“I expect you to tell them no, dammit!” He finally stops pacing and grits his teeth. His skin is flushed. I can see the blue vein bulging along his temple even from where I’m standing. “Look, I explained to you that things aren’t good at the firm. We’re losing clients, Mindy! It’s getting really bad, and I’m . . . I’m . . .” He lowers his head. He takes a deep breath. “I’m worried that they’re going to let me go. They think I’m washed up!”
She slowly rises to her feet and turns to face him. She’s wearing another one of her cocktail dresses. This one is black and off the shoulder.
“You’re always worried, sweetheart. In fact, you worry too much! But that’s why I’m here.” She traces a finger along his pockmarked cheek and grins. “Come on, let Mindy get those frown lines off your face.” She giggles and loops her arms around his neck. She starts to kiss him, but stops when he roughly shoves her away. Her smile disappears. Frosted pink lipstick is now smeared along her mouth.
“You think this is funny?” he snarls, and she takes another step back. “I just told you I could lose my job! That doesn’t just mean no more parties! It means no more goddamn servants . . . no more big house and cars! I’m on the edge of desperation, and meanwhile you’re living the high life like it doesn’t—”
“I’m living the high-life?” she shouts back, pointing at her chest. “Like I’m all by myself in this, Jake? Like you don’t like the parties and the cars and the house too? I guess I made you buy those things?”
“Well, you never said no, did you?”
“And neither did you! You were more than happy to spend money too—as long as someone else was footing the bill. You forget that half of the clients you wined and dined to get their business, you did it with the cash my mother gave us . . . that she gave you! You try to pretend that it was just me wasting money when you didn’t mind playing Mr. Big Shot yourself!”
“That’s bullshit!”
“No, it isn’t. Admit it, Jake! The real reason you’re mad is because she’s cut us off! The real reason is because I can’t beg my twenty-two-year-old brother for more money! The real reason is because you’re not enough of a man to stand on your own two—”
She’s stopped short by a hard smack across the cheek that sends her stumbling back and bumping into her makeup table. It knocks her bouffant hairdo askew. A perfume bottle clatters to the floor. Instead of bursting into tears, her eyes go bright with anger.
When he hits her, I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle my cry of surprise, but I must not have done it fast enough. Mr. Williams suddenly whips around to face the doorway, and for a brief moment, we lock eyes. I’m frozen in place.
“You son of a bitch,” Miss Mindy hisses, clutching her cheek. She pushes herself upright and rushes toward him but stops short and looks in the direction that he’s looking. Seconds pass in silence—with them staring at me and me staring right back at them. Finally, she begins to walk toward the bedroom door, like she’s about to shut it. It takes all the will I can muster to turn away and rush down the hall. I’m almost tripping over my own feet as I fly down the stairs to the floor below.
“Dee?” Agnes calls after me as I race through the kitchen, grabbing my coat from the closet. I head to the back door. “What’s wrong?”
My heart is racing as I rush into the night. I realize I’m running, and I have to slow down. I stop on the sidewalk and take several deep breaths to get my heartbeat back under control.
Mr. Williams saw me. He saw me watch him hit Miss Mindy, and he may want to fire me now. What am I going to do?
A cold breeze lifts my hair from my shoulders and licks my skin, causing goose bumps to sprout on my arms and legs. I throw on my coat. It is almost dark, but I can still see Cee’s GTO waiting in the dim light at the end of the block. The cloth roof of the convertible stands out like a white sail under one of the street lamps. As I draw near it, his headlights flash on. He waves at me through the windshield, and I tug the passenger door open and hop into the seat.
“So where . . . Hey, what’s up?” he asks, squinting at me and tugging the cigarette from his mouth. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He stares at me more closely. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. What happened?”
“It’s nothing! Please just . . . just drive somewhere. Anywhere!” I say, wringing the strap of my purse in my hands.
He looks at me a few seconds longer, then tosses his cigarette out the open window and blows out a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth. “Okay, then. Where do you want to go?”
