Wild Sweet Love by Beverly Jenkins

Chapter 12

The theater’s interior took Teresa’s breath away. The places out West calling themselves opera houses may as well have been privies when compared to the Academy of Music’s grand hall. The ornate balconies and velvet seats were eye popping and the chandelier jaw dropping.

It’s made of crystal,” Madison told her. “Fifty feet in circumference and sixteen feet in diameter, according to this program.”

She and Madison were in what he called a proscenium box, which she found out was the fancy name for the box seats between the curtain and the orchestra pit, and in her opinion the best seats in the place. She could see everything from their pricey perch.

“How much does it weigh?” she asked, staring in awe at the massive chandelier. “If our seats were down there, I’d spend all night looking just up to make sure it wasn’t falling down. Something that big could kill a person.”

He chuckled. “Says here it weighs five thousand pounds, and there are 240 gas burners inside.”

Teresa shook her head in amazement, then turned her attention to the people filling up the seats on the floor below. Once again she had never seen so many well-dressed folks. They were streaming in all gussied up, and the hall was buzzing with the muted sounds of hundreds of different conversations. She was seated right up against the ornate wall that made up the front of the box, and she supposed that to all of the sophisticated city people in the boxes nearby, she looked like a country rube, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to miss a thing.

Madison watched her with affection. She was definitely enjoying herself. He could see some of the people seated in the other boxes observing her with smiles. They apparently recognized her and seemed to be enjoying her excitement just as much as he. And she looked beautiful in her fancy midnight blue gown. He recognized it as the one she’d been wearing the day he came into the sewing room and was told to pick up his eyeballs from the floor, but tonight he could look at her to his heart’s content. His mother’s favorite designer was the English-born Charles Frederick Worth, and she fashioned her patterns to mimic his. The gown Teresa was wearing, with its deep alluring neckline and feather-capped sleeves, had skirt panels shot through with metallic threads and a long flat trail. The dress was designed to hug the wearer’s waist and emphasize the bust, which it did very well. She was the most distinctively dressed woman in the place, and he was proud to say she was with him.

“Well! I’d no idea we’d be sitting with a known criminal.”

Teresa and Madison turned to see Paula Wade and her escort, Dawson Richards, taking the seats behind them in the box. The snippy comment had been Paula’s.

“You could always sit someplace else,” Teresa told her.

“Dawson paid eight dollars for these seats. I’ll just pray we’re downwind.”

Teresa shook her head at the woman’s audacity but didn’t take the bait. Instead she glanced at Madison, who said to her, “You can shoot her next time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Strangely, the tight-lipped Richards had nothing to say. Madison wondered if his silence stemmed from the rumors flying around about his wife’s lawsuit. In truth, the reason didn’t matter, because he didn’t care.

Putting Paula out of her mind, Teresa sat mesmerized through the show. It opened with W. I. Powell, billed as the “Celebrated Baritone and King of Fun,” then out came R. Henri Strange. He recited scenes from Othello and Richard the Third. Teresa hadn’t a clue as to what he was talking about, but he sounded very eloquent, so when he left the stage to thunderous applause, she too clapped vigorously and made a mental note to ask Mrs. Nance if she had any Shakespeare plays in her library.

Next came jugglers, a buck and wing contest that had the audience clapping with the music, and two little children outfitted as bride and groom in a Tom Thumb wedding.

However, it was Madame Sissieretta Jones, who brought down the house. From the first note, Teresa understood why she was called the “Greatest Singer of Her Race.” Displaying the seventeen medals she always wore on her gown whenever she performed, she held the audience in the palm of her hand. Singing everything from spirituals to the operatic arias she’d performed all over the world, her voice filled the concert hall like an angel’s. The dark-skinned beauty, born in Portsmouth, Virginia, could have been a July, Teresa thought with a smile, taking in the woman’s coloring. According to the program, she’d sung for three different Presidents and was managed by Major J. B. Pond, who also managed Mark Twain and the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher. Teresa was so impressed by Madame Jones’s voice, she could have listened to her sing until Christmas, but the hour long performance had to end at some point, and when it did, the appreciative crowd jumped to their feet, shaking the building with their deafening applause.

The evening over, Teresa took a last look around the hall so she could commit it to memory. She never wanted to forget the night. Gathering up her wrap and the empty handbag that matched her dress, she and Madison waited in the crush of people leaving. Paula and Richards were standing directly in front of them, close enough for Teresa to see that the texture of Paula’s kitchen did not match the nearly straight hair on the rest of her head. Teresa’s long black hair had come from her mixed heritage of African, Spanish, and Seminole ancestors; Paula’s had come from a wig store.

