Did You Hear About Kitty Karr?, page 10
“How old were they?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Wasn’t their mother a teacher?”
“I’m not sure.”
“For all the time you spent over here, it seems like you’d know more.” Giovanni crossed her arms.
“Gio, she taught her to read when she was barely four, but I don’t know if she was a teacher.”
“These are just the basic life questions no one can answer.” Giovanni was referring to Kitty’s obituary, which read like a résumé. Elise had emailed her draft around, but no one could piece together common facts to pen the usual phrases. Kitty had shared so much about her triumphs and mistakes in life, Elise had never considered what she didn’t know.
“Are you trying to make me feel worse?”
“She’s not, but you seem like you’re lying about something.” Noele entered the conversation, going straight for the punch.
Giovanni tried to smooth things over with the mothering tone she usually reserved for Noele. “Are you all right? Mom and Dad are worried about you.”
“I’m worried about Mom.”
“We’re worried about you. There’s this cryptic undertone in everything you say.”
“I mean, I’m sad,” Elise said.
Noele wore a pensive look, as though she wasn’t sure if she should say what she was thinking.
“Say it.”
“Are you lonely?”
Their mother must have expressed her concerns to them about her and Aaron. “No. Aaron’s been working.”
“He should be here,” Giovanni said. She was the only one in their family who genuinely liked him.
“You’ll see him tonight.”
“Would you tell us if you were lonely?” Giovanni asked.
“Probably not. The last thing I need is more family time.” Pretending to be offended, Giovanni hit her, and Elise pushed back. They play-fought for a second, like children.
“Think of it as a long weekend.”
“A long nightmare, depending on the dreamer,” Elise said. Giovanni’s expression changed as if she was really offended. “We are here for a memorial, is what I meant.”
After an hour, the room was littered with Kitty’s documentation. Elise watched her sisters gorging themselves on the never-before-seen photographs of their mother as a child on set, of themselves during the holidays or on family vacations.
“Aww, look.” Giovanni held up a picture of their mother with their grandma Nellie and Kitty at her high school graduation. Sarah was in the middle, beaming and gripping each woman at their sides.
“I wonder when things changed between them.”
“Probably when Kitty left the life.” Giovanni was horrified by Kitty’s relinquishing of her social position to the same degree Noele resisted her own. “They no longer had things in common.”
“Kitty was still writing and consulting on projects.”
“I know, but how do you give up being one of the most famous women in the world?”
“She said it didn’t mean as much after Nathan died.” Only in his midfifties at the time, he had passed away three decades before Kitty, and since he was gone, she had only dated one man, a doctor who had no Hollywood profile. Elise wouldn’t ever say it aloud, but she hoped to find one man to love her the way two men had loved Kitty. A little knot formed in her stomach, knowing the state her life was in today.
Done reminiscing for the moment, Elise picked up her cell phone to see a dozen missed calls from Rebecca. “Rebecca’s here for the pictures. We’re having some life-sizes made that’ll be set up around the house.”
“That’s creepy,” Noele said.
“I thought it would be cool.”
“It’s creepy,” Giovanni said, following them downstairs.
“And overly sentimental,” Noele said.
CHAPTER 11
Elise
Sunday afternoon, October 29, 2017
Rebecca was calling Elise from the St. Johns’ driveway. She shouted out of her car window upon seeing the sisters emerging from the hedges. “Welcome home!” She flung herself out of her Jeep for a three-way hug before Giovanni and Noele went inside.
“Are you ignoring me?” Rebecca waved her phone at Elise. “I’ve called you so many times.”
“I’m sorry—we were at Kitty’s; my phone was on silent.” Answering Rebecca’s call, no matter the time of day or night, had always been her duty as a best friend and a client. She hadn’t been sending a message by not answering—rather, she was weaning herself from a relationship at its end.
“Did you tell them I’m leaving?” Her boyfriend’s tour was being extended, and Rebecca wanted to join him and take time to “clarify my next career steps.” It was a good cover story, Elise thought.
