Apron Strings

by Mary Morony

  Just after Early and me took up with each other, we was at a juke joint down near the river. We’d been dancin’ up a storm. The fact that Early liked to dance like I did was probably what put the icin’ on the cake. That man could tear a rug up. After a while people stopped dancin’ just to look. They was standin’ ‘round, tappin’ their toes, and clappin’ in time to the music. Early and me was dancin’ the “black bottom.” If you have any little bit of competition in yo’ blood, the black bottom could wear you out. Early was feeling no pain and it made him bold. He’d dance a phrase, then slap himself on the hind parts and stamp and clap while I danced the same one. Then I’d do a new one of my own, tryin’ to outdo his. The place was goin’ wild as Early and me hopped, jumped, and gyrated all over that dance floor. When the music finally stopped, I had to get me some air.

  Early went to fix us a drink and I stepped outside in the cool night air. People was pourin’ out of the place, pattin’ me on the back and tellin’ me what a fine job I’d done. They said they ain’t never seen any couple dance as good as me and Early. As the crowd thinned out, I noticed a white couple standin’ over in the shadows. The girl took after somebody but I couldn’t think who.

  “Ethel, that was wonderful!” The girl clapped her hands together and gave a little hop as she stepped up closer to me. Her friend hovered a little ways behind. “I had no idea that you could dance like that!” she said.

  “Miz Ginny? Is dat you?” I asked. “Lord, I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t said somethin’. Look at how you done growed.”

  “Golly, Ethel, you’d think you were Mother’s age the way you go on. There can’t be much difference in our ages.”

  “I ‘spect not. What ya’ll doin’ here? I bet Miz Bess don’t know.”

  “And Bertha knows you’re here?” She laughed and twirled around. Miz Ginny looked happy, and I was glad for that knowin’ that the Stuarts had fallen on such hard times. “Ethel, I would love to be able to dance like that,” she said. “Would you teach me?”

  “Miz Ginny, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. All I know is when the music starts, I can’t keep my feets still. But Roberta, now, she be a mighty fine teacher. She done taught me near all I know ‘bout dancin’, and most other thangs besides.”

  “Come on, Ethel, I bet you could.”

  Now, I ain’t never been able to say no to Miz Ginny. We had us a date to meet at Miz Bess’s apartment that next Wednesday while Miz Bess was at her garden club meetin’.

  “Make sure Miz Bess ain’t gonna be there. I ain’t even gonna try to imagine what kinda mad she’d be if she walked in and seen me teachin’ you dis here jive.” Miz Ginny giggled as she waved goodbye.

  “Can’t wait until Wednesday,” she called as she and her beau disappeared into the night.

  Outta nowhere that delivery boy CL come down the path. I don’t know if he’d been sneakin’ after Miz Ginny or sneakin’ after me. He bumped right up against me jest after Miz Ginny left. With a curled lip he snarled, “Makin’ sure that ol’ bitch ain’t home so’s ya’ll can steal her blind, I ‘spect. Girl, you…” I turned tail and walked away like he weren’t even there though I felt like somebody done walked on my grave..

  Wednesday arrived soon enough. As I was comin’ through the kitchen of Miz Bess’s place, I ran straight into Mama.

  “What yo’ doin’ here, girl?” she asked.

  I hemmed and hawed and hemmed some more until Miz Ginny come into the kitchen. “Oh Lord, what are you doin’ here, Bertha?” she asked.

  “Well now, I’s jest ‘bout ta ask you what you was up to when dis here fool rounded the corner,” Mama said, pointin’ to me. Then she gave us both a good hard stare.

  “I didn’t know you worked for Mother on Wednesdays,” Miz Ginny said, ignorin’ Mama’s question.

  “Has been fo’ da last three years,” she said flatly. “I know it ain’t none of my bid’ness what you be up ta, but dis here girl is mine, so I’s gonna axe agin. What ya’ll got cooked up?”

  “Ethel is going to teach me how to do the black bottom,” Miz Ginny said, like we was goin’ to study Bible verses.

  “Now, dis I gotta see,” Mama said, and she followed as we made our way into the sittin’ room. Miz Ginny had an old Victrola set up in the sittin’ room and all the furniture pushed up against the walls. She had a Bessie Smith record that both Mama and me had a giggle over later.

