The Black Rose (38 page)

Jake’s, which was near Union Depot, was crowded with men in varying degrees of dress; some, like Sarah and C.J., looked like they had just finished a night on the town in their crisp suits and hats, and others were wearing grimy overalls, as if they’d just gotten off work at the train station. Their laughter, arguing, and good-natured jostling in the smoky bar were loud to Sarah’s ears, so boisterous compared to the prim event they had just attended. A piano player hidden behind the crowd was playing
Maple
Leaf Rag
, which made Sarah remember how she’d met Scott Joplin the first night C.J. took her out to supper. Then she remembered the feel of C.J.’s moist lips and tongue against hers, and her stomach squirmed.

The scent of C.J.’s perfumed shaving soap floated to her nostrils as he leaned close to her to be heard over the din. “There’s a table in back,” he said, pointing.

As they walked through the crowd, Sarah noticed an intense pair of eyes upon her. The eyes belonged to a dapper man in a brown jacket who was grinning wide. “C.J. Walker? Where you been, Redbone?” the man said, although his eyes were planted on Sarah. She turned quickly away as the two men greeted each other.

“Been busy, Len.”

“So where’s Paulette, boy? I thought”—the man spoke into C.J.’s ear, obviously believing Sarah would not hear him, but her honed ears picked up his words—“I thought you said you didn’t deal in no coal, C.J. What you doin’ with some lovely brown sugar like
that
?”

Sarah saw C.J.’s face turn dark. “Neigho, pops, don’t be puttin’ no words in my mouth. You watch yourself in front of this lady. This is Madam Sarah, and she’s about to be famous in Denver. We’re doin’ some business together.”

“Oh, is that what you’re callin’ it now?” The man slapped C.J. on the back, laughing.

The man’s laughter followed them to their table, and C.J.’s face was rigid with irritation long after they were seated. He apologized to Sarah, muttering that he should have known better than to bring her to Jake’s. “A lady like you deserves to dine in a place more proper,” C.J. said, nearly mumbling, his face buried in his menu. “A dress that pretty will catch unwanted attention.”

So he had finally noticed her dress! It was easier to grab an eel out of the water than to get a compliment from C.J., Sarah decided. “So you like it?” she said. She hated to sound so eager, but couldn’t help it. When she was around C.J., all sorts of strange voices flew from her.

C.J. glanced at the thin gold-colored braids strung across her bosom, then he looked back at her eyes. “I’m a fool for certain, but I assure you I ain’t blind, Sarah. Of course I like it.”

“Well, I didn’t know,” Sarah said softly. “I guess I need to hear the words.”

C.J. sighed, squirming. He looked over both of his shoulders in search of someone to take their food order, and Sarah figured he wouldn’t mind ordering a drink, either. When he didn’t see any employees, C.J. turned back to Sarah, twisting the dinner napkin in front of him. “I think I know why you’ve been so fit to be tied tonight,” C.J. said.

Sarah’s heart pounded. Instead of answering, she waited for him to go on.

“You’re a lady in a new town, you’re meeting a lot of new people, including a few gentlemen, and you’d like to have more of a social life. You don’t want to spend every waking hour thinking about business. I understand that.” He paused, but he didn’t look up at her for a response. “I know it’s hard, Sarah, but you’re not the only one it’s hard on. This is just one of those sacrifices folks have to make when they want to rise above the rest. You know, I don’t … I don’t have much time for a social life either.”

Sarah lowered her gaze, leveling it at him. “You seem to do fine.”

“Well, it’s not like you think, not no more. How do you expect any young lady would feel if a man wanted to spend two, three, and four nights a week with someone else? Let’s just say we’ve both had to make sacrifices.”

Again, Sarah didn’t answer, although her thoughts were at a boil. Did that mean he’d parted ways with his lady friend? Why couldn’t he just say so and go ahead and profess his feelings for her? Either C.J. plain didn’t feel the special attraction between them, or he thought she was fool enough to believe it wasn’t there simply because he refused to ever acknowledge it. Neither scenario suited Sarah.

C.J. cleared his throat. “It works out best this way, you know,” he said in a low voice, staring at the table. “This way we keep business at the top of our minds.”

The music and all the other voices in the room seemed to vanish, until Sarah thought she could hear their heartbeats mingling. “Must be nice to be able to bridle your mind like that,” Sarah whispered. “Wish I could.”

