by Fauna Hodel
Pat was polite and friendly. She encountered a new friend without any pre-conceived notions about her history. “What’s it like in Florida, I’ve never been there?” Pat asked.
“Oh it’s great there. Always sunny weather, lots of bugs, those big kind like you’ve never seen around here,” she said, “I hated those.”
“I heard there were alligators in the streets,” Clara added. “Is that true?”
“Sometimes, but I never saw one, other than in the swamps. The only thing that was in the streets were lots of niggers,” she said with a chuckle.
Rosalie gave a quick glance at Pat then said, “Pat’s a nigger. Ain’t ya Pat?” She then leered at Pat waiting for her reaction. Pat was unfazed. She was used to the negative air. She peered at Rosalie.
The new girl gave Pat a disdainful once over. “Is that true? You don’t look like a nigger. You got blue eyes. There are no blue-eyed niggers where I come from.”
“Well, I guess I’m the first. And I’m not a nigger, either. I’m half-black and half-white. My father’s Negro. It says so on my birth certificate.”
The new girl looked around at the others suspiciously. “Anybody else here mulatto?”
Clara giggled. “Nope, Pat’s the only one.”
The conversation turned to the other cliques for just a moment before the bell rang for everyone to return to the classrooms
That night, Pat wrote in her diary.
I listen to the Beatles,
I love their FREEDOM,
but I can’t tell anyone.
how I feel.
It’s difficult living
in two worlds,
Trying to keep HARMONY
between the races,
without showing favorites
toward one, or the other.
I got PRESSURE
from both sides
it makes for a complex
set of RULES
designed Just for me.
CHAPTER 13
It was past midnight when Pat awoke to a commotion outside. She peeked out the window and discovered a parked limousine with a chauffeur opening the door for Jimmie Lee and a thin, young woman who sparkled in the dim streetlight. She wore skin-tight gold sequined slacks with a matching top that opened at the middle, accentuating her breasts which pointed straight out, and very high-heeled gold shoes that looked impossible to walk in. She was younger than Jimmie Lee and much younger than the white chauffeur. He was tall and thin, with a black cap pulled down just enough to shadow his eyes allowing just a glimpse of a thin mustache. “Let’s go inside,” Jimmie said, “you can meet her, if she’s still awake.”
Pat rushed back to bed, closed her door and pulled the covers up, feigning sleep. She could barely overhear their conversation.
“Why do you want to see her?” the new voice asked but to no response.
“Geo’s got reasons. Don’t you?” Jimmie said.
“Don’t call me that, ever . . . ever. Do you understand?”
There was a long silence. Pat thought that perhaps they were whispering, but then she heard the door open and close, the car drive off, and then a still silence from inside the house. A minute later, she heard the woman again. “What happened?”
“He gets like that every once in a while.”
“Scary.”
“Well, Jamila, we’ll just let you stay here on the couch tonight. He ain’t coming back tonight.”
The next morning Pat awoke to this beautiful woman sitting at the table having a cigarette with her coffee. She looked startled but then quickly smiled. “You’re a whole lot more than what Jimmie described.” Pat’s body was changing, more mature.
Jimmie stepped out from her room and added, “Yeah, and she’s got those new bumps in her shirt. Soon they’ll be stickin’ out bigger than yours.”
The young woman broke into a wide smile and then asked, “How old are you, about fifteen?” Her voice was soft, refined, and somewhat seductive in its tone, and that impressed Pat. In all the different neighborhoods that Pat lived, she was never exposed to anyone who looked so flashy, yet so seductive.
Jimmie answered, “She ain’t old enough, that’s all you gotta know.”
The woman gave a cautious glance up at Jimmie and turned to Pat. “Hi Pat, my name is Jamila.”
“I’m gonna be thirteen. Who was the other guy?” Pat asked.
Jimmie and Jamila looked at each other, then Jimmie said, “How’d you know about the other guy?”
“I heard you all come making noise last night. Who was he?”
“Never you mind. He was just the chauffeur.”
“Then why’d he want to meet me?”
“Cause I told him how pretty you were and he wanted to see for himself, that’s all.” Jimmie said, and then went off into the bathroom.
Jamila waited for Jimmie to close the door and then turned to Pat, “Please come sit down here for a minute, Pat. I got something I need to talk to you about,” she said.
Pat was intrigued and impressed that someone of Jamila’s sophistication wanted to speak to her in such a serious manner. “What do you want to talk to about?”
Jamila placed her finger to her lips and whispered, “Well, I’m a bit worried about you being here with your ‘so called’ momma. You don’t belong with her. You know that, don’t you?”
