FICTION: St. Louis Blues

Subject: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: JenEllen
Date: 19 Feb 02 - 01:04 PM

She stood still as the curtain closed in front of her, her arms raised above her head and her body making a sinuous arabesque. She watched the draperies fall together through her half-closed eyes, and when the fabric met fabric, she turned from the stage and ran.

The dressing room of the Starlight serviced over a dozen chorus girls, and contained only one partition. Sadie ran down the hall in her long red dress, hoping to get behind it to change before Blind Jake 'accidentally' came in to talk to the girls. Blind Jake was only blind in that he never minded the shady dealings that went on in the Starlight, fortunes and lives were made and lost around those tables he paced between all night long, but Blind Jake's eyes like to linger on the ladies, and that was what Sadie was trying so desperately to avoid.

She reached the dressing room too late, the floor was crowded with discarded costumes and undergarments, and behind the small partition, by the looks of all the arms and legs protruding at various angles, crowded at least four of the other girls. Sadie shrugged and reached for the blue dress hanging on the costume rack. She unfastened the dress she was wearing, slid it over her shoulders to her waist, and then pulled the blue dress over her head, like a butterfly escaping from one cocoon only to crawl into another. She slid the red dress off her feet, and gasped as she pulled the blue one down to cover herself. "Give me a hand, girl." she asked the tall dancer beside her, and the woman sympathetically tugged and pushed Sadie into her gown.
"I tole you, that Bline' Jake come in here and sew these things tighter and shorter every damn night." the girl said
"Well, I know I ain't gotten taller!" replied Sadie, looking sadly at the slit in her dress that went dangerously close to 'all the way there', and the tight bodice that pinched her as she moved "An' how am I supposed to sing when I can't even breathe?" she asked, but the dancer only shrugged.

When the curtains parted once again, Sadie was a dream in body-crushing crushed velvet. She looked sadly towards the piano, the player only leered at her. When the small light fixed on her eyes and the band began to play, Sadie fixed the smile on her face, languorously walked down the stairs, and began to sing:
They say the French are naughty
They say the French are bad
They all declare that over there
The French are going mad
They have a reputation
Of being very gay
I just got back from Paris
And I just want to say....

As Blind Jake circled the tables like a hungry shark, he heard snatches of the diners conversations: "That light-skinned woman sure can sing" "Do you think those diamonds are real?" "Oh, all them nigrah women can sing" Jake smiled to himself, he had made Sadie. Her warm round voice was nothing to Jake, he liked the fact that all the women coveted her clothes, and all the men coveted what was in them. The whole place was his creation, and he was making a fortune.
....All our fashions come from Gay Pareee
And if they come above the knee
Fifty million Frenchmen can't be wrong
And if they give the world a new design
To prove a lady has a spine
Fifty millon Frenchmen can't be wrong
If they prefer to see there women in dress
Of more or less, in less and less
Fifty million Frenchmen can't be wrong...

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: JenEllen
Date: 19 Feb 02 - 01:04 PM

After the curtain closed for the final time that night, Sadie washed the heavy make-up from her face, changed into her plain cotton dress, wrapped her coat around herself, and left the tiny changing room only to find Blind Jake leaning against the wall.
"You sang mighty fine tonight Sadie" he said. Sadie looked at the floor, and counted woodgrains as Jake's eyes lingered on her breasts, waist, hips...She barely suppressed the urge to shove him aside and run out into the night. When he took the wad of bills from his pocket and peeled a few off, the sound of crisp money brought Sadie's gaze topside once again. Jake held the money out to her, and playfully jerked it away when she reached for it. He did this a few more times before finally allowing Sadie to crush the bills in her hand and shove them in her coat pocket. As she brushed past him and walked towards the door, Jake didn't turn around to watch her, he simply called over his shoulder "See you Wednesday night!" and laughed.

Jake's coarse laughter followed Sadie out the door, but it quickly dissipated in the cold St Louis night. Sadie breathed deeply and started walking, the night air and the chill bringing her to her senses again, after so much heat and cigarette smoke in the Starlight. She turned her corners, left and right, zigzagging through the city from the white side to the black. She stopped finally, in front of a worn storefront with blacked-out windows, the throbbing sounds of music and laughter trickled out from behind the curtains, and Sadie smiled as she pushed open the door.

"Hey there, baby girl" the man behind the bar called, over the heads of the patrons.
"Hey" replied Sadie. She took a seat at the bar and nodded appreciatively as Uncle Leroy poured her a whisky neat, and tapped a cigarette from the pack in his shirtfront, lighting it and handing it to her. She watched the old man move gracefully away to his customers and she smiled to herself. Uncle Leroy, not like any uncle she ever knew of, but since neither he nor her mama were of the marrying kind, she figured 'Uncle' would just have to do.

