Borrow Trouble (20 page)

“Did, you say Woolworth?” asked the white man, loosening his grip on the lady's bag.

“None other, sir. I don't have to tell you how word of this getting out would cause quite a stir. Now, the missus has medicine for her illness, but she doesn't like the pills, as you can imagine. Believe me, we'll return the things she took and pay you a small fee for the misunderstanding. Don't think of refusing, because Mr. Woolworth wouldn't like that. He's good to those who look out for him and his, if you get my meaning?” Baltimore turned and stared into the woman's wild expression. He spoke very calmly to maintain eye contact. “Madame Lilly, you pay the nice man a hundred dollars, and we'll be able to straighten out the rest this afternoon. You can send one of the limousines back and have Harold pick up one of everything this store has in your size. Just like the mister arranged it in Chicago.”

“Uh-uh, I will not!” the woman spat defiantly.

“
Every
garment in-in her size?” stammered the store manager greedily.

“Yes, sir,” Baltimore answered casually as a police squad car parked behind the taxi on the street. “As I said, she has done this sort of thing before. Let her pay you for your troubles, and we'll get her back to the Waldorf Hotel so the doctor can have a look at her. Her husband will be forever in your debt.” The woman caught a glimpse of the police car, and as quickly as you please, she whipped out five twenty-dollar bills. She pressed them into the hand of her captor, turned her nose in the air, and then proceeded to strut past the police officers. The store manager slid the money into his pocket and waved off the cops, just like Baltimore knew he would. “I don't know how you put up with rich white people,” Baltimore sighed as the squad car drove away. “They gonna be the death of me.”

“Tell me about it,” the white man replied, with a pained expression, when he realized the well-spoken Negro's diction had taken an immediate dive. By the time the store manager's better judgment caught up to his bad decision, he knew he'd been had.

Baltimore was in the backseat, several blocks away, and frowning disapprovingly, with the pretty lady on his lap, laughing her head off. Henry gawked at the woman's complexion, which was so white, she appeared to be carved from a bar of soap. And if that wasn't bad enough, she threw her arms around Baltimore's neck, kissed him passionately, and then, without notice, reared back and slapped his face so hard, it sounded off. Pudge had been taking it all in from the rearview mirror while keeping one eye on the road.

“Ouch!” shouted Baltimore, massaging his cheek. “What was that for?”

“That's for the hundred you had me pay that man!” she answered him in a common manner befitting a very common girl. “A hundred dollars is a lot of money and hard to come by, too.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Franchetta? Don't go pushing your luck,” Baltimore reprimanded her. “There are two kinds of people who get pinched, them's that's greedy and them's that's stupid. Don't be stupid.”

“Alright, Daddy,” she cooed. “I'll be on my best behavior now that you've come stumbling back around.”

“Okay. Let's see what a hundred bought you, other than your freedom papers,” Baltimore jested.

Franchetta slid off Baltimore's lap and wedged herself between him and Henry. She unfastened her ritzy three-quarter fur coat and pulled one expensive necklace out of her lacy panties after the next as the men looked on. Henry was speechless, and Pudge nearly wrecked his taxi, twice. “Aren't you forgetting something?” Baltimore said knowingly.

“Shoot. I should have known you saw that, too,” the woman pouted. She fished around inside a hidden compartment in the lining of her coat and came out with the store manager's wallet.” Baltimore let that woman kiss him again after she handed the wallet over as a gratuitous fee for saving her. While en route to her place, Henry was so confused that he started to mist up around the eyes. Baltimore shook his head as he recited what had gone on inside the department store with the manager and how he'd pitted the man's greed against him. “Any con man worth his salt could have pulled it off if the pigeon was inspired properly,” Baltimore said solemnly. “Gentlemen, I'm proud to introduce you to Miss Franchetta St. Jean, my first love…among other things, and as you just seen, a first-rate pickpocket.” He'd neglected to include other pertinent vital information, which allowed her to bring the other men up to speed, if and when she saw fit.

“Baltimore, please tell this fool before he floods this cab with those crocodile tears,” she sniped, without regard for Henry's feelings.

“Okay, okay,” Baltimore agreed. “Henry, Franchetta here ain't what you think. She's as black as you and me, on the inside, where it matters most.”

