The Secrets of Silk (26 page)

“Somebody sure loves you. Is this your mama's house?”

Tate nodded. “She's out of town at a social function, and she likes for me to check on the place whenever she's away from home.”

Tate took Silk by the hand and led her from the living room to a hallway with shellacked, hardwood floors. As he guided her up the stairs, she admired the paintings of geese in flight that decorated the wall going up the stairs.

“I've been jonesing for you since the day I met you,” he said, embracing Silk at the top of the stairs and covering her mouth with his. Kissing her passionately while reaching for the zipper at the back of her dress, he backed her into a wall in the upstairs hallway. “I have to have you,” he muttered, yanking the bodice of her dress down and then groping with the hooks of her bra.

Silk helped Tate remove her bra and then she flung it on the floor. The open door of the middle bedroom revealed a well-ordered room with a large bed that beckoned them. But overcome by lust, neither Tate nor Silk could find the strength to make it to the room.

Tate's hands roamed over her bare breasts, and Silk's skin tingled at his touch. She buried her head in his chest, breathing him in as her eager body rubbed against him. He smelled deliciously manly—like soap, a hint of sweat, and aftershave. The ache between her legs demanded attention, and her restless hands whizzed downward and stroked his crotch, creating a hard lump of flesh inside
his pants. She urgently struggled to unfasten his pants and take hold of his dick in her trembling hand.

Her gaze dropped to the throbbing flesh that felt hot against her palm, and a range of desires overwhelmed her. Her tense fingers yearned to fondle his erection, while at the same time, her lips puckered at the sight. It was difficult to resist the urge to draw his beautifully formed appendage inside her mouth and lather it with her tongue. The very core of her body tightened expectantly, craving the sensation of him gliding slowly into her and then upping the tempo with deep, driving strokes that were certain to send her over the edge of madness.

Not knowing what pleasure to partake in first, Silk was relieved when Tate made the choice for her. With his pants falling past his firm thighs, he eased her down to the floor and mounted her. Hot kisses on her lips persuaded her to arch her back and open her legs for him as wide as possible.

She'd had many sex partners in her young life, but the way Tate made love to her was beyond anything she'd ever experienced. Maybe the alcohol that was coursing through her system made her body extra sensitive to his touch. Maybe her body hungered for a skilled lover with finesse. Whatever the case, the sexual connection between Silk and Tate was unlike anything she'd ever known, and she wanted to feel him inside her every day and every night.

•  •  •

When Tate and Silk emerged from his mother's house, Silk hung on to him with both arms wrapped around his waist, and her head resting on his shoulder, making it clear that she didn't want to ever let him go.

Despite having Silk cling to him like a conjoined twin, Tate managed
to dig inside his pocket and wrestle out a dollar bill. “Here you, go, Junebug.”

“Oh, boy! A dollar!” Junebug broke into a toothy grin. “Thanks, Mr. Tate,” he said, scampering off to the corner where the Mr. Softee truck was parked with a flock of children and a few parents standing at the serve window.

After walking Silk to her car, Tate disentangled himself from her and gave her a kiss. “I'll see you again tomorrow night, baby. Keep that thing hot for me,” he said with a self-assured smile.

•  •  •

When Silk returned to the Y to pick up Dallas, the child was looking forlorn, sitting on the steps of the building holding her satchel filled with dance attire and swimwear.

“I'm sorry I'm late, sweetiekins. Were you scared?”

“A little bit.”

“Aw.” Silk caressed her hair. “I'll bet you're hungry.”

Dallas nodded.

“If you want, we can stop by Woolworth and see if the lunch counter is still open. If it's closed, we can go up the street to John's Doggie Shop and get ourselves a chili dog. What do you think about that?”

“I never had a chili dog.”

“They're delicious. I had one the other day when I was out joy-riding in my new car.”

