Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [107]
Essie's eyes narrowed. She had a feeling Theophilus was about to say something that she really hoped he didn't have to say. "What about they, Theophilus?"
He hung his head a bit and studied his shoes.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Well . . . nothing happened. But they kind of decided to watch what turned out to be some kind of dance show, you know."
"No, I don't know. But I sure would like to."
Theophilus was so embarrassed that Essie could see the deep ruby tones peeking through his chocolate skin. She wanted to laugh out loud. Just a few moments ago, he was as fresh as he could be. And now he looked like a little boy standing before the principal, trying to tell her that her uncle and former employer sat back and got themselves an eyeful of a hoochie-coochie dance.
"Baby, you see it's like this. They were eating, drinking, laughing, and acting like preachers when—"
"Make it good now," she said in a sly-sounding voice.
"Oh shoot, Essie. They stayed and watched a striptease dance. You satisfied?"
Lord, Essie thought, a man just couldn't resist seeing some women dancing half-naked and carrying on like that. Seemed like even the best of them would have to look.
"Theophilus, you know they ought to be ashamed of themselves, right?"
Theophilus shrugged. He agreed with her, but the man inside him could understand. It was kind of hard to deny a man the opportunity to watch a woman who knew what she was doing when she started shaking that stuff all over the place. He cleared his throat and looked at her with what her mother called the "a man just has to be a man" look on his face.
She cut her eyes at him as if to say, "That look ain't doing nothing for or to me."
He got a little more bravado in his look and kind of swaggered in the spot he was standing in. He said, "Well, I wouldn't have stayed there, but they are not ashamed. Said the two girls who danced, could dance real good."
"I bet they could. But I hope they got all of the information the church will need while they were on that little ex-pe-dition."
"They did," he said and then added, "I wish you could have seen how Uncle Booker and Mr. Pompey looked when they told us."
"Were they dressed up to a tee?" she asked, with a smile spreading across her face.
"Baby, they were too sharp to touch without cutting my hand."
"Theophilus, I sure wish I could have been a fly on the wall to see them at that cathouse."
"Baby, you and me and half of the Negro population of Richmond, too."
Chapter Twenty-five
SAPHRONIA RANG THE DOORBELL AT THE HOUSE of the preachers' club cook, Tee Cole, and a plump, brown-skinned woman answered the door with a warm and welcoming smile. "Well, a good morning to you, Miss Saphronia Anne McComb."
"Tee?"
Tee pushed opened the screen door and waved her hand, beckoning Saphronia to come inside. With that plain mauve suit, Saphronia looked downright dowdy, Tee thought, and she was holding her body awkwardly, like she was scared.
"Don't no hungry wolves live here, Miss Saphronia Anne McComb."
Saphronia gave her a questioning look.
"I said, don't no hungry wolves live here. Meaning, that we ain't gone eat you up alive if you come up in my house."
Saphronia was embarrassed. Precious had told her not to worry, and here she was acting just like her grandmother would act with somebody like Tee Cole. She stepped into a small and modest living room that was so clean it almost sparkled.
"Precious back in the kitchen getting a bite to eat. Come on back."
Saphronia followed Tee down the tiny hall into the kitchen, where Precious was sitting at the table munching on a big fluffy biscuit smothered in apple butter and slurping on a delicious-smelling cup of coffee.
"Girl, you need to get yourself