Franchetta went on to tell them how her mother was mulatto, and that although she didn't know her father, it had always been assumed he was a white man, though this had not been confirmed or denied before she ran off from home at age sixteen. Since meeting Baltimore in lower Maryland as a young girl, she'd become quite the chameleon, learning how to wear her hair and pass for white during the day to survive, while kicking up dust and devilment with her own people as soon as the sun set on the city. Another of the things neither of them mentioned straightaway was Franchetta's full-time occupation. They both agreed, with a sly wink, that it was better to save the best for last.

A
fter the taxi stopped in front of a small, two-story, wood-framed house painted a pale shade of yellow, Henry helped Baltimore with the luggage from the trunk, while Pudge stared at the backside of Franchetta's swanky coat swaying all the way up to the worn screen door.

“Tomorrow morning, Pudge. All I need is 'til then!” Baltimore yelled over the rattling muffler before he slapped the rear fender to send Pudge on down the road. Baltimore figured it would take him that long to get in good with Franchetta all over again while catching up on old times. He had no idea what she'd begun cooking up inside that busy head of hers as soon as she saw him leap out of a moving car onto the pavement to rescue her from an imminent arrest.

As Baltimore headed up the walkway, Henry pulled on his new secondhand wool coat. “That Franchetta, she's sweet on you, but how long do you think she's gonna let me hang around? We done spent up just about the whole knot on these new digs.”

Baltimore shrugged off his question before seeing his way to answering it. “You'll be welcome as long as I hang around, I guess. Don't go worrying about a thing, though. Franchetta's as good as gold, only twice the fun getting to hold. She's got friends, you know,” he said, leaving a pregnant pause to hold Henry's attention. “Nice ones,” he added, with a sly smile, as they marched up three cement steps to reach the elevated porch. Before Henry had time to process the loaded comment, he was faced with meeting Franchetta's friends firsthand as they looked out of that charming pale yellow house.

A slight woman, the shade of hot tea, met Franchetta at the door after undoubtedly watching her climb out of a taxi with two strange men. There were only three rules that governed the house, which was occupied by four young, enterprising women. One of them was picking up after themselves, another was having their share of the utilities on time and without fail, and the third one was simply no men, not ever. That's why the thinly built woman, in khaki slacks, brown loafers, and a blue long-sleeve pullover sweater, shot a questioning glare at Franchetta as she bounded happily through the door. “What's with the strays you brung with you?” the woman asked Franchetta, simultaneously mean mugging her visitors.

“This here is Charlotte Bingham, but the girls call her Chick. Now move over a beat so we can get a good look at what the cat drug in,” Franchetta demanded playfully, with a smile parked on her face. She shrugged her coat off and tossed it on the arm of the sofa next to the door. Now, standing shoulder to shoulder with her apprehensive roommate, Franchetta winked at the men, relegated to standing on the dust mat. “Those fellas ain't no strays at-tall, Chick. The big lug is the sensitive type, so go easy on him. Henry Taylor, say ‘good day' to the lady,” Franchetta instructed him. After he nodded uncomfortably, without too much yakking, Franchetta nudged Chick from the side, as if to say “lighten up” while she had her fun. “Good boy, Henry,” Franchetta giggled seductively. Henry smiled awkwardly and then looked over at Baltimore for a clue, but his friend was enjoying this little game as much as he knew Franchetta did. “And that steamy dream standing there in one of Rascal's redos is Baltimore Floyd. He sho' is nice to look at, ain't he?”

“He's a thriller alright, but he kinda smells like this undertaker I used to know,” Chick said, rubbing a forefinger beneath her narrow nose. “I guess he'll be alright as long as he don't have cold hands. That always did give me the creeps.” Chick sucked her teeth rudely, still unsure if letting the men camp there was a good move. Despite her petite frame, Chick was as tough as nails and handled herself like a much larger woman. She always said, “A colored girl's gotta carry her own weight and a lot more if she wants to make a dent in this world.” In Chick's case, her bite was a lot worse than her bark, a lot worse.

“Melvina, Daisy!” Franchetta hollered loudly to summon the others. “Come and see what I went out and got for the house!” A bit aggravated and growing colder on the front porch, Henry sighed when he realized the game wasn't over, not by a long shot. Baltimore understood fully. Franchetta was in control the entire time, but she wanted the other women to feel as though they had some say in the matter, when, in actuality, she was going to do what she always had: whatever she damned well pleased. When the two remaining roommates appeared behind the first two, Henry's mouth watered at the thought of sleeping under the same roof with four beauties.

