The House of Eve, page 8
CHAPTER EIGHT THE INVITATION
Eleanor
True to his word, William had stood waiting outside Ware’s department store at the end of Eleanor’s first day on the job. He had a handful of pink and white lilies and an invitation to dinner. That evening, he kissed her for the first time on a park bench under the glow of the waxing moon, and from that day forward they fell into an easy rhythm. When Eleanor finished her shift at the university library, she’d study alongside him at the same table where she had watched his back for so many months. In between her classes and her double work schedule, William showed her his D.C., with frequent trips to the U Street corridor. They took in movies at the Republic Theatre, ate at all the best restaurants and danced like their bodies were made for each other. Two months had passed like this in an easy, wonderful blur.
Then came Christmas break, and Eleanor couldn’t afford the seventeen-dollar round-trip bus ticket to Elyria, so Nadine invited her to spend the holiday with her family in Petworth, a D.C. neighborhood just northwest of Howard. When Eleanor returned to her dormitory, William was waiting for her once again, this time with a leatherbound book of Phillis Wheatley poems. It was the most thoughtful gift she had ever received.
They spent the rest of the day at his apartment, and between thank-you kisses, and his gentle hands sliding up and down her back, William invited her to brunch at his parents’ house. He had whispered it so casually that Eleanor wasn’t sure she heard him right.
“You want me to meet your parents?” she asked while leaning away, so she could see the expression on his face more clearly.
“What’s wrong with that?” he returned with a sloppy grin.
“Well, suppose they don’t like me?”
“Nonsense.” He ran his finger along the edge of her collar. “They like who I like.”
And now, one week later, they were in his car driving to the Pride residence for brunch, with Eleanor wondering for the umpteenth time if she had dressed well enough to make a good first impression. One of the nice things about her second job at the department store was that she’d managed a few frocks and a pair of calfskin pumps on her discount. With Nadine’s keen eye for fashion, she’d purchased a secondhand wool wrap coat that fell just below her knees. Her lips were painted taffy pink, and her hair was styled in a small bouffant on top with loose curls around her neck. Eleanor had hoped that she looked sophisticated, like the city girls she watched on U Street.
William drove north on Georgia Avenue, and then west on Upshur Street heading into what he had referred to as the Gold Coast. Eleanor had never been this far north and noticed that the longer they traveled, the bigger the homes grew, the longer the driveways, and the more perfectly manicured the wide front lawns. He slowed the car when he reached Blagden Avenue, and then pulled into the circular driveway of what looked like a grand English castle.
“Welcome.” He killed the engine, and Eleanor blinked several times, unable to believe her eyes. The place was enormous, and the oversized driveway was filled with several newer-looking cars.
“Is this where you grew up?” She swallowed hard, staring at the house in awe.
“Yeah. My family was one of the first to break the color barrier on the block. Now though, many of the homes are owned by Negro families.”
The house was even more imposing up close. A turret soared from the top-right corner of the roof, and Eleanor could picture young William and his brother playing games of fortress. The front yard was expansive enough to get up a good game of tag.
The slate stairs fanned in both directions, and when they reached the foyer, an older man wearing a gray vest and stark white gloves greeted them with a hearty smile. “Master William. It’s good to see you.”
After a quick introduction, William asked after the man’s son.
“Hitting the baseball like he’s the next Satchel Paige.”
“That’s what I want to hear.” William clapped the man on the shoulder and then handed him Eleanor’s coat.
“You look lovely,” he whispered, taking in her deep burgundy frock, with puffed shoulders and a high-waisted top. Eleanor squeezed his hand while hoping the butterflies in her stomach would subside. She had not felt this nervous in a long while. Even though she had known that William’s family was much more well off than hers, she’d had no idea that he was white-folk rich.
Inside, the pinewood floors gleamed like glass under her feet and the ceiling soared above her head, with a crystal chandelier catching the afternoon light. They turned in to the parlor, where on the wall above the fireplace was a painting that Eleanor recognized as a piece from Jacob Lawrence’s migration collection. She could only identify it because Mrs. Porter had shown her a recent article about Lawrence’s work in a glossy magazine and had started a hunt to secure something of his for “her collection.” Eleanor cocked her head, wondering if it was an original.
William interrupted her thoughts with two flutes. “You want orange juice or something stronger?”
“Orange juice, please.” She took the flute while wondering if the something stronger wouldn’t have settled her some.
While her father never needed an excuse to drink, her mother didn’t consume libations on Sundays, for it was the Lord’s day, and Eleanor hadn’t really drunk much at all. She couldn’t risk appearing off-kilter in front of these fancy people. While she sipped, her eyes took in the four white women giggling over champagne on tufted velvet chairs. William made the introductions, and the women were pleasant enough, but their presence caught Eleanor off guard. Maybe it was because she had spent so much time at Howard in the constant presence of Negroes, because it had never occurred to her that the brunch would be mixed companied.
William led Eleanor deeper into the house. Every room they entered had beautiful crown molding and detailed paneling. There were heavy mirrors on the wall and vases with sprays of exotic flowers in yellow and lilac and mint green at the very height of bloom. As Eleanor took in all of the elegant touches, from the glass end tables to the Persian rugs, she couldn’t help feeling like she had stumbled into a place where she didn’t belong.
