Miss Carmelia Faye Lafayette (3 page)

“You don’t even know the woman.  And she didn’t act like she was the least bit interested in you,” Ton Stone said.

“She will be.  Just give me time,” Buford Tee said confidently.  “Just give me time.”

 After that night Buford Tee couldn’t get Miss Carmelia off his mind.  He didn’t know where she lived, so he couldn’t pay her a visit.  He did know where the Hankering was located and figured he’d find her there.  The following day he made his way to the Hankering.  It was late afternoon, and the sun was dancing on the tops of the pine and chestnut trees that lined the dirt path that led to the barrelhouse. 

He pulled into the yard, but there was no one around.  He stopped in front of the building and looked around.   It was quiet, unusual for a Saturday afternoon.  He turned to the left and saw a notice pinned to the front door.  He stepped down from the wagon and walked to the door.  The notice said, “Closed Until Further Notice.” 

“Damn,” he moaned. 

He looked around the side of the building and noticed a house a ways down the road from the barrelhouse.  He decided to stop by and ask if they knew how he could locate Miss Carmelia.  They would know being a stone’s throw from the joint. 

He walked to the door and knocked on it, inspecting the Georgian home with its colonial-styled architecture.  He heard footsteps on the inside on the house heading to the door and stepped backwards and waited.

Miss Carmelia answered the door, “Yes?”

“Hi,” Buford Tee said, surprised to see her.  “You live here?”

“Look like it,” she answered coolly.

“Nice,” he said, examining the finely decorated foyer, a grandfather clock and a glass armoire lining the short hallway.

“Did you come here for something specific?” she asked sharply.

“Uh, yes,” he replied.  “You gone open back up any time soon?”

“Why?” she asked.  “Who wanna to know?”

“I do,” he responded.

“I ain’t sure yet,” she said, her lips pursed in irritation. 

Buford Tee paused and then said, “With your husband dead…ex-husband…I know it can’t be easy.”

“You don’t know a damn thing ‘bout me, coming ‘round here all in my face before my husband…ex-husband…even cold in the ground good,” she snapped.

Taken aback by her reaction, Buford Tee said, “Miss, I didn’t mean no harm.  I was just saying--.”

“No, you was just seeing how fast you could get me in the sack,” she said coldly.  “You ain’t no different than all those other sorry men that done been knocking at my door since Hawk died.  Something they been afraid to do when Hawk was walking around alive, scared to death he’d blow their heads off if they even looked my way.”

“Huh?” Buford Tee said, shocked by her accusation.

“They think ‘cause I handle the crib girls, they can just come up here and expect the same treatment.  I ain’t for sale.  I do the damn selling,” she added angrily.

“What?” he said, surprised by her temper and illogical outburst.

She continued huffily, “Men ‘round here think ‘cause they throw a little money at a woman, she’s supposed to just drop her drawers right then and there and give it up.  Most these men can’t even satisfy a fly, let alone a woman, and then got the damn nerve to knock at my door any time of the day and night looking for somebody to massage their dried up, shriveled up….”

“Whoa, ma’am, I didn’t come here for that,” Buford Tee said quickly.

“Then, what the hell you come here for?” Miss Carmelia asked caustically.

“Well, I did come here to ask you to have supper with me, but I didn’t know the devil herself lived here,” he said sharply.

Surprised by his bold comment, she said icily, “Devil!  Devil!  Well, since the devil live here, you can go straight to hell!”

She slammed the door, leaving Buford Tee standing there stunned.  He waited a brief moment and then turned and headed home.

**********

Miss Carmelia came back inside the Hankering after several minutes with a wooden case filled with shot glasses.  She slammed the door again, startling the two men seated at the bar drinking their whiskeys.  They resumed their postures and watched interestedly for the continuation of the juicy conversation.  She placed the case on the countertop and began cleaning each of the shot glasses with a damp cloth.  Buford Tee paused, watching her angry demeanor as she placed each shot glass roughly back in the wooden case. 

“I wanna apologize for what I said that day.  You see—,” Buford Tee started.

“I see your ass ain’t burned up in no hell fire since you stepped foot in here,” Miss Carmelia growled.

“You ain’t gone let that go, are you?”  he asked irritably.  “I just meant—.”

“I don’t care what you meant,” she said angrily.

“Why you so damn angry?” he asked harshly.

“Why you ask so many damn questions?” she snapped, walking to the other side of the joint.

“Man, the devil ain’t got nothing on that woman,” one of the men sitting at the bar said, looking pitifully at Buford Tee who was getting fed up with Miss Carmelia’s snotty attitude.

