"Ta da!"
"Okay, wow!" Arthur exclaimed and sat the newspaper down, his mouth falling agape as Abrina emerged from the rear of the clothing store with a doting Michel trailing behind her. The short man was a cauldron of bubbling energy.
"Methinks he doth approves!" the tailor said, wearing a large toothy smile.
Arthur, in a rather conservative white button up shirt and khaki slacks, felt his heart skip a beat as Abrina slowly turned in front of him with Michel's hand guiding her.
"Oh, Mr. Raymond, don't you just adore this fishnet back showing off Ms. Abrina's wonderful shoulders, and this dress...so, shimmering and elegant," Michel said, slightly lifting the edge of the silvery garment. "It's a nylon and acetate work of art, wouldn't you say, Mr. Raymond? The gold trim, the belt, and on such a perfect, lovely specimen...magnifique! Mwah!"
Arthur was speechless, unable to take his eyes off of Abrina's lovely face.
Abrina beamed, outwardly enjoying Arthur's apparent appreciation of her new look.
Michel pulled Abrina's ear down to his lips and whispered, "I would give body parts to have someone look at me like that young man is looking at you. You are so lucky to have found a man that seems to love..."
Abrina lifted her head, cutting her eyes toward Arthur. "No. It is not like that, Michel."
"I do believe it is, my dear...whether he has said so or not. Look at me," Michel said in a whisper and then held the woman at arm's length. "Maybe you don't wish to admit it to yourself, but maybe you feel something as well?"
Abrina said nothing.
"I rest my case, now, I have to say it is not fair of me to keep you two young people in this stuffy place with me all to myself. You should go out and enjoy the rest of your day on the town, and with this look, honey, you will no doubt make all of Savannah's snooty, pasty white women mad with jealousy."
Arthur laughed as Abrina gave the misty-eyed Michel a hug. She then moved to the side to allow Arthur access to the man. He presented a hand to the clothier. "Thank you, my friend. How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing, my good man. You and Ms. Abrina have given me something today worth so much more than money. Other than the mayor and a handful of others, you have joined a very small group of people that has restored my hope that things can and will eventually change."
"So, there are other people that aren't bigots around here, then?" Arthur asked and turned toward the door.
Michel nodded. "A few, yes."
"Any of them in real estate?"
Abrina and Michel both looked toward Arthur in confusion.
With a slow nod of affirmation, Michel answered, "Yes. Andy Remington comes to mind, why?"
"Nothing. I was just wondering," Arthur replied and unlocked the door. He held out his elbow to Abrina. "Are you ready?"
"Absolutely."
"Please be careful and come back and see me anytime you wish."
Arthur pointed across the street. "What about anyone seeing us coming and going?"
Michel shrugged. "To hell with them, I was considering a move out west, anyways."
<<*>>
"Hey, negro lover! We've been waitin' on you all to come out!" one of the men from the corner café shouted as Arthur and Abrina exited Michel's shop. Stowing a pack of cigarettes away in the breast pocket of his white shirt, the overweight man in black suspenders peeled himself away from the restaurant's whitewashed brick wall and walked toward the couple. Hobbling from beneath the shadow of the restaurant's green overhang, he placed a straw trilby hat on his head and stood in the afternoon sunlight. The fat man lifted a pudgy finger into the air and pointed it at Arthur. From his other hand, he took a hit of his cigarette and began to speak, smoke rolling from his mouth like a dragon. "Yessir, I'm talkin' to you, you nasty race traitor!"
Arthur felt Abrina tighten her grip on his bicep as he froze in place, the pressure actually hurt. He looked down at her typically soft hands. "Ow, Abrina, you know you are seriously strong when you're all healed up?"
"Please ignore them Arthur. Do not let those ignorant men ruin our day, okay?" she pleaded.
"I'm tryin' not to," Arthur said as Abrina more or less forced him down the sidewalk. "Still you know it's not right."
Her eyes darted around the loosely assembled collection of wooden tables and angry men seated at them, Abrina added, "I know, Arthur, but we are clearly outnumbered. I count seven total."
"That's what I got, too," Arthur said in agreement. "Don't matter though, most of them are old. I can take 'em if I got to."
"Stop it Arthur," Abrina whispered as she quickened her pace down the sidewalk attempting to place more distance between Arthur and the racists. "You don't know how many more might be inside."
"Hey white boy! Do you think if you and your unevolved whore dress up all fancy-like with that girly man's clothes, you ain't defyin' the Bible?" the fat man asked.
