Till You Hear From Me: A Novel by Pearl Cleage Read Free Book Online Page B

think I still remember it.”
    At the door he saw Oscar glance in their direction. It was time to go, but he had to ask.
    “Do I need to …”
    Wes looked as if he had no idea what was coming next, although of course he did.
    Stan bit the bullet. “Do I need to send over his transcripts?”
    And here was the wonderful moment when a favor becomes a secret shared, Wes thought. In his world, that was as good as money in the bank. Or in a plain white envelope.
    “That won’t be necessary,” he said and lowered his voice conspiratoriallyeven though Toni had engaged Oscar’s attention in the hallway and there was no danger of being overheard. “I know what to say.”
    Stan’s gratitude was almost palpable. “Then you’re my man,” he said, extending his hand one more time, smiling his first real smile of the day, and heading for the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
    Well, Mr. Mystery Money, that’s one more thing you’re wrong about
, Wes thought, watching Stan and Oscar follow Toni out into the hallway and back through the unnecessarily confusing exit path he’d created for their benefit.
I’m nobody’s man but my own
.

SEVEN
Fast-Talking Chicago Negroes
    C ATNAP, MY ASS
. I WAS SOUND ASLEEP WHEN THE FRONT DOORBELL WOKE me up with a start. I use the word “bell” loosely. What the Rev has is a door
siren
that makes an amazingly unpleasant, impossibly loud sound, that can best be described as a cross between an old-fashioned alarm clock and a fire engine. We have all begged him to replace it with some chimes, or even a less insistent buzzer, but so far, he hasn’t gotten around to it.
    All that was, of course, beside the point. The question was why was he ringing his own doorbell at one thirty on a Sunday afternoon? The answer is, he wasn’t. When I went down and opened the front door, Miss Iona was standing there, all alone, beaming and wearing a beautiful dark green coat, a matching hat that clung to her salt-and-pepper bob at an impossibly sassy and undeniably stylish angle, and a pair of beautiful suede heels, also dark green, that clicked softly on the hardwood floor when she stepped in and threw her arms around me. Miss Iona was a power hugger. She grabbed you fast, squeezed you hard, and then stepped back to extend the appropriate greeting.
    “Welcome home, darlin’,” she said. “Tell me I didn’t wake you up at this hour of the day!”
    “No, I was just …” Of course she didn’t wait for an answer. She took off her coat and dropped it on the coatrack, revealing a dress of the same dark green wool. This was clearly one of Miss Iona’s famous churchgoing ensembles. She liked everything to match and on this day, she had achieved her goal and topped it all off with the gravity-defying hat.
    “The Rev’s on his way to Madison,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Black History Month waits for no man! Eddie’s driving him, of course, so I’m charged with being the official greeter and with getting you over to my house in time for supper. That way you can see everybody at one time and the Rev will have to be on his best behavior because we’ll all be there watching him.”
    I wondered briefly what the Rev would look like on his best behavior, but when I opened my mouth to respond, a big yawn came out instead.
    Miss Iona raised her eyebrows. “I
did
wake you up, didn’t I?”
    “I was up late,” I said. “Sorry!”
    Her eyes twinkled at me and she lowered her voice. “Anything you can talk about?”
    “Nothing like that,” I said quickly, wishing I had never uttered the words “White House” to Miss Iona or anybody else. “Just some freelance work to hold body and soul together.”
    She looked disappointed, but regrouped fast. “Well, go on upstairs and throw some cold water on your face or something and I’ll make a pot of coffee. Can’t have you yawning at my guests.”
    “How many people are coming?” I said, heading for the stairs and wondering if a public reunion was the best