As they approached Silk's Cadillac, she took Dallas' satchel and put it in the trunk, and then took her by the hand and continued walking. “No point in moving the car. John's Doggie Shop is right on the corner of Seventh and Sproul.” Silk pointed in the direction of the hot dog shop. “Those chili dogs are some kind of good, sweetiekins, especially when they load on the cheese and raw onions.”

Dallas made a face. “I don't like onions.”

“Okay, I'll tell them to hold the onions on your hot dog.”

After getting served chili dogs, fries, and Coca-Colas, Silk and Dallas took seats at a round table with high stools that were located in front of a large, picture window. They peered out the window, watching the passersby as they munched on their food.

“Miss Wickers, my ballet teacher, said I caught on quick. She gave me a solo to perform at the dance recital. Do you know what a solo is, M'dear?” When Silk didn't respond and continued to stare out of the window dreamily, Dallas went on chattering. “A solo is when you dance all by yourself onstage. I hope I don't mess up. Miss Wickers said you should buy the record of the music I'm dancing to so I can practice at home. She wrote the name of the song on a piece of paper. It's in my dance bag.”

“That's nice,” Silk said absently. Dallas was talking a mile a minute, and although Silk had hoped that she'd eventually break out of her bashfulness, now was not a good time for the child to be striking up such a lengthy conversation. Silk's mind was much too preoccupied with thoughts of Tate to pay attention to Dallas' silly jabbering.

Reminiscing about the passionate love she and Tate had made caused butterflies to flutter around in her tummy, and a chill ran up her spine.

That doggone Tate ain't nothing but trouble,
she reminded herself, again. Then she thought about his soft lips and his slow, sensual hands.
Mmm.
He was the kind of trouble a girl didn't mind getting into, Silk decided.

T
he food that church members had donated when Silk first arrived was long gone, and Silk had been paying Mrs. Sudler fifteen dollars a week to cook and clean for the Dixon family. For extra money, Mrs. Sudler also kept an eye on Myron, Bruce, and Dallas whenever Silk needed her to.

Buddy still had no idea that Silk didn't know the first thing about cooking. He was oblivious to the fact that she couldn't even boil an egg. Silk led him to believe that taking care of his three children kept her hands full, and that there was no time for cooking and cleaning. Eager to lighten the load of his beautiful, new wife, Buddy didn't mind paying for a little extra help.

But Mrs. Sudler had become a problem. One look at Silk's new Cadillac and she decided that fifteen dollars a week wasn't enough.

“I've been thinking,” Mrs. Sudler said, shifting her eyes downward. “For all I do around here, I deserve twenty dollars a week.”

Enraged, Silk saw red. “Oh, really? Well, I don't think so. Fifteen dollars a week adds up. A lot of women in this community would love to earn the sixty bucks a month that I've been paying you. And they probably could whip up much better meals than the tasteless food you throw together,” Silk said with a sneer.

Mrs. Sudler was taken aback. “You never complained about my cooking before.”

“Didn't want to hurt your feelings, but it's high time that I expressed my true sentiments. And if you don't like it, you can lump it,” Silk said sassily, with a hand on her hip.

Mrs. Sudler began backpedaling. “Well, I suppose I could add more flavor.” She chuckled embarrassedly. “I tend to forget that you're from Louisiana and most likely prefer to eat very spicy food.”

Silk's mouth curled with distaste. “The amount of spice ain't got nothing to do with it. What I prefer is that you take your ungrateful, raggedy ass out of my house and don't try to come crawling back.”

Mrs. Sudler huffed up in indignation. “Now, Silk, there's no cause for name-calling. Why can't we discuss this money matter like civilized people?”

Silk reached into her bosom and pulled out her knife. She held it up to the corner of Mrs. Sudler's mouth. “You've been smiling in my face with that fake grin ever since the day we met. Don't tempt me into giving you a permanent big smile,” Silk threatened, drawing a few droplets of blood with the blade of the knife.

