Kathyanne started to leave the room.
He reached over and turned the radio down.
“What time do we usually have supper, Kathyanne?” he said quickly, sitting up and attempting to appear calm and matter-of-fact. He found himself looking at her legs. She had slender, round ankles and smoothly tapering calves, and, being barelegged, her bright golden skin seemed more alluring than the sheerest stockings. He wondered why he had never noticed before how ideally proportioned she was. He was convinced that he had never seen anyone, white or colored, who possessed such endearing attractiveness. He was in the habit of casually looking at a female customer’s legs when she left the bank after transacting some business, or at girls who walked past the window of the bank, but this was the first time he had been conscious of the fact that Kathyanne had legs. By that time he had come to the conclusion that he had never seen anyone who appealed to him as strongly as she did. When he realized how long he had been staring at her, he felt self-conscious. Clearing his throat, he glanced up. He was sure he saw a knowing smile on her face. “Is there a regular time, Kathyanne? I mean, is there usually a regular time?”
“Miss Norma always wants supper served at six-thirty sharp,” she replied. “But since you are here all by yourself, Mr. George, you can have it at any time.”
“Well, we’ll have it at a different time tonight. Five-thirty, six, seven, seven-thirty. Any time except six-thirty. We don’t have to—to—” He was going to say have to be afraid of changing the supper hour, but he decided it might be better not to say it in Kathyanne’s presence.
Again he thought he saw her smile with a perceptive look as she nodded and turned to leave the room. George moved to the edge of his chair and watched the disturbing movement of her hips and the tantalizing sway of her skirt. He could not recall ever having seen anything like it before. He had been cooped up in the bank so long that he had forgotten what a pretty girl’s effortless grace could do to a man’s sensibilities. As she reached the door, he felt an irresistible urge to keep her from leaving his sight.
“Kathyanne!” he called, much louder than necessary. She stopped and turned around with an expression of startled innocence. For a moment he was afraid she was going to run to the kitchen. He realized that he had called out in a voice that probably could have been heard in the rear of the house. “I was just thinking—Kathyanne,” he said nervously, hoping he had lowered his voice to a normal pitch. As soon as he had spoken, he tried frantically to think what in the world he could say that would not sound ridiculous just then. Moment after moment passed while he stared confusedly at her, and then, finally, he blurted out the first and only thought he could bring to mind. “Kathyanne, I wanted to say—don’t go to too much trouble for me. I don’t think I’m very hungry, anyway.”
“We were going to have fried chicken tonight, Mr. George,” she told him right away. “It’ll be no trouble at all. I wanted to have a nice meal for you tonight, Mr. George.”
“Well, that sounds all right,” he said, disconcerted by her reply. “You go right ahead and fry the chicken, Kathyanne. That really suits me fine. I always was partial to fried chicken. I believe I am getting a little hungry, after all. Fried chicken sounds mighty good.”
She left the room and went to the rear of the house. George sat listening for a while, and then, unable to sit still any longer, jumped up and went to the hall and stood there trying to hear some sound of her in the kitchen. He knew that if Norma had been there he would never have dared to do what he was doing, and it gave him a pleasant unfamiliar sensation to know that he was alone in the house with Kathyanne. He was glad it was rainy and wet outside, because the dampness of the rapidly falling night seemed to make the privacy of the house more secure. He walked back into the living room and stood at the window watching the fading light of the misty afternoon as he thought how lonely he would be in the house without Kathyanne. An automobile came slowly into view, its front wheels splashing cautiously through the puddles on the street, and then it disappeared in the gloom. He was thinking that there went a man home to his wife and children, while here he was childless and married to a woman who would not even let him talk about the possibility of having children. He told himself that a man had a right to do some things in life, especially in his case. Convinced of the righteousness of his reasoning, and unable to wait any longer, George left the window and went straight to the kitchen.
Kathyanne was standing at the table when he got to the doorway. She had not heard him coming and she was unaware that he was looking at her.
While he stood there with his heart beating faster and faster, he remembered what somebody downtown had once said about the irresistible fascination of a Negress—at some stage in a man’s life, and why it was that a white man sometimes would seek a Negro girl’s favors in preference to accepting those of a white girl. He had not thought much about it at the time, but now he knew that he had a compelling desire for Kathyanne. Being a banker and a church-going Baptist, and having never before in his life approached a Negress, either light or dark in color, he wondered if he would be able to get up enough courage to speak to her in any way other than in an impersonal, businesslike manner. He had heard that it was easy for a white man to approach a Negro girl and talk as audaciously as he pleased, because usually she would be fearful of the consequences of not being agreeable, but at that moment he was far from being sure of his own ability. He was still trying to think of the best way to begin the conversation when Kathyanne turned and saw him standing in the doorway. She looked at him questioningly.
“Oh, by the way, Kathyanne,” he said in confusion. The instant he uttered the words he realized he made a false start, and he racked his brains frantically for help. “I wanted to ask you something, Kathyanne.” He looked down at the floor to hide his embarrassment. He knew what he wanted to say, but he was so completely confounded that he did not have the slightest idea about how to go about saying it. “I—ah—I just happened to think of it.” He stared perplexedly at the kitchen stove.
