The House of Eve, page 9
Regardless of my strengths, I needed to score a B+ or above on the exams to remain in the program, so all afternoon I sat at Aunt Marie’s kitchen table working through sample trigonometry problems while listening to the steady patter of rain against the windowpane. The fumes from the furnace made me sneeze constantly and my nose was red from blowing it.
A light rap at the front door broke my attention, but I didn’t move. Aunt Marie ran numbers out of Kiki’s and had a few neighborhood customers who’d drop by the apartment with the bets they wanted her to play. If she wasn’t home, they would wrap nickels or dimes in tissue paper and slip them under the door. I sat quietly waiting for them to leave, but nothing slid through. The knock drummed persistently.
“Who is it?” I made my voice deep.
“Ruby?”
The sound of my name got me up from my seat. I turned all three locks, removed the safety chain and opened the door. Shimmy stood in the hallway, his brown hair sopping wet against his forehead. I hesitated, and then let him in, grabbing a hand towel from the kitchen drawer and offering it to him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been looking for you for weeks. You haven’t been anywhere. I thought you moved back to your ma’s.”
I walked to the bay window and closed it before the rain wet my canvas. Being nowhere had been intentional on my part. I had avoided anywhere where I might run into Shimmy. I stopped shopping on 31st Street on the days he worked, didn’t linger on the front steps, and I purposely took the long way to and from my high school just in case he sought me out. Aunt Marie was right: no good would come from falling for a white boy—and a Jewish white boy at that. My attention needed to stay on my schoolwork so that I could go to college, and I knew Shimmy didn’t fit into my future equation.
But now that he stood in front of me, fixing me with those eyes, and shivering wet, my will went weak.
“Take that wet coat off,” I instructed, and then squeezed the towel through his hair. Our eyes locked, and even though I tried, it was hard for me to pull away. They were so green.
“Sorry for barging in on you. I just needed to know that you were all right.”
“It’s okay. Aunt Marie left for work.”
He looked at my papers scattered across the Formica kitchen table. “What are you up to?”
“Studying for my We Rise exams, the program I told you about. The English I got, it’s math that’s driving me nuts.”
He took a seat. “Let me see.”
I picked up the worksheet packet and a pencil and carried it over to the sofa and handed it to him. Shimmy examined it carefully.
“I’ve been on the same problem for a half hour. I just want to give up. It’s so hard.” I flopped down next to him.
“It’s not, actually. How are you with calculating sine, cosine and tangent?”
“Shaky at best.”
“Okay, an easy way to remember is to first break it down to SOH, CAH and TOA. I thrive when I have a mnemonic device.”
“What’s that?”
“You know, when you put words to letters or create a song to help you remember the order of things.”
“Oh, right. I never made it sound all fancy, but I know what you mean.” I smirked, knocking my knee against his, and then I left it there as Shimmy continued.
“For trig I think of it as ‘The Old Archaeologist Sat on His Coat and Hat.’ Get it?”
I thought for a minute, “TOA, SOH and CAH.”
“Yup, memorize that.” He took my pencil out of my hand. “Can I write on this?”
“Sure.”
Shimmy worked through the next three problems, explaining the relationship between angles slowly, and the cramp around my brain started to clear.
“I think I got it.”
“It just takes practice. Math is muscle memory.” He dropped the worksheet in my lap, and then I felt his hand brush against my knee. The warmth generated from his fingertips made the room go fuzzy.
“I see why you want to be an accountant. You’re good at this,” I said softly.
“Numbers just make sense.” And then he was leaning his face toward mine and time stood still. My brain went to vapor as his nose grazed mine, and then his mouth sank against my lips. It was the sweetest second of my life, but then Leap flashed across my eyelids. Leap’s hands pushed my face against his, Leap, Leap, Leap, and I yanked away from Shimmy.
“I’m so sorry.” His eyes crinkled with confusion.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just—” My voice faded away.
“You are just so beautiful.”
No boy had ever called me beautiful before.
“You are all I can think about,” he murmured, and those words swept away the remains of my resistance to him. I blinked Leap away, forgetting that he was my first kiss, and breathed in Shimmy, pretending that this moment with him was the one that counted.
He took my right hand. “Don’t disappear like that again. You’ve driven me plumb crazy.”
“I won’t.”
Then he held my chin and I pressed in. His tongue tasted like Wrigley’s Doublemint gum, and I left my eyes open, so that I could see that it was Shimmy and not Leap pressing his sweet lips against mine.
I was kissing a boy. A boy who liked me.
Outside, there was a crash, then a boom, and the lights flickered off. We pulled apart and Shimmy sprang to his feet.
“It’s just the power going out. Happens often in a storm.” I stood, rummaged around in Aunt Marie’s kitchen drawer for a match and lit the candle she kept over the sink. Shimmy came up behind me and spun me against his chest. We stared at each other in the hazy, soft light. As he bent down to kiss me again, clunky footsteps crashed on the hall stairs.
