Eureka Man: A Novel Read Free

his
erection, she leaned against the dresser, shifted her weight and
stood on one foot scratching the back of her velvet calf with her
painted red toenail. It was a quiet and sensuous gesture that
filled him with excitement and gratitude. “How would you like to
work for me every day, Priddy?” she asked.
    “That would be fine, Mrs. Plenty.”
    “Good. From now on you'll be my helper. I
want you to report to work up here every morning after
breakfast.”
    “Yes, ma'am! I'll be here on time too. I
guess I'll clean the bathroom now if that's all right.”
    “Just be careful with my ceramic gee-gaws
over the toilet. My late husband Joe won those for me in Atlantic
City. Ever been to Atlantic City, Priddy?”
    “No, ma'am, but I've been to Ocean City,
Maryland many times.”
    “You have? Ever eat salt water taffy?”
    “Yes, ma'am.”
    “You like?”
    “Yes, indeed, ma'am.”
    “Well, I have three different flavors and
maybe I'll give you some after you clean the bathroom.”
    “I'd really appreciate that, Mrs.
Plenty.”
    Inside her bathroom, Oliver closed the door,
squeezed his groin and looked around the room for things that were
familiar to him. A box of Kotex. A jar of Pond's skin cream. A bra
and matching panties hanging in the shower. Lavender panties that
aroused him and made him recall the budding girls he had kissed and
fondled behind the school auditorium stage, in the aisles of the
public library and the back corners of the movie theater. He took
the lavender panties off the line and ran the bath water so she
wouldn't hear him. Then he placed the panties against his lips,
closed his eyes and pictured what he had just seen of Mrs. Viola
Plenty's chocolate-brown breasts. He was through before he breathed
her scent and when he ejaculated, he leaned against the door,
excited to giddiness, and muffled a grateful sigh.
    Even though there was no rabbit's foot in his
pocket, he felt lucky every morning he walked into her apartment
and straightened out a knickknack or a doily. Scooping orange
marmalade right out of the jar with his fingers. Smuggling candy
bars, sodas and cigarettes downstairs to trade for other loot.
Listening to his favorite Sam Cooke records on her hi-fi. Not a bad
way to work off punishment. The sheer joy of smelling her perfume
and other feminine things made it all easy for him. And though she
didn't waste a lot of words because she didn't have many, there was
much small talk. About her dead husband Joe whose picture was on
every wall of her apartment, how wonderful he had been and how he
had died after having his throat slit in a Friday night crap game.
Also she told him about her twin sister who had died at birth so
that Mrs. Viola Plenty could live. Also she showed him photographs
of poor black children that made him homesick for some of his
childhood playmates. Also she taught him how to sew buttons on his
shirt and iron a stiff crease in his trousers.
    The day he broke the cottage record for
scoring the highest on the high school equivalency examination, she
rewarded him with a phone call to his mother and a dozen lemon
cupcakes. He had been trying to reach his mother for three months
and this time she was home when he called. “It's about time we
heard from you!” his mother June said, pretending to be sarcastic.
“How are you getting along, son? When are you coming home?” He was
fine he told her, and he would be there in a few months. The last
thing she said before she said goodbye was, “Remember what you
promised me in that courtroom, Oliver. Take whatever you have
coming to you on the chin, son. Don't lose your temper.”
    When he hung up the phone Mrs. Viola Plenty
said, “Tell me about your parents, Oliver.” He started off by
bragging that his mother was a horticulturist and the hippest woman
in the world. She used to have a drinking problem, but not anymore.
Now she devoted her time to the local historical society designing
flower gardens and leading tours around the