“What's with them standing there like statues?” Melvina asked as she peeked at the men over Chick's shoulder. This one made Henry nervous in the worst way. Melvina Hicks was a saucy brown thing with a sturdy frame, the kind that made a man change his religion and his name. Her soft brown eyes and generous breasts were hard on a man's constitution, and his bank account, once she got her hooks in him. One look at Henry and no one had to guess what he was thinking. His face resembled one big wagging tongue.

“What you looking at!” Chick scolded him, sensing that Henry's hormones were firing up. “Let's get something straight. Ain't gonna be no fooling around if we do decide to let y'all in.”

“Daisy, what you think about my bright idea to let these pals of mine flop here awhile?” Franchetta asked the youngest of the four.

Daisy Wilson, satin brown with an hourglass figure, stuck her neck out and looked the men up one side and down the other. Baltimore and Henry tried to stare straight ahead during her inspection instead of allowing their horns to show. One renegade glance made Baltimore wish he hadn't. Daisy was no more than twenty-one years old, but she'd been hooking for three years, since her mother threw her out into the streets for screwing around with her stepfather. Now, there was no proof of the affair, but everyone in town knew he'd been after Daisy for years, and from the day she celebrated seventeen, he couldn't seem to find his way to his wife's bed. A week later Daisy was out on her own and entertaining in a cathouse, before she met up with Franchetta and the girls. “I ont rightly know,” Daisy answered quietly. “Where they's gon' sleep?”

“With me?” Franchetta answered assuredly. “Won't that be cozy.”

Melvina smirked her displeasure over Franchetta's blatant disregard of her vote. “Wait a minute, Frannie. Just how is it that you get both of 'em?”

Franchetta cast a glint at Chick from the corner of her eye. “Appears to me, Chick, we just done decided.” Before walking away from the interview of sorts, Franchetta made her position plain. “Come on in out of that cold, boys. We've got a lot to talk about.”

“You telling me,” mumbled Henry as the ladies retreated inside. “Baltimo', would you look at that. This house has more ass than a team of mules.”

“Just don't go getting in no hurry trying to ride them all at once,” Baltimore suggested. “Wait and see. Take it slow. You have to treat sporting women a certain kinda way when they's off the clock. Trust me. I know what I'm talking about. I ain't wrong about this. You'll see.”

Henry's eyes widened when his friend's words hit home. “Baltimo', you can't mean all of 'em are sporting women?” Henry couldn't believe his good luck as Baltimore eagerly entered into the front room. “Hey, Balt, is all of 'em?” Henry queried softly, heavy on Baltimore's heels. “Ahh, man, when I die, forget going to heaven. I'm coming back here.”

Once the men were comfortably inside, both of them surveyed the house with a wandering eye. Right away, Henry saw that the fireplace was in desperate need of repair, as were many other amenities. The hardwood floor that covered the first floor needed corking in several places, the curtain rod over the big bay window needed to be rehung, and Henry had never been in a woman's home that didn't have a leaky faucet or two. Baltimore glanced at Henry, pretty near reading his mind, because he was thinking the same thing: how it would be a privilege to help the girls fix up their humble abode while taking advantage of their hospitality.

“Here. Please take care of my hat. It's the only one I got,” Henry said, handing it over to Chick.

She took the light-shaded Stetson from him and eyed it like he should have selected another one. “Don't mention it. I'll put it in the safe,” she scoffed.

“Franchetta, do you by chance have any carpentry tools or a handyman's box?” Baltimore asked before he set the luggage on the floor.

A thankful smile danced across Franchetta's thin lips when she looked around the living room area to evaluate what the men saw. “I know it could use some work. It's small, but it's ours. Yeah, y'all can find a box of hardware, hammers, and nails out in the car shed. The previous owner didn't have any further use for them. Why on't y'all change in my room and have at whatever you see broke.” Henry followed Baltimore into the bedroom at the bottom of the staircase and closed the door.

“Huh? Henry looks to be worth his keep, but your friend Baltimore is too damned pretty to be any good with his hands,” Chick cracked at the first opportunity. “Least not around no workman's tools, I'd bet,” she added on second thought, still not completely sold on them invading her safe haven.

“Oh, he's full of surprises, ladies,” Franchetta answered for the other women who might have been wondering how useful Baltimore could be in the maintenance department. “Chances are, anything you can think of, Baltimore has already come up with three ways to pull it off, work it out, and make it holler.”

Daisy peeked over her magazine and giggled, but Melvina was inspired and liked what she heard. “Is that so?” she asked, hoping it was. “We are still talking about tending to things around the house, right? 'Cause I'd hate for a girl to build her hopes up and be all a shamble behind a heap of disappointment.”

