She heard the gospel music from her mother’s room and knew that the Sunday morning ritual had begun. She and her mother seldom went to church, but every Sunday they spent part of the day listening to gospel music or to a religious program on TV. Now her mother’s favorite song was trumpeting through the house:
Lord, you don’t have to move my mountains.
Just give me the strength to climb.
And, Lord, don’t take away my stumbling block,
But lead me all around.
The music reinforced her feelings of self-doubt, and she went into her mother’s room. Her mother was still in bed with magazines strewn about her.
“Come on in,” her mother said, patting the bed for Emma to join her.
“I’m not so clean, Mama! Let me wash up.”
“Oh, come on. You’re all right.”
Emma, pleased that she was accepted as she was, lay on the bed and looked at the Vogue Pattern book her mother was holding in her hand.
“These are some of the dresses chosen for the debs,” her mother said. “We’ll have to decide which you like best so it can be made.”
“You really think they’re gonna choose me, Ma?”
“One ‘no’ vote can keep you out. But it looks good in spite of that transfer. We’re still working on it.”
“Now I really want to do it.”
“That transfer is the only thing that has me concerned. But I think we can beat that.”
The dresses varied in styles to suit slim or plump girls. Emma, a tall, perfect eight, had difficulty choosing. She could wear any of the styles.
“They are all pretty. I’ll have to think about it, but right now I could go for the soft flowing one that has the trainlike effect attached at the shoulder; or the one with the hooped skirt and that pretty lace.
“I like the hooped skirt, too,” her mother said. “You’d look lovely in that. Sometimes I’m so proud of you, and then,” she looked at Emma and grinned, “I think you’re hopeless.”
“Aw, Mama.”
“But most of the time you’re a pretty good girl. Look in my closet. There’s a box on the floor. For you.”
Emma’s hands trembled as she ripped the tape off the box. She rummaged through the tissue and brought out a long, soft, cotton-knit nightshirt in her favorite shrimp pink. “Oh, Mama,” she cried, “just what I needed for Dee’s slumber party.”
“I thought you’d like that. The minute I picked it, I could just see you in it, with the fragile gold chain and gold slipper that come with the deb invitation.”
Emma reached over and gave her mother a hug and kiss. With all the problems, she still had the best mother in the world. “You deserve breakfast in bed, and I’m gonna make it.” She moved out of the room to the rhythm of:
Oh, happy day, oh, happy day
When Jesus washed my sins away.
Just as she finished preparing the tray to take to her mother’s room, the doorbell rang. Who could that be? Her first thought was that it was a member of the Golden Slippers bringing news that she had been accepted.
The tradition was that members of the club notified each girl, individually, at the girl’s home, at a chosen hour. All girls would get the word simultaneously, timed to the minute. The suspense was almost unbearable, so that, during the second week of November, every potential deb’s heart stopped at the ring of her doorbell.
“I’ll get it,” she called. Hurriedly she delivered the tray and rushed to the door. It was Marvin.
Oh, no. She was not ready for Marvin, not that early in the morning. Now she wished she had not listened to her mother and had had her shower. She had to let him in.
With the door cracked, she showed only her head. “Hi, give me a minute to run to my room, then you come in and make yourself comfortable while I get presentable, OK?
“It’s Marvin, Mama,” she said on the way to her room.
When she returned to the living room in a warmup suit, he was sitting, beating out the rhythm of the gospel music on his thigh.
“Well, I doubt that you look any better,” he said. “I’d prefer seeing you as you look when you’re ready for bed. Or, maybe in nothing.” He laughed.
“Aw, Marvin.” She lowered her head, embarrassed as always when he teased her in that way. “What are you doing over here so early?”
“I came to see if you got home all right.”
“Little you care. If you cared, you wouldn’t have taken me there in the first place. Right?”
“Wrong. Because I care, baby, I want you to know everything about me. And I want to know everything about you.”
