I’d begged them to take me-I asked him, ‘Shouldn’t we do something? Dad, shouldn’t we?’”
Clay’s voice cracked and Erica felt tears stinging her eyes, imagining it.
“And he told me, ‘Son, you don’t step into trouble like that if it isn’t yours. Just look away.’”
“What did you do?”
Clay put the car into gear, pulling away from the curb and popping on his headlights. “I looked away. Like you said, I was just fourteen. What was I supposed to do?”
“Did anything happen to you? How did you get home?”
Clay stopped at a red light and Erica glanced up, seeing a crowd of colored people crossing the street. She sank down in her seat without even thinking about it and Clay looked over at her and laughed.
“You’ve lived in this city your whole life. What are you afraid of?”
Erica straightened in her seat, crossing her arms and frowning at him. “Nothing. I was just… getting more comfortable.”
“Sure.” Clay chuckled, giving the car a hard shot of gas as he pulled away when the light turned green. “You ever been to the Blue Haven?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.” Clay pulled around the corner and parked the car in a dimly lit lot. The music emanating from the back of the building made the ground tremble beneath Erica’s feet. The street was cobblestone and she followed behind Clay as they went around to the front.
“Welcome to Black Bottom,” Clay whispered into her ear as he reached for the door handle of the Blue Haven. The neon sign above the entrance told her that much. A blackboard out front had Sonnyboy Williamson Appearing All Week written in chalk. “The cops won’t even come down here.”
“Okay, now I’m scared.” She grabbed for his hand as he opened the door, the music blasting them both.
“Don’t be. I’m here.” He grinned and pulled her in. “Everyone knows everyone on Hastings Street.”
“Do they know you?”
“Yeah, they know me.” Clay waved to the woman tending bar. She dropped him a slow wink and raised her painted-on eyebrows at Erica trailing behind him in the smoke-filled haze of the darkened bar. There was a band playing up front and lots of crammed in tables filled with patrons slapping their knees and rocking along. They were the only white people in the place.
Clay pulled out a chair for her at a two-person table near the wall and she quickly sat in it, hoping she might blend right into it. Clay looked like he was enjoying himself, more at her expense than anything else.
“This whole street was jumping in the heyday,” he said over the music. “It’s dying now. They’re killing it with a freeway.”
“Getcha?” The waitress appeared with a pad and a pen and a skirt so short it made Erica blush.
“Two beers. Schlitz.” Clay pulled out his wallet, handing over two dollars. The waitress eyeballed Erica, looking like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just took Clay’s money and came back with two glasses from the tap, putting them on the table.
Erica wasn’t quite old enough to drink, and she was pretty sure Clay wasn’t either, but they sat at the table and drank beer and talked and no one came over and bothered them or told them to leave.
“We can go in their stores and clubs. But they’re not allowed in ours. Why is that, do you think?” Clay wondered out loud. He leaned forward in his chair toward her and she could smell the beer on his breath. “You know the KKK is alive and well in Detroit, don’t you? Some of our city council members still wear white after Labor Day.”
“Shhh!” Erica glanced around. “You can’t say that in here!”
“Do you think black people don’t know about the KKK?”
“Clay! Hush!”
“Got a sweet home Tennessee born girl like me here to sing the blues and steal your heart,” said the man at the mic. “Please welcome Miss Aretha Franklin.”
The young girl that stepped up onto the stage barely reached the microphone. She had big, dark wet eyes and her hair was wrapped around her head like a small, black beehive.
“She’s not even old enough to be in here,” Erica whispered.
“You’re right.” Clay squinted at the stage as the music started. “That’s the little girl who sings at the New Bethel Church. She’s the pastor’s daughter. I don’t think she’s quite fourteen. What’s she doing here at one in the morning?”
She might have looked small, but when the girl opened her mouth and began to sing the whole place went up in a stunned cheer. How could such a powerful voice be coming from that little bit of a girl? Erica met Clay’s eyes, both of them staring, open mouthed and too stunned to speak.
It was an old gospel song, with Sonnyboy’s soulful blues harp wailing behind, but he couldn’t compete with the girl’s voice. Just when they thought she couldn’t take them any higher, or push her voice any lower, just when they thought she was done toying with them like a cat with its paw on a mouse’s tail, she would come back even harder and knock the whole place on its behind.
She only did three songs, and Erica leaned over to say, “It’s past her bedtime!” to Clay, who laughed, still clapping and whistling in the wake of the young girl’s performance. Sonnyboy picked it up again, knocking his music out of the park. Erica had never listened to much blues, although she recognized the sound. Her father’s gallery had done a whole show on the roots of rock n roll, tracing it back to the Delta blues.
Erica slid her chair closer to Clay’s, feeling her thigh brush his. “This music is hot.”
He nodded, glancing at her, noticing that her blouse was still unbuttoned, dangerously low. She saw him looking and fanned herself with her napkin.
“It makes me want to take my clothes off.”
His eyes lit up and he grinned. “Let’s go do that.”
They left their beers half full on the table and rushed out the door, both of them in desperate hurry to get to the car. Clay unlocked her side and Erica didn’t give him a chance to go around to his.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She grabbed his collar, reaching through and pulling up the lock on the back door of the passenger’s side.
He shook his head and protested as she slammed the passenger door closed and opened the back door, but he let her push him in and crawl in behind him.
“We really should park somewhere else,” he said before she kissed him full on the mouth, throwing her arms around his neck and letting him take her full weight.
“What’s the matter? I thought you liked living dangerously.”
“Is that a challenge?” Clay took his gum out of his mouth and pressed it to the glass with his thumb. “If we get arrested, I’m telling them this was all your idea.”
“You’re such a gentleman.” Erica laughed. “Now shut up and kiss me.”
It didn’t matter, in the end, where they were parked, because the windows were steamed up completely by the time they had stripped down to their underwear, kissing with thrusting tongues, limbs entwined, bodies slippery with sweat already in anticipation. The whole car smelled like sex and Erica loved it, wrapping herself around Clay, feeling him hard between her thighs, the bulge in his boxers rubbing against the crotch of her panties, creating the most delicious friction.
“You like that?” Clay watched her face, seemingly delighted by what he found there.
“You know what I’d like better?”
“Hm,” Clay mused. “Another beer? The Tigers to win the World Series? The end of the Cold War?”
She shook her head, grinning. “Something far more miraculous.”
“Well now you have to tell me.”
“Let me show you.” Erica slithered down onto the floor, settling herself amidst their discarded clothes, centering herself between his thighs.
She slid his boxers down, letting him spring free, and Clay watched her with growing interest as she took him in her hand, stroking him lightly, nice and easy, liking the way he moved his hips in response, eyes half-closed, mouth slightly open.
When she put her mouth on it, Clay nearly jumped out of his skin, thrusting up involuntarily, making her gag.
“Holy hell!” he gasped. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! You just surprised me!”
