"Who's Rat?" Pearl asked in a pleading tone.
"My sister," Johnnie Mae answered, exasperated with Pearl's pretending not to know about Rat.
"You call your sister Rat? How your mama let you call her a name like that?"
"She doesn't know it. She doesn't have to know everything. They don't have to know every thing."
"Eventually they find it out."
"She don't have to know."
"She's gonna know you've been up to something. Your clothes're all wet."
"Shut up! It's none of your business, scaredy-cat. You're scared of your own shadow — just like Rat. You're scared o( everything. Being a scaredy-cat draws trouble like a magnet. Being scared draws a mad dog to you like a magnet."
The angry petulance that had Johnnie Mae in a tangle with Pearl was familiar. Often she had been so angry with Clara. The scaredy-cats were always standing back with their hands folded meekly, hoping to grab fun on the go. They were always hoping to pick up what fun and adventure somebody else would make. They could pick it up like lumps ot coal
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fallen from the back of a coal truck. They got their fun and adventure by accident. Johnnie Mae wanted to make the fun —make the adventure—pull something down into her lap.
The girls stood there on the embankment with arms folded across their chests, mad at each other. Johnnie Mae felt wet and stinky. The river water and her own urine had made her clothes a mess. Pearl was right. Her mother would notice and would demand to know where she'd been and what she'd been doing. They'd better leave right away. She'd better get back to the house and change and rinse out these things and make up some story about it.
"Come on, scaredy-cat," she said, turning her back on Pearl, who was still facing toward the Three Sisters. Over her shoulder she flung a threat. "If you tell, I'll put my foot in your butt."
Alice, Ina, Miz Iola Perryman, Mi: Hattie Miller, Miss Elizabeth Boston, and Miss Clementine Chichester boarded the streetcar at Wisconsin Avenue and P Street in a fluttery state of excitement to travel to Union Station to meet Miss Gladys Pern-man's train. Gladys Perryman, the niece by marriage of Miz Iola Perryman, was arriving from New York to settle with her aunt and uncle in Georgetown. Miz Iola's endless bragging at church about her husband's brother's girl, who was attending Madame C. ]. Walker's school for beauty culture in New York City, had whipped up anticipation oi her arrival. According to Miz Iola, Georgetown was getting a true artiste of the hot comb. Here was someone who'd surely raise the standards oi taste among the tasteful women. Miz Iola gathered up an eager committee o{ women and girls to meet Gladys's train at Union Station.
Johnnie Mae thought the whole thing was a silly waste of time. Mama insisted upon dressing up in her Sunday things, and Johnnie Mae was made to dress up too. Aunt Ina, who had
been going on and on about Miss Gladys Perryman, insisted upon going to the station to meet her. She said she'd invite Miss Perryman to join their penny-savers club and Mama said she thought Miss Perryman might hold herself a bit above such activities.
Riding downtown on the bus and walking through the streets with Mama and Aunt Ina and Miz Iola Perryman and the other ladies, Johnnie Mae slunk back a bit. She tried to lean into a place of shadow created by her mama's body standing against the outside world o{ Washington. She knew she was too big a girl for this. She knew that this feeling belonged to a time when she was a much younger child and had walked through the streets or ridden on a bus with her parents. When they ventured out into the larger Washington city world, some inexplicable thing, a force or something, was out there that Papa and Mama and Aunt Ina had to buffer against. Their faces and torsos anxiously breasted a tide of strange looks and behaviors. The thing was amorphous, was an ill-defined, unsure feeling that the adults had when they left Georgetown. Mama was always fussy about their clothes and hair when they got aboard a streetcar. Several times on this trip Johnnie Mae brushed off the front of her dress and smoothed her hair.
Mama had insisted that Johnnie Mae ask if Pearl could go along. Upon hearing of the outing, Hattie Miller included herself. Like Johnnie Mae, Pearl was acting sullen on the bus trip to the station.
