“Oh,” I said again. “I never would have guessed that. You don’t look like a criminal.”
Willie Frank tee-heed. “Lady, let me tell you something. Criminals don’t look like criminals until they get arrested and convicted. I took my punishment like a man, and I swear on my granddaddy’s grave”—he paused and raised his hand—“I ain’t been in a lick of trouble since the state turned me loose.”
Knowing I was in the same room with an ex-convict made me a little nervous, but I managed not to show it. I was glad Yvonne spoke next.
“We don’t make much at the restaurant. But we like it and the boss man lets us take home some of the leftover food at the end of each day. We just started bootlegging about a year ago. Us both working two jobs was the only way we could scrape up the money to move here.”
I was overjoyed when the conversation took a slight detour. Willie Frank talked about how much he enjoyed operating a still and selling alcohol to Milton and Yvonne, and a few other bootleggers. Odell jumped in and bragged about his job managing MacPherson’s and how much he enjoyed it. “I don’t have to work half as hard as I did when I worked on farms and in Aunt Mattie’s whorehouse. I could do the job I got now in my sleep if I had to.”
“I wish somebody had gave me a good break so I could be doing a real job,” Willie Frank whined.
“Let me tell you something, my friend: Good breaks is what some people get when they happen to be in the right place at the right time. With me, it wasn’t that. It was hard work and perseverance. I didn’t even make it to high school but I am living proof that anybody—even a colored man—can succeed and land a dream job like mine if they really try.” Odell puffed out his chest and there was a smug look on his face. I was proud of him and how far he had come. What I didn’t like was how he never mentioned my role in him getting such a “dream job.”
Milton shifted in his seat, and Yvonne started coughing and scratching the side of her neck. From the corner of my eye I saw Willie Frank roll his eyes.
“The bottom line is, it don’t really matter what nobody had to do to be successful,” Milton offered. “Getting there is all that matters.”
“That’s a good point, I guess,” Odell said with a sigh. “But what made y’all want to get off into bootlegging, of all things?”
“There’s good tax-free money in running a speakeasy,” Milton said quickly. “But it’s a fickle business. We can make a lot of money one night, and hardly nothing the next night.”
“I’m sure it’s risky, too. Y’all have to worry about the law getting involved or hoodlums causing trouble,” I commented.
“Pffft!” Yvonne gave me a dismissive wave. “We ain’t never had no problems like that. Some of the bootleggers in Branson been in business for twenty, thirty years and the law ain’t never bothered them, so that’s one thing we ain’t worried about. As far as hoodlums causing a ruckus, we only let in folks we know and we don’t know nobody crazy enough to thug us. At the end of the day, all we want to do is get together with people we like and make some money. Let me get y’all another drink.”
Odell and I had two more drinks—on the house—and we discussed a few more subjects. But when everybody started yawning and slurring their words, I told Odell it was time for us to leave.
Chapter 27
Odell
“I HAD TO FORCE MYSELF TO KEEP FROM LAUGHING WHEN MILTON called his business a ‘speakeasy.’ ” Joyce snickered as we made our way back to our place. It was a few minutes after nine p.m.
“Tell me about it,” I said as I clicked on the living room light. “And what about all that tacky furniture in the living room? I’ve seen better-looking stuff at the city dump.”
We sat down on the couch at the same time. “What do you expect tacky people to have, Odell? I almost fainted when they gave us drinks in jelly jars! And what about that musty hillbilly?” Joyce howled with laughter.
I groaned and shook my head. And then I howled even louder and longer than Joyce. “White trash to the bone! He probably done slept with every female relative in his family, including his mama. Low-level white folks like them is the only kind you can expect to associate with colored people like Yvonne and Milton.”
“That’s the truth. There was enough dirt under his fingernails to plant turnip seeds.” Joyce screwed up her face and shuddered.
“And what about that shelf paper they got in the toilet to wipe your butt off with? That’s almost as bad as them corn cobs I had to use when I was growing up in the boondocks. Milton and Yvonne couldn’t be more countrified if they tried.”
“They remind me of puppies nobody wants. Oh well. They are still God’s children and I like them anyway. One thing I admire about them is the way they show their love to each other. The whole time we were over there, Yvonne looked at Milton like he was something good to eat. I could tell that he is hopelessly in love with her, too.”
“You already told me something like that. But what man wouldn’t be in love with a pretty woman like Yvonne?” I didn’t put my foot in my mouth too often and when I did, I took it out as soon as I could. I knew how self-conscious Joyce still was about her looks, so the comment I’d