“Not yet. It’ll only make them panic. They seem to think you can help with all of this.”
“Imagine that,” Rebecca said. She was, Elise knew, refusing to be guilted or roped into a fight. Her need for some separation or change would have been plausible had the lifelong struggle between them not come to a head that March, after Rebecca deleted several of Elise’s controversial Instagram posts. Rebecca had said she deleted them because similar content was reposted everywhere; she didn’t think it mattered. But then she admitted being uncomfortable with some of the recent comments on Elise’s page. Then, she said she thought all of Elise’s content as of late had been “off brand.”
Rebecca reminded her about the real racists in the world, waiting for the right moment to reclaim their country. She had always spoken about the “embarrassing” paraphernalia her family collected—her great-great-grandfather and uncles had fought for the Confederacy—in a whisper. “They’re a bunch of sore losers with those sad flags. You know people still dress up and act it all out for entertainment?” Rebecca had had a lot to say after the events in Charlottesville that August.
But back in March, Rebecca had told Elise to focus on acting. She didn’t understand the responsibility Elise felt, as a Black American woman, to speak out. “You donate, a lot. Isn’t that enough?”
Finally, they had stumbled upon the real issue, which was that Rebecca thought Elise’s posts about the #blacklivesmatter movement were “racist.”
Elise was instantly annoyed. “Black people, being the minority, can’t be racist.”
“I understand the philosophical argument, but everyone suffers.”
Elise was speechless. Rebecca had attended one of the best private schools in the country since nursery school and apparently still didn’t know American history. Once, when they were kids, they’d been headed off to Girl Scout camp, and Elise had been nervous she’d be the only Black girl there. Rebecca, trying to help, had suggested, Just pretend like you’re White. No one will notice.
Stunned, Elise had worked to deconstruct Rebecca’s solution. How does someone pretend to be White? What is being White as opposed to being Black?
Elise had given her a pass all those years ago because, well, they were eight. The two had never talked about it again, and Elise sighed, deciding it was childish to bring it up now. Race was never not an issue for Elise, but for Rebecca, there was always a simple solution.
“That’s not even the point.” Elise decided it was time to politely kick Rebecca out her house. “There’s nothing else we need to discuss before tomorrow, right?”
After the blowup that spring, Rebecca had gone to her mother, worried about Elise’s safety and her own. Demands for an apology had come from all sides, but Elise refused. She didn’t have a “sorry” left in her. That week’s inheritance news leak had unleashed a second wave of racist hostility that her team, so far, had ignored—in order, Elise knew, to avoid apologizing for trying to force her apology in March.
Rebecca followed her into the house. “The studio called back. They want you to talk about Kitty, explain your relationship with her.”
“What happened to the wedding angle?”
“They don’t think it’ll stick.”
Elise began shaking her head. “No shit.” She handed the stack of photos to Rebecca. “I love how they say what they want to say after the meeting.”
“This is a difficult position for everyone.” Rebecca sat down. “They’re worried about people boycotting Drag On.”
“So, Kitty’s death explains my anger about racism and police brutality?”
Rebecca squirmed, which let Elise know she had helped craft the spin. “You have a job to do, Elise. They can sue you for breach of contract.”
Elise gave her another look. “I thought you agreed. I can’t talk about Kitty.”
“I don’t know how we get around it now. The studio said—”
“Well, I have not agreed. It’s no one’s business.”
“First, you complain when they say nothing, now, you complain—”
Sarah appeared in the kitchen, having heard Rebecca’s voice. “My gingersnap! You’re here early.” Sarah looked Rebecca over from head to toe. “No jeans tonight.”
“I’m coming back. I just came to pick up the photos.”
Sarah looked between Elise and Rebecca. “What photos?”
“For the life-sizes of Kitty for tonight.”