Paula looked back at her, and wrinkling her nose, began to fan the air elaborately with a gloved hand. “Dawson, if we don’t start moving soon, I’m going to swoon from prison stench.”

Before she could put Paula in her place, a beautifully attired older woman standing near her said pointedly, “Miss July, please don’t judge we Philadelphians by this graceless visitor from Memphis.”

The offended Paula flashed around as if to offer a stinging retort, but the woman wasn’t cowed. She looked Paula dead in the eyes and said haughtily, “The only stench I smell is the one emanating from someone being squired around by a married man.”

Tittering greeted that blast from the woman’s guns. Teresa wanted to cheer as a stony Paula turned back around. Everyone could see the rigid set of Richards’s back, his fury over the public put-down obvious, but he didn’t utter a word.

Seemingly satisfied that the issue of who was who and what was what had been handled, the woman then asked Madison, “How’s your mother, Madison?”

Barely containing his smile, he replied, “She’s fine, Mrs. Fitz, just fine. She’s in Cleveland visiting family.”

“Tell her I asked after her, would you please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Fitz turned to Teresa. “Have Molly bring you around for tea when she returns, Miss July. I’d enjoy having you visit my home.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will. Thank you.”

She nodded like the grande dame that she was, then tossed Teresa a tiny wink.

On the ride through the night, Teresa sat with Madison’s arm around her in the back seat of the cab. She couldn’t believe the wonderful evening. Once again she felt like a woman in a dream, and she definitely didn’t want to be awakened.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked.

“Oh yes.” She looked up at him in the shadows of the cab’s hood. “Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

Teresa smiled and cuddled closer.

Madison tightened his hold, enjoying her nearness. “I had a good time watching Mrs. Fitz fillet Paula too.”

Teresa chuckled. “So did I. Did you see the look on Miss Paula’s face? She wears a wig, you know.”

“Do tell?”

“Yep. Fake as my uncle Graham’s wooden teeth.”

Madison laughed. “You do have a way with words.”

“Thanks.” Teresa was content, more than she’d ever been in her life. “So, where are we going now?”

“Thought I’d steal you away for a while and take you to my place.”

“Hmm,” she replied with smiling interest. “Your place?”

“Yep.”

“I think I like that idea.”

“Do you?”

Their eyes met in the dark. She whispered, “I do.”

He traced a possessive finger along the curve of her breasts above her gown, then said slowly, “If I kiss you and touch you the way I’ve been wanting to all night, the cabbie’s going to get an eyeful, so hold onto that look in your eyes until I get you home.”

Teresa resonated from the touch and the power in his tone. Personally, she didn’t care about the cabbie, but she knew that in Madison’s world propriety was taken seriously. Being the gentleman that he was, he was likely concerned about damage to her reputation and didn’t want the cabbie boasting to his cronies about what he’d seen. Filled with anticipation over what the rest of their evening would hold, she added yet another positive attribute to the growing list of things that made Mrs. Nance’s handsome, seductive son one of a kind.

The cab pulled up in front of a row house in one of the better sections of the Seventh Ward. Madison paid the cabbie, then escorted her inside.

He had a nice place, Teresa noted, looking around. It lacked the grandeur of his mother’s home, but the carpets, upholstered furniture, and framed paintings on the wall reflected a man who had taste and made a good living. “I like this,” she said as they entered his small parlor. The dark wood and heavy furniture exuded a distinct masculine air, and so did he, she noted, placing her wrap and handbag on a chair. Her nipples were already up and ready, her skin craving that first vivid touch.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“What do you have?”

“Lemonade. I can make us coffee? Boil water for tea?”

“Coffee, if it’s not too much bother.”

“It isn’t.” Madison wanted her so badly, he had to force himself to stand where he was. He was certain that if he moved any closer, the coffee would be forgotten.

Teresa didn’t need Second Sight to glean his thinking. The heat in his eyes was as plain as the heat reflected in her own. “We could always have the coffee later,” she suggested softly.

“I suppose we could,” he said, crossing the room to where she stood. He gently pulled her against him and their gazes locked in the silence of the dimly lit parlor. He lowered his mouth to hers, and the sweet intensity sent Teresa’s world spinning. She put her arms around him, wanting to bring their bodies even closer. Hands began roaming in a quest to explore, and hers were as active as his. She loved placing her lips against his jaw, loved running her palms along the strength in his upper arms, loved the hard warmth of his desire pressed ardently between their flush forms. This man and this man alone had taught her more about passion than she ever thought possible. His lips on her neck were like flames, his hands moving over her breasts stirring. When he kissed his way across the skin above her gown, she crooned for him. With her breath coming in short, soft gasps, there was nothing she wanted more than for him to love her like she knew he could, so when he swept her up in his arms, she didn’t protest. Instead, she fed herself on his kiss and let him carry her, fancy gown and all, up the dark staircase.