"Sadie, girl, you still workin' at the Starlight?" asked the man beside her
"Yessir"
"Aw, you know you better than that. What they got you dressed up like some white woman, singing white songs. It ain't right."
"Yeah, but they got the money."
"I get you money, baby!" came the cry from a man further down the bar. He wobbled over, grinning at Sadie. "Your boy need a father, and you need a man....I'll take care uh you girl.."
Sadie laughed as she brushed the man's hands from her waist. "Billy Bunch, you ain't never took care uh nothin' in your life 'cept a piano and a bottle!"
The man smiled and leaned in close to her: "It's 'Peetie', sugar, I done tole you that...It's 'Peeeetie' now"

Uncle Leroy barked at them from behind the bar: "Will you two quit fussin'? Billy, Peetie, Wheathead, whatever you are callin' yourself this week....get your sorry behind up there an' play somethin'"
Sadie paused for a moment, then followed Peetie to the rough piano in the corner of the room. She leaned her body against the worn wood and listened quietly as Peetie began to play. As the recognition drifted across her face, she smiled. Her hips swung under her faded cotton dress. When she opened her lips, a sound came out like nothing the patrons of the Starlight had ever heard her sing. The difference between night and day, whisky and honey, the lounge and the barrelhouse, her raw voice filled the room:
I been here all day
Ain't had a bite to eat
Walk the streets here lookin'
For a butcher to cut my meat
Now it's night an I'm still lookin'
For a butcher to cut my meat
'Cause I cannot sleep
'Til I get a butcher to cut my meat
Want'choo ta cut my bacon
An' grind my sausage too
Yeah, want'choo ta cut my bacon....

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: JenEllen
Date: 19 Feb 02 - 01:05 PM

Outside, Uncle Leroy locked the door behind him and turned to give Sadie a brief kiss on her cheek. "You be okay gettin' home?" he asked?
"Be fine"
"Give your mama my best.."
Sadie laughed, "I'll just tell her you said 'hey' and let you give her your 'best' when you see her next.." she quickly dodged Leroy's swatting hand and chuckled as she walked across the street. She looked up to see a faint light up above, and knew her mama would be up waiting for her. She always worried, and she always let Sadie know she worried too.

When she reached her floor, Sadie noticed the bathroom was empty, and she ducked in to wash her face and run some water through her mouth. If her mama smelled whisky, it would be just one more thing to answer for. She looked bravely at herself in the mirror, and went home. When she opened the door to the small apartment, she saw her mother sitting at the rickety table in what was supposed to be a kitchen. She was squinting under the weak light and working on the mending she took in for money.
"Hey, mama." called Sadie
Odetta grunted a weak hello, but didn't look up from her sewing until Sadie finally sat tiredly across from her, lit a cigarette, and reached in to her coat pocket to lay the crumbled bills on the table.

"You comin' to church this morning?" asked Odetta, looking out to the growing dawn
"Mama" whined Sadie.
"That boy of yours needs the Lord, Sadie. He needs you too, you know."
"Mama, I am tryin' to make a life for us here. I don't see the Lord comin' to pay our way any time soon."
"Watch your mouth, girl. I always tried to do right by you, Lord knows. An' the worry you cause me..."
"Mama, please.."
"You know it girl, that boy need you at home, and he need raisin' right. He need a father."
Sadie cringed visibly, and snapped at her mother "He has a father.... jus' like I had a father." and for a brief moment, as she saw the hurt resting in her mother's eyes, she felt sorry, but as she was about to apologize, the older woman pulled her to her fleshy chest.
"I always tried to do right by you, child. You worry me so.. Lord knows I done tried my best..." Sadie wriggled free, gave her mother a brushing kiss on the cheek, and left her seated at the table, muttering to herself as she sewed.

Sadie walked over to the dark bedroom of the small apartment and peered inside. Light coming in from the window allowed her to clearly see the small bundle of blankets that rested on her bed. She walked closer and looked down into the face of her son. He was nearly a year old, and almost golden-coloured. He had his daddy to thank for that. His crinkly hair stood out in auburn clumps, and the faintest of freckles were beginning to dot his nose and cheeks. Sadie thought he looked like an angel.

She quickly undressed and crawled into bed beside him, lightly tracing her finger down his cheek and smiling to herself. First she thought "oh Eddie, I wish you could see him" and those thoughts quickly shifted to wishing she could see Eddie herself, and in that drowsy moment before sleep took her she thought about Eddie. She'd never seen anything so bright as Eddie, every night she would sing and he would play. His hair was the colour of the sun, almost white, and his teeth were so straight and white, and he was so kind in coming into the Starlight in the mornings to teach her to read the music so Blind Jake wouldn't yell at her when he brought in new songs. She shifted slightly in bed and moaned softly to herself as she thought about the first day that Eddie put his hands behind her and picked her up, he set her lightly on the piano, bouncing her bottom on the keys and laughing. She had laughed too, and wrapped her arms around his neck. They made music above, around, and below that piano every chance they got, until Sadie discovered she was pregnant.

They worked nervously a few months more, but when Sadie began to show, Blind Jake said he didn't want no pregnant nigger in his club, and he fired her. If it hadn't been for Uncle Leroy, Sadie and her mother would have surely starved to death. Eddie kept playing at the Starlight, but he kept drinking too. After a while he quit coming around, and Sadie went to the Starlight to find him, but they told her that he'd been fired for sassing customers. She gave birth to Eddie Jr., her SweetPea, on Valentine's Day, 1932. Eddie never came by to see either of them.

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 20 Feb 02 - 10:55 PM

Odetta stood up quietly and walked to the doorway. Sadie and the child were sleeping, the woman's hand still gently touching the little boy's cheek. Odetta eased the door to, then went to the mantle and moved a large ceramic pot that sat upon it. Underneath was an envelope, and Odetta picked it up and slid the folded letter out of it. She held it to the lamp and read it again.