“Oh, yes, that’s going to look nice.” Sarah produced a bottle of Riesling from the double refrigerator. “Where’s your momma today?” Sarah said, asking about Alison. After working together for thirty years, the two normally talked a couple of times a day.
“Over at my grandmother’s.”
“How’s she doing?” Rebecca’s grandmother was newly widowed and having a hard time being alone. She called Alison and Rebecca constantly.
Rebecca motioned her hand as if to say, So-so. “Flustered about tonight.”
Sarah reached for a glass in the cabinet. “What’s tonight?”
Rebecca and Elise exchanged a look.
“Kitty’s memorial, Mom.”
“I know, but Rebecca’s talking about her grandmother.” Sarah still looked puzzled.
“Kitty invited her,” Rebecca said. “Apparently, they knew each other back in the day.”
“I look forward to hearing that story.” Sarah put more glasses on the table. “You girls want some?” Sarah started a pour for Rebecca before she could answer.
“How are you all doing?” Rebecca asked, touching Sarah’s arm.
“I think we’re all in and out,” Sarah said.
“But mostly out,” Elise said, pouring her own splash of wine. “Vogue and the studio want me to talk about Kitty.” She waited to take some pleasure in her mother’s discomfort.
Sarah took a sip of wine. “So, talk about Kitty, Elise. Someone has to dispel the rumors about her being deranged.”
“How about you?” Elise asked.
“I’m not the one she left money to. Obviously, she wanted you and your sisters to go to bat for her, defend her honor.”
Despite the sarcastic undertone in Sarah’s take, Elise sensed that something about what her mother said was right, but she didn’t think it was about honor. That seemed too egotistical, too shallow for Kitty, who had been so antisocial.
“What did Alison say?” Elise asked.
“We haven’t discussed it,” Sarah said. Rebecca shook her head to cosign Sarah.
Elise started for the door. “I’m going to get dressed.”
“And I need to get to the printer,” Rebecca said, collecting the photographs on the table.
Elise waved and ascended through the gateway of her little slice of heaven. The only thing on her mind, for a change, was a bath and another joint before the night began. Feeling nothing was her aim.
CHAPTER 12
Mary
May 1955
Years flew once Mary fell in love with Richard Collins. They had first met in the third grade, when Richard’s family moved to Cottonwood. He quickly became popular because his father owned a janitorial services company and made enough money for his momma not to have to work.
Mary became fond of him after he announced to the class that he wanted to be a doctor. His confidence had received some snickers.
Mary cornered him later, at recess. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?”
Startled she was speaking to him, he stammered. “I—I don’t know yet.”
“Is your father a doctor?”
“No. He wants me to be. He’s been saving since I was born to send me to medical school.”
Noticing their one-on-one, some of the kids surrounded them, making kissing noises. Richard ran, and thereafter said maybe three words to her until freshman year, when they both ended up in geometry. Richard had spent the summer in Chicago and was taller, darker, and more handsome. They became friends over their shared distaste for their teacher. Sophomore year, she asked him to be her chemistry partner, and midway through the year he finally got the courage to ask to walk her home. They became a couple after a few fish Fridays at her house, at which point Richard admitted he’d been smitten with her since the third grade.
Hazel wasn’t thrilled but, knowing she couldn’t stop Mary’s social activities given her work schedule, continued to impress upon Mary just how much a baby would impede her life. “And he’ll be gone, with another girl just as pretty as you.” Her warnings over the years resulted in Mary being a virgin valedictorian. Richard came in third. All they did, besides some kissing and rubbing, was study.
Hazel filled her Sundays with double doses of church, but Mary had been allowed to come home after morning service to “do homework” with Richard, cook for the week, and write. Her storytelling was the only thing that had lingered post-Lillian.
She thought about Lillian sometimes when they went to Charlotte, but those trips were few and far between. Whenever they did go, it was to run errands for Mrs. Nora, who liked a dress shop and the butcher there. Jim Crow said White patrons had to be helped first, so even if it was Hazel’s turn and another White person walked in, she would have to wait. Hours could be wasted, and on Hazel’s one day off, it was the last way she wanted to spend it. Mary’s skin circumvented such inconveniences.
