W
HATEVER else my visit at Tommy Ladnier’s house entailed, it was not fun. Even with her hair only an inch long, JoHanna was still very recognizable as JoHanna. Actually, the haircut probably made her more so. She could not mingle among the workers, selling sandwiches and cookies for a nickel. Even though it made my knees knock to consider walking into the place, I was determined to find Floyd.
From one of the maids at the Seaview, JoHanna finagled a plain blue dress and a white pinafore apron for me to wear. Her skillful fingers braided my unruly hair into a neat coronet, and she gave me the basket of sandwiches and oatmeal cookies the kitchen had prepared for our “picnic on the beach.” She parked the big red car a quarter mile from the water in a grove of pecan trees that had suffered heavy damage from the storm but that no one was paying any attention to. She said she would wait for me there while I sold the sandwiches and talked with the workmen. She warned me to be careful of any men wearing suits, and not to talk to any of the women who lived in the house at all. She said a whore was a whore and she’d sell pleasure or secrets and it wouldn’t matter to her which.
The house was huge, a two-story stucco concoction painted a pale coral with a beautiful green tile roof. Gardens of dark green gardenias surrounded it and in the back, baked brick terraces fell like giant steps down into the Sound. There were workmen everywhere as they began to repair the damage, big and small, inflicted by the storm. I made my way around the estate with my basket of sandwiches and a sickly smile while I sought any trace of Floyd.
The workmen were hungry, and the sandwiches were gone long before I’d covered the gardens. I’d explored a building where three big cars were parked. There was no trace of Floyd there. Another building had tools and supplies, but no sign of Floyd. I was headed back to the terraces that had once been lined and highlighted by beautiful flowers until the storm. The terraces, solid bricks worn smooth by time and salty mist, were gentle giant steps down to the water. Gardeners were busy pulling up dying chrysanthemums and geraniums that had been killed by the salt water and putting in new dirt and new plants. I held the empty basket and walked along, praying that no one would ask me my business.
Outside the big back doors with their dozens of panes of glass, four men in suit pants and white shirts watched over the workmen. They wore suspenders and hats and smoked cigarettes and laughed a lot. One of them spotted me and said something to the others. They laughed, but one of them rose slowly to his feet. I pretended not to notice but started walking in the other direction, my empty basket bumping my thigh.
“Hey, you!” The man was right behind me.
I ignored him and kept walking, forcing my legs not to run. To run now would only make it worse.
“Hey, I’m talking to
you.”
His hand on my shoulder turned me around.
I saw his surprise when he looked at me closely. The bruises around my eyes were mostly gone, but up close it was easy to see I’d been beaten. The more recent rooster attack had left a wound on my cheek. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I brought some sandwiches to sell.” My voice sounded sheeplike, afraid, manna for a bully boy. I forced the panic from it and lifted my chin. “For the workmen. Sandwiches for their lunch.”
He reached down and took the empty basket, shaking it. “Looks like you sold out.”
“Yes.” My hand went instinctively to my pocket where I’d put the nickels. “They bought them all. I was just getting ready to go home.”
“Did Mr. Ladnier say you could sell sandwiches on his property?” The question was a formality. He knew I didn’t have permission.
“No. I didn’t think he’d care. It saves the workmen from leaving for lunch. They can work harder.”
“Oh, so you were serving Tommy’s best interests?” The man smiled and he had the biggest teeth I’d ever seen, piano key teeth, but his gray eyes were harder than the brick terrace.
“No, I was trying to make some money. The storm …” I didn’t want to start too many lies.
“Maybe you’d better talk to Mr. Ladnier. I’m not so sure he’d view your little business as good for him.” His breath smelled like cigarettes and his teeth were stained yellow.
“There’s no need to trouble Mr. Ladnier. I’ll go and won’t come back.” I tried to pass by him but he caught my arm.
“You act like you were doing something wrong.” He held my arm so tight it hurt, but I gritted my teeth and refused to cry out.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” I ground out the words.
“I’m supposed to believe you?” He put a heavy layer of sarcasm on the last word.
“Listen, Mr….” He ignored my effort to get his name. “I don’t want to make trouble. I want to go home.”
“Maybe Mr. Ladnier deserves a portion of that money you made. After all, you were selling sandwiches on his property. Maybe he needs a cut.”