“Damn it. That’s probably Pop. He’s been upstairs drinking with Mr. Leroy. Ma is going to kill me if we are late again.” Shimmy moved away from me toward the door. “Can I come for you tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know if I can get away.”
“Well. I’ll be in the alley at eight. I’ll wait fifteen minutes.” He kissed my cheek, and as I stood in the door, I heard him yell, “Pop, you all right?”
When I looked down the stairs, his father was slumped on the landing, feet stretched out wide. The whole hallway smelled of whiskey, or maybe gin. Blood flushed through Shimmy’s face and neck and he shook his head. I watched as he reached down to grab his father under the arm and heave him up.
“Come on, Pop, Ma’s waiting. Are you hurt?”
“Oh-kay,” he slurred, patting Shimmy’s face. “Good boy.”
Shimmy held his dad around the waist and carefully guided him down the last flight of stairs. I closed the apartment door and then walked over to the window. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and I wiped the condensation on the glass with my shirtsleeve.
On the street Shimmy opened the passenger door for his father, put a protective hand over his head and gently helped him into the car. The motion was as tender as putting a baby to bed. From the looks of things, I gathered that Shimmy did this often. He was a good boy. A good boy who liked me, even though we were so different. Shimmy stopped at the driver’s-side door of his father’s fine car and looked up. He waved and I pressed my hand against the window toward him.
In that moment, I knew that I wanted nothing more than to give what was budding between us a chance. Despite the odds, and despite Aunt Marie’s warning.
CHAPTER TEN BAD TASTE
Eleanor
Eleanor and a slim-waisted counter girl named Arlene were managing the women’s section of Ware’s department store when the bell above the glass door rang out. In floated Rose Pride, cloaked in a kelly-green cape with big bell sleeves. She was accompanied by an equally well-dressed woman of the same age, and the sight of Mrs. Pride standing just a few feet away made Eleanor’s stomach quake. She hadn’t seen her since their awkward introduction at brunch a few weeks before, but she’d thought about her plenty.
“Would you take them,” she whispered to Arlene, who adjusted her name badge and then greeted them promptly.
“Welcome to Ware’s, my name is Arlene,” she sang.
While the women inspected the new arrivals at the entrance to the store, Eleanor ducked behind a coat display, out of view of the woman but positioned in a way that she could still see them. Rose’s conversation with the other woman drifted her way.
“Honestly, as hard as we work for these children, you would think they’d do as we tell them.” Rose picked up a satin sailor’s hat.
“I often feel like a broken record,” her friend chimed.
“Would you believe that last month, William brought this ragamuffin girl from the Midwest to brunch? When I asked her what her parents did, she said her father worked at a factory and her mother baked cakes.”
A chill went down Eleanor’s throat and she froze. They were talking about her. Eleanor watched from her hiding space as the friend cut her eyes at Rose and then shook her head in disgust. “William has as much in common with her as he does the gardener.”
“No education whatsoever. Probably still eating hog maws and chitterlings, for God’s sake,” Rose cackled.
“Greta did mention something like that to me,” sighed the friend. “I think that was the brunch I missed.”
“Deenie, honestly, in our day, we did what our parents said. Especially when it came to choosing a mate.”
“True. But you can’t tell these young folks nothing. They think the world started when they were born. All traditions are old-fashioned to them.”
“What’s Greta have to say about William? Does she know anything about this Eleanor from the Midwest?”
“Well, she doesn’t think it’ll amount to much. William is merely passing the time.”
Deenie—Greta Hepburn’s mother, Eleanor surmised—moved from the skirt display to the blouses.
“For the life of me, I can’t figure out why William and Greta aren’t dating. We’ve done everything but build them a house.”
Deenie shrugged. “I guess that’s a question for William, dear. Greta is willing and ready. She’s graduating from Howard in the spring, and suitors are calling. None as well suited as William, of course.”
Eleanor bristled.
Rose handed a few blouses to Arlene, who carried them back to the dressing room.
“Well, sweet Greta shouldn’t have to wait. I’ll have to talk some sense into my thickheaded son.”
Rose and Deenie followed Arlene back to the lounge to try on their clothes. Eleanor stayed hidden until the women were safely tucked away.
Once she heard the doors click behind them, Eleanor found her boss in the men’s shoe section. The fragrance of shoe polish and leather filled her nostrils.
“Do you mind if I excuse myself for lunch?” she asked.
“It’s a bit early,” he said and tapped his watch.
“I’m feeling light-headed. I skipped breakfast,” she pleaded.
Once he nodded, she took off for the break room, where she couldn’t stomach more than a few carrot sticks. Rose Pride had called her a ragamuffin and insulted her parents. She had never felt so second class in her life, and for it to come from the lips of a Negro woman her mother’s age made the cut feel even deeper. It wasn’t right. The way they talked, William was a prince, trifling with a poor little handmaid.
Granted, her father did request chitterlings on New Year’s Day, along with his black-eyed peas and collard greens, but that was beside the point. And why were they so worried about Greta? She was drop-dead gorgeous and could have any man at Howard with the snap of her fingers. The longer Eleanor sat there, the more enraged she became.