“There's not an ounce of letdown in him,” Franchetta asserted. “Uh-uh, not one little ole pinch of it. Not one.”

After the fellows walked over every inch of the four-bedroom house and compiled a list of things to be attended to, they agreed on who would be responsible for each task. They were fast at work in a jiffy and glad to do it. Franchetta changed into comfortable house clothes: a white long-sleeve cotton blouse and a pair of hunter green polyester slacks. She displayed everything she'd copped from the department store by laying it out on her bed while sharing how Baltimore had literally jumped from a moving car and rescued her. “Sure, he did,” Franchetta boasted when Melvina and Chick made it obvious they thought she was embellishing the story. “Don't y'all be looking at me cockeyed like that. I'm not putting on. I'm telling you straight. The taxicab was still moving when he leaped out and dashed over like a comic-book hero to come and see about me.” When the other women laughed, Franchetta agreed that she'd gone too far with that one. “Anyways, Baltimore saved me from that store manager with some of the slickest talking you ever heard.”

“What'd he say, Frannie?” Daisy begged to know.

Franchetta pounced off the bed and began strutting around the room, with her fists anchored on her hips. “This is how he strutted up, all dignified like a college boy,” she told them as she pranced. “He said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but I do believe you have my white woman, and I want her back.'”

“He did not,” Chick argued, wide-eyed but refusing to believe it.

“Of course, he didn't, or I'd be in the clink for sure,” Franchetta confessed. “But he may as well have by the way that cracker, who was holding on to me by the wrist, stared at him. Baltimore says right out of the box, ‘There you are, madame. We've been searching for you hither and thither, or something just as hoity-toity. Then he busted out about how Mr. Woolworth would be so glad that I didn't get myself into trouble again, on account of my kleptomanium.”

“Your which?” asked Melvina.

“You know, that brain glitch some rich white folks get that makes them steal what they could pay for outright,” Franchetta answered the best way she knew how.

“Oh yeah, I have heard of that,” Melvina remembered. “That was good thinking. What else did Baltimore do?”

“Yeah, what else?” asked Daisy, bright-eyed and all aglow as Chick sat there with her arms folded across her chest.

“Well, Baltimore waved over at the taxi, telling the white fella how my husband, the Mr. Woolworth, would spare no expense getting me to the Waldorf safe and sound. Yeah, he laid it on about how they should get off the sidewalk and step inside the store to discuss how my stunt could cause one of the wealthiest men in America a certain dreadful miscalculation…something or another, you know, to really get the man's mind off of me. The way Baltimore was tossing those five-dollar words around, I almost believed I was entitled to a rich white man's money myself. And once the store manager bit down on the hook, it was all over but the crying. That's when I lifted his billfold. I figured that belonged to me for my troubles, but I gave the take to Baltimore for getting me out of the jam.”

“Wow, that's something alright,” Daisy said in amazement. “So if he didn't happen by when he did, Frannie, you'd be in the pokey right now?”

“No doubt about it,” Franchetta answered soberly.

“Okay, so you paid the man his due,” Chick said, reasoning that that should have been enough. “So why bring him and his friend all the way out here?”

“I'm glad you asked, Chick. Remember how we ended up sitting on our empty pockets when the pipe fitters' convention came through last year, only because we didn't have anyone to promote us to over three hundred plumbers looking for something
different
to do? A man like Baltimore is a good man to know and a pitch above perfect in the negotiating area.”

“Uh-uh, I don't need no pimp,” Chick objected adamantly, although Melvina felt the same way.

“And I'm not getting us one, neither,” Franchetta informed them. “We could use a promoter for the automobilers coming into town by the train- and busloads. Now, a smart man could keep us busy every day for a week. There will be some big spenders rolling in, a lot of money to be had, and we should be looking to get some of it before it's gone.” She peered at Chick, then at Melvina, and lastly, at Daisy. Franchetta could tell they were lamenting over the dry spells they'd had to endure from time to time. Once she'd adequately baited her line, she decided to let it ride the current until the time came to get out the net. “I'm going into the kitchen to put something together for dinner. Y'all think on it a while. You'll come around.” Franchetta disappeared, closing the door behind her so the girls could discuss their interest in acquiring a potential promoter. Franchetta's insides fluttered when she heard the comforting clomps of manly footsteps throughout the house. It almost felt like having a man of her own, with four big feet.