Night Songs Read online

  “What’s your name, Newspaper Lady?” Baby was impressed when the woman did not seem startled at being approached from behind. She didn’t jump or make a noise but rather turned slowly to face Baby and smiled at her.

  “My name is Montgomery Patterson.”

  “You got any ID?” Baby liked the woman’s name, and she liked her voice and she liked that she wasn’t skittish or nervous. Baby liked strong, tough women—especially ones like this one, strong, tough Black women who were also smart and educated and doing something for a living other than selling their bodies. She watched Mimi unzip and reach into a well-worn, black leather waist pouch and extract a handful of laminated identification cards that dangled from a chain, each of them bearing her photograph. Baby took her sweet time and scrutinized them one by one. She wished the numbers on the cards had some significance, because she could read numbers. She could not read words, so the markings on the cards conveyed no meaning. Certain, finally, that she’d masked her inability to read, she demanded, “Where’s my twenty dollars?”

  “Where’s my information?” Mimi casually leaned back into the hard wooden bench and crossed her legs, her right knee poking through the hole in her jeans.

  “What you wanna know?” Baby sat down next to Mimi and crossed her legs, too, black fishnet as far as you could see and then some.

  “I wanna know where to find Shelley Kelley and Starry Knight.”

  “What you want with ‘em?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “It is if you wanna do somethin’ to hurt ‘em. Just ‘cause you work for the newspaper and not for the police don’t make you Jesus Christ or a saint.”

  Mimi conceded the point. “They have some information for me, for a story, and I haven’t been able to find them. They’re not at any of their regular hangouts and nobody’s seen them. I’m worried about them.”

  “You worried ‘bout them or ‘bout your story?”

  “You’re a tough Sister,” Mimi said admiringly. “What’s your name?”

  “Damn right I’m tough. Got to be tough to work these streets. They call me Baby Doll out here but my name is Marlene. What kinda information was they gonna tell you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mimi said slowly and honestly, remembering her conversations with the women she knew only as Shelley and Starry, for they’d refused to tell her their real names as Baby had just done so matter-of-factly. “I know it had something to do with big shot guys and hook...ah, prostitutes, but that’s all I know.”

  Baby Doll snorted in disgust. “That ain’t news. Big shot guys ‘round here come a dime a dozen. Must be more’n that,” Baby pried.

  Mimi was growing annoyed and showed it. “Look, Baby, do you know where I can find Shelley and Starry or not?”

  “Naw,” Baby said offhandedly. “Never even heard of ‘em.”

  “Then why are you here?” Mimi snapped, her temper rising.

  “Mostly ‘cause I need the twenty dollars,” Baby said in her matter-of-fact tone, “but also ‘cause two of my friends is missing, too, kinda like your two friends, and it don’t make no kinda sense. Patricia got a baby and she wouldn’t leave that little girl for nothin’.” Baby shivered in the burning midday heat and scratched herself. It was close on time for her fix. “There’s been some talk...I ain’t paid it much attention till Patricia and Rhonda disappeared...they talked a lot about some men who like hurting women.”

  Mimi felt a rush of recognition. Men who liked hurting women. Shelley and Starry had alluded to but did not specifically articulate the possibility that there existed a gang of men who picked up hookers for sport, not for sex. She hadn’t been able to get details because Shelley and Starry were angling for money—big money—despite Mimi’s protestations that, unlike some magazines and television programs, her newspaper did not pay for stories. She dug into her pocket and extracted a many-times folded twenty dollar bill, which she dropped into Baby’s red spandex lap.

  “You didn’t have to meet me today, so this says, thanks. But get this clear, Baby: I don’t pay for information.”

  “And I don’t give away nothin’ for free,” Baby drawled getting to her feet and smoothing the four inches of tight red skirt over the miniscule area of her thighs that it covered. She grabbed up her voluminous black bag and slung it over her shoulder and began a deliberate stroll toward the bus stop. “And by the way, Newspaper Lady, you’re fulla shit, you know. No matter what you say, you just paid for information.”

