The White Fence

9. Night Watch

Mrs. Taylor answered the door in a hurry. "Come in," she said, breathlessly. "I should be back in they mornin' 'round six; no later than eight. Nicole's already eaten, and Orion may or may not come over while I'm gone. If he does show up, he won' stay, so I'm goin' still need you. I left a plate warmin' for y'all in they cooler," she looked at me. "And y'all welcome to cook. You know her bedtime and everythan; don't let her stay up too late, and don't let her trick y'all into eating junk, neither." 

"Yes, ma'am," we both chorused in unison.  

"And you know they house rules?"  

"No boys." 

"And?" she prodded, giving the best stern look she could muster, though she still had nothing on Mrs. Gordon.  

"Definitely, no boys." 

Mrs. Taylor seemed in momentary contemplation of us, as she was every time we were over. "Well, I know y'all good girls, so I don't have to worry. The number for they hospital's on they fridge. Goodnight, girls. Night Nicky, mama loves you." 

"Night, mommy," Nicole responded. Mrs. Taylor hastily walked out the door to her car, backing out the drive so quickly she scraped the bottom of the car as she did. Patrice, who was currently wearing a wholesome blue jumper, went into the bathroom to change, and a few minutes later, Omar's dad's beat up Bentley rolled into Mrs. Taylor's space. He honked twice, and Patrice squealed. "Oh, that's him!" she fluttered in her skirt. "How I look?" 

"Saucy," I stated. 

Patrice paused, mid-stride. "Saucy?" she repeated.  

"You know, like hot?"  

She mulled it over for a few seconds before she gave a shrug. "Hell, I'll take it! Did I tell you that you're tha best for doin' this for me?" 

"You might have mentioned it," I remarked.  

"Well, you're tha best girl," she remarked, giving me a big hug and a kiss. "I should be back no later'n midnight, so just leave tha door open will ya?" 

"Yep." 

"You're pretty groovy, too, Nicole," Patrice remarked, giving her a Hershey bar, as per agreement. She bent down and kissed the little girl as well. Omar honked again. "See you latuh," she said, before heading out the door. Omar stepped out of the car, and she ran into his arms. He caught her up, and gave her a kiss before he packed her into the car, and the two of them drove off.  

I looked down at Nicole, as she looked up at me. We both shrugged.  

We went into the living room (the Taylor's didn't have a den), and Nicole sat down to eat her candy bar. "I should've held out for some bottle caps and Mary Jane's, too," she mused.  

"How about I bring you some the next time I come over?" I offered.  

"Really?" she questioned excitedly. "Hey, didja bring your records with you?" 

I went reaching for my bag. "I brought Mozart's 5th and some Tchaikovsky." 

"Ode to Joy would have been perfect playing in the background when Tricey ran down the drive don't you think," Nicole reflected. I couldn't help but laugh at the statement and image it created.  

Nicole was the kind of kid that it was rewarding to baby-sit for. She was six years old, but didn't act like it at all. She may not have been the best when it came to school work, she may have been passing at spelling and her math was on par, but she was the most theatric little person I'd ever come across. Any and everything that had to do with theatre, or the stage, fascinated her. We shared a mutual appreciation for classical music because it went along with theatre. On one other occasion when I was babysitting, she had begun what seemed like a promising sketch to Vivaldi's "Cello Concerto in A Minor". She thought it sounded like squirrels fighting over acorns, and the resulting dance that she came up with, had me and Patrice laughing until we cried.