the cry of dragonflies.

Therese sat on the wide porch of Madam Louselle's joyhouse
and sipped at a tumbler of Southern Comfort and lime juice. the
air was so oppressively hot it felt as if you were breathing in steel
wool. and it was only 10 in the morning. most of the other girls
were either still in bed or just feeling the aches in their bones that
told them another day was here. she picked up the battered fan
with a faux ivory handle and waved it back and forth furiously to
get some relief from the heat. her pale green robe clung to her
body in spots, and she felt sweat make a patch of beads where
her legs were crossed. Therese's eyes scanned the lane that led
up to the road. all of the trees stood silently. the green blades of
the grass still shone underneath the sun. another sip of her drink
and her mind went back to where it always felt too dangerous. and
much too safe at the same time. with Carver. it had been four
months since she saw him. four months since she watched him
walk out, off to make another score. she knew he was a hustler.
she knew that many felt she had no business being a Louisiana
whore - a white one at that - and falling in love with a Black john.

Madam Louselle said nothing about it. Therese had gotten shit
from a couple of the girls. she even came to blows with Eloise, a
haughty harpie who could never hold her liquor...or her gas long
enough to not scare away clients. 'in love...with a neeegar!!' she
spat at Therese in an accent that spoke too much to her roots
outside of Lynchburg. a few hair pulls and sharp slaps ended that
rhubarb. Therese smiled to herself and sipped again. at that instant,
she saw the mailman stride up the walkway. in a minute, he stepped
lightly on the porch. 'Mail, ma'am.' he said quickly. he left as fast
as he came, head fixed forward. Therese thumbed through the
envelopes. the next to last one bore her name. and a stamp from
Angola. "oh goodness..who..." she uttered, opening the envelope
to read the letter inside.

"hey honeysuckle,

by now, you know where i am. bad ol' Angola, the farm. been here
about close to three months now. the night i last saw you, i was out
to hustle this pool shark. and i had him good. had him beat so bad.
and he was real sore that a colored man beat him. i got 5 large out
of him, five grand. i got out of that pool hall once i got paid and was
fixin' to run over to you. but they took off after me. had me trapped
out on the road. what they didn't know is that i had a .38. i got the
drop on them. shot two of them. one died. turned out her was a state
senator's cousin. now i'm here. for life, Therese. my death sentence
is staring at these fields, staring through barbed wire and a fence
knowing that the world is moving on without me. and here i thought
i was going to be big time. a Negro with a shot. instead i'm just another
darkie in slow motion. Therese, i know you love me. knew it ever
since i first came to Madam Louselle's. and for a while there, i had
an idea that i was going to get some long bread and get you out of
there. move to California. make our own way. all i've got now is this
long fence and a barbed wire around my heart. i'm dead Therese.
good as buried in prison whites. but i want you to know...i love you
too. i don't know how often i can write...i had to bribe this other guy
to mail this letter out for me. if they knew i was writing to a white
woman...it would be bad. and i don't want you to try to write me.
i'm sorry. take good care of yourself honeysuckle.

love,

Carver"


Therese felt her eyes fill with water. she rose abruptly and felt her
heart slapping the side of her chest frantically. she screamed, so
loudly and with so much pain in her voice that everyone in the house
became alarmed. and they ran outside to see Therese prostrate on
the planks of the porch, the letter still in her hand. the dragonflies
seemed to scream in her place.

whiskey and water.

"How long you plan to stay for?", Therese asked.

"Until the odds tell me otherwise.", Carver replied.
he got up from the bed, scratched his lower back and
walked the few feet to the beat up dresser drawer. on
the top rested a pack of Merits. he took one out, put
it in his mouth and lit it with all the casual motions
of someone waiting at a bus stop. Therese looked at him,
eyed the sinews in his back. she gazed at his skin that
shone even in the dim light of the room. she lay there,
naked with the covers at her feet. Carver turned around
and despite herself, she couldn't say a word. he had
that control over her. she knew it. it was the same
thing every time. he had been by this same joyhouse
for a good two years runnin'. it was the only one
that serviced Black men in this part of Louisiana.
at least, the only one with mostly white women. ever
since he walked in the door that one Thursday evening,
he had his hooks into her. and he knew it.