  The words stung. Mimi stared at Baby’s departing form: Sequined denim jacket atop red spandex atop black fishnet atop purple patent leather. A hooker who’d just nailed Mimi’s equivocating ass right to the Wall of Justification. She exhaled her momentary anger, stood, and caught up with Baby in a few quick strides. They walked together for a block in silence.

  “I don’t need to be seen with you, Newspaper Lady.”

  “How can I get in touch with you if I need to?”

  “I don’t need you gettin’ in touch with me, neither.”

  “Two of my friends are missing. Two of your friends are missing. Men are hurting women.”

  “So what else is new? I gotta go, Newspaper Lady. It’s time for my fix.”

  Once again, Baby’s honesty slapped Mimi into a new reality zone. She dug into her back pocket and found a wrinkled card, which she shoved at Baby.

  “Then you call me if you need to.”

  “Why would I ever need you, Newspaper Lady?” Baby drawled, but she took the card and shoved it into the black bag and turned away from Mimi. She took a few steps then turned back. “With a body like you got, Newspaper Lady, you could make a lotta money out here.”

  Mimi’s mouth opened and closed but no words emerged. She knew Baby intended a compliment, but Jesus! Baby laughed at her and in that instant, Mimi realized that Baby was a child, probably not even twenty years old. Her face, unguarded and open in laughter, was lovely.

  Baby yelled at Mimi, “You’re welcome!” and crossed the street to the corner store that in addition to candy and ice cream and soda pop and cigarettes, also sold coke, smack, and crack. Mimi took her street-walking-potential body to the gym.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mimi’s nude figure cut a lovely, ghostly image through the candlelit mist, one lost entirely on Gianna who was asleep in the hot tub. They hadn’t seen each other for a week, which wasn’t unusual given their respective work habits and schedules, and Mimi was slightly put out to find Gianna already in a deeply relaxed, if not comatose, mode. She’d hoped they could see a movie or meet Freddie and Cedric for a drink or catch up with Beverly for a long overdue gossip session. With a sigh, she opened the small refrigerator and took out a bottle of lemon-lime seltzer and thought maybe a quiet night together wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. In fact, it was as rare as a night out together, the two of them at the same place, at the same time. They told each other often enough that they worked much too hard and spent not nearly enough time together. Yet, no matter how hard they tried to be together more, the work seemed always to intrude. The obvious solution—that they live together—was no solution for them, not as long as Gianna was a cop and Mimi a reporter. Their work collided constantly—and usually unpleasantly.

  Mimi sighed again, releasing the built-up frustration, and surveyed her surroundings with pleasure. Converting the tool shed adjacent to the garage into an oasis of peace and pleasure was one of the smartest things she’d ever done. Even her penny-pinching brother-in-law agreed that it was, in his accountant’s jargon, “a wise expenditure of capital.” She looked upward and the domed skylight gave her a perfect view of the moon and stars in their velvet vastness. The hothouse plants that filled each of the four corners of the tiny room reached for the light above and spread their boughs into the room. The Italian tile beneath her feet was warm from the steam.

  “I hope you don’t intend to splash me with cold seltzer just to attract my attention,” Gianna said sleepily, eyes still closed.

  “I w
ouldn’t dare. And I’ve heard of x-ray vision, but ears that hear seltzer fizz from the depths of sleep? Amazing.” Mimi crossed to her, leaned over the side of the tub, and kissed the top of her head.

  Gianna remained unmoving. “I hear all, including your entry.”

  “So why didn’t you say something?”

  “I like listening to you think, especially when you don’t know I’m listening.” Now Gianna opened her eyes and grinned widely at the sight of the naked Mimi. “And I just love your outfit.” She opened her arms wide and Mimi stepped into the hot tub, into Gianna’s embrace, into the kiss that took up where they’d left off Monday morning at the front door of Gianna’s apartment when Mimi departed for work.

  “I didn’t miss you or anything,” Mimi murmured against Gianna’s lips.

