'Not here,' I told her. 'You want coffee?'
'Can I have ice cream later?'
'Sure.'
I was smoking my cigarette, thinking about the Prof. Belle sipped her coffee, watching me quietly. I felt a hand on my shoulder, a lilac-and-jasmine smell. Michelle. Wearing a wine-colored silk sheath, a black scarf at her throat. She looked a question at me. I moved over so she could sit down next me. She gave me a quick kiss as she slid in, turned to look at Belle, talking to me out of the side of her mouth.
'Hi, baby. Who's your friend?'
'Michelle, this is Belle.'
Michelle held out a manicured hand. 'Hi, honey.'
'Hello,' Belle said, shaking her hand. Holding on to it too long, watching my face.
Michelle took her hand back, figuring it all out in a split second. 'Don't look at me like that, girl. This ugly thug's my brother, not my lover.'
Belle's mouth twitched into a half-smile. 'He's not so ugly.'
'Honey, please!'
Belle laughed. 'He's got other fine qualities.'
'I know,' Michelle said.
Belle's face went hard. 'Do you?'
Michelle stiffened, her claws coming out. 'Look, country girl, I say what I mean. And I mean what I say. Let's put it all out, okay? I never had a brother until Burke came along. I love him - I don't sleep with him. Wherever you go with him, I don't want to go. And where I go with him, you can't go. Get it?'
'I get it.'
'Get this too. You want to be my friend, you come with the best recommendation,' Michelle said, patting my forearm. 'You want to be a bitch, you came to the right place. I'll be here after you're gone, girl.'
'I'm not going anywhere,' Belle said.
'Then let's be friends, yes?' Michelle said, her sculptured face flashing a deadly smile.
'Yes,' Belle said, reaching over and taking my hand.
Michelle took one of her long black cigarettes from a thin lacquer case and tapped the filter, waiting for a light. I cracked a wooden match. She cupped my hand around the fire, gently pulling in the smoke. Belle watched Michelle as if she had the answer to all her questions.
Michelle fumbled in her huge black patent-leather purse. She pulled out a sheaf of photographs. Terry. In a blue blazer with gold buttons, wearing a white shirt and a striped tie, his hair slicked down. 'Isn't he handsome?' she asked me.
'A living doll,' I assured her.
Michelle jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow. 'Pig,' she snapped. She held the photos out to Belle. 'My boy.'
Belle took the pictures. 'He is handsome. Does he go to boarding school?'
I laughed. Michelle jabbed me again. 'He most certainly does, honey. One of the most exclusive in the country, I might add. And if it wasn't for certain people teaching him bad habits . . .'
'Don't look at me,' I said.
'The Mole does not smoke,' Michelle said, ending the discussion.
'How old is he?' Belle asked.
'He's almost twelve.'
'He's going to be a heartbreaker when he gets older.'
'Just like his mother,' Michelle said, ready to talk about her favorite subject for the next few days.
'I can't find the Prof,' I told her, bringing her back to the real world.
'Well, honey, you know the Prof. He could be anywhere.'
'He was supposed to call in, Michelle. We're working on something.'
'Oh.'
'Yeah. Will you . . . ?'
'I run on a different track now, baby. But I still have my associates in the right spots. I'll throw out some lines, okay?'
'Tonight?'
'I have a late date - I'll make some calls before I start. If you don't hear by tomorrow, give me a call and I'll take a look myself.'
'Thanks, Michelle.'
She waved it off.
I got up to call Mama again. She answered the same way.
'Anything at all?'
'Nothing. You worried?'
'Yes.'
'Call later. Leave number, okay?'
'Okay.'
When I got back to the booth, Michelle and Belle were yakking it up like old pals. Michelle had Belle's face in her hand, twisting it different ways to catch the light. The big girl didn't seem to mind. I sat down, lit another smoke, listening to Michelle rattle on.
'You draw the eyeliner away from the center, honey. Separate those eyes. And we use a sharper line
Belle nodded vigorously, not trying to talk while Michelle was grabbing her face.
'Now the mouth . . . we use a brush, yes? We paint a thin line just past the lips, then we fill it in with a nice dark shade. Widen that mouth a bit. Then we . . . Oh, come on,' Michelle said, standing up, dragging Belle by the hand. 'We'll be back in a minute,' she said to me.
I ignored her. I knew what a minute meant to Michelle. I knew what it meant when the Prof didn't call in.
It was two ginger ales and a half-dozen cigarettes before they came out of the ladies' room, Michelle still leading Belle by the hand. They both sat across from me. I had to look twice. Belle's soft face was sharpened, different. Her eyes looked set farther apart, bigger. Her cheekbones stood out, her tiny mouth was more generous. And her hair was pulled over to one side, tied with Michelle's scarf.
'You look beautiful,' I said.
'You really like it?' she asked.
'Honey, face it, you're a traffic-stopper,' Michelle told her. 'All it takes is a little work.'
'Michelle, you're a doll,' Belle said.
'They all say that.' Michelle smiled. 'Don't they, Burke?'
'Among other things.'
Michelle was in too good a mood to pay attention to me. 'Stripes,' she said to Belle. 'Vertical stripes. You're big enough to be two showgirls, sweetie. And watch the waist -you cinch it too tight, your hips look huge.
'He likes my hips,' Belle said, smiling at me.
'All lower-class men like big hips, honey. Don't pay attention to him.'
Belle looked at me. 'You've got some family. A little black brother and a big Chinese one. And a gorgeous sister.'
Michelle flashed her perfect smile. 'It's the truth, girl.' She gave each of us a kiss. 'I've got to go to work - my baby needs violin lessons.'
Belle kissed her back. 'Thanks, Michelle. For everything.'
'Fry their brain cells, honey,' she said, 'and watch the walk.'
A quick over-the-shoulder wave and she was gone.
46
