C H A P T E R • 26
When I got home, I called Mister Bell.
“I want to talk to you. Are you going to the Stop the Violence concert?” I asked.
“Liz and I were supposed to go. But maybe I will. I’m going a little crazy and she has her friends to look after her. Meet me at the bookstore. I want to talk to you too. Then we can walk over together.”
I went upstairs and repositioned the fancy money bag where it landed when I passed it through the opening in Ceel’s adjoining wall and where it was concealed behind the cabinet on my top floor. It was safe there until I could figure out what to do with it.
To get dressed for my date with Mister Bell, I found in the closet one of the outfits from the old days—an evening suit that I wouldn’t be able to move in easily. It felt like I wouldn’t need to move much just to hear some music. I felt exposed somehow in the little skirt and I felt a chill when I remembered Bobby Bop and his gun.
But, since I had no plans to be rummaging around in any of Harlem’s houses or alleys in the few days I had left, I decided again not to arm myself. Instead, I picked up the small beaded evening bag that wouldn’t have held a gun if I had a permit to carry one.
I took a car to the bookstore in the drizzle. Mister Bell was debonair, in deep blue velvet with a white shirt and a Kente cloth tie and cummerbund.
“You look marvelous,” I said.
“As do you,” he said. “We can talk in the back.”
We left the young woman at the cash register and the readers and browsers and shoppers to their stories.
Books and newspapers and flyers were balanced precariously in piles on all the surfaces, including the chairs. But Mister Bell had obviously done this before and he set one stack on the floor to make room for me. The Broadway playbills and issues that concerned him were taped all over the walls.
He sat in his overstuffed chair with more books as backdrop.
“I’m only here because I trust you. Am I wrong?” I asked.
“You can trust me,” he said.
“I found some cash at Cecelia’s. And I was wondering how does somebody get big chunks of cash like that any way but stealing it. I wouldn’t have expected that of her.”
“I wouldn’t either. What did you do with it?”
“It’s in a safe place for now.”
He leaned toward me. “This is important. I need you to tell me what you’re doing. I don’t want you to get hurt. Don’t go freelancing on me. I need to know how this is unraveling. Can you do that?”
“I can let you know what I’m doing. But Daddy used to say I have talk face. People love to tell me stories. And I have Charles Washington connections. I can do this.”
“But you need people. We all do. I know I always need my posse to cover my back.”
“I envy you. It feels like I’m losing the few people I have. Obsidian and Ceel were both my people.”
“Yes. But Obsidian is still alive. And you and Ceel will always be connected. I remember when you were girls. You were funny little people. Busy with your plans. Daring each other to do the scary things.”
He stood and waited to give me a hand to get up.
“I’m not finished with this conversation, this remembering. But let’s go hear some music. We deserve it.”
∗ ∗ ∗
When we got to the Apollo, we watched Adrianne, a showstopper in a purple pants suit, walk into the elevator with Reverend Garrison, while we were stuck waiting in line in front of a tiny woman all in black, including lipstick. The bit of brown-skinned beauty blocked the elevators with attitude and with an ominous male, also in black, who stood behind her.
The sister was having none of a small group who swore they were invited guests. She said something to her partner who went to check out their story and, after she had banished them to a corner away from the roped entrance, she turned her attention to us.
“Yes?” It was just the right suspicious touch.
“Marcus Garvey Bell, Freedom Bookstore, and Pearl Washington, publisher of the Harlem Journal.”
“You should stand at the side there while we check the list,” she said and I, who have stood before the Hollywood best of them, thought I had never felt so dismissed.
When we got upstairs to join the inner circle, Mister Bell and I separated to mingle. I didn’t see him again until I joined him standing in the aisle between our well-worn seats in the beautiful theater.
He waved his arm at the stage. “I used to stage manage here,” he said. “I remember once we had a blackout during a Gloria Lynn concert and put on the show with flashlights and candles. It was beautiful.”
I hugged him. “Thank you. I love those stories about the old days. I’m going to get a drink before the show starts. Can I get you something?”
He looked at me without smiling. “The old days? That is not all the information I have that you’re going to need. And no, I don’t need anything to enjoy this music.”
The first set started sweet and smooth and when Bobby came on we were more than spectators, moving as he played us. And we only let his group go when the stage hands and tech started setting up for the headliner. The anticipation was palpable and full of the energy and the magic of the haunted space. And it was crowded with James Brown and Dinah Washington and Billy Holliday and the kids who won Amateur Night and the ones who lost, and it was sacred. I remembered being there as a little girl with my father. I finally released for those hours and let it all go.
I was getting my one-for-the-road just before they closed the bar at the end of the show, when Adrianne walked up.
“Al was supposed to be the stage manager tonight. But he’s still on the rock,” she said. “They let him call his job and he got word to me that he wants me to go to his crib to see how ‘the company staying at his house is doing’ is how he put it. I figure it’s to see about Heavy.”
“Why?”
“Al’s clean. Your father hired him when got back from rehab and he’s excited about his life. He’s afraid Heavy is using and bringing dope into his house. I don’t want to go alone. Will you go with me?”
“I’ll come.”
“Hurry.”
“Are you sure?” Mister Bell asked when I told him I needed to take care of some newspaper business, and he didn’t have to go with me.
“Maybe I’ll get back in time to hear some of the rest of the music.”
He looked annoyed and relieved.