Teresa had no idea what his room looked like. All she knew was that the bed he’d sat her on felt large and soft and that he was standing above her. Reaching out, she moved her hand purposefully up and down the hard velvet part of him that had given her so much pleasure earlier in the day, then squeezed him until he pulsed, before skimming a savoring hand over its length again. She stood slowly, her touch never leaving him, and said in a low voice, “I think I should take off this dress.”

A spiraling Madison agreed. His eyes were closed, a testament to the searing level of lust her touch had caused. When she removed her hand to see to the task, he was bereft.

As she removed the dress, the silk rustled in the quiet.

“Hand it here,” he invited. “I’ll place it over the chair.”

After doing that, he took a moment to light a lamp, the low wick giving off just enough light for them to see each other.

And what Madison saw when he looked her way stole his breath. The black corset, with its tiny flowers and accenting lace trim, barely covered her nipples. Her drawers had also been removed in the dark, and she was standing before him wearing nothing but the corset, her stockings, garters, and black velvet high button shoes. Just like this morning, he could have come right there and then, but he held on. He planned to enjoy her like a boy with new toys on Christmas morning, and he was sure it would take a long time.

To that end, he rejoined her by the bed, then bent his head to brush his lips over the arousing hills of her breasts. “I like this,” he whispered. “You should wear these more often.”

Draping an arm low on her back, he brought her forward so he could kiss her in earnest while he circled a worshipping hand over the flare of her soft, warm behind. A fleeting touch between her thighs affirmed that she was as ready for him as he was for her, and he felt his manhood swell in response. While he undid the hooks of her corset, he fed himself on the passion blazing in her eyes.

Once the loosened corset panels hung free, her creased and wrinkled camisole was the only barrier between his lips and her skin, one he conquered easily when he took a shrouded nipple into the heat of his mouth.

Teresa groaned with the pleasure. He languidly played and dallied until she was ripe as summer blackberries, then he bit them gently before repeating the glorious process again. The hand between her legs had to be the most magical touch east or west of the Mississippi, and she was soon crooning in response to his delicious wizardry.

Madison could have touched and teased her until eternity. Every taste, feel, and scent of her fired his need. She was responsive, uninhibited, and so brimming with passion, he kissed her down onto the bed so he could show her just how much she moved him.

And he took an inordinate amount of time doing so. His kisses worshipped her from the hammered gold hoops in her ears, down her throat, then paused to sample her lush breasts. His fingers found her vent damp and wet. When he slid a bold finger inside, her hips rose erotically and she purred. She’d wanted him to show her passion, and he was doing his best to make sure she received as much as she could stand.

By the time he slid his sheathed man root into the place she most wanted it to be, Teresa was so scandalously hot, he could have been stroking her in the center of the stage at the Academy of Music and she wouldn’t have cared. Lord have mercy! Feeling him filling her, riding her, and making sure her nipples stayed wet and taut, sent her soaring toward orgasm, and when it burst, she screamed long and loud. As she twisted and shuddered, she sensed him raise her hips and begin to pump in and out with such lust-fed fury that her body arched her like a bow. For the next few minutes cries and growls and the sound of the bed squeaking resonated in the room. A thunderous release claimed him. He tightened his hold and kept thrusting as his head fell back and he yelled out his joy.

Moments later he pulled her in against him. With their shattering completions still echoing inside, they breathlessly wondered if they’d ever be whole again.

But they didn’t lie quiet for long. They were too tempted by each other, too eager to retrace their climb to passion’s peak. She rode him this time, just like she’d done this morning on the bench. After that second orgasm tore through her, he had her turn over and kneel against the large wooden headboard, and he took her from behind.

Teresa found the positioning splendidly intoxicating. He could kiss her throat, tease her breasts, and ply that little citadel of flesh at the gate of her thighs, all while stroking her deliciously. The rhythm quickened, the plying increased, and soon she was crooning and coming and fairly swooning in response to the force of his hard thrusts as his orgasm sent him flying over the edge too.

