Of the three boys who’d once worked with Jennie in the Barclays’ kitchen, Frederick was the one who had done the most with what he’d been given. With the help of the Rib King he’d gone to college, then medical school, and then set up his own practice in DC. Jennie knew all this because of an article she’d read on the society page of the community newspaper, the subject of which had been Frederick’s engagement to the daughter of Dr. Langston Livingston, a prominent local political figure and civil rights advocate of national renown. That article was the first Jennie knew that Frederick had moved back to the city, and when she read it she was stunned. The Livingstons were one of the most influential black families in the city and now Frederick was about to become one of them. This would have been an impressive feat for any man, but when Jennie considered who he’d been when she’d met him, it was downright astonishing.
According to the article, Dr. Livingston had put his future son-in-law in charge of the planning and development of a new medical training facility for black doctors, the first of its kind in the country. Private funding for the facility had already been secured, and until it opened, Frederick was working out of Dr. Livingston’s office, a handsome brick building on a tree-lined corner of South Parkway.
That was where Jennie went to see him the next morning. She pushed through the door and smiled at the woman sitting behind the front desk.
“May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Frederick Smith.”
“Dr. Smith is in a meeting right now. Is he expecting you?”
“Should be. His brother Mac told him I was coming.”
“I’m sure he’ll be out shortly then.”
Jennie took a seat in front of the receptionist’s desk as she went to tell Frederick Jennie was there. When she knocked on his office door a voice said, “What is it?” She pushed it open and Jennie heard men laughing from inside. Then a voice said, “What? Who? Oh, you’re kidding. . . . No, wait. It’s fine.” It was quiet for a moment, and then there was more laughter as the receptionist walked out and shut the door behind her.
“He’ll be right with you,” she said and sat back down at her desk.
A few minutes later the door opened again and four men in business suits filed out. As they walked toward the door the man bringing up the rear turned and smiled. Jennie saw the three faint lines of a butcher’s fork on his left cheek and knew it was Frederick.
He walked the other three men to the door, shook each of their hands, and then came back.
“Jennie Williams. Is that really you? My goodness it’s been a long time.”
Jennie stood up to shake his hand. “Oh, Frederick! It’s so good to see you. I hope you know how proud of you I am. I mean, look at you. You’ve done so well and now to see you’re about to marry such a lovely girl.”
“Thank you, Jennie. I appreciate that.” He kissed her on the cheek. “And I must say, you look wonderful. It’s like you haven’t aged a day.”
“I have though,” Jennie said. “If you can’t see it, I sure can feel it.”
He led her into his office and gestured for her to have a seat in front of his desk.
“And how have you been since last I saw you?”
“I own my own hair salon now. On Thirty-Seventh Street, just off the main strip.”
Frederick frowned. “Been a bit of trouble in that area lately, hasn’t there? Criminals and gangs . . . You alright? Keeping safe? Is that what you came to see me about?”
“Me? No, it’s not that. Didn’t Mac tell you? I was hoping you might be able to tell me how to get in touch with the Rib King.”
Frederick stiffened at the sound of the Rib King’s name.
“Yes, well, that situation is . . . complicated.” He glanced toward his open office door.
“When I talked to Mac yesterday he seemed to think you might know how to track him down.”
“Did Mac say that? Because he knows very well that the Rib King and I . . . do not engage socially anymore.”
He stood up and closed his office door.
“Can I be honest with you, Jennie? My relationship with my benefactor is not good. I prefer not to even talk about him here. All that Rib King business has not been easy for me. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful because I do appreciate some of what the man did for me as a child. But the fact is that, as I’ve gotten older, the more accomplished I’ve become, the more my relationship with him has become an obstacle to my career.”
“I can see how it might,” Jennie said.
“Yes. You’ve seen the ads. Everyone has. It’s humiliating, being associated with some minstrel act I never wanted anything to do with. Did Mac tell you we used to perform with him? It was back in the beginning, when Mr. Pound was still trying to establish the brand.”
“Yes, he told me. It’s terrible and I’m sorry for it,” Jennie said.
“Yes, well, it was a long time ago. But when people find out . . . it’s almost as if they were there in the audience. Sometimes it feels like it’s all they see when they look at me. You have no idea what it’s like having to live in the shadow of that ad campaign. But I can tell you that it has meant I have always had to work that much harder to prove I belong. And it just won’t end. I’ve tried everything to make him stop.”
Jennie nodded. “Then perhaps you’ll take some comfort in knowing that’s actually why I’m here.”
She told him what had happened. About Mamie’s Brand Gold and her deal with Starlight; how her association with the Rib King had proven the greatest obstacle to finalizing it. She told him how the people at Starlight had suggested she try to talk to him in the hopes that she could convince him to retire. She told him that she had resolved to do it, that there were certain details about the Barclay fire that Frederick might not be aware of but that she was certain the Rib King would not want made public.
When she was finished talking, he nodded.
“So you are here as a representative of Starlight Industries?”