Perhaps the white people seemed so numerous in Washington city because the colored people were so few on the downtown streets. When Johnnie Mae had gone across town
to the Howard theater tor a musical show or over to Griffith Stadium for a baseball game, the streets there were thronged with black and brown and yellow people, as well as whites. The U Street thoroughfare was thick with people. But on the streets of downtown, dark faces were scarce.
Gladys Perryman descended from the train and seemed to glide through the station without touching the marble floor. Her tall, willowy frame, outfitted in a chic white wool suit of recent fashion, caused the welcoming committee to sigh and adjust their clothes, smoothing and patting themselves. Miz Iola drew up with pride, pulling in her derriere and hoisting her breasts high with dignity. Asa Perryman's girl was already a sensation and she had not yet set foot in Georgetown!
All eyes went to Gladys's head. On it she wore a jaunty, crescent-shape cloche stuck through with a low-hanging turkey feather. The hair that was visible beneath the hat was arranged in shiny, frothy curls. Touching a white handkerchief to her throat, Gladys said, "How do you do." The committee giggled and answered with a round of "How do." A small, enigmatic smile came to rest on Gladys Perryman's lips. Miz Iola stepped forward and, looking upward into Gladys's pretty face, took her by the shoulders and kissed each oi her cheeks. Each woman stepped forward as she was introduced and smiled warmly. Johnnie Mae and Pearl curtsied.
Gladys was pleased with her reception. It had been worth it to drain her savings for the new suit and hat. A stunning appearance was worth every penny it took for a woman in the business oi making other women beautiful. As Madame C. J. Walker herself said, "Meticulous grooming is a beautician's best advertisement."
The women allowed Miz Iola to take Gladys's arm while several of them grabbed up her luggage. Johnnie Mae and Pearl tussled over a small train bag and ended with Pearl relinquishing it to Johnnie Mae when her mama chastised her with her eyes. Flanked by her coterie of admirers, Gladys crossed Union Station's waiting room floor with head held high and ambitions soaring.
Gladys had certainly caused a ripple among the women who came to welcome her at the station. She took this to mean that the Negro women of Georgetown were ready to buy the magic she could let loose from jars and combs. She would set the tone! She, Gladys Perryman, graduate of Lelia College in New York City, would lead them out of the backwater of beauty culture and into the promised land!
Gladys Perryman was a marvel to Johnnie Mae. It would be silly to say that the turkey feather was the thing that had done it. But it was the thing that had captured her attention, that made an impression on her. That large turkey feather, sticking through the hat at such an angle, was so lovely and daring. Johnnie Mae had never seen a woman so vibrant. Her own mother was pretty — everyone thought so. And there were other pretty women in Georgetown. But no one of them had the look that Gladys Perryman had when she first appeared at Union Station. She was striking and she looked as if she'd planned it that way. That was it! She wasn't just pretty by accident. Gladys Perryman was beautiful on purpose. And Johnnie Mae could tell that all of the women in the welcoming group were envious of Gladys Perryman's fine clothes and bearing. The whole of the ride home on the streetcar, Gladys could well have been the queen of Georgetown for the fawning attentions she got from the committee. And she sat
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straight and dignified, wearing white gloves with pearl buttons on the delicate hands that rested one atop the other near her left knee.
Dr. Marvin Tyler could have sent his daughter Sarey to Miz Jackson or someone or other to get her hair pressed. Or he certainly could have sent her across town in Washington city to a hairdresser. But there was some feeling akin to shame that washed over him when he cons
idered it, and he reproached himself for feeling shame in connection with so small a thing. He was further ashamed of feeling ashamed of Sarey's hair. He knew that some portion of this feeling sprang from Sarey herself, who seemed so aware of his feelings and stoked the flames of this shame with her eyes and her manner.
The new hairdresser, or "beautician," as she advertised herself, gave the impression of being bound by a professional ethic of secrecy. The neatly lettered sign said simply Gladys perryman, beautician, and conveyed a sense of confessional sanctity, a solemn code of confidentiality. She would work her magic and not tell her tricks.
Being used to his wife's light cream color, the doctor was surprised that he was enamored of Gladys Perryman's skin, which was the color of strong pekoe tea, the color of some leaves in autumn. Being used to the delights of his wife's long, straight hair, he was surprised that his eyes fancied Gladys Pern-man's glossy black hair.