This time when they were done, neither could move. Their eyes met across the bed and they shared a mutual smile of satisfaction and affection. He reached out and languidly entwined his fingers with hers. Teresa tightened the hold, relishing his nearness, and wondered how in the world she was going to be able to leave this man when the time came for her to return to her life out West.

Rather than worry about it, she decided to just enjoy the moment. Her lips were kiss swollen, her thighs stroke swollen, and she was filled with the remnants of his spectacular loving. Who knew that the rude and distrustful city boy she’d first met in his mother’s library would make love like he’d been given a Gift, and that she would be thanking her lucky stars for being the beneficiary. Dios, he was good!

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said softly, turning his gaze her way.

“Just thinking how very good you are at this passion thing.”

Tickled, he replied, “I’ve never had any complaints.”

“I’ll bet you haven’t.”

“You’re a fast learner, though.”

“It’s easy when you have a good teacher.”

Later, after they showered and dressed, Madison drove her home. The sun was just coming up and the streets were all but empty. They’d had such a good time they wanted to do it again.

He walked her into the house and gave her a parting kiss. “There’s a ferry that offers moonlight cruises on the river. Would you like to go tonight?”

“Can I wear my leathers?”

He smiled and shrugged. “Why not? Who knows, your celebrity may earn us free passage.”

“That would be fine because you’ve been spending an awful lot of money on me. I’ve been keeping a tab because I want to pay you back eventually. Were those seats at the Academy really eight dollars?”

“Yes. And you may as well forget about the price. I won’t be taking any money from you, now or in the future. Are you trying to insult me on purpose?” he asked, holding her close and looking down at her.

“No, but you shouldn’t be footing my bills.”

“Teresa, paying for your meals and taking you to the theater won’t put me in the poorhouse. I might not be as rich as Andrew Carnegie, but I can afford Saratoga chips.”

“Just accustomed to paying my own way. That’s all.”

“When you go home, you can go back to doing that, but while you’re here, you’re my guest.”

She gave him a reluctant, “Okay.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Go on to bed. I’ll lock the door behind me.”

She nodded tiredly and left him standing in the foyer.

Madison waited until he heard her walking on the floor above, then, with a smile on his face, he took his leave.

Teresa awakened and peered bleary eyed at the small white porcelain clock on the bedside table: twelve-fifteen. For a moment her sleepy brain had difficulty determining if the time applied to afternoon or midnight, but the light in the room supplied the answer. Her first instinct was to burrow back into the bedding for a few more hours of sleep, but instead she sat up. The soft life she’d been leading since her release was not something she wanted to become accustomed to. By this time next year, Ancestors willing, she’d be home and life would be a struggle again, especially now that she had to find legal means to support herself. The last thing she needed was to believe that she was actually this woman she was pretending to be, because in truth she was a poor Black Seminole with a ramshackle three room cabin in Indian Territory that might or might not be still standing. In her world, there were no silk camisoles, no maids to make her meals, and no special men who made love to her until dawn. It was best she remember that.

The first thing Madison wanted to do when he awakened was see Teresa. After last night’s memorable bout of lovemaking, he was as eager as an infatuated youth to share her company again, hold her again, kiss her again. His sleep had been so sound he didn’t remember dreaming, but he was certain she’d been in his nocturnal world, tempting him with her smile and her sleek onyx body. Just thinking about her made his nature rise, so he put aside his desires for now and got up to start his day.

Because he didn’t cook, he ate out most of the time, usually at Mr. Watson’s place. When he entered that afternoon, Watson was on the register.

“Afternoon, Madison,” Watson said.

Madison nodded. “How are you, sir?”

“Can’t complain. Where’s the lovely Miss July?”

“At Mother’s.”

“Pity. She lights up the day when she’s around.”

“That she does.”

“Give her my regards when you see her again.”

“I will.”

He took Madison to a table. The lunch crowd had all but emptied out, leaving the restaurant quiet and slow. The workers were taking advantage of the lull, changing table linens, mopping floors, and eating at a few of the tables in a back corner.

After taking Madison’s order, Watson asked, “Have you seen the Tribune?”

Madison hadn’t. The eight page Tribune was Philadelphia’s longest established Black newspaper, one of five published in the city.

A paper was retrieved and handed to him. On the front was a picture of a smiling Teresa in her stunning gown. The caption under the picture read:

LADY OUTLAW TERESA JULY VISITING THE ACADEMY OF MUSIC

All Madison could do was smile.

Watson said, “Now, turn to the second page.”