“What? Me? No, of course not. I’m here as a representative of myself. But, yes, they were the ones who told me about his current state. Or, rather, Better Butters did. . . . The point is that he is damaging the brand.”
“And what exactly did they tell you, Jennie? About the Rib King’s current state?”
Jennie shrugged. “They didn’t tell me so much as show me. They had a whole folder full of newspaper clippings. I could see for myself just from reading the headlines that he’s been making a fool of himself all over the country.”
“Which section of the paper?”
“Excuse me?”
“The clippings. Which section of the paper were these headlines taken from? I’m trying to figure out what exactly you’ve been told.”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention to that.”
Frederick reached into his desk drawer. He pulled out a larger folder, very similar to the one Mr. Dumont had shown her during her meeting at Starlight, and set it on his desk. It too was full of newspaper clippings.
“You know, Jennie, I’ve always said it is very important for our people to read the entire paper. Not just the funnies . . .”
Jennie looked through the folder. The articles it contained were taken from the same newspapers Mr. Dumont had shown her during their meeting. But they weren’t the same articles. None of the headlines made any mention of the Rib King and they’d all been cut out of a different section altogether.
They were obituary columns.
“I don’t understand,” Jennie said.
“That’s because you’re still only reading headlines. If you look more closely, you will see that they are all dated within a week of one of the Rib King’s appearances. You will also see that they all make mention of an incident of accidental poisoning that took place while he was in town.”
She closed the folder. “My goodness, Frederick. You really do hate the man, don’t you? Just like Mac said. Please tell me you don’t think the Rib King has something to do with all these people being poisoned. Just because you don’t like him it doesn’t mean that every time someone is poisoned it’s his fault. That’s crazy thinking. Paranoid. It doesn’t help you, me, or anyone else.”
“Yes, well, actually it was not the poison that first drew my suspicion. It was the shared place of origin. I realized it was part of a pattern that in truth started with the Barclay fire.”
“The Barclay fire? How?”
“The dinner guests that night. Do you remember where they were from?”
Jennie had to think for a moment, but then realized she did remember. Florida.
“Look at the articles. If you read them you will find that all these poison victims have some connection not just to Florida, but to Seminole County. The same county that is the Rib King’s true place of origin.”
She looked back at the articles and saw that it was true. Every one of those obituaries made some mention of the victim’s connection to Seminole County.
“Do you remember back at the Barclay house, the day I was imprisoned at that fair? When we were down in the cellar I told you about it, how the Rib King warned me about what had happened to his friend, Wash Talbot. I couldn’t see it at the time, but now I realize he never really recovered from whatever happened down there. I think when he saw those two cousins sitting in Mr. Barclay’s parlor, he must have recognized them. And something just snapped.”
“Snapped?” She had to think about that. All this time she’d assumed the Rib King’s intended victims were the Barclays. Now she was being presented with an alternative version of events, one in which the Barclays were only minor characters.
“And after? You think he just kept going? Tracking people down, getting revenge for murders that took place in his hometown years ago?”
“Basically. Yes. I mean, it’s probably not what he’d say. I lived with that man for three years. There’s always a reason for the things he does, some extenuating circumstance he will claim forced his hand. But that is the real reason the Rib King will not stop touring. It’s got nothing to do with sauce. It’s a revenge tour.”
Jennie looked back at the articles.
“Still don’t believe me? Too cryptic? Perhaps you’re thinking how could anyone have noticed such a thing unless they were looking for it? And yet I tell you I was not looking for it. I started collecting those newspapers when we were sent to live with Mrs. Lawson’s relatives, out of pride and affection for the man I once considered the closest thing to a father I would ever have. Because he was on the road so often it was my way of feeling close to him, by keeping track of all the places he was going while on tour. I forgot about them when I went to college, and so it wasn’t until I graduated medical school that I happened to go through that box and actually read them. Without even wanting to I began to see it: a pattern.”
She shook her head. If what Frederick was saying were true it meant that over the past decade the Rib King had killed at least twenty men.
“I don’t know what to say, Frederick. I mean it’s crazy. . . . But then again it’s crazy to think that an entire town was burned to the ground over a stolen mule.”
Frederick frowned. “Please don’t repeat that ridiculous lie. I can’t tell you how much I despise that story, that absurd fiction. What happened to the Rib King had nothing to do with a mule.”
“It didn’t?” Jennie was confused.
“Of course not. It was about money. The land the Rib King’s people had built their settlement on. Oil deposits had been discovered nearby and a group of developers wanted to drill beneath it. And the fact is those people had no legal claim to it. They were squatters. They were told to leave and, when they refused, were forced out. Why do you think so many families like the Farleys are so wealthy now? It wasn’t because of a mule. It was business.”
Jennie felt sick. “That hardly makes it any less cruel, Frederick.”
“No. But it doesn’t make it any crueler either.” Frederick sighed. “How I hate the way people lie to themselves, come up with fanciful stories and ways to romanticize the surface of things. When all along the real truth is right there, staring them in the face. That’s how you wind up with the type of psychosis the Rib King suffers from. The man actually believes he’s on some sort of romantic quest, avenging the great wrong done to his people many years ago. He doesn’t even realize that not only is he fighting the wrong war, he’s not even on the right battlefield.”