Late one Saturday afternoon, they were on the bus headed to Charlotte because Hazel had forgotten to pick up Mrs. Nora’s dress for her husband’s eightieth birthday party the next day. Mary squashed herself against the window, as far away from her mother as she could get.
“I know you better stop with that attitude,” Hazel said. “I forgot, and I’m sorry.”
“She could have worn another dress.” Mary could feel her mother’s eyes on her. They had been steel gray for days; completely devoid of blue and the lightest Mary had ever seen them. Mary, knowing they darkened when she was angry, worried this lighter gray indicated a posture devoid of emotion altogether.
It was Senior Week, and Radley’s, the drive-in movie theater, was showing Frankenstein that night in celebration of the Negro class of 1955. The drive-in only permitted Negroes once a month, and for the two weeks since they had gotten the Senior Week schedule, it was all Mary talked about. She hadn’t been to the movies since Lillian stopped coming to Charlotte. It was too risky for her to pass in Winston, and she wouldn’t have sat in the balcony if someone paid her.
Beyond that, she’d been expecting Richard to propose that evening. He was going to borrow his Dad’s Cadillac and had made a reservation for dinner. The weather was supposed to be balmy and romantic—88 degrees, with a breeze. Graduation was in a week, and Mary imagined that the dinner his mother had already planned might be their engagement party.
“You hear me talking to you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mary mumbled, even angrier at being pulled from her fantasy.
“We’ll be back in time.”
They arrived in Charlotte minutes before the dress shop closed. Hazel hustled, giving Mary a sly dagger stare every two steps to hurry. Mary, still seething about how Mrs. Nora could have driven to get her own dress if it was so important, stopped to admire a mustard-yellow dress in a store window with a plunging neckline and a slim, structured bodice. It was perfect for graduation.
Hazel commanded her to “come on” through tight, motionless lips. Mary ignored her and stepped inside the store, knowing Hazel couldn’t. “May I try that dress on?”
“Miss. Mary—”
Mary waved a hand at her mother. “A minute, Hazel.” All this time spent pretending to be White: Mary figured she might as well go all the way and do what she wanted for once.
“Yes, of course, Miss.” The clerk disappeared into the back of the store.
Hazel’s body swelled with anger, consuming the width of the doorframe and blocking the afternoon light. Her eyes narrowed at Mary until they appeared to be closed. Mary heard the clerk’s heels coming behind her and watched Hazel’s anger melt into feigned happiness. “I’ll let the dress shop know you’ll be right along.”
Mary snatched the dress from the woman. “What took you so long? I’m in a hurry.” She shut the dressing room door, breathing fast, too fast, unable to face herself in the mirror. Panicked about the wrath awaiting her, she pushed the door open. It slammed against the opposite wall, alarming the clerk. She ran out without an apology.
Hazel was standing in the street in front of the shop, smoking. She nodded at the CLOSED sign. Her face was straight, her voice was flat. “He’s there but won’t open the door for me.”
Mary knocked, and the white-haired, older White man behind the counter scurried over, smiling and smoothing what little hair he had as he turned the lock. “I’m sorry; we’re closed, Miss.”
“Please? I sent our maid to tell you I’d be right over.”
He eyed Hazel over her shoulder. Mary tried again. “It’s for my grandmother, Mrs. Nora Lakes. I forgot to pick it up earlier. She needs it for a party.”
“Ah, you must be Shirley. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Mary didn’t know who Shirley was but smiled.
He dipped his head in apology. “You know they’ll say anything. I thought she was lying. Wait here.”
Hazel didn’t speak or look at Mary during the two-hour bus ride home. As soon as they were alone, Mary started to apologize but couldn’t form her lips to speak before Hazel’s hand came across her face so hard that she tasted blood.