“Whadda ya mean? Of course I belongs with her. My real momma’s not old enough to take me in, she’s jus’ a child herself.”
“She may not have been old enough when you was born, but she’s sure old enough now, right? Besides, you’re much older and mature than most girls and it’s time you thought about what you gonna do with yourself.”
“I go to school, that’s what I’m suppose to do,” Pat said.
“School!” she said, “I’m not talking about school. I’m worried about you being here with that crazy black woman you’s livin’ with. That’s what I’m talking about. You need to be independent of her . . . you need to be out on your own, and doing the things you want to do. Let me tell you something,” the woman paused and looked down for a moment. “When I was your age I couldn’t wait to get myself out of the house, and my mother wasn’t anywhere near as crazy as Jimmie Lee.
“Now what do you really want to do?”
“Well,” said Pat without hesitating an instant, “someday I want to find my real momma. But that’s gonna take some time.”
“It’s gonna take some money, too, isn’t it?” Jamila stated.
“I suppose.”
“How much money you got?” Jamila continued.
“I don’t got any money,” Pat said sadly.
“Well, you could make some good money to live on and be away from that crazy black woman at the same time.”
“How?”
“Just do what I do. I can get you a place to stay in Oakland. You’d have to share it in the beginning, but it wouldn’t take long for you to be out on you own. And you’d get enough cash to go do what you want—buy clothes, jewelry—anything.”
“What do you do?” Pat asked naively.
“Most of the time I just hang out. But occasionally I party with some special friends. It’s not bad at all. Everybody gets to have a good time.” They heard the toilet flush and Jamila placed her forefinger up to her mouth. The conversation ended.
Over the next few days, the dialogue continued intermittently, always when Jimmie was out of listening range. The day before Jamila was ready to leave for Oakland, she tried to persuade Pat to go with her one last time. Pat’s visions focused on all that she would do with a lot of money, and how it could help Jimmie. It was the first time that she had thoughts of independence, and that excited her. Jamila seemed kind enough and sincere enough to take care of the details. It was very tempting to be able to live on her own, have a real job, and not have to worry about Jimmie getting drunk and crazy.
What Pat didn’t realize was that Jimmie’s stealth at keeping a cautious eye was far more focused with Jamila in the hou
se. Jimmie stormed into the house. “Patta, outside!” and pointed toward the door, “Now, out, I mean right now, go outside.”
Pat rushed from the kitchen without so much as a breath.
Without warning, Jimmie grabbed Jamila by the arm, “I been watchin’ you spending time with my Patta, and I know what you been tellin’ her, too! You ain’t takin’ nobody with you to work no streets as a whore! I know who you are . . . I know how you got to be so chummy with me . . . and I know the chauffeur a whole lot better than you. You see, Miss Jamila, the chauffeur and I go back a long way—more than a dozen years to be exact. You see, we got us a history together,” she paused and looked toward the door, “and a whole lot more. So, you can tell your boss that she’s stayin’ with me. Now get your skinny black ass out!”
A stunned and angered look overcame Jamila as she backed away from Jimmie Lee. “Hey woman, this here girl don’t belong with you.” Jamila said, “She’s not your daughter. I can make her some good money.”
“Neither you nor that sick fuck is gonna get your hands on her.” Jimmie leered at Jamila, “You better get your whore ass outta my house now. I’ll protect her from you and your pimp with my life.” With one swift motion, Jimmie had the large knife from the kitchen counter pointed right in the woman’s face. “Get the fuck outta my house.”
Jamila’s eyes lit up. She quickly snatched her belongings and rushed out the door, never to be heard from again.
CHAPTER 14
Pat was twelve years old and attending Sparks Junior High when her attention turned toward the opposite sex, particularly any good-looking black boys. The notice was reciprocated by more than a cursory glance, partly because of her now budding figure, which encouraged her to jot down her measurements each week, and partly for her complexion. She realized the lightness of her skin was an advantage rather than a liability.
A large commercial laundry hired her momma as a folder. Jimmie’s fun-loving ways and outrageous antics attracted a like-minded group that she quickly assimilated into her clique. Pat rarely paid attention to momma’s friends that frequently milled about the house, with the exception of Rudy, a man who was different from the others. Although slight in stature, the cut of his muscles wrapped tightly around his wiry frame made him quite conspicuous. He appeared much younger than his twenty-eight years with a light, olive complexion. His wavy black hair laid close-cut along the sides, a perfect frame for his smooth, soft face and bright sexy smile. He had a flat butt that, when viewed from behind, made him appear to be white. Most of the girls thought it was cute, but a few thought he looked Filipino rather than black. All of them, including Jimmie, had a crush on Rudy. At the gathering, he eyed Pat.