Sade

A note from your wandering boy, somewhere on the crooked path between Hell and Limbo. Or is it Clarksdale and Lambert? Yes, I must confess, your fair-haired boy has found a home of sorts in the land of the magnolia, he cotton plantation, and the run-down roadhouse. The last is where you'll find the boy, should you come looking. Namely Red Walter's Bar 2 miles east of Clarksdale. And should you come looking, you would find your boy in record time, his being the only white face at Red Walter's, and Red Walter's piano being the only one in this part of the misbegotten state of Mississippi. Your loyal lad is the official house piano player, with all of the honors that title implies : free liquor, only six hours of playing per night (with ten minutes breaks of course!), the devout friendship of all the black country boys who strum guitars in the entire Delta Area, and a cabin in back to call home. He only lacks of one thing : his St Louis gal isn't here. Girl, you'd be the toast of Clarksdale! These country folk ain't heard nothin' like you!

Sure, they have some pickers here. Fellow name of Son House can wail with the best, and a little wall-eyed guy name of Robert Johnson, who plays guitar like the Devil, even when drunk, but they are nothing compared to you and your magic.

How is the little one? I will send money soon as I can spare it. I know you may have hard feelings for your fair-haired boy, but please know that if he could be a Father and Husband, he would be. I would not burden you with my weak efforts in that area. But I would love to see you. Perhaps I could take the train to see you in September, if you wouldn't mind too much?

Write to me and let me know if, in some measure, I am forgiven.

Your boy always,

Eddie Randall

Odetta folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope, placing it under the pot. "Playing piano in a roadhouse!" she growled. "You better never come around my girl or her little boy. I'd sooner the Devil hisself was with her!" Odetta turned quickly as the bedroom door opened and Sadie stepped out, rubbing her eyes. "Mama? Who you talking to?"

"Nobody, honey. I was just saying a prayer. You go back to bed."

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Chip2447
Date: 21 Feb 02 - 01:53 AM

Through the night the train chugged northward. The steam whistle piercing the darkness. The black man sat in the empty boxcar, swaying with the music he played on the battered old 12 string guitar and the rythym of the rails. "Elroy ole man. You shuda waited to knife that white bastard when there w'ernt noones aroun. Nows ya done got yerself inta a heap o trouble."
He started humming along with the music that he and the train played, words trying to fit together...

"Down in Missisip, down in sharecropper's hell.
The white devil Johnson was poison in da well.
He beat us, and kicked us and threw us in his jail.
Was a mean ole bastard until the day he fell.

Ole black Elroy done took his knife.
Whoa black Elroy done took his life.
Whoa black Elroy done took his knife.
Ole black Elroy done took his life.

He continued to play and hum along softly. While he sat in the darkness he thought of what he had been forced to leave behind.

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Feb 02 - 11:57 PM

"China" Lee glanced around the roadhouse, shifting her eyes, watching for trouble. She sat down on a bar stool in the corner and signaled for a whiskey, neat. As she tossed it down, her black hair swung away from her face. Her almond-shaped eyes were a startling deep grey-blue with a hard-edge to them.

She hadn't wanted this assignment, but the boss said they needed a "skirt" and it had to be "colored" so she was it. Even so, she felt that old familiar out-of-place awkwardness, though it didn't show. Anyone looking at her would see a confident woman about five feet tall, slim and dressed in a blood-red silk dress which fit her like a glove. With painted nails and shoes to match she caught the eye of most when she walked in.

Now, she smiled at the bartender and asked, "Hey, Shuge, you seen my man around here, lately?"

Wiping a clean glass dry with a bar towel, the bartender looked at her and said, "Ain't seen you around here befo'e. Who's yer man, Missus, and what's he doing leaving a looker like you behind? Must be a damn fool!"

Her ruby lips widened in a playful smile as she replied, "Maybe it was me did the leaving, Shuge."

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Amos
Date: 25 May 02 - 03:30 PM

Harrison Gentry Lee opened his eyes and found the landscape of his dreams transformed into the dank vista of mildewed, rough-cut planks that provided him his nightly shelter. He lay there under a torn, stained sheet and a tattered gray army blanket, letting the sensations of physical place move him slowly away from the laughter of a dream to the sore oppression of his body and its circumstances.

As his hearing slowly took up its new plane of concentration he assembled impressions of time and condition -- he could hear the sounds that told him the bayou was awakening, and he could smell theweather shaping for the day, wet but clear, hot for May but occasionally tempered by slow breezes. A few distan spashes told him the local kingfisher was already out and foraging, but he knew from the temperature and sounds that he had not been out long, and that not all the birds he knew around were yet at work. He could smell the rising temperature of bayou swamp water, the awakening pheromones of mosses and wild lilacs and grasses waking in the warming earth.

He finished arriving, and moved, turning his gaze along the line of decrepit planks with roots and moss showing between, down to the crude timber walls, the gimpy hand-sawn table, small potbelly stove now cold with the economies of Spring, his chair and the rickety door with the hole in the place where a knob should be hanging slightly askew from its crude iron hinges, salvaged from an ancient trousseau chest being thrown away by some white ladies who lived over town, and were bent on acquiring "modern" appointments.

A soft tinkle came through the window opening, unblocked by glass, borne in on the first languid breeze offered by the swamp that day, and he smiled to himself. His bobber would be dancing in the murky water, he knew, rattling the small brass bell he had tied to it, joining both to the real world by tying them off to a cypress branch, and if he was lucky, he'dhave a mudcat steak for breakfast. If he wasn't a snapper turkle would have stolen his bait. He smiled philosophically and turned out, pulling on stained blue overhauls and shoving his worn, calloused black feet into cranky, lopsided leather boots with patched laces, his back creaking as he bent to tie them. And as every morning, in these first few minutes of waking, his thoughts turned to the bride who would not stay, his own quadroon Sarah, her full rich smile,and her rich Creole accent; and to the daughter she had torn from his life so many years before.