William seemed to feel no such qualms. He came alive, his chest growing in size with each conversation. He introduced her to several more white people, and she continued searching for people who looked like her. How come his family didn’t have any Negro friends? It was odd in a city so fraught with Jim Crow laws. Who were his parents anyway?
In the next room, string music from the phonograph chimed under the laughter and loud bantering between guests. Two older gentlemen—both of them white—clutching half-empty tumblers, were in the middle of a heated discussion.
“Country-ass Negroes, always have to drag us down with this slave history crap,” one man said.
“I think it’s important to remember where we came from.”
“I think it’s important to forget it and move on.”
Eleanor’s jaw dropped. White people talking about Negroes like that? In their own home? Before she could stop herself, she glanced up at William in shock.
“You’ll have to excuse them.” He gestured to the men, whose faces had started to turn red from their debate. “Those are two of my father’s oldest friends. They were roommates at Howard. They argue about the same stuff at every brunch.”
“Howard?” fell from her lips, her head swinging as if on a swivel back in their direction. The men were Negro? Eleanor opened her eyes wider but didn’t see a trace of anything in their features that would mark them as such. Perhaps she had been wrong about the women in the parlor also. Before she could ask William, he reached out his arms.
“Dad.” William embraced a man who was the same sandy-skinned tone as him and almost identical, except for the little relief of his belly and gray streaks in his hair and mustache.
“Eleanor, this is my father. Dr. William Pride Senior.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“The honor is all mine.” His father took her hand warmly in his. Eleanor immediately felt a bit more at ease.
“William, you never told me you were a second.”
“I thought I did.”
“I would have remembered.” She tapped him playfully on the arm, as a sturdy, fair-skinned woman in a winter-white frock, embroidered with rhinestones, moved toward them. Her eyebrows arched up as she looked from Eleanor to William.
“Mother.”
“William, I haven’t seen you in—how long has it been? I couldn’t even say.”
“It’s been a week, Mother.” He leaned in to peck her cheek. She wiped imaginary dust from his lapel, but her eyes were on Eleanor.
“Feels much longer. You act like LeDroit Park is on the other side of the planet.”
“I’ve been studying.”
“Studying what is the question.” She turned her full gaze on Eleanor.
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Pride. You have a lovely home.” Eleanor offered a smile and her hand as she introduced herself, but his mother kept her red painted lips tight.
“Quarles?” She looked Eleanor over. “Are you one of the McLean Quarles?”
“I beg your pardon?” Eleanor looked to William.
“Mother, Eleanor’s from Ohio.”
“Oh.” Rose Pride looked her up and down again, then turned her attention to a brown woman in uniform, who whispered discreetly into her ear. Rose nodded and put up two fingers.
“Which part of Ohio are you from?” she asked, cocking her head as if she wanted to hear better.
“A small town southwest of Cleveland.”
Rose’s expression looked as if she had tasted something bitter.
Just then, the woman in uniform stood tinkling a silver bell. “Brunch is served.”
They followed his parents into the adjacent dining room. The table was elaborately dressed, with gold chargers and ivory linen. Lit candles and magnolia petals streamed down the center, on a silk table runner. A beautiful presentation of stenciled bone china was set before each guest. The table comfortably accommodated sixteen. William pulled out a high-back chair for her and then sat beside her. Eleanor watched as two of the women she had mistaken as white sat next to the red-faced men. Looking at them more closely, she could see the slight spread of the first woman’s nose, and then the other lady’s fuller lips.
It was then that Eleanor realized that she was in a room filled with white-faced Negroes. When she looked down at her hands, she gathered that she was the brownest person at the table. Only the two women serving in uniform and the man who opened the front door were darker. She listened to the guests as they chattered among themselves, and while their pronunciations weren’t quite white, they weren’t full-on the way her people talked either. As she watched, slowly the nuances of their Negro features came to life in the depth of their expressions, shape of their lips, breadth of their noses and richness of their laughs. Her initial impression had been wrong.
Mr. Pride called for grace.
Just as they bowed their heads, the sound of high heels clicked through the hallway. When Eleanor looked up, she saw none other than Greta Hepburn, with an older gentleman at her side, step into the room. Greta dashed straight to Rose Pride, kissing her on both cheeks.
“My mother sends her apologies. She woke up this morning with a splitting headache. She said she’ll telephone you to make plans for lunch later this week.”
Eleanor kept her face even, although her armpits began to sweat. Greta, wearing a lovely sapphire-blue frock with a wide bow at her waist, sashayed around the table bidding everyone hello. Her dress looked more expensive than Eleanor’s entire wardrobe. When Greta finally took her seat, it was directly across from Eleanor and William. She tilted her head in a curt greeting, and then William’s father blessed the food. As the first course of spring salad and tomato soup was being served, Greta looked at Eleanor with a curious expression.
“Eleanor, right? I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Good to see you again, too,” Eleanor replied, knowing full well that Greta knew her name.
