Chapter 24

“The problem is,” Lucille complained to her husband, “they treat Harlan like a man, not a boy.”

“A friend, not a son,” Bill grunted in agreement.

“They let him listen to all that grown-ass music. Mine included. He knows all the words. You hear him, don’t you? Singing ’bout moochers, rolling lemons, and warming wieners!”

“Yep.”

“That boy needs some religion in his life, ’cause the devil’s watching and waiting.”

Church had not been a staple in Sam and Emma’s lives since they’d left Macon. Once they’d settled in Harlem, their religion became swing, jazz, and bebop, ministered by Satchmo, Calloway, and Gillespie.

“What that boy needs is more Our Father who art in Heaven and a little less Hi-dee-hi-dee-ho! and Hep! Hep! Hep!”

“A-yuh.”

“Of course he’s going to do and say as he pleases. There ain’t no consequences to his behavior.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What parents you know don’t beat their kids? Even white folks beat their damn kids!”

“Uh-huh.”

“If they don’t make that boy mind his manners, you know who will, right?”

“The po-lice.”

“Say it again.

“The PO-LICE.”

“You got that shit right.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you can’t tell him nothing. You notice that? Any good advice you try to sling his way, before you can get it out your mouth, he hollering, I know, I know!”

“I got a nephew just like him,” Bill huffed, “know everything and don’t know shit.”

Well, that wasn’t an entirely true statement. Harlan did know how to con his mama out of money—it only took a smile and a, Aww, Mama, please! As he grew older, he would use the same formula to coax women out of their drawers: Aww, baby, please!

The other thing that he would become proficient in was playing the guitar.