"Sheen-wahz", he muttered to himself. "Girl, girl, what became of you?"

And he stumped his way down the lopsided moulding wooden steps, and busied himself checking his trip-line in the humid bayou morning...

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 25 May 02 - 07:39 PM

Through a thick hangover haze, Eddie Randall detected the aroma of coffee, ham, and eggs. He sat up in bed long enough to see that he was still fully clothed, and that Bob was snoring on the hooked rug in the corner. "Ahhhh, God!" said Randall, and a woman's voice reached him from the kitchen, saying "Don't be taking the Lord's name in vain, Eddie! Why don't you get out in here and help me wit' breakfast?" Randall took a deep breath and swung his legs over the side of his bed, disturbing the rest of Rip, Bob's hound dog. Rip lumbered up and went over to lie next to Bob, who mumbled "git!" and rolled over, bumping the guitar that leaned against the wall near him.

Randall glanced at the nightstand, where a near-empty fifth of rye whiskey and a package that contained one bent Pall Mall cigarette caught his eye. He tossed down the dregs and lit the cigarette, rising unsteadily to his feet. Bouncing off the wall only once, he reached the doorway to the kitchen and leaned against the jam. Louise turned her head to stare at him, a spatula in her right hand. "You look like death eatin' a cracker," she said. "I guess Bob and I had us quite a time last night," he said. "Yeah," she said, pouring a mug of coffee and bringing it to him. He took it in his shaking hand as she looked at him with cynical appraisal. "You had you a time alright. And Bob just had to come by my house at 1 AM and make sure I got to join the party. Daddy probably worried sick I ain't come home yet." She poured another cup for Bob and walked over to where he lay. "Git up, Bob!" She said loudly. The hound dog cringed and beat the floor with his tail. She put the sole of her foot against Bob's shoulder and gave a push, saying "here's yo coffee, Bob!" Bob grunted and mumbled "goddam it woman... doan wan no coffee."

Louise came back into the kitchen and began scooping breakfast onto the plates. Eddie sat at the table and sipped his coffee, knocking his cigarette ash into a mayonnaise jar lid. He suddenly reached in his left front pocket and pulled out a thin roll of bills. With slow deliberation, he counted the money, then shook his head. "That's right, Eddie. You done spent most all your paycheck buyin rounds for the house at Red's, all the time braggin how you was gonna buy yo little boy a tricycle. Guess you ain't got enough left for that, huh?" He looked so crestfallen that she regretted her words and walked over to put an arm around his shoulder. "It's OK baby," she said.

"Hey, white boy. What you doin' with my woman?" Bob stood in the doorway glaring comically. "Well, if it ain't Mr Robert L Johnson, Esquire," said Louise. "You the last one up and that means you doin the dishes." Bob sat down chuckling and said "shheee-it. I ain' doin' no dishes, woman. I got delicate hands, don't you know?" and he held up his hands in the morning sunlight, the long fingers tapered, elegant. Bob nudged Eddie and laughed, his face crinkling in delight, and then he said "say, Cotton...any of that whiskey still left?"

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Amos
Date: 27 May 02 - 01:37 PM

The late afternoon sun drew dazzles of light and shadow through the cypress branches over the dark swamp-water edges. Gentry Lee, dreamer of bayou dreams, lost father, sat on a stump, swatting at the early skeeters and whittling chips from a chunk of cypress burl. The sounds of the bayou finding its way through a sleepy day, like the sound of his own breathing, slipped through his mind unnoticed -- the chitter of jays arguing over territory, a far crane crying, a rolling splash followed by slight echoes as a 'gator finished his nap and returned to the eternal quest for food and future, and the occasional wet flipping thwip of bream breaking the placid surface of the timeless bayou in quick instants, gone before they could be seen.

He slowly became aware of a startling of birds making scolding screams and moving among the treetops with bursts of nervous flight, and his attention soon picked up another unusual pattern in the rich fabric of sound around him:a splash that was too smooth to belong to a gator, to large to belong to a kingfisher. He smiled and stood from his labor, and turned down a worn brown path along the water, stepping over roots and breathing rich water smells tinged with lilac scents, down to the dirt landing at the broader part of the long winding inlet.

A weathered, splintered flat-bottomed swamp punt appeared around the bend, cresting a ripple before it with its blunt prow. In the stern, slowly wielding a single oar, sculling and paddling, stood a strange skeleton of a man, easily six and a half feet tall but bent like rusted bobwire. He was bones and clothes with little in between, making odd angles with his elbows in the late sun as he whistled and paddled. He wore a frayed black suit jacket with tails that had not seen fashion since the last war, worn twill trousers with stains and a patch on one knee that appeared to have once belonged to a lady's nightgown, a sweaty black shirt with a boiled white collar standing crooked above, and a highly inappropriate, crumpled and badly used once-silk top hat. Gentry stepped down into the shallow water at the edge of the dirt ramp and helped swing the bow of the little swamp punt into the shore. The bony creature leaned over like a heron looking for dinner and straightened up with a brown glazed jug in his hand, stepping awkwardly over the gunwale and wading the last few steps onto shore as Gentry heaved the pram into a secure position.

"Howdy, Gentry. Brought you whatchoo need fer what ails ya, thanks be to Gawd!", intoned the Reverend Thalassus Marchand Hale, hefting the jug with a reverent nod to heaven.