  Miz Ginny was a good deal better at pickin’ up the dance moves than I thought she’d be. She was passable at copyin’ me, but she couldn’t, to save her life, do a move of her own. Mama sat cacklin’ at us as we slapped our bottoms and hopped back and forth. I was tryin’ to show Miz Ginny how to shimmy and both she and Mama ‘bout fell out.

  Mama said, “Honey, yo’ ain’t got nothin’ to shimmy, and if Ethel gets ta shimmyin’ much more, she might loose control of dem girls! Lord have mercy, where would we be then?”

  Miz Ginny looked down at her little flat chest and then at my great big breasts going ever’ which way, and she couldn’t stop laughin’. Mama and me laughed about that dance lesson for years. And when we got through laughin’ at what did happen, we’d start up again thinkin’ on what would’ve happened if Miz Bess had come home.

  After that Wednesday, a good few years passed before I heard anythin’ at all about the Stuarts. Mista Jimmy did his level best to help out his mama. He went to North Carolina to sell her beach house and came back later with a fortune he had made in real estate, a wife, and a new name. He had grown from Mista Jimmy to Mista James.

  After that, Miz Bess moved back to the Annex and Mama was hired again full time. I helped her fix Thanksgivin’ dinner for the entire family; except Mista Dennis. Nobody had heard word one from him in eight years. Fact was, the family was feelin’ rent apart in all directions, and it was hard to be thankful in those days. It had been a rough time for all of us.

  I liked Mista Joe the minute I laid eyes on him. Tall, blond, and good-lookin’, he could have passed for one of Miz Bess’s own children. He had a real easy way ‘bout him. He even could make Miz Bess laugh. All the years I’d known her I could count on one hand the times I heard Miz Bess laugh. Mama noticed, too.

  Miz Ginny didn’t seem to pay Mista Joe much mind at Thanksgivin’ dinner; or so much as say a peep to anybody else, for that matter. She didn’t even look at me as I passed the potatoes and vegetables. As far as I could tell, Mista Joe was just one of Mista Gordon’s school friends and that was all there was to it. But anyone could see he was already head over heels crazy ‘bout Miz Ginny. He made sure to sit next to her every chance he got. And even if they wasn’t talkin’, he was cuttin’ looks her way.

  Mista Joe didn’t have any sense at all how thangs was done. When I was servin’ round, he talked to me like I was sittin’, eatin’ with the family.

  “Hi, I’m Joe,” he said, takin’ the bowl instead of allowin’ me to serve him. He stuck out his hand to shake. “What’s your name?” It made me so nervous, I liked to have dropped the bowl when he handed it back. When I didn’t take his hand, he put it back in his lap. Round the table I saw every fork stopped somewhere between a plate and a mouth. They was slack-jawed, starin’ at Mista Joe like he’d sprouted horns right smack in front of them.

  “Ethel,” I croaked. I moved on fast as I could.

  After dinner Mista Joe came out in the kitchen to thank Mama and me just as we was havin’ a little taste of the leftover wine. Quick as a jackrabbit, I dumped mine in the sink and acted like I was washin’ up.

  “Hi, I understand you’re Bertha,” he said to Mama, holdin’ out his hand. “I’m Joe Mackey. That was the best Thanksgiving dinner I have ever had. Thank you so much. My mother isn’t much of a cook, and I don’t know when I’ve had so much good food.” He took Mama’s hand and shook it. She stood there lookin’ at him, dumb as a post. Turning to me, he said, “Thank you, too, Ethel. I’m sorry I embarrassed you out there. I didn’t know. I didn’t grow up with servants.” I kept both m
y hands in the sink so he wouldn’t take hold of one of ‘em and shake it like he did Mama’s.

  Mista Gordon called from the door, “Come on, Joe. We gotta get back.”

  As he left, Mista Joe turned back to us and waved. “I hope to see you both again soon, ladies.” Then he said to Mista Gordon, “I can’t go yet. I haven’t had a minute to woo that beautiful sister of yours.” They both laughed and disappeared behind the swinging door.

