Natalie Baszile - Queen Sugar

“That’s right,” Violet added, defiantly. “With all you got going for you? By the time you’re seventeen, you’ll be a terrific Queen Sugar, if that’s what you want. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

Micah sighed. She sifted through her stack of Polaroids again, then flicked the picture of Queen Sugar over the rail. They all watched it flutter down to the water and disappear under the drawbridge.

• • •

On the stage, as strobe lights pulsed and trumpets blared and drums rolled, Jimmy Broussard Jr. adjusted his cowboy hat, flipped his long black braids over his shoulder, and stepped to the microphone. “Are you ready?” he shouted, and the crowd erupted in applause. Broussard waved his hand toward the audience like he was sprinkling holy water, then, as the band launched into song, the guitar and horns, harmonica and accordion wound up the melody, he attacked the washboard hanging from his broad brown shoulders, raking spoons over its corrugated ridges. Within seconds, everyone on the plaza was dancing. Violet grabbed Blue and spun him ’round. Charley dipped Micah then kissed her sweaty cheek. And when it seemed as though the energy level couldn’t go any higher, the crowd couldn’t get any more excited, Broussard dropped his washboard and shimmied, gyrating and shaking his high firm behind as the guitar player strutted across the stage.

As the next song began, everyone switched partners. Charley danced with Violet and Micah danced with Blue.

“I didn’t know you had all this in you,” Charley shouted.

“Just ’cause I’m a preacher’s wife doesn’t mean I can’t get funky.” Violet broke out a dance move involving quick pelvic thrusts that made Charley clutch her sides, she laughed so hard. Which was why she wasn’t paying attention when Remy Newell stepped up and asked Violet if he could cut in.

This time, there was nothing reserved or uncertain about Remy. He looked directly into Charley’s face, and then down into the depths of her soul, where she had stuffed every bit of hurt and pain and disappointment and even the self-loathing, and it was as though he saw it all and wasn’t afraid of any of it. He took her hand and guided her deeper into the crowd. And just as at Paul’s Café, he placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her into him, leading her through the music.

“You’ve been practicing,” Remy said.

“No, I just had a good teacher.”

And that was it. They didn’t talk about farming or the coincidence of bumping into each other at the fair. They just danced.

Eventually, Violet appeared to say she was taking the children home.

Micah looked from Remy to her mother. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No, she’s not,” Violet said, before Charley could answer. “Your mother’s staying out a while longer.” She winked at Charley. “Just call when you’re ready and I’ll come back.”

“I’ll take you home,” Remy said.

“Mom?”

“I won’t be long,” Charley managed.

“But Mom ?”

And then it was just the two of them.

• • •

Across the plaza, in front of Evangeline’s, Remy ordered two frozen margaritas and they found a spot on the curb.

“You must be a big fan of Jimmy Broussard to come all the way down here by yourself,” Charley said, but it was the only thing she could think to say that sounded nonchalant, and not at all like someone who’d spent every last minute of the last twenty-four hours cursing herself and praying she’d have a chance to say what she should have said.

“He’s my best friend,” Remy said. “We were in college together. Those were his kids with me yesterday. He’s got another one, but she’s older. I’m their godfather.”

“Your best friend’s kids,” Charley said, and felt the door swing open again.

A group of college boys, laughing loudly, stumbled out of the bar next door.

“Your daughter’s beautiful,” Remy said. “Looks just like you.”

Charley smiled and said that if it weren’t for Micah, she would have missed the entire festival. “She would have driven herself down here if I’d let her,” Charley said, then added, “I haven’t spent much time with her lately.” She told Remy about Micah chopping up her pumpkin and how she threw her photo of Queen Sugar off the drawbridge.

Remy nodded. “It’s hard with a farm. But don’t worry. It’ll be easier once grinding’s over.” He placed his hand on Charley’s knee. “You’re a great mother. The way y’all were dancing together, I could tell.” Remy consulted his watch and stood up, saying, regretfully, “It’s late. I should get you home.”

The concert ended and people spilled out of the plaza onto the street. Police lights flashed, the sour odor of beer rose up from the asphalt, trampled cups and food wrappers littered the sidewalk, and Charley couldn’t think of a place she’d rather be.

• • •

The porch light was on when Remy pulled up in front of Miss Honey’s. He walked around and opened her door.

“It really is good to see you, California. Excuse me, I mean, Charley.” He helped her down. “Maybe we could have lunch sometime, once grinding’s over.”

“Lunch. That would be nice. And really, California is okay.”

“One last thing.” Remy searched Charley’s face. “I wanted to say it when I saw you yesterday.” He took her hand. “I owe you an apology. For what I said. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. I was an ass.”

“Yeah,” Charley said, “you were. But then again, all men are.”

They both laughed. How could they not?

Then Remy’s smile faded. “But seriously, I’m sorry. I was a fool. I got to live with that.” He stepped closer and kissed Charley. One light kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Well, good night.”

“Good night,” Charley said. “Thanks for the dance.” Miss Honey’s walk never seemed so long.

“California?”

Charley turned.

“See you soon.”

Charley looked at Remy, standing by his truck looking wistful and forlorn. “I hope so,” she said, and meant it.

• • •

In the den, Miss Honey sat in her recliner reading her Bible.

“What are you doing up?” Charley said.

“Waiting for Ralph Angel.” Miss Honey took a moment to mark her page. “That job must be working him hard, ’cause he still ain’t home.”

“Must be.”

“Violet said you bumped into a fella at the plaza.”

“I did,” Charley said. “Just a friend.”

• • •

“Y’all hurry up!” Violet called, “or we won’t get good seats!” It was only seven thirty in the morning. The sugarcane parade didn’t start till ten. But yesterday evening after the concert, Charley noticed how people had already staked out their spots along Main Street, set out their folding chairs, assembled their Weber grills, and roped off sections of the sidewalk like a presidential motorcade was coming through. On the sprawling lawns of the stately mansions on East Main, the owners had already erected pristine white tents and set out rows of white wooden chairs, and black caterers in black aprons and white toques were unfolding tablecloths and arranging regiments of chafing dishes.

Charley had just dumped a second bag of ice in the cooler when there was a knock at the door. She and Micah got to the living room at the same time. Micah lunged for the knob. A young white woman stood on the other side of the screen. She wore a flowing white gown covered in pearls and Belgian lace, opera-length white gloves, and a crystal necklace with matching crystal earrings that dangled from her ears like a trail of stars. Her dark hair was swept into an elegant chignon. Charley recognized her crown. Now that she was close enough to get a good look at it, Charley appreciated the intricate design. Three rows of emerald rhinestones made up each sugarcane stalk. The leaves, also made of emerald rhinestones, bent gracefully, touching only at the tips, and were inlaid against a field of clear rhinestones so brilliant that the light bouncing off them cast tiny sparkles that shimmered and danced over Miss Honey’s porch every time the girl moved her head.