Baby Brother's Blues Read online

  Abbie enjoyed Peachy. He was a regular visitor, but he never just hung around. He respected her need for solitude and, by doing so, increased her pleasure in his company. There had always been strong sexual energy between Abbie and Peachy, from the first time they met in D.C. right before Blue and Regina’s wedding, but after five years of celibacy, Abbie was not in any hurry to initiate sex. She really liked Peachy, and if there was any possibility that sex would tip some invisible balance toward weirdness, it was fine with her if they continued to be what they were—good friends.

  She decided not to call and ask him to find her an atlas. She’d thought enough about the fate of the Scottish witches for one day. She stood up and stretched. It felt good to relieve some of the tension in her back. She brought her arms down slowly and rolled forward until her palms were resting on the floor in front of her. She smiled to herself. Abbie worked hard to maintain her strength and flexibility. Most sixty-year-old women hadn’t touched their toes in thirty years. Abbie did it every day at least twice. Sixty ain’t twenty, she thought, smiling to herself, but it ain’t half-bad.

  She had just put the last of the scattered books back in place and decided to watch the sunset from the widow’s walk at the top of house, when the phone rang. The caller ID showed Peachy’s number.

  “I was just thinking about you,” she said, skipping hello. “Were your ears burning?”

  “I thought that only happened if you were talking about me.”

  “Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” she said. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I was thinking?”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re about to tell me.”

  “I was wondering if you had a world atlas.”

  “Planning a trip?”

  She was pleased to hear concern about the edges of his voice. “I’ve been reading about witches,” she said. “Do you know there’s a town in Scotland where they killed eighty-one people for being witches. I want to look the place up, but there are no maps over here.”

  “Witches?”

  “Witches. Killed their cats, too.”

  “Their cats? For what?”

  “For being witches.”

  “Can cats be witches?”

  “Can people?”

  “Is that a trick question?” There was a smile in his voice.

  “I’m not a witch!”

  “I didn’t say you were,” he said gently, “but you admit that you’re different. You got magic. You see visions. You brought Blue and Regina together across at least two past lifetimes that we know of and you can read people’s minds.”

  He was right. If she had lived in Prestonpans, she would almost certainly have been branded a witch, cat or no cat.

  “What’s the name of that town again?”

  “Prestonpans,” she said. “It’s in Scotland.”

  “Well, they sound like some pretty stupid people to me. Let’s never go there.”

  She laughed at the practicality of his suggestion. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because then you wouldn’t need me.” He didn’t wait for her to confirm that. “I went fishing this afternoon. I’ve got a pretty little sea bass in the cooler that’s too big for me to eat alone. I’d be prepared to cook it if you’re open to some company for dinner.”

  “I’d love some company,” she said. “If you hurry, you can catch the sunset.”

  “Where are you going to watch it?”

  Sometimes she walked to the curve in the beach where the freighters turn up into the mouth of the Savannah River, but not today. “On the roof. Come on up when you get here.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  She went to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of champagne, and filled a silver bucket with ice. She placed it on a tray with two glasses and carried it upstairs and out the door that led to the house’s uppermost deck. It was really too big to be called a widow’s walk, but that’s what they called it anyway. She guessed it was just tradition, but the sound of it always made her a little sad. Abbie was glad Peachy was coming. She needed some company to help her stop thinking about witches and widows.

  Putting the tray down on a small table between a pair of white wicker rockers, Abbie went back inside to wash her face and slip into one of the ankle-length skirts she favored these days. They tended to be made of colorful, gauzy fabrics that rippled in the breezes off the ocean like they had just fluttered in from the Caribbean and smelled, of course, of patchouli, her favorite scent. She chose a lime-green skirt and a bright yellow top, slipped on a pair of small silver hoop earrings, unlocked the sliding-glass door downstairs, and went back outside to wait for Peachy.

  Sitting down in one of the rockers, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and made a decision. It was time to talk to Peachy about sex. After all, she had never intended to be celibate. Menopause had driven her to it. She found the hot flashes distressingly public manifestations of a very private rite of passage. She hated being in the midst of a discussion concerning something totally nonmenopause-related and feeling her face flush bright pink as rivulets of sweat rolled down her scalp like she was walking in the rain.

  The person with whom she had been engaged in conversation would suddenly look concerned or embarrassed and then ask if she was feeling all right. At that point, she’d mop her brow and say something like: “It’s just a hot flash. Please go on with what you were saying about the role of the full moon in the tomb architecture of ancient Egypt.” But the moment was gone. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. There were also drenching night sweats, unexpected weight gain, and vaginal dryness, which was every bit as unappealing as it sounded.

