Diary of a Blues Goddess (26 page)

"Yeah… well, I thought it, too." He winked at me and said good-night to Tony.

I walked down the hallway with Tony and opened the door to the room overlooking the garden. I flicked on the light and stepped inside. A set of French doors opened to a tiny balcony.

"You could eat breakfast out there, Tony."

"This is really lovely. Really grand of your nan to let me stay here."

"She likes this place best when it's a full house."

"She's very wise."

I nodded. "Is that why you're so fond of her?"

He nodded shyly.

"Well, I better let you unpack and get to sleep. Your bathroom's two doors down on the right. You'll have to share with Jack. And the closet's empty. The drawers in the dresser are empty. Just use them like this is your home. This
is
your home. And in that trunk over there you'll find extra blankets and some towels and washcloths."

"Thank you, Georgia Ray."

I looked him squarely in the eyes. "No, Tony, thank you. If you hadn't punched him, I swear I was going to cave."

"I meant it."

"What?"

"No one fucks with Georgia Ray."

I shook my head. "I guess I really have the blues now."

"I can't stand to see you hurtin' like this, Georgia." He actually winced.

"I'll be okay."

"I wish I could make it all better."

"Like Nan said, you just have to hurt until the hurtin's done."

"That bloody sucks."

"Yes, Tony, it does." I reached up to touch his jaw. "Stop tensing, you're so angry."

"I'll try," he whispered, then moved away from my touch.

I left his room and went down the hall to my bedroom. I opened Honey's diary. I wanted to be transported to another time and place.

June 1, 1939

I haven't written in a while.

I haven't had the strength to even lift my pen. I'm dressed in mourning.

Black is my color. The blues are my song.

I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't sing nothin' but the blues. My heart is broken, and I just might as well die.

My precious, precious, adored, loved Sadie is dead.

Lord, if we had just made that mango away. If we had turned him back at the door. He gave me a chill. As he chose Sadie to go on upstairs with her, I just wanted to run across the room and beg her to stay. I wanted to tell everyone she was my secret love. But instead I sang. When I could have been protecting her, I sang.

Myra held Sadie's head in her lap as she took her last breath. I held her hand, praying. Then Myra and I cried. We held each other in grief, and paid for the funeral. I wanted Sadie buried right here in the St. Louis Cemetery so I can visit her grave every day.

So I grieve. But Myra doesn't know. No one knows. They think I'm just sad because she was my friend. We were so careful. So quiet.

I loved her. Now I wake up most mornings thinking it was just a bad dream. It didn't really happen. I wake up, then I remember and I feel pain. The pain feels bigger than me most days.

She made me feel beautiful. She made me less tired. I stopped feeling restless, stopped wanting to go back out on the road.

I spend my nights drinking too much now. I spend the days in bed. I sing, but only the blues.

Sadie made me want to sing songs about love. Now I wear mourning clothes and sing songs about death.

The next day, when Red opened the door for me, he already had a full glass of Chivas in his hand.

"Sugar, I'm breakin' doctor's orders today. We'll have a nice full glass of this stuff today. Maybe two."

"Good news travels fast, I see."

"Well… you could say a little bird told me."

"This little bird wouldn't happen to stand about this tall—" I held out my hand "—and cook a mean pot of jambalaya?"

"Now, I wouldn't want to give away my sources." He winked at me.

Inside his living room, we sat and sipped our drinks. I knew I looked bedraggled and depressed. I hadn't slept all night, just kept tossing and turning. And when I read about my aunt loving Sadie, I was too saddened about the secret love affair to even attempt to sleep. I kept thinking about our resident spirit, Sadie, and her finding true love, then dying. And I thought
I
had problems.

"Red… why do you love the blues so much?"

"Well… I suppose it's 'cause I feel it here." He tapped his chest over his heart. "You know, Georgia, some of the fellows I played with over the years, they were cool cats, but they acted like the only way they could
feel
the blues enough to play them was by doing morphine or heroin. Now, I never could understand that. I was blessed, 'cause I didn't need nothin' artificial to play the blues. You don't either. You just store away this man who broke your heart. You store him away and then bring him out again when you have to sing a song. That's how you'll do it, sugar."

And I did. The same quality of emotion and song that I sang at the wedding came out again. When I was done, Red had two words for me. "You're ready." The Mississippi Mudslide. Deep inside, I knew that, too. It was time.

When I got back home from Red's, Nan was cooking crawfish bisque and a recipe that called for angel-hair pasta and tasso.

"Nan… you're a regular Emeril."

"Hush… but taste the bisque."

It was a sip of heaven.

"Delicious."

"How are you feeling today, honey? "

"Worn-out."

I kissed her and went upstairs to change for Sunday Saints Supper. I had turned off the ringer the night before. I checked my messages. Eleven from Rick. Each more desperate than the last. Again, I felt my resolve weakening. Only one cure—Maggie.

I dialed her number and she answered on the first ring. "I heard."

"I assumed as much. Telephone. Telegraph. Tell-a-drag-queen."

She laughed, then turned more serious. "I'm so sorry. I really am. It sounded too good to be true."

"Next time someone seems too good to be true, I'll know to run for the nearest exit."

"I hear Tony moved in."

"He's down the hall."

"So, is this like a new record for the Heartbreak Hotel?"

"No. Mardi Gras. Remember? The year everyone moved in?"