Page 19 of Cillian
Cillian rolled his eyes at the display of flirtation, pissed or repulsed that it wasn’t his brother’s immediate reaction to ignore me. “I hope my brother's taking care of you.”
Uncomfortably nodding, Cillian proceeded to draw his attention to whatever was outside the window. To melt away some of the awkward silence, his brother sought to ease my discomfort. “You look beautiful, by the way. The colors. Not all women can do them justice. You must be one of the lucky ones,” he winked.
“I apologize, I’m not good with names?—”
“It's Bellamy.” He corrected, his Irish accent heavier than his younger brother’s but strangely clearer. He must have been around Americans a lot more.
“So where are we headed tonight? I didn’t quite catch that information,” I said, silently recalling to just be ready or I’d be dragged out anyway.
“Your husband didn’t tell you? We’re heading to Woodcrest for a charity event. Cillian and I have business there.”
“You have business in Woodcrest?” I said in jest.
“You would be surprised where and how far a man like me can go,” he said with a bite to his lip. He wouldn't discuss it further. Claimed to never talk business in front of women. While normally I would have taken offense to that, it wasn’t often a white man actually saw me as a woman, so I dropped the subject so not to appear unladylike.
When we eventually reached the Georgia Peach, the only Black owned hotel in Boston, Bellamy had been the perfect gentleman, helping me up the car. “Ladies first,” he encouraged as I assumed correctly that I was here more for their benefit than mine.
Bellamy, Cillian and the two other men stepped out from other cars, followed the red carpet that led to the benefit being held for the hospital.
“Bellamy, I presume?” a light skinned Black man approached.
“Wouldn’t be anyone else,” Bellamy challenged in jest, as the first thing he did was take advantage of my presence. “Meet my sister-in-law, Elizabeth Sullivan.” That had certainly melted some of the man’s formality.
Now that I got a decent look at him, it was obvious who he was. Thurgood Baldwin—the first Black mayor of all Massachusetts. He could pass depending on the time of the year or angle but he wasn't shying away from any praise or recognition from being appointed the first Colored mayor in all the state.
My father had mentioned attending Morehouse with more than one important Black figure in his time, so it didn't trump logic that whatever my father was wrapped into was more than his modest beginnings could bring himself. Even more so now that he was connected to a powerful white family to protect him.
“Perhaps we should go somewhere private so we can discuss,” the mayor concluded, as Cillian, their muscle and I followed along the red carpet avoiding the Black press as much as we could.
I didn’t want my picture taken. Not for anyone who had eyes to see I was married to a white man. Everyone would think I was a bed wench. A woman not loyal to her race. No one would care that I didn’t have a choice when it came to marrying this man, they were just going to see a woman who betrayed her people.
“Picture for the papers?” a photographer shouted out, as Cillian flat out snatched the camera and smashed it to the ground.
“Get a muzzle on that brother of yours,” The mayor accused, forcing a distance between he and Bellamy that made him lose a bit of favor. For that display of disrespect, Bellamy pulled Cillian into a corner where they thought no one could hear.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“I said I'd bring her, not flaunt her.”
“Cilly, Tadhg expects us—expects you—to behave. I wanted to bring Paddy, because he wouldn’t pull the shit you do. I still didn’t think you were ready, but Tadhg trusted you. And all you had to do was make nice with your wife for two hours, proving why I didn’t want to bring you here in the first place.”
“Well it ain’t like you told me she’s the fucking snitch who put me in prison?—”
“And because she lied, she got you out. But you’re too fucking reckless to see anything past your own actions. You said you wanted to be better. You said you wanted to earn our respect. This ain’t the way, Cilly. Don’t embarrass me again.”
After that vivid display of words, all Cillian could do was nod his admission. When they started to walk back, I moved closer to the mayor, reminding him he’d went to university with my father, as that seemed to warm him a bit when I mentioned hearing him speak at church a few times. It didn’t hurt that when Bellamy approached, he wore a snake charming smile.
“Elizabeth, Mayor Mitchell and I are going off for a little bit, but this is a gathering so there’s plenty of food and spirits to curb your appetites.” Bellamy looked to his brother moping around. “Or at least that kind of appetite. Due to the nature of the matter, think you can handle your husband while we handle business?”
Faking a smile, Cillian looped his arm in mine and lead us to a table. “Hi, what can I get you two started on? We have the option of Gullah red rice. Shrimp and grits. Hush puppies and catfish or?—”
“I won't be having anything,” Cillian interrupted. “Unless you have stout or whiskey. I only eat Irish food.” He spoke dryly. Instantly, I was brought back to the time I criticized the way he spoke English the first time I’d been alone with him. It didn’t feel good to be condemned for your culture. This must have been how he felt, because those were all the foods I loved.
“I'll just have the catfish and hush puppies please,” I responded, and politely dismissed her, praying Bellamy's business wouldn't take long. I wasn’t sure how long we’d last being alone with each other, but I didn’t want to find out.
Waiting for my plate, it was hard not to notice Cillian constantly looking over his shoulder, surveying every part of the room as if he expected some act of violence to occur. Even as my food came, it was hard to eat in peace, watching him watch everyone around us.
“You don't have anything to worry about by the way,” I said, blowing on a hushpuppy to cool it down.