“What is it, Mr. George?” she asked pleasantly.
When he glanced at her, he thought he detected for a moment an understanding smile, and he grinned at her hopefully. A moment later, however, there was a serious frown on her face. He wondered if she really knew exactly what he was so desperately scheming, and if that was her method of trying to elude him.
He still had no idea of what he was going to say to her, but he realized that he would have to think of something before he found himself in a ludicrous position. The only thing in the whole world he could bring to mind was the banking business.
“What I came in here for was to ask if you’ve ever considered opening a savings account down at the bank,” he said, feeling silly for talking about banking or anything like it at a time such as that, but relieved to have thought of something. There was no way out now, however. He would have to go through with it and try to make a fresh start later. “It’s a pretty good habit to get into, Kathyanne. You never know when a few dollars tucked away in a savings account is going to save the day for you. Having a savings account to fall back on is a real safeguard in a time of need. It gives you peace of mind. Squirrels stow away nuts for a time of need, and human beings have learned down through the ages that putting away dollars is just as wise.” He saw her moving her head up and down, and he hurried to complete a convincing argument. “It only takes a single dollar to open an account, and even if you save only a dollar a week in the beginning, the first thing you know you’ve got a sizable fund safely stowed away—just like the squirrels. Everybody, white and colored, ought to protect themselves with a saving account, no matter how small.” She was nodding again, and George was pleased with himself for having appealed so successfully to her acquisitive instinct. “I tell you what you do, Kathyanne. Monday morning you come in the bank and let me show you how easy it is to set up a small financial program for yourself. I’ll be glad to do that for you. It’s always a pleasure to help people who wan
t to save money.”
He beamed with satisfaction.
“Mr. George, I didn’t want to interrupt while you were talking, but I’ve already got a savings account at the bank.”
“You have?” he said in astonishment.
“I opened it two or three months ago. You gave me a little piggy bank to save pennies in.”
“I did?”
She nodded, and as she did so he was positive this time that he saw an impudent sparkle in her eyes.
“Well,” he said with a despondent feeling, “that’s fine. I’m glad you reminded me.”
All he could think of then was finding some way to get out of such an awkward situation so that he could make a fresh start. He looked around the kitchen with a critical eye as though he had come there in the first place to inspect the walls and ceiling and to decide if they were in need of a new coat of paint. He nodded thoughtfully at the ceiling and left the kitchen without another word spoken.
He went back to the front of the house feeling thoroughly foolish and cursing himself under his breath for wasting so much time talking about putting money in the bank. “Those goddam squirrels!” he said out loud. “Who gives a damn if they save nuts!” He jerked down the shades over the windows and turned on all the lights. Feeling too provoked to sit down, he began walking restlessly from one side of the room to the other. He told himself that the next time he was going to be thoroughly prepared and not blunder again.
The doorbell rang, jarring his nerves. The dreaded thought instantly flashing through his mind was that Norma had come home. He felt a heavy weight sinking deeper and deeper in the pit of his stomach, and he wondered if he would ever again in his life have another opportunity like the one that had just passed. He stood in the middle of the floor listening to the bell and dreading to answer it while it continued its jangling ring. The last time it rang with a sharp tone of urgency.
When he threw open the door, Hugh Howard was standing there. George was dumfounded. He stared open-mouthed at Hugh.
“What’s the matter, George?” Hugh asked him. “You look like you might’ve been expecting somebody else.”
“I wasn’t expecting anybody,” George told him. “Nobody ought to be out on a night like this. You’re liable to catch a cold going around like this.”
“It’s not so bad out. Just a little drizzly and misty. That’s all. Damp weather’s good for your hair. Look what water does for a muskrat’s fur.”
“What do you want?” George said impatiently.
“Well, I just stopped by to ask if you’d—” He looked down at George’s feet. “What’s the matter with you, George? Do your feet hurt that bad? Can’t you stand still?”
“No, they don’t hurt. They feel good tonight.”
“I never saw anybody dance up and down like you’re doing.”
“What did you stop here for?”
“Well, I stopped to ask if you’d like to come up to my house after supper tonight and maybe play a little poker. My wife’s brother came to town for the weekend, and I thought—”
“No,” George told him abruptly.
“Why not?”
“Well, I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
“I don’t know—but I can’t come, anyway.”
“You don’t have to go back to the bank and count money tonight, do you?”
“No!” he said emphatically.
“George, you can sit around in your sock-feet in my house. My wife won’t make a fuss. She’ll be decent about it. You know that.”
“Can’t do it,” George told him, moving back into the hall and partly closing the door.
“You’re acting mighty funny, George,” Hugh said with a puzzled look. “What’s bothering you, anyhow?”
“I’m all right. Just leave me alone.”
“Won’t Norma let you come?”
“She’s gone to Savannah.”
