Hélène sighed. She read the newspapers like anyone else; of course she knew. The case of Brown vs. Board of Education, and the new Supreme Court ruling, stating that segregated education was unconstitutional. Oh, yes, she knew. Priscilla-Anne’s father wasn’t the only one who had talked of nothing else for months. “My daddy says there’s just one good thing. If it ever happens—and my daddy says it won’t, he says the South won’t stand for it—I’ll be out of school before they start bussing them in. Can you imagine, Hélène—sitting next to one of them in class?” Priscilla laughed. “They smell, you know. It’s true. They smell real funny. And my daddy says that guy—what’s his name—Earl Warren—he says he’d better just not set foot in Alabama or the lynching parties’ll be out…”
“Mississippi Mary didn’t smell.” Hélène frowned. “Or if she did, she smelled nice. You remember, I told you, Mississippi Mary? I never did know why they called her that. She was my nurse. For a bit. When I was little…”
“What, her? That fat one? Lived over by the old cotton fields? Yeah—I remember. She died a while back, didn’t she?”
“That’s right.”
“And all the other niggers got drunk at the funeral. Jesus! Who cares? You goin’ to come get that soda?”
Hélène nodded. They crossed the street, went by Cassie Wyatt’s beauty parlor, past the old hotel, which was closed up now. They were building a motel now, a brand new one, with bungalows on the outskirts of town. Rumor had it Priscilla-Anne’s father had bought the hotel site. He was going to knock the old place down and extend his store.
The store had changed, too, over the last few years. Merv Peters had installed new shelves and fridges; you served yourself now: no waiting, except at the checkout. And now there was the soda fountain too: a long white counter, shiny-topped high stools, rows of syrup bottles, and a radio set tuned to WQXA. Nonstop country and western: Priscilla-Anne thought it was square.
Hélène shook hands shyly with Priscilla-Anne’s father and perched on top of the stool. She was thinking about Mississippi Mary. Surely she was right? She hadn’t smelled funny, and she’d been kind. She used to lift Hélène up and rock her against those mountainous breasts, and sing those lovely slow songs till Hélène fell asleep. That was when she was little, of course, before she was big enough to stay on her own. Then Mississippi Mary had left, and Hélène didn’t see her again till that time she went by her tarpaper shack, and Mississippi Mary gave her the cool sweet green tea. And Mother had been so angry when she found out…She frowned.
She hadn’t cried or anything, but she was sorry Mississippi Mary was dead, and she was sorry for the bus driver. She wished Priscilla hadn’t spoken to him like that…
When they’d finished the soda, Merv told them to cut along, and they went up to Priscilla-Anne’s bedroom. Hélène stared at it wide-eyed. She’d never imagined a girl her own age could have a room so pretty! Everything was sugar-pink. There were sugar-pink flounces on the bed, and sugar-pink frills on the draperies. There was proper wallpaper with roses on it, and a row of walkie-talkie dolls, all in pink dresses.
Priscilla-Anne gestured around it negligently.
“Nice, huh? My daddy just did it up for me. He’ll do anything for me now, since my mama walked out. He’s lonesome, I guess.” She shrugged. “And he’s doing all right now, what with the new soda fountain and all. Going places, you know? Says there’s no reason Orangeburg has to stay a one-horse town.” She sighed. “I don’t know, though. It’d be nice to leave, I think. Go someplace bigger. Montgomery, maybe. That’s great.” She turned her head. “You ever think of leaving?”
“Maybe. Yes. Sometimes.”
Priscilla frowned. “You don’t talk about it so much now, though. You used to—remember? How your mother was going to take you back to England and all. London.” She shrugged. “I didn’t like you so much then. London. And you talked funny. You were a little fancy, you know? Stuck-up. Everybody said so—except for Billy Tanner, of course.”
Hélène went red. She turned away and pretended to look at the dolls.
“We’re saving up.” She hesitated. “Mother is, you know. But it’s expensive—to go back to England. It’s a long way away.” She turned to look at Priscilla-Anne. “There’s a box,” she added finally. “Mother has an old tin box. And when we have some extra money we put it in there, and when there’s enough—one day—we’ll go, I guess.”
