The Road to Memphis (27 page)

Solomon got up from his desk as if to approach me. I put out my hand to stop him, and he stayed where he was. “You see . . . that’s how they do us. That’s how they do us, and now they’re in this war and our boys are supposed to go fight? My brother is supposed to go fight? My friends are supposed to go fight? It’s not right. It’s not right.”

Solomon Bradley studied me in silence.

“I don’t want Stacey to know about what happened. Moe and Willie, they don’t know, either, what happened back there, and I don’t want them to know. They just think I fell. I—I figured it could’ve been worse, a whole lot worse, if they knew and tried to do anything about it. Please, don’t tell them.”

“I won’t,” he promised, and I believed him. He stood and came over to me now, despite my outstretched hand to stop him.

“Don’t come near me.”

He smiled. “Not too many young ladies tell me that.” He placed strong hands gently on my shoulders, and I tried to pull away, but he didn’t let me go. Still holding me by one shoulder, he lifted my chin with the flat of his hand so that I had to look him straight in the eyes again; his gaze was intense. “Is there something else? Anything else happened with those men?”

I folded my arms across my chest and hugged my coat closer.

“Cassie?”

“Well, if you just must know,” I snapped, “I was so scared, I threw up on myself, and now I stink to high heaven! Okay, you satisfied now?”

“Ahhh,” he said, as if a revelation had just hit him, then he laughed. “That’s what’s bothering you?”

“That’s not funny!”

“No . . . no, it’s not,” he agreed, smiling still. Then he stopped smiling. “But I thought maybe those men had . . .” His eyes studied mine, then he squeezed my shoulder and moved away. “We’ll fix your clothes.” He went to the door, and if he had smelled the sourness of the vomit, he didn’t say so. He opened the door and called the woman Mag. “Cassie’s in somewhat of a fix here,” he told her when she came in. “She needs a change of clothes. I was just thinking maybe one of your daughter’s clothes might fit her.”

Mag gave me a look up and down. Then she came closer and walked around me. I knew she smelled the vomit, but she didn’t say anything either. “Yeah, I got something she can wear.”

“Good. Then, why don’t you send Mort over to your place, and you see Cassie upstairs to mine so she can wash up and change.”

“We have time for this?” asked the woman. “I’m trying to get this story set—”

“That story can wait another five minutes, Mag. Just tell Mort what clothes to ask for.”

“Oh, all right,” agreed the woman somewhat begrudgingly, “but we’re losing precious time here. Remember, you’re the one insists on getting this paper out on time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” said Solomon with a smile of mocking acquiescence.

She shook her head and returned to the outer office, calling for Mort as she went.

Solomon turned back to me. “It’ll be all right. Mag’s got a bark. Actually, she’s got a bite, too, but she’s a rock. She keeps things on track around here. I depend on her.”

I frowned. “What about my clothes? They need to be cleaned.”

“Don’t worry. There’s a cleaners in the building and I’ve got a little pull with them. We’ll make sure you get your clothes before you leave.”

Mag stepped back into the doorway. “I sent Mort,” she said to Solomon; then to me, “You ready?”

I glanced at Solomon. “Where’s Little Willie? I’d better tell him where I’m going.”

“That boy’s in that back room following Joanne all ’round,” said Mag. “No need to worry about him. You’ll be back before he even gets to missing you.”

“I’ll let him know where you are,” said Solomon. “Now, go on.” Despite my stepping away again, he came to me, put his hand on my back, and pushed me toward Mag with a gentle touch. “Don’t worry. We’ll let him know where you are, and your brother, too, if he comes back before you finish up there. Just take your time.”

I took one more look at him, nodded, and left with the woman. I followed Mag through the office and outside, then to the end of the building, where she opened a door and led me up a flight of stairs.

“Don’t get winded, now,” she told me as she reached the landing. “I told Solomon, seeing he owns the building and just about everything in it, he ought to have a place on the second floor so folks don’t have to be climbing all these stairs.”

“You mean he owns this whole building?” I said, somewhat
incredulous, as I trailed behind her. “Those other businesses too?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it? He won’t listen to me, though, about moving from the top floor. Says he likes the exercise. Besides that, he doesn’t like to hear people walking over him.”