Beneath a badly done pen and ink drawing of Dawson Richards was the caption:

PARTY BOSS DAWSON RICHARDS EMBROILED IN CONTROVERSY

Madison read further:

According to the State of Louisiana, party boss Dawson Richards is married to a Charlotte Baines Richards of Baton Rouge. If that is true (and we be lieve it is via an official document received by this editor), why is he squiring around the young women of this city? Has he forgotten his wife or simply misplaced her? Many of us have chosen to overlook the questionable and allegedly corrupt tactics of Richards and his associates on election day because he does deliver the votes needed by the former party of Lincoln. However, the lack of morals shown by a man who has seemingly abandoned his wife and three small children can not be overlooked nor ignored. This editor asks, is there no one else in the city of Philadelphia with the abilities and unstained morals to be party boss for the Seventh Ward? Surely one exists, and we demand that the party begin the search immediately.

Madison looked up into Charles Watson’s pleased face. “Well,” he said with satisfaction. “That ought to put Richards on notice.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Although Madison had declared this week a holiday, he nonetheless swung by the bank on his way home just to make sure the ship was still afloat.

Inside, there were no customers, which was not uncommon for an operation as small as his, but he nodded to the clerk behind the desk, then stuck his head into his office.

“Hello, Tate. How are things?” he asked his second in command.

“Hello, sir. We had an interesting morning. A couple of customers came in and closed their accounts.”

Madison was confused. “Why?”

Tate shrugged. “They said there were better investment opportunities elsewhere.”

“Who were they?”

Tate gave him the names of two very prominent citizens.

Madison was at a loss. “Were we able to cover their withdrawals?”

“Yes, but if this is a trend, we may be in deep water.”

Madison didn’t begrudge people moving their money, but he wanted to know why, if he could. “I’ll go around and speak to both of them before I return on Monday and see if I can win them back. In the meantime, any other dealings I should know about?”

“Nope. Everything’s smooth.”

Madison smiled. “Good. Well, tomorrow’s Friday. Close up at three. I know you’re anxious to get to Baltimore and see your intended.”

“I am, sir, so thanks.”

Madison departed. The withdrawals were baffling. Both customers were civil servants and had invested large sums with his First Community Bank. There had been enough funds to cover the losses, so staying solvent wasn’t an immediate concern, but as Tate stated, if this was somehow the beginning of a trend, they could have trouble meeting their future fiduciary responsibilities, and that the bank couldn’t afford.

Eager to get to the bottom of it, Madison hopped on the streetcar and rode downtown. One of the people who’d pulled out his money was civil service employee Wallace Bush. Few men of color worked for the civil service. Most of the jobs were party patronage jobs, and that thought brought Madison up short. Was Richards behind the withdrawals? Thinking it over, he was willing to bet he was. By being the chief supplier of names to the party for such jobs, he wielded a lot of power over the people who eventually took those positions. Was he exercising that power over Bush, one of the mayor’s chief messengers?

Wallace Bush was a short little man with ears that should have been given to someone much taller. When he saw Madison approach his desk, he looked around frantically as if seeking a place to hide. They’d gone to school together at the Philadelphia Institute of Colored Youth, and he was one of the smartest individuals Madison knew, but he had met rabbits with more spine.

Bush immediately stood up. “Hey, Madison. The mayor needs me. Nice seeing you.”

Madison gently grabbed hold of Bush’s arm to keep him from fleeing. “This won’t take but a moment. Why’d you take your money out this morning?”

That frantic look flashed in Bush’s eyes again. “No real reason. My brother over in Jersey gets a better rate at his bank.”

He tried to pull his arm away, still seeking to escape, but Madison held on. “Wally, we’ve known each other since we were eight. You don’t have a brother in Jersey or anyplace else. You’re an only child.”

“Did I say brother?” He laughed nervously. “I meant cousin. My cousin.”

Madison waited.

Wally sighed. “Okay. Truth is, party boss Richards told me if I didn’t pull my money out, I’d lose my job. You know I can’t afford to be out of work.”

“I know.”

“He’s got it in for you, Mad. Wants to send you to the poorhouse.”

Madison could see the other office workers staring at them with disapproval. “Okay, I’ll let you go before there’s trouble. Don’t worry about the money. Do what you need to do to feed your family. I’ll handle Richards.”

“I’m sorry, Madison.”

“It’s okay, Wally. At least you told me the truth.”

Madison left his childhood friend to his job, then stepped back out into the sunshine. He assumed Richards would be applying pressure to as many of his customers as he had influence over. A grim Madison had to give it to Richards. It was a novel revenge; too novel, in fact, because if it resulted in a run on the bank, he knew he would be out of business by the end of next week.