Jennie didn’t know what to say. The whole thing was crazy. And yet . . . as many times as she’d told herself the Rib King had been out to get the Barclays it had never really made sense to her either. She looked at Frederick.
“If you believe this then why haven’t you done anything? Why haven’t you gone to the police?”
“Perhaps I will. It’s certainly what I threatened to do. But of course, the situation is complicated. After all, he is the man who raised me.”
“Loyalty then? After everything you’ve said you still—”
“No. Not loyalty. It’s the fact that we are associated. If my association with the man causes me this much trouble now, can you imagine what it would be like if people knew the Rib King is actually psychotic?”
She frowned. “An honest man does not tell the truth simply when it is convenient. He tells the truth because it’s the right thing to do. If you believe the Rib King is out there killing people then you have to do something to stop him. At the very least you should tell the people at Starlight.”
Frederick gave her a pitying look. “Oh, Jennie. You really are confused, aren’t you? I already have.”
“What?”
“A long time ago, I’m afraid. Long before they called you in for that meeting and showed you what sounds to be a very carefully curated sample of the Rib King’s clippings from his tour.” He shrugged. “I was trying to be strategic. Make the best of a truly horrible situation. I was hoping I could convince someone to donate money for my future father-in-law’s medical training facility.”
“The training facility? What does that have to do with this?”
“The Farley brothers. That is the name of the family that is currently in a legal dispute with Starlight over the sale of Better Butters. They’re from Seminole too. The family was already quite prominent locally when the Rib King lived there. Their father was one of the men who instigated that attack, but like many of the others who were directly involved, he is now deceased. When I figured out my benefactor was targeting heirs, I tried to warn them. One brother threatened me with legal action if I ever spoke publicly about how the family’s wealth had been acquired. Then he purchased Better Butters, no doubt thinking that by becoming the Rib King’s corporate sponsor he could exert control over the man. But the other brother, John, agreed to my terms at once. He confessed that in truth both he and his brother, Jack, already knew about the murderous rampage that took place in the village and that it had always troubled him that his family’s fortune had been derived from so much suffering. Given the circumstances, John felt that endowing a black medical college, a place of healing, was not only appropriate but the least he could do.”
“So that’s where the money for the medical facility is coming from? John Farley?”
“Can you imagine? An honorable man attempting to pay for the misdeeds of his ancestors in the most honorable way possible. With money. And that, unfortunately, was how we found out about the exorbitant amount his brother, Jack, paid to acquire ownership of Better Butters from Mr. Pound. The sale was completely unauthorized and left John, the good brother, without the liquidity required to honor his commitment to us. That is why, upon acquiring a court decree that declared Jack’s purchase illegal, John initiated its immediate sale to Starlight, even though it meant even further financial loss to his family. In part I suppose he did it to teach Jack, the bad brother, a lesson. But also, and more importantly, it allowed John to honor his commitment to us.”
Jennie stared at him. “What are you talking about, Frederick? What does any of that have to do with what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Rib King. He’s still out there, isn’t he? Still poisoning people? Killing them, if what you say is true?”
Frederick shrugged. “I’m not sure what more I can do about that. I have told people who are better equipped to deal with the situation, people who have far greater resources than I. And it appears that they are taking steps to deal with it. Including, it would seem, contacting you.”
He frowned. “You had no idea, did you? I’m sorry, but it’s probably the real reason they took an interest in your beauty cream.”
“It’s a healing salve,” Jennie said.
Frederick nodded. “Well, I am sorry. Sorry they didn’t tell you the truth, although, as you can see, they had more than enough reason not to. And this salve of yours, I’m sure it is a fine product. It’s just that there are forces at play here much larger in scope. I hope you did not take offense.”
“Naw,” Jennie said. “Take a whole lot to offend me, if that’s what you were trying to do.”
“I wasn’t, Jennie.”
She nodded, then put her hat back on. “Anyhow I got other stuff on my mind.”
By the time she walked out of there she did not doubt Frederick was telling the truth. It made her sick inside to realize that the only explanation for what the Rib King had done that made sense was the one that confirmed he was insane. That seemed clear enough now and perhaps should have the whole time.
It was also clear that Mr. Holder had lied to her. He must have known what was going on at Starlight and yet he pretended it had nothing to do with his interest in her. Just like Whitmore had known, then saw fit not to tell her. It seemed as if every time she turned around there was some man trying to make a fool of her, a fact that had the effect of producing an intense rage. And this rage in turn seemed to produce a certain clarity of thought. Because all at once she realized she knew exactly what she needed to do.
* * *
She caught the streetcar and rode up to Starlight’s corporate offices. She walked straight through the lobby and stood in front of the receptionist’s desk.
“I need to speak with Mr. Holder.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“You just go on back there and tell him it’s Jennie Williams. Tell him it’s about the Rib King. Trust me, he’s going to want to talk to me.”
