keep up with Cora,” she poured water into a Mason jar glass
and handed it to him. She looked down at the bulge in his
pants. “But from the looks of you, I think you gonna be alright.”
As James drank the water in one gulp, she stood close
enough for him to smell her rose-scented perfume. He could
see her clearly, even in the room’s dim light. She’s younger than me. I thought a prostitute would be older.
“You don’t have to know anything,” his fraternity brothers
told him. “These women are experienced. They know what to
do and they know how to do it. You just lay back and let the
magic happen.”
As promised, Cora handled James’s awkward inexperience
with the finesse of a seasoned professional. She took the empty
glass from him and put it back on the table. Then she turned
to face him and slipped her robe from her shoulders, letting
it drop to the floor. She was unaffected as his eyes widened,
taking in her body. She was the color of fresh cream, with
long, dark, luxurious hair, beautiful hazel eyes and delicate,
sculpted fingers. Her body was girl-thin but her breasts were
woman-full and he desperately wanted to reach out and touch
them. James had never seen a woman so boldly naked before.
He had never seen any woman naked before, except in pictures.
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“What’s the matter, college boy?” She stepped even closer
to him. “Cora got your tongue?” she whispered in his ear, as she
loosened his tie and threw it onto the chair. She unbuttoned his
shirt and peeled it off with his jacket. Gently, she pushed him
onto the bed and knelt down to remove his shoes and socks.
Then she unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants and pulled
them down with his underwear, leaving them in a heap on the
floor. James lay on the bed, naked, staring up at the fringed
shade on the ceiling fixture.
“Oh, my,” she said, commenting on what she had uncovered.
Gracefully, Cora straddled him, her long hair falling around
them like a curtain. She positioned herself on top and guided
him into her.
“I want you to take it easy, or you won’t get your money’s
worth,” she whispered. “I’ll move real slow, until you just can’t
stand it anymore.”
James closed his eyes, the scent of her fil ing his flared nos-
trils. He understood why men pay for this. When he opened his
eyes to look at Cora, her eyes were open, her face expressionless.
Their faces were only inches apart, but she was looking past
him, as if he wasn’t there. Gasping with pleasure, James laced
his fingers in her hair and tried to kiss her, but she turned her
face away. All the while her body moved rhythmically, but not
mechanically, her face showing none of the pleasure he felt.
She was somewhere else altogether.
Later, when he reflected on the experience, James realized
that what he saw on Cora’s face was boredom. The fact that she
could accommodate a man in the most intimate of acts, while
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remaining so detached, made him appreciate her skill, but he
also wondered whether a woman like that could ever love a man.
James gasped, and shuddered—he’d lasted as long as he
could, which wasn’t long. As soon as he climaxed, Cora rolled
off him and sat on the side of the bed with her legs crossed,
gazing at the darkness outside the open window.
After a few minutes, without turning to look at him, she
asked, “So how was your first time, James?”
“Unbelievable,” he said. Cora looked over her shoulder
and smiled at him. What a magnificently beautiful woman,
James thought.
“So you’ll come back and see Little Cora?”
“I’d like to,” James said. Pulling himself up on his elbows,
he reached out to touch her, but she got up and put her robe
on, this time cinching it closed.
“James, do you have something else for Little Cora?” James
sat up and pulled the sheet to cover his flaccid penis. Did she
want him again?
“My envelope?” she asked.
“Oh,” James leaned over and retrieved his jacket. He handed
her the white envelope the woman at the desk downstairs had
given him after he paid. Cora took the envelope in her long
fingers, turned it over and opened the flap. She counted the
money, mouthing the numbers. When she finished, she tucked
the envelope into her robe pocket.
“Can I, I mean, may I ask you a question, James?” she said,
in voice that sounded more like the girl she was than the bold
woman she had just been. “Would you recommend a book for
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me to read, something that you read in college?” Her request
surprised him.
“Women don’t go to the University of Virginia,” he said,
looking around the room for the rest of his clothing.
“I know that. But if I was a man, what would I read,” she
answered.
James thought for a second, “Dorian Gray, maybe?
Everyone’s reading it,” he offered.
“Is that the name of the book, or the author?” she asked.
“The Picture of Dorian Gray, is the title; the author is Oscar Wilde,” James said, impressed that she knew to ask that question.
“That’s what you’d recommend if I want to,” she hesitated
for a moment, “improve myself?”