“You're crazy!” Mrs. Sudler broke away and raced to the front door, knocking into furniture along the way.

Silk doubled over in laughter. “You better take your ass out of here!” When the door slammed, Silk cackled again, this time, slapping her hand on the kitchen counter. After her laughter subsided, she began banging on the Formica countertop in fury.
The nerve of that trifling hussy to come to my home demanding more money. If I was in Louisiana, I would have cut the bitch without hesitation. Sheriff Thompson never gave a shit about what coloreds did to each other. But here in Chester, they got constables and magistrates and all sorts of lawmakers ready to punish Negroes for harming one another.
Angry that she had to restrain herself from doing bodily harm to Mrs. Sudler, Silk kicked a kitchen chair, toppling it over.

Alerted by the commotion, the children scrambled down the stairs. Silk stalked over to the bottom of the staircase. With her arms folded, she glared at the children, stopping them in their tracks.

“What happened, M'dear?” Myron inquired. Behind him, Bruce and Dallas gawked at Silk with wide, curious eyes.

“None of your beeswax. Now, take your nosey asses back upstairs before I cut some switches and light fire to your scrawny hind parts and ashy legs.”

With that threat, the children practically knocked each other over, racing up the stairs.

“Get back here, Dallas!” Silk shouted.

Dallas halted. “Yes, M'dear?” she said fearfully.

“Oooh, Dallas is gonna get it,” Bruce and Myron taunted in whispery voices.

“You two knuckle-headed boys better get up those steps. Hurry up before I beat y'all asses until they're black and blue!” Softening her expression, she beckoned Dallas. “I want you to come down here with me, sweetiekins.” With a gentle smile, Silk reached for Dallas' hand, and then led her to the living room.

“Do you want me to give you some thrills, M'dear?”

“Shh. The walls have ears, and you know better than to talk about our secret.”

“I'm sorry. Do you want me to give you some thrills?” Dallas repeated, this time in a whisper.

“What do you think?” Silk's tone was sarcastic. Hastily, she ushered Dallas toward the sofa. She hitched up her dress, and then exhaled in exasperation. “That doggone Mrs. Sudler is a pain in the butt. She done got on my last nerve, but thank goodness I have such a sweet little girl to calm me down.”

Dallas looked up at Silk, her eyes sparkling with innocence and the eager desire to calm down her edgy stepmother.

Needing help around the house, Silk put out feelers. She received word that Carrie Pettiford who sold dinners every Saturday and the first Wednesday of every month was available to cook for the Dixon family. Carrie couldn't do any housework due to her allergies and heart condition, but she assured Silk that she'd bring her teenage daughter, Sharita, along to handle the cleaning chores.

Silk was none too pleased when she was introduced to Sharita. With her knock-knees, her wide, boxy-shape, and an unsightly cleft lip, the girl wasn't easy on the eyes. Furthermore, she was somewhat simple-minded. Unable to keep up with her classmates, Sharita had repeated grades so many times, she was now sixteen years old and only in the eighth grade, which made her a target for ridicule. But despite her flaws, Sharita could scrub and clean like nobody's business. She kept the Dixon household as neat as a pin and sparkling from top to bottom.

Silk noticed that Myron and Bruce enjoyed giving Sharita orders, and they teased her mercilessly. Silk didn't bother to intervene. Figuring that Sharita needed to learn how to stick up for herself, she allowed the boys to have fun at the cleaning girl's expense.

Whenever Carrie left for the day after finishing up her cooking duties, the boys considered Sharita fair game for taunts and mockery.

Gathered around the kitchen table, Myron, Bruce, and Dallas ate dessert while Silk had her face buried in the daily newspaper, reading the comics. From the corner of her eye, Silk saw Bruce sneakily hold up his water pistol and take a shot at Sharita as she stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes. Silk couldn't help cracking a smile at the boy's devilishness.

“Cut it out,” Sharita mumbled without turning around.