When she finished talking, I went up to her and whispered, “You seem like a nice woman.”

She looked surprised, stared at me with evergreen eyes. She laughed. You know, the expected thing was “I enjoyed your talk” or “I admire your work.” (I didn’t know her work then.)

When she got her words, she said, “You haven’t met my husband.”

She took my arm and, moving away from the others who’d come to meet her or “fan” her, conducted me to the back of the room, where Ernest was standing against the wall, his arms folded, a sparkle in his eyes.

When we came nearer, he gave me an eagle stare and Catherine a protective one. Catherine introduced us. He shook my hand.

“Can we bring her home with us?” she asked.

“If you want to, Babe,” he said.

We laughed like we’d known each other for decades, and I rode squeezed in the back of their Peugeot.

“You’re not married?”

“No, I’m a divorcee.”

“Goody.”

“Why, goody?”

“That means you’ll have all the time in the world for us!”

15

“Do you smoke?” Catherine asks.

“No.”

“I don’t mean tobacco,” she says, an imp’s grin.

“Not that either.”

“What do you like to do? I bet you like to make love,” Catherine says. “Look at the girl blush! I’ve got her tagged there!”

“Catherine’s a joker,” says Ernest, taking my coat, and going into the kitchen to get the drinks.

“So what do you think of Detroit?” he asks, after we’ve settled down on the turquoise leather sofa.

(Before yellow, Catherine’s color was turquoise.)

Catherine sits on a brown hassock in the middle of the floor, hands on her knees, watching me like I was a movie.

“It’s nice, what I’ve seen of it. I haven’t seen much of it. When I got here, I was sort of late, so they spirited me over to the campus, Wayne State University. I haven’t seen much.”

“Well, when you’ve seen more of it, I’d like to know what you think of . . .”

“What?”

Ernest sips his Chablis.

“He was going to say ‘the murder capital,’ ” Catherine says.

“What?”

“Private joke,” Catherine explains.

“Okay.”

“We’ll take care of you while you’re here,” Catherine says brightly. “You can stay with us. Move out of that wretched hotel.”

“I hadn’t intended to stay but a couple of days.”

“We’d like you to stay with us, wouldn’t we, Ernie?”

“Sure.”

So I was curious. So I stayed. So I ended up staying several months with them.

At first Catherine tried to fix me up with this part-Black, part-Japanese artist she knew named Koshoo Jackson. He made these beautiful braided belts. I still have the one he gave me but didn’t take him up on any other offers. I’ll tell you about Koshoo one of these days when I’m in the mood.

“He made these colored braids for me to use on The Birdcatcher. He’s so beautiful. Why did you cold-shoulder him?”