She wasn’t kept waiting long. The door opened and, instead of Mr. Holder, Mr. Dumont walked out to greet her.
“We weren’t expecting you back so soon,” Mr. Dumont said. “Does this mean you have actually managed to solve the problem?”
“Depends on which problem you are referring to,” she said. “You all seem to have a lot of problems. No, I’m here to negotiate terms.”
“Terms? What do you mean?”
“You want me to get rid of the Rib King, don’t you? Get him to sign that cease and desist order? Convince him to stop touring? All of that requires effort on my part. This effort is called work. And when I work I expect to be paid.”
“Paid?”
“That’s right. Cash.”
“I don’t understand,” Mr. Dumont said. “I thought we explained to you that your deal with Mr. Holder will not go forward until the Rib King has been dealt with. You want to see Mamie on those store shelves, don’t you?”
“Keep Mamie out of this. We’re talking about the Rib King now. Mamie has nothing to do with the Rib King. And you and I both know it.”
Mr. Dumont nodded. “Miss Williams? I hope you realize that we don’t actually need you to solve the problem. There are other ways we could have dealt with it.”
“And yet you haven’t. And we both know why. You want to keep selling that sauce, am I right? I don’t see how that would be possible if the general public were to find out what the Rib King’s been up to while on tour. And I am not talking about peeing in the street.”
Mr. Dumont frowned. “What I meant was that reaching out to you was in fact the humane choice.”
“Well, sometimes the humane choice is also the smart one, I guess. Sometimes it charges a fee.”
She picked up a pen and a piece of paper from the receptionist’s desk and wrote down a number. She handed it to him.
He looked at the number and then back at her.
“I’ll need to get authorization for this.”
“You do that. Go and get authorized. I’ll wait right here.”
He went back inside. A few minutes later he came back with an envelope.
“Take it. But understand, it is not a gift. Not a handout.”
Jennie put the envelope in her purse.
“I’m serious, Miss Williams. I do not want to see that man again. If you do not stop him you will never have a deal with Starlight. In fact, I will personally make sure that your product will never be on any store shelf anywhere in this country.”
She started to leave but he stopped her.
“Also, when you speak to him, be sure to let him know that as soon as I saw those ads he had posted about his upcoming appearance I informed the chief of police of the threat to public safety he might pose. As a result, both Farley brothers have retained the services of additional security, off-duty officers handpicked by the chief. These men will be armed, Miss Williams. Do you understand? I gave you that money because you’re right, sometimes the humane choice is the smart one. But it’s not the only choice. Your associate would do well to remember that.”
Jennie turned around and walked back outside.
* * *
She went to Bosswell’s Pool Hall. She waited until the man at the door waved her inside then walked up to Mr. Whitmore’s office and placed the envelope on his desk.
“What’s this?”
“The money Tony Marcus borrowed from Dewey.”
He looked inside the envelope. “Where’d you get this?”
“A representative of Better Butters Corporation gave it to me. I take it you’re familiar with the brand? They want me to get the Rib King to retire before the Farley brothers show up for some board meeting because, apparently, that’s why he’s coming. To try to kill them. But you already know that, don’t you? Just like you know exactly what the Rib King has been doing on tour. Because you’ve been helping him do it.”
“Me? Helping the Rib King? I don’t think so.”
“No? Mac told me Bart works for you. And I know Bart is the one who put those ads up all over town. You’re going to tell me you didn’t know anything about that, that you just happen to have his son on your payroll?”
She shook her head. “Just so you know, as a result of Bart’s enthusiastic distribution of those advertisements, they’ve hired additional security. Mr. Dumont told the chief of police about possible threats to public safety. You should tell your friend the Rib King that those Farley brothers will be surrounded by a security detail composed of off-duty police the whole time they are here. And those officers will be armed, Mr. Whitmore.”
“Is that right?” He smiled. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Listen, Jennie. I didn’t lie. I don’t have anything to do with what the Rib King is planning. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have the basic intelligence to realize it presents an opportunity. One I intend to take advantage of.”
“An opportunity?”
“That’s right. You see I couldn’t care less about the Farley brothers. That’s the Rib King’s madness, not mine. But those off-duty officers they’re bringing in to do security? I know them. Some of them were involved in that ambush of Bosswell and there’s got to be an accounting for that.”
Jennie squinted. “What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said. I know those men. I’ve known them for a very long time. Some of them used to be a part of a gang that ran me off a good job when I first arrived to town. It’s how I wound up working for Barclay. I’ve been tracking their movements ever since, trying to figure out just how they operate. They called themselves the Good Time Gang.”
“The Good Time Gang?” She frowned. It occurred to her that that was how the violence started, with Bosswell encroaching on their territory.
“You had something to do with starting that turf war, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “That was business. Sometimes business makes people do things they might not otherwise do. Sometimes it just so happens I don’t mind.”
“So you’re hoping the Rib King will miss, is that it?”