“I’m not sure.”
“Wasn’t their mother a teacher?”
“I’m not sure.”
“For all the time you spent over here, it seems like you’d know more.” Giovanni crossed her arms.
“Gio, she taught her to read when she was barely four, but I don’t know if she was a teacher.”
“These are just the basic life questions no one can answer.” Giovanni was referring to Kitty’s obituary, which read like a résumé. Elise had emailed her draft around, but no one could piece together common facts to pen the usual phrases. Kitty had shared so much about her triumphs and mistakes in life, Elise had never considered what she didn’t know.
“Are you trying to make me feel worse?”
“She’s not, but you seem like you’re lying about something.” Noele entered the conversation, going straight for the punch.
Giovanni tried to smooth things over with the mothering tone she usually reserved for Noele. “Are you all right? Mom and Dad are worried about you.”
“I’m worried about Mom.”
“We’re worried about you. There’s this cryptic undertone in everything you say.”
“I mean, I’m sad,” Elise said.
Noele wore a pensive look, as though she wasn’t sure if she should say what she was thinking.
“Say it.”
“Are you lonely?”
Their mother must have expressed her concerns to them about her and Aaron. “No. Aaron’s been working.”
“He should be here,” Giovanni said. She was the only one in their family who genuinely liked him.
“You’ll see him tonight.”
“Would you tell us if you were lonely?” Giovanni asked.
“Probably not. The last thing I need is more family time.” Pretending to be offended, Giovanni hit her, and Elise pushed back. They play-fought for a second, like children.
“Think of it as a long weekend.”
“A long nightmare, depending on the dreamer,” Elise said. Giovanni’s expression changed as if she was really offended. “We are here for a memorial, is what I meant.”
After an hour, the room was littered with Kitty’s documentation. Elise watched her sisters gorging themselves on the never-before-seen photographs of their mother as a child on set, of themselves during the holidays or on family vacations.
“Aww, look.” Giovanni held up a picture of their mother with their grandma Nellie and Kitty at her high school graduation. Sarah was in the middle, beaming and gripping each woman at their sides.
“I wonder when things changed between them.”
“Probably when Kitty left the life.” Giovanni was horrified by Kitty’s relinquishing of her social position to the same degree Noele resisted her own. “They no longer had things in common.”
“Kitty was still writing and consulting on projects.”
“I know, but how do you give up being one of the most famous women in the world?”
“She said it didn’t mean as much after Nathan died.” Only in his midfifties at the time, he had passed away three decades before Kitty, and since he was gone, she had only dated one man, a doctor who had no Hollywood profile. Elise wouldn’t ever say it aloud, but she hoped to find one man to love her the way two men had loved Kitty. A little knot formed in her stomach, knowing the state her life was in today.
Done reminiscing for the moment, Elise picked up her cell phone to see a dozen missed calls from Rebecca. “Rebecca’s here for the pictures. We’re having some life-sizes made that’ll be set up around the house.”
“That’s creepy,” Noele said.
“I thought it would be cool.”
“It’s creepy,” Giovanni said, following them downstairs.
“And overly sentimental,” Noele said.
CHAPTER 11
Elise
Sunday afternoon, October 29, 2017
Rebecca was calling Elise from the St. Johns’ driveway. She shouted out of her car window upon seeing the sisters emerging from the hedges. “Welcome home!” She flung herself out of her Jeep for a three-way hug before Giovanni and Noele went inside.
“Are you ignoring me?” Rebecca waved her phone at Elise. “I’ve called you so many times.”
“I’m sorry—we were at Kitty’s; my phone was on silent.” Answering Rebecca’s call, no matter the time of day or night, had always been her duty as a best friend and a client. She hadn’t been sending a message by not answering—rather, she was weaning herself from a relationship at its end.
“Did you tell them I’m leaving?” Her boyfriend’s tour was being extended, and Rebecca wanted to join him and take time to “clarify my next career steps.” It was a good cover story, Elise thought.
