“Howdy do,” Willie Frank said, grinning. He stretched out his hand as we approached the couch. He shook Odell’s and kissed mine. He was only in his early or middle thirties, but three of his front teeth were missing and the ones he had left had chewing tobacco stains. He was still fairly good-looking with his baby blue eyes and thick blond hair.
“Nice to meet you,” I chirped as I sat down next to him. His clothes were neat and clean, but he smelled like stale tobacco.
“How you doing?” Odell said cheerfully. There was plenty of room on the couch, but he plopped down at the opposite end.
“Milton, get out here! Our new neighbors is here!” Yvonne yelled over her shoulder. Almost immediately, her chubby, plain-featured husband shuffled into the room. He was holding ajar even bigger than the one in Willie Frank’s hand.
“How y’all doing? Odell, it’s good you could make it,” Milton said, stumbling across the floor. Odell stood up and shook his hand. “Joyce, it’s good to see you again.” Milton sat down on a footstool facing the couch and Yvonne stood in the middle of the floor.
“Um, I brought y’all some tea cakes,” I said, handing the plate to her. Her long, thick hair was in a ponytail. She was so pretty, she didn’t need make-up, but she had on some blood-red lipstick and enough rouge for two other women. The blue sundress she had on was so thin I could almost see through it. Milton had on a pair of dusty overalls and a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. He was also barefoot and so was Yvonne. After we’d made love before we left our house, Odell put on a fresh pair of black pants and a white shirt, and I put on a lime green dress and pumps I usually wore to church, so we looked out of place. Based on the shabby beige couch, lamps on the end tables with no shades, and a huge, cheap, framed picture of Moses parting the Red Sea on the wall right next to one of two knights fighting with swords, I could already tell that these people were not very sophisticated. After living next door to the stuffy old Copelands and having to walk on eggshells every time I got close to this house, I couldn’t wait to see what kind of relationship we’d have with a bold, fun-loving couple like Yvonne and Milton.
“Thank you. I love me some tea cakes. It’s been a while since we had some. I can cook a mean pot of greens and any kind of meat, but when it come to baking, I still need a lot of practice,” Yvonne said, rolling her eyes. “Well, Joyce, like I promised you this evening, let me get you and Odell a drink—on the house.”
Yvonne skittered over to a shabby wooden crate on the floor in a corner and took out a large, long-necked bottle and two jars. “We still got a little unpacking to do,” she explained, as she set the jars on the coffee table in front of us and poured a bluish white liquid into each one.
Odell drank first. After a mild belch, he cleared his throat and rubbed his nose. “Ooh wee! That’s real good,” he swooned, smiling. It was the best homemade whiskey I’d ever tasted, and the most potent. I got an instant buzz. Odell took another sip and continued. “So, Milton, since you and Yvonne don’t work real jobs, bootlegging must be paying off, huh?”
Willie Frank snickered. Milton gasped and hollered, “Bootlegging is cool, but we work real jobs too.” He took a long pull from his jar and then let out a belch that made Odell’s sound like a sigh.
“Oh? What else do y’all do?” I asked.
“Well, like most colored folks, me and Yvonne been working ‘real jobs’ since we was youngbloods. Farm labor mostly. We work at Cunningham’s Grill these days. Yvonne wait on tables and I’m a fry cook,” Milton said proudly, puffing out his chest. “It ain’t no fancy place, but the food is good so we do good business anyway.”
“Well do say. A waitress and a cook . . . uh . . . in that little place over by the city dump? Hmmm. I don’t know about the food or the service because I’ve never eaten there and never will,” I declared. “A woman that goes to my church said she got food poisoning when she ate there. Me and Odell usually go to Mosella’s when we eat out.”
“I ain’t never heard about nobody getting food poisoning at Cunningham’s Grill, but my cousin said she seen a fly in her peach cobbler the last time she ate at Mosella’s,” Milton shot back.
“Oh well. I guess no restaurant is perfect,” I quipped.
“Cunningham’s sure ain’t perfect, but we like it,” Yvonne threw in. “What school you work for, Joyce? And ain’t school out until September?”
“I work at Mahoney Street Elementary, fourth grade. I love what I do so much, I don’t mind being there for summer school, too. I do it every year.”
“Woo wee. At least you in the nicest school in town for colored kids. Me and Yvonne had to attend classes at that old church out by the cemetery that they used for a school on weekdays.”
“You a teacher, Joyce?” Willie Frank asked.
“A teacher? Goodness gracious no. I’m just a teacher’s aide,” I chuckled.
“What is a teacher’s aide job?” Willie Frank and Milton said at the same time.
I told them the same thing I had told Odell when he’d asked me the same question on our first date. “My job is real easy and the pay is pretty decent. I wouldn’t work anyplace else.”
“Joyce, it’s all the same to me. I ain’t never been inside no schoolhouse nohow,” Willie Frank grunted. “But I can read and write just as good as anybody.”
“Oh? Where did you learn?”
“In prison. A few