Mr. Whitmore laughed. “Oh, no. The Rib King doesn’t miss. He’s been doing what he does for ten years without being caught. What he will do is create confusion. That’s what I intend to take advantage of. You see, Bart’s going to be there too and he is a very good shot. While everybody’s worrying about those two brothers, he’s going to be aiming at the real targets. The security detail.”
“That’s why you had Bart put up all those flyers? So they would hire extra security?”
“I’m just trying to be strategic,” Mr. Whitmore said. “You think I like what’s been going on lately? All the shootings and chaos? It’s a waste. Waste of time, waste of talent, waste of money. What purpose does it serve? And the only reason it’s happening is because people don’t know who is in charge. Seeing Bosswell gunned down like that has produced a powerful confusion in a lot of folks’ minds and now they’re acting out. It’s childish, but it’s not going to stop until someone calms them down. So that’s what I’m going to do. Something that will shut them all up, make them understand who is really in charge. Then we can stop all this nonsense and get back to the real business of making money.”
He smiled. “So you see? I didn’t lie. I don’t have anything to do with what the Rib King is planning and none of it actually concerns you.”
Jennie stood up. “All y’all make me sick.”
* * *
When she got back to the shop she told Irene and Lala that she’d paid Tony’s debt and that Roderick wouldn’t be bothering them anymore. When they asked her how she’d gotten the money she told them about her visit with Frederick.
“Well, look at that,” Irene said. “I guess race hate really is killing white folks too.”
“I don’t understand.” Lala shook her head. “How can they know all that and just keep going on selling that man’s sauce? Haven’t they got any shame?”
“Something is wrong with them, that’s for sure,” Irene said. “You got a salve for that, Jennie? Something to soothe that over?”
Jennie shook her head. “The one I feel sorry for is Bart, being manipulated by both the Rib King and Mr. Whitmore like that. It’s not right.”
“You tell Tony you paid off his debt?” Lala asked.
“For what? He’ll figure it out. I’m tired of talking to that man.”
Irene nodded. “Well, the important thing is . . . now that you know who these people are, what they are capable of, you’ve got to stay away from them.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I mean it, Jennie. These are some shady folks you are dealing with. I don’t just mean Whitmore and the Rib King. From what Aggie said, these Farley brothers sound like bad news too.”
“I hear you, Irene. And believe me, I’m done,” Jennie said. “I don’t want to have anything to do with any of those people anymore.”
* * *
The following night was the art show. After the stress and chaos of the past week, Jennie wasn’t in the mood to go and would have stayed home if she hadn’t already paid for the tickets. But Cutie Pie was excited.
“Come on, Mama, it will be fun.”
While they got dressed Cutie Pie tried to remind her of all she had to celebrate. She’d solved the problem with Roderick. Irene was doing so well selling Mamie’s Brand door-to-door that she’d hired two other women to help. Jennie should have been feeling good, but she wasn’t. Because those victories had come with the knowledge that the Rib King had been out there killing people the entire time he was on tour. And somehow just knowing had the effect of making Jennie wonder if she wasn’t also, in some way, responsible.
They got dressed up and walked to the art show. It was being held at the Cornelius Street YMCA and by the time they arrived there a large crowd was already outside. A lot of them were people she had never met before but recognized from the community newspaper’s society page. Together they stepped into a large hall.
“Oh, my goodness,” Cutie Pie said as she gazed around the room. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Jennie nodded. The exhibition featured work by some of the most well-known black artists in the country. There were sculptures, photographs of moving street scenes, meticulously crafted portraits, and still lifes. And then there were Mac’s giant canvases full of wild splashes of color.
“I love it,” Cutie Pie said and stared rapturously at the one he’d titled Nat Turner.
Jennie nodded and said nothing. His work certainly stood out, although in Jennie’s mind it was not in a good way.
They walked around the main hall, admiring all the work on display when a cheery voice called out, “Hello, Jennie Williams!”
She turned around and saw Mrs. Nelson making her way through the crowd, arms outstretched and a bright smile on her face. She gave Jennie a quick embrace then kissed the air near Jennie’s cheeks.
“I thought I . . . recognized . . . you. So glad you could make it. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes. It is,” Jennie said.
Mrs. Nelson looked around the room and smiled at both the art and all the people who’d come out to see it. “This is what it is all about after all,” she said. “All the beauty our people have created in this world. All the beauty we are capable of, given half the chance. That is what inspires me.” She smiled at Jennie. “I’m so happy you could be a part of it.”
She reached for Jennie’s hand. “Come now. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”
She led Jennie across the room to a group of well-dressed women standing near the buffet table. They smiled and shook Jennie’s hand as she was introduced to each of them in turn. It felt good to be so warmly welcomed by these women, women who, when they looked at her, she could sense all understood the hard work that had gone into crafting not only her product but herself—the woman who had created that product. When she stood among them, she felt recognized.
After about a half hour, a high-pitched ting rang out. A man was standing near a set of double doors at the back of the gallery, tapping a pen against the side of a wineglass. Dr. Livingston’s presentation on the future of black art and culture was about to begin in the room behind him.
