'A blue dress and blue heels.'
'Was she wearing stockings?'
'I think so.' I didn't want him to think I was looking too closely.
'What color?'
'Blue too, I think.'
He smiled with all his teeth. 'That's her. Tell me, did she wear a pin here, on her chest?'
'On the other side, but yeah. It was red with little green dots in it.'
'You want another drink, Mr. Rawlins?'
'Sure.'
He poured that time.
'She's a beautiful woman, isn't she?'
'You wouldn't be lookin' for her if she wasn't.'
'I never knew a woman who could wear perfume where the smell was so slight that you just wanted to get closer to tell what it was.'
Ivory soap, I thought to myself.
He asked me about her makeup and her hair. He told me that she was from New Orleans and that her family was an old French family that traced their heritage to Napoleon. We talked about her eyes for a half hour. And then he started to tell me things that men should never say about their women. Not sex, but he talked about how she'd hold him to her breast when he was afraid and how she'd stand up for him when a shopkeeper or waiter tried to walk over him.
Talking with Mr. Todd Carter was a strange experience. I mean, there I was, a Negro in a rich white man's office, talking to him like we were best friends—even closer. I could tell that he didn't have the fear or contempt that most white people showed when they dealt with me.
It was a strange experience but I had seen it before. Mr. Todd Carter was so rich that he didn't even consider me in human terms. He could tell me anything. I could have been a prized dog that he knelt to and hugged when he felt low.
It was the worst kind of racism. The fact that he didn't even recognize our difference showed that he didn't care one damn about me. But I didn't have the time to worry about it. I just watched him move his lips about lost love until, finally, I began to see him as some strange being. Like a baby who grows to man-size and terrorizes his poor parents with his strength and his stupidity.
'I love her, Mr. Rawlins. I'd do anything to get her back.'
'Well I wish ya luck on that. But I think you better get Albright away from her. He wants that money.'
'Will you find her for me? I'll give you a thousand dollars.'
'What about Albright?'
'I'll tell my associates to fire him. He won't go against us.'
'Suppose he does?'
'I'm a rich man, Mr. Rawlins. The mayor and the chief of police eat at my house regularly.'
'Then why can't they help you?'
He turned away from me when I asked that.
'Find her for me,' he said.
'If you gimme something to hold, say two hundred dollars, I'll give it a try. I ain't sayin' nuthin's gonna come from it. She could be back in New Orleans for all I know.'
He stood up smiling. He touched my hand with his papery grip. 'I'll have Mr. Baxter draw up a check.'
'Uh, sorry, but I need cash.'
He pulled out his wallet and flipped through the bills. 'I have a hundred and seventy-some-odd in here. They could write you a check for the rest.'
'I'll take one-fifty,' I said.
He just took all the money from his wallet and handed it over, mumbling, 'Take it all, take it all.'
And I took it too.
Somewhere along the way I had developed the feeling that I wasn't going to outlive the adventure I was having. There was no way out but to run, and I couldn't run, so I decided to milk all those white people for all the money they'd let go of.
Money bought everything. Money paid the rent and fed the kitty. Money was why Coretta was dead and why DeWitt Albright was going to kill me. I got the idea, somehow, that if I got enough money then maybe I could buy my own life back.
I had to find Frank Green.
