Free Killing Johnny Fry by Walter Mosley Page B

with longing because in Cuba the women outstrip the boys in science.
    “Honey?” Jo said.
    “Yeah?"
    “You‘re staring."
    “I‘m just amazed that girls excel in physics in Cuba, because it‘s always been reported in America that boys‘ brains are more set up for that kind of work."
    “Oh no,” Bettye said with wide-eyed assurance. “It is not true. It is only that men in your country do not want women to be smarter than them."
    “It‘s not that they‘re smarter,” Johnny Fry said with a smirk. “It‘s that girls have a different intelligence. Girls are good at, um, I don‘t know, uh, art."
    “Oh,” Bettye said with great emphasis. “And is that why so many of the physicists in Cuba are women?"
    “Must have to do with communism limiting how boys feel about themselves.” Johnny Fry was quite handsome. When he smiled, you could see how women would want to make allowances for his chauvinism.
    “You‘re a fool if you think that,” Bettye said, giving him no slack at all.
    “I‘m just kidding, honey,” he said. “You know me, I can‘t even do long division."
    When he called Bettye “honey,” Jo stiffened a bit.
    “What‘s your last name, Bettye?” I asked then.
    “Odayatta,” she said. “And yours?"
    “Carmel. Cordell Carmel."
    “It is like poetry, your name."
    “Thank you."
    “So, Bettye,” Jo said. “How long have you been here in New York?"
    A year.
    “And when did you and John meet?"
    Bettye turned to him, the question in her eye.
    “About three months ago,” she said. “Yes."
    “Waiter,” Johnny said. “Excuse me."
    A man of the Far East, maybe Sri Lanka, maybe Tibet, came over to the table.
    “Yes, sir?"
    “We‘d like to order,” Johnny told him.
    “Oh no,” Bettye said, fluttering her hands. “I‘m not ready."
    The young brown man bowed slightly and moved away.
    “Johnny and I were to go away this weekend,” Bettye was saying to stiff-faced Jo. “To Sag Harbor. But then I realized that I have a dinner with the university president tonight."
    “So, John,” I said. “What business are you into now?"
    “Um, what?"
    “Are you in a new business? Brad told me that you were thinking of some kind of import thing."
    “Oh yes,” Bettye said brightly. “John is going to be importing Senegalese carvings. The people of the village I‘m from are the best at making them."
    “Wow,” I said. “So you guys are going into business together."
    “Yes,” Bettye said.
    “You ready to order yet?” Johnny asked no one in particular.
    For the rest of the lunch, Joelle and Johnny were almost completely mum. Bettye talked about how nice Johnny was to her. On her birthday he bought her a silver mesh necklace from Tiffany‘s.
    “Jo has a necklace just like that,” I said. “I think you got yours from Tiffany‘s too, didn‘t you, honey?"
    “Yes."
    “Yeah. Amazing that you guys both have the same thing. Isn‘t it, John?” I asked.
    “Some coincidence,” he agreed.
    I had a great time seeing the lovers squirm.
    I told Bettye that last week I would have been jealous of her romance with Johnny, “But now I‘ve fallen in love with Joelle all over again. I can‘t get enough of her."
    “We should go,” Jo said then. “I have a headache."
    On the walk across the park, we were mostly silent. Joelle was deep in thought, and I knew why. Even though she had a steady, long-term boyfriend, her erotic and romantic identity was tied to Johnny Fry. He wasn‘t supposed to have another girlfriend.
    I could imagine how their conversations went.
    “Do you still sleep with him?” Johnny would ask.
    “It‘s nothing,” she‘d say. “Once a week on a Saturday night or Sunday morning. He sticks it in and then he‘s finished. It‘s nothing like what we have."
    Maybe she told him that his was bigger and better and that he was a real man where I was just a hapless sort of guy.
    “But maybe he has a girlfriend,” Johnny might ask. “Do you think he‘s safe?"
    “He hasn‘t