same about you.”
“Brother Boatwright, set down here with us. Annette, run get Brother Boatwright a beer,” Mama squealed.
By the time I returned from the kitchen with his beer, Mr. Boatwright had manipulated an invitation for himself to attend some of the judge’s poker parties.
“Oh, you welcome to attend anytime you’d like. But I must warn you, the stakes are pretty high,” the judge informed him.
“I can handle it, I can handle it.” Mr. Boatwright grinned.
“Brother Boatwright need more of a social life,” Mama said gently. “I feel so bad he spend so much time cooped up in the house keepin’ Annette in line when he ought to be out sowin’ his wild oats like other men.” Mama paused and sucked in her breath, then turned around to face me. “You a big girl now. You can’t continue to have Brother Boatwright all to yourself. Turn him aloose. I know you hopeless attached to him, done replaced your daddy with him, but he got to have some fun, too. You ought to be responsible enough to spend time by yourself and not burn the house down.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I can take of myself now,” I replied. I turned my head toward the wall so they wouldn’t see me smiling.
“How was your day, Brother Boatwright? You go anywhere special today?” Mama asked.
Mr. Boatwright nodded and took a drink from his beer before speaking. “Sister Goode, I picked up some Royal Crown hair grease from the store like you asked me to for when you straighten Annette’s hair.”
Judge Lawson looked amused. I hated when Black people talked about Black things white people didn’t know about. Once when Mama and I were shopping at Pluto’s five-and-dime, she asked a young clerk, “Where the straightenin’ combs at?” Puzzled, the clerk laughed, and asked, “The what?” The clerk was confused, amused, and red-faced by the time Mama finished explaining. “You people have to do all that to your hair?” the clerk questioned, looking at the knotty mess on my head. I wanted to crawl into a hole. We had to find a Black clerk to help us find the straightening combs.
Judge Lawson cleared his throat and shuffled around in his seat. “Mr. Boatwright, you might want to try a sip of this Chianti here,” he asked, removing a bag from inside his coat pocket.
“It’s real nice and potent,” Mama said. Mama was not a sophisticated woman. But she had worked for and “socialized” with enough sophisticated people to have some degree of class. She knew fine wine. From the look on his face, I knew that Mr. Boatwright didn’t have a clue as to what Chianti was.
“I read in Hush Hush magazine that Chianti is Frank Sinatra’s favorite drink,” I offered.
Mr. Boatwright snapped around to look at me. “I like Chianti,” he mumbled, clearing his throat. I’d seen his Ripple, Thunderbird, and muscatel bottles in the trash, but never any Chianti bottles.
“Go get some glasses, young’n,” Mama ordered. Mama kept talking without looking at me. “They serve only the most expensive Chianti at Antonosanti’s restaurant and with him already rich and still chargin’ folks high prices for everythin’ in there.”
“Well that suspicious Dago wouldn’t have the money he got now or be walkin’ around a free man if it wasn’t for Judge Lawson here. He was lucky Judge Lawson was still on the bench all them times he had tax problems and liquor-license problems. Runnin’ wild with that flashy undertaker across the street. Unspeakable. How many times that undertaker wound up in your courtroom, Judge?” Mr. Boatwright croaked, winking at Judge Lawson.
“I’ve known Nelson for years, and he’s never been in trouble with the law as far as I know. His reputation is flawless,” Judge Lawson said with a thoughtful look on his face. I couldn’t imagine what he must have thought about Mr. Boatwright.
At times, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Mr. Boatwright. There were so many things about him I didn’t know, like his family background and how he had been raised. But it was obvious he had not had much of a life. I had not had much of a life yet either, and I resented rich people up to a point, but my bitterness was nothing compared to his. I assumed it was because of the difference in our ages. His jealousy and resentment toward rich people stunned me because the same people he trashed treated him with nothing but respect and kindness. Judge Lawson didn’t bat an eye when Mr. Boatwright