“Not yet. It’ll only make them panic. They seem to think you can help with all of this.”
“Imagine that,” Rebecca said. She was, Elise knew, refusing to be guilted or roped into a fight. Her need for some separation or change would have been plausible had the lifelong struggle between them not come to a head that March, after Rebecca deleted several of Elise’s controversial Instagram posts. Rebecca had said she deleted them because similar content was reposted everywhere; she didn’t think it mattered. But then she admitted being uncomfortable with some of the recent comments on Elise’s page. Then, she said she thought all of Elise’s content as of late had been “off brand.”
Rebecca reminded her about the real racists in the world, waiting for the right moment to reclaim their country. She had always spoken about the “embarrassing” paraphernalia her family collected—her great-great-grandfather and uncles had fought for the Confederacy—in a whisper. “They’re a bunch of sore losers with those sad flags. You know people still dress up and act it all out for entertainment?” Rebecca had had a lot to say after the events in Charlottesville that August.
But back in March, Rebecca had told Elise to focus on acting. She didn’t understand the responsibility Elise felt, as a Black American woman, to speak out. “You donate, a lot. Isn’t that enough?”
Finally, they had stumbled upon the real issue, which was that Rebecca thought Elise’s posts about the #blacklivesmatter movement were “racist.”
Elise was instantly annoyed. “Black people, being the minority, can’t be racist.”
“I understand the philosophical argument, but everyone suffers.”
Elise was speechless. Rebecca had attended one of the best private schools in the country since nursery school and apparently still didn’t know American history. Once, when they were kids, they’d been headed off to Girl Scout camp, and Elise had been nervous she’d be the only Black girl there. Rebecca, trying to help, had suggested, Just pretend like you’re White. No one will notice.
Stunned, Elise had worked to deconstruct Rebecca’s solution. How does someone pretend to be White? What is being White as opposed to being Black?
Elise had given her a pass all those years ago because, well, they were eight. The two had never talked about it again, and Elise sighed, deciding it was childish to bring it up now. Race was never not an issue for Elise, but for Rebecca, there was always a simple solution.
“That’s not even the point.” Elise decided it was time to politely kick Rebecca out her house. “There’s nothing else we need to discuss before tomorrow, right?”
After the blowup that spring, Rebecca had gone to her mother, worried about Elise’s safety and her own. Demands for an apology had come from all sides, but Elise refused. She didn’t have a “sorry” left in her. That week’s inheritance news leak had unleashed a second wave of racist hostility that her team, so far, had ignored—in order, Elise knew, to avoid apologizing for trying to force her apology in March.
Rebecca followed her into the house. “The studio called back. They want you to talk about Kitty, explain your relationship with her.”
“What happened to the wedding angle?”
“They don’t think it’ll stick.”
Elise began shaking her head. “No shit.” She handed the stack of photos to Rebecca. “I love how they say what they want to say after the meeting.”
“This is a difficult position for everyone.” Rebecca sat down. “They’re worried about people boycotting Drag On.”
“So, Kitty’s death explains my anger about racism and police brutality?”
Rebecca squirmed, which let Elise know she had helped craft the spin. “You have a job to do, Elise. They can sue you for breach of contract.”
Elise gave her another look. “I thought you agreed. I can’t talk about Kitty.”
“I don’t know how we get around it now. The studio said—”
“Well, I have not agreed. It’s no one’s business.”
“First, you complain when they say nothing, now, you complain—”
Sarah appeared in the kitchen, having heard Rebecca’s voice. “My gingersnap! You’re here early.” Sarah looked Rebecca over from head to toe. “No jeans tonight.”
“I’m coming back. I just came to pick up the photos.”
Sarah looked between Elise and Rebecca. “What photos?”
“For the life-sizes of Kitty for tonight.”
