I recall stumbling through the streets of the city, staggering at Lula’s side, but I don’t remember how I ended up in her bed. “Damn. How many shots of tequila did I have?”
“More than one too many.”
I roll over and realize I’m wearing nothing but boxers. God, I hope I didn’t embarrass myself. I push the sheet away and place my feet on the floor. “I don’t mean to mess up your morning routine.”
I want to rise and put on my T-shirt, sneakers, and jeans, neatly arranged over the back of her desk chair. I go to stand, but the room spins, and I flop back down.
“You didn’t mess up anything,” Lula is saying. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
“You are being polite. I can still smell the tequila on my breath.”
She sits close to the headboard, her legs tucked beneath her, leaving plenty of space between us. “I admit you were trashed.”
“Was I rude? I’m usually a happy drunk. A little sloppy, but a laugh riot.” I wait for her to let me off the hook, but no luck.
“You weren’t the least bit funny.” Lula massages her foot as she doesn’t look at me.
“Was I disrespectful?” Then I thought about the Viking. “I didn’t fight with the bartender or anything?”
“No. No. In your state, the only person you hurt was yourself.”
“Then what did I do?”
Lula stretches her arms above her head, yawning. “You told me how worried you were about Miss Honoree not being Miss Honoree. How she lied to you, but not just you, but your mother and your father, and your grandmother Maggie.”
“Seems like I told you everything.”
“Pretty much, I guess.”
I want to slip back under the covers. “I’m taking it too hard, but the lies, one lie on top of another lie, are exhausting.”
She moves in a bit closer and nudges me lightly on the leg. “Why don’t you chill? You carry tension around like designer luggage. Something you’re afraid to lose. But I don’t mind having you around, now that you’re sober.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure.” Lula unfolds her legs, stands, and hugs her robe around her extra snug. She looks down at me and smiles. “Before we leave, do me a favor.”
“Sure, anything.”
“For the love of God, take a shower.”
I jokingly sniff my armpits, cringe, and give her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.” She laughs and tosses me a towel.
CHAPTER 40
HONOREE
Friday, December 25, 1925
The day after Honoree visited the Plantation Cafe was Christmas, and her biggest concern was not whether she had a gift to give anyone, or her rash decision to visit the Plantation Cafe. Her worry was whether she and Bessie would freeze to death.
The city was an iceberg buried in two feet of snow. Everything, everywhere, and everybody was cold. The only way to warm up in Bronzeville was to light a match and burn anything that might give off some heat. Fires were set in alleys, on stoops, in tin basins, and inside kitchenettes. People burned furniture, old clothes, newspapers; they set fire to whatever could fuel a blaze.
One hundred fires, according to Kenny, when he’d stopped by earlier with the late edition of theTribune.
Honoree and Bessie were curled up under her mother’s quilt, with a pile of winter coats, a fur shawl, and odd pieces of fabric, on top of the quilt.
“Merry Christmas,” Bessie muttered between a shiver and a sniffle.
