Chapter 30
The following night, they performed under a massive tent raised in the middle of a cow pasture. Before taking the stage, Harlan sought out Cecil and his magic cigarettes.
“Um, you got some more of that weed?”
Cecil eyed him amusingly, crowing, “You done had all the freebies you gonna get from me. You want some more, it’s gonna cost you.”
“How much?”
“Fifty cents.”
* * *
The band opened with “Chattanooga Man” and moved into “Down Hearted Blues,” “Always Be Careful Mama,” and “Dinah.” After two hours, they closed the show with “Reckless Daddy.”
It was Harlan’s best set to date. He knew it before Bill and Lucille even told him. He had felt like a king on that stage—unstoppable and all-powerful.
And best of all, that night when Harlan bedded down on the cramped bus seat, Darlene was nowhere to be found and he slept soundly.
* * *
In Mobile, Alabama, the entire band stayed at the home of Clarence and Joy Temple, a wealthy white couple who had befriended Lucille early in her career.
“They ain’t your run-of-the-mill white folks,” Lucille called out over the laboring engine as the bus chugged its way up the halfmile-long driveway. “These people are free thinkers. Liberals is what they call themselves.”
The home came into view. Stacked porches, Greek columns, and a sweeping verandah. Harlan had never seen anything like it.
“How many people live there?” he whispered in awe.
“Just them two,” Lucille said. “Not counting the help.”
Clarence and Joy were well into their seventies, silver-haired and wrinkled. Their matching green eyes made them look more like siblings than husband and wife. They seemed hungry for the company. Unwilling to let their guests retire. After the sumptuous meal, the Temples coaxed everyone out onto the rear porch to sip cognac and deliberate on all things musical.
It was near midnight when Harlan, yawning, excused himself and headed up to the room he was sharing with Craig. Before retiring, he slipped into their private bathroom and fired up one of the three joints he’d purchased from Cecil.
Head spinning, floating more than walking, he crossed the room and dove onto the goose-feathered mattress, slipping into blissful slumber.
Just at the tip of three, Cecil stumbled noisily into the bedroom, hissing, “Pssst!”
The room flooded with yellow light.
“Psssssssst! Harlan!”
“Shit,” Craig mumbled angrily.
Harlan sat up, shielding his eyes.
“Turn that light off!” Craig growled. “Ain’t you got your own room to go to?”
Alongside Cecil was a curvaceous raisin-colored woman. Cecil dragged her toward Harlan. “You gotta see her eyes.” He was giddy. “I ain’t never seen no shit like this in my life!”
The two reeked of whiskey, reefer, and something else Harlan couldn’t put his finger on.
Craig sat up. “Man, you crazy or what? Here these nice white folks welcome us into their home, and you bring a whore up in here?”
“Aw, man, shut the fuck up and mind your business,” Cecil snapped.
“It’s ’cause a niggers like you that good, decent black folk get a bad rap!” With that, Craig punched his pillow, lay back down, and turned his back on the sordid affair.
“Go show him,” Cecil urged. “Wait till you see this, Harlan.”
The woman wobbled forward. The hem of the tight black and red dress she wore inched up her thigh with each step. When she reached Harlan’s bedside, she uttered a breathless, “Hi,” before flopping down on his thighs.
“Show him,” Cecil urged again.
“Okay, okay, damn,” the girl giggled. “See,” she sang, pushing her face into his and stretching her already large eyes wider.
Swimming in the dark pond of her face were two watery blue orbs, ringed in gold.
“You ever seen anything like that in your life? A nigger with blue eyes?” Cecil slapped his thighs, chortling. “That’s some wild shit right there!”
Harlan’s lips flapped. The woman raked her fingers across his bare chest. “You a scrawny something, huh?” she purred. “How old you is?”
Harlan looked stupidly at Cecil, who was still bent over laughing.
“Eighteen,” Harlan coughed.
“Sixteen!” Craig yelled from his bed. “Too young for your old ass.”
“I ain’t gonna tell you again, Craig,” Cecil warned. He looked back at Harlan and licked his lips. “Hey, she a pretty thing, don’t you think?”
Harlan nodded.
“I thought you’d feel that way. That’s why I brung her up here for you to have.”
Harlan blinked. “Have?”
“Yeah!” Cecil laughed.
Harlan’s eyes bulged.
“Nigger, this is where you say thank you,” Cecil admonished.
“Say thank you, nigger, so I can get some goddamn sleep!” Craig cried.
The girl took Harlan’s face into her hands. “Tell me something, boy. You still a virgin?”
Harlan swallowed hard. “Yes ma’am.”
The woman giggled, rolled back the quilt, and pressed her hand against his groin. “Oh my,” she crooned seductively. “Well, that there ain’t scrawny at all, is it?”
Cecil turned off the light and backed out of the room, whispering, “And to all a good night.”
* * *
Harlan woke to the scent of flapjacks and bacon. Upon opening his eyes, his stomach growled. He lay there for a moment, trying to figure out if the woman had been a dream spurred on by the reefer. But that notion was quickly put to rest when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a pair of blue panties crumpled on the pillow beside his head.