9. Carter's Eyes (aka The Shadows)

Dancing at The Orange Peel - Episode 9

Welcome to Episode 9 of Dancing at The Orange Peel, a 1960-70s serialized historical novel. Just getting started? Episode 1 | Full Story Directory | Extra fun content in THE MAILBAG

Previously: Episode 8, Nosy Neighbors. Saturday, April 6, 1968. As Gwen waits up for Nate, Libby insists she stay awake too. The Cosgroves, their neighbors, come calling, full of questions and suspicious of the colored man who visited Libby and Gwen’s apartment earlier in the day.

In this episode: With Libby tucked back in bed, the anticipation of Nate’s arrival stirs in Gwen a mix of excitement, guilt, and worry. She attempts to navigate these conflicting emotions, fully aware of the risks of discovery and inevitable judgment from her family.

Episode 9: CARTER’S EYES (aka THE SHADOWS)

Gwen stepped away from the window and, for the fourth time, allowed the curtains to fall back into place. She fiddled with the stereo volume . . . again. Low enough to keep from waking Libby, loud enough to cover conversation. She couldn’t quite find the balance.

With the sound of each car rumbling up Hillside Street, she rose for another peek out the window. She hoped Nate’s Toronado wouldn’t wake the Cosgroves. Or Libby. Fortunately, her daughter’s bedroom was in the back of their apartment in the room that would have been a parlor before the house had been split into four apartments, back when it was home to the Seely family, whose patriarch had been one of Kent Creek’s original founders.

Gwen paced the living room floor once, twice, a third time, then returned to the window. A squad car cruised slowly past the apartment house. Grant’s car? No, the shape of the lights was wrong. Then she remembered, with relief, that with all the budget cuts at the police department, the officers weren’t allowed to drive their squad cars off-duty anymore. Hopefully, when he’d left, he’d gone home to bed rather than down to Sonny B’s for a beer. He should be sleeping by now.

But she knew the other boys on the force were watching. They had all taken on Grant’s promise to Carter to look after his girls. She and Libby had gotten so accustomed to seeing them everywhere, they joked about them nearly every day. Libby called them “The Shadows.” After three years, their vigilance no longer gave Gwen comfort. To her, they felt like Carter’s judging eyes.

She let the curtain fall closed and then turned from the window. The squad car would be in the next neighborhood by the time Nate got here. What was she so worried about? Nate would park on the street. Anyone watching wouldn’t know which apartment or house he was going to. She swallowed hard, but the guilt of hiding his late-night visits stuck in her throat. Still, she wished Nate hadn’t mentioned to Libby that he’d return. Not yet. It was one thing for the family to believe he was a new friend made through her work at the Chamber, but another altogether for them to find out how they felt about each other.

What was this feeling, anyway? She couldn’t fathom how she would make her family understand when she didn’t understand it herself. She imagined her father’s scowl when she would finally tell him. Could she do that? Her guilt turned to embarrassment at the way her father’s opinions made her cower. What had happened to her courage to stand up to him?

Yes, keeping their secret was best for now. She’d do the same even if Nate was white…wouldn’t she? Yes, of course she would. Having any other man in her life right now would set her family off. They were too attached to Grant. Or more precisely, too grateful for how Grant had stepped in to take care of her and Libby after Carter had been shot. They sure hadn’t known how to do it.

Gwen crossed the living room to the stereo and flipped through the record albums that stood neatly in a deep opening between the turntable and the control knobs. She had stopped listening to music after Carter was gone and, until tonight, had not looked at these records a single time in the two and a half years since she and Libby had moved to this apartment and unpacked them here. Because Carter had loved music, all kinds—just like June’s husband Nelson—their album collection was varied, eclectic even. Everything from Elvis to Porter Waggoner, Ronnie Milsap and Muddy Waters to Glenn Miller.

Marvin Gaye’s “You Don’t Know What Love Is” ended and Gwen lifted the album off the turntable. As she slid the record inside the sleeve, she couldn’t help but compare Nate with the photograph of Gaye on the album cover. Their overall looks were nothing alike. Nate didn’t have the dark eyes, the wide nose. But both were very, very dapper. Dapper. That’s what she had thought about Nate when she had given the Kent Creek Chamber of Commerce membership card to him yesterday, her hands trembling. She realized they were shaking now too as she slipped the album back into its space with the other records.

It had taken Jeff Misener months to get the approval for his club manager to gain membership in the Chamber, nearly a full year. She liked to think she had played a part in making it happen.

Last spring, Jeff had presented the application to the Membership Committee but flew out of the Chamber without a word when they declined his request. The second time they turned him down, last summer, he’d nearly shattered the front door on his way out. Two weeks later, the City Government had prohibited segregation inside any building occupied by a City entity, and the very next day, Gwen opened a certified letter from Jeff addressed to her boss, Mr. Bolden, the Chamber President. Jeff’s request had become a demand.

She had turned the envelope over to Bolden, knowing the committee could no longer deny him. When the Board voted again, there was no question that Nate Boniface would become Kent Creek’s first Negro Chamber member.

Jeff had made her stop calling him Mr. Misener and let Bolden know she should be the one to handle all his business with the Chamber. He also made it clear that, when it came to Chambers matters, Nate would represent two of his businesses: The Orange Peel blues club that Nate managed for him, as well as Jeff’s radio station WJAM. This had been much to Mr. Bolden’s dismay.