“A box? Your mother keeps her money in a box?” Priscilla-Anne seemed to find that funny because she started to laugh, and then stopped and shrugged. “Well, why not, I guess. A bank, a box, who cares? Except…” She hesitated. “It’s going to take a while, isn’t it? I mean, working for Cassie Wyatt, your mama can’t make that much…”
“She makes more now,” Hélène interrupted eagerly. “She works more hours, now that I’m in school. Five afternoons a week, and…”
“She works afternoons?” Priscilla-Anne frowned. “She does? That’s funny.”
“What’s funny?”
“Well, I went by Cassie Wyatt’s the other week.” Priscilla-Anne tossed the ponytail and looked at herself in the mirror.
“Right after school. My daddy said I could get my hair done—I wanted it the way Susie has it, you know, with those kind of wispy little curls in front—and I wanted your mother to do it, because everyone says she’s real good. She does your hair, yes? And that always looks real nice…”
“And?”
“She wasn’t there. Your mama. Cassie Wyatt said I’d have to wait for the vacation, ’cause your mother worked only mornings.”
“Mornings? That can’t be right. She must have made a mistake.” There was a little silence. Priscilla-Anne looked at her, then back at her own reflection, and there was something in her eyes Hélène didn’t understand. A bit as if she were laughing at her, a bit as if she felt sorry for her. Then she shrugged. “’Spose so. I probably got it wrong. You want to try that bra now?”
Priscilla-Anne helped her. Hélène took her blouse off, and Priscilla-Anne did the bra up, because Hélène’s hands were shaking. Then she came around the front and looked at Hélène critically.
“You see? I was right. It fits. You fill it just fine…” She rolled her eyes comically, so they both began to giggle.
“Hélène Craig, you is all woman…” she said in an exaggerated drawl.
“I am not. Look…” Hélène pulled at the front of the bra.
“There’s a bit there, but all the rest is empty, you can feel it.”
“Just so long as no one else does,” Priscilla-Anne said in a throaty voice, and they both began to giggle again. Then Priscilla-Anne found a tissue and showed her how to stuff it down in front.
“There you are,” she said at last. “It’s fine, see? You just do that for a few weeks, until you grow a bit more. You’ll fill out in no time. Billy Tanner’ll go just wild…”
“Will you shut up about Billy Tanner?” Hélène gave her an affectionate push.
“Okay, okay, I’ll shut up about Billy Tanner. Who wants to talk about him anyway? He is so dumb. You know, when he reads, he runs his finger along the lines, just like a kid, and kind of mouths the words, just to make sure he’s getting them out all neat…”
“That’s not true!”
“It is so! And his daddy’s on welfare. Eddie Haines told me. Just like a nigger. He drinks so much he hasn’t had work in ten years, and—”
“Priscilla-Anne, you just shut up now! That’s not Billy’s fault. Billy works so hard. He cooks evenings after school, over in that place in Maybury…”
“You ever been there? Greasy burgers and collard greens on the side. Yuk!”
“And weekends at the garage. He’s going to be a mechanic, he told me. He’s clever with cars, engines, that kind of thing…”
“Doesn’t own one, though, does he?” Priscilla-Anne tossed her head. “Doesn’t own one and never will. Billy Tanner’s going no place fast. You must be crazy to go with a boy like him.”
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br /> “I don’t go with him.” Hélène hesitated. “I just see him sometimes. ’Round the trailer park. That’s all. And I like him. He may be slow, but he’s kind, and…”
“Look.” Priscilla-Anne waved her hand irritably. “We didn’t come here to talk about Billy Tanner. We came to talk about Eddie. Now—you want to hear what happened—yes or no?”
Hélène hesitated. She was hurt by what Priscilla-Anne had said, and she wanted to leave, but she didn’t like to. After all, Priscilla-Anne had been generous. She had given her the bra. And besides, deep down, even though she didn’t want to admit it to herself, she did want to hear, yes.
“Okay,” she said at last, with a sigh. “I want to hear. What happened?”
She sat down on the bed, and after a brief pause Priscilla-Anne sat down next to her.
“You swear you won’t tell? Remember? Okay…” She sighed deeply. “Well, I don’t know if you are going to believe this. I hardly did myself. Date three, pretty much the same as date two, only more so if you get my meaning. Date four—he gets it out.”
