Did You Hear About Kitty Karr?, page 22
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Lucy said, noticing Kitty’s wonder. “Mine and Laurie’s childhood home was one room.”
Lucy now lived in a house far grander, but Kitty appreciated she hadn’t forgotten where she came from. “My momma and I slept in the same bed,” Kitty said.
Lucy started out of the driveway and then hit the brakes as a black Buick lurched from its parked position at the curb. The Negro man at the wheel waved in apology, distracted by kisses from his passenger. When he made a U-turn in the middle of the street, Kitty saw Nina McCullough nestled underneath his arm before they passed in opposite directions. “Was that Nina?”
Lucy handed her cigarette to Kitty to light. “If anyone or anything made your sister uncomfortable around us, it was Nina. But that’s only because Emma didn’t understand.” Lucy tapped the steering wheel as she drove. “Love is rare for women like us. So if you find it, grab it. But you must know, sometimes we’re mistresses first—sometimes forever—and usually second or even third wives.”
“That’s a sin.” Kitty wasn’t religious, but she did believe in the basics; marriage-only consummation had been the easiest one. Seeing what her mother had gone through raising her, being unmarried with a child wasn’t a road she planned to travel, or even parallel. Lying, stealing, and killing—most folks, if they were being honest, could see just cause for all three.
“For us, it’s a haven. As a mistress, you get all a man’s affections and none of his expectations. You never have to worry about him wanting a baby. You eat at the best restaurants, get gifts of jewelry and fine clothes. You’re taken care of, but you don’t always become a wife.”
“Is that how you met Jack?”
“No. I’ve been lucky. Happened to me just like it does in the movies. Twice. People say love like that doesn’t really exist, but they couldn’t write about it if it didn’t. Losing it is agony. That’s why I understand Nina.”
“Your first love was Negro?”
Lucy held up her fingers. “And my second and third. Have you ever been in love?”
“I’m not sure.” Despite her sadness over how things ended with Richard, her feelings for him weren’t enough to return to what could have been. Still, she worried about him and hoped that he didn’t hate her. Thinking he did hurt her more than losing what they’d called love.
“What about Nathan?” Lucy gave her a curious look when they stopped at a light.
“I’m not sure.”
Lucy adjusted the rearview mirror. “Marry one day, but only if it’s right. After all, you can be married and completely disregarded by your husband. Then it’s all work and no reward. Security is important. But men will be there, trust me—and for you, especially.”
“Maybe we should all marry so we don’t die alone,” Kitty said, thinking of her mother, who probably would. A lump rose in her throat. Hazel never talked about having romantic interests. She was Lefred and Adelaide’s willing third wheel, but she was thirty-five, and it saddened Kitty to think that would be the end of her story.
“Marriage doesn’t ensure that. The only surety is money. It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor one.” Again, Lucy sounded like Emma. “Marriage is a good thing, but there’s a lot of responsibility in it too.” She rolled her eyes. “More for women.”
“Now.” Lucy’s voice lowered. Kitty had noticed they all whispered when speaking about Blair House; soon she would adopt the same practice, able to conduct an entire conversation at a barely audible pitch. “That was Thomas you saw Nina with. Her first husband was also Negro. He was the love of her life; that’s why she vacillates over the color line the way she does. They knew each other as kids. He was a cook and got hired at a hotel downtown. They promised to promote him, but instead, they stole all his recipes and let him go. He started drinking, disappearing for weeks. To leave, she passed, hoping he’d never find her. Two years later, she met Titan.”
“Is it a coincidence she married a hotelier?” Kitty asked.
“Nothing we do is by coincidence.” Lucy pushed the gas pedal, flying through a light just as it turned red.
* * *
Holden’s, just down the road from Blair House in Beverly Hills, was three stories high, with gold-trimmed windows and doorframes. When they pulled up to the curb, two Negro men in black tuxedos and red bow ties approached either side of the car. Kitty went for the door handle, but Lucy stopped her. “Let them.”
“Good evening, ma’am.” The man, who was balding, kept his eyes to the ground.