"When are you gonna give up the sportin' life, sugar?
It wears everyone down." she said, slowly leaning into
the headboard behind her. Carver looked at Therese. her
hair was a chestnut brown beehive. it framed a face
that was full and soft. her eyes were eggshell blue
and still held a trace of innocence. her body was
plump im the right places, mainly her breasts and her
thighs. Carver came back to the bed and laid beside
her. "It won't get me. I got a way out. You plan on
being a social worker?" he asked, his sharp grin in
effect. "I...I just worry. The last time, when you
told me about the game and how they tried to ambush
you after you won - well, I just don't want you hurt."
Therese said, turning her body towards him but not her
eyes." Carver ran a hand over his low cut. "I got away.
That's part of it all...I'm a hustler. Been that way
ever since I learned the best adding and multiplying
wasn't in school. What else I got?"

"You've got a mind...you're smart." Therese replied,
finding herself back in that same taut spot again.
Carver wasn't a usual customer. she entertained him
his first time to Madam Louselle's. even fixed him a
drink. whiskey and water. that first night lit a fire
in her, one she hadn't had since being a young girl
in St.Louis. she had been a hooker for ten years, ten
years of sex, martinis and muggy nights all running
together. and here she was, with a Black man in her
bed. and her feeling as if she'd die if she never
saw him again. "C'mon Therese...I'm a Black man. I'm
still looked at as a second class citizen. Yeah, you
got college kids brighter than me sitting at lunch
counters. Getting their heads beat in. Not me baby.
I'm gonna overcome all right, but I'm gonna get a
whole lot of bread doin' it." Therese laid her hand
on his lower abdomen. "Honey...please. Don't go to
that pool hall. I've got money...you can have some.
We'll stay here, right here in this room-"

Carver jumped up. "I gotta split." he grabbed his
navy blue shirt and yellow slacks and began to get
dressed. Therese felt her lips quiver. he snubbed
out his cigarette in the dull green ashtray on the
nightstand and sat to put on his shoes. she moved
and laid her bosom on his back. a tear left her eye
and seeped into his shirt. Carver stopped briefly;
he turned his head slightly to see Therese's hair
on his shoulder. "I'll...be by 'fore I leave town.
Gotta head over to Natchez." he rose and walked to
the door quickly. before opening it, he turned to
look at Therese. "Make sure my drink's waiting for
me." he said, flashing the same grin. "Of course.
See you later sugar." she said, grinning as she
knelt on the bed. Carver glanced at her for another
few seconds, then swiftly opened the door and left.
the door swung back but didn't close. Therese could
hear the blues being belted out on the piano down
in the great room. "I...love you." she said gently.
raucous laughter danced up from below.

wild irish rose.

the barkeep glanced up briefly from the racing
form on the rich mahogany bartop to view a few
people rush towards the stairs to the subway above.
it was 3:30 in the afternoon, and aside from the
three or four patrons who sat inside and shrunk from
the light like B-movie vampires coming in from
the window, Abel Geraghty was the only one in
the place. but he would rather have been at the
track. he'd been tending bar here at Flannery's
for close to 30 years. he'd seen the neighborhood
change in tone from Irish brogue to southern drawl
to even a touch of Hindi and Spanish. but Boyd
Avenue still held the same charm. and for this
son of The Marble County, it was good enough.