“I’ll let you decide,” I say, gazing out the windshield at the dark and mostly deserted neighborhood street. “But I have to be back by seven thirty at the latest,” I quickly add. “Auntie Mary will get mad if I’m not home by then.”
He nods, and we pull off, not talking. The music from the radio takes over where the conversation left off.
* * *
I usually like our drives in the evening. I even look forward to them now. He used to drive me straight home, but after a few weeks, Cee started to take the long way to my neighborhood, asking if he could stop by Gino’s to pick up a hamburger and fries, or the local park because it was nice outside and he wanted to walk around barefoot in the grass. I knew it was just an excuse to extend our time together, but I didn’t mind, and Auntie Mary has gotten used to me arriving home after dinner is done. I told her Miss Mindy sometimes needs me to stay later, and now I can because I don’t have to take the bus home anymore. I can tell Auntie Mary is suspicious, but she doesn’t voice her qualms.
I’ve gotten used to these fun little excursions Cee and I have, and normally I would be excited, wondering where he will take me tonight, but I am distracted. I keep replaying what I saw and heard back at the Williamses’ house. I close my eyes, and I can see Mr. Williams’s slap from all angles.
Cee notices the change in me, how quiet and pensive I am this evening.
“Something happened, but you’re not telling me what it is. Is my sister being as sweet as usual?” he asks with a smirk. “Roberta still bossing you around?”
During our drives, I’ve told him the truth about what my day is like working for his sister. I could only keep up the façade of politeness for so long. Cee knows I find Miss Mindy haughty and rude. He knows Roberta is motherly but bad-tempered and Agnes is my only confidante.
I’ve also learned things about him and his friends, like how his old classmate Hank from Tulane wants him to invest and go into business in some start-up, as they call it, that deals with computers. I know he meets his old high school friends Bill and Robert for tennis twice a week and they go out for drinks afterward, but he’s starting to get bored with the whole routine. I know the infamous Betsy is now engaged to another fellow, a balding lawyer from Biloxi who she had been dating while she was with Cee but hadn’t told him.
I don’t mind telling Cee my secrets anymore. He will never talk to Roberta or Agnes and has no interest in telling his sister. I will keep his secrets too. He knows I will never meet any of his friends. I won’t accidentally blurt out something at one of the cocktail parties he’s always forced to go to. Cee and I have crossed paths, but our lives never will truly meet, which is why tonight is so awful. I’ve intruded in a world I shouldn’t have. It could mean Miss Mindy will fire me and I can no longer pay the rent for my room like I promised Auntie Mary I would. It could mean Cee and I may never see each other again.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?” he asks.
“Can I . . . have a sip from your flask first?”
His eyes widen in surprise.
When we first began our evening rides, he always used to offer me a drink, but I’d always declined. After a while, he stopped offering.
When we brake at another stoplight, he flips open his glove compartment and removes his silver flask. He uncorks the lid and offers it to me. I bring it to my lips and take one l
ong drink. I make a face as the alcohol burns its way down my throat. I cough into my fist.
“This must be good if you need a drink first. What the hell happened?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I open my eyes again. “I think . . . I think I’m going to have to go home, Cee.”
“You mean you want me to take you straight home tonight after all?”
“No, I mean, I’m going to have to go home to Virginia.”
“What?” His thick brows knit together. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you, but it’s . . . it’s bad. It could mean I’ll have to pack my things, and I—”
“Wait,” Cee says, holding up his hand from the steering wheel, “let me pull over because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A minute later, he pulls into a vacant storage lot. Empty tractor trailers and wooden crates sit several feet away. The light from a loading dock shines on our faces as he turns off the headlights and shifts in the front seat. He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. I can feel his strong fingers through the cloth fabric of my coat and uniform, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s never touched me like this before.
“You’ve gotta tell me what happened, Delilah. What do you mean you may have to go back to Virginia?”