“Sure,” James said. “Wilde is pretty popular.”
“Oscar Wilde, author,” she repeated, making a mental
note. “Thank you, James,” she said, regaining her experienced
demeanor. “I’ll leave you to dress; my next gentleman is due
in 15 minutes.” She walked to the bedroom door, “Goodbye
James, come back and see Little Cora again, okay?” Without
waiting for his response, she closed the door behind her.
As James dressed, he noticed that there were books stacked
careful y on shelves in the corner of the small room. She had al
kinds of books – most of them old and tattered. She had used
literature, history, math and science text books and discards
from the library. James picked up the book Cora had been read-
ing when he knocked on her door, “A Guide to the Manners,
Etiquette, and Deportment of the Most Refined Society .” She’s preparing herself for other things, James thought. If he ever did 125
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come back to Sally’s, he would bring her a book, but he was
certain that if he didn’t hurry, Little Cora would be long gone.
(IV)
“Mr. Stephens!” Charlotte slapped her gloves against the
desk, bringing James back to the present.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I want to know what you were referring to last night when
you said you were Hank’s partner. Colonial Enterprises was
Hank’s business.”
“It’s our business,” James corrected her. “Hank started the
business, but we grew it together.”
“What are you talking about? Hank owned Colonial,
a
nd now my daughter owns it. You’re just an employee,”
Charlotte said.
“Mrs. Bennett, Hank asked me to buy into the business
more than a decade ago. You don’t have to worry, Hank and I
made sure that if anything happened to either of us, our families
would be taken care of.”
“I don’t care what Hank promised you.”
“It’s not a promise. I have a legal and financial stake in this
business. I’ll discuss all of this with Maggie and Lance after
she’s had a chance to—”
Charlotte cut him off. “You’ll discuss it with me, right
now. I will be handling my daughter’s affairs from now on,
Mr. Stephens; she is the rightful owner of this company. You
will take your direction from me.” James sat down in his chair
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as Charlotte continued. “I will make sure Margaret retains
ownership of her husband’s business. I don’t care what you and
Hank cooked up. You don’t want to cross me, you have no idea
what I am capable of,” Charlotte threatened.
“Is that right, Little Cora?” James asked. “When was the
last time you saw Sally? Is the Cathouse still in business? It’s
been a long time since you made me a man there. A woman
like you is impossible to forget. How did you like that book I
recommended? What was it? Now I remember, The Picture of
Dorian Grey, seems you took it to heart,” James said as he got up and walked around the desk to face her.
Charlotte could not remember any of the men from the
brothel. She had sex with them—it was never intimate, just a
simple business transaction. James Stephens knew her secret,
and he could use it to inflict even more damage than Hank’s
revelation.
Taking Charlotte’s hand, he said, “You have the most beau-
tiful hands; they are what made me remember you.” Charlotte
snatched her hand away from James.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, hoping
her composure would convince him but the fear in her eyes
gave her away. The two eyed each other in a silent standoff.
Charlotte’s fingertips dabbed at the sweat on her upper lip. She
felt her knees weaken; she stumbled to a chair. She couldn’t
breathe; the air in the room was gone as soon as James called
her Little Cora. She’d spent almost four decades forgetting
that name and that life. Flushed and coughing, she pulled at
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the collar of her dress. James poured a glass of water from a
decanter and handed it to her.
“You changed your name. Charlotte, I like it, suits the new
you. You’ve done alright for yourself, Little Cora.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said in a harsh whisper.
“Do not threaten me, Mrs. Bennett, and do not try to inter-
fere with the plans Hank and I made for our company. I assure
you, your family is well taken care of.” As Charlotte drained
the glass of water, James asked, “Would you like something
stronger?” Charlotte nodded. James took a bottle of whiskey
from the desk drawer and refilled her glass.
“I suspect your daughter and grandson don’t know about
your former occupation, and no one has to know, if you respect
my partner’s wishes. Can you do that, Mrs. Bennett? I don’t
want to see Maggie or young Lance suffer any more than they
already have. After Hank, your revelation might be more than
they can handle.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes, “You can’t prove anything.
No one will believe you.”
“No, I can’t prove a thing, but Richmond likes nothing
better than good gossip, especially in your social circle. The
Whitakers and the Bennetts will be all this town talks about
for a good long time. Let’s work together Mrs. Bennett, for
everyone’s sake. I’ll come by to talk with Maggie tomorrow
about the business and what Hank wanted,” James said as
Charlotte regained her composure and stood up to leave. “Al ow
me to see you to your car.”