"I'd say they're actually shittin' all over the Good Book, don't you think pastor?" said a young man with a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Somewhere around eighteen or nineteen years old, this thug was obviously a few years younger than Arthur and sneered at Abrina with absolute hatred in his eyes.
"That they are...Hey, where ya'll goin'? Come on back here so we can talk!"
Arthur and Abrina began to move briskly down the sidewalk.
The fat man puffed on his cigarette as he held it between a pair of sausage-like fingers and then released the smoke into the air. "You know, we typically overlook that faggot over there's transgressions against the Lord 'cause our wives like his clothing and all, but this...this diddlin' around with the other races, well, we just can't have that around here...Go on, Les."
"Yessir!" With a nod, the teenager patted the fat man on the shoulder and jogged away, matching Arthur and Abrina's speed on the opposing sidewalk. He continued to shout obscenities at the couple across the street as he walked. The thug was immediately followed by another young man of similar height and build.
Arthur noted the townspeople were strangely disappearing from the sidewalk. "Here we go."
"The Reverend ain't done with you, strangers! Why are you still walking away? Come on back here!" the two teenagers taunted.
Arthur knew these boys were not going to let up, so, he stopped in his tracks, much to Abrina's chagrin. Pulling away, Arthur placed himself between her and them.
In response, their two youthful pursuers stopped between a pair of parked automobiles apparently ready to engage Arthur. The one wearing glasses grinned. "Uh oh, the race traitor looks all mad like, don't he Lester? You ready to jump, froggie? C'mon...jump!"
Arthur stared the two young men down, quickly noting the teenagers' leather suspenders and black armbands on their upper left arms. At the center of each band was a white circle surrounding a familiar red lightning bolt. "Damn it to hell, more Nazi jackasses! Good God you bastards are everywhere!" he thought to himself, recognizing the symbol used by Hitler's Youth Movement in his world and apparently it carried over to this one as well.
"Hey, you some kind of mute, stranger? I asked you somethin'!"
Arthur balled his fists. "I am far from deaf you jackass, and I most definitely hear your blubbering nonsense just like everyone else around here does. Now, why don't you and your buddy there run off to your mamas before you get in over your heads."
"You're talkin' mighty tough there negro lover!" said the second racist thug stepping in front of the first. He wore a crewcut and held a small black club in his hands. "Les, it sure sounds to me like he's lettin' his ass overload his mouth, huh?"
"That he does, Homer! That he does. Maybe we should show him and his uppity woman how things actually work around here when they forget their place."
Arthur cut his eyes away from the teenagers and back down the street as the restaurant door banged open unexpectedly. A man sporting a cock-eyed paper hat and greasy white apron emerged from inside with a lit cigarette in his mouth. He set down a soda bottle and a steaming plate of food in front of an elderly man in overalls, freezing in place as he noticed Arthur and Abrina. Tapping his patron on the shoulder, the cook said something and the old man lowered the newspaper he held in his hands. They both glared at the couple.
"Uh oh," Arthur mumbled as he watched the chef, his eyes never leaving him and Abrina, back into the café. Arthur felt his stomach knot and returned his attention to the man the teenager called 'The Reverend'.
With a grin, the fat man took another step toward the road, his right hand never leaving his pants pocket. "Wherever you're from, traitor, don't the church tell you to keep your race pure?"
"Traitor, huh? I spent my time overseas takin' bullets and fighting for my country, asshole. Have you ever even left this town?"
"Do you have any idea who you're speakin' with, soldier boy?" Lester, the first of the young thugs inquired. He inched forward repeatedly punching a fist into his open palm over and over "Do ya'?"
Arthur lowered his forehead, focusing his narrowed eyes on the threatening pair of young men. "No, and I really don't care," he shot back.
A sixth man, thin, deep wrinkles, with salt and pepper hair, stepped out of the café and walked over to the much heavier racist, his hands on his belt. He sidled up next to the Reverend and said something Arthur could not make out. The lanky man then spit a stream of tobacco out into the street and said, "Yep, race traitor, this here's Reverend Jamison, the chapter president of the NSRP (National States Rights Party)! You should definitely show him some respect if you know whut's good for you and all!"
"I guess you all forgot, but the Nazis lost the war," Arthur said defiantly and pointed at each of the men across the street from him. "And you know what, boys?"
"What would that be, traitor?" the fat man asked.
"If you mess with me, you're going to lose another."
The thin man lifted a pair of fingers to his lips and whistled. He grinned as he lowered his hand. "You sure about that, race traitor?" Suddenly, the café door flew open and eight more men in white shirts and suspenders spilled from its interior like angry fire ants from the top of a disturbed mound. They glanced around in confusion.
"They're over yonder, boys!" the Reverend barked.