Greta turned her attention. “William Pride, you owe me a tennis match. I haven’t seen you at the Heritage Club in ages,” she belted over scrapes of spoons and forks.
“It’s been a while.”
“Well, let’s do it soon. Tomorrow?” she offered with a cheeky grin.
William dropped an arm around Eleanor’s chair. “Things are a bit busy now, but a rain check?”
Greta looked from William to Eleanor and said, “I’ll hold you to it.”
The meal concluded with a fruit salad topped with mint ice cream, and then folks drifted away from the table. Despite the January weather, a few men slipped onto the back patio for a cigar around the firepit, while the women smoked cigarettes in the parlor. Eleanor didn’t seem to fit anywhere, and found herself in the downstairs powder room, trying to make sense of it all. When she came out, Greta was waiting by the door.
“What’s going on between you and William?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Eleanor remembered the spilled drink. “What’s it to you?”
“Just curious—our families go way back.” She eyed her, and then opened her compact and started powdering her nose.
“Yes, you said that.”
Greta turned her gaze onto Eleanor. “Some advice, just between us girls. It would be wise for you to walk away from him. Save yourself the time.”
Eleanor couldn’t believe her audacity, but before she could open her mouth, Greta continued. “I remember your application to the ABCs detailing your busy position at the library. And then I saw you through the window folding sweaters at Ware’s, too. My, I don’t understand how you’d have time for a beau, what with all your jobs.” She spat out the word “jobs” as if it was dirty.
“Just what are you saying?” Eleanor pushed her words out with fury.
Greta closed her compact and slipped it back into her clutch. “I’m just trying to save you the trouble. He’s out of your league, dear one.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Listen,” she took a step forward, “you want to make the Alpha Beta Chi line next semester? Then you best follow my advice.”
Eleanor took a step closer so they were eye to eye. “Sounds like a threat.”
“There are plenty of men on campus for you to rendezvous with. William belongs to us,” she said impatiently, and Eleanor thought she saw a speck of desperation in her honey eyes.
“Well, I guess that’s for him to decide.” Eleanor spun on her heels and went searching for William.
* * *
Eleanor was quiet on the drive back to campus as she relived her conversation with Greta over and over again. Just who did she think she was? And what did she mean by he “belongs to us”? Light-skinned folk? Or Negroes with more money than they could count?
“I’m going to do a little studying at the library. You want to come, baby?” William caressed her knee before grabbing hold of the clutch.
She declined, feigning a headache.
Nadine was painting her nails when Eleanor stormed through their door.
“How was it?”
And then she told Nadine everything. From the castle-like home, to the servants, to mistaking everyone for white only to discover they were all fair-skinned Negroes, to his mother’s questions, and then finally, Greta’s threat.
“That’s old guard D.C. for you. William’s family is the heart of the who’s who, and Rose Pride is the pulse. She sits on every board and is the mistress of ceremony for all the important events.”
Eleanor was silent. She’d known William’s family was important, but she hadn’t realized just how different they’d be.
“Don’t let them get to you. If William likes you, Ohio, then that’s all that matters.” She held up the brush and started on her toes.
Eleanor pulled on a ratty sweatshirt and took the pins from her hair not feeling so sure. She flipped open her textbook and tried to study for her eight a.m. class, but the headache she faked with William felt all of a sudden very real.
CHAPTER NINE CAUGHT UP
Ruby
The first half of tenth grade was nearing the end, and by the middle of January my mother still had not come for me. I did see her at Nene’s house for our annual Christmas dinner, but she didn’t talk to me much. She just sat sipping the special occasion corn liquor that Aunt Marie kept under the sink, while she and Leap played cards with Fatty and Fatty’s latest boyfriend. Inez hadn’t even bothered to bring me a present. Although I knew better than to expect much, I had used the allowance that Aunt Marie had given me and bought her three triangular plastic bracelets. In hindsight, I should have gifted the bracelets to myself because Inez hadn’t even tried them on.
I thought by now her anger would have subsided. Usually, Inez would show up at Aunt Marie’s a few days after dropping me off, with a peace offering of a new hairbrush, clip-on earrings or a sweater passed down from one of her employers. Then she and Aunt Marie would share a few cans of Schlitz and send me to Processed Willie’s for fried fish sandwiches and tartar sauce. After a few hands of gin rummy, she’d say, “Go on, get your things.” I’d hug Aunt Marie goodbye, and tuck my key away for the next time I was exiled.
But that didn’t happen. Now the days had turned into months, and Aunt Marie and I were settled into a weekly routine. She had rearranged her schedule at Kiki’s so she could stay with Nene on Friday nights and I could get to my Saturday enrichment classes on time. I hadn’t been marked tardy since, and as Mrs. Thomas had suggested in our last meeting, I was working like my tail was on fire.
As a requirement for We Rise, we were tested at the end of each quarter to assure that we were educationally sound to continue on. Our second-quarter exams were coming up in less than a week. There was one in English comprehension and another in mathematical equations. I had an ear for language, but math was my Achilles’ heel. Often when the numbers from my math assignments blurred into putty on the page, I found myself wishing I was less apt at art and English and better at science and math, especially if I was going to be an optometrist.