  “I’ll fix that,” Gianna growled, pulling her into a kiss that kept their mouths and hands busy for quite a little while.

  When Mimi could breathe again, she found enough air for a short laugh. “We’re going to drown each other in this thing one of these days. We should go to bed.”

  “I thought you wanted to go out?” Gianna’s eyebrows lifted with the inflection in her voice.

  Mimi frowned her consternation. “Did you hear me say that?”

  “And don’t you want to give Freddie a call and see what he and Cedric are up to? We haven’t seen them in weeks. And Bev is really pissed that you haven’t called her.” Gianna’s eyes were closed in an unstifled yawn and so missed the look Mimi gave her.

  “Mind fuck is what that’s called,” Mimi muttered darkly. Gianna laughed the full, rich, throaty laugh that gave Mimi the tingles and then scrutinized her with the wide, clear hazel eyes that made her weak in the knees. “I do love your mind, but it’s not your mind I want to...”

  Mimi bit the word off her tongue before Gianna could finish, and it was just as well because Gianna immediately began proving her point and they hauled themselves out of the steaming water and skittered, dripping, across the terra cotta tiles and out of the piazza into the garage, through the kitchen, and down the hall to the screened in porch where Mimi had a futon for sleeping on hot summer nights like this one. And serenaded by crickets and June bugs and alley cats and yard dogs and rap-blasting boom boxes they made love. Until most of the night noises quieted they made love; and, finally, drenched, no longer from hot tub water but from the sweet sweat of sex, they slept. Deeply and fully and gratefully. Until the sun, born hot in the D.C. summer, was well into its west-bound journey, they slept. Until their bodies glistened again with sweat—the sweat of the promise of another 100-degree day, they slept. Until the phone rang, they slept.

  Gianna mumbled, “Shit!” and then realized that since she wasn’t at home the phone couldn’t be for her, and she sighed deeply and gratefully, re-buried her face in Mimi’s neck, and reclaimed her dream.

  When she finally located the phone, Mimi whispered a groggy, “Hello” that turned into a groan when she heard Freddie’s recrimination.

  “Good thing I didn’t hold my breath awaiting your call.”

  “Oh, God, Freddie. I’m sorry,” she whispered into the phone.

  “You two planning on getting up some time today?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Twenty to one.”

  “In the morning?” Mimi’s voice rose above a whisper in pure, amazed indignation. How dare he call her at one in the morning.

  “In the afternoon, Miss Thing. What exactly did y’all do last night that you need this kind of recovery time?” He was actually laughing out loud and only his standing as her best friend in the world entitled him to mock her and live. She stole a one-eyed glance at the clock to confirm what he’d just told her and slammed her eyes shut in denial of the truth.

  “Freddie, I’ll call you later, okay?” She hung up without waiting for his response and knew he’d raise hell with her later. She only wanted to sleep. Maybe until one o’clock some afternoon next week.

  “What did Freddie say?” Gianna mumbled into her neck.

  “That it’s one o’clock,” Mimi whispered.

  “In the morning?” Gianna’s voice squeaked on the inflection.

  “In the afternoon.”

  Gianna elbowed Mimi in the ribs and then in the head, she sat up so rapidly and so forcefully. “One o’clock in the afternoon!” She jumped out of bed, hair wildly all over her head, hazel eyes wide open in shocked amazement. “I never sleep until one o’clock in the afternoon!”

  “Never say never. And never get out of bed that fast. I think you just gave me a headache.” Mimi, finally awake, rubbed her head where Gianna’s elbow had cracked it. She checked the clock again, and the high overhead sun to make sure the clock wasn’t lying, and collapsed into the pillow with a great sigh. “And I’m still tired. I could sleep until next week this time. I need a vacation.” Mimi closed her eyes and looked as if she would begin her Rip Van Winkle imitation immediately.

  Gianna, recovered from the shock, sat on the side of the bed staring at the clock. “When was your last vacation, Mimi?”