Hélène’s jaw dropped. “What—just like that?”
“No, stupid. Not right away, of course not.” Priscilla-Anne looked scornful. “This is a long session we’re talking about now. I think he kind of lost control a little, because he respects me, I know he does, he said so. But we were kissing a lot, and his hands were in there—you know, where they were before, only both of them this time. And it was driving me wild, and him wild, and then—well, he sort of made me touch him, through his pants. And Hélène, I swear to you, he felt so hard and big, I got scared. I mean, I could not believe it. You remember those diagrams they did in biology? Well, it looked real small, you know? But this wasn’t small, I could feel it, and then…”
“Then he got it out?”
“He did.”
“Wow!” Hélène gave a nervous shiver.
“And you know where we were at the time?” Priscilla-Anne began to laugh. “We were in my daddy’s den.”
“In your daddy’s den? You’re joking.”
“I am not. We were in his den. Right there on that imitation-leather couch he has, the one he’s so proud of. And you know what I thought? It just suddenly popped right into my head out of nowhere. I thought, what if anything happens—I mean…” She lowered her voice. “What if he comes, right? And then I thought: oh, well, that’s okay. If he does, it’s only imitation leather, thank God, and we can wipe it right off with a tissue. My daddy’ll never know. And then I laughed.”
“You laughed? Then? When he had it out? Did Eddie mind?”
“Mind? He went crazy. Well, he put it away first, of course, just sort of stuffed it back in his pants and zipped them up real quick. And then he went crazy. Hélène, I tell you, I just cried and cried. I thought, this is it. He’s going to walk right out that door, and I’ll never see him again. But I guess Eddie felt sorry for me, because when I cried, he came right back, and he put his arms around me, and I kissed him, and then—after a while, you know—he got it out again.”
“Priscilla-Anne Peters, you are lying! He didn’t.”
“Sure did.” A small dimple appeared in Priscilla-Anne’s cheek. “I told him I wanted a second look, so there!”
“You never dared!”
“I did. And anyway…” Priscilla stretched. “It was the truth. I did. I mean, I’ve seen the boys in the gym, who hasn’t? I know what a hard-on looks like, sticking out of a pair of gym shorts. But not like that. Close up, you might say. In living Technicolor.”
There was a long silence. Hélène’s mind whirled with images, all of them cloudy and imprecise.
“Did it…was it…” She hesitated. “Was it nice?”
Priscilla-Anne frowned; she considered.
“Well, it was funny-looking, I guess,” she said finally. “Real big, the way I said. And it doesn’t keep still the way I thought it would. It sort of waves up and down, like a wand. And it was a weird sort of color. Reddish—reddish-purple almost.” She swallowed. “Do you think they’re all like that, or just his?”
“I don’t know. All of them, I guess. Did…” Hélène looked up. She knew she was going to start laughing again in a minute, and that Priscilla-Anne wanted to laugh too. “Did you touch it?”
“I did not! What do you take me for?” Priscilla-Anne gave her an indignant push. “He wanted me to, and I wouldn’t. But you know what I thought? I thought, Jesus, it is so big, I just don’t see how it ever fits up inside—you know.”
“Oh, my God!” Hélène clapped her hand over her mouth. Then she started to laugh, and Priscilla-Anne started to laugh, and they clung to each other, shaking, till the tears ran down their faces. Priscilla-Anne stopped first.
“Stop,” she said. “This is serious.” She gave Hélène a shake, and Hélène gurgled. “It is. I told you. I’ve got to decide, I’ve just got to make up my mind right now, and you’ve got to help me. What do I do tonight? At the drive-in.”
“You mean you think he’ll try…”
“Sure.” Priscilla set her lips. “They’re all the same. A little more each time.”
“There isn’t a lot more he could do. I’d have thought.”
“Shows how much you know!” Priscilla’s eyes flashed scorn. “I can think of at least three things, right off. I know! Susie Marshall told me, for sure. Said she wouldn’t do it, which I don’t believe. Listen…” She glanced at the door, then leaned forward and spoke rapidly, directly into Hélène’s ear. Hélène’s eyes grew larger and larger.
