Pulaski Square

Donna had never done this for me—69d me. No woman had.

When we were both spent and were stretched out in an embrace, our hands still gliding over the curves and into the crevices of the body of the other and we'd come out of a deep kiss—then and only then, I asked her how she came to be in my bed.

"And where is Donna?" I added.

"Donna knows," Kathy answered. "I discussed it with her. She's fine with it. She's moved into the carriage house behind Emily Goodwin's mansion—to be with Caleb."

"And Mark?"

"For now he's bedding at Terrence Rowland's house. I would imagine that he and Terrence are now doing what we just did. And more power to them, I say. I'm fine with it. And he's fine with me being here. We'll still keep up appearances of sharing an apartment—for our parents' sakes. But we've both had enough of the pretense and of trying to fight our natures. Luckily, we came to that point at the same time. We can just be good friends now."

"So, you'll be moving into Donna's bedroom?"

"No, I'll be moving into your bed," she answered.

My heart soared. I embraced her tightly. My lips went to hers and my fingers moved through her folds and found her clit. Kathy arched her back and moaned deeply. She moaned so much more deeply for me than Donna ever had. She began to move her hips, rubbing her clit against my finger, which I held steady and strong, reveling in her using me to pleasure herself. I reached over the nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out the vibrator. As she moaned and struggled—but not too hard—to turn away from it, I worked the vibrator inside her, and turned it on. She began writhing on it and crying out her pleasure immediately. I held it inside until she'd given me two orgasms—two orgasms that I knew were genuine rather than the ones she said she had been faking for Mark. She couldn't have fooled me, another woman, about this.

"Shit," she whispered, "that's as thick as Caleb is."

I didn't' ask her how she knew—then or ever. This was all just too perfect for me. I wasn't going to rock that boat.

We were drifting off to sleep, when she murmured to me, "Just one thing, Tracy."

"What, love?"

"Please pick a hair color and style that suits you better than mine does. And I think the way you talk is much better than mine is. With me you can be yourself. You don't have to try to be me. I want you, not another me. Can you do that?"

"You got it, baby," I answered as I moved a hand between her thighs, pushing my bunched-up fingers inside her, and she went hyper for me.

"Yes, like that. Just like that. Oh, God, oh shit. Just . . . like . . . that."

Chapter Ten: Buddy Roberts

I was croonin' along on Betsy—that's what I call my sax—at the Jazz by Moonlight club in Memphis, when I looked down into the darkened room, and who do I see but Jaivon Johnson. Haven't seen him since I left Savannah more months ago than I can rightly remember. He was lookin' up at me from the crowd and only lookin' at me. Nothin' unusual in that, of course. The set we was playin' was heavy on free-ranging sax runs. Betsy was bein' extra sweet to me tonight, and it was a good night for the klinkin' of coins too. I'd be makin' good money tonight. All in the kitty. Muriel's kitty, I called it.

But seein' Jaivon down there disturbed me. I knew it had to be somethin' about Muriel. When I left Savannah, Jaivon and that nurse from across the square were the only other ones Muriel would let know she was as sick as she was. Jaivon trackin' me down here could only be very good news or very bad news. Bein' that I specialized in playin' the blues, there wouldn't be much question what I thought it would be.

Full of fear and foreboding I went down to him at the end of the set, asking the guys to cover for me. Rigger, on the drums looked a little put out by that, but he changed right away when I said I'd seen someone from home—someone who must be here about my wife. All the guys I played with in various combinations of bands around Memphis knew about Muriel. She and I exchanged e-mails a couple of times a day. They vaguely knew something was wrong of a medical nature and that that's why I'd play any gig that came up—and rather than resenting me soaking up the work, they'd all been supportive. They always were askin' if I'd heard from Muriel that day and how she was doing over in Savannah. Most of them had prayed with me for Muriel.

I had to glad hand my way through the crowd to reach Jaivon, whose eyes were locked on mine all the way. I could always count on the audiences at Jazz by Moonlight appreciating the sound Betsy could blow out her hole.

"Hello there, Jaivon," I said as I reached him. "You're a long way from Savannah. How'd you get here."

"By bus. I had enough for a plane, but that would have taken me to Chicago and back and I'm more comfortable on a bus. Never particularly wanted to go to Chicago anyway."