  After the first of the year, I saw Mista Joe on my way home from work. He was walkin’ down the street toward the boardin’ house where I used to work. He looked like he was lookin’ for somethin’. I wasn’t too surprised to see him since lots of university students lived in the boardin’ house; that was, until he spoke to me.

  “Oh good, Ethel, I thought I was going to miss you again,” he said.

  I stood there looking at him like he was from the moon. Finally I blurted out, “Why you lookin’ fo’ me? I ain’t done nothing!”

  “Calm down. I just want your help with Ginny.”

  He tried to take both my hands in his, but I snatched them away and gave him a stern look. “My help? How’d you know where I’d be?” I crossed my arms and tucked my hands up under them.

  “Your mother told me this was the way you walked home everyday, and about what time. I’ve been hoping to catch up with you for almost a month.”

  “Me?” I asked. “You been tryin’ to catch up with me?” I looked at him like he was some kinda crazy, which I thought he was.

  Mista Joe smiled. He musta understood what my look meant, because he said, “You think I’m crazy, right? Well, probably I am!” He laughed that real easy laugh the way he does. But I was still suspicious.

  “Wha’ kinda help you want from me?” I asked, checkin’ over his shoulder for an escape route just in case he really was crazy.

  “Would you like to go out and have a beer with me?” he said.

  He was crazy all right. Crazy like a fox. I seen what he was lookin’ for. “Uh…no, I cain’t do that cuz I already got me a man.” I looked at ‘im steady so he’d understand he weren’t gettin’ nothin’ from me. “Besides, I don’t hold stock wit’ that kinda foolishness.”

  “No, I’m not asking you out on a date, Ethel,” he said and cleared his throat. “I just need your help. That’s it. I swear.”

  “And where we goin’ ta be havin’ dis beer?”

  “Well, if we were back in New York, we could go to a bar, but here…I guess I didn’t think it through. We could go to my room. It’s not far.” He sounded so innocent, like a little boy. Then he threw his hands up, like he had a gun pointed at him. He crossed his heart. “I swear, Ethel, on my mother’s grave, I only want to talk with you.” He laughed that easy laugh. “I promise.”

  I could sure imagine what Mama would say, but I followed Mista Joe to his boardin’ house and started up the steps. That beer sounded right good. And besides, he didn’t look like he was going to try nothin’.

  “I’m sorry yo’ Mama died,” I said. “You didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout it at Thanksgivin’…musta happened pretty recent?”

  “My mother’s not dead. Why would you think…oh, on my mother’s grave…that’s just an expression.”

  I stopped on the landin’ and looked at ‘im hard. “Mista Joe,” I said, “you can just tell me right chere what you got in mind ‘cause I ain’t goin’ another step wit’ a man who say his Mama dead when she ain’t.”

  “Ethel, I’m sorry. It’s an expression we use up north. Come on. I promise all of this is on the up and up.” He held his door open for me. I went in, but I didn’t take my coat off. He went back and forth across the room fetching two glasses and then the beer, and back again for the opener. “It’s just that I’m at my wit’s end with Ginny, and you know her ways…”

  He handed me a glass and poured the beer. “And please stop calling me ‘Mister Joe.’ It’s uncomfortable for me.”

  Humph, I thought, uncomfortable for him.

  “Now looky, Mista Joe,” I said. “I’m gonna call you what I’m ‘spose’ to call you, if’n you like it or not. Imma have one beer, listenin’ to what ya got to say, an’ then I’m goin’ straight home.”

  “Here’s the thing, Ethel,” he said. “I’m crazy about Ginny and she won’t give me the time of day. She acts like she’s in a whole other world when I’m around. What do you think I could do to make her see how much…,” he hesitated. I noticed red creepin’ up around his ears. He had his head bent down, pickin’ at his thumb. “How much I love her,” he whispered. He looked surprised, like it mighta been the first time he’d said it out loud. Then all excited like, he axed, “Should I push or let things be? Do you think I should send her flowers? Candy? I feel like I’m only going to get one shot at winning her over, and I don’t want to miss it. Ethel, what do you think? You know her.” He looked at me like he thought I could just hand him the key to Miz Ginny’s heart.