One week after the membership approval, when Nate had come into the Chamber for a reason she couldn’t remember now, he had invited her to dinner. Since he had asked in front of Dorothy and Mr. Bolden, she had no choice but to turn him down. She remembered thinking that no Negro who’d grown up around Kent Creek would ever do such a daring thing—but a mixed race man who grew up in France apparently would. Even after she had said no, the rage in her boss’s face didn’t fade. He had huffed away to his office and, as was typical when he was angry, slammed his door. His reaction had stirred a rebellious spirit in Gwen that she hadn’t felt since high school. She wished she had accepted Nate’s invitation simply to rankle Bolden, the same way she used to go out with certain boys just to rile her father.

Much as she would like to throw caution to the wind though—and maybe even a little mud at Mr. Bolden and her daddy—she was no longer as brave as she’d been in high school. Back then, she was forever in trouble with her mother, who sometimes spared her from her father’s wrath. Sometimes not. Gwen had been the first among her friends to wear a mini-skirt and go-go boots, the first to try cigarettes and grass. To this day, her family considered her a cocky rebel, even though it had been years since she had done anything resembling fearlessness. Looking back now, she wondered where she had ever gotten the spunk. But all those things in high school had been minor mischief. Meaningless teenage antics. This thing with Nate, though—some would say this was close to dangerous.

She pulled in a deep breath and paced the length of the room. Now, June had met him much sooner than Gwen had expected and with no chance to plan for it. At some point, her sister was sure to come unglued over it. Gwen couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Messing with her straight-laced, by-the-rules sister, seeing her flip her wig, might actually be fun. Ah! There was that mischievous troublemaker from long ago.

The flash of mettle dissipated quickly when a car door slammed outside. Two strides back toward the window. When she discovered it was the across-the-street neighbor coming home from his late shift, instead of Nate, the feeling that surfaced puzzled her. Was this…anticipation? relief? The uncertainty slid her into an embarrassment resembling the shame she’d felt when she’d first asked Nate to visit her here under the cover of darkness.

Thankfully, he remembered from his childhood and his visits with his grandparents how things were here. He understood the need to be discrete. Still, it felt conniving, almost scheming. She didn’t feel they were doing anything wrong, but most people in Kent Creek would. She didn’t have the nerve to deal with that. Was she conniving? or cowardly?

She rubbed her eyes then wandered to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of tea. She would be a mess at church tomorrow morning.

When she was honest with herself, she knew their secret late nights excited her. That first night he had come to her apartment after closing The Orange Peel, Libby had been safely asleep. They were just two new friends, getting acquainted. And in the short time he had been there, they did get to know each other well—alarmingly well. Seeing each other late at night truly was all they could do. It was the only practical thing. Even if she was ready to be open about their friendship, finding time when one or the other was not working was nearly impossible.

She sauntered back to the living room without the tea and flipped through the record albums again. Bobby Darin. She wondered what Nate thought of him, whether he listened to his records in France before returning to Kent Creek three years ago. Three years. Almost as long as Carter had been gone. What would she have thought of Nate if she’d met him back then?

Carefully easing the album from its cover, her fingertips around the record’s edge, she placed it on the turntable and moved the needle onto its grooved surface.

Stop thinking. Just wait.

She moved to the sofa, sat sideways with her legs curled under her, arms propped on the back cushion, chin resting on the back of her hand. A car idled nearby. She wondered if the squad car was circling the block. With one finger, she pushed back the curtain. Red taillights turned right at the corner. She let the curtain fall, grabbed a throw pillow, hugged it, closed her eyes. When she’d been drifting in and out of sleep earlier, Libby had said something about Nate’s eyes. Those eyes. Gwen saw his square jaw, handsome face in her mind. She hugged the pillow closer.

Another car rumbled out front. She tossed the cushion aside, stole a look to confirm it was Nate, then rushed to adjust the stereo volume. If she got to the door before he could knock, there was less chance Libby would hear. A car door slammed. She flinched, glanced toward the hallway to Libby’s bedroom.

Maybe she should have asked him to park around the corner. No, no, they were doing nothing wrong. She’d be stupid to offend him like that. Nothing wrong. The skin on her arms prickled. She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling. If Rob Madden, the DJ upstairs, was home, were his lights on too? If not, there would be no doubt which apartment the visitor was coming to if someone drove by.

Maybe letting Nate come again wasn’t such a good idea….But the neighbors had already seen him. Hell, June had met him. Aw, hell.

She flushed and stepped toward the mirror by the door to check her makeup again. She grabbed a brush from her purse, tossed earlier onto the chair beneath the mirror. Her hair fell straight and loose, not rolled, twisted, and sprayed the way she wore it to work. Wearing it down made her feel sexy. She smiled at herself as she smoothed it, following the brush with her hand, down one side, then the other.

He should be up the sidewalk by now. She dropped the brush on the chair, put her ear against the door. The oversized outer door of the apartment house groaned. The floor in the foyer creaked. She slipped the safety chain loose and turned the knob. As she opened the door, Nate’s hypnotic green eyes fell on her. He extended his hand. She offered hers and in it he placed another single yellow rose.

Thanks for reading! Each episode is a work-in-progress, which means you’re a vital part of my creation process, and the story may expand or contract as I write. I encourage and value your comments.

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DANCING AT THE ORANGE PEEL is one story in an evolving collection called “The Kent Creek Chronicles.” To follow along and receive extra related tidbits from THE MAILBAG…