"So, you haven't come just to hear Betsy blow, have you?"

"It's about Muriel," Jaivon answered.

"Thought it would be," I said. "Come on back to the dressing rooms. It will be quieter there."

He told me she was in the hospital and that it was time for somethin' to happen, one way or the other. He didn't bat an eye when I asked him if he'd pray with me. We both lowered our eyes, hunched over our shoulders, and held hands. There would be some men who wouldn't hold Jaivon's hand, knowing his preference in life and knowing where that hand might have been, what it might have done with another man, but to me—and Muriel—Jaivon was just Jaivon, and the best sort of friend anyone could have.

He'd come all the way from Savannah to tell me about Muriel face to face. On the bus. That had to have taken a couple of days at least.

"You gotta come back now, Buddy," he said when we'd lifted our heads.

"Did Muriel ask you to come for me?"

"No. Muriel's not in a state to ask anyone anything. But it's time."

"I haven't earned nearly enough to cover this yet, Jaivon."

"This is big, Buddy. There's no way you could earn enough to cover it. Muriel needs you now more than she needs the money. And there are others helpin' with that. The whole square is gettin' together on it."

Then he told me what the people of Pulaski Square were doin' to help with Muriel's medical bills. I was so full of gratefulness for that that we had to pray again—this time a prayer of joy and thanksgiving. Jaivon lowered his head for me, even though I knew he didn't believe what Muriel and I did and that, indeed, the church hadn't been all that welcoming to him.

"So, you need to come, Buddy," he said. "We really should leave first thing in the morning."

"I gassed up the truck this afternoon," I answered. "Let me talk to the guys out on the stage. They'll cover the gigs for me I've already got booked, I'm sure. We'll get on the road tonight."

I know I'd been a stubborn old coot on this. My people had always done for themselves and I'd insisted we could do it this time too. Muriel had been skeptical, but she never was one to tell me I was wrong—even when we both knew I was. What Jaivon told me about all the people of the square gettin' together for this told me that community and pulling together were more important than trying to grasp the gold ring alone, so . . . well, no, even with that thought I was holding to my view of family takin' care of family. It took those two prayers, with God yelling at me that my sense of what was family was too small, to do the trick.

We were both pretty much quiet as we drove straight through to Savannah, taking turns at the wheel. It wasn't a separating sort of quiet, though, and there were patches of talk—some it more personal than we'd ever done before. I'd never felt so close to Jaivon before, and I hoped he felt the same way. I would have never left Savannah if I didn't know that Jaivon had been there to support Muriel, and he hadn't disappointed. I don't give a shit what some in my church say about men like him.

I asked him if he had any idea how much the people of the square thought they could raise.

"No telling what the dinner and auction items will bring in," he answered, "But we already have over $90,000 pretty much in the bag just from what the Club Copa's daily take runs to and what Mr. Rowland has already handed over in a check from his book advance."

I whistled. "Sort of puts the $11,000 I've got to shame, don't it?" I said in a small voice. It also gave me a whole new regard for Terrence Rowland—not so much, though, that I'd think he was doin' right by Jaivon. Not in what they were doin' in Rowland's bed, which I didn't really want to put much thought to, as much as the advantage he took of Jaivon and how dismissive he was of the young man. I suspected that down deep Jaivon was devoted to the man—just frustrated because that regard didn't come back at him.

"I don't think so," Jaivon said, jerking me out of my dark thoughts. "I think that's great—what you're bringin' back. Everyone will know you worked hard for that. They'll know why you had to go away for a while."

I thought that, rather, they'd all been assuming I'd left Muriel high and dry in her time of need. A tear formed in my eye, because is some ways, they'd be right to think that. I'd been such a fool. I knew now that I should have gone to Ms. Emily about it. The worst that could have happened was that she'd have turned me down. But I'd been too scared to do that—hadn't been willing to put myself out enough for Muriel to do that. All I could think of was why God was doin' this to me. I'm not cut out to be a Job. I didn't want to think of that right now, though. Nothing I could do about it now.

"That Mr. Rowland is really somethin', ain't he?" I said. "That's a lot of money."

"He's got lots of money, and he says money is there to spend on what's needed," Jaivon answered, his voice quiet and with a catch in it. "But, yes, he's really something," he added.