Gladys ushered Sarey into the kitchen at the back of her aunt and uncle's house. "We'll take our time, Doctor," she said, turning to the doctor, who had started to follow his daughter into the kitchen. He stood looking directly into
Gladys's eyes, wanting to bring his hands up from his sides and touch her face. "She's a big girl, Doctor. I'll send her home when she's done," Gladys said as she accompanied him back to the front door. He paused just inside the parlor doorway and proffered a dollar bill.
"Children are only fifty cents, Doctor. I'll do my best."
"Yes, but please, I have no change."
"Then you won't owe me for the next time," she said, smiling sweetly and taking the bill.
Surprised at himself, Dr. Tyler rubbed the brim of his hat between his fingers like a schoolboy and wondered where the feeling of excitement in Gladys Perryman's presence could be coming from. His voice was scratchy and uncertain when he said, "Thank you, Miss Perryman. I have my calls to make." He turned and left.
Gladys gave Sarey's scalp a vigorous washing over a tub in her aunt's kitchen. However, the brushing and oiling and pressing was done with a gentleness to which Sarey was unaccustomed. Gladys encouraged the girl while she worked, chirping, "You've got a nice suit of hair. It just needs cultivating. We'll work on it." Sarey's hair was as close to a rat's nest as any she'd seen, but Gladys was excited by the challenge of creating beauty out of the mess on top of the girl's head.
Sarey flinched when she felt the heat of the hot comb near her ears. Gladys was careful, though, and no streams of hot grease slid down her neck or seared her ears. Sarey became relaxed after a while, and though she didn't hold out much hope that her head would finally look like Miss Perryman's, she prayed fervently that it would.
Sarey's hair looked perfectly presentable for the first time ever when Gladys Perryman finished with her that day. On
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subsequent visits — Sarey begged her father to be allowed to go every week — Gladys built upon the cultivation she had begun in the first visit. She pressed and brushed the hair away from the girl's hairline and plaited it tightly in two braids. After several months, Sarey's hair grew and thickened and became lovely. So much had been done with so little that other women and girls were heartened. If Gladys Perryman could work a miracle on Sarey Tyler's head, then she could fix anyone's. It was the best advertising Gladys could have wanted. Gladys built a clientele so quickly that she had work in her aunt's kitchen every day but Sunday. Within weeks she began to dream of having her own shop. Wednesday evening and all day Thursday, the kitchen mechanics' day off, were busiest. The muscles in Gladys's upper arms would be cramping on her by the time the last of Thursday's heads was done. But this schedule gave her the luxury of resting late in the morning, especially on Fridays. She relished this time when she could take a long, perfumed bath while her aunt and uncle were out working. She could spend time oiling her skin and pressing and curling her own hair. She could loll around and dream about having her own storefront on the avenue. She could put on a pretty dress and take a parasol and walk down Wisconsin Avenue in the late afternoon, coyly shopping for vegetables and fruit.
The breeze that was stirring was foul smelling and blew up from the Hoptenmeier rendering plant near the Potomac River's edge. The air was noxious. Alice felt like a rag doll as she walked up Wisconsin Avenue to the St. Pierres' house. When she reached the crest oi the hill at Wisconsin and R streets, she paused to huff" and blow and dab at her forehead.
A harsh truth had to be faced: the St. Pierres' household accounts were going unpaid. This was the pitfall of working for one family. When their fortunes turned sour, your bread was likely to go unbuttered.
Alice entered the house by the back kitchen door as usual. And as usual, she listened for Alexis's footsteps coming toward the kitchen. In happier times, Alexis was accustomed to coming into the kitchen as soon as Alice arrived. She would begin their day together with a cheery greeting. Alice had liked her for that. Throughout the day, Alexis kept company with Alice when she was not engaged in her club meetings and social obligations.