Buford Tee drank his whiskey, watching as more patrons entered the joint.  Miss Carmelia busied herself with stocking the tables and manning the bar for the customers.  Buford Tee sat patiently at the bar, watching as Miss Carmelia spent considerable energy avoiding him.

Buford Tee didn’t let the evening go to waste, finding a couple of womenfolk to spend some time with, dancing and buying them drinks and dancing some more.  Miss Carmelia grew irritable with his obvious display to make her jealous.  She ignored him and entertained herself by welcoming her customers back and spending her evening getting them to spend as much money as possible on her whiskey and homemade wine.

 By late evening Buford Tee had grown bored with the womenfolk he had entertained himself with earlier and seated himself at a corner booth that gave him full view of the joint.  And Miss Carmelia.  He ordered a couple of more whiskeys and waited as the crowd slowly dwindled, only the few loyals remaining, drunk and asleep wherever their bodies found the most convenient place to lie down. 

An hour later all was quiet, Miss Carmelia and Buford Tee the only moving bodies in the joint.  Buford Tee watched as Miss Carmelia restocked the bar for the next night.  He got up and walked slowly to the bar and sat down, Miss Carmelia’s back to him.  She could feel him behind her, but she would not turn around.

“You remind me of someone,” Buford Tee said softly.

Miss Carmelia didn’t say anything, nor did she turn around.

“You remind me of my mama,” he added.

She glanced back to see Buford Tee examining her.

“She had hair like yours.  And eyes,” he continued, her soft, wavy hair suspended from a gold hair barrette and hanging seductively down her back. 

“You even sound a little like her,” he said. 

Her tensed back softened its posture.

She turned around and said, “Your mama?”

“Yeah, a little bit.  Well, what I remember of her,” he said.

“Your mama—,” she began but was cut off.

“She’s dead,” Buford Tee said, his eyes growing distant, peering into his past.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Carmelia said.  “You loved her.”

“Yeah, I did.  I don’t remember much about her.  I do remember those things, though,” he said, trying to conjure up more memories of her.

“You said I sound like her?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah, even when you’re shouting,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Readied to be combative, Miss Carmelia pursed her lips and slammed a bottle down on the counter.

“I was just making an observation.  I ain’t trying to set you off again,” Buford Tee said.  “But I like that side of you.”

Miss Carmelia calmed herself, her edginess tempered by his compliment.

“Well, thank you,” she said hesitantly.

“Well, at least I pulled a kind word out of you,” Buford Tee joked.

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” she retorted.  “They ain’t nothing but words.”

“Woman, I don’t understand you,” he said seriously.  “Why you give me such a hard time?  I ain’t trying to do nothing but get to know you.  But you colder than an icebox.”

“I ain’t gone take too many more of your throw offs,” she said irritably.

“I just want to know why you pushing me off,” Buford Tee said.  “I ain’t like none of these niggers you claim is after one thing.  I came here to get to know you.  You can’t meet me half way?”

Miss Carmelia looked at him and asked sternly, “What you want with me?” 

“What you mean?  I just told you,” he said.

“You want to get to know me, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Why?  What makes me so special you want to get to know me?” she asked.  “A slew of women ‘round here I know you can have, or you done had.  Why you in my face?”

“I don’t get you,” he said.

“You don’t get me?  Why?  Because I ain’t fell down at your feet and kissed the ground you walk on?” she asked sarcastically.

“You got some issues,” he said coolly.  “A man try to show you he like you for you, and all you can do is cut his balls off.”

“How you gone like me for me when you don’t know a thing about me?” she asked.

“I know you got a son,” Buford Tee said.

Miss Carmelia paused. 

“I know you a good mama,” he added.

“And how you know that?” she asked, softening her posture again.

“I saw you one day in town,” he answered.  “You had your son with you, and the two of you acted like y’all were the only people in the world.”

“Oh,” she said, taken aback by his observation.

“I can tell you love your son,” he said.

“I do,” she replied.  “He’s all I got.”

Miss Carmelia turned away from Buford Tee, not wanting him to see her get emotional.  She fought back her desire to let Buford Tee in, but he was chipping away slowly at her icy exterior that guarded her fragile emotions. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, gently wiping her eyes.  “You want more whiskey?”

“Naw,” Buford Tee said, standing up slowly.  “I better be getting home.”

“Oh, a wife,” Miss Carmelia said, her tone suddenly sharpened.  “It figures.”

“Where you get a wife from?” he asked quickly.

“Have you looked around this joint lately?  Practically every man in here got a wife.  Or a woman they got to get home to,” she said sarcastically.

“Well, I ain’t rushing home to nobody,” he said. 

Miss Carmelia was relieved to hear that but did not let on to Buford Tee. 

“You want me to help you with these guys?” he asked, pointing to three drunken bodies sprawled out around the joint.