  After several embarrassing exchanges, Abbie realized her gentlemen friends were simply not up to the complex task of making love to a post-menopausal woman. They were, in fact, responding like frightened schoolboys, terrified of the mirror her body provided to their post-middle-aged mortality. Sex became an awkward exchange of compromises, denials, and fallback positions that bore little resemblance to the sweat-drenched, passion-filled exchanges she was used to. Distressed and confused, she finally made a conscious decision to be celibate until she could figure it all out. Now, five years later, she wasn’t sure she was ready to sleep with Peachy yet, but she was ready to admit she had been thinking about it. One small step for womankind…

  She heard him turn into the driveway just as she was about to resign herself to the fact that he was going to miss the sunset. She smiled to herself. Who was she talking about anyway? Peachy Nolan was famous for being in the right place at the right time. He had once done sixty-eight one-nighters in a row and never been late to a single gig. Why would he start now?

  4

  General Richardson glanced in the rearview mirror at his friend sitting in the backseat of the car as they sped through the Georgia night. In all the years of their association, he had kept only one secret from Blue. In principle, he knew it was wrong, but he didn’t feel like anybody could hold this one lapse against him once they heard the whole story. How are you supposed to tell a man you started having sex with his mama when you were eighteen and that the two of you kept doing it until she died twenty years later, and neither one of you ever told a living soul? General and Blue were like brothers, but even brotherly love goes only so far.

  He had wanted to tell Blue. They had both wanted to, but Juanita had been so nervous about how her son might react that she could never quite bring herself to do it. Then she got sick and all bets were off. He had still wanted to tell Blue what had been going on, but Juanita begged him to respect her wishes and keep their secret, and General said he would. He was still keeping it.

  Not long before she died, they had the house at Tybee to themselves for a few days. They had been sitting on the deck, holding hands while they watched the tide coming in, when he asked her if she believed in the past lives Blue was always talking about. She smiled and turned her face to him. She was so thin now. General could carry her in his arms like a child.

&
nbsp; “I hope it’s true, you know?” she said. “I’d love to bump up on you again next time around.”

  He grinned and squeezed her hand.

  “Do you believe it?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, wanting to believe it, but not sure he really did. “Blue ain’t been wrong about much else I can remember.”

  She laughed softly. “He was always so sure about everything. Even when he was a little kid, remember? He just knew.”

  “I don’t know what to believe,” General said. “But how about if it’s true, you send me a sign?”

  “A sign?”

  He nodded. “You know, from over there, so I’ll know you’re okay and that you miss me.”

  She closed her eyes. “I already miss you, baby.”

  “That’s why you’ve got to send me a sign,” he said, terrified he had depressed or frightened her. They had talked frankly about death enough for him to know she wasn’t scared of it. Just not quite ready to go yet, that’s all. He touched Juanita’s cheek. “What do you say, sweet thing?”

  She opened her eyes then and turned back to him, her smile the only thing in her face that hadn’t changed. It was as radiant as ever. Her eyes were as bright.

  “All right,” she said. “You got a deal.”

  He smiled back. “So what kind of sign are you going to send me?”

  “I don’t know yet,” she said. “Does it matter?”

  “Sure it does,” he said. “What if I don’t recognize you?”

  “You’ll recognize me. You just keep looking until you find me.”

  He promised he would. Later, when the cancer had taken everything she had and then some, Juanita reminded him of that promise. She made him swear he wouldn’t dismiss or ignore any sign that seemed to mean she was calling to him from out there.

  “If you think it’s me, it’s me,” she said urgently. “Even if it’s something weird, it’s me!”

  He promised never to ignore a sign. He would have promised her anything, done anything, to soothe her pain for a minute. He had never seen a person who wanted to live as badly as Juanita did. She fought so long and so hard, he had started to believe it when she said she might still beat the cancer. But she didn’t.

  General and Blue had no need to try to articulate their loss to each other. They simply said their private good-byes and scattered her ashes at sea on a day as beautiful as she was. As they headed the boat back in, General sat alone in the bow, already watching for any sign of her return. That was ten years ago.

  For the first few years after her death, General had driven himself crazy. Juanita’s death left a hole in his life so big he was afraid he might fall in and die of loneliness. He searched for any clue that their love lived on. He dreamed about her, and even in his dreams, he begged her to come back. But during all those terrible years, there was nothing he could really claim as a sign. He never stopped looking, but deep down, he began to believe that while he had done his dying beloved a great kindness by concocting the plan for after-life contact, no communication was forthcoming.

  Then tonight, in the most unlikely place imaginable, there it was. It was all he could do to walk away, but his commitment to Blue was absolute. How could he say, I’m late picking you up because I saw the sign I been waiting for on a stripper’s ass and I had to check it out?

  It had been a fluke that General was even in Montre’s. He didn’t usually do business at strip joints, but the owner had been ducking him and an unexpected drop-by was always effective in bringing people to the table. Johnny had greeted General at the door with a shit-eating grin on his face and a bunch of bad explanations for equally bad behavior. General let him squirm long enough to make the point, then accepted the offer of a bottle of real champagne, instead of the rotgut they routinely offered their customers, to put the cherry on top of Johnny’s profuse apology.

  As the relieved man had scurried off to fetch the bottle from his private stash, General settled himself at the owner’s table. He had about twenty minutes to kill before he was expected at Blue’s. He wouldn’t disrespect Johnny by declining a glass of Moët, but that was all. One glass, and he was out the door. He didn’t give a damn about champagne anyway. Juanita had been crazy about champagne cocktails. She had said she liked it because it was a ladies’ drink.