“In a handkerchief! He didn’t!”
“He did so! And then…” Priscilla leaned forward and spoke some more. Then she drew back, and they stared at each other.
“It’s true! I didn’t believe it either. Not to begin with. I mean, isn’t that just the dirtiest thing you ever heard?”
“And they like it?”
Priscilla-Anne nodded knowledgeably. “More’n going all the way. Some of them. That’s what Susie Marshall said.”
“But the girls—the girls can’t like it. Ugh!” Hélène pulled a face. “I bet it tastes just horrible.”
“Susie Marshall said it doesn’t. And you don’t get pregnant. She said.” Priscilla sighed. “So what do I do?”
Hélène shook her head worriedly. “I don’t know. You just say no, I suppose. If you were very firm…”
“I’m not so good at that.” Priscilla-Anne made a wry face. “I don’t look the part—you know what I mean? It’s all right for you. You’re younger than me, but you can look real stern when you want, you know that? You know, when you’re angry? Your eyes look just like blue ice. And your voice helps—sounding different, all cool and English. Lots of the kids are scared of you, you know. Not me, because you’re my best friend. But some of the others. But I don’t know…I’m different. When I say no, it comes out sounding just like the opposite.”
Hélène stood up. She frowned, trying to remember. “You could say—I know. That if he respected you, he wouldn’t do it…”
“Wow!” Priscilla’s eyes lit up. “That’s good.”
“My mother said that…” Hélène shrugged. “It might work. I don’t know.”
“I like it! I’ll try it. It’s a winner!” She began to parade up and down the room, then struck an attitude in front of the mirror. “If you respected me, Eddie, you just wouldn’t do that.” She swung around. “How’d it sound?”
“Not bad.” Hélène grinned. “You could try it a bit cooler. More earnest—as if you were deeply hurt, and—what’s the word?—affronted. That’s it. Try it again.”
Priscilla tried it again. This time she sounded as if she had something stuck in her throat, so Hélène coached her a bit more. Eventually Priscilla sighed.
“That’s it,” she said. “That’s as good as I’m ever going to get it. It’s not as good as you, but still—” She broke off and looked at Hélène for a moment in the mirror.
“You could be an actress,” she said. “You know—t
he way you told me once you wanted to be? Well, I reckon you could. You’re smart. You can do anything with your voice. And your face—well, even I never know what you’re really thinking, ’cause you can be real secretive when you want to be. And then you say something like that, just a line, nothing you really mean, and I believe you, so I just know Eddie would. I tell you—I wish I could do that.”
Hélène laughed. “Why?” she said. “Why would you want to?”
“I don’t know.” Priscilla shrugged. “It would make me feel powerful, I guess. I don’t know—you spook me sometimes. You don’t bother much, but I bet if you wanted to, well, you could make boys do anything you like. You could drive them just wild…”
“Do you think so?” Hélène stared at her.
“Yeah.” Priscilla hesitated. “Men too,” she added. “Maybe.”
Hélène walked home slowly. It was a mile from Orangeburg to the trailer park, down the main street, along the highway a bit, through the Calverts’ cotton fields, then off along a dusty dirt road. It was hot; another few weeks and it’d be hotter still, and humid, so your skin felt itchy and clammy all the time, and even at nights the trailer felt airless. The new bra was uncomfortable; the shoulder straps were too tight, and the clips on the back cut her skin. The schoolbooks felt heavier by the minute. She scuffed her shoes in the dust and glanced at herself in the store-front glass as she went past. She’d have to make some excuse to her mother for coming back late. Her mother didn’t like her stopping off; her mother didn’t want her to visit friends; her mother didn’t approve of Priscilla-Anne Peters. Hélène knew that from the way her mother’s mouth tightened up when Priscilla-Anne’s name was mentioned. But she didn’t say so. All she said was, “It’s not polite to accept invitations you can’t return, Hélène. Remember that.”
“Why can’t I return it?” Hélène stuck her lip out obstinately. “I could bring Priscilla-Anne back here sometime.”
“Here? Here?” Two hectic spots of color flared in her mother’s cheeks. “You want your friend to see how we have to live? And have half of Orangeburg talk about it?”
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