“He’s had enough visitors for today. You’re not the only one.”
June sat up, pushed the green chair back from the bed, and went to stand in the corner. The nurse placed a glass thermometer in the side of Eddie’s mouth, laid the palm of her hand expertly on his forehead, lifted his wrist and watched the second hand on her watch to count his pulse, then wrapped a tan rubber cord around his arm. She inserted the needle with practiced efficiency, drew two vials of blood, carefully marked each with his name, and placed the purpling beakers in a basket marked “Lab—Colored.”
“He needs to rest, so you’re not helping him just standing around here all day. That’s what I told the other woman too.”
At this, June almost laughed, and she saw Eddie’s lip curl upward. He wanted to laugh too, knew what she was thinking, and so June smiled brightly at the nurse, who was, after all, good at her job, and the woman just shook her head and walked out.
June angled back to Eddie’s bed, tilted her head near his battered face, and said again, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s time to go.”
“I want to stay. I don’t care what they think.”
“Please go. Please.”
“Eddie, I . . . I didn’t . . . I want . . .” Tears welled in her eyes, obscuring Eddie’s face. She didn’t know what she wanted to say. Just didn’t want to leave.
He turned away. Shook his head slightly when she said his name again. And June left.
In the lobby, she picked up a newspaper and sat down to collect herself. There was another article about the NAACP. They wanted the casinos desegregated. Negroes would be able to gamble, eat, stay in the rooms. There were rumors of a march. Inside, a small notice: “El Capitan Headliner Eddie Knox Beaten, Recovering in Hospital.” There was no indication of what had happened, just that the performer had been found hours after his show by a security guard from the El Capitan, who had rushed him to the hospital.
June folded up the paper and set it on the chair beside her. She didn’t want to think about who had found him, how long he might have lain there. She considered the front page story instead. The casino owners would hate a march. Would hate the publicity. Del said that there were some who would die before they would serve a black man. Others remembered watching their biggest headliners take off for the Moulin Rouge at midnight, had seen people flock to the Westside casino for the six months that it was open in 1955—paying customers who walked right out of their fancy carpet joints to see a third round of late-night shows, and to play and gamble and drink in an integrated hotel. Those owners wanted the business.
“I visited Eddie today.”
“I heard.”
“He’s bad, Del. It was bad.”
“I know.”
“Who did it? What happened?”
“It’s complicated. I don’t know, exactly.”
“Exactly?” She wanted to shake him, he was so calm.
“Hey, I’m not the enemy. Eddie’s been taking a lot of risks; he’s been out of control for a long time. Something was going to happen.”
“Out of control? Whose control?”
“June, I can’t talk to you if you’re going to be this way.”
“What does that mean? What am I not getting? Eddie Knox was beaten to a pulp outside our hotel. Eddie. He could’ve died.”
“Yeah, he could’ve died.”
“Please. Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s better if you don’t know.”
“Can’t you protect him?”
“He’s gotta get out of town. He’s gotta stay away.”
“Because you can’t protect him?”
“Obviously I can’t.”
“What about Hugh? Have you talked with Hugh?”
She and Del never talked about Hugh. For a split second, he looked startled that she had said his name. Then he shook his head. Looked straight at her and said slowly, “Hugh isn’t going to protect Eddie Knox. That’s the last person to protect him.”
June did not want to dwell on Hugh. But Del had to understand.
“We have to do something. We owe Eddie. After all the money he made for us. And . . . he’s Eddie.”
Del didn’t answer right away. June knew she was pushing too far; that he was composing himself because he was angry.
“I don’t owe Eddie Knox. We had a business deal, and we both made money. He made his own choices after that.”
“I don’t even know who you are. A business deal? That’s what you call it?”
“That’s what it was.”
“I know you care about Eddie. I know he’s not just a business deal to you.”
Del said nothing. Got up and walked out of the room. June heard him talking to Marshall, offering to go outside and toss him a ball.
Leo told her what he had heard about the NAACP threatening sit-down demonstrations, but he said nothing about Eddie. Nobody said anything. Not if it was drugs. Not if it was gambling debts. Not if it was a woman. Not even if it was Vegas. Eddie was always going somewhere on the weeks he was off. And June didn’t care, really. It didn’t matter what it was.
Every day, she visited him at the hospital.
Some days he was glad to see her, and other days he asked her to leave. Told her that she was making it worse. That he had earned what he got, and she had to stay away.
After two weeks, they were ready to let him out. Eddie didn’t want to tell June what his plans were, just that he was going away, would lay low awhile. Del had already negotiated a new headliner act, a band that had appeared at the El Capitan before. But Eddie was really banged up, both his arms were broken, the vision in one eye wasn’t back yet. He couldn’t take care of himself; he couldn’t move somewhere on his own.
June approached Del after dinner, when he was reading the paper and sipping a whiskey sour.
“I’ve told Eddie to come back to the apartment for a few days. He can’t leave yet.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
“What do you suggest?”
“He’s got family in Alabama. He can go there.”
“I’ve already told him that we agree. That he can come to the apartment.”
“And he believed you?”
“He said he would come. He said he’d be out of there fast, that he had to be.”
“Okay, June. You’re on your own here. He stays there. He doesn’t come out. He doesn’t come out of that apartment until he’s headed out of town.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“And Marshall doesn’t visit him.”
“Marshall loves Eddie.”
“Marshall’s never going to see Eddie again. That’s a deal breaker. Marshall does not go to that apartment.”
She had gotten as much as she could. And she hadn’t really thought about Marshall and Eddie anyway. She didn’t want him to see Eddie the way he was now. But what Del said: that their son was never going to see Eddie again. Never. She couldn’t think that far ahead; couldn’t think about next month. June needed to take care of Eddie right now. She couldn’t bear that he would leave, and she would never have any chance to show that she understood—that she finally understood—what he meant when he said she was a death sentence; what it meant that Nancy and Shirley didn’t want to sleep in a hotel room that someone colored had slept in. She had known all of this, she had known all of it, but she had not understood what it meant.