  He didn’t want to think about Juanita sitting in a crummy joint like Montre’s. Her memory deserved better. He looked around for his reluctant host. If Johnny didn’t hurry up, he was going to have to leave without a toast to seal their deal. Just before he got up to go, a naked young woman stopped in front of his chair, smiling. She was more attractive than the girls they usually got in a place like this and something about her looked vaguely familiar. She had just come off the stage and was sweating a little.

  “Lap dance?”

  Her body was perfectly proportioned and her skin was smooth and unmarked. Her teeth were white and her eyes showed none of the artificial brightness of too many drugs. In a profession whose low end is full of desperate women with stretch marks, scars, and plenty of attitude, this girl was clearly different. She was fine as hell. Wishing he had more time, he glanced at his watch.

  She smiled and licked her lips, showing a small pink tongue. “It ain’t got to take long if you in a hurry, baby. Best ten dollars you gonna spend tonight.”

  He happened to know that a lap dance at Montre’s was only five dollars, but he admired her hustle. This girl was worth more than five bucks and she clearly knew it. He reached into his pocket and peeled off a hundred-dollar bill. Her big brown eyes widened like a child’s.

  “I’m in a hurry tonight,” he said, handing her the money. “Maybe next time I come in, you can dance for me.”

  “For a hundred bucks, we can dance all night,” she said, rewarding him with a big smile. “Thanks, baby.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Don’t be a stranger.” She was already heading for another table, but moving slowly to make sure he got an eyeful of her beautiful behind, of which she was justifiably proud.

  She didn’t need to worry. His eyes were glued to the small, heart-shaped birthmark that she carried at the small of her back just before the billowy curve of her hips. There it was! A birthmark identical to the one Juanita had in exactly the same spot! He couldn’t believe his eyes, but he had to have a closer look. She was turning her smile toward a table full of men clutching five-dollar bills.

  “Hey!”

  She looked back over her shoulder and he beckoned to her. The table that had been eagerly anticipating her arrival protested her sudden change in direction as she headed back to General. “Hey, girl!” the boldest one called out. “You see we holdin’ good money over here, don’t you?”

  “You ain’t holding much of it,” she said, knowing whatever General wanted would be more interesting and certainly more lucrative than anything those guys had in mind.

  General watched her heading back his way slowly, taking her time. Her breasts swayed provocatively, but what he wanted to see was behind her.

  “Change your mind about that dance?”

  “What’s that on your back?” he said, his voice gruff with emotions he didn’t want to share.

  “It’s a birthmark,” she said. “You want to touch it?”

  She turned her back to him again, bent over slightly at the waist, and jiggled her behind at an alarming rate of speed. He couldn’t take his eyes off the birthmark. It was exactly like Juanita’s, but this girl’s energetic shaking of her rump made it impossible to look as closely as he wanted to, even though he was staring.

  “You can kiss it if you want,” she whispered over her shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Go on and kiss it if you want.”

  Blue’s voice spoke sharply from the front seat and startled General out of the memory.

  “That’s our turn coming up!”

  General realized he had been flying down the two-lane blacktop. The speedometer said sixty, and in th
ese little towns around Atlanta, that was a guaranteed ticket. With all the emphasis on homeland security, maybe even a search. He eased his foot off the gas and made the turn, still going faster than he should have.

  “You with me, brother?” Blue said quietly. General knew it was a serious question. This was no time to be distracted. He had promised Juanita he’d keep an eye out for signs, but he’d also promised to look out for her only son, especially on nights like this.

  “I’m cool,” General said. “Let’s do this.”

  5

  For the first time in a long time, Brandi Harris had something to look forward to. She was sneaking a cigarette in the tiny, airless dressing room before she had to go back out there, but she was thinking about General. He had “I’ll be back” written all over his face. She didn’t think he’d recognized her, but that was cool. That was the whole point of being in this hellhole, to stay under radar. She wondered what he had been doing here, talking to that fool Johnny. Guys like General didn’t make a point of coming in places like this.

  Montre’s was not what you would call a class act. It was a no-frills neighborhood strip joint that catered to workingmen looking for the cheap thrill offered by a five-dollar lap dance, or wannabe gangsters whose fortunes were invested in sneakers, not stocks. The whiskey was watered, the beer was cheap, and the dancers had seen better days. It was not the kind of establishment that Brandi was used to working in. She had been stripping since she was fourteen, flashing a fake ID and flaunting a body that looked like it should have been over eighteen even if it was still under the legal limit.

  She had started out in places worse than Montre’s. No stages. No pole. Just the dancers right on the flat floor, hoping the patrons would throw some dollar bills her way and stop trying to touch her. Touching was against the law, but some of these clubs didn’t give a damn. A lap dance could become a hand job for a few dollars more, and a guy with fifty bucks could probably find somebody willing to do just about anything he could think up.