At last his eyes found hers, and she saw sadness there. “I do the best I know how,” he said, his eyes glassy. “What do you want me to say, Sarah? That I’m like a thief stealing stares every time you turn your back to me? That I have to wipe my palms dry like a boy in short pants after I help you step down from the wagon? Or should I tell you how I couldn’t hardly muster a single sensible thought in my head when I first saw you in that dress tonight?”

Sarah’s heart flipped in her breast, and she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath. She’d heard C.J. say those words to her countless times in her imagination, but her daydreams hadn’t prepared her for the spell of his professions to her ears.

Slowly, as if answering her thoughts, C.J. shook his head. “I could say those things, Sarah, and we both know they’d be gospel truth instead of just a few pretty phrases. But there’s no point to it. I’m old enough to know where I’m weak and where I’m strong. God as my witness, Sarah, I fail every time when it comes to the art of love, but I can sell a business better than anything or anyone. If you were me, which would you choose?”

“I don’t see where it has to be a choice,” Sarah said.

“Oh, yes, it is, Sarah. You might as well pour red ink and black ink in the same inkwell. The color you get ain’t red no more, and it ain’t black no more. And once it’s done, there’s no changing that ink back to what it was.”

So, there it was, plain as day. He loved her, but his head would overrule his heart. If that was true, Sarah thought, it would have been better if she’d never met Charles Joseph Walker. She’d been living her life just fine without the faintest notion that her heart had always been wide awake inside her, just waiting for him.

“Well …” Slowly, painfully, Sarah exhaled. “I guess I’m not as good a master over my mind or any other part of me. I want what I want, C.J. Maybe when you’ve lost as much as me, you don’t take happy for granted. You scrape and hoard every piece of happy that comes your way. And if I have to go on tryin’ to convince my heart it’s not supposed to feel happy when you come to call, then … it’s near impossible for me to sell a damn thing.”

Reaching across the table, C.J. patted Sarah’s wrist in his usual gesture of assurance. Then, after a hesitation, his hand simply rested on top of hers, warm and heavy. The spot where they touched seemed to kindle the entire length of her arm. C.J. left his hand on hers until Sarah felt tears pricking her eyes, then he moved it away. “Let’s get you some food,” he said.

Sarah’s appetite was gone, but she managed to pick at a plate of chicken and dumplings. She felt a new appreciation for the laughter, noise, and music inside the bar because she wasn’t looking forward to returning to her lonely rooming house. She might have to sell Madam Sarah’s Wonderful Hair Grower by herself, then. Maybe she couldn’t do it as fast or as well on her own, but she knew she could do it. She’d started before she met C.J., and she could go on without him. She couldn’t spend the rest of her days hoping C.J. Walker might change his mind, not if waiting brought this kind of pain.

“Excuse me, madam,” a gravelly voice said beside her, and she looked up to see the man in the brown jacket who had spoken to C.J. earlier. He held his derby in his hand, and there was no playfulness in his face this time. “I’ve been thinkin’ it over, and I hope you didn’t take offense at the way I was cuttin’ the fool with my friend C.J. before. I take it
madam
means you’re a married woman, and I didn’t mean no disrespect to you or your husband.”

“I’m a widow, sir,” Sarah told him. She held out her wrist to him, and he kissed it, though his eyes never left her face. At the word
widow
, he brightened. “No offense taken.”

“All right, Len, much appreciated,” C.J. muttered. “Now move on. We’re at a meeting.”

The man ignored him, addressing Sarah directly. “My name is Leonard Styles, madam, and I hope you won’t take this wrong neither, but that piano kid sure is playin’ his heart out, an’ when my feet hear music, they like to dance—”

“Nigger, you must be crazy,” C.J. interrupted him, angry.

Politely, Mr. Styles took a step back. “C.J., unless I was mistaken, I’m talkin’ to this here elegant lady. She looks to me like she has the vocabulary to answer for herself.”

Despite her sad mood, Sarah felt herself smiling. The thought of getting up to dance in a bar full of strange men, and in this dress! Lelia would think she had lost the last bit of her reason. But she was a stranger here, wasn’t she? What difference would it make? The music
did
sound lively.
Besides, just once I’d like to have a good dance without worryin’ ’bout kickin’ up
a dust
.