“Thank you, sir,” Kitty said.
He looked at her, startled she’d spoken.
Coming around the car to take her arm, Lucy joked, “Why don’t you kiss him on the cheek too?”
Kitty hushed her. “I was being polite.”
“You don’t thank people for doing their jobs, Kitty.”
The store’s golden double doors floated open thanks to a second pair of older Negro men. This time, Lucy greeted them both. “Mr. Banks. Mr. Stills.” Neither acknowledged her nor flinched at her greeting. Their faces remained blank, trained not to betray them. “Addie’s and Liberty’s husbands,” Lucy said as they continued toward the women’s department. “Liberty’s husband is writing a piece, and Mr. Banks offered to let him shadow him.”
“Liberty’s husband is a writer?”
“A prolific writer. He writes speeches for the movement.”
“You didn’t know the men at the car?”
“No. Unless I say so, we don’t, and you should act regular. Don’t be too nice.” She sifted through a rack. “Does Emma have a charge account here?”
“No,” Kitty said, “because her sister does.”
“What does that matter?”
“Emma took her real name. We both took her sisters’ real names.”
Lucy didn’t look happy to hear this but, seeing the clerk coming, held an emerald-green dress up to her rail-thin frame. “This would be perfect for Christmas. My in-laws do a big party every year, with tree trimming, carols, a petting zoo, and fireworks. Quintessential Christmas.”
“It’s beautiful. Is that your right size?” The salesclerk smiled as though she knew Lucy. Lucy stared at her. The clerk stammered a bit before adding, “Mrs. Schmitt?”
Lucy spoke then, still a little unfriendly. “It is, but I need one in her size too.” Lucy gestured to Kitty’s yellow dress. Borrowed from Emma, it was a little big. “We’re shopping for her. She needs a signature look,” she said.
The salesclerk pulled out a measuring tape and secured it first around Kitty’s hips and then her bust. She scurried off as though Lucy’s instructions were clear.
“The way you dress is a message to the world. You’re about to have a whole new life, and it’s time to say”—Lucy shimmed her shoulders—“something. You’ll come everywhere with us, and you’ll need to be dressed.”
“Where?”
“Ballrooms for parties and fundraisers, dinners at private homes and clubs, the opera, plays—everywhere,” Lucy said, sifting through the dress rack.
“But Nathan expects me in the office until evening.”
“We rarely go before nine.” Lucy handed her a red ball gown with a full skirt. “You’ll want to always look your best. No one’s going to be persuaded to do something by someone who doesn’t look like they belong.”
The salesclerk returned with an armful of clothes. Lucy picked about fifteen pieces for Kitty to try on: separates and matching sets in neutral and bright colors, and more evening gowns.
In the dressing room, Kitty admired herself in outfit after outfit, feeling more like the version of “Kitty” she imagined. Every skirt, dress, and jacket was made with the finest fabric and looked just right on her frame.
“I can’t afford any of this.” Kitty touched the red skirt. “This alone is two weeks of my pay.” She had opened a savings account with the money her mother gave her, but she didn’t want to touch it.
Lucy took everything to the cashier. “Telescope has an account for costuming.”
Their purchases left them with little sitting room in her car. Lucy tried to wrangle the ruffles and netting of several dresses behind the seats. “I think I got carried away.” Once she’d secured one side, the other would pop up. They howled at the ridiculousness of it until they were red in the face and gasping for air, their joy painful now. Kitty rode home smoking a cigarette and feeling as though life couldn’t get any better than it was right then.
But it did.
When she got home, she found Emma in a good mood. Every light was on, Little Richard was playing, and she was cooking. She spun around, pointing a metal soup spoon like a weapon when Kitty tried to sneak past the kitchen.
“What’s all that?” Emma pointed to the dress bags Kitty was struggling to hold. A dollop of tomato sauce dripped from the spoon onto the floor.
“Clothes from Wardrobe.” Kitty had made sure the scripted Holden’s name was hidden before she came in.
