Freshwater Road by Denise Nicholas

Author:Denise Nicholas [Nicholas, Denise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 20th Century, Fiction, United States, Historical, General, History
ISBN: 9781416524823
Google: jc0a3mIKAJcC
Amazon: B001NEK4JY
Publisher: Bolden
Published: 2005-08-26T07:00:00+00:00

16

Celeste adjusted to the dim light, saw the cinder block walls painted glossy strawberry red, then spotted the aging jukebox sitting like a live band waiting to play a downbeat. There was a garish confusion of chromium-braced chairs featuring assorted orange, pink, sky blue, and milky turquoise plastic cushions and seat backs. The chairs surrounded kitchen-sized Formicatopped tables arranged near a small dance floor marked off by black and white oversized linoleum squares.

A freckly, beige-brown man stepped from behind the bar, smiling. "Hey, now. Ha' y'all during?" He wore a short-sleeved white shirt with a dark cowboy tie and a holstered gun on a belt.

"All right now." Ed shook both of the man's hands at the same time. Matt followed. Celeste nodded and beelined for the jukebox-she hadn't heard a note of music except church music and freedom songs for weeks. She scanned the selections. Rhythm and blues and deep blues. No Frank Sinatra here, no Dinah Washington, either. Wilamena would turn on her high heels and stride out the door. Shuck might handle it for a while, but he'd grow restless with all that deep blues. She'd left her book-bag and change purse in the backseat of the car. Ed Jolivette brought her two quarters and she pushed buttons until her finger hurt. "Gypsy Woman" flowed into her like an elixir, smooth and knowing, the words like her own personal anthem now. She walked to the bar with Curtis Mayfield's high sweet voice filling her ears and the backbeat releasing her hips, her head moving from side to side, her lips falling right into the words.

"Otis, this is Celeste Tyree, working with us for the summer." Matt barely glanced at her, then drank from a huge tumbler of ice water.

"Otis Gilliam. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Tyree." He shoved a glass of water in her direction over his homemade bar, nodding his head.

Celeste sat on a barstool. "Mr. Gilliam."

"Oh, now, you call me Otis." He grinned. "Please, call me Otis, anytime, anywhere."

Celeste drank the water and eyed Otis's pistol. This must be the bucket of blood the old people talked about a long time ago. Then she remembered Sophie Lewis's father and how he sat on his front porch with a shotgun to protect his house. There was something coming into clarity here and it wasn't what it was supposed to be. Real men wear guns. Nonviolence had a boundary, a limit. Ah, yes, she thought, if a man had something he wanted to protect, without question he'd better be armed. Would nonviolence ever get them where they needed to go?

"Man, you better give us something real to drink. I know you got some gin back there even if you did make it in your bathtub." Matt's hand slid his water glass back across the bar. "I need a real drink."

"Cain't. 'Gainst the law." Otis gave Matt a serious look, winked at Celeste.

At the Royal Gardens, the long bar mirror and the mood lights reflected an assortment of

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