I want to tell somebody. I want to tell him especially, but Miss Mindy is his sister. What happened to her would be hard for any brother to hear, and I can’t find the right words to explain it.
“It’s too embarrassing, Cee. I’m sorry but I . . . I can’t tell you. I want to, but I can’t! All I can say is that if I . . . I do have to go back home, I want to thank you.”
“Thank me for what?”
He lets go of my shoulder, and I lower my eyes again. I’m about to cry.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
The tears are on my cheeks before I have a chance to wipe them away. I sniff so at least I don’t have snot running down my nose. I remember Leroy and how he disappeared from the house without a trace, and the tears come even harder. I remember how they didn’t even let him come back to get his things. Miss Mindy and Mr. Williams will do the same to me, I’m sure.
“You’ve been . . . been good and . . . and kind to me and—”
I stop short when he cups my cheek. I look up at him just as he leans forward and his lips touch mine. It takes me a few seconds to realize Cee is kissing me, that his tongue is trying to find its way inside my mouth. I panic and start to pull away, but then I stop myself. This could be our last moment together. Tentatively, I kiss him back.
I am not Betsy. I am not coy or practiced at this. I do not know where my tongue goes or how to keep our teeth from clicking together. I don’t know where to put my hands or how to angle myself so the gear shift isn’t jabbing into my hip, but Cee doesn’t seem to mind. A few minutes later, he eases back. He is smiling. He traces a finger along my eyebrow and the curve of my cheek.
“I think you’ll be all right, Dee.”
I am too dazed to disagree. I nod, and he gives me a quick peck on my cheek, then turns to face the windshield.
“Let’s get you home,” he says as he shifts the car into drive and I ease back into the passenger seat. When we pull off, he reaches for my hand. I link my fingers through his, and they stay that way the entire ride home.
CHAPTER 16
“Girl, why are you late? What happened to you yesterday?” Agnes asks as soon as I step out of the cold, crisp outdoors into the warm kitchen. Roberta is stirring grits, and Agnes is gathering dishes from the overhead cabinet for breakfast. Both stop what they’re doing to stare at me. “Why’d you rush out like that?”
I take my time before I answer her, slowly unwinding my scarf from around my neck and shrugging out of my wool coat while they wait for me to respond.
I had considered not coming back today. Though I had wrapped Cee’s words of comfort and the memory of his kiss around me like a warm blanket all last night as I slept, by morning my anxiety was back, and it wouldn’t go away. I dallied for an hour, debating about what to do. Finally, I figured the risks of getting fired if I didn’t show up for work were greater than if I did show. I made it out the door in just enough time to catch the 6:15 bus.
“You know Miss Mindy came down here looking for you,” Agnes says, and I stop mid-motion with my coat dangling off my arm and shoulder.
“She did?”
“Uh-huh. Right after you left yesterday. She came into the kitchen asking where you went. We said you’d left for the day.” Agnes takes another step toward me and narrows her eyes. “Dee, what happened? Why was she asking after you?”
I muddle over how I’m going to answer her question when the kitchen door suddenly swings open.
“Delilah, there you are!” Miss Mindy calls out to me from the doorway, and my heart stops. It literally stops beating, and I think I might collapse dead on the kitchen floor and have to be rushed to the hospital in an ambulance with sirens and all, but then my heartbeat picks back up again a second later. I am still alive, unfortunately, and Miss Mindy is staring at me with her cool green eyes.
“Can I speak with you?” she asks.
“Ye-yes, ma’am.”
I neatly fold my coat and scarf over one of the kitchenette chairs. I can feel Agnes and Roberta’s gazes on my back and bowed head as I shuffle out of the kitchen with my hands linked in front of me. I hear their whispered conversation even before the door closes all the way behind me.
“Lord, what did that chile do?” Roberta mumbles.
“I don’t know, but it must be bad if she wants to talk to her,” Agnes whispers back.
