South Central Noir

Mae clutched the keys until her hand hurt and didn’t release them while Samuel drove to a store on Vermont where they purchased enough of what they’d need to spend a first night in their new home. They didn’t talk because they couldn’t. Would Jimmy Miller play a cruel joke on them? Were they both in the same dream?

They hurried back to the place they now called home, locked and bolted the doors, went into the big bathroom, got into the tub, and counted Dave Hebert’s money. Mae began shaking her head almost immediately. “No way on God’s green earth he earned all this money. You know that Louisiana Fish Market down the other end of Central? His family owns it and they fired him ’cause he didn’t come to work half the time and he was drunk when he did go.”

“Then where’d he get almost five thousand dollars, Mae?”

“Gambling or stealing,” she answered, and Samuel knew she was right, and they both felt a bit less guilty for taking this money. Not good about taking it, just less guilty.

“We should open our own business, Mae.”

“Say what, Samuel?”

“A café. Where you’ll fry up the best chicken in town and I’ll make the best red beans and rice.”

The new menu at Mae’s Family Dining was a big hit, especially the vegetable plate and the new vegetable selections to accompany the new meat selections: baked and fried chicken and fish, beef and pork ribs, beef and turkey meatloaf, fried and smothered pork chops. Once a week, offerings of lasagna, beef, and pork ribs always sold out. So did the daily favorites macaroni and cheese, collard greens, and sweet potato casserole and soufflé, and the red beans and rice. Gone from the menu were liver and onions and oxtails. Three complaints about the discontinued items and dozens of compliments on the new menu, and the dessert menu drew nothing but praise: chocolate, coconut, and lemon layer cake, apple and peach cobbler, and nut brownies.

Customers also appreciated the newly installed air-conditioning, maybe more than the new menu, and the combination of the two created a totally unexpected problem for Mae — having to ask people to leave once they’d finished and paid for their food because there was a line of people outside waiting to get in.

“Whoever heard of too much success, Mae?” Velma Jackson, who had become a good friend, enjoyed Mae’s unusual predicament even as she helped her navigate it.

Mae had put up signs all around the room and notices in the menus so nobody could claim ignorance:

DEAR VALUED CUSTOMERS,

YOU HAVE MADE US SO SUCCESSFUL THAT PEOPLE ARE IN LINE OUTSIDE WAITING TO GET IN. SO WHEN YOU HAVE FINISHED EATING, PLEASE LET WAITING (AND HUNGRY!) CUSTOMERS HAVE YOUR TABLE.

THANK YOU,

MAE HILLAIRE

So while no one ever claimed ignorance of the notice, quite a few simply ignored it. That’s where Velma stepped in. She patrolled the room, stopping at tables that had been cleared but where people sat talking and enjoying the cool air. Velma would point at the wall of glass that fronted Mae’s. “All those people are hungry and hot too, and Miss Mae would appreciate your good manners by letting some other people sit at this table.”

One afternoon the door swung open with way too much force, and two LAPD cops strode in, both of them white. Silence descended. The larger of the two cops looked around. “Somebody needs to get up so we can sit down, then somebody needs to bring us some menus.”

Mae stood up slowly. First she closed the front door, then she fronted the cops. “There’s a line of people waiting to get in—”

“We don’t stand in no line, and I ain’t gon’ say it again: somebody get up so we can sit down.”

Two customers hurried forward, Dinah Washington and Eartha Kitt, and each of them grabbed one of the cops by an arm and delivered an award-winning performance.

“You can share my table, lover boy,” Eartha Kitt growled, “if you let me sit on your lap.”

“And I’ll make a difference in your night, baby,” Dinah Washington cooed, “I promise.”

The cops snatched their arms away and glowered at Mae. “You don’t get it, do you, lady? We don’t stand in line and we don’t pay to eat. So whoever you are—”

“I’m the lady who owns this place and I don’t give away free food. This is a business, not a hobby, and the line for a table is outside.” She didn’t care how mad the two men were getting. She hated cops and wasn’t afraid to let them know. What could they do, kill her?

“I heard y’all supposed to protect and serve,” Dinah challenged. “Is that right?” She looked around the room where every eye was on her, a familiar experience and she was enjoying it. “Anybody ever been protected by the cops?”

“I got real protected coming home from work one night last month. Matter of fact, I was so protected I couldn’t go back to work for a week!” a man called out.

“I got protected like that once,” another man declared.