“This whole building . . .” I repeated in a mutter.

“Here we are,” Mag said, reaching the top floor landing. She led me down a hallway to a corner door, pulled out the keys Solomon had given her, and unlocked it. She flicked a switch as we entered, bathing the room in light. The room had a comfortable look to it. A wall of books lined one side. Paintings, certificates, newspapers, photographs, all framed, lined another, and the third wall was lined with windows that faced the street. There wasn’t much of a fourth wall, for the room opened directly into a second room that looked as if it logically should have been a dining room but held instead a desk and a chair as its only furniture. Stacks of paper were on the floor, both newspapers and writing paper, and there were more books too. “It’s a bit congested in here,” said Mag, “but you’ll find your way. Solomon’s a collector. I told him he’s too young to be collecting all this stuff, but he pays me no attention. He’s thinking about knocking out a wall into the next apartment to give himself more room, but he’ll just fill that up, too, with more books and newspapers. Come on, it’s this way to the bathroom.”

“Does he live alone?”

“Could hardly say alone,” said Mag, crossing the office and entering a hallway. “He’s got too many women friends to say that.”

“Oh.”

She turned on the light in the bathroom. I noticed there were two other doors along the hall. One of the doors was
half-opened, and I could see the bedroom. The bed was made, but there were papers on it too.

“He reads a lot, doesn’t he?”

“You could say that,” Mag conceded. She opened a drawer, pulled out some towels, and gave them to me.

“When he was in Jackson, he had a woman with him. I didn’t get a chance to meet her, though. You know who she was?”

“Could’ve been one of a dozen young things. Here.” She slapped a fresh bar of soap into my hand and turned to the door.

“What kind of women does he bring up here?”

She looked back at me. “Girl, you sure are asking a lot of questions about that man. Go ahead and wash up. Get in the tub and take yourself a bath if you want. Soak and relax. Nobody’ll bother you. Time you get out, Mort ought to be back from my place with some clothes. I’ll bring them up. By the way, you can just wrap yourself in one of these big towels hanging here when you finish.”

She left the bathroom and went back into the living room. I followed her out. “You sure it’s all right I stay here?”

“Course.” She opened the door, then looked back at me with a frown. “You’re not afraid to be here by yourself, are you?”

“No . . . . What about Mr. Bradley, though? Would he come up?”

There was a second of silence, then Mag laughed. “Girl, don’t you worry about Solomon. He’s not thinking about you, and even if he was, he’s too busy now to do anything about it. Now, there’s the phone. You want something, need something before I get back with some clothes, you can call downstairs. Here.” She wrote on a pad by the phone. “I put the number
down for you. Now, just lock the door and get yourself that bath. I’ll be back in just a bit.”

With that she went out, closing the door behind her. I made sure it was locked, then stood with my back to the door a moment, surveying the room. I imagined Solomon here, in this room, then left the door and walked slowly along the three walls. I looked at the paintings, studied the photographs, read a few lines of the articles, the newspapers, fingered the books, then sighed, and headed for the bathroom.

It was then that I noticed the record player and the shelf of records. I glanced through the records. There was Benny Goodman and Duke Ellington, Glenn Miller and Artie Shaw, Billy Holiday, and Cab Calloway. I longed to play one of them, but knew I shouldn’t. I knew I probably shouldn’t even be up here in this man’s place; but it was exciting for me to be here, alone in Solomon Bradley’s apartment. If Stacey knew, he would probably raise the devil; but he wasn’t here, so I figured to enjoy myself while I had the chance, and the first thing I was going to enjoy was a bath.

I soaked for more than an hour. Then, wrapped in a towel, I took a book from Solomon’s shelf, curled up in Solomon’s chair, and read while I waited for Mag. When Mag returned some time later, she brought with her a skirt, a blouse, and a cardigan sweater. I thanked her for the clothes, then went again to the bathroom and put them on over my own still damp underwear which I had washed out and hung to dry over the heater. As we were leaving the apartment I hesitated at the door, not yet wanting to leave. Giving the room another look, I asked Mag about one of the photographs on the fireplace mantle. She looked around to see what picture I was talking about. “Oh, that’s some girl up north.”

“You know her?”

