Ciji Ware (27 page)

“I agree,” Daphne seconded her, wrinkling her nose in dismay. She looked at Ebner. “What’s your verdict? Maybe electrifying my harp won’t work for a lot of the pieces I planned to sing.”

Willis put down his sax and asked them to try the same tune while he played his electronic keyboard.

“It sounds better, but what a shame to lose the sax in this piece,” Kendra declared.

“I’ve got an idea!” Daphne said excitedly. “How about turning ourselves into the Willis McGee
quintet
for just one night? What would you say if I called my friend in New Orleans who plays keyboard? That way, Willis can play the sax, or keyboard as he pleases.”

“Who’re you thinking of?” Willis asked dubiously.

“The musician I told you about. She plays keyboard at her family’s place—Cafe LaCroix—in New Orleans. Althea LaCroix.”

“Wow…” breathed Kendra. “I’d be playing bass guitar with Althea LaCroix?” She looked at her father and grinned. “Daddy, you’ve gone and done a genius thing, getting this harpist lady to play with us, especially if she can get Althea LaCroix up here.” She turned back to Daphne, and said earnestly, “That sister is my idol… I mean, my absolute
idol
!” Then her face fell. “Do you think she’d do it? Come all the way up here for a gig at this ol’ place?” she added, gazing around the room, which looked as if it would seat a mere fifty patrons, tops.

“Well… it won’t hurt to find out.” Daphne pulled out her cell phone and direct dialed Cafe LaCroix on Decatur Street. “Since this is turning out to be kind of a jam session anyway—Oh! Hey, Alth?” she said, amazed that her friend had answered the phone. “You’re not gonna believe where I am.” She grinned at the members of the Willis McGee band who stared at her with varying degrees of astonishment and admiration. “And you’re not gonna believe what I’ve done to my harp!”

***

Daphne, Kendra, and Althea stood in front of the mirror in Cousin Maddy’s big bedroom at the top of the stairs.

“I can’t wear
this
!” Daphne glared at her childhood friend indignantly. “Just look! This leather miniskirt barely covers my crotch!”

“That’s right,” Althea said smugly. “That’s the point.” She reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a pair of black, high-cut bikini underwear and sheer black stockings. “You wear these with it.”

“Those?”
Daphne replied, scandalized. “You expect me to go on that stage—having to sing
and
play an electric harp for the first time in my life—dressed like some floozy on Esplanade Avenue? Are you
crazy
?”

Althea pointed to the black leather miniskirts she and Kendra had just donned. “We’re in ’em too, girl,” she reminded Daphne sharply. “And besides, I paid a lot of money for these and the chain-mail bustiers.”

Kendra preened in front of the mirror, the tops of her voluptuous breasts swelling above the bustier’s curved edge, creating a sight that was downright arresting. “I just
love
’em!”

“Fine,” Daphne declared. “Y’all wear all this stuff, then. I’ll pay you back for mine, but I can’t go on stage with my boobs
and
my rear end hanging out, all at the same time.”

“Why not?” Althea demanded. “You’re gonna look great. After all, you told King you’d always fantasized wearing sexy duds like these playing your harp. Least that’s what he told
me
at the weddin’.”

“But that’s just it,” Daphne said, gazing at Kendra with an expression that begged her support, even though she knew the younger girl was thrilled with the red-hot outfits her idol had brought from New Orleans. “It was a
fantasy.
I was joking! I was never serious about something as crazy as this.”

“What you ’fraid of, Daphne Duvallon?” Althea demanded.

“That’s not the point,” Daphne replied defensively. “It’s just that… this look definitely isn’t
me
.”

“You think all those high-and-mighty ancestors of yours will come back to haunt you if you don’t wear buttons and bows on stage tonight?”

If
only
you
knew
…

“If I wear this, I’ll die of embarrassment, right on the bandstand.” She could just imagine Sim Hopkins sitting in the audience with her wearing this streetwalker getup. It didn’t exactly jibe with her well-articulated, keep-your-hands-off-the-merchandise policy.

“I just don’t see what your problem is, Daph,” Althea said crossly.

Daphne pleaded for her friend’s understanding. “You two are used to showing your legs in public, but remember, I’ve been wearing long, shapeless skirts all my life when I play music.”

“Don’t you think your ol’ angel act is a bit over-the-hill for an Under-the-Hill joint like this?” Althea stated bluntly with all the candor contained in their years of friendship. “At least for one night of your life, maybe it’s time you started acting like the woman you obviously want to
be
? You’ve been handed the perfect chance to be a jazz singer tonight. If you don’t go for it, what’s this exercise in Natchez all about, huh?”

“It’s not about going on stage looking like a slut,” Daphne retorted. “The audience’ll just think we’re a bunch of working girls.”

Althea’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What is it with you, Daphne?” she snapped. “You just slummin’ with the black folks while you’re visitin’ down South?”

Stunned by the hostility in Althea’s voice, Daphne’s mouth parted slightly as she stared at the friend she’d known since her first year in high school. Race had never come between them—ever. Somehow, they’d made their way through that particular minefield early on and had been loyal friends for more than a decade, respectful of their differences and appreciative of the many points where their interests and intellects intersected.

“This is not about ‘slumming’ with the
black
folks
, Althea,” Daphne said, keeping her voice low and attempting to hide the hurt. She noticed that Kendra had retreated to the corner of the bedroom and slid into a shabby, upholstered chair. “This is about how scared I am to be doing what I’m about to do. What are you playing the race card for?”

A painful silence ensued. Then Althea said softly, “I’m sorry, Daph. I was out of line.”

Daphne put her arm around her childhood friend and said, “Thank you.”