“She has?” Hugh said with a slowly rising inflection. His eyes opened wide. “I see,” he said, backing toward the steps. “I didn’t know that. Sorry I busted in like this. Well, be careful, George. Better watch your reflex actions.”
“What are you talking about?”
Hugh gave him a knowing wink. “That good-looking high-yellow maid, George. I’ve heard about her. They say she’s the best-looking mulatto girl in the county, and I’ve seen some beauts around here.” He backed down the steps. “Good night, George,” he called back as he turned and walked toward the street. “If you need any advice, just send for me.”
“Good night,” George muttered gruffly, slamming the door and locking it securely.
He waited in the hall until he heard Hugh slam the car door and drive away. Then he walked back as far as the living room. There was complete silence in the house. It was then that he was gripped by the fear that Kathyanne had overheard the conversation at the door and, becoming suspicious, had left supper uncooked and gone home. He hurried down the hall, padding noiselessly in his sock-feet, and went to the kitchen door. This time Kathyanne was sitting at the table calmly turning the pages of a magazine. She did not appear to be at all uneasy.
“Kathyanne,” he called to her hoarsely. He was relieved to see her sitting there so placidly, but by that time he was completely unnerved. He remembered his resolution to keep from foolishly blundering again and he wished he had the sense to think of what he was going to say before returning to the kitchen. He wished he had the ability to talk to her with the same cool judgment he had in the bank when he was able to reject a loan application, by a doubtful risk, without the slightest trace of a quaver. The longer he stood there, however, the more confused his mind became, and in desperation he finally grasped at the thought of finding some excuse to get her to the living room.
“Yes, Mr. George?” she said with a disconcertingly placid expression.
For once in his life he felt as utterly worldly and rake-helly as the Baptist minister said all men were. He told himself that after this he would probably be able to appreciate the sermons more. It had always been a mystery to him where the Baptist minister got his ideas for sermons.
“Kathyanne, come up to the living room for a minute.”
At first he was afraid she was not going to do as he had asked her, because it seemed to him, as the seconds passed, that she was carefully debating the wisdom of obeying him, but she did get up after all. George backed out of the doorway and followed her closely all the way to the front room.
Nothing was said right away. The important thing, he reminded himself, was to think of some good excuse for having asked her to come there, and after looking hopefully around the room he suddenly asked her to empty the ash tray. Kathyanne seemed to be surprised by such a request, because he had smoked only one cigarette since coming home from the bank and most of the ashes had dropped somewhere on the carpet, but nevertheless, she picked it up and carried it to the kitchen. George paced the floor while she was gone, unable to forget the look of childish innocence on her face when he spoke to her in the kitchen, but at the same time determinedly telling himself that he was only doing what thousands of men all over the world were doing at that very minute.
He was still trying to think of some way to keep Kathyanne in the room without making her suspicious of his motives when she walked in and replaced the ash tray on the table. To his own surprise, he immediately made a bold move. Before she could turn around and go toward the hall, he hurriedly walked past her and got between her and the door.
When she saw what he had done, she did not say anything, but he knew she must be wondering what he intended doing next.
“You don’t have to hurry away, Kathyanne,” he spoke up nervously. “There’s no great rush about anything, you know.” He lit a cigarette and fanned the smoke away from his face. It had been a long time since he had felt so ill at ease in a woman’s presence, and he thrust the cigarette behind his back to prevent her from seeing his trembling hands. He wondered if he would ever have started this if he had kno
wn how nerve-racking the ordeal was going to be. “I’m—I’m surprised you’re not married, Kathyanne,” he said, determined not to be led into talking about banking again. “A good-looking girl like you—”
Kathyanne did not appear to be at all surprised by what he had said; he told himself that she was a lot smarter than he had supposed she was. He was convinced by then that she was capable of anticipating every devious twist and turn, his mind was taking, and he was left feeling dispirited to realize that he would also have to overcome intelligence.
“I mean that, Kathyanne,” he started again. “A good-looking girl—”
“I’m too young to be married now, Mr. George,” she said, smiling at him. “Besides, I have to help out at home. Aunt Hazel can’t work any more, and my brother and I take care of her.”
“Well, that’s probably true, but at the same time—”
She was shaking her head.
“How old are you, Kathyanne?” he then asked.
“Just seventeen.”
For the first time he had the sensation of feeling at ease. It was nowhere near as difficult to talk to her as he had feared. He drew a deep comforting breath. He wished so much time had not been wasted already.
“A lot of girls get married and raise families at that age,” he remarked easily.
“I know they do. But I couldn’t.”
She was so calm, and her manner was so pleasant, that George began to wonder if he were really as much at ease as he thought he was. He could not detect the slightest indication that she was afraid of him. He wished she would become frightened or even tearful, his reasoning being that, if she became distressed, he would have a better opportunity to induce her to stay in the room. He could always assure her, if he could create the opportunity, that she had nothing to fear. He took a step closer in a casual manner as though it were only by chance that he happened to move in her direction.
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