Abel poured himself a pint of Guinness and peered
over at one soul who was slumped over onto a table.
"Hey!! You wanna sleep, go home!!" he bellowed.
The gentleman stirred, blinking eyes set deep
within pale skin as wrinkled as a lizard's feet.
He tugged at his jacket and rose slowly to his
feet. As he walked close to the bar on his way
out, he mumbled, 'No..no way to treat a body...'
pathetically shaking a bony fist. "Gwan home you
old salt miner." Abel countered, bringing laughs
from the other three at the table nearest to the
pool table. As the old drunk walked out into the
sunlight, a blur moved past him into the bar.
Abel caught wind of the person before they stopped.
He couldn't help it; their aroma was a mixture
between cheap wine and perfume. "Hiya Abel!! Set
me up a martini willya?!!" she yelled. A low
groan went out from the group at the table. Abel
sighed with all the wearniess his 50 years could
muster. "Rose, Rose..are ye daft? I'm not givin'
you any booze. You've probably got no more'n a
dollar to your name." he replied simply.

Rose was a neighborhood fixture. A broken one at
that. She had grown up a few blocks from the bar.
Half Italian, half Irish, and all wild. Whatever
beauty she had once was slowly dwindling away. Her
dark hair bounced around her shoulders with each
turn of her head. She had greenish eyes, not unlike
the color of copper exposed to water. She wore
a denim jacket over a thin gray sweater blouse
that matched her tight jeans. She swayed on high
heels that had been repaired twice over. "C'mon
man, I've got money." she said, pulling out a wad
of crumpled bills. "Here, money. Gimme my martini
you codfish!! HAHAHAHA!!" Abel sighed, and took the
bills into his pudgy, hairy hands. He counted until
he had about 5 dollars. "Y'know, I ougtha wash my
hands after this." he said bluntly. "Whaddya mean
by that? I WORKED for that. Don't TELL me it's dirty.
WHO d'ya think you ARE?!" Rose yelled as she stepped
closer to the bar. "All right, all right." Abel said
as he fixed the martini. Rose took the rest of the
money up as she sat down clumsily.

Her lips kept forming a half-smile. Rose had about
6 pills of Valium in her breast pocket. She had
downed 3 prior to coming into Flannery's. After
this she was off to go earn money at a video store
peep show in Brooklyn. it was a desperate but viable
hustle for a woman down on her luck with no real
skills. she felt her stomach bubble, but paid it
no real mind. Abel walked over, all 6 feet 3 inches
of him. "Here," he said as he nudged the martini
over to her. Rose grabbed the glass and took a sip.
"AHHHHHH...' she exhaled loudly. "Do you KNOW how
long I've been WAITING for that?! THREE HOURS!"
Abel said nothing and leaned back against the shelf
near the register. "You know, I need a new gig. This
one is too much for too little...I mean I SHOW my
TITS for CRUMBS..." Rose began, and she rambled on
for a couple of minutes, her loud voice rising on
every third word as she drank the martini. All the
while, Abel nodded. and Rose kept talking. but as
she talked, the bubbling in her stomach kept getting
worse. she began to belch, and Abel stood in shock.
without a word, he ran around the bar towards Rose
in a hurry.

just as he reached Rose, she began to vomit. she
lurched forward and the waste spewed onto the bar.
it was as if she spat up watery cornmeal. "FOR
CHRISSAKES!!!" Abel yelled. Rose simply wiped the
front of her face and sat back down. "Lemme get
another drink, hic, and an olive." Rose said in a
calmer voice. "GET UP FROM THERE!!!" Abel yelled,
and grabbed her by the arm. She had managed to not
get any vomit on her clothes, but it had hit the
bar and dropped onto the floor. "Wait - what about-
waitasecond-" Rose said as Abel brusquely guided
her to the door. In one swift motion, he opened
the door and flung her out onto the sidewalk. "AND
THIS TIME STAY THE HELL OUT!!!!" he bellowed before
slamming it shut. The other patrons, who were up
in arms laughing before, had gotten silent quick as
Abel stomped back inside. Rose could be heard crying
outside. "You sonuvabitch!! You dirty, potato-fucking
sonuvabitch!!!" she yelled. Abel went to the back to
grab the bucket and mop.

One of the group shook his head. "Wild Irish Rose, that
one is." he said before taking a swig of Glenfidditch.
The other two nodded as they sipped from their mugs.