Truths of the Heart Page 10
“Okay, be that way … later tonight, want me to model for you, fool around?”
“No.”
“What's a matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Lot of nothing going on in that baroque head of yours.”
“Want something to drink?”
A bartender with a name tag, Hank, came to where they sat and nodded to them both. “Folks.”
Familiar, Seth nodded back, “Hank.”
Hank said: “You want something, Jude?”
“Coffee, black.”
“You got it.” Hank left. Seth said, “'My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my senses, as though of hemlock I had drunk….'”
“Oh, okay, so who's that from?”
“Keats, Ode to a Nightingale.”
“Good, real good.”
“This is nuts, I don't even know her.”
“Aha, the nothing comes forth, who is she?”
“Some apparition I saw this afternoon, can't get her out of my head.”
“Like wow, tell me more.”
“Grad class.”
“What you doing taking a grad class?”
“Long story.”
“Oh, okay, so give me a one line sketch.”
“No.”
“No? You brought this up.”
“I don't know.”
Jude's coffee served in a white inch-thick mug, she said to Seth, “Come on Tru, tell me.”
“Later.”
“Come on.”
“No.”
“That's what happens when you hang around with grad students.”
“What?”
“You lose your relevance.”
“What's that mean?”
“I don't know, heard a professor say it.”
“Com. 501 professor, never saw anything like her before, never been numbed at first sight before.”
“What?”
“I've never been numbed....”
“I heard you.” She looked into his eyes, “You're serious, aren't you?”
“Yes … I can't get her out of my mind. It's insane. I want to be in her thoughts, look into her eyes, smell her, touch her, do for her … a sharp edge to it, a biting want that goes back to primitive needs, before fire, raw meat and blood.”
“Damn man, I'm getting excited.”
“It is scary.”
“As they say in Ethiopia, when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, you're in amore land.”
“I don't like pizza.”
“I know.”
“How'd Ethiopia get into this?”
“My father's homeland.”
“I thought he was Chinese.”
“That was his mother's side.”
“Who was the Indian?”
“My mother, Sioux, full blooded.”
“So what are you?”
“Dangerous.”
“Oh.”
“What about that slut Laura.”
“Natalia, be nice.”
She looked at the time, “Seven-thirty, I gotta go play one more set, wanna hear anything special?”
“O Sole Mio.”
“Forget it.”
Jude went to the stage, took up her violin and began playing hauntingly, the song, “Laura”.
Seth looked at her. She frowned.
To Seth, Jude was elegantly beautiful and glowed with honesty and virtue and he knew, beyond the outward worldly bluff, she was innocent and he would die to protect her. As she played, his mind went to Rachelle. He remembered what he had just said to Jude about Rachelle: a sharp edge, a biting want that went back to a primitive need, before fire, raw meat and blood, surviving, warmth, shelter … how can that be?
Jude finished playing her last number for the night, collected her tips, joined Seth again, threw the money (mostly paper, a few coins) on the bar and began counting.
In a minute she said, “Fifty-one bucks, Tru. If I keep this up, we could elope in a year, Tahiti, you could be Paul Gauguin.”
“I never liked Gauguin and I don't think they have a music department at the University of Tahiti.”
“I don't think there's a University of Tahiti.”
“So forget it.”
“Why don't we go to my place, get a pizza?”
“I hate pizza.”
“I keep forgetting. You know, you may be the only person on the face of the earth who doesn't like pizza … maybe if they made them square.”
“Keep it up.”
“Okay, how about Betty’s?”
“Great, you buy.”
“Hah.”
****
Windows down, warm late August night full of heady autumn smells, driving to Betty’s, Jude darting in and out of light traffic, Seth said, Would you please slow down.”
“Touchy touchy.”
In ten minutes Jude pulled in front of an ancient clapboard house on Lansing's north side. Betty’s, specializing in soul food, was the downstairs of the house. Betty and Abe Leftwitch lived upstairs. The restaurant, formerly the living/dining area of the house, had a hardwood floor and an assortment of ten yellow topped Formica kitchen tables scattered about. Each table had a complement of covered-in-red-plastic chairs and a bottle of hot sauce. The kitchen was seen through a waist-high 3x6 rectangular hole cut in one of the walls. Through the opening, working a gas stove, oven, and grill; Abe, a tall gray haired African-American, wore a white paper hat. He peered out at Seth for a good ten seconds, then went back to filling orders. A second black person in the kitchen, female, gray hair, wife Betty, took orders at the opening's counter.
One waitress, Abe and Betty's daughter, Sandra—six-foot, shapely, white Betty’s T-shirt, short black skirt, leather sandals—waited on tables.