  “Two years and three months ago.” She bolted upright, all her attention focused on Gianna. “And I’m not working on anything right now.” She allowed herself to feel the possibility. “Can we get outta here? Even for a week?” She allowed herself to imagine how it would feel to really relax, to slough off the stress and sink deeply into a vegetative state. “A week in Italy,” she said dreamily. “Or in France. Maybe somewhere in the Caribbean...” She reached for Gianna, pulling her down. “So, can we? Can you take a hate-break, Lieutenant Maglione?”

  “Maybe,” Gianna mused, snuggling next to her, “though what I had in mind was more like a long weekend in Western Maryland—” She struggled to breathe as Mimi smothered her beneath the pillow.

  Freddie and Cedric howled with laughter later that night as Mimi repeated the “maybe we’ll take a vacation” discussion, especially Freddie, whose cabin in the mountains of Garrett County in Western Maryland was what Gianna had in mind, a place where Mimi had spent so much time that it was more like a second home than her idea of a vacation spot. Mimi and Freddie had been best friends since their UCLA days when, after a few dates, they discovered that not only did they genuinely like each other, but that in matters intimate they both preferred their own gender, and so blissfully double-dated with their respective lovers in open secrecy for the duration of their academic sojourn. That they both ended up in D.C. a few years later—Mimi as a star newspaper reporter and Freddie as a star offensive tackle for the Washington Redskins—was nothing short of miraculous.

  “Last of the great romantics, huh, Maglione?” Freddie teased Gianna until she blushed, bringing Cedric to her rescue.

  “Don’t you worry, Luv, I think it’s bloody cheeky of them to go on so. After all, it was you who suggested the vac in the first place. Perhaps a bit of appreciation is in order?” Cedric lowered his naturally sexy bass voice another octave and raised his eyebrows at Mimi who missed it because she was rolling on the floor in laughter. Cedric, a poet of some note and a professor of literature at Rutgers, was as tall as six foot three-inch Freddy, though with the lithe, lean body of the distance runner instead of the bulk of the football player. He was also Black and British and pronounced his name Cee-Drick. This man’s affectation of a Boy George-like cockney and a limp wrist was more than Gianna could handle and she, too, collapsed in laughter.

  “Appreciation would be nice,” Gianna finally managed, wiping her eyes, “but I’ll settle for dinner. I’m starving.”

  She and Cedric had become close in the year they’d known each other, owing largely to the fact that both were intensely introspective and much more serious-minded than either Mimi or Freddie. In fact, it was only when the four of them were together that Gianna and Cedric loosened up and got silly.

  They were at Freddie’s place because he had air conditioning and because they hoped that from the vantage point of the terrace of his Georgetown penthouse apartment on
the banks of the Potomac River there was the possibility of a breeze. Washington was in the middle of its usual summer heat wave and the temperature at night barely cooled off to seventy-five.

  They ate on the terrace with a view of the pleasure boats and cruise liners dotting the Potomac, breeze nowhere to be found. Mimi had made gallons of Sangria so after a while nobody cared anyway. They ate in peaceful silence, reveling in the joy of their friendship.

  “You two really do need a break,” Freddie finally said. “I can still feel relaxed when I remember the time Cedric and I spent in Europe last fall.”

  “Huh,” Mimi snorted. “Easy for you to say. You’re not married to the workaholic of the Western world. This woman thinks the entire police department will crash and burn if she’s not there to keep things going.”

  “Not fair,” Gianna protested. “And besides, I already agreed to maybe taking off a couple of days.”

  “Oh, great. ‘Maybe,’ and ‘couple of days,’ and my heart should beat fast?” Mimi rolled her eyes at Gianna.

  “So, since you can’t find your hookers and since you refused to go chasing Nazi skinheads, you really have free time?” Freddie asked Mimi, and the dark protected them all from the absolute stillness that settled over Gianna as the words, ‘hookers’ and ‘Nazi skinheads’ reverberated off her brain walls.

  “What hookers can’t you find and what Nazi skinheads won’t you chase?” Gianna asked carefully, wondering if she’d have to murder Tyler Carson.