"Ha doo, your own self, Marchand! Been a while, I guess."

"Well, you know, working the will of the Lord among the byways, time consumin' business. Shepherdin' the flock, and praisin' the Lawd does eat up the hours, but it must be done, must be done."

Gentry led his visitor back up the path to the rough-planked shack, mounted the crooked steps and pushed open the knobless door.

"Well, come on, then, Marchand -- I ain't gonna call you no Reverend, no matter what kinda collar you put on, though. I know you too well for dat. But a jug is always welcome."

"Now, now, Gentry -- spite not ye the servant of my name, as it say in the Book. I jus' tending to de needs of the flock."

"You? I know what kinda needs you 'tending, Marchand!! I know!!"

The two men laughed together, comfortable in their mutual recognition, and the host brought out a galvanized coffee cup and a lidless jam jar, and the long afternoon rode unnoticed into evening as the whiskey opened their jaws to long talk, and their minds to better times and places

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 07 Jun 02 - 02:21 PM

Eddy took his fingers off of the keyboard and lit another cigarette. A smattering of applause came from the sharecroppers and their women scattered among the tables at Red's, but mostly the room was filled with the buzz of conversation and the clatter of glasses and bottles. Eddy knew his piano was mainly background music on the nights when Son or Elmore or John Lee headed the bill. Tonight they were there for Bob...that is, if Bob ever got there. Eddy had seen Bob leave Red's in the late afternoon with Polly Cane and a jar of bathtub gin, and Eddy knew Bob would be drunk by now, and probably asleep in Polly's cabin. Eddy put down his smoke and took a deep drink of bourbon, then started the Beale Street Rag. A couple got up and moved around the dance floor, embracing tightly in the steamy room. Sweat dropped from Eddy's forehead and made little beads on the white keys, little beads that were smeared by his fingertips.

The couple on the dance floor suddenly stopped dancing and clapped their hands, the man calling out "Here we go! RL is in the place!" Eddy looked to his left, and saw Bob sliding up a three-legged stool, big grin on his face, his 'evil eye' glittering from the gin. "Evenin' Cotton," he said, and seated the six-string on his lap. Bob pulled a green section of bottle neck out of his coat pocket and slid it up the neck. The rest of the crowd looked up as Johnson began to work the guitar, but Bob kept his music understated, and when Eddy played a rhythm and nodded to Bob for the solo, Bob just shook his head and dropped into a staccato rhythm himself, saying "it your song, Eddy...you walk the dog." Eddy let the stride ride on top of Robert's rhythm, and felt the song take new life. Another guitar jumped into the mix, and Eddy winked at Johnny Shines as he took a seat next to Bob. Now the dance floor was crowded with gyrating figures as Eddy realized the pace of the song had sped up, mainly because Bob was pushing it along. He glanced at Robert, who smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if to say "wasn't me!"

Eddy took a seat at the table where Louise was sitting, and she immediately asked "so where the hell was Bob?" Eddy grinned and lied "I think he went fishing." Louise laughed bitterly and said "yeah! And I know which fishin hole, too. Was Polly Cane, huh? You know her husband said he'd kill Bob if he found out he was shackin up wit her. Why you let him do it?" Eddy looked at Bob and Johnny as they played Travelin Riverside Blues and said "me? I can't stop Bob from doing what he wants to do. Nobody can. You ought to know that by now, Louise." He glanced into her eyes, seeing if she got the message. "Every body tells Bob he's the best guitarman in the Delta," she said, " but he ain't got no real friends 'cept you and Johnny and that ol hound dog." Eddy smiled and put his hand on hers and said "and only one woman that really loves him, even if he can't see it." She took her hand away and slid a cigarette from his pack. He lit it for her and she said "you hear the news yet?" He shook his head. She breathed a long stream of smoke and said "they found the Greenville Sheriff dead. Somebody cut him up."

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: JenEllen
Date: 07 Jun 02 - 04:41 PM

'You get the blues so bad --it hurt your feet to walk
You get the blues so bad--it hurt your tongue to talk
Then you start yourself a cryin'--like you never cried before
You cry so loud--you give the blues to your neighbor next door.."

The days passed for Sadie in a long downward spiral. If there had been a point where she could have stopped herself, she might have, but that point was long gone now.

Every morning was the same, Odetta hustling her bulk through the bedroom door, flinging back the heavy curtains and letting the sunlight pierce Sadie's fog. The girl hissed and curled on the bed like a slug in a pail of beer, crying out for her mother to put the curtains back. Odetta only grabbed the baby from his place on the bed, cooed to him, and took him into the kitchen.

Sadie would rise, stumble her way into the kitchen, pour herself some coffee, and sit at the table near Eddie Jr. Numbly she sat, her cheek cradled in one hand, while the other hand fed the baby, seemingly of its own accord. Odetta was none too kind, and Sadie figured the old woman would forever fry greasy meat and slam pots around until her head blew up, or the coffee kicked in, whichever came first. She would grit her teeth, mostly to keep her tongue in check, until the woman would finish, and finally bid them a too-cheery 'good morning' on her way out the door to work.

Sadie and SweetPea would spend their mornings quietly, the boy being the only thing to ever bring a smile to her face anymore. His 'mama' and first wobbling steps were a tether, but for how long? Surely, one of these days, he'd just get up and walk away from her too.