“There are some things I’d rather not know. Kali is one of them. I’m not the kind to love my rivals. Nor am I the kind to let you burn me and pretend it doesn’t hurt.”
“She’s no rival.”
“Well, she was putting down some heavy stuff—‘You can find your way in your sleep.’ I was listening, all right.”
“Were you listening when I introduced you as my lady?”
Emma said nothing.
“I’m talking to you, woman. Were you listening?”
“That doesn’t mean a thing. You let me come home in a taxi! Wait just a minute and I’ll give you back the fare.” She rushed off to her room and returned with five dollars.
“No, thanks. My old man always told me if I took a lady out, I must see that she gets home, safe.”
“I’m sure your father didn’t mean putting a girl in a taxi. Were you concerned about what your father said, or were you more interested in what was going down at the party?”
“Listen, Em.”
“Don’t raise your voice. I don’t want Mama to hear us.”
“No, you listen,” he said quietly. “I asked you, ‘How’re you gonna get home?’ And what did you say? You said, ‘I’ll call a cab.’ That was your decision and I took care of it.”
“What else could I have done?”
“You could have said, ‘You’re taking me.’ I’d have had no other choice and I would have brought you home.”
“You think I believe that?” she said with controlled rage. “You can make a better case of messing up than anybody I know.”
“I’m not the son of a good lawyer for nothing.” He laughed. “You’re something else when you lose your cool, you know that?” He took her hands and tried to bring her into his arms.
“No way.” She pushed him in the chest away from her. “I’m mad at you.”
“Emma,” her mother called from her room. “Did you offer Marvin some breakfast?”
“He doesn’t want any.”
“Yes, I do, Mrs. Walsh.”
“Fix Marvin some breakfast,” her mother said.
Later, when she walked Marvin to the door, he said, “Thanks for a pleasant morning, and for a good breakfast. I’m looking forward to spending an evening with you and taking you to breakfast, soon.”
“I’m looking forward to that, too.”
He held her hands. “You glad I came?”
She nodded her head yes. She was glad that she had spent that time with him. But deep down under she knew something was missing. Suddenly she remembered her mother’s words: “Don’t let yourself become accustomed to being grateful for nothing.”
Eight
The week of waiting for the announcement of the chosen debs and the anticipation of the slumber party were just too much. To help reduce the tension, Emma spent most of her time alone in the library, studying or reading. She ignored Brenda and her crowd and gave them lots of space.
Finally, the waiting was almost over and that Friday afternoon Emma rushed out of class to the curb where her mother waited. All that week she had gone home expecting the doorbell to ring. Hours were spent on the telephone with Dee or Cheryl, talking, planning, or dreaming. Now they would spend the night talking, planning, and dreaming.
Emma sat looking out of the car window, too excited to talk. What if the announcement came while she was at Dee’s? What if she were not ac
cepted and the others were? What would she do at that party with them all knowing? Oh, if Ms. Simmons had never existed. But she was not going to think about that. She was going to that party and have a good time.
At home she went to her room and checked her overnight bag and her makeup kit; everything was in place. She had folded her nightie and a change of clothes in tissue, her hair rollers, nail polish, a new kind of makeup, all were there. She knew she should take a nap so that she would be the last to succumb to sleep, but she was too excited. She paced back and forth around the room wishing she had the desire to pick up things that had accumulated over the week to clutter the place again.
Finally, she stood looking out her window. Girls from the parochial school in their uniform—pleated skirt, short jacket, blouse with round collar and ribbon tie—walked by. How can they put on that outfit everyday, looking like everyone else? Emma wondered as she watched them. The plump one plodded along while the other, who was tiny for a high school student, walked as if she were trying to restrain an urge to move faster. What were they talking about? Not clothes, not makeup. Boys? … Probably. Problems with other girls, more likely.
Two boys followed, completely unaware of the girls, practicing soccer techniques. One walked backward as gracefully as a ballet dancer, bouncing the ball off his head, off his knee, off his toes, to the guy in front of him. The other guy tried mimicking the technique, but failed miserably. Emma laughed when, in frustration, the awkward one hit the ball with both hands. They moved on toward their houses as the twilight changed to darkness.