By the time her break was over, she had pulled herself together and pasted a smile on her face. Out the front window, she could see the two women strolling with several bags down 14th Street. It had just begun to snow lightly, and Eleanor wished she’d remembered to bring her galoshes. She had on her good shoes, and she couldn’t afford to ruin them.
The rest of Eleanor’s shift seemed to drag on forever. When it was finally time to punch the clock, she grabbed her handbag and hurried out into the winter chill. The crisp, brisk air did nothing to soothe the agitation that rested in the base of her spine.
“Eleanor,” William called with his head thrown from the window of his car.
She had not expected him to come pick her up, nor did she wish to be a stain on his name. Since his mother didn’t want them together, then she would make it easy for her. She continued traipsing down the sidewalk without responding to William’s call.
But by the time she had made it to the corner, he’d pulled the car to the side of the road, gotten out and caught up to her. He grabbed her elbow. “Elly, what’s wrong?”
The name of endearment and the concern in his eyes made her feel foolish, and her determination to walk away from him dissolved.
“Nothing.” She lowered her chin.
“Something is definitely wrong. Let me take you home.” He tucked her under his arm and led her to the car.
Without asking for permission, William took her back to his apartment. They had spent afternoons there in between Eleanor’s work shifts and curfew every weekend since they had met. William had a roommate, but she had only met him once. He unlocked the apartment door and then reached for her coat.
“Why don’t you have a seat, baby. I’ll make you some tea.”
William had a bevy of Ebony and Life magazines on the coffee table, and she flipped through one of the Ebony magazines without really looking at the pages. A few minutes later, William returned with a bamboo tray and a warm mug of peppermint tea with cream and sugar. He had so much class.
“So, you ready to tell me why you were ignoring me just now?” William reached down for her leg and gently dragged her foot into his lap. While she blew on her mug, he started to massage the ball of her foot through her nylons, hitting all the pressure points. She suppressed a moan.
“Babe?” He gazed at her. “What’s up?” His brows were knitted in concern, his look so loving that Eleanor nearly quashed the whole thing. But she needed to know. She looked around the spacious apartment, taking in all the well-appointed furniture that could have been featured in the magazine she was holding.
“Did your mother decorate this place for you?”
“How’d you guess?”
“I see the resemblance in taste from the house you grew up in. So unlike mine.” She said those last three words quietly.
“Well, if I give my mother an inch.” He gestured at the artwork on the wall.
Eleanor looked down into her mug searching for courage. “Listen, I have enjoyed these past few months with you more than words can say. But folks like you don’t want to see us together.”
“Folks like me?”
She nodded. “With means. Living high off the hog, as my mother would say. I don’t come from any of this.” She gripped her mug tighter. “I grew up in a shotgun house. Do you even know what that is?”
He shook his head.
“It means that when you open the front door you can see clear through to the kitchen. All in one shot. My daddy worked my whole life at Ridge Tool Company. Biggest factory around. When he made it to operator three, he sat my mother down from her job as a school lunch lady. But she didn’t sit long.”
William’s fingers stopped moving.
“She got in her mind that I was going to college, so she turned her love of baking into a business. Would be up all night mixing and stirring, and then out all day dropping off deliveries. And that’s how I come to be here, at Howard. I don’t have a fancy last name that can open doors for me. My mama’s cakes and my daddy’s factory work is what got me in the door. And a lot of studying and ingenuity on my part.”
“I’m so glad you shared that real part of yourself with me. It means a lot.”
“Well, I’m telling you all of this because I think Greta would be a better fit for you.”
He snorted. “Greta? Where did that come from?”
“She cornered me at your parents’ house last month, telling me to leave you alone. That you weren’t my kind.”
His brows crinkled. “Greta’s parents and my parents have been shoving us together since second grade.”
“And?”
“And nothing. There’s no chemistry.” He switched out her left foot for her right one. “I see her more like a cousin.”
“Kissing cousins?”
“Where is all this coming from?”
Something cautioned Eleanor against telling William about overhearing the mothers’ conversation at the store.
“It’s just, if you were meant to be with someone else, you know, the girls you grew up with…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to finish with the rich, fair-skinned, and connected ones.
William paused. “Baby, I’m not caught up in all that class and colorism bullshit. It doesn’t matter to me where you come from. I just want to spend time with you.”
Eleanor bit her lip to contain the swell of solace she felt hearing that. But she still wasn’t sure what to believe.
“Elly, look at me.”
After a moment, she looked up from her mug and joined eyes with him.
“My family has their way of doing things, but I’ve never been one to get in line. I love you, and I want us to be together.” His fingers moved from the heel of her foot and rolled her ankle. It was the first time he had ever said those words and she shivered with relief.
“Unless you feel different.”
“I don’t, I feel the same way about you. Just not trying to get my heart broken.” Her voice was husky.
“Never.” He kneaded her calf, made his way up to her kneecap, and then he was kissing her neck, her cheek, her chin. Finally, he found her mouth, with a hunger that she felt pulsate all the way down to the tips of her toes.