As evening fell, Sadie would wrap SweetPea in her arms and sit Odetta's chair, rocking slowly and singing until the baby's head fell on her shoulder
I've had my fun--an' if I don't get well no more
Oh, I've had my fun--an' if I don't get well no more
My love is failin' me--I believe I'm goin' down slow
Please find my baby--tell him the shape I'm in
Won't you find my baby--please tell him the shape I'm in
Tell him please pray for me--an' forgive me all my sins

Sadie would place Eddie Jr in his bed, and quietly sit by the window, watching for Odetta to return on her solid legs. When she saw her turn the corner, Sadie would grab her things and head for the door. Where many a motherly talk was averted by passing on the stairs, so was many a fight. Both women had come to expect nothing but argument from the other, and on this turn of the spiral, all they did was nod to each other as they passed.

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: JenEllen
Date: 07 Jun 02 - 04:42 PM

Blind Jake sat at his corner table, both eyes on the door, and watched as Sadie entered the Starlight. That bitch was getting too sassy, and something was going to have to be done. Lucky for him, he was just the man to do it.

He watched her walk calmly to the bar, slinging her coat across a stool, and leaning in towards the bartender. "Hey Joe. Whiskey."
The bartender poured her a glass and cautiously told her, "Girl, you better watch yourself. Word is that Bline' Jake got a sore spot with your name on it."
"Well, Joe, you know what they say about cat and mouse..." she swallowed the whiskey and set the empty glass back on the bar, "If you wanna win, don't be the mouse."

She turned and walked between the tables and across the dance floor, edging ever closer to where Blind Jake sat waiting in the shadows. When she drew close, he stood and called to her: "Sadie, a word please?"
Sadie turned and smiled her sweetest smile, "Why Jake," she purred, "Fancy meeting you here. What can I do for you, sir?"
Jake bravely started in on the speech he had prepared, her drinking at work, sassing the customers, fighting with the other girls, but what he hadn't been prepared for was the smug smile that crept across the woman's face. The bitch was laughing at him, plain as day. "....an' voice or no voice, girl, you better straighten up. You got it?"
Sadie kept her smile, and casually put one hand to her hip. "An' if I don't?"

Blind Jake's hand shot out and caught Sadie across her cheek, but the thing Jake had forgotten is that for some folks, Hell is in slow motion. Sadie had seen that hand coming for at least a full minute, and wasn't fazed by it at all. She blinked her eyes and grinned maliciously at him. "That all you got for me? Otherwise I have to go get dressed." And with that, she turned her back on Blind Jake and walked out of the lounge.

When she returned, the tables had filled with customers, and the sound from the piano keys filled the room as the light slowly left.
Your sweet expression
The smile you gave to me
The way you looked when we met
It's easy to remember
But so hard to forget
I hear you whisper
"I'll always love you
And it always bring me regret
It's so easy to remember
But so hard to forget

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: JenEllen
Date: 07 Jun 02 - 05:47 PM

The smell of alcohol and hot bodies filled Sadie's nostrils as she walked into Leroy's that night. Pete and Jackson had the crowd worked into the usual midnight frenzy as she elbowed her way to the bar. "Hey Leroy." she gasped, as a fast-moving couple bounced off her shoulder and laughed their way back to the dance floor.
Leroy nodded towards her and poured her a drink, casually watering down the already pale liquor before he set it in front of her. He watched her take the drink and wind her way through the crowd. Pete caught sight of her and nodded, and when song ended, Sadie worked her way in-between the seated man and the piano.
Now when you feel that jump--an' your skin begin to crawl
You can bet your bottom dollar--'nother mules been kickin' in your stall
You can never tell--what on your man's mind
He can be huggin' and kissin' you--an' quittin' you at the same time
So if you wan' your man--keep him by your side
If he flags my train--sho'nuff gonna let him ride

As he watched her, something gripped Leroy's heart, more kin to sadness than anything, but there was pride there too. That girl could shine. He made his mind up then and there that something was going to change, but for all that Leroy was wrestling with, Sadie was oblivious.
He'll spend your dough--drink your gin
He'll roll an' he'll tumble an' he'll crawl back in
That's the stuff ya gotta watch
That's the stuff ya gotta watch
That's the stuff ya gotta watch if you don' wanna lose your man

She finished with the boys for the moment, and laughing, Sadie walked down past the bar and into the kitchen, aiming for the back door and some fresh air. She stood in the doorway, fanning herself with a piece of newsprint in an attempt to catch some of the summer breeze, when she noticed the old man in the kitchen. He was up to his elbows in soapy water, and was washing glasses like a machine.
"Hey.... I said, Hey, old fella. Do I know you?"
The old man looked up, gazed at Sadie for a moment before returning to his work and answering, "No'm, I don't believe you do."
Sadie smiled to herself and pressed on: "Well, my name is Sadie." and when the old man paid no heed, she continued with "And your name is?"
The man continued washing and simply grunted "Elroy."
Being too far into the bottle to be offended at his bad manners, Sadie fanned herself for a few more minutes before returning to the bar.

"Wow, Leroy, that dishman you got is one helluva talker..." she grinned as she poured herself another whiskey.
Leroy took the glass from her hand and replied "Girl, why don't you be worryin' about yourself instead of what that man be doin'?"
Sadie watched the glass travel in Leroy's hand, then she laughingly reached out and snatched the bottle off the bar, scooting back out onto the floor before Leroy could catch her.

When they locked the door last night, Sadie stumbled along the walk, singing to herself. Leroy put his arm around her shoulder and muttered, "C'mon girl, I'll walk you home." To which Sadie replied: "You're a niiiiish mannnnn."