“I guess my feelings were hurt when you didn’t like all this stuff I bought, when it was ’specially for you ’cause of what you said to your brother that time.”

“I’m really grateful for all the trouble you went to, getting it and bringing it up from New Orleans. And I’m sorry I said it made us look like working girls, but, jeeze, Althea… have a little pity. These clothes are so… revealing.”

Althea gave Daphne’s shoulder a squeeze to show she’d forgiven her. “I know it takes guts to put it all out there,” she replied slowly, “and I don’t just mean putting on a short skirt. But anybody who had the courage to run out of Saint Louis Cathedral like you did can suck it up enough to wear a lil’ ol’ miniskirt. C’mon!” she said encouragingly. “I think that underneath all that Miz Magnolia stuff your mama’s laid on you since you were in kindergarten is a real
bombshell
, waiting to make her wild woman debut.”

For several long moments, Daphne stared at her reflection in Maddy’s mirror while Kendra and Althea looked on. Her legs seemed ten yards long.

“Oh… what the hell,” she said finally. “I’ll wear it.”

“You
will
?” Althea asked in a startled voice.

“I will.” Daphne repeated firmly. “I will wear it and you will
weep
, Althea LaCroix!” The tops of her breasts bulging above the strapless bronze bustier could have passed for a pair of Triple A League softballs. Worse still, her miniskirt left her even more exposed. How in the world would it look to have a harp nestled between thighs clad only in see-through, come-hither black net opera hose, she worried, cringing at the thought?

“
Ta-daaaaa
,” Althea crooned into a make-believe microphone. “I give you the one… the only… ‘Harp Honey’!”

“Turn ’round.” Kendra giggled softly. “Well… smack my mama! Every guy in that bar’s gonna think you look good ’nuf to eat!” She glanced at her plastic watch. “I told Daddy we’d meet Ebner and him by nine thirty at the bar. He was gonna take a little nap, so’s to help his cold, you know?”

“C’mon,” Daphne groaned, “Let’s get out of here before Maddy sees us or someone calls the fashion police.”

***

The three musicians needn’t have worried that the Natchez authorities had the Under-the-Hill Saloon under surveillance. The place was nearly deserted at the worrisome hour of nine thirty. In addition, the women had another problem. Two big problems, in fact.

“That was Mama,” Kendra said, tucking her cell phone back into her purse as the threesome huddled in the restroom at the back of the club. “Daddy’s been coughing something fierce all day and Mama called the doctor late this afternoon. The doc says no way can he play tonight. He might have walking pneumonia, or something! Mama’s really worried. He’s starting to take antibiotics, she says.”

“Pneumonia,” Daphne gasped. “Oh, no!”

“It’s okay… it’s okay,” Althea assured her. “Willis just needs some rest, and I’m here, remember? We’ll miss the sax, but I’ll play solo keyboard and it’ll sound fine.”

“Ah… something else bad’s happened, Mama said,” Kendra said, glancing nervously between Daphne and her idol. “Ebner’s car done broke down. In Baton Rouge. Even if he gets it fixed, he told Mama that he can’t get here by ten o’clock.”

“Oh… m’God,” Daphne said, horrified. “No drummer? How am I going to sing in time to the music? I’ll be terrible without a drummer.”

“You’re a graduate of
Juilliard
, for God’s sake,” Althea scolded. “Kendra plays her bass hot and heavy, and just listen to me for a downbeat.”

Daphne gulped air and tried to calm the square dance in her stomach. “We can’t call ourselves the Willis McGee Quintet,” she pointed out, “if we aren’t
five
members, and Willis isn’t here. Oh, Jesus! This is horrible!”

The women exchanged worried looks.

“Hmmm… the name’s definitely a problem,” Althea agreed.

“How ’bout calling ourselves the Real Bad Girls?” Kendra proposed.

“Naw…” Althea replied, shaking her head. “Too obvious.”

Daphne brightened and snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! We’re an all-women band tonight, right? How about calling ourselves the Aphrodite Jazz Ensemble?”

“We’re only three people, for God’s sake!” Althea groused.

“Who’s Aphro-whatsit?” Kendra asked meekly.

“Aphrodite. The goddess of love,” Althea said briskly.

“
And
beauty!” Daphne said.

“Greek stuff,” Althea informed Kendra. She turned to her childhood friend, and added dryly, “Very classy, Daphne. Typical.” Then she grinned. “Oh, what the hell. We’re desperate. Hardly anyone’s out front, anyway. Let’s just have some fun, okay?” She slapped her musical partners gently on their backsides and then glanced at the clock hanging crookedly on the wail above the paper towel dispenser.

“Well… y’all get ready,” Althea declared, all business now. “It’s just ’bout show time, ladies.”

“Oh, m’God,” Daphne groaned, reality returning with a thud. She winced at the thought of Simon Hopkins and Cousin Maddy sitting among the deserted tables and chairs out front while she sang, half naked, with an electrified concert harp nestled between her exposed thighs.

At
least
if
Magnolia
Mama
ever
gets
wind
of
this
little
caper
, Daphne thought gratefully,
I’ll be safely back in New York.

Meanwhile, Althea, hidden off stage, approached a standing microphone and announced with professional panache, “Ladies and Gentleman… five minutes to show time! Y’all get your drinks and come right down front for a ringside seat. Get ready to give a big, warm round of applause to…
the
Aphrodite
Jazz
Ensemble
!”

Chapter 12

March 27

Sim could smell stale smoke outside on the sidewalk even before he and Madeline Whitaker entered the Under-the-Hill Saloon.

“Oh, dear,” the older woman exclaimed. “I just
knew
I’d be overdressed.” She fretted self-consciously, referring to the black cocktail sheath she’d donned for the occasion.