I silently follow Miss Mindy down the hall, and we stop in front of her husband’s home office door. When we step inside, she shuts the door behind me, and I wonder if this is how prisoners feel when they hear the clink of a cell’s metal bars slam close.
“Have a seat, Delilah,” she orders, gesturing to one of the leather chairs facing her husband’s desk.
I sit down and watch as she pets her hair, smoothing an invisible strand back into place. “I wanted to talk to you about . . . well. . . about what happened yesterday,” she begins, walking around my chair to face me.
“I am so sorry, Miss Mindy!” I rush out, wringing the hem of my uniform. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“Be quiet,” she snaps, and I shut my mouth like a steel trap. I bite down on my bottom lip so hard I worry it might bleed.
She is going to fire me. I am certain of it. But will she let me finish out the day, or will she make me pack up my things—as meager as they are—and leave right now? Will she give me a chance to say good-bye to Agnes and Roberta, or will I get escorted out the door with haste as though I did something shameful, as though they caught me stealing from the silverware drawer?
“You know, Delilah,” she begins, sitting on the edge of her husband’s desk, crossing her skinny legs at the ankles. “My mother always taught me to be very particular with the help I hire. She said be careful of who you let into your home . . . who you let around your children. ‘A maid is more than just a maid, Mindy. A nanny is more than just a nanny.’ You trust them with so many things that are precious to you, things that can’t be replaced. Why, they become almost like . . . like family!” Her face goes somber. “So when they break that trust, you feel violated. Do you know what that word means, Delilah? Violated?” she enunciates slowly.
I nod, too scared to be offended that she’s talking to me like I’m wearing a dunce hat.
“I don’t like sneaks in my house. I will not tolerate it.”
“But I’m not a sneak, ma’am! I swear! I was only trying to—”
She holds up a finger to silence me. The nail is painted a soft pink. “Don’t interrupt.”
I close my mouth again.
“As I said, I don’t like sneaks,” she continues, “and I don’t like liars.” Miss Mindy tilts her head. “I don’t think you’ve been very honest with me, Delilah. I do
n’t think you’ve been honest about your intentions in working here.”
I furrow my brow. “I’m sorry, Miss Mindy?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Mindy?” she repeats back to me in a comically high-pitched voice, batting her false eyelashes. She then barks out a brittle laugh. “Oh, you Negro gals are always pretending to be deaf and dumb! You think I don’t know what you’re really doing? I grew up around maids and nannies my whole life! I’ve heard all the gossip, all the whispering—and the scheming. I know what you’re up to, Delilah Grey, even if my little brother doesn’t.”
I’m at a loss for words now, because I don’t understand what she means.
“When I went after you yesterday, I saw you run out the door. I followed you down the steps, and imagine my surprise to find you running not to catch the bus, but to my brother’s waiting car. You didn’t hesitate before throwing open the door and hopping inside—like you’ve done it hundreds of times before.” She purses her lips and pushes herself away from her desk so that she’s standing over me. “So just how many rides has my brother given you, Delilah?”
I don’t like the look on her face, the tone of her voice, or the insinuation in her question. Why is she asking me about Cee when I thought we were talking about what I saw happen between her and her husband yesterday?
“A . . . a few. Your brother was nice enough to offer to drive me home at the end of the day so I wouldn’t have to take the bus.”
“Really? And that’s all you’ve been doing? Riding around in the car with him?”
My cheeks and neck flush at her question, at the memory of the kiss in the deserted parking lot last night, and the bold-faced lie I’m about to tell. But I force myself to nod anyway. “Yes, ma’am. That’s all.”
She laughs again. “I know my brother, and he doesn’t do things out of the sheer kindness of his heart. If he agreed to let you ride around in his car, he expected something in return. And like I said, you Negro girls aren’t stupid! I bet you expected something in return too. So what did he give you in exchange, Delilah? Gifts? Maybe a bracelet or two? Or did he give you spending money?”
The House on Harbor Hill Page 14