Sadie drifted off to sleep with SweetPea's breath in one ear, and the dull rumble of conversation from the kitchen in the other.

Odetta softly closed the door, and as she turned said "I swear, that girl was asleep before she hit the pillow."
Leroy only looked at her solemnly, sitting at the table with his strong arms crossed in front of him. "'Detta, how long you gonna let this mess go on?"
"Mess?" she asked innocently
With that, Leroy stood so quickly that the chair clattered behind him. He stomped quickly to the mantle and took down Odetta's bible, shaking it over the kitchen table. The letters drifted out like feathers, landing softly among the dinner dishes. "What is this?" he counted out the letters as he picked them up "One--two--three--four.....Four letters she done got from that boy, and you ain't tole her nothin', have you?"
Tears filled the woman's eyes as she whispered, "It'll pass."
Leroy softened at the sight of her, and walked over to put his arms around her. "Woman, you know I love you, but I love that girl too, like she was my own, and I'm tellin' you that this ain't right. You gotta tell her."

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Amos
Date: 07 Jun 02 - 07:04 PM

"Useta sing that baby ta sleep and sit there four hours, even all night, still as some ole stork so she don't wake up. Just sing her some blues, is wot I knew. That hiyaller loved me singing 'em, even if I sang "I know mah baby, Ah know my baby ain't true to me...". She din mine. She never the shame aft' her daddy broke down from too buckleosis, That ole TB -- tuck him out in -- oh I thinkin it was about ninetten and thirty two -- l.. tha's...think tha's when that Sara started tuh go bad on me, I do believe and never saying why. Never said why. Nevuh. That was the thing, ya see -- she nevah would say why, nevah!! Jus' snuck out the door wit' mah girl. Mah Sheenwahz. An' nevvuh say...."

It might have been the bayou moon glimmering in and out of the cypress limbs and dappling his eyes, or it might have been whiskey and old pain; but Gentry never did finish the sentence, choosing instead to fold his head over onto the table butting up against the empty jug, and chase bottomless dark without hope or end.

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Amos
Date: 07 Jun 02 - 09:06 PM

About an hour after sunrise, the Reverend Hale's head reached back into the world screaming in a muted thunder of pain. He lifted it gently from the crude floorboards under the rickety table and turned it slightly to one side, wincing, but interested in the smell of chicory seeping down through the warm morning air. Creaking, he unrolled his long frame and tried standing up, carefully stepping free of the tattered sections of his host's spare blanket and stooping to fold it up.

"Morning, Marchand! Got somep'n for yore breakfast, better'n nuffin!" Gentry put a scarred tin plate down on the table with a mess of white rice on it and some unidentifiable gravy that smelled vaguely like bayou water, stiffened with chunks of pale catfish meat. Hale winced as his stomach debated the whole idea heatedly, but he won the argument and decided not to be rude. He accepted the plate and the slightly twisted spoon offered with it, and commenced fueling his face rapidly. The galvanized coffee cup was pressed back into service full of a thin chicory tea disguised as coffee, and the conversation was as slow and full of hurt thought as the crumbling bayou morning, slipping into a steaming wasted afternoon. They talked about a cousin in Shreveport, and someone's sister who had run away from her husband in Tuscaloosa and married a drummer in Memphis without benefit of divorce; and kin of friends in Greenville and a crazy girl they had both courted from Natchez, and an uncle in Barataria who claimed to be descent of Jean Lafitte's. And somewhere in there, it was a little confused, an ancient memory stirred, and Gentry raised his head and said "Greenville! That's where that fellow lived they said Sara ran off to!! I never could remember that! Was a brakeman or something, worked the railroad, I think, and he lived outside of there!"

"Couldn't be!! How would she get all way up there?"

"Oh, g'wan – that gal could charm the chrome off a bumper, let a lone a ride out of a trucking man!"

"Well, dat's ancient history, man. Old news. Best forgotten."

"Well, I worked on that forgotten part pretty hard, Marchand. Didn't serve me much good."

"It was eleven years ago, you crazy nigger! What you think, you gonna go up to Greenville and as the first person you see if they know some yaller gal Sara?"

He looked at the moss dripping from the tree limbs and the rutted clay shoreline down from the doorway where they sat; and he looked over his shoulder at the crude pine boards and misshapen furniture, and the hard planks he used as a bed.

"I might just, Marchand. I guess I might just."

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Chip2447
Date: 08 Jun 02 - 02:28 AM

By the dawn of the new day the once empty boxcar that he had found had attracted a few other down on their luck riders. No one knew where they were headed, they were just headed away.
Even Po ole Elroy didnt know where he was bound, Memphis was too close to Missip, and Chi town was to damned cold for his old bones. He used ta have some kinfolk up round bout St. Louie way, maybe he could find some of them. As far as he knew his second cousin on his ma's side, Odetta still lived up there.
He shore was gonna miss Red's, there was some fine guitar pickers playing down there. An dat white boy on piano boy he shore could tickle dem ivories.
Through the open door of the boxcar, Elroy saw a chain gang busy making little rocks outta big ones. He thought to himself that he should find himself a new name. Elroy Johnson weren't gonna get throwed on no chain gang. Hellsbells, If they ever caught him he'd pr'bly never make it to a court house. He dint relish no lynchin either.
Chip2447

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Chip2447
Date: 08 Jun 02 - 03:09 AM