I swallowed. “I didn’t think he’d care. The men were hungry. My mother said I should make the sandwiches and bring them over.”
“Maybe he will care, maybe he won’t.” The man laughed and held my arm as he half-dragged me toward the house. The other men at the back door were laughing, too.
“Caught yourself an en-tre-pre-neur?” one of them called out. “A real dangerous looking criminal. Looks like she’s already taken a beating for something.” He leaned down and lifted my chin with a finger. “What crime did you commit to get punched around so?”
I was terrified but I didn’t say anything. There were four of them, and they were all staring at me, reaching out to touch me. JoHanna was a half mile away, and there was no one who could help me. If Tommy Ladnier found out the real reason I was there, he’d probably have them kill me and dump my body in the Sound. I had to brazen it out.
The glass-paned door swung open and a tall, slender man with a dark mustache stepped out. His hair was groomed back in an elegant, Valentino fashion, and he wore a white shirt open at the throat, black pants. And Floyd’s black boots.
He smiled as my gaze lingered on his boots, and he turned his leg so that I could fully admire the workmanship of the boot. “Lovely, aren’t they?”
I nodded, unable to look away from them.
“What manner of criminal is this?” Tommy Ladnier asked the man who held me. He smelled of cologne, a fragrance intense and subtle at the same time. Expensive. I didn’t have to be sophisticated to recognize that.
“She was selling sandwiches in the gardens to the workers.”
Tommy Ladnier walked to me and lifted the cloth of my basket. “Were they good sandwiches?”
“Yes, sir. Roast beef and ham.” I looked at the basket, afraid to look into his eyes. He knew Elikah. He knew everyone, everywhere. What if he recognized me?
“Does our little sandwich girl have a name?”
I hadn’t expected the question and I didn’t have an answer. I couldn’t use my real name. I couldn’t say the name JoHanna used at the Seaview.
“I think she needs something to drink,” Tommy said. “She’s so dry she can’t get her name out.”
He opened the door and before I could cry out for help, the man who held me forced me inside.
JoHanna had told me to see as much of the house as I could. She said that Floyd would probably be in the out buildings, but he wasn’t. But Tommy Ladnier had the boots. That was the evidence I needed to believe that Floyd was somewhere nearby. I couldn’t help Floyd if I was a coward. He had to be there. Somewhere. And I was getting inside, even if one of Tommy Ladnier’s goons was about to pinch my arm off.
“Should I take her to the kitchen?” the man who held me asked.
Tommy’s smile was slow. “No, the library. And take your hand off her. She’s a sandwich girl, not a killer.”
The man snatched his hand away as if my arm had suddenly caught on fire. From the staircase I heard low, throaty laughter.
“Boy, when Tommy says jump, you jump, don’t you, Teddy?”
The man who’d held me scowled. “Shut up, Myra.”
“I don’t have to shut up until Tommy tells me to shut up.”
“Shut up, Myra,” Tommy said. “Quit baiting Teddy, or I’ll have to send you home to Mama.”
Undaunted, the girl sat down on the stairs so she could watch us through the balusters. The beautifully carved wood framed her pale face, and her red-gold hair flowed over the wood. “Who’s the pretty baby?” she asked.
Tommy laughed, and when he spoke he’d adopted a fake accent. “A young lass come to sell sandwiches to the workers. Just an honest lass, out to make some money to help her poor, starvin’ mother.” Tommy’s voice was filled with fun and laughter, but it gave me a chill.
“Oh, a noble young thing.” The girl laughed. “Well, I always wanted to sell
sandwiches
to make a living.”
All of the men laughed, and I felt a surge of panic. The entire house was evil. The girl on the steps was wearing some fancy nightclothes and it was past noon. Living with Elikah had taught me a few things about life, and I wasn’t the innocent fool I’d been four months before. What I couldn’t tell was whether she was Tommy’s girlfriend or Teddy’s? Or was she there for anyone who wanted her?
“Get us some coffee, Myra,” Tommy directed as we followed him into a big room with all four walls filled with books. The fire in the fireplace was dead, but the smell of burning wood persisted, contrasting with the smell of the books. Money. Power. The room reeked of it.