“Don’t bother,” Charlotte snapped.
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“Not a bother,” James said as he followed her to her car
parked in the alley next to the building. “Is there anything I
can do to help with funeral arrangements for Hank?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte said. “I have taken care of Hank
Whitaker.”
James opened the car door and offered his hand to help
Charlotte in. “Then may I offer my condolences for your loss?”
“Keep them,” Charlotte said, ignoring his chivalry. When
she tried to pull the car door closed, James held it.
“Isn’t it strange how the past is never really past, Cora?
All through life we leave pieces of ourselves with others and
we never know when, how or if those pieces will come back
to us. We all have secrets Cora, some more than others. Your
secret is one of my most treasured memories,” James said as
he closed the car door. “I’d hate to have to destroy you and my
cherished memory of Little Cora.”
Charlotte started the car and drove down the alley to the
street; she could feel rage and fear building in equal measure.
As she waited for the traffic to clear, she looked in the rear-
view mirror at James standing in the alley. That smug bastard, she thought. Yesterday she was a pillar of Richmond society,
now Hank and his partner James Stephens were destroying
everything she had achieved since she clawed her way out of
that cathouse. She’d managed to make it from a fifteen-year
old prostitute to a wealthy man’s wife by seventeen and a rich
widow by thirty-five. She pulled her car onto the street and
floored the accelerator. Time to run again.
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(V)
Maggie sat at the dining room table where she had hosted
her famous luncheons and dinner parties. She looked down at
her reflection in the highly polished cherry wood, she didn’t
recognize the mournful version of herself looking back. Maggie
had always delighted in the fact that a place at this table was
one of the most sought after invitations in town. Today, the only
people willing to sit at her table were James Stephens and her
mother and they were here to help her process her diminished
place in Richmond society.
“Maggie, you and Lance can’t keep Hank’s share of the
business. I don’t have a problem with it, but no one will do
business with us if we’re owned by a Negro and a woman,”
James said. “I’ve got enough to overcome now that they know
about Hank. I’ll be tel ing the truth when I say I didn’t know he
was colored.” James was uncomfortable saying this to Maggie.
“Your husband was always fair with me and I will be the same
with you.” James handed Maggie the agreement he and Hank
had for the business along with the company’s most recent
audit. Either partner had the option to buy the other out, at
50 percent of the company’s c
urrent audited value.
“Look through these, we should get this taken care of as
soon as possible. Hank’s revelation could be….” he searched
for the right words, “very disruptive to my business.”
“It is not your business yet,” Charlotte bristled. James
warned Charlotte with a quick glance. Charlotte took the
papers from Maggie and started combing through them.
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James opened his briefcase, took out a check and handed
it to Maggie.
“This should be more than enough until Lance is able to
find a way to make a living for the family. Even with the market
crash up North, Virginia hasn’t really been affected so if we
can keep Hank’s situation under control we’ll all be okay. If
you need more help, you can always count on me.”
“Buy this house,” Charlotte said, surprising Maggie
and James.
“Momma, this is my home. I’m not selling my home.”
“Margaret, you don’t have a choice. Lance can’t stay here.
There’s a covenant in the West End, whites only,” Charlotte
said. Maggie looked to James for support.
“I wish there was something I could do to help, but the
One-drop rule doesn’t give you much choice about the boy,”
James confirmed.
“He’s lived here all his life!” Maggie cried. Charlotte
ignored her daughter and focused on the benefactor.
“You want to help, Mr. Stephens? Buy everything, for cash.
This house, the cars, Hank’s business—we want it all in cash
and the sooner the better, for all of us.”
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• 10 •
(I)
Within three days of dying, Hank Whitaker
was in the ground and a bitter memory to the
people he loved the most. They didn’t talk about
him—all they thought about was what he had done to their
future. Charlotte, Maggie and Lance sat in the “Whites Only”
waiting room at Richmond’s Main Street train station. Every
time a passenger came through the doors, Charlotte held her
breath, afraid someone aware of Hank’s secret would chal enge
their right to be there. She cursed Hank for putting her family’s
privilege in question.
Virginia’s Racial Integrity Act outlawed mixed marriages
making Margaret a criminal and Lance a Negro, and a bastard.
These facts and the rocks hurled through their windows with
hateful, threatening notes attached were enough to convince
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