“So what you say, Madam Sarah? One dance?”

Cautiously, Sarah glanced at C.J. His eyes pierced her, but he waved her away glumly. “Do what you want,” he said.

So she did. With the entire bar watching, Sarah walked alongside Leonard Styles to a small dance floor where one other very young couple was following the syncopated beat of the music with shimmying dance steps. Sarah was nervous, but she also felt invigorated, as if she were about to set something inside her free. To hell with what other folks might think!

“I’m not such a good dancer,” Sarah admitted as Mr. Styles clasped both her hands.

“Well, it so happens I’m a very good teacher,” he said, smiling.

Rocking her arms gently back and forth, he helped Sarah hear the music’s bouncy rhythm, until her ears picked up the beat naturally. Then, following his lead, she began to shift her weight from side to side, then backward and forward. They danced arm’s length apart, never close enough that Sarah felt compromised. She glanced over her shoulder at C.J.’s table, and she saw him sprawled in his chair, holding his whiskey glass close to his face, watching them. Other men were watching her, too; some with their lips curled in distaste, others with mischievous grins.

“Don’t you worry none about C.J., Madam Sarah. That old hound don’t bark.”

Sarah laughed, slightly breathless from the dancing. The faster the teenage pianist played, the faster their feet moved. Mr. Styles began to show off for her, improvising quick-shuffling steps and twirling her around. Sarah felt the cloud over her spirits lifting as she forgot all about yesterday and tomorrow, feeling rooted in the music and her first bar dance.

The next time she looked toward their table, however, C.J. was gone.

Just that quickly, Sarah’s cloud was back, and the room seemed to grow dark. Sarah lost her rhythm, nearly stumbling into Mr. Styles. She felt sick to her stomach. What had she done?

Then, magically, C.J.’s voice was impossibly near. “Excuse me, Len,” his voice said from behind her, “but I need to cut in with this lovely lady of mine.”

Sarah felt slightly dizzy and winded, so the sight of C.J. was dreamlike. There was something in his face she had not seen since her first night with him. He gave her an open, welcome smile, and she glided into his open arms. C.J. pulled her much closer to him than Mr. Styles had dared, until they were nearly touching. He slid back and forth to his own slow rhythm, as if he couldn’t hear the faster-paced music, and she followed his movement, swaying.

“You’re gonna be a handful to the man who loves you, ain’t you, Sarah Breedlove McWilliams?” C.J. said. Their eyes locked.

Sarah nodded, her heart roaring. “I hope that’s what you want, C.J.”

“Guess it must be, or I’d know how to leave well enough alone. You sure you’ve got any use for a dandy, high-tone man like me?”

Sarah hadn’t realized, until now, that C.J. had overheard the remarks she’d made about him to Lelia, Sadie, and Rosetta when he visited her kitchen in St. Louis, on the day she first met him. Embarrassed, she laughed. Then her eyes settled back into the sunlight in C.J.’s gaze.

“Oh, yes, C.J.,” she said. “I’ve never been more sure in all my days.”

Chapter Twenty-two

JANUARY 4, 1906

Sarah had never felt so special as she did the day she married C.J. Walker, and she could hardly imagine that there might be a day she would feel so special again.

From the time their engagement was first announced in the newspaper—the only time
any
of her doings had been announced publicly—Sarah had found herself doted upon and congratulated. A kindly couple from church, B.F. and Delilah Givens, insisted that they host the ceremony at their home. A young chambermaid and dressmaker who used Sarah’s hair grower, Lizette, begged for a chance to sew her a bridal dress, promising to replicate a design in the
Elite Fashions
catalog at a price Sarah could afford. The Scholtz family delivered a beautiful sterling silver tea set to the Breedloves’ as a wedding gift, and it shone so brightly that Sarah nearly screamed when she unwrapped the gift box.

Then the letters began arriving. Sadie and Lelia had both written to say that they were going to come. Sarah was glad, but she felt a twinge of guilt because the trip would pose such a sacrifice to them. If she’d had the money, she would have gladly paid their fares from St. Louis herself, but she could not. Her Hair Grower was selling better than it ever had, but she was also spending more money on ingredients and the ointment jars C.J. had insisted she should use to package it. Guilt or no guilt, though, Sarah savored the words Lelia had written her, and she read her letter over and over after she received it:
Mama, nothing in the world could keep me away
.