Seth and Jude stopped a moment to study the special menu items scrawled in white chalk on a 3x4 blackboard:
SPECIALS: $5.95
Greens and fried chicken
Lima beans with ham hocks
Hogs Maws and head cheese/saltine crackers with hot sauce
Fried Catfish
VEGETABLES:
Fried corn
Stewed okra and tomatoes
Fried cabbage
(carrot salad, hush puppies, cornbread, grits served with all)
DRINKS:
Iced tea, lemon aid, pop, coffee $1.50 (no refills)
Sweet potato pie/slice $1.50
After a minute, Jude and Seth seated themselves at a corner table and Seth said, “Why do they call it Soul Food?”
“Look in my eyes.”
“I see.”
“Trust me.”
“Okay. What are you going to have?”
“Catfish.”
“I think I'll have the ham hocks.”
“Good, now, tell me about the apparition.”
The waitress arrived, said, “Hi, I'm Sandra,” smiled at Seth broadly, and asked for their order.
Seth smiled back.
Jude rolled her eyes and, under the table, kicked Seth in the shins. “He wants the ham hocks, I'll have the catfish.”
Sandra, with a bigger smile to Seth, said, “Anything to drink?”
Seth ordered lemonade, Jude ordered iced tea, and as Sandra swayed away, Seth followed her easy swinging hips.
Jude said, “Forget about it. Her daddy, Abe, the black guy back there sweating over the stove, used to be a prize fighter, hates white boys, he's eyeballing you even as we speak.”
Seth glanced to glaring Abe, said, “I didn't….”
Jude: “So, tell me about the apparition.”
“You wouldn't believe it.”
“Try me”
“No.”
“Adjunct, associate, full professor, what?”
“I don't know.”
“Younger?”
“Older.”
“Some.”
“Some as in one or some as in fifty?”
“Some.”
“Married?”
“Somebody made a wise crack in class about some footb
all player … but I don't know?”
“Don't you think you should know?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
Jude held up her left ring finger, “If she is, there's usually a gold band associated with, depending on one's station in life, in this society, a diamond chip or, in some cases, a load of diamond on this finger.”
“I didn't notice.” Or had I and didn't want to see, he thought.
“You didn't notice?”
“No, I didn't notice.”
“Built?”
“Let's talk about something else.”
“Blonde?”
“Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“Honey colored.”
“White?”
He looked at her.
“White … what's her name?”
Sandra arrived with the food and drinks, Seth said, “That was fast, looks good.”
Sandra plopped Jude's food down and cooed at Seth as she placed his main course and drink in front of him. “Anything else?” she said to him warmly.
“I....”
“You have a customer over there, honey,” Jude nodded toward the front of the room.
Sandra touched Seth's shoulder, “Just smile if you need anything,” and left.
“Amazing,” Jude ate a bit of catfish and said, “What's this apparition's name?”
“Rachelle, Zannes, Bostich, Doctor.”
“In what order?”
“Doctor Rachelle Zannes Bostich.”
“Two last names, she's married.”
“Could be her father's name?”
“Let's drop it.”
“How old did you say she was?”
“Eighty-five.”
“Cane?”
“Walker.”
“Is she less then fifty?”
“How would I know?”
“Guess.”
“How do you guess age?”
“You count the number of days you think she's been living on the earth; in my case how few days, have so many good years left to give, sire children, good stock.”
“Ha ha ha.”
“So how old do you think she is?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Let's see, Masters two years, PhD three years, associate prof five years … you know if she's a full professor?”
He shrugged.
“Tenured?”
“Now how would I know that?”
“Probably is … let's see, gotta be at least sixty.”
“Could be.”
“How old are you?”
“Hundred and one.”
“Twenty-six, you're wasting your time, forget it.”
Seth said, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“You are not.”
“Twenty-five.”
“You're twenty-one.”
“Chronologically, but emotionally, physically, mentally, I'm twenty-six”
“How's the catfish?”
Eating, “Good, what do you think you're going to do, get her in the sack and cop an A?”
“It's not like that.”
“Right.”
“It isn't.”
Chewing, Jude said, “I'm thinking of going gay.”
“That's good.”
“Why don't you like me?”
“I love you.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“Not in that way.”
“What is 'not in that way?'”
“Sister.”
“You can't love me like a sister.”
“Why?”
“You're white.”
Finished eating, Sandra cleaning the table, a smile an inch from Seth’s face, asked if he would like some sweet potato pie.
Seth said, “I....”
Jude: “Just coffee, honey, one, we'll share. Bring an extra cup.”
“I can't do that.”
“Okay, bring one cup and two straws.”
Coffee and straws served, Jude and Seth alternately sipped coffee from the same cup.
Seeing he was a thousand miles away, Jude said, “That bad huh?”
“It's insane.”
“You still seeing that Laura slut?”
He turned to the side and crossed his legs.
“That's what I thought. She's a pig.”
“Could we drop it, please?”
“You should.”
Sandra returned and said, “Anything else before I go,” she touched Seth's shoulder, “I get off work in ten minutes.”