I sensed a problem. "You and Mr. Rowland getting' along OK, Jaivon? Hope you don't resent me askin', but Muriel and I know about that—you and Mr. Rowland. And we have nothin' to say about it other than we hope he makes you happy."

Jaivon turned his face to the window, and from the tremor in his shoulders, I could tell that he was shedding a tear or two.

"I haven't been with Mr. Rowland for several days. It seems he has a new interest now."

"And that disturbs you, does it? I know you've said he isn't real good to you—that he treats you like—well, like the South didn't lose that war. But you also say you can't keep away from him. You having second thoughts about that—about the way he was treating you?"

There was a pause, but then Jaivon answered that, yes, he supposed so. "I wanted what he gave me. I just would have liked to be treated like it was for both of us, not just for him. But not havin' it now, I guess I just shouldn't have cared. I was gettin' more than I thought I was. It was better for me than I thought."

"Something will work out," I said. I almost said 'trust in the Lord,' as I usually did with people's problems—not that it had been workin' out real good for me and Muriel. But I knew that wouldn't set right with Jaivon. Somehow I had to believe that it would set right with the Lord, though—no matter what a lot in the church would say about that. I think the Lord is a whole lot more forgiving than people are.

Then to change the subject, I asked, "What do I owe you for comin' out to Memphis to get me? No way am I letting you cover that. Muriel would have my hide if I did that."

But his answer showed I hadn't changed the subject. "Mr. Rowland gave me the money for the trip," he said in a small voice. "He also kicked me in the pants and told me you needed to be in Savannah and I was the one to bring you back."

"Sounds like there's a lot of good to take with whatever bad there is with Mr. Rowland," I said.

"Yeah, I guess."

"When we get back there, Jaivon, you need to go back to Mr. Rowland and let him know you dragged me back."

"Yes."

"And while you're there, you need to tell him how you feel about him. You wouldn't take what you do from him if you didn't want him. If someone else is comin' in on him, if you want him, you have to fight for him. Nothing would be harmed to tell him flat out that he needs to treat you better, too. If you don't play the lottery, you don't win the jackpot."

I didn't get an answer to that—but I didn't get a "no" or a "mind your own damn business" either.

In Savannah, I wanted to drop Jaivon off at the square so he could clean up in his room at the inn and then go directly to report to Terrence Rowland, but he would have none of that. He had to see how Muriel was doin' before he'd do anything else. It had been nearly four days that he'd been gone. He told me that anything could have happened in that time.

"But you'll go see Mr. Rowland directly after cleanin' up, right?"

He didn't answer. He just kept movin' through the halls of the hospital, toward where he said Muriel's room was.

"Here," I said, as I reached out and grabbed him and made a big deal of putting the truck keys in his pocket. "Here, you have wheels. As soon as we've checked on Muriel, I'll stay on here for a while, but you'll drive the truck back to the square and do what you need to do. Tell me you will."

"OK, OK, I will," he answered, his voice full of reluctance.

But I knew Jaivon. If he agreed to do something, he'd do it. It wasn't that big a deal anyway; it wasn't the only set of truck keys I had with me.

Martin and that librarian who lived across the square from the inn, Olive Odom, were there, in the corridor outside of Muriel's room, when we arrived. Martin looked relieved to see me. I could see that he wanted to say more to me about my absence, but we were all about how Muriel was doing at that point. He looked tired and worried, but I also caught somethin' in the looks he was giving the librarian. She looked terrific—like she'd suddenly blossomed and come out of a protective shell. He looked like he'd like to eat her up. There was something to ask Martin about what was going on there, but this wasn't the time or place for it. It was time he had a steady woman, though.

The nurses let Jaivon and me in to see Muriel, but when I thought Martin and the Odom woman would come in with us, they hung back.

"No more than two at a time," Martin said. "Hospital rules. And it's your time now. Stay as long as you want."

"As long as I want will mean you'd never get in yourselves again," I said. "But I won't be long this time. I don't want to upset her. I just hope she is conscious enough to know I'm here now."

She was—but barely. There was a change in the sound of her respirator when Jaivon and I entered the room. Her eyes were open and followed me all the way to the side of the bed. She grasped my hand with hers as soon as I'd sat in a chair up against the bed and put my hand on the mattress next to hers. Her grasp was strong and steady. And I thought I heard a sigh come out of her.