(apologizing profusly for the thread drift and the time warp thing, I guess it would behoove me to pay more attention to the story)
Humbly,
Chip2447

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 08 Jun 02 - 11:12 AM

Not to mention we've got more Johnsons than a band-aid factory!:>}

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 08 Jun 02 - 01:12 PM

At Midnight, Robert and Johnny took a break and both men disappeared into the crowd that still filled Red's. Eddie watched Louise get more and more angry and quiet, until at 12:20 she picked up her purse and said "I'm goin home." Shortly after, Red Walter came out from behind the bar and walked up to his table. Red was a thin, wiry man with a red matt of hair and a shiny veneer of sweat on his light skin. "Where are they?" he asked Eddie. Eddie glanced at his watch and said "hold your horses, Red. They'll be back in a minute, I'm sure." Red frowned in frustration and fury and glared around the roadhouse. Then he said "I had it to here wit that son of a bitch. I don't care if he do bring a big crowd. He's more trouble than he's worth." He looked at Eddie again and said "if he ain't on that stage and playin in 5 minutes, he'll never play here again, nor Johnny Shines neither." Red snapped a bar towel in the air and returned to his duties.

Outside the tavern, a single light illuminated the yard. Just outside the ring of light, several folks had brought chairs and were sitting in the cooler night air. "Johnny!" Eddie shouted, and soon a voice replied "over here, Cotton." Eddie felt his way through chest-high cattails toward the bank of Barton Creek, toward a low mumble of voices. "Over here," repeated Johnny. "Bob's bad off." The two black men were crouched in a jumble of huge roots from a Magnolia which grew on the verge of the stream. Eddie heard Robert's voice, frantic, say "who's that?!" then Johnny said "it just Eddie, Bob." Eddie saw Johnson's eyes shining in the quarter moonlight.

"Cotton?"

Eddie squatted beside Bob and said "come on. We got to get you back to Red's. Time to play some more music." Eddy felt Johnny's hand on his arm and heard Johnny say "it ain't no use. He can't play, Eddie." Robert's hand found the glass jar and brought it, bone dry, to his lips, then he tossed it into the bushes. Robert said "I seen the Black Man again, Cotton. He found me down here by the creek. He had two big dogs wit him, eyes red as blood. He come up to me and says 'payment's due, Bob. I come to claim what's mine, boy.' But I begged him for some more time and he went off." Eddie turned to Johnny and said "can you play the last set alone?"

"Red won't like it, but sure I can."

Eddie took Bob's arm and said "help me get him on his feet. I'll take him to my house. You tell Red you don't know where Bob went."

It took nearly an hour to get Bob to the door of Eddie's cabin, but at last Bob was wrapped in a blanket and snoring on the floor next to the old hounddog. Eddie went into the kitchen, found paper and a pencil, and wrote

My Dear Sade

The longer I go without seeing your face or hearing your voice, the more I feel like a stranger to my own soul. I think of our little one all the time, and I feel that it is a crime for me to let him grow without not knowing his Father. Would you like to see me soon? I hope so, for I am anxious to come to St Louis right away. I know that Odetta will frown on it, but maybe my charm will win her over eventually? I have had no letter from you in a long time, so perhaps there is someone else. If that's the case, just tell me

And suddenly there was a loud pounding at the door. Eddie looked through the window to see Deputy Gervis Bonner outside. He undid the latch and Bonner stepped inside, glancing around the cabin. Eddy said "what's going on Gervis?" The Deputy pointed at Bob's form on the floor and said "who's that? That Bob Johnson?" Eddy nodded and noticed that Gervis had something in his left hand, a cloth bundle. Gervis followed Eddie's eyes and grinned. He placed the bundle on the table and unwrapped it. Inside, the cloth was stained with blood, and there lay a long-bladed fisherman's filleting knife. "You coulda done a better job of hiding it, Eddie. That was stupid to toss it under your porch." Eddie looked, uncomprehending, into Gervis' eyes. And Bonner said "why'd you kill him, Eddie?" Eddie felt his face burn and his breath catch as the realization struck him. He glanced at the open cabin door. "Yeah, run," said Gervis. "Billy Thomas is outside with a double-barrel 12 gauge. Save the county a lot of trouble."

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Amos
Date: 08 Jun 02 - 01:25 PM

Serve me right to suffer
Serve me right to be alone
Serve me right to suffer
Serve me right to be alooooone
Because ma whole life I'm livin'
In memory of someone gooone!!

Ev'y time I see a woman
Make me think of mine, think of mine
Ev'y time I look at a woman
Make me think of mine
ANd that's why when I see another woman
I juist cain't keep fum cryin'

Serve me right to suffer,
Serve me right to be alone...
Serve me right to...

"....SHEEEIT!" Gentry leaped in panic as a large chrome bumper and fat whitewall tire came within two inches of hauling his left leg away with them up to Shreveport.

He recovered his balance, shifted his blanket roll so the tin cup wasn't biting into his left ribs so bad, and walked back from the edge of the ditch onto the dust-white shoulder, staring sadly at the disappearing curves of a round-backed Packard sedan, glistening in the hot sun.

The dark green car weaved crazily between the starched edges of an endless ribbon of road, disappearing into the glaring morning sun, like a concrete two-lane heading straight into the mouth of hell itself. He lifted a sore foot and a dust-coated boot and made good another pace on the gravel shoulder, sighing at the uncaring sun.

Subject: RE: FICTION: St. Louis Blues
From: Amos
Date: 10 Jun 02 - 11:20 PM

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