“Oh, yes, that’s going to look nice.” Sarah produced a bottle of Riesling from the double refrigerator. “Where’s your momma today?” Sarah said, asking about Alison. After working together for thirty years, the two normally talked a couple of times a day.
“Over at my grandmother’s.”
“How’s she doing?” Rebecca’s grandmother was newly widowed and having a hard time being alone. She called Alison and Rebecca constantly.
Rebecca motioned her hand as if to say, So-so. “Flustered about tonight.”
Sarah reached for a glass in the cabinet. “What’s tonight?”
Rebecca and Elise exchanged a look.
“Kitty’s memorial, Mom.”
“I know, but Rebecca’s talking about her grandmother.” Sarah still looked puzzled.
“Kitty invited her,” Rebecca said. “Apparently, they knew each other back in the day.”
“I look forward to hearing that story.” Sarah put more glasses on the table. “You girls want some?” Sarah started a pour for Rebecca before she could answer.
“How are you all doing?” Rebecca asked, touching Sarah’s arm.
“I think we’re all in and out,” Sarah said.
“But mostly out,” Elise said, pouring her own splash of wine. “Vogue and the studio want me to talk about Kitty.” She waited to take some pleasure in her mother’s discomfort.
Sarah took a sip of wine. “So, talk about Kitty, Elise. Someone has to dispel the rumors about her being deranged.”
“How about you?” Elise asked.
“I’m not the one she left money to. Obviously, she wanted you and your sisters to go to bat for her, defend her honor.”
Despite the sarcastic undertone in Sarah’s take, Elise sensed that something about what her mother said was right, but she didn’t think it was about honor. That seemed too egotistical, too shallow for Kitty, who had been so antisocial.
“What did Alison say?” Elise asked.
“We haven’t discussed it,” Sarah said. Rebecca shook her head to cosign Sarah.
Elise started for the door. “I’m going to get dressed.”
“And I need to get to the printer,” Rebecca said, collecting the photographs on the table.
Elise waved and ascended through the gateway of her little slice of heaven. The only thing on her mind, for a change, was a bath and another joint before the night began. Feeling nothing was her aim.
CHAPTER 12
Mary
May 1955
Years flew once Mary fell in love with Richard Collins. They had first met in the third grade, when Richard’s family moved to Cottonwood. He quickly became popular because his father owned a janitorial services company and made enough money for his momma not to have to work.
Mary became fond of him after he announced to the class that he wanted to be a doctor. His confidence had received some snickers.
Mary cornered him later, at recess. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?”
Startled she was speaking to him, he stammered. “I—I don’t know yet.”
“Is your father a doctor?”
“No. He wants me to be. He’s been saving since I was born to send me to medical school.”
Noticing their one-on-one, some of the kids surrounded them, making kissing noises. Richard ran, and thereafter said maybe three words to her until freshman year, when they both ended up in geometry. Richard had spent the summer in Chicago and was taller, darker, and more handsome. They became friends over their shared distaste for their teacher. Sophomore year, she asked him to be her chemistry partner, and midway through the year he finally got the courage to ask to walk her home. They became a couple after a few fish Fridays at her house, at which point Richard admitted he’d been smitten with her since the third grade.
Hazel wasn’t thrilled but, knowing she couldn’t stop Mary’s social activities given her work schedule, continued to impress upon Mary just how much a baby would impede her life. “And he’ll be gone, with another girl just as pretty as you.” Her warnings over the years resulted in Mary being a virgin valedictorian. Richard came in third. All they did, besides some kissing and rubbing, was study.
Hazel filled her Sundays with double doses of church, but Mary had been allowed to come home after morning service to “do homework” with Richard, cook for the week, and write. Her storytelling was the only thing that had lingered post-Lillian.
She thought about Lillian sometimes when they went to Charlotte, but those trips were few and far between. Whenever they did go, it was to run errands for Mrs. Nora, who liked a dress shop and the butcher there. Jim Crow said White patrons had to be helped first, so even if it was Hazel’s turn and another White person walked in, she would have to wait. Hours could be wasted, and on Hazel’s one day off, it was the last way she wanted to spend it. Mary’s skin circumvented such inconveniences.
