One Day She'll Darken Read online

  “You mean he left you?”

  “Yeah, he left,” she said sorrowfully. “But then . . . he came back.” She added with a coquettish grin. “He forgot the fighting. All he could remember was my hot, delightfully sensual body. I convinced him that if we were in a different place, away from Canton, everything would be OK. So we took off together for Los Angeles.”

  Yvonne breathed a sigh; her shoulders sank. “I gotta go. All this horny talk makin’ me flush.”

  Jimmy giggled as she put out her cigarette and emptied the ashtray.

  Life in a big city was not a cure-all. They were more comfortable in a smaller town and the casinos in Reno provided an opportunity for them to change their fortune. Within six months after starting a new life together they were earning well over a hundred dollars a week, with Chris in charge of the money. Somewhere along the way Jimmie Lee Stokes stopped using her family name and became Jimmie Lee Greenwade.

  Spending each day in the ladies’ lounge, located near the casino cashier, Jimmie attended to the women patrons and kept the restroom spotless. She provided a towel for their hands, a splash of assorted fragrance and an open ear for whatever was on their mind. Jimmie could easily pick out distinctive personality types and mimic them with the sole purpose of extracting as much of a tip as possible. It was her way of pretending to be an actress. She wasn’t always accurate, sometimes she’d falter. Instead of a tip, she learned a little more about their lives and their romances. From Jimmie Lee’s limited viewpoint, white women only knew one thing—how to cheat on their man.

  When her thoughts weren’t on Chris, Jimmie sometimes tried to enhance her self-directed acting skills by shamelessly feigning a Jamaican accent to the women. “You jus’ never know who’s gonna be watching,” she’d say, “got to be ready in case the wife of some Hollywood producer needs to pee.”

  As the morning hours slid into noon, the casino came alive with a small three-piece band playing country-western music, a regularly scheduled occurrence. Like obedient children the players complied while enjoying the action of rolling dice, stacking chips, or filling the slots with coins, each waiting for the free drinks from scantily clad cocktail waitresses in cowgirl outfits. The floor men hovered nearby like birds of prey keeping one eye on the tables and the other on conventioneers sporting white and blue nametags. Every few hours a busload of tourists from Sacramento or San Francisco herded in through the doors. For the hotel and casino, each customer helped pay for the new renovation, but for Jimmie, the strangers offered her the best opportunity to show off her talents.

  One regular caught her eye however, a woman in her late thirties. Jimmie remembered her because on a previous occasion, she brought along a little girl and asked Jimmie to watch her for a generous tip. Jimmie liked the little tot.

  But this time the woman was alone. Her appearance was different from most of the local gamblers. She had a pyramid-shaped nest of strawberry blond hair perched neatly atop her head with a long, gold chain wrapped gracefully around her neck and attached to the white frames of her cat-eye shaped glasses. She wore a bright red blouse with ruffled sleeves and a large, gold-colored monogram with the letter “L” in script pinned just below the collar. Black linen slacks revealed a straight waist and wide, flat hips.

  When the restroom finally cleared out, the woman removed her glasses revealing small, piercing brown eyes. Routinely, she fixed her makeup, glanced through the mirror at Jimmie and politely asked, “How long have you been working here?”

  Jimmie turned toward the woman, paused a few moments, and then responded, “Excuse me?”

  “I asked, how long have you worked here?”

  “Oh, about four or five years.”

  “Are you married?”

  “Why you asking?”

  “Just curious, that’s all.”

  “Where’s ya little girl?” Jimmie asked.

  “Oh, you remembered,” the woman said, “she’s not mine, she’s with her mother. You like children don’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I can tell by the way you treat little Abby. So, are you married?”

  Jimmie became suspicious, placing her hands on the back of her hips and cocking her head in her standard defensive position. “I’m the wife of a minister . . . who can’t live without me.”

  “A minister! That’s wonderful, you should be very proud of him. Do you have any children?”

  “No, God knows we tried, but the Lord didn’t bless us that way,” Jimmie said.

  “Oh, that’s a shame.” She turned toward Jimmie with a quizzical look. “That is an unusual accent you have. Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Jamaica,” Jimmie said.