Jennie thanked the women and went back to find Cutie Pie. She found her standing just a few feet from where Jennie had left her, only now she was talking to Mac, who was holding one of his wild paintings.
Jennie frowned as she watched her child smile and blush. She didn’t understand how her daughter could be standing in a room surrounded by eligible bachelors and not even notice because she was so busy wasting time talking to Mac.
Mac smiled. “Evening, Miss Jennie. So glad you could make it.”
Then he took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and began reciting a speech Jennie could tell by looking at him was something he’d already practiced in front of the mirror several times.
“Miss Jennie Williams. I cannot tell you what a pleasure it has been to reconnect with you again after all these years. And also what a pleasure it is to become acquainted with your lovely daughter, Cutie Pie. You have always held such a special place in my heart and I will never forget the kindness you showed me as a child. As a token of my affection . . .”
He picked up the painting and held it in front of him. “I would like you to have this.”
Jennie stared at a glowing orb and a small gold star.
Cutie Pie gasped. “Oh, my goodness, Mac. That is so thoughtful of you. So amazingly generous and thoughtful. Isn’t it generous and thoughtful, Mama?”
Jennie looked at her daughter.
“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t accept that. I don’t have money to buy something like that from you.”
“Oh, no,” Mac said. He lowered the painting and smiled. “It’s a gift. I wouldn’t accept your money anyhow, Miss Jennie.”
Jennie nodded. She looked at her daughter, who seemed giddy with excitement, and then looked back at Mac. Her left eye began to twitch.
“Won’t accept my money? Is that what you just said? Why not? Don’t you need money? Isn’t that the point of all this? You trying to sell your art, make enough money to pay your rent, and not be dependent on some anonymous patron we both know is really the Rib King?”
“Mama!”
“It’s the truth. Just the other day you were going on and on about how you want to be your own man. How do you expect to ever do that if you just stand around giving all you’ve got to sell away for free? Here you are in a room full of people who got enough money to pay ten dollars to come to some art show and you’re wasting time talking to me? You ought to be out there hustling, trying to sell something to someone who can actually afford it.”
“Mama!”
“It’s the truth, Cutie Pie, and you might as well hear it, because really I’m talking to you too. You children are going to have to grow up sometime.” She looked at Mac. “What if you decide you wanted to get married someday, Mac?”
“Married?”
“That’s right. I don’t know if you’ve given much thought to such matters, but what if you were to meet a nice girl and decide you want to have a family? How do you think you could afford to ever take care of a wife if you don’t have sense enough to take advantage of an opportunity like this?”
Mac stared.
“I understand.” He nodded. “You make some good points, Miss Jennie. Imagine I’d do well to listen to you.”
He looked at Cutie Pie and frowned. “But I’d still like you to have the painting.”
He handed it to Cutie Pie and then, without another word, turned and left.
Cutie Pie watched him go.
“You alright?” Jennie asked. Cutie Pie’s lip was quivering.
“I’m sorry about that, Cutie. But it needed to be said. Because it’s the truth. Everything I just told that boy is true, and by the way you’ve been standing around grinning at him I know it’s long past time you heard it too. You break up with a man like Theodore just to take up with someone like Mac? And expect me to not have an opinion about it?”
“You told me you understood about Theodore.”
“I was trying to be nice. I’m always trying to be nice to you, Cutie. Because I love you. But I’m also your mother. And sometimes a mother’s love isn’t about just standing around, watching you make mistakes I know you’ll regret. Sometimes loving you means telling you when I think you’re doing wrong.”
“Well, I think you’re doing wrong, Mama. How about that? All Mac did was try to give you a gift. You didn’t have to humiliate him for it.”
“It was a gift he couldn’t afford to give.”
“And yet he did anyway,” Cutie Pie said. She picked up the painting and carried it down the hall.
“Wait a minute—”
Jennie started to go after her when she felt a hand tap her shoulder.
“Why hello, Miss Jennie.”
She turned around and saw Frederick standing behind her, dressed in a fine white suit.
“What a surprise seeing you here. I hadn’t realized you were a patron of the arts.”
“My daughter likes it.”
“Daughter? I didn’t know you had a daughter. Is she here?”
“She’s here somewhere. . . .”
But by then Cutie Pie had disappeared into the crowd.
“And the matter we discussed yesterday?” Frederick asked. “How is that coming along? Any progress?”
“No.” Jennie frowned. She’d lost all enthusiasm for any kind of confrontation with the Rib King. After what Frederick told her, she no longer knew what she would say to the Rib King if she did see him. How could she threaten a man with exposure when everyone around him already knew the truth?
Frederick gave her a serious look.
“I’m glad I ran into you. Ever since you left my office I’ve been concerned that I hadn’t done a good job explaining things.”
“You were pretty clear.”