“Just seen the picture.”

“Well, is she Mr. Bradley’s special girlfriend or something?”

She laughed. “Solomon’s got plenty of lady friends that are special. Didn’t you see them all lined up there?”

“But her picture’s sitting different from the others. Sitting apart, like she’s somebody special.”

Mag glanced again at the picture, then at me, and put her hands on her ample hips and gave me an odd look. “Now, how come you asking so many questions about Solomon Bradley? How come you so interested in those pictures?”

I looked away from her, casually turning to take in the room once more. “Oh . . . I was just wondering.”

Then she laughed. “Well, I hope that’s all you were doing, ’cause the last thing you want to do is get your mind set on Solomon Bradley. That man got too many women as it is running after him, and they got a whole lot more experience on how to get him than you do. Take my word for it. You fix your mind on Solomon Bradley, you just asking yourself for trouble.”

“I’m not fixing my mind on anybody!” I declared, looking her full in the eyes.

“Well, good, then!” she said. “One less heart for me to have to worry about.”

“How old is he, anyway?”

“Too old for you, little country girl. Now, come on, I’ve got work to do.”

With that we left the apartment and went back downstairs to the newspaper office. “Feeling better?” Solomon asked me as we entered his office. He was seated at his desk.

I nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

“Solomon, need you to check this copy here,” said Mag, going over to him. “Henry’s ready to set the page.”

Solomon took the pages and began to read. Mag leaned over his chair, talking about cutting part of an article. As they conversed I took a better look around. There were photographs on the walls here too. All looked to be school class pictures of white folks and a boy who looked very much like Solomon. There were two college degrees hanging on the wall as well. When Mag and Solomon finished with the article, Mag took the pages to the outer office. I turned to Solomon. “You’re not from here, are you?” I said. “I mean, you’re not from Memphis.”

He glanced over at the wall. “Guess those pictures do give me away, don’t they? They were taken in Amherst. Amherst, Massachusetts. I was born there, grew up there.”

The place was foreign to me. “You went to school with white folks?” That idea, like the town of Amherst, was foreign too.

He shrugged. “Amherst was a white town, so I went to a white school. My father owned a store there, and my mother was a teacher. All while I was growing up just everybody I knew and associated with was white. It wasn’t a bad life.”

“Well, how did you end up here?”

He considered the question, then answered with a mock smile. “I got lucky.”

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“Being in a white school?”

“Sometimes it was rough. Sometimes it was lonely, but I got a good education. It was good enough to get me accepted into Harvard.” He looked at me as if that should mean something.
It didn’t. I didn’t know anything about any Harvard. He laughed, at himself, it seemed. “That’s a very prestigious school. You’re
supposed
to be impressed.”

“Oh. Well, what was it like there?”

“Well, again I got a fine education. But a Negro in a white school misses out on a lot of social life. Fraternities were off limits to me, white girls were definitely off limits, and there were no colored girls nearby. It got lonely.”

“Was it worth it?”

“As I said, I got a fine education.”

“Then you came here?”

“After law school. I met a man while I was in Boston who was from here, and we used to talk a lot. I was intrigued by what he told me about the South. He encouraged me to come to Memphis and I did. I set up a law office and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Can I ask you something?”

He smiled. “Now you’re asking my permission?”

I knew he was teasing, so I paid no attention. “Back in Jackson at my cousin’s cafe, I asked you if you were a lawyer and you said you figured a body had to practice the law to be a lawyer. Then you said you spent time in jail once and after that you didn’t have much respect for the law. Now I know I’m not suppose to be assuming anything, but I thought from what you said, you weren’t practicing law, but Oliver said you were, among other things. It’s confusing to me and I’d like to get it straight.”

He laughed outright. “You know, I like you, Cassie Logan. I like how your mind works . . . among other things.” I wasn’t sure how he meant that and my face went hot, but he seemed not to notice as he went on talking. “The truth of the matter is that I use my knowledge of the law to further my
business interests. I also use my knowledge of the law to advise people who come to me on a personal basis, not as clients, but just people who want some advice from a knowledgeable source. I don’t charge them for any advice I might give. So you see, that’s the extent of my law involvement and I don’t consider that practicing law.”