A love story you have not heard before.
Chapter Three
"The Magic City"
After Bo hollered, Harry stopped and waited for the burly yard-foreman to catch up. Bo was grinning his standard, jack-o-lantern, broken-tooth smile.
"Well, well -- look who thinks he can take a week off and stay gone the whole summer! Think you can come walking right in here and start back to work?"
"I start Wednesday." Harry was not really enjoying having to stare down Bo's watery eyes. "Already signed on."
"Rest of us start the week on Monday. Today! Ever hear that word? Monday?"
"I got things to do first."
"Yeah, I'll bet you do! Felt winter coming up there in the panhandle on your little hobby-farm, huh? Did yuh? Getting chilly up there already? Time to come running back to Miami like all the other snowbirds? Well, maybe one day you'll become a man, Harry, yeah, maybe...."
"Now that we're on the subject of manhood, where's Timmy?" Harry looked around quickly and locked eyes with Bo again. Timmy was Bo's gay son.
Bo pulled his stubby, pink hands out of the pockets of his porky, olive-drab coveralls. "Timmy's doing just fine. Yeah. He's going to be plant manager! You didn't know that, did you! He's going to be my boss!."
Harry knew about it. Timmy was one of the few people there he could relate to, discuss anything with. To have him appointed the new manager was a gift from Heaven. "I'm glad, Bo. He'll help you get your shit together. He doesn't have bad breath, either." Harry made a point of backing away.
"I'm going to make you suffer this time, Harry. Make you wish you never left your wife and kids all alone up there. You'll see in a minute. Your new job. How long you staying on? Till spring? Would it be asking too much if you stayed long enough to finish the job this time?"
"I don't know. What's the job? Maybe I'll stay until they get the new trucks. They're going to let me drive. Timmy promised."
"In your wettest dreams, Harry. Not Timmy's decision, anyway. Come on!" Bo led Harry around the converted hangers to the far side of the yard near the chain-link fence – and the razor wire which separated the thriving marine repair business from the real world of food-stamp junkies, dope-shooters and all the other non-creative units of God's menagerie.
Bo seemed uncommonly chipper. "Everyone of these here used Warren Craft are getting new engines, new outdrives, new electronics. One at a time. And every one of these boats belongs to the same Cuban family. Big contract. Too big for the barn, Harry. It's all going to be done outside, right here."
Harry looked around at the row of gray, twenty-four foot hulls, some of them already stripped of their gear, all on trailers. They hadn't been there when he'd left for home.
"Yup!" Bo gave Harry a good slap on the back. "All right here, outside in the sun, in the rain, in the cold when it gets cold, ha ha! See? The Cubans already brought in this portable boom. See the new meter-pole? Just for this project. Shit, you might be able to plug ten or twelve extension cords into it, you reckon? This was all set up while you were playing hobby-farm, Harry. Timmy's idea. This contract's going to run a long time and Timmy didn't want the shop and the hangers tied up with it. You're going to work out in the healthy, fresh air! Great, huh? Oh! There's more! Love it, love it! The Cubans have the right to provide labor. Cost plus, for us. A big plus, though, Timmy says." Another slap on the back. "I thought you'd like the last part best. You speak Spanish, Harry?"
"Uhhhh...."
"Don't frown, Harry, it makes you look even uglier. Everything'll be okay! You'll be their nigger but on our clock."
Harry turned away and walked between two of the hulls, the bow-decks over his head, and stood next to the fence. He hooked his fingers through the links. Fuck it, if I don't like it I can always quit.... It was recess time at the elementary school across the littered street, and the playground was full of children, all different colors. The pay is good.... Tall crane booms behind the squat school building were swinging back-and-forth from the salvage yard on the Miami River. There are other jobs.... Harry couldn't keep his eyes off the happy kids across the street. Timmy would be a big help. He was also a dope smoker and ex-acid head – an OK person – never mind that Harry didn't have a limp bone in his own body. The two genuinely liked each other and Timmy would back him up on stuff.
Harry watched some cute little colored girls with thick braids with bows in them climb around the monkey bars, white panties flashing.
"Harry – you ever take any of them nigger women you're always dreaming about back to the farm with ya?"
Harry jumped. Bo had startled him, coming up from behind like that. "You know what I dream about, too, Bo?"
"Timmy told me. He tells me everything."
"Everything?" Harry laughed.
Bo hawked up a lunker and spit it cleanly through the fence webbing, a skill which Harry had to believe was pure luck.
