Page 124 of Mazywood

“Brought him here just like you asked, ma’am,” Grady said. “Do you need anything else from me?” Mazelle wondered if he was giving her a chance to change her mind, but she felt more sanguine than she had in days.

“No thank you, Grady,” she said. “I’ve got it from here.”

“I’ll say you do,” Lorenzo said, taking off his hat as he stared at Mazelle. He was wearing a stylish suede overcoat, probably an Italian cut, with a black turtleneck and slacks. He had dressed up for her. Grady helped him out of his coat and hung it on the hooks near the door. He and Lorenzo were a similar height, so maybe the coat would fit him.

“I’ll be in the cabin across the way if you need me,” Grady said, and excused himself with a nod. He and Mazelle had decided in advance that it wasn’t enough for him to go up to the attic—she wanted Lorenzo to have his guard down, believing they were alone in the house.

She would fix him a drink. She would flirt and chitchat. Then she would say, Before we go upstairs, I’d like to show you my ski trail. Since the snow in the rest of the yard was so patchy, that was where the snow was densest, where Scout could move the most freely. Even better, Scout could pull Lorenzo down the trail and remove him from her property with ease.

Scout would know what she wanted him to do.

But Lorenzo stood in the foyer. He’d barely taken a step into the living room.

“Feeling shy?” she said, almost unable to hide her sarcasm. He had missed his chances to be shy and keep a polite distance.

“Mazelle…” Lorenzo said, making a plaintive gesture with his hands that looked like surrender. “I don’t know what to say. I’m tongue-tied like I’m in high school. This place is beautiful. You look like a million bucks. I never thought… I would be here, that’s all.”

“I never pegged you as a guy who gives up if a girl plays hard to get.” She moved quickly to her liquor cabinet. A drink or two would loosen him up fast.

“Nothing for me, sorry,” he said. “Unless you’ve got seltzer or ginger ale. I blew a stop sign last month and nearly got hit by a bus. Cop was an actor, so he let me off with a chance to do background. But Maria said to stop drinking or else.”

Lorenzo sounded nervous. He was babbling. And why the hell bring up his wife?

“Maria’s not here, is she?” Mazelle said. She poised the bottle, ready to pour.

“Still,” Lorenzo said. “No thanks. I’m better off without it. It made me an asshole.”

Instead of pouring a drink for him, Mazelle poured a splash into the glass for herself. “Can’t argue with that,” she said before she could think better of it.

As if her truth had set him free, Lorenzo ventured into the living room, finally shifting his eyes away from her to the decor. He brushed his hand across the white baby grand piano. “Jesus, this is fantastic, what you’ve done here,” he said. “I always heard about this place, but… like I said, I never thought I’d see it. No whites allowed, right?”

Mazelle bristled. Before Hattie died, she had been forced to go to court to fight for the right to live in her white-only Sugar Hill neighborhood. And more recently, the Supreme Court had ruled against school segregation in Brown v. Board of Education, and the pressure was turning up to end Jim Crow in the South. Was Lorenzo comparing the dignity and safety of her resort to the terrible treatment of her people? Sam had been forced to sleep on a dressing room floor when he couldn’t find a Negro boardinghouse on tour, and she remembered her family’s horror stories from the road.

“That’s not how it works,” she said icily. “Everyone’s allowed here.”

“Sorry—bad idea of a joke.”

Now that Lorenzo was closer to her, Mazelle was sure of it: He was nervous. He couldn’t keep his hands off her in public, but in private he was like a first date with a virgin. But that was all the better—she didn’t need to have a drink and chitchat with him. Or put up with his hands.

“Let me take you outside and show you my ski trail,” she said, back on script.

“A ski trail. Incredible. I can’t wait to see it… but first… sit down for a sec. There’s something I need to say to you.” His sober eyes were intent on hers.

Mazelle sat on her sofa close to where he stood, but Lorenzo moved away from the sofa to sit in the matching chair across from her, creating a deliberate gulf between them.

“So… bear with me on this… and I hate to spring it on you”—What the hell is happening?—“but after my accident, I got in this program called the Twelve Steps.”

NO, Mazelle’s mind screamed. YOU DO NOT GET TO COME HERE AND UNBURDEN YOURSELF TO ME. TRY TO FUCK ME LIKE YOU DID IN YOUR OFFICE.

Outside, the wind chimes tinkled madly. Scout wanted her to know he was ready.

“Yeah, I see it in your face…” he went on. “Where could I even start? You know Sharpe won’t even speak to me anymore? After that last Lazy Mazy movie, suddenly he stops returning my calls. But hey, I don’t blame him. I put that guy through a hell of a lot. Had him cleaning up messes I had no business asking him to. I was a real piece of work. I don’t have to tell you.”

The chimes outside jangled again, in a frenzy.

“You gonna get that?’ Lorenzo said. “Is that a delivery?”

“It’s the wind,” Mazelle said.