one.”
Bradley arrived on the porch the same way Collette had, his dignity somewhat impaired.
“Thanks, man,” he said. “I guess I could have made it myself.”
“I was already wet,” the big man said, climbing the steps. He showed Bradley through the screen door.
“Get him a towel, Junior,” and the tall teenager with the shaved head sauntered again to the rear of the house.
“My name is Collette. This is Bradley, and we really appreciate your letting us in.”
“I’m Noah Brownlee,” the man said. “My wife is Paella. Your cab driver won’t come in.”
“Why not?” Collette asked.
Brownlee shrugged. “Said he don’t want to leave his cab.”
Collette was ringing out her hair. “That’s ridiculous. He might drown.”
“Lot of foreigners ain’t too bright,” Brownlee said. He sat down with a thud on the couch and began unlacing his heavy shoes. Puddles formed around his feet.
“Lord, will it ever stop raining?” Paella asked, bustling in from the dark recesses of the house with a tray. She had glasses of hot tea for each of them.
“That man going to stay out there?” she asked.
“So he says,” Noah told her. “Where did Junior go?”
“He’s watching TV in the bedroom.” Paella passed around the steaming glasses. “I think he’s a little shy about having all this company.”
With a grunt, Mr. Brownlee finally got his feet out of his wet shoes. He fell back against the plastic-covered couch cushion, satisfied with his accomplishment.
“I seen y’all hit that water. I knew you was going way too fast.”
Bradley and Collette nodded in agreement.
“He shouldn’t have come down this street anyway. Seems like it floods here every time it rains. Where do you live?”
The refugees told him.
“I don’t see how they’re going to get home tonight,” Paella said.
Noah shook his head. “They can’t. Might as well have supper with us.”
“We couldn’t,” Collette said.
“It won’t be no trouble,” Paella assured her. “I make a big pot of red beans and rice with smoked sausage every Monday. And they’re just about ready.”
“I’ve really got to get home,” Bradley said.
“Less you can fly, I don’t see how you’re gonna make it,” Noah said. “Paella, you seen my cigarettes? I hate to think I run out, ’cause if I did I’ll have to swim to the store.” He looked at Collette and laughed. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Do you smoke?”
“No,” she said.
“People in my generation had lots of bad habits,” he said. “I’m glad to hear you ain’t got ’em.”
“Can I use your phone, Mr. Brownlee?” Collette asked. “I’ve got to call my mom.”
CHAPTER XV
Tubby was starting to feel better. He had described the murder of Mrs. Lostus to Dan, and they shed a few tears for her. They said what they would do to the murderers if they ever caught them, and they shared a couple of drinks. They agreed that crime had gotten totally out of control.
“If it weren’t for the good weather, I mean usually good weather, nobody would live here.” Tubby announced angrily.
“’Where blackness is a virtue,’” Dan said solemnly into his glass. “Now what song is that from?”
In time, Wild Dan left Tubby with the bourbon bottle while he attended to his business in the lobby, and the lawyer drank off his chill. Then he scrounged up a dry pair of toreador pants, a ruffled silk shirt, and some shiny black lace-up boots left behind by a calypso band that had once played in the bar.
Tubby checked himself in a cracked mirror leaning against the wall and tried out what he remembered of his bossa nova repertoire.
“Zorro, my padrone,” Dan clapped.
“Did you find me a room?” Tubby asked, hand on hip, elbow and knee counterpoised.
“Not yet,” Dan said, helping himself to a tumbler of spirits. “The place is overflowing with guests. There are people in the lobby offering unlimited sums of money, their bodies, you name it, for a room key. Them
Bradley arrived on the porch the same way Collette had, his dignity somewhat impaired.
“Thanks, man,” he said. “I guess I could have made it myself.”
“I was already wet,” the big man said, climbing the steps. He showed Bradley through the screen door.
“Get him a towel, Junior,” and the tall teenager with the shaved head sauntered again to the rear of the house.
“My name is Collette. This is Bradley, and we really appreciate your letting us in.”
“I’m Noah Brownlee,” the man said. “My wife is Paella. Your cab driver won’t come in.”
“Why not?” Collette asked.
Brownlee shrugged. “Said he don’t want to leave his cab.”
Collette was ringing out her hair. “That’s ridiculous. He might drown.”
“Lot of foreigners ain’t too bright,” Brownlee said. He sat down with a thud on the couch and began unlacing his heavy shoes. Puddles formed around his feet.
“Lord, will it ever stop raining?” Paella asked, bustling in from the dark recesses of the house with a tray. She had glasses of hot tea for each of them.
“That man going to stay out there?” she asked.
“So he says,” Noah told her. “Where did Junior go?”
“He’s watching TV in the bedroom.” Paella passed around the steaming glasses. “I think he’s a little shy about having all this company.”
With a grunt, Mr. Brownlee finally got his feet out of his wet shoes. He fell back against the plastic-covered couch cushion, satisfied with his accomplishment.
“I seen y’all hit that water. I knew you was going way too fast.”
Bradley and Collette nodded in agreement.
“He shouldn’t have come down this street anyway. Seems like it floods here every time it rains. Where do you live?”
The refugees told him.
“I don’t see how they’re going to get home tonight,” Paella said.
Noah shook his head. “They can’t. Might as well have supper with us.”
“We couldn’t,” Collette said.
“It won’t be no trouble,” Paella assured her. “I make a big pot of red beans and rice with smoked sausage every Monday. And they’re just about ready.”
“I’ve really got to get home,” Bradley said.
“Less you can fly, I don’t see how you’re gonna make it,” Noah said. “Paella, you seen my cigarettes? I hate to think I run out, ’cause if I did I’ll have to swim to the store.” He looked at Collette and laughed. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Do you smoke?”
“No,” she said.
“People in my generation had lots of bad habits,” he said. “I’m glad to hear you ain’t got ’em.”
“Can I use your phone, Mr. Brownlee?” Collette asked. “I’ve got to call my mom.”
CHAPTER XV
Tubby was starting to feel better. He had described the murder of Mrs. Lostus to Dan, and they shed a few tears for her. They said what they would do to the murderers if they ever caught them, and they shared a couple of drinks. They agreed that crime had gotten totally out of control.
“If it weren’t for the good weather, I mean usually good weather, nobody would live here.” Tubby announced angrily.
“’Where blackness is a virtue,’” Dan said solemnly into his glass. “Now what song is that from?”
In time, Wild Dan left Tubby with the bourbon bottle while he attended to his business in the lobby, and the lawyer drank off his chill. Then he scrounged up a dry pair of toreador pants, a ruffled silk shirt, and some shiny black lace-up boots left behind by a calypso band that had once played in the bar.
Tubby checked himself in a cracked mirror leaning against the wall and tried out what he remembered of his bossa nova repertoire.
“Zorro, my padrone,” Dan clapped.
“Did you find me a room?” Tubby asked, hand on hip, elbow and knee counterpoised.
“Not yet,” Dan said, helping himself to a tumbler of spirits. “The place is overflowing with guests. There are people in the lobby offering unlimited sums of money, their bodies, you name it, for a room key. Them
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