By dawn, Cypress’ house was a mass of huddled couples and threesomes under afghans and fur coats. She left Malik in a warm spot, knotted up in shawls she had made as a child. Shaking her head, Cypress pushed some weariness out of her way. “Got to make these folks some breakfast in a while; got to talk to Sassafrass.” She really had to control herself to keep from shouting, “Look who’s over here with . . . !”, but she was actually looking for Sassafrass to tell her Mitch said she had to come home, it was time to talk. Cypress was glad and worried at the same time, because Sassafrass was her sister and should have the man she wanted, but she couldn’t help thinking that Leroy was a better choice. She could just not say anything, and let Sassafrass try a new thing with Leroy; forget about that heap of blues in L.A. But she kept looking for Sassafrass, and found her sculpted into Leroy under a red and white patchwork quilt. Cypress stood over them thinking about what to do, and finally she whispered into Sassafrass’ ear: “I got to talk to ya.” Sassafrass woke slowly, and reluctantly followed Cypress into the kitchen. Cypress fixed some coffee and cornbread, suggesting she might have something incredible on her mind. Sassafrass was irked at this early kaffeeklatsch, and fiercely whispered, “Cypress, what do you want?” Cypress stood absolutely erect—her dancer’s pose—and announced, “Mitch says you’re to get on home.”

Sassafrass’ stomach moved into her lungs, like when someone gooses you unexpectedly. She was all caught up, and feeling the nausea of overwhelming excitement. When she could speak, she asked Cypress what else Mitch said. Cypress stood over Sassafrass, grasping her shoulders.

“Sassafrass, he didn’t say anything else, just you are supposed to go on to L.A. and I am ’sposed to keep . . . now how did he say that . . . yeah. I am supposed to keep my whorish ideas to myself and send you right out of here, like you were Miss Muffet, and forget about his low-down niggah ways and you bein’ in them.”

Sassafrass could hardly deal with the significance of Mitch’s call and Cypress’ anger simultaneously, so she thought about Leroy. What would she say to him? Sassafrass rubbed her thighs, where Leroy’s weight had been. Cypress kept muttering, “If you go back there, you’re a real fool.” Sassafrass felt herself beginning to grin . . . the touch of Leroy’s lips, Mitch’s wanting to be with her; the two men blending, offering Sassafrass more than she had imagined men even knew about. Tipping her head to the side and watching Cypress’ every expression, Sassafrass again asked what else Mitch said exactly. Cypress started breathing real heavy, and acting like she was in a melodrama, circa 1902.