  “Lord, Mista Joe, I ain’t got no idea. I’s sorry as I can be.” I moved my untouched beer toward him, thinkin’ I ain’t earned it. I stood up to go. I sho couldn’ stand lookin’ at the disappointment in his face no longer than I had ta.

  “Don’t go,” he said. “At least not until you finish your beer.” He pushed it back toward me. I hesitated then sat back down. “I don’t think I really expected you to have an answer. I’m sorry, Ethel. I…she has me turned so upside down. I don’t know what I’m thinking.” He ran his fingers through his hair, stood up, and then sat down again. “I feel like a damn fool. Truth be told, Ethel, I think I just wanted to talk with somebody who loves Ginny as much as I do.” He settled back in his chair and took a pull on his beer. He didn’t say anything more. We sat there a few more minutes, but I couldn’t think of nothing to help him. I drained my glass and left.

  As I walked home, I thought about Miz Ginny kissing Cy in the barn. Was that love? I wondered if Mista Joe had to work so hard to get Miz Ginny’s attention, would or even could that be love. Mista Joe was a nice man, but what did nice have to do with love? I was pretty sure Early loved me, but did I love him? Was love the thing that makes you go all weak in the knees? Makes it so you can’t think straight so you do stupid things like Cy did, or was it slow and steady? Damned if I could tell.

  Love or not, about a year and half later, Mista Joe asked Miz Bess and Mista Gordon for Miz Ginny’s hand. They was engaged to be married and was lookin’ for someone to work for them. The weddin’ was to be in November in Miz Bess’s parlor.

  Chapter 8

  Sallee

  As colorful and exotic as a trip downtown with Ethel was, a day usually turned into grim shades of gray when we were with my mother. Buying new school clothes always necessitated that we had to be dressed up, mind our manners, stay neat and tidy, be quiet, and generally have no fun. The thrill of pretty dresses and new shoes hardly matched the agony of shopping for them. And as divine as chocolate milk was, it didn’t make up for being reminded a hundred times to sit up straight and “don’t slurp.” My mother didn’t like to take us because, as she told Ethel, “They just won’t mind me. I don’t know why you would want to take them.”

  She herded us from the brand new five-story Miller and Rhoades to Waddell’s shoe store, snapping at us like a collie dog after sheep when they get out of line. We couldn’t even think about moving out of her sight; and forget about making any choice in what to buy.

  “Mama, I hate these brown shoes. I won’t wear them.” I tried hard not to cry, but was failing miserably. “Please, can I have these?” I held up a pair of loafers like Stuart wore. “Please?”

  “No!” she snapped while the salesman was in the back of the store looking for the right size for a pair of the shoes she had picked out for Gordy. “Your feet are still growing and you need lace up shoes. Stop whining and put the shoes on. Now.” Her tone suggested that if I didn’t do what she said I ran a high risk of being permanently mortified.

  Gordy groaned when the salesman returned with the
shoes in his size.

  We were just there to try things on to see if they fit. If they fit, we had to get a bigger size. Helen cried, I whined, and Gordy insisted on going to the bathroom even though my mother said under no circumstances were we allowed to use a public toilet.

  “But I gotta go,” he insisted until she had no choice but to let him. We lurked around the men’s room waiting for Gordy for ten minutes. When he finally came out, my mother grabbed him by the ear and hissed that he had better not have touched anything, and did he wash his hands? I was thinking, How do you wash your hands and not touch anything? I was about to ask the question when I thought better of it.

  The idea of taking us to town was so loathsome to her that once she even said to Ethel, “Leave them with me. There is no reason for you to drag them along with you.” On the other side of the door, we listened silently, but fervently prayed for Ethel to find a reason to take us with her.

  Ethel answered, “No ma’am, I promised to take ‘em to the movies.”

  Scuttling to get out of earshot in order to give full voice to our joy at the too-unreal-to-be-true delight almost put the trip itself in jeopardy. In our attempt to get outside as fast as possible, Helen was smashed against the doorjamb. She had a tendency to be a crybaby.

  “I know it hurts, but please don’t cry,” Gordy pleaded. “We won’t be able to go if you do. Please don’t cry.”