Late one Saturday afternoon, they were on the bus headed to Charlotte because Hazel had forgotten to pick up Mrs. Nora’s dress for her husband’s eightieth birthday party the next day. Mary squashed herself against the window, as far away from her mother as she could get.
“I know you better stop with that attitude,” Hazel said. “I forgot, and I’m sorry.”
“She could have worn another dress.” Mary could feel her mother’s eyes on her. They had been steel gray for days; completely devoid of blue and the lightest Mary had ever seen them. Mary, knowing they darkened when she was angry, worried this lighter gray indicated a posture devoid of emotion altogether.
It was Senior Week, and Radley’s, the drive-in movie theater, was showing Frankenstein that night in celebration of the Negro class of 1955. The drive-in only permitted Negroes once a month, and for the two weeks since they had gotten the Senior Week schedule, it was all Mary talked about. She hadn’t been to the movies since Lillian stopped coming to Charlotte. It was too risky for her to pass in Winston, and she wouldn’t have sat in the balcony if someone paid her.
Beyond that, she’d been expecting Richard to propose that evening. He was going to borrow his Dad’s Cadillac and had made a reservation for dinner. The weather was supposed to be balmy and romantic—88 degrees, with a breeze. Graduation was in a week, and Mary imagined that the dinner his mother had already planned might be their engagement party.
“You hear me talking to you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mary mumbled, even angrier at being pulled from her fantasy.
“We’ll be back in time.”
They arrived in Charlotte minutes before the dress shop closed. Hazel hustled, giving Mary a sly dagger stare every two steps to hurry. Mary, still seething about how Mrs. Nora could have driven to get her own dress if it was so important, stopped to admire a mustard-yellow dress in a store window with a plunging neckline and a slim, structured bodice. It was perfect for graduation.
Hazel commanded her to “come on” through tight, motionless lips. Mary ignored her and stepped inside the store, knowing Hazel couldn’t. “May I try that dress on?”
“Miss. Mary—”
Mary waved a hand at her mother. “A minute, Hazel.” All this time spent pretending to be White: Mary figured she might as well go all the way and do what she wanted for once.
“Yes, of course, Miss.” The clerk disappeared into the back of the store.
Hazel’s body swelled with anger, consuming the width of the doorframe and blocking the afternoon light. Her eyes narrowed at Mary until they appeared to be closed. Mary heard the clerk’s heels coming behind her and watched Hazel’s anger melt into feigned happiness. “I’ll let the dress shop know you’ll be right along.”
Mary snatched the dress from the woman. “What took you so long? I’m in a hurry.” She shut the dressing room door, breathing fast, too fast, unable to face herself in the mirror. Panicked about the wrath awaiting her, she pushed the door open. It slammed against the opposite wall, alarming the clerk. She ran out without an apology.
Hazel was standing in the street in front of the shop, smoking. She nodded at the CLOSED sign. Her face was straight, her voice was flat. “He’s there but won’t open the door for me.”
Mary knocked, and the white-haired, older White man behind the counter scurried over, smiling and smoothing what little hair he had as he turned the lock. “I’m sorry; we’re closed, Miss.”
“Please? I sent our maid to tell you I’d be right over.”
He eyed Hazel over her shoulder. Mary tried again. “It’s for my grandmother, Mrs. Nora Lakes. I forgot to pick it up earlier. She needs it for a party.”
“Ah, you must be Shirley. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Mary didn’t know who Shirley was but smiled.
He dipped his head in apology. “You know they’ll say anything. I thought she was lying. Wait here.”
Hazel didn’t speak or look at Mary during the two-hour bus ride home. As soon as they were alone, Mary started to apologize but couldn’t form her lips to speak before Hazel’s hand came across her face so hard that she tasted blood.