"Harry -- you know what each one of those little, chocolate dickweeds in that playground represents?"
"I'll brace myself."
"Every one of them represents some big, buck nigger pumping come up a colored woman. At taxpayer expense!" Bo cocked his head and looked at Harry's face. "Your pale-white peter would-- get lost in that ocean of juice, boy!"
"Mister Bo?"
They turned around. It was Jimmy, the black yard-porter. "Mister Timmy want to see you."
"Sister Timmy," Harry corrected.
"No, No, Harry. Maybe brother Timmy, yah...."
Bo snorted and sauntered off toward the barn, which housed the second-floor office. Harry and Jimmy hugged.
"You back to work, Harry?"
"Yeah. Start Wednesday. You're turning gray, Jim. Gray hair! Ha ha! You're getting old!"
Jimmy picked at Harry's blond mane, which he only tied into a pony-tail when on the job. "What's this, huh?" Jimmy jerked out a hair. "Look gray to me!"
"Lemme see that!" Harry snatched at Jimmy's hand, finally got the long strand of hair, and held it out to the light. "Not as gray as yours."
"I'm older than you!"
"By what? A couple weeks?"
"Old enough not to fall in love with a hooker!" Jimmy immediately changed his tone. "Aw, hell, Harry, I..."
Harry sucked in a deep breath. "I know. It's dumb. Should never've told ya."
The bell rang across the street and they watched the little kids herd in.
"You ever catch up with her?"
"No.... Pretty dumb, I know."
"It's okay.... Normal, yah."
"Dumb." But real! "Pining away like a lost puppy over something you can't own."
"Harry, jus' between you an' me...."
"Okay. What?"
"You know Kathy? In payroll?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"Brother – a day don' go by an' I ain' dreamin' on that white bitch. An' on weekends, yah. An' at night, layin' beside the wife that love me, Harry."
They hugged each other again. A red, rental LeBaron convertible was creeping by on the street outside the fence, top down in a rough neighborhood, a family, looking lost, all heads staring at the two men and their male embrace.
"You're in Miami!" Harry hollered. Jimmy laughed and the driver stomped the gas pedal.
The two slapped fives. "Hey, I brought you a present, Jimmy!"
"A bag of your stuff?"
"Yup. Buds, too."
"How much you want for it?"
"Come on, Bro! This is a freebie! Part of my tithe!"
"Your tithe?"
"I'm giving away ten percent for thanks for a good harvest."
Jimmy looked almost regal with his tall body erect for a change, the little goatee.... "Harry, you the firs' white man I ever could love."
Over in employee parking, the lot was so tight the two could barely squeeze into Love Jones' cab through the wedged-in doors. Harry dug down behind the seat and pulled out a garbage bag full of ounce and half-ounce pint Ziplocs. The air had been squeezed out of the bags -- the product packed at the bottom. Gold, with flecks of red and bright green – Harry was so proud of it! And glad he had stayed the summer to do it right. Each year bringing in a higher quality – learning the tricks of selective pollination. They pulled open a bag and Harry let Jimmy sniff it first. So exotic! And the stickiness of the resin....
When Jimmy eased out of Harry's pickup with a freebie bag bulging in his shirt, he stuck his head in the window. "You goin' to look for your little pro now?"
"For sure, brother!"
"Harry -- ain' nothin' for sure."
"You got high just smelling it, Jimmy."
They laughed, and Harry cranked the engine. Love Jones sounded so fine!
Out on the streets, Harry turned on the stereo FM and nailed Diana's show right on. Diana -- princess of WEDR, "Soul Star 99".
Hear Diana's voice and know God.
"Hello out there! This is Diana on a Monday morning. Uh-huh. I made it to work -- did you? Uh-huh, mmmmmm -- well, for the rest of you who didn't make it to work this morning, you can get it together now. You can do it! Thank me later. Call them up now and tell them you're ON YOUR WAY! You can do it. You can. And payday will be here before you know it!"
"I love you, Diana!" Harry shouted.
"I love you, too."
Harry shivered with the cold bumps rushing down his arms and back. And it wasn't the first time this had happened. Surely the angels were watching his channel! After pounding his forearms against the steering wheel in pure joy, Harry reached for his Igloo "PlayMate" and a Corona. (He had an antique Coca Cola bottle opener screwed to the dashboard identical to the one mounted on the outside of the cab). He began to nod and jerk to the sounds bursting from the eight speakers, two of them hand-made bazookas. "You always play good shit, Diana!"