“Who told you to come here?” Tommy turned to confront me with whiplike speed.
I was struck speechless by his transformation from bantering playboy to inquisitor. “N—n—no one.” I finally got the words out. “I was going to sell the sandwiches on the beach, but no one was there. The storm.” I licked my lips in nervousness. My mouth was parched, but there was no sign of Myra in the door. “There wasn’t anyone on the beach, and I heard the hammering. So I thought maybe the men working would be hungry.” I shut up because there wasn’t anything else I could say.
Tommy Ladnier’s eyes were peculiar. They seemed to shift rapidly from side to side. A tiny motion, but one that made me think he never really slept. They would shift beneath his lids, seeing even when his eyes were closed. I had to look away.
“Besides selling sandwiches, what do you do?”
He was toying with me because it amused the men who had all taken casual positions about the room. They were grinning at each other, sending looks that said what a powerhouse Tommy was, and what a pitiable creature I was.
“I clean and cook and sew. Whatever needs to be done.” Anger was giving me back my courage, and I wanted to tell him that I plotted to help my friends. But I couldn’t do that.
“If you need work so badly that you’re in my yard selling sandwiches, I think I’ll give you a job.”
His performance was for his men, so I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “What kind of job?” Also, I suspected that the jobs he offered to women would not be to my liking.
“In the kitchen.” He grinned. “I don’t take children upstairs. Not even one who has a taste for a little slap and tickle.” So quick I didn’t have time to pull away he brought his hand up to my face and traced the bruise beneath my left eye with the gentlest of touches.
The men guffawed and I felt the blood climb my face. I looked at him. Working in the kitchen was perfect, the opportunity of a lifetime. “Can I go to work now?” They could laugh all they wanted.
“What can you cook?” he asked, his gray eyes watching.
“I can cook anything. Breakfast and pies are my specialty.”
He picked at the white ruffle of my apron. “I’m particular about the way I like my eggs.”
“What man isn’t?” I replied.
This time the men laughed with me.
“Dillard, take her to the kitchen and tell Love she’s going to be her new help. Love hates to get up to cook breakfast. Maybe the little sandwich girl will be to her liking.”
Elation made me want to sing or jump, but I made sure that nothing except gratitude showed on my face. “Thank you,” I said and turned to leave the room.
Tommy’s hand caught me at the neck, pinching just hard enough to let me know he could hurt me. I closed my eyes to shut out the panic he might see in them when he turned me to face him again.
“You never told us your name.”
Opening my eyes, I saw the long, dark eyelashes that framed each gray eye. His features were striking. He was immaculately groomed. “Lola,” I whispered. I’d decided to take the name of the woman who’d taken my place in Elikah’s bed. She’d made her escape with his money. Maybe I’d be as lucky.
“Little Lola.” His hand lifted and caressed the underside of my jaw. “If you’re as good in the kitchen as you say, maybe we’ll see what your other talents are.”
The men laughed, and he nodded for me to leave. The tall man named Dillard waited at the door for me. Without a word he led me into the big kitchen, where a huge black woman bent over an oven full of hot rolls. The sweet smell of hot yeast bread made me realize it was midafternoon and I’d not eaten since breakfast.
“Here’s some kitchen help for you, Love. Tommy says she’ll make breakfast so you don’t have to get up.”
Love touched the top of the rolls, eyed them critically, then shoved them back inside the oven before she stood up and turned to look at me. She was the tallest woman I’d ever seen, a deep, chocolate black woman with small eyes and a sharp nose. “You can cook breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Tommy is a good man to work for, but you mess up his eggs, he gone mess up your face, even more than someone done done.”
My finding Floyd depended on staying in that kitchen. “I can cook.”
Her gaze slid over my body, resting on my stomach.
“You not gettin’ ready to swell up with some bastard young-un, are you?”
The question was unexpected. “No.”
“Keep it that way. You get pregnant, you can’t work in my kitchen. Never had more trouble with my bread and cakes than when Mr. Tommy sent that pregnant whore to work in here. Nothin’ would rise. Not the first thing. I reckon that girl made the wrong thing rise and she got the hoodoo. Wouldn’t nothin’ lift up around her.”
I looked at the door and saw that Dillard was gone. “Can I go home now and come back tomorrow?”