Tears formed in my eyes. Why had I been such a stubborn fool? Why had I left her in the first place? Those may have been all the months we had left together. There must have been some way for me to earn that money right here in Savannah—although it wasn't enough money to make a difference anyway.

Later, when I'd left her and let Martin and Olive, who obviously was his girlfriend—and somethin' to be grateful there—replace me in the room, I tracked down the hospital administrator—and then the surgeon on Muriel's case. Jaivon had left sometime while I was visiting Muriel, and I had been so focused on her that I didn't see him go. I could only hope that he'd gone to talk to Terrence Rowland. I'd have to talk to Rowland at some point too—about his role in bringing me back and his generous contribution to Muriel's fund—and maybe about Jaivon too. The man and I had never really been friendly. We came from entirely different worlds and both were stubborn in our own way. Other than Jaivon, I hadn't been one to reach out to men who wanted men. But I had shortchanged the man. And it was my duty to tell him so.

It also was my duty to Jaivon. He deserved to be happy and to be treated right.

The surgeon floored me. "I'm not charging for my part of this, Mr. Roberts. My family owes Jaivon Johnson's family more than we ever can repay. This one's on the house as far as my role is concerned. I'm happy you're back in the city. It will mean the world in terms of your wife's fight for life. It's shouldn't be more than three or four days before we can do the operation. She's hit the top of the list, and there will be a compatible kidney available in a couple of days. It's tragic about the young lady and her automobile accident, but when God closes one door, he opens another."

"Amen to that, brother," I muttered.

I barely had time to process that Jaivon was the source of this godsend in the form of the surgeon when it hit me that the operation was impending.

"How can it happen this fast? Don't patients usually have to be on the list for a long time before there's a match of an organ they can have?"

"Your wife has been on the list for a long time, Mr. Roberts. I didn't realize you didn't know that. Jaivon came to me nearly a year ago to set up these arrangements. I put her on the list immediately."

Jaivon, the almost invisible Jaivon. Always in the background. Always "getting it done." Words couldn't express what we owed to Jaivon and how I felt about it.

I could think of nothing else to do, so I sank to my knees right there in the hospital corridor and prayed a prayer of thanks for the Jaivons of the world. Impressively, that famous, rich surgeon went down on his knees next to me. So, I gave the Lord thanks for him again too.

Chapter Eleven: Terrence Rowland

Last evening was a resounding success. I knew why we raised so much money at the dinner and auction, but I wouldn't be the one to spill the beans. The publicity had brought in an overflowing crowd of well-heeled Savanna leading citizens, who had brought their goodwill and their checkbooks.

The only ones I missed seeing were Jaivon Johnson and Buddy Roberts. I had hoped they would be here in time for the auction dinner, but, alas, it hadn't happened. I wondered if Buddy would return at all. I'd had my misgivings that he wouldn't—that going to Memphis was just his way of coping with a tragedy in his marriage that he didn't have the fortitude to face. He and I hadn't been the best of friends. He'd told me once he'd pray for me. That was enough right there to keep us at arm's length. But Muriel Roberts seemed to love him, and everyone in the square loved Muriel Roberts.

Leo managed a first-class spread for the dinner and auction at the General's Café, and the young women of the apartment house next door to the café, Tracy Patten, Donna Davis, and Kathy Kimbel, decorated the room beautifully. Of course, since they all were connected with the arts college, we could count on that. Each of them donated a great work of art in their own specialty for the auction as well—as did Mark Vaughan.

As a surprise contribution, Olive Odom donated a signed first edition of John Berendt's Savannah novel, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a guaranteed hit, because the book was set in a Savannah square not five blocks away from Pulaski Square and the fame of his book probably was responsible for bringing in a third of the city's tourist revenue.

The only head-scratcher was the hit of the auction block—an exquisitely designed and constructed cherry Queen Anne-style drop front secretary desk. No one on the square owned up to having provided that.

I, of course, suspected Emily Goodwin. In fact, I pretty much knew that Emily orchestrated the whole auction business, which brought in far more than anyone had anticipated. Although Olive Odom performed the role of chair of all of this admirably, I didn't for a minute doubt that Emily had her gloved hand on the pulse of everything that transpired.