“The Fighters are more careful now. Don’t go near places they been. They ain’t been through Conyers before. Are set to do it in the next six months. A pass through only,” he said. “An arrangement made by the Mexican girl, Soledad.”
“I know her,” I told Albert. “I mean, I met her.” She left here raging at Cynthia with a mask of grief and the devil in her eyes.
“Her father was a Freedom Fighter in Mexico and she said when these men come, we’ll know who they are by the orange stripe on their satchels. Orange, like sunsets and sweet fruit — the taste of fought-for freedom.”
JOHNNY HUNKERS DOWN next to me and shoots his marble. It flies past mine skipping a trail over the soft dirt. It leaves a dotted line behind. Click.
I squat on the last step behind Cynthia’s brothel. Inside, a handful of customers hoot and holler every time dice shake or get flung across the floor. Fists slam down and glass cups jump from broken tables. Crumpled dollars wave in the air to get in on the next game. A voice yells, “Seven!”
A young man is cheering ’cause he bet against the roller. The rest of the men inside moan ’cause they lost. An angry man throws his hands up and yells to the only winner, “You cheated! You and the roller in it together.”
The accusing starts a scuffle of flat shoes sliding back and forth on the wood floor. I bend over the last step and lay on my side, stretch further to see better, see who the winner was. The new house dealer, Mr. Shepard, say, “Jeremy, g’wan git yer money. You won it fair and square.” The low light hides his face but even through shadows his walk is confident. Jeremy steps into the light.
He takes my breath away.
He strolls out onto our porch in no particular hurry, lights a cigarette, and leans over the railing above us. His skin is buttery smooth like a pot of sweet cream. (Everybody else here is plucked chickens.) Everything on him is perfectly placed — his square jaw, his crinkled and full lips. They look like they belong on a black man, soft as pillows. He licks ’em and I tingle inside.
“How do?” he say.
I turn back around. I don’t want to see his pretty lips no more.
I point at Johnny so he would hand me a marble but Johnny don’t know what I’m talking about ’cause I already got both mine.
Jeremy say, “I’ve never seen a pretty girl play marbles.”
My mouth drops open. I close it.
He comes down the steps, flicks his cigarette out his hand, and stoops down next to me. “Can I play?”
I cain’t talk, cain’t move my head to look at him. Johnny hands him his marbles.
“So what do I do?” he say to Johnny. “Just flick it?”
Johnny nods.
He say to me, “How about you, beautiful? What do you say I do? Is there a secret?”
“I don’t know a secret, suh.”
“Everybody’s got secrets. Even the boy here’s got a secret.”
“Yes, suh.”
He sticks his hand out near mine for me to shake it. He say, “Not ‘sir.’ Just Jeremy.”
I shake his hand and a giggle slips from my mouth. “Naomi, suh. I mean. My name is just Naomi.”
“You been out here the whole time, Naomi? I reckon you my lucky charm.”
My cheeks lift on their own.
“Pretty smile,” he say and stands up, lighting a new cigarette.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls something out. “Want to see ’em?”
Before I say yes, he kneels next to me again, shows me a set of dice in his hand. “Bought ’em in Louisiana,” he say. “Can you believe they’re carved from knuckle bones? Made into perfect little cubes.”
One of the dice got four black eyes showing, the other got two eyes up. I touch one — without thinking.
“Would you like to roll?” he say.
“Yes, suh. . I mean, yes.”
He puts his knuckle bones in my hand and I clutch ’em and get ready to throw ’em but before I do, he grabs my arm, tugs me up. “Come with me.”
I rein back on him straight away, almost make him fall down.
“I just want you to roll one for me,” he say.
“I cain’t go in there!”
“Aw, come on. I won’t let nothing bad happen.”
“You asking or telling me to go?”
He smiles the softest, most kindest smile I ever did see and say, “Asking.”
I look back at Johnny and he nods and smiles for me to go. Jeremy tugs me again and I let him take me. When we walk in the parlor, it goes from loud to quiet. “Fellas,” Jeremy announce, “this here’s my lucky charm.”
A man yells something but Jeremy puts his hand up and speaks over ’im. “I know women ain’t allowed in our game.”
“Or niggers,” another man shouts.
“But as my lucky charm, I’m including her.”
“I ain’t playing wit no nigger,” the same man say.
Dealer acts like he cain’t hear none of what’s going on. “Put your bets down,” he say, starting the room into a frenzy of noise again. I step back into the corner, listen to all of ’em yelling numbers, waving money. Arguing starts about who’s s’posed to be the next roller. Two of ’em get to shoving. Dealer say, “The girl’s g’wan roll.”
I shake my head, tell Jeremy, “I ain’t really the lucky charm.”
“All you have to do is throw, Naomi. Bubba,” he say to his chubby friend. “Give me a few more dollars so we can bet on my lucky charm.”
Bubba hesitates.
“You know I’m good for it,” Jeremy say. “And you only here one more night. Let’s go for broke.”
Bubba throws his money down.
“Then, go!” somebody yell. “Roll the dice!”
I flinch.
Everybody’s watching me.
My two bones is laying on the ground, waiting. Jeremy say, calmly, “Go ahead. Pick ’em up.”
But I’m scared to.
“You’ll just shake ’em in your hand, then throw ’em out there and make sure they hit the back wall.”
I cup the dice in my hands, close one hand over the other, and shake.
“Can’t use two hands!” a man yell.
I drop ’em both. They scatter.
Dealer say, “No roll.”
“Let somebody else do it,” another man say.
Dealer picks up the dice, gives ’em to me again. “Come on, darling. Your roll.”
Jeremy leans over me, touching me with his body, whispering in my ear. “Just relax,” he say. “Feel ’em in your hand. Shift ’em around in there. You feel ’em?”
“Uh huh,” I say.
“Now shake ’em. However you want. A little or a lot.” I move ’em a little. Rock ’em in my hand. “You shaking ’em?”
“Yeah.”
“Now, think seven or eleven. You thinking it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now cock your hand back.”
I do.
“Throw ’em!” He push my hand forward and I open it, let the dice fly out, blurring their dots in twirls. They crash into each other, hit the wall, roll back and finally on their sides.
Four eyes. Three.
“Seven!” the dealer shouts. Jeremy hollers, excited.
CHEERS BOUNCE OFF the walls. Johnny stands in the doorway jumping up and down. I do, too, ’cause almost everybody’s cheering. Jeremy points at me, tells the crowd. “My lucky charm.”
“Let her roll her number,” say the man who didn’t want me to roll in the first place.
I roll an eight — my point, my number. Now, I got to keep rolling my number to win for those who bet on it.
Jeremy puts everything on eight. He say, “Eight is good. Real good. There’s three ways to roll an eight.”
Most everybody else in the room bet on eight, too. I roll eight four more times.
I get the dice again.
“Ain’t no way she’ll roll another eight,” a old man say. “I’m moving my bet.”