Juba! by Walter Dean Myers Page A

I said, feeling a little stupid for thinking that Stubby had meant me personally and not the oysters.
    â€œYou don’t need me to tell you who’s looking for you, either?” he asked.
    â€œWho’s looking for me?”
    â€œThat should be ‘Who is looking for me, Mr. Jackson?’” Stubby said.
    â€œJack Bishop?”
    â€œMiss Lilly was in front of the house asking where you live,” Stubby said. “She said her husband wanted to see you.”
    â€œForget Pete Williams—I don’t have any respect for that man,” I said.
    â€œJack said Pete probably has another scheme up his sleeve, and Margaret said if the devil gives a party, he plays his own tunes, so you’d best be careful.”
    â€œWhy are you talking about somebody wanting to see me to Jack Bishop and Margaret?”
    â€œI was going to talk to you about it first, but I thought you didn’t want anybody looking out for you,” Stubby said.
    â€œStubby, what do you think I should do?” I asked my friend. “You think he’s just got another trick up his sleeve?”
    â€œWell, if Miss Lilly came looking for you, there’s got to be something bright shining somewhere,” Stubby said. “She’s a hard woman, but she’s not a mean woman.”
    I didn’t want to talk it over with anybody else, because I already knew I had to go and see what Peter Williams wanted. I knew I was going to be mad if Pete said something wrong, but I was already mad, and I would be just as mad not knowing as knowing.
    â€œCan you finish smoking the oysters?”
    â€œYou know I can,” Stubby said. “And tell Miss Lilly it was me that found you.”
    â€œI don’t know if Pete is up, but Miss Lilly is in her little study,” the cleaning man said when I arrived at Almack’s. “She said you might be sliding by.”
    â€œWell, I’m here,” I said.
    â€œSaw you dancing the other day.” The cleaning man leaned on his mop. “You trying to be one of them black Irishmen or something?”
    â€œDance is dance,” I said. “Where is Miss Lilly’s study?”
    He pointed to a room in the corner, and I made my way to it and knocked on the door. Miss Lilly and Peter Williams sat at a small table. Miss Lilly was usually a pretty imposing woman, but sometimes she could be more imposing than at other times. She was sitting straight up when I entered the room. She was wearing a high-necked beige dress with a little brown and beige jacket.
    â€œHow you doing, Juba?”
    â€œJust fine, Miss Lilly,” I said.
    â€œPeter wants to talk to you,” Miss Lilly said, without looking toward where her husband sat.
    â€œYou seemed a little bothered the other day,” Pete said. “Did something rub you the wrong way?”
    Did something rub me the wrong way?
    â€œLook, Pete, we were both there,” I said. “We don’t have to pretend we’re light-headed or nothing. They were turning the auditions into a minstrel show. You’ve been around enough to know that.”
    â€œThat was a business meeting,” Pete said. “If you doing business, then you got to bring people what they want or they’ll take their business someplace else.”
    â€œJack Bishop said one of the white men there was a slave trader,” I said. “That’s the business you in now?”
    â€œLook, Juba, I don’t have to take no lip from you,” Pete said.“Miss Lilly invited you here because she thought you could talk like you got a brain in your head. I own this place—I don’t have to take nothing from nobody! And if you don’t understand that, or don’t like it, you can just get on up out of here!”
    I stood up, ready to go.
    â€œSit down, Juba,” Miss Lilly said. “Peter, if you want to play like you don’t have no sense and bully your way around, then it’s up to you.