  “Jamaica! How charming. My name is Louise, I’m from San Francisco,” she said, slowly and deliberately as if she was speaking to a foreigner who had never heard of the city. “I own an exclusive hair salon that overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge. I have some very important and influential clients who refuse to have anyone else style their hair.”

  Jimmie sat down in the stool nearby and smiled attentively, suddenly becoming very conscious of her hair.

  Louise continued, “One of my dearest friends, Dorothy, who is a wonderful mother, has had some serious problems with her teenage daughter. She’s just a child, but really uncontrollable. My dear sweet friend, Dorothy, had one heartache after another and I’m afraid now she is about to have a complete breakdown.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about that,” Jimmie sighed.

  “Why thank you, it’s very kind of you to say,” Louise said. Jimmie watched the woman stand up and slowly walk toward the door and then glance back at Jimmie Lee through the mirror. She took a deep breath and said, “This rebel daughter of Dorothy’s has really got herself into big trouble this time.” Jimmie didn’t react even when Louise turned toward her. “Somehow, she managed to get herself pregnant—and she’s only fifteen! It’s impossible for her to care for a baby; she’s just a child herself. And my dear friend, Dorothy, I feel so sorry for her. She’s done everything possible to raise this child the right way, but somehow it all seems so hopeless.

  “Why, she practically begged me to see if there was anything I could do to help,” Louise continued while looking directly at Jimmie, still waiting for a response. “The worst part of this unwanted pregnancy is that the father is a colored boy. I mean . . . there’s nothing wrong with being colored. I hope you understand; I’m not prejudiced mind you, but how could anyone expect a fifteen-year-old white girl to raise a half-colored baby? It would be so unfair to that child; everyone would snub her. The people in her crowd would never understand, and it would be impossible for my poor friend too. That’s why she asked me . . . no, pleaded with me to see if there was anything I could do to help. And I promised her, that no matter what, I would find a good home for the baby when it’s born.”

  Jimmie raised her hand to her lips and shook her head sympathetically and said, “My, oh my, such an awful thing for a momma to go through, uuh, uuh. Same thing happened to my cousin Lily’s girl. Got herself pregnant by some white boy, no offense mind you, but they had the awfulest time trying get money to raise that baby. Her momma was never the same after that.” It was nearing time for lunch and she was getting thirsty.

  “So you know,” Louise said. “Why didn’t you take the baby?”

  “Me, take the baby?” Jimmie said as her head snapped straight, “it was long ago, I was too young to be lookin’ after a baby. Besides, that whole family looked after the baby, was no need for anyone else. It was just the money.”

  Suddenly, Louise stopped what she was doing, her eyes opened wide. Enthusiastically, she said to Jimmie, “Oh, what a wonderful idea! I just thought of something that would solve both our problems.”

  Jimmie began tidying up while thinking of her performance, not fully in the moment.

  Louise continued, “Since you and your wonderful husband, the minister, want to have children so badly, why don’t I arrange for you two to adopt this mixed baby
when it’s born! It’s perfect.”

  Jimmie mimicked Louise’s exhilaration and nodded her head in agreement without taking the woman seriously. She anticipated a generous tip. “My man Chris would love to adopt a newborn baby. Why we’d be the proudest parents you ever seen!” she said.

  “That’s great!” Louise continued, “When the baby is born, I’ll let you know . . . and don’t worry . . . I’ll take care of all the details.”

  “Sure, you do that,” Jimmie smiled.

  “Let me just get a pencil and write down your name. By the way, what is your name?”

  “Jimmie Lee Greenwade.”

  Louise wrote the name on a small piece of paper and started to return her makeup and lipstick back into her purse. “My dear friend, Dorothy, will be so happy, and I know you will be overjoyed at having your first child. You don’t know how wonderful this will be for everyone. Now remember, you will be hearing from me soon. Bye, Bye.” Louise smiled politely, left a $50 tip, and walked out the door.

