and makes it a runaway hit that the whole country is talking about. Add in the fact that you’re a white guy, and—”
“And you got a shit show,” I finished.
“Or a hit show,” Mrs. Edwards said, wry.
“Did you write those songs with him?” Berry asked Esther.
“Some of them,” she answered.
“Most of them,” I corrected. “She wrote everything but the chorus and the bridge in ‘The Bomb Johnson’ too, without me. We work well together.”
“You two have synergy. That’s what I call it,” Berry said. “You could just write together.”
“That’s not enough,” Esther said, her voice firm.
“Let it out that the song is true,” Mrs. Edwards said, nodding. “Don’t shrug it off like it’s just a song. When you stand up on the stage, tell the story. Tell it every time you perform, everywhere. Tell the story until there’s no secret to keep hidden.”
“That’s what we’ve done,” Esther said.
“That’s what we plan to keep on doing,” I said.
“You two are gonna be huge,” Berry marveled. “I can’t buy this kind of attention. We have a showcase—something we set up that we’re calling the Motortown Revue—the day after Christmas at the Fox Theatre. We haven’t sold enough tickets to cover the cost of the venue, but if word gets out about you two . . . we’ll pack the place. We’re going to Chicago after that. December thirtieth at the Regal. We’re hitting the East Coast the first of the year. Uptown Theater in Philly, swinging down to DC, then Baltimore, then Richmond before we head to the Apollo in Harlem, bringing you right back home. All our artists will be on the tour, plus a few new faces I’m looking at. You do all those with us, and you’ll help me put Hitsville U.S.A. on the map.”
“If you put our names up on the marquee, there might be trouble,” I warned.
“The kind of trouble you had in Pittsburgh?” Berry asked.
I nodded.
“I’m counting on it,” Berry exclaimed. “That made the news here. That never happens. Trouble means free press. We’ll up the security, and we’ll sneak you in and out. There’s a movie theater at the Fox too. We’ll bring you in that way if we need to. Behind the screen.” His wheels were already turning.
“We’ll introduce you as our special guests. Motortown Revue presents Minefield at the Fox Theatre. You’ll pack the seats, and our artists will get seen,” Mrs. Edwards said.
“What about the police?” I asked. What about Rudolf Alexander?
For a moment Berry was quiet, thinking. It was his sister who spoke from a place of authority.
“You let us worry about that,” she said. “We’ve got a long history with the police here. In ’43 we had riots over the housing situation. Detroit was hopping with the war effort. Lots of jobs in the factories, and a bunch of Negros and whites both moved up from the South, bringing their sour feelings with them, and there was no place for the flood of new people, especially when the new people didn’t want to live side by side or work side by side, if you know what I’m saying.”
“The South wasn’t a good place for colored people,” Berry said.
“It still isn’t,” Esther said.
“Our parents came from Georgia when I was two. Detroit grew overnight. There was only one housing development that would rent to colored people. And we paid more for less,” Mrs. Edwards explained.
“Still do,” Berry added.
“I was twenty-two years old in ’43, and I saw it all, firsthand,” Mrs. Edwards continued. “People started pointing fingers, making charges to roil up their respective sides, and next thing you know we had police stepping in and President Roosevelt sending in the army—at wartime, mind you—to keep the peace. There hasn’t been a whole lot of peace since . . . and it’s been seventeen years. This place is a powder keg. Now we got car factories closing, and anytime people are out of work, old troubles and divisions start being stirred. You won’t be showing us anything we haven’t already seen.”
“And you still want to put us on the stage?” I asked.
“You let me worry about the police,” Mrs. Edwards repeated, her tone firm.
“That reminds me,” I said, rubbing my hands over my bristly cheeks. The shave that morning at the house in Cranberry Township seemed like a decade ago. “We need a hotel. Someplace that won’t stick me in one building and everyone else in another. I don’t want to be on separate floors or separate wings. I don’t want