Slow down. Be cool.... Traffic was light, and Harry's eyes cruised both sides of the street after he turned onto Twenty-Seventh Avenue. He dropped down to Fifteenth. Back to Seventeenth. Allapattah. Liberty City. Not a good place to change a tire in. He crawled past a sassy-stepping colored girl in red short-shorts and a red halter top, black heels, hoop earrings. But she was on the sidewalk, not the curb, and Harry wasn't sure. He blew her a kiss as he passed by and saw her waving in the mirror, flashy smile. Traffic had picked up out of nowhere and the vehicle behind him honked. Harry stopped the pickup. You'll just have to go around me. But as he was stepping down the lady trotted up to the car behind, leaned into the window for a moment, and got it. Damn!
Cruising again. He passed a white girl in a little, frilly-white dress walking the curb. Harry blew her a kiss but kept on going. "Got me a white woman at home, Honey...." He rolled up the windows against the suffocating, thick smell of hot tar, and stopped long enough to allow a roofing truck to back out into the street. Two, middle-aged prostitutes wearing wigs knocked on Harry's window but he waved them away. He ignored a similar pair farther down. Where are the foxes? Where, oh where? Come on, it's almost lunch hour! Harry remembered that he was hungry, and pulled into the neighborhood Burger king. While locking up, he saw an elegantly dressed, young black woman step out of the side door, hesitate, look back in, and step out again. She was still there, just outside the door, when Harry walked up. Small, white purse clasped in both hands. White, modest heels and white stockings (probably panty-hose, Harry thought, always disappointed with that fact-of-life); white knit dress (ample bosom for a young one, he thought, always checking); pretty, pretty face; tightly drawn-back hair topped with a white pill-box hat from which a short, white, open-mesh veil hung just over her piercing black eyes. Maybe just a touch on the porky side, Harry was thinking, right up to her now. And what had looked like a purse was a white-leather Bible. So, so pretty face!
"Jesus loves you!" She flashed him a truly brilliant smile.
Harry was half-way through the door and he stopped. Their eyes locked, hers with the advantage of the veil. His heart speeded up, pounding now, knowing. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came.
"Hey!" A handsome, young Hispanic with a lady-friend on his arm, in a hurry to get inside. "Do we need a bucket of cold water or what?!" The girlfriend looked down at the tiles and smiled.
"Sorry!" Harry stepped back out of the way – back outside. Outside with the devil-black Jesus lady. Eyes still locked.
"You're beautiful!" Harry said.
"All God's children are beautiful!" She tucked the white Bible under one arm and clasped her hands together with a clap, her eyes still into his. Harry had to look away. The diamond engagement ring on her finger flashed in the midday sun. Harry's eyes returned to hers.
"Well, I don't know about that. I know I'm hungry. You hungry? Come on! I'm buying! And it's cooler inside."
"Jesus loves me!" She sounded so happy. "Okay! You go first."
That was easy.... Harry led the way inside, to the counter.
"Thank you, Jesus," she said behind him.
Two bacon-deluxe-cheeseburgers and two coffees later and they were still sitting at their table near the side door, obviously admiring each other. People would look at them and smile as they came and went, and Harry and the lady would smile back.
"...and my daddy said that they named me 'Sunday' not just because he was a preacher and I was born on a Sunday but because I was conceived on a Sunday, too! Only Mama would always tell him to hush-up when he would mention that."
"My daddy's a preacher, too," Harry said. "Really. Big church in Chicago. I haven't seen him since I was a teenager, though. Well, once after that."
"I knew it! I knew you were a brother in the faith when I first..."
"No, no. I don't believe in any of it."
There was a brief silence. They were back to looking into each other's eyes, and Harry was amazed at the power of it. He asked her how old she was.
"I'm twenty!" she said proudly. "Just turned twenty!"
Harry shook his head. "You sure are a beautiful twenty. I'm thirty-eight. My name is Harry."
Sunday's smile faded, but just for a moment. "You look so -- I thought you were younger."
"I am."
"Oh, now, what does that mean?"
Harry was thinking about the engagement ring. "You live with your parents?"
"On weekends when I can get up there. My home is in Tallahassee. I have a state job here, secretary, the library downtown, you know, off Flagler? There are so many souls to save in this city."