  Jimmie shook her head and mumbled to herself, “Goddog, 50 bucks. These crazy, damn white women, where in the hell do they come from? They believe any kinda shit you tell them. Adopt a baby—humph!”

  As other patrons wandered in and out, Jimmie dismissed Louise as just another rich white woman with too much time on her hands.

  That evening while Chris dressed for work at the church, Jimmie walked into the bedroom, folded her arms, and leaned in the doorway. “Hey Daddy,” she called, “You going to go to the church tonight?”

  “Yeah, you know I’ve got the children’s choir practice on Wednesdays.”

  “Is that Miss Celia woman gonna be there?”

  “No, Blessie, she’s not gonna be there . . . she’s sick, remember?”

  “She was there with you last night, wasn’t she?”

  Chris stood up straight, priming himself for one of her temper tantrums.

  “No! Now what you going to say things like that for? Sister Eisley is a fine, married woman, who happens to be very sick . . . and I spent the night with her . . . AND her husband . . . AND the doctor, which if you didn’t shoot your mouth off this morning, I would of explained it to you.

  “You’re just looking to start an argument with that sinful jealousy. If it wasn’t Celia Eisley, it’d be somebody else. Between your drinking and the jealousy, you’re going to either kill yourself or drive me crazy! So you just better stop. . . .”

  “Don’t tell me I got to stop drinking. It’s the only way I got to put up with this damn bullshit of you running around with these women!”

  Chris knew it was pointless to argue with her. “Well, what did you do today? Who’d you meet?”

  Jimmie looked down at the floor, she was tired and languid, too much so to argue. “Well . . . not much . . . some crazy white woman gave me a $50 tip.”

  “Wow, what did you have to do for that?”

  “Nothing . . . she jus’ was in trying to get me to adopt her friend’s baby.”

  Chris, startled, turned to her and asked, “You mean she brought a baby into the casino?”

  “Hell, no! The baby ain’t even born yet. It’s some mixed baby they got in San Francisco.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her sure, I’d love to adopt a baby.”

  “What!” He said.

  “Don’t let your hair curl, the fool was drunk. I paid her no mind,” Jimmie said.

  Chris accepted Jimmie’s explanation and dismissed the thought of adopting a baby. He stepped forward, took her chin in his hand, and planted a kiss gently on her cheek. “I have to go. I’ll be home early,” he whispered.

  “Yeah, sure.” She dropped her head somberly as Chris walked out the door.

  About two months later, on a hot afternoon in August, a knock on the door of the ladies’ lounge stopped Jimmie from daydreaming. Thinking it was a maintenance man, she yelled, “Come on in, nobody’s here.” But no one answered and a second knock forced her to the open the door. “What are you, deaf? I told you . . . ,” she said. There, standing in the doorway was a frail looking boy in a green uniform. “Who are you?” she asked.

  He was holding a small book in his hand. “I’m looking for Jimmie Greenwade,” he said.

  “That’s me, I’m Jimmie Greenwade.”

  “I have a telegram for you. Just sign here, please.”

  “Telegram? Who’d send me a telegram?” She looked at the address and it was made out to:

  JIMMIE LEE GREENWADE

  RIVERSIDE HOTEL

  C/O LADIES’ LOUNGE

  RENO, NEVEADA

  She signed the book and gave the messenger a casino chip for his effort. She never received a telegram at the hotel before, nor was she expecting one. Jimmie walked to the vanity and tore open the envelope and read the address again; it hadn’t changed, still addressed to her in care of the Ladies’ Lounge. The message was short:

  “Baby girl arrived today Stop

  Please come to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital San Francisco Stop

  Louise.”

  Jimmie did not know anyone named Louise, nor anyone in San Francisco. She re-read the message again, “This don’t make no sense at all! I ain’t got no baby!”

  Over and over she read the message hoping that something would click in her mind, but it was hopeless. Part of her instinct believed the telegram was in error, while the other half didn’t want to know. The last thing she needed in her life was a baby. Jimmie crunched the telegram into a ball and flushed it down the toilet and continued about with her chores, never mentioning the incident to anyone.

