“Before that. Did you say Knowles’ End?”
“That’s the name of the house. Or it was a long time ago. Nothing but spiders and rotting boards now.”
She was looking at Memphis in a way that made him very uncomfortable. He saw that her hands were shaking. “Would you mind waiting here, Mr. Campbell? I won’t be a bootlegger’s second.”
Evie O’Neill hurried down the hall, her heels click-clacking against the dingy marble floors. As Memphis stood in the empty foyer, holding tightly to his hat, it dawned on him: What if she thought he was the Pentacle Killer?
Memphis didn’t wait for Evie to return. He slipped out the front doors and ran for blocks, slowing only when he realized that he was drawing odd looks from the white people on the street. He forced himself into a stroll, employing the charm of his smile as he walked, as if he didn’t have a care in the world even though his heart was racing. Still smiling broadly, Memphis turned a corner and walked smack into a girl. He caught her as she stumbled. “I beg your pardon, Miss!”
“Go on, beg,” the girl said in a familiar smoky voice.
Memphis grinned. His heart was racing again, but this time, it was with pure joy. “Well, if it isn’t the Creole Princess!”
“We gotta stop meeting like this, Poet,” Theta said.
Back at the museum, Evie returned with Will, Sam, and Jericho in tow to find an empty foyer and no sign of Memphis Campbell anywhere on the street.
“He was right here!” Evie said on a long exhale. “And, Unc, he was talking about Knowles’ End! Don’t you think that’s peculiar?”
“Are you sure he wasn’t a reporter?” Will asked.
“I suppose he could’ve been,” Evie allowed. “But he seemed very sincere. He was asking about a symbol—an eye with… oh, here. I’ll draw it for you.”
Evie sketched the eye and lightning bolt and held it up for Will. Sam sidled up close to Evie and said, “He was asking about this symbol?”
“What did you say his name was?” Will asked.
“Memphis. Memphis Campbell,” Evie replied.
“You know what that symbol means, Professor?” Sam asked. He was looking at the drawing of the eye with keen interest.
Will glanced briefly at the page. “Never seen it before. Now please don’t disturb me. I’ve work to do.” He turned on his heel and left them standing in the foyer.
Memphis and Theta sat in Mr. Reggie’s drugstore in Harlem with a couple of egg creams, talking and talking. Theta felt like she hadn’t talked this much since she first met Henry. She made Memphis laugh with her stories of the petty antics of the showbiz folks, and Memphis told her about playing the numbers and picking gigs, and about how irritating Isaiah could be, but Theta could tell he loved his brother fiercely. They talked so long that they both lost track of time. Theta had missed her call for the show, which she shrugged off.
“I’ll tell them there was a subway fire,” she said.
“You sure you don’t want something else? A sandwich, or some soup?” Memphis asked.
“For the last time, I’m jake,” Theta said. She was aware that everyone in the joint was watching them. The minute she looked up and caught their eyes, they’d look away quickly, busying themselves with their silverware or pretending to be reading a newspaper.
There were so many things he still wanted to ask her. Where was she from? Did she still dream of the eye? Had she thought of him at all since the night of the raid? Had she, too, lain awake, staring at the ceiling, picturing his face as he had hers?
“A Ziegfeld girl, huh?” was all he said.
“I heard the position of poet was already taken,” Theta joked. “Speaking of poetry, have you read The Weary Blues by Langston Hughes?”
“ ‘And far into the night he crooned that tune,’ ” Memphis quoted, grinning madly.
“ ‘The stars went out and so did the moon,’ ” Theta finished. “I never read anything so beautiful before.”
“Me, either.”
The rest of the drugstore seemed to fall away—the clink of dishes in the back, the bright brrring of the cash register, the low drone of people talking—and there was only Memphis and Theta and the moment. Theta’s hand slid just slightly toward Memphis’s. He inched his forward, too, just grazing the tips of her fingers with his.
“There’s a rent party this Saturday night at my friend Alma’s place, if you’d like to come,” he said.
“I’d like that,” Theta answered.