“That’s a lot of things.”
Kitty nodded at the stove. “Nice of you to cook.”
Emma pouted her lips. “It’s not for you per se. It’s for dinner tomorrow night. You’re my tester.”
“Who’s it for?”
“Rick.”
“Who?” Kitty was thrilled to hear a man’s name besides Nathan’s come out of her sister’s mouth. “Let me hang these things. I’ll be right back.”
Rick Denman, Kitty learned, was a friend of Judy’s fiancé. He was an executive at a manufacturing company, and they’d been out, almost every evening, for the past month.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“’Cause I always talk about things too soon, and they never work out.” In the same breath, she grasped both of Kitty’s hands. “But I think he’s going to propose.” He had invited her to his family’s house in Minnesota for Christmas.
“That’s wonderful!”
“I don’t know if I should go. He has four sisters. His wife died five years ago, but she was close with all of them.” Emma feared her ability to win over so many people. Lincoln’s parents had been alive but barely coherent, a state Emma preferred; they wouldn’t have known had he gotten married, had a child or, quite frankly, died. These were safer familial circumstances. “You know how nosey women can be.”
“Go.” The proposal was Emma’s greatest chance for happiness before Judy’s wedding, paramount for Kitty’s peace.
“You really think so?”
“Yes. You’re in here cooking for him, and you don’t cook for yourself.”
Emma dropped the spoon against the side of the pot. “Is it too much?”
“No. You like him.” Kitty found it sweet.
“I’ve never been happier.”
Remembering Lucy’s words about her duty as a sister, Kitty put on an apron. “Might as well make him dessert too.”
CHAPTER 23
Kitty
November 1955
“She sings here twice a month,” Lucy said of Billie, who was onstage two nights later at Reed’s Nightclub. She was backed by a Negro band, but aside from them and the servers, everyone, including the dance line, was White. Kitty recognized the saxophonist as the man who had been with Nina in the car.
Kitty’s unit, plus Mamie—who had decided to pass that night to scope out musicians—were at a table in the back.
“Some are Cuban,” Cora said, of the dancers. “Half the time you can’t tell the difference until they speak.” Cora gestured to a table near the stage, where Billie’s husband sat. At thirty-five years old, he was already a judge. “He’s her biggest fan. Goes to every show. Sweet—but also how she got three children.”
“I thought having children wasn’t a good idea?” Kitty asked.
“Billie got lucky. Both her parents are half-White, so far it worked out—which, you know, is rare. All three of them are White as snow. She’ll never tell them,” Cora said.
“Never?”
“It’s a personal choice.”
“Is singing her work?”
“It’s just a hobby. She’s working to get more libraries built around the city,” Cora said.
“How?” Kitty remembered going to the library for story hour sometimes in Charlotte. She liked going until she learned she couldn’t borrow a book, because she couldn’t use her real name on the library card.
“By steering her husband’s passion for advocacy away from animals and toward the Colored folks down the street.”
“He wasn’t suspicious?”
“If he wasn’t a good person, he might have been.”
“But he is,” Nina said. “Talked about the Emmett Till trial nonstop to anyone who would listen—wanted those boys to be found guilty.”
Kitty was introduced when Billie brought her husband over after her blues set. “Kitty’s in development at Telescope.”
He and Nathan, it emerged, had gone to the same university. “Tell him hello for me. Bastard sure got lucky.”
“Don’t you all…” Cora sniped under her breath as he and Billie kissed goodbye. She slid into the chair next to Lucy. “He starts a trial tomorrow.”
Maude put out her cigarette. “Can we go now? I’m hungry.” She looked down at her uneaten plate of smothered chicken.
Kitty had never heard sweeter words. Her baked chicken was undercooked, and so was the lemon cake she’d ordered instead.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you.” Billie looked around the table. “They brought in a new kitchen staff. Complaints about how many Blacks were on payroll.”
Maude’s hand popped in the air. A very young, blond waitress came over. “The chicken was disappointing tonight.”