The house was quiet and dark when Alice arrived. The
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drapes in the front room were closed against the HOX10US air
outride, and no lamps were lit. Though it was nearly an hour before she heard Alexis descend the stairs, Alice knew she was in the house. When Alexis came into the kitchen, she was wearing a dull pink wrapper. Her hair was gathered messily into a pony tail, and dried material was caked at the corners of her eyes. The sight of her shocked Alice. Alexis had always comported herself with circumspection about her clothes and hygiene. And though she had always been friendly and easygoing, she was never anything less than properly dressed and ladylike. Alexis had never been one for suffering vapors or lolling about in her nightclothes. She was energetic and she enjoyed her activities, her gardening and her knitting and her club meetings.
"Miz St. Pierre, you feeling all right?" Alice asked with genuine concern. If she was sick it had come on suddenly. Yesterday she had been quiet and threatening tearful, but not ill.
Alexis didn't reply. She pulled her wrapper tightly about her neck and sat in one of the kitchen chairs.
"You'll feel better if you have a cup of tea." Alice put a pot of water on to boil, dunked and wrung a facecloth in warm water, and bathed Alexis's face. She must be coming down with a croup. That could explain her disheveled appearance.
After Alice had swabbed the corners of Alexis's eyes and rubbed the facecloth over her face and down her neck and at her nape and across the exposed area of her chest, Alexis still sat unmoving in the chair. Suddenly she began to shake and sweat. Alice tried to mop her dry. The shaking and sweating continued and tears flowed. Tears broke over her breast like beads from a broken strand. She could not be calmed.
Alice propped Alexis against the back of the chair and
ig2 - Breena Clarke
went out through the back screen door. As she moved between the bushes lining the walkway from the back of the house to the front, her hard, businesslike thighs broke twigs along the way. At the street, she saw Mr. Pud Allen going by in his wagon and hailed him and asked him to get the white people's doctor, Dr. Mason.
Alice was unable to move Alexis from the chair and take her to her bedroom. When the doctor arrived, the two managed together to take her upstairs to the large front bedroom.
The doctor said that it was most likely an inability to sleep that had caused Alexis's nervous attack. He sent Alice to the pharmacy for a medicinal draft to be mixed in water. Instructions were given that Alexis must rest. He told Alice to assure the woman's husband that she would certainly feel better soon.
When Alice returned with the draft and began to mix it with water, Alexis stopped her. She handed her a letter. "Read. Read what he has written," she said.
I am gone. I have taken nothing except all that you had and all that others had. I have lost everything. You may say that I deserted you and get a divorce. The house in Philadelphia is sti
ll yours. All else is gone. Douglas.
Alexis was grief-stricken and tearful, but she was not incapacitated. The circumstances of Douglas's financial ruin were hazy. He had lost all his money. He had lost most of hers. He had looted her inheritance, though he'd not been able to sell her father's house in Philadelphia. He had borrowed from his friends and lost that money, too. He had not been able to
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borrow against her house in Philadelphia because he could nor bring himself to ask her to sign the papers. He had taken money in his position at the treasury department and had lost that money, too. He had simply left.
Alexis had only the house in Philadelphia now and she made arrangements to return there. Alice did the packing though there was less to do than she would have thought. There was mostly clothes and small personal mementos. The jewelry of any value and the furniture had been sold to satisfy Douglas's debts. Alexis had dispassionately handed over her diamond engagement ring and other items Douglas had given her to the lawyer who was settling the accounts. There had been the suspicion that she had joined in Douglas's embezzlement and was possibly hiding some money. She had had to submit to a search o( her belongings by the police and representatives oi the treasury- department.
As she left the house for the train station, Alexis put a brooch in Alice's hand. The brooch was as round as a silver dollar and studded with tiny garnets. Alexis said they were garnets with a touch of apology in her voice. They were not diamonds. They were only garnets. The lawyers had taken all oi the diamonds. As she got in the cab for the train station, she urged Alice to remember her.
"That woman didn't deserve that! She didn't deserve it!" Alice said with heat and pity. In her kitchen, she unwrapped four teacups with a floral pattern and the saucers that matched them. Alexis had pressed these on her, too. Alice turned them over in her hands one at a time. These cups and saucers, pretty and fragile, would remind her of Alexis.
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