“I don’t mean about what the Rib King has done. I mean what I haven’t done,” Frederick said. “You have to understand, Jennie. I know how terrible it is. But I also know how much harm to our people, to the cause of civil rights, my benefactor has already caused just by way of the image he promotes trying to sell that sauce. Can you imagine what would happen if the general public were to find out what he has really been up to? The panic it would cause? ‘This is what freedom has wrought,’ they will say. ‘You cannot trust them in your home.’ One black man running amok like that could lead to violence on a national scale. That’s the real reason I didn’t go to the police. Because we are all associated with the Rib King, whether we like it or not.”
Jennie had to think about that. It was an aspect of his crimes she had not yet considered: the fact that they were all associated. Not just her.
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. Because it’s important that we are all on the same page. All working together to solve this problem. And now that I know we are . . . there is someone I’d like you to meet.”
He looked up and nodded across the hall toward a tall, handsome woman in a blue satin gown standing near the double doors to the lecture hall. The woman had pale skin, long black hair, and the most piercing hazel eyes Jennie had ever seen.
“My future mother-in-law,” Frederick said.
Mrs. Livingston walked toward them, a small rhinestone-studded clutch purse in one hand, a flute of champagne in the other. She seemed to glide across the room, moving swiftly through the crowd, before coming to stand beside Jennie and Frederick.
“I’ll let the two of you talk,” Frederick said, and left the two of them alone.
“So you are Jennie Williams?” Mrs. Livingston asked. “The one Starlight has assigned the task of putting the Rib King out to pasture?”
She sipped her champagne.
“I understand that the two of you are old friends,” she said.
“Who? Me and Frederick?”
“The Rib King.”
“No, ma’am. Not at all.” Jennie shook her head. “As a matter of fact—”
“Do not dissemble. Is that what you are trying to do? I’m not judging you for it. I just want an explanation,” Mrs. Livingston said.
“An explanation?”
“Why is he doing this? Is it some sort of political agenda? Make the white man pay for his crimes? Does he not realize that the entire country has profited off the suffering of our people? Does he intend to take them all out?”
The woman had the most riveting gaze of anyone Jennie had ever met. Jennie found herself twisting her head nervously, trying to find a distraction from it. “You are asking me?”
“It would appear so.”
Jennie watched two waiters loading empty champagne flutes onto a tray on the other side of the room. She shook her head.
“I could not presume to know that man’s intentions. But from what I gather it is not political at all. On the contrary, it seems to be very personal for him.”
“In that case, you should understand that it is personal for me as well. You see, unlike my future son-in-law, I do not believe for an instant that Jack Farley’s purchase of Pound for Pound was an irrational response to the potential threat posed by the Rib King.”
“You don’t?”
“Not for an instant. That might have been part of the reason, but it was not the main one. The main reason, I am quite convinced, was spite.”
“Spite?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Livingston took a final sip of champagne. “Deliberate, vindictive spite. Race hate, in other words. An insidious, psychotic delusion entirely underresearched by the psychiatric community. And because it is a psychosis, I do not believe it can be resolved simply through the Rib King’s retirement.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the Farley brothers.”
“It’s not complicated. There are two of them. A Jack and a John. Jack Farley purchased Better Butters at a great financial loss to himself for the simple reason that he hates black people. Whereas John Farley has the most well-developed understanding of the tragedy of his social status of any white man I have ever known. And despite what your friend the Rib King might think, he is operating out of the most noble impulse that one could ever expect of a man of his social standing: shame. He has dedicated his adult life to making reparations and since coming into his inheritance has donated a fortune to the cause of Negro improvement. Unlike his brother. Who will of course insist on far more security during their impending visit due to paranoia and fear. Making John Farley, the good Farley, the easier target for the Rib King’s wrath. Now do you understand?”
“No,” Jennie said.
Mrs. Livingston frowned. “I’m trying to explain to you that Jack Farley is a bad man, a very bad man. The world would be better off without him. It is therefore critical that the Rib King and those of his ilk, do not, in seeking out a suitable target for their bloodlust, mistake the Johns of this world for the Jacks.”
Jennie shook her head. “I still don’t understand. What does any of this have to do with me?”
Mrs. Livingston sighed. “My concern is that no harm befalls the wrong Farley who, in a larger sense, is the right Farley. If your friend is intent on killing someone, he needs to make sure he knows what he is aiming at.”
Jennie blinked. A chill ran up her spine.
“Ma’am? Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to tell the Rib King, of course. You tell him that if he hurts the wrong Farley, shoots a John when he could have just as easily shot a Jack, then he will have to deal with me.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Jennie looked down and realized she was holding an empty champagne flute. Sometime during their talk, Mrs. Livingston had handed it to her to dispose of, without Jennie even being aware of it.
She watched Mrs. Livingston enter the lecture hall. She felt light-headed and wasn’t certain if it was the intensity of Mrs. Livingston’s presence or her actual words that had left her so disoriented. Those words had been strange and terrifying and Jennie could scarcely believe they’d been said. Because it sounded like Mrs. Livingston wasn’t interested in stopping the Rib King so much as making sure he shot the right Farley. And for some reason, she’d felt it necessary to tell Jennie that, hoping she would pass that message along. Which, if true, was insane. Just as it was insane to think Jennie would have anything to do with it.