Jude: “You know, honey, if you keep molesting my husband like that I'm going to call the cops.”
Standing tall and stiff, Sandra frowned.
“Bring the check,” Jude said.
Sandra slapped the check on the table and Jude trumped it with an American Express card.
On the fifteen minute drive to Seth's apartment Jude lectured on the need to be careful about today's women. She ended by reasserting his need to dump Laura. “She's a slut, I've heard about her, she goes through men like fat through a duck, the minute she owns you, she'll dump on you big time.”
“She doesn't own me.”
“Not what I heard?”
“What did you heard?”
“She's got you eating out of her hand.”
“That's absurd.”
“You're sleeping with her, aren't you?”
“That is none of your business.”
“I'm making it my business.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I know everything.”
“Oh.”
“People come in Pudd'nheads, talk. Anyway, I wish you'd drop her and forget about the egghead professor, we could just go ahead and get married tonight.”
“Drive and please slow down.”
At the corner of Michigan Avenue and Allen Street, they arrived at Seth's place. His apartment was the second floor of a red brick two story building that had seen its better days. The ground level housed Tony's Deli, an Italian food and wine shop. The owner of the building, Tony Leeoda, ran the deli and collected the rent. A narrow stairway led up to Seth's second floor apartment.
Jude pulled to the Allen Street curb and shut off the engine.
Seth said, “What are you doing?”
“I'm coming up for a night cap.”
Jude in the lead, they went up the stairwell, down a short hallway, to Seth's apartment. He opened the door and they entered a small kitchen. The faint odor of turpentine and linseed oil hung in the air. Jude flipped a switch that illuminated an old wooden kitchen table, two burner gas stove, a white sink, and a motel style refrigerator.
Jude said, “I need to freshen up” and went, just past the stove, through a peeling painted white door, to the bathroom.
Seth stepped, beyond the kitchen, to the living area and flipped on another light. The room had two large drape-less windows and a rectangular skylight. One side of the room was Seth’s studio—easel, palette table, paints, turps, rags. The opposite side was dominated by an ancient wood library desk and chair. The desk held a green shaded reading light and computer set-up. The walls had been painted off-white and the floor was covered with cream-colored linoleum. Silver steam heat radiators sat under the windows. On the far end sat a sagging sofa and stuffed red chair worn through on the arms. The sofa setting was rounded out by a rickety coffee table and two end tables. The end tables seemed to sag under the weight of matching wrought iron yellow-shaded lamps. A door at the end and to the side of the living room, led to Seth's bedroom. He went there while Jude freshened up. The room was slightly larger than the cast-iron double bed which was pushed against a wall. Next to the bed, a small closet had a single lead pipe from which hung Seth’s pants, shirts, and a wool-lined leather flight jacket. Shelves served as a dresser. A pair of dress shoes sat neatly on the floor.
Seth sat on the bed, took his boots off and returned to the living room to see Jude stretched out on the sofa. She said, “Did you ever get a
phone?”
“No phone, no TV, and no radio.”
“You are not for real, my prince.” She lit up a Kent and offered him drag.
“You know how I feel about you smoking.”
“You have anything to drink?”
He went to the refrigerator, got a bottle of Upper Michigan Catawba that he kept for guests, took a water glass out of the sink, rinsed it, and Jude walked to and sat at the kitchen table.
He poured her a glass, opened himself a ginger beer, sat opposite her, said, “How's the wine?”
She held the glass up to the light, “Excellent acidity, fine bouquet, fruity aroma, good balance.” She sipped. “Exceptional body, too, like me.” She peered over the rim of her glass, “Wanna?”
“I have to do a study for an art class. Would you model?”
“Thought you'd never ask.” She stood and quickly began unbuttoning the front of her shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm going to model for you.”
“No No No. Button that up.”
Pulling her shirt tails out, she exposed her black bra, “Why?”
“Button that shirt up, now!”
“Do me nude.” She reached to unsnap her bra.
“Stop that, now! Or get out.”
Pouting, she began buttoning up. “Party pooper.”
“It's going to be a portrait.”
“OOOH wow, exciting.”
He went to his desk, “Come here, sit at my desk.”
She did, “This is exciting.”
“Pull your hair back.”
“You do it.”
He arranged her hair. She licked his wrist.
Satisfied with her hair, he had her cup her chin in her hands, and turn to a three quarter profile, as if she were contemplating a thought. Then he adjusted the desk lamp so that her face was in half shadow.
“There, don't move.”
“Oh wow, dominance, I love it.”
He took his 15x24 sketch pad, a stick of pink pastel, sat on a folding chair and began sketching in broad strokes.
The basic outline set, he began working on the details of her facial expression. Fifteen minutes into the sketch he stopped. The drawing was more Rachelle than Jude.
He stood, “That's it for now.”