Emma lay on her bed and listened to sounds of early evening—people rushing home in their cars, the hum of motors and the swish of tires coming in waves like the sound of wind in trees, or the roll of the sea. She got off her bed and looked into the mirror. She lifted her hair onto the top of her head, turned on a cool stare, her nose turned upward. Then she asked herself, Why would a smart girl like you want to be a debutante?
“Emma,” her mother called. “Are you ready?”
“Is it that time? So soon?” Suddenly she felt a compelling urge to stay home. The old fear of being rejected by the Golden Slippers haunted her again, and she sighed. She would be accepted. She must hold on to that thought and nothing else.
When her mother dropped her off at Dee’s house, Emma asked, “What if it comes tonight?”
“I’ll call you.”
“Even if it’s late?”
“Never too late for good news. Don’t worry now. Have a good time.”
As Emma struggled up to the door with her kit, overnight case, and sleeping bag, the noise came from the kitchen, which was near the front of Dee’s house. Everyone was there: Linda, Cheryl, Tanya, Melanie, and Diane. After Emma was greeted with squeals of welcome, Dee’s mother relieved her of the sleeping bag and guided her upstairs to the recreation room to deposit her things. The room was filled with all the necessary equipment to make a slumber party a success.
Emma was just in time for dinner. Noise faded as the food was sampled. “Dee, you intend to fatten us with pizza, spaghetti, desserts, and all this stuff,” Emma said as she filled her plate.
“Don’t you just love it?” Tanya said.
“I love it, but can’t afford it,” Linda said. “I’ve gotta lose ten pounds before the ball.”
“You don’t have much time,” Cheryl said.
The conversation quickly shifted to the dress patterns that had been chosen. Tanya and Melanie had selected the chiffon pattern that was also one of Emma’s choices.
Immediately after dinner they rushed upstairs and exchanged makeup. They did each other’s fingernails and toenails in black, silver, and frosted shades. Each girl’s head bustled with hair rollers.
They all agreed that Emma’s nightshirt was really fit for the ball, and that the color did wonders for her lovely brown skin. As the evening wore on, Emma lost all sense of doubt and uneasiness. She joined in all the fun.
With the music just low enough to keep Dee’s mother from complaining, they learned the latest steps from Tanya, who was the best dancer in the group.
“Can’t you see us dancing a cotillion in this day and age?” Tanya referred to the dance they would have to do after their introduction at the ball.
“My boyfriend threatened not to go because he feels he can’t learn that cold, stiff dance. Why not the gigolo?” Diane said and they all cracked up.
“Why not? Anything but a cotillion,” Dee said, trying to mimic Tanya doing the robot.
Exhausted, they settled in their sleeping bags. Melanie, who had been quiet all evening, fumbled in her bag and brought out a silver flask.
“My mother won’t like that, Melanie,” Dee said.
“She doesn’t have to know,” Melanie said. “Anybody? It’s bourbon, the best.”
Emma looked at Dee, who was trying to contain her anger. That drinking was the reason why Dee had not wanted Melanie at the party. Melanie could not do without booze no matter what the occasion, and Dee’s mother was strict when it came to drugs and alcohol. However, Melanie was there because Dee’s mother had insisted.
Only Diane accepted. Melanie then took a long drink and put the flask away.
“Why were you late, Em?” Melanie asked, breaking the silence.
“I wasn’t late.”
“We thought you might not come,” Melanie said.
“Why would you think that?” Emma asked.
“’Cause, we wanted you to come so badly. We miss you, girl,” Linda called out.
“Yeah, things ain’t what they used to be at Marlborough since you left,” Cheryl said.
“We don’t know what’s going down. The crackers are in complete control.” Everybody laughed at Dee’s words.
“They always were,” Emma stated matter-of-factly.