The doors to the lecture hall closed and Jennie looked around the gallery, empty now, save for a few waiters walking around the sides of the room, stacking empty glasses onto trays. She handed one of them Mrs. Livingston’s empty champagne flute and walked outside.
She needed some fresh air and stood on the sidewalk, shut her eyes, tried to regain control of her breathing. She wondered what kind of woman Mrs. Livingston had mistaken her for. Because if one thing was clear it was that Mrs. Livingston had mistaken Jennie for someone she was not—the kind of woman who would involve herself in someone else’s murder, for any reason.
That was not Jennie Williams at all.
“You alright, Miss Jennie?”
A young man was watching her while he stood on the corner smoking a cigarette. He flicked the cigarette into the street then walked toward her, limping as he did.
“That you, Bart?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled. “Long time no see.”
“What are you doing here, Bart?” She squinted. “You’re not here to start any trouble are you?”
“Trouble? Me? No ma’am. Came to see my brother’s show.”
“That right?”
“It is,” Bart said. “Making all those pictures? Spending all his time trying to find some beauty in this world? I’m proud of him.”
He smiled. “He told me you’ve been looking for the Rib King. Still want to get in touch with him?”
“No. Not now. Please.” She’d had enough for one night. She didn’t want to think about the Rib King anymore.
“Suit yourself,” Bart said. “But if you change your mind, he’s staying at the Fowler. They got a couple rooms in the back for performers coming through town, keep them separate from the white folks. He takes his morning meals in the main dining hall, after they’ve finished with the breakfast service. That’s always a good time to catch him.”
Jennie frowned. “You know what hurts me the most about all of this? Seeing you mixed up in it. I know it’s been a long time, but I remember you. Such a mischievous child, such a wonderful imagination. I don’t think I ever told you back then, but out of the three of you boys? You always were my favorite, Bart.”
Bart blushed and looked down at the ground. “That’s real nice, Miss Jennie.”
“Nice? I’m not trying to be nice. Because that boy I remember? As naughty as he sometimes was? Deep down I always knew he could tell the difference between right and wrong. I realize that you’ve probably been through a lot since then. But I believe deep down you still know. That’s why I’m trying to understand it, how you wound up involved in something like this. You got your whole life ahead of you and there’s so many things you could be doing. If you go through with this thing Whitmore has convinced you to do, you’re not going to have a future.”
Bart shook his head. “You misunderstand the situation, ma’am. Whitmore didn’t convince me to do nothing. I volunteered.”
“What? Why? Why would you want to do that?”
Bart frowned. “I don’t have any toes, Miss Jennie. Someone cut them off when I was seven, to keep me from running. And I might not agree with everything the Rib King and Whitmore do. But that don’t mean I don’t understand why they’re mad.”
He walked away from her, still shaking his head.
Jennie watched him disappear around the corner then stayed outside for a few minutes, trying to muster the strength to go back inside. By the time she did, the talk was over and the guests were on their way out. She found Cutie Pie sitting in a corner of the gallery, once again talking to Mac. This time when he saw her heading toward them, he turned and walked away.
Cutie Pie stood up. “Let’s go.”
“I’m sorry, Cutie Pie. Maybe I overreacted. Or it came out wrong anyhow.”
“Don’t lie. I know you meant it. Because that’s what you believe.”
“It is what I believe,” Jennie said. “But honestly? It’s not all I believe.”
“And what about what I believe? Do you ever stop to think about that? Just because you don’t think love means anything doesn’t mean I think that too.”
“Don’t think love means anything? How can you say that? You know I love you. I’ve spent my whole life trying to take care of you for no other reason but love. But see, you don’t understand what that means because I never let you. All your life I just did what I had to, trying to take care of you. Trying to keep the bad off of you. To keep it to myself, just smile, and keep going.”
“Yeah? Well you didn’t do a very good job then.”
“What?”
“Of keeping it to yourself. I know exactly what you’ve been through, Mama. Because I went through it too. I was right there with you the whole time. Know what that taught me? That there are some bad people in this world, but there are good people too. You are a good person, I know that. I know how fortunate I am to have you for a mother. I know all you’ve done for me. But maybe Mac is a good person too. Maybe being good doesn’t have anything to do with how much money you make or how suitable other people might think you are.”
“Is that what it sounded like I was saying?” Jennie asked. “That’s not what I meant. That’s not what I meant at all.”
Cutie Pie picked up the painting and walked back outside. The two of them walked home together, and when they got there, Cutie Pie unwrapped the painting and hung it up on the wall over the couch.
Then she went to bed.
Jennie sat in the living room and stared at it. She wound up staring at it for a long time, every now and then tilting her head from side to side as she considered it from different angles.
After a while, a strange thing happened. She realized she could see it. Maybe not Harriet Tubman, maybe not what Mac was trying to do. But what he’d actually done.
It was beautiful.