“This too,” Cora said, pushing her meat loaf to the center of the table. Nina followed with her Cobb salad, as did Mamie.
“Can you send over the manager?”
Billie gave a sympathetic look to the girl, who looked ready to cry. “Let me get some help.”
The help was Liberty and Lilly.
“Guess you all heard,” Liberty said, slowly reaching for the first discarded plate. Her lips barely moved. “They had them prep for the weekend and then let them go this morning.”
Kitty continued eating around the raw bits of her cake.
“Tell them to call Jimmy at the hotel; we’ll hire them,” Nina said.
“Will do,” Liberty said.
“Still want the manager?” Lilly said.
“Several calls over the next week or so would be better,” Lucy said.
Liberty’s tone dropped to address Kitty. “Kitty, give me your plate.”
Kitty sighed and let her fork drop. It seemed no one ate in Los Angeles.
As the slice passed by, Nina put her cigarette out in it. “I’m ready too.”
“All right; see y’all in a bit,” Liberty said. She and Lilly led the line as those passing let their voices carry over the music about how disappointing their meal was.
At the door, Nina and Mamie decided to take a cab.
“Be careful,” Cora said, as the others piled into her Rolls Royce, chauffeured by the Tates’ longtime driver, Percy Mitchell, who was also a friend of Blair House.
Almost an hour later, they arrived at an older but stately house with a porch and baskets of lilac flowers hanging from the windows.
“Where are we now?” Kitty asked.
“Mamie’s Place. Everyone is a friend here.”
Something savory Kitty couldn’t name engulfed her nose as the tempo of the music coming from inside pulsed through her body. The door opened, and a rush of heat hit her face as they all piled in, squeezing through the tiny spaces between dancing bodies and out of the back door to where tables sat in the open yard.
Kitty took a deep breath of air and the cigarette Maude handed her. She and Kitty had bonded earlier after learning they were each the lightest in their family. Maude’s family tree was a stump beyond her great-grandparents, but none of them were White.
“My father is White,” Kitty said, feeling defensive at the way Maude said it.
Maude seemed surprised. “You’re directly mulatto?”
“That means half and half?”
“Sorta, yes—who can keep up?”
A familiar group waved them over. Nina was already there and had changed from her dress into trousers and a button-up shirt.
“Nina, did you tell—” Cora started.
“Please, not tonight,” Laurie said, with a drag of her cigarette. She brushed some of her hair back, but it rose again, still untied and bushy. “I’m in a good mood, and”—she nodded toward the house—“Charles is here.” Laurie’s longtime beau didn’t know anything of her involvement with Blair House, atypical for the non-passing women there. Many of their husbands helped the mission, or were involved in their own efforts, but Charles thought Negroes should stop pushing for inclusion. He wanted to leave the country and be done with it.
“Tell people our hotels are hiring,” Nina said. “That’s the point.”
“Have you confirmed that?” Laurie said.
“Don’t worry.”
“I’ll put it in the newsletter.” Sammie, short for Samantha, drummed her plum-painted fingers on the table. She had just married an officer in the NAACP. She had a slender face, perfect for her short, coiled halo of brown hair.
“She’s a typist for the organization,” Edna, seated next to Sammie, said to Kitty from across the table.
“Mostly I get coffee and file their memos after the fact.” Sammie shrugged. “But at least I’m in the room.”
“And it’s an important one to be in,” Laurie said.
“Are you two sisters?” Kitty pointed between Sammie and Edna. Their skin tones varied by five shades, and their features didn’t match, but that meant nothing.
“Cousins,” Edna said.
“He could have not wanted you to work at all,” Lilly interjected. Being able to provide for a wife and three children was her husband’s biggest source of pride. Lilly, only ever having wanted one child, was overwhelmed with three. Kitty would later hear from Harriet, who tutored some of the Blair House kids on the weekend, that Lilly was often hours late to pick hers up. Harriet was a teacher’s assistant at an exclusive all-White preschool. The all-White aspect was an expectation, but not a rule, that Harriet was working to dismantle.