“No, now, Em. At least you were our representative. We have nobody now,” Diane said.
“And, girl, the white chicks are just taking Marvin over.” Melanie’s voice had a tinge of anger.
“And who else?” Emma asked. She didn’t want the conversation centered around Marvin and his women. Did they know about Kali? She hoped not.
“Anybody they think have potential. It’s disgusting.” Quiet Melanie was letting her anger show.
Emma said nothing, hoping the conversation would die. She didn’t want to get into that black-man-white-woman thing.
“Maybe they think they’re doing us a favor,” Cheryl said. Emma then knew that the topic would have to run its course.
“A favor?” they all cried.
“If that’s a favor, heaven help us if they ever decide to do us in.” Dee shrugged and sighed deeply.
“Dee?” Cheryl asked. “You remember that book we read about the white chick who took a Black dude from a sister? Emma, you read it, too.”
Emma remembered having read the book and how it had angered and hurt her. She didn’t want to talk about it.
“This chick in the book thought she was doing Blacks a favor. And, of course, you know what kind of dude he was,” Cheryl said.
“Had to be good looking,” Linda blurted out.
“A great basketball, football, and soccer player rolled in one,” Melanie added.
“And a brain, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera,” Diane said.
“Wait, wait,” Dee shouted. “This dude was all that, plus he was a black Black with blue eyes, yet.” They all cracked up.
“You guys making that up,” Tanya said.
“Un-unh!” Dee cried. “And don’t laugh, this is serious. The chick who took the dude said she did it because we didn’t know how to be feminine and how to treat our men: We go out and get all the jobs, take care of the family, and make our men lean on us. Our men need somebody to lean on them so that they can prove their manhood.”
Emma remembered how confused she had been when she read that part of the book. She had wondered at that time if her mother was to blame for her father marrying Jody. But since then she had learned to ask other question
s. Had her mother not worked then to help her father, would Jody be able to lean on him now? She wished they would talk about something else.
“I thought you lean on your father,” Diane said. “I want to be a partner, working together on equal footing with my husband. I ain’t looking for no father in my man. But what I want to know is, what did the sister do, Cheryl?”
“The sister freaked out—quit a library job to wait tables—”
“Worse than that, she quit school over that dude,” Dee interrupted.
“And some other sisters did a stupid thing, too. They cut off the chick’s hair,” Cheryl continued.
“Sounds like that writer put us down,” Melanie said. “They wouldn’t cut hair. Hair will grow back. They would’ve branded her for good.” There was a burst of laughter.
The laughing was contagious so Emma laughed, too; but she was thinking about Kali and Marvin, Jody and her mother, Manning and Marlborough. She knew she was caught in a whirl of color that never ceased. She wanted to do something to stop the talk, but she didn’t know what to do. She was the only one there whose father was married to a white woman; and it was Marvin who was being vamped by white girls, so what could she say? She wanted to ask: What choice do we have? Do we Black women do what we do because we want to, or because we have to? She thought of the old saying “You can’t lean on a broken stick.” Seems like to me we’re being asked to take the blame for not leaning on a stick that was broken by the people doing the blaming, but she said nothing.
In the middle of the laughter, the doorbell rang. It was as though lightning had struck. The laughing ceased. Nobody moved, yet the anticipation in the room seemed to crackle in the silence.
“Dee. Dee, come down here,” Dee’s mother called.
They all scrambled up and, as one, they tumbled down the stairs. A member of the Golden Slippers Club stood near the door with a gold envelope in her hand. “Dedrie, congratulations! You have been chosen as a Golden Slipper’s debutante for this year. We are proud to honor you.” The statement was friendly, but formally made.
Everybody stood breathless, waiting as Dee nervously broke the heavy seal and brought forth the gold invitation for her and an escort to attend the ball. Then the gold chain with the golden slipper was placed around Dee’s neck. Squeals shattered the silence as the girls hugged and kissed Dee in joy.
Because We Are Page 5