  Three weeks later when she spotted a woman in a bright pink blouse walking briskly toward her, the meaning of the contents hit her hard. Jimmie immediately recognized the woman who gave her a big tip a couple months earlier. As she got closer Jimmie felt the fire darting from Louise’s eyes. Within seconds she stood directly in front of Jimmie and said, “Didn’t you get my telegram? That poor baby is sitting in a crib in San Francisco waiting for you to come and pick her up. I thought you were a decent, God-fearing woman. You told me your husband was a man of the cloth. Now you just let the little baby lie there without anyone to take care of her! What kind of person are you!”

  Jimmie gasped as she held her hand to her mouth. “Oh, My Lordy!” she exclaimed, “You’re the one who sent me that telegram—you’re that Louise!”

  “Of course I am the one who sent the message. I told you quite clearly that I would be in touch. I always keep my word and do exactly what I say I’m going to do—not like some people!” she said, “Now . . . when are you going to get the baby?”

  Louise’s outburst drew a few onlookers. It wasn’t the first time Jimmie put herself into a ticklish situation, that was her nature, but dealing with a baby left her bewildered. Now she began to understand how Chris felt each time she put pressure on him, and she reacted as he does. Her first instinct was to calm Louise down by gently clutching the enraged woman’s arm and looking directly into her eyes.

  “Come with me,” she said, “We’ll go talk to my man.”

  “That’s fine with me,” replied Louise indignantly, “I’d like to see just what kind of a man he is!”

  They walked together toward the shoeshine stand. Louise with her head held high, peering down her nose at the assortment of gamblers and locals while Jimmie strutted in her usual manner.

  Chris just finished up a pair of boots that someone had left off earlier. He turned quickly when he heard Jimmie’s say in a fearful tone, “Daddy, I got to talk wit’ you—something important—real important!”

  The sight of Jimmie with an angry looking white woman put Chris’ instincts on the defensive. His shoulders went back and his neck stiffened. “What is it, Blessie? What’s the matter? Who is this?”

  Chris knew Jimmie well enough to realize that her exasperation meant whatever predicament she was in it was serious. She struggled with her words, “Well a . . . this is . . . uh. . . .”

  Louise�
�s impatience didn’t allow Jimmie the slightest courtesy.

  “I’m the woman who went through a lot of trouble to arrange to have the both of you adopt a baby in San Francisco. Your wife agreed to the arrangement and now the baby is waiting for her new parents to take home. I sent a telegram for you to come to pick her up at St. Elizabeth’s over three weeks ago, and I haven’t heard a word since. Now tell me, Reverend Greenwade, just what kind of people would leave an innocent child to fend for herself in this world?”

  Chris didn’t like to feel threatened, particularly by a well-dressed white woman who seemed to believe everything she was saying.

  “Baby! What Baby? We don’t have no baby,” he snapped.

  “Yeah, Daddy,” Jimmie interrupted, “it’s a poor white woman’s baby with the Negro father I told you ’bout a few months ago. Don’t you remember? I told you ’bout the crazy white woman who asked me to adopt a mixed baby when it got born.”

  Chris saw Louise raise her eyebrow at Jimmie’s reference to the description of their first encounter.

  “Yeah, I remember. But you told me the woman was . . . well, who’s baby is it?” asked Chris.

  “I know what I told you, least that’s the way it looked to me,” Jimmie added.

  “That information is strictly confidential, and neither you nor the child must ever try to contact the mother—a child herself,” replied Louise.

  “You can’t just adopt a baby like that,” said Chris.

  “Oh yes you can and you’d better! All the arrangements have been made, and the details taken care of. You must go to San Francisco, sign a few papers, and pick up the beautiful little girl—her name is Fauna. The baby is in excellent health, ready to be cared for and loved. The bills have been paid—including the cost of the private adoption. The parents cannot keep it . . . but I told you all that when I was here last time speaking to your wife, who, by the way, agreed to the entire arrangement. And now the baby is alone in a hospital crib, waiting for some lucky people to love and keep her. It’s your responsibility now—there is no one else who can take care of her. It’s much too late to try and find suitable parents especially with all the paperwork and such. You have no choice!”