squinted. “You have talked to him, haven’t you? What, you two still friends?”
“Friends? No. Not that.”
“But you have talked to him. Now, how is that, Mr. Whitmore? Me you can’t do anything for, but you’re still in touch with him? Doesn’t it make you angry? Thinking about what he did?”
“No, Jennie. Angry is not the word for what it makes me. Because I know it wasn’t me he was trying to burn up in that fire, nor you either. We just happened to be standing a little too close to it is all. What it makes me is careful,” Mr. Whitmore said. “You should be careful too.”
He looked at her. “Listen, Jennie. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll talk to Dewey. Do you this favor, for old time’s sake. Make him give your husband an extension until the end of the month, tell Roderick not to bother you in the meantime. Would that help?”
“End of the month? It would. I mean if that’s all you can do . . .”
There was another knock on the door. The man in the checkered tie rushed back in and started whispering again. Whitmore turned his head and stared at him for a moment, then nodded. As the man walked out, Whitmore opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a handful of bullets, and dumped them onto his desk.
“I should go.”
“Yes, you should,” Mr. Whitmore said. “Oh, and Jennie? In the meantime? Never mind about the Rib King. Hear me? Just forget about that. Looks to me like he’s just coming in to put on a show for white folks, then leaving again. Got nothing to do with you. So just forget about it. Honestly? Seems to me you’ve got more important things to be worrying about now.”
He reached into another drawer, pulled out a gun, and started loading the bullets into the chamber.
Jennie stood up. “I’ll let you get back to your war.”
She walked back outside.
So she had until the end of the month, a little more than a one-week reprieve, and that was the best she could do. It gave her a little time to think, but she didn’t see how it would make much difference. All because she and the Rib King were associated. And the worst part about it was Whitmore was right. It was nobody’s fault but hers. She’d done this to herself.
* * *
When she pushed through the door of her shop a voice called out, “There she is! Ms. Big-Time Corporate Executive!” and she looked up to see Irene, Lala, and Aggie standing in a row grinning from ear to ear.
Jennie nodded and set down her purse.
“What are you doing here, Aggie?”
“What do you mean? I came to ask about your meeting. How did it go?”
Jennie bit her lip. “It didn’t.”
“What?”
“There wasn’t any contract. I got in there and all they wanted to talk about was the Rib King.”
“The Rib King?”
“That’s right. I was in a room with Mr. Holder and someone from the company that makes Rib King sauce. Apparently, the Rib King’s behavior has become a problem for them. He’s been drinking a lot, getting in fights, and peeing in the street.” She looked at Irene. “I told you I used to work with him. Somehow they knew it too. And because in their minds the two of us are associated, they consider it a risk to go forward with Mamie.”
She looked at Aggie. “I guess Mr. Holder wasn’t interested in Mamie after all.”
“No. That’s not true,” Aggie said. He looked confused. “I mean I know it’s not. You saw how excited Mr. Holder was about Mamie.”
“Maybe he was just acting excited.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, Aggie. I don’t know why other people do things. Maybe he was just playing with me. Men are like that sometimes.”
Aggie frowned. “Men like Mr. Holder do not play, Jennie. That man doesn’t have time for that. Why would he bother playing with you?”
“I’m just telling you what happened.”
“And I’m telling you that if Mr. Holder wanted to talk about the Rib King he would have just come out and done that when you met him. Anyhow I’ve seen him since. He was going on and on about how excited he was to present your proposal to the board.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Trust me, the man was serious. Something else must have happened.”
He put his jacket back on. “I’m going to find out what.”
He left.
Irene put a hand on her shoulder. “You alright?”
“No. Not really,” Jennie said. “I’ll be honest with you, it’s pretty bad. I don’t have a deal for Mamie and Roderick is breathing down our throats. And it’s all my fault.”
“Your fault? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about berries,” Jennie said.
“Berries?”
“I never told you the truth about that Barclay fire. I was there that night. It’s how I know the Rib King is the one who actually killed those people. It wasn’t a white chef like everyone thinks. The Rib King killed him too; poisoned that man, same as he poisoned me.”
“Poisoned you, Jennie? That’s terrible. How come you never told us?”
“Because I never did anything about it. I knew I wasn’t going to and I imagine a part of me was ashamed. So I didn’t want to think about it. Because the truth is I don’t just know what he did. I know how. Always have. You see, he showed me those berries, the ones he poisoned us with. Probably still out there, growing wild in what’s left of the fields.”
She looked at Lala and Irene. “And that’s not all I know. You see it wasn’t just us he poisoned that night. He killed a couple members of the Good Time Gang too. I read about it in the paper, when I was laid up in the hospital. Some strange deaths in the Magazine, the same night as the fire. Nobody bothered to look into it, I imagine, because they couldn’t see how the two things were related. I could have explained it to them. But I didn’t want to get involved.”
“Are you telling me the Rib King was mixed up with the Good Time Gang too?”
“They weren’t like they are now. This was ten years ago; union busters used to pay them to break up strikes, send them out to bust heads they wanted busted. That’s how they got started. But it just so happens a couple of them came by the house the same day as the fire. I saw the Rib King talking to them. The kitchen boys told me there’d been some trouble the night before, that one of them had done something that got those men riled up and now they’d come to the house looking for some kind of payback. They told me the Rib King said for them not to worry, to just stay inside and let him take care of it. I reckon he did that because those men were dead by morning. Food poisoning. Same as me and the white chef, the Barclays, and their dinner guests. Same night, same poisons. Same man done it.”
“And you never said nothing about any of this?” Irene asked. “Not even to us?”
“I was ashamed, Irene. I knew I should have done something, but the truth is I was scared. Scared that if I went to the police, tried to explain all that, it would just make me look suspicious. The way the police had it, the Rib King wasn’t even in the house that night. According to the newspapers, he’d quit in protest when Mamie was replaced by the white chef they claimed had done the deed. But of course, he was there. It’s just the only ones who could have confirmed it were the Barclays or the dinner guests or the white chef, all of whom were now dead.”
“Except for you.”
“That’s right. Except for me. I didn’t want to be associated with his crimes, and now I realize that somehow because of that, I have been ever since. Because it’s meant I’ve been forced to feel like I was carrying around that man’s secrets. Well, I’m not going to do it anymore. Those Starlight people want him to stop? Well, so do I.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m going to do like they want. Get him to retire. Tell him he’s going to stop touring or else I’ll make sure he winds up in jail. Might turn out it doesn’t make any difference, that they never really were interested in Mamie at all. But at least I’ll know I finally did what was right. Put an end to the Rib King once and for all.”
Jennie looked up. “I just got to figure out how to get in touch with him.”
“Well, shoot, Jennie. That’s nothing,” Irene said. “We’re three smart women. We can figure that out.”
They thought for a minute.
Then Lala said, “What about those ads? If he didn’t put them up himself he must have paid someone to do it for him, right? Most likely they are in contact with him. I’d start there.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jennie said.
“In the meantime, I’m going to make another batch of Mamie’s Brand,” Irene said. “We’ve had a few cancellations on account of those gangsters making people too scared to walk down the street. If you let me, I could start selling door-to-door, try to make up for some of the lost business. I mean if that’s alright with you.”
“It is, Irene. It’s smart. It makes sense.”
Irene nodded.
“See that?” Lala smiled. “We can work this out. Figure out a way to get through this.”
She reached for Jennie’s hand. “Just don’t give up.”