"Yeah? Ha! Well, guess what. I go through Tallahassee on the way home. I live in the panhandle. I have a place here, too, in Miami, but I just lease that."
"The panhandle? Do you have a family there? Oh, of course you do! I'm so stupid. I mean, I'm only talking with you to tell you about Jesus, so, but..."
Harry reached out across the table and took her hand. Her hand was like velvet, and touching her gave him such a rush. His thumb brushed against the sharp diamond of her ring. "And you're engaged, so...."
"Oh! Silly! I just wear that to keep the brothers off, you know, but it doesn't do much good. They all think they're entitled to a portion. They come up to my desk, which is just up past the stairs on the second floor, next to the elevator, and they say: 'Hey, Baby, let's get down for lunch today!' Or they say: 'Hey, Mama, what's on the menu tonight!' – they say stuff like that and I, well, I mean, my idea of a good man, well, he's a dream actually, but I know that Jesus is looking for him for me right now and that my dream will come true. The Lord always provides, Harry, and that's a fact."
Harry was already thinking about their trip to Tallahassee.
"Tallahassee," he said, interrupting her tireless but promising monologue. "Sunday! You know, I really love Miami. I don't go home much to see my family anymore. It's hard to explain, but...
"You don't?"
"I could try to explain it, but.... Maybe you'd understand if you could picture what it's like to be married to a white woman...." (Harry, hating himself for saying that but not actually loathing himself).
Sunday studied him, fighting back a smile.
Harry pressed on. "And the trip from here to my land there is six-hundred miles, so far when you're alone, the drive, just for a weekend. But if I had somebody to enjoy the drive with me I could see the kids more often."
"Really?"
"After Tallahassee, see, I'd only have another hundred miles or so to go."
Sunday clapped her hands. "The Lord provides! Always!"
"Well, maybe He does!"
"Your children miss you, Harry, I know!"
"Yeah.... Do you like to travel?"
"Oh! I love it! And the Lord is going to provide me with my own car soon, also! But not right now, I'm sure. I'm praying for it, though!"
"Yeah, well...."
"My oldest sister is married to a white man. He's a lawyer in Fort Meyers. And I have two younger sisters. One is in college, FSU, and she's dating a white man. He has Sunday dinner with us back home, but I keep on thinking maybe he's just using us, you know, for the meals. My brother won't come by for dinner when he's there."
"Yeah...."
"Oh! I left my purse in my desk. I have a little notebook and pen. We could exchange phone numbers, and maybe we could make some kind of plan."
"Want me to drive you back to work?"
Sunday clapped her hands together with such joy that Harry wondered if there could be a more cheerful person on earth. And the dark valley of cleavage above the third unbuttoned button of her dress -- weren't there just two open buttons when they walked in?
"How did you get here, Sunday?"
"I had to take a cab. I only have an hour and... Well, this man was supposed to meet me here but... I met him at the library. I should have figured." Sunday was still smiling.
And she loved his pickup, and she hummed and sang a little gospel tune, low and sweet, while he drove her downtown. Parked in a bus zone, they exchanged phone numbers, and Harry leaned toward her, thinking to attempt a kiss. It seemed like she was just about to lean toward him to receive it but she pulled back just in time and he took her hand and kissed the finger with the ring on it. He watched her mount the steps to the library building. So! He would be going back home already for the next weekend! Too bad Sunday had a Bible study group after work. She had invited him, but.... On the other hand, what was the hurry if the Lord was sure to provide.
clunk!
Harry's body jerked at the sound and he jumped out of Love Jones and looked around. A black kid wearing a woolen boggin on his head had just whizzed by on his bicycle and tossed an empty coke bottle into the back of the pickup. "Jesus loves you, motherfucker!" Harry yelled. He looked around him again, checking out the colorful human cornucopia of downtown Miami. Not one hostile face. An approaching bus beep-beeped and Harry clambered back in to vacate the space at the curb. A Cuban pickup (lots of ladders racked across the top) stopped to let Harry into traffic.
He pictured Sunday in a white garter belt, white hose (real stockings), a white, lacy bra with her blue-black nipples showing through.... "Jesus loves me, this I know," Harry sang at the top of his voice. "'Cause the Bible tells me so!" At the corner, an old, Hispanic lady loaded with shopping bags, turned her head and smiled.
<end chapter-3>
Copyright 1979, 2005 John Aalborg
All rights reserved.
Email: aalborg@jbaal.com
Chapter Four
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Rev: 17 March 2005