“I’m Jimmie Lee’s daughter,” she said.
Rudy feigned surprise “Get away! You’re shittin’ me!”
“No, it’s true. She’s my momma.” Pat said smiling.
“You don’t look alike.”
Pat passed on her story and then asked why he was with such an older crowd. He didn’t look more than nineteen.
“I just moved to Reno and I’m staying with my brother and sister-in-law. I took this job at the laundry until a better one opens up,” he said.
“Yeah, but what are you doin’ with them?” Pat asked.
“Oh, Jimmie Lee invited me over for something to eat and a beer. I didn’t want to go home, so I came along.”
Pat was fascinated with him, not only because he was handsome, or that his spirited, brown eyes were far more penetrating then anyone she had ever met, but also she found him to be very bright. When they chatted, she felt his undivided attention.
Over the next few weeks, Pat looked forward to his frequent visits. Each time, Rudy occupied the center of attention. The sixteen-year difference in their ages made the flirting subtle. She preferred to believe that her image was that of a sweet and innocent young lady living under rather unusual circumstances. In reality, she was much more mature for her age than any of her friends or relatives. She longed to be held and loved. Of course, she was aware of Jimmie’s wrath and notorious temper and it kept her from showing even the slightest hint of romance.
Although Rudy never said more than a “Hello, good-bye,” and “How ya doin’, Pat,” he managed to let her know, inconspicuously, that he wanted to be alone with her. The ploy was not to let Jimmie know what was going on.
Over the years, Pat learned many ways to get what she wanted without Jimmie knowing. Some of her methods were successful, others not. But when it came to Rudy, the stakes were higher. Pat fretted over what Jimmie would do to her if she became aware of even the slightest hint of her growing interest in Rudy.
Late one afternoon when Pat returned from school, Jimmie was home entertaining a few friends. She looked a bit ragged. Cigarette butts, coffee cups, and empty cans of beer were strewn about. People had been dropping in on her all day. Pat cleaned up a little in the kitchen, and then went about primping herself in an unusual experimental manner, striving to rearrange her hair or other part of her features to look more seductive. When it came to fashion, Pat was self-directed, never looking the same way twice, nor accepting any criticism from her friends.
After about twenty minutes of primping and trying to untangle another hair experiment that went awry, she heard laughter from the kitchen. She took notice of only one voice among all the others that made her skin quiver. It was Rudy. Quickly, she finished pampering her hair, took a deep breath, and burst out of the bathroom like a star athlete ready for a trophy. All eyes turned toward her, but she noticed only one. Casually, he glanced at her for just a second, but it was enough for her—he knew she was there.
They continued with their banter and laughter while Pat pretended to listen. Jimmie became bored and tired with drinking, and was in no mood to put up with a lot of people. As the chatter lagged, someone suggested that they all go to a movie. Jimmie declined, admitting that she was too tired. Rudy asked her if it would be all right if Pat came with them since they were all going together. To her surprise, Jimmie never hesitated and agreed without even a warning.
Seven of them piled into one of the cars and within a few minutes they were standing in line waiting to buy tickets to see Sex and the Single Girl. Pat was more than overjoyed. It wasn’t as if they were on a date together, but they were almost alone out of Jimmie’s reach. She had read enough True Romance books to know what to do next. She was prepared and hungry. Rudy and Pat sat next to each other, and before you knew it, she had him in a passionate embrace. There was no hesitation on her part. Pat was ready and willing to let him do anything he wanted. But quickly he pulled away.
“You’re crazy, girl!” he whispered. “What’s you tryin’ to do—get me lynched?”
She sat up straight and realized that there were quite a few white people in the theater. Some of them, she was sure, wouldn’t take the time to listen to her mixed-blood story.
Rudy looked at her. Pat returned the glance as lustfully as she could. She placed her hand on his leg and scratched gently, just like the woman in one of her novels. He folded his arms to mask the motion as he cautiously touched her. She wiggled slowly in her seat to get closer to him, trying not to look so obvious. “We need to be out of here,” he whispered. “Let’s go to the car.”
Pat nodded and together they quietly exited the theater. Their first encounter in the car was uneasy. Her over-heated body kept her emotions in a state of chaos. But the first act of passion cooled it down and changed her forever.
“Are you OK?” Rudy asked afterward. When she didn’t answer, he held his hand up to her face and kissed her tenderly. He smiled at her. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
She didn’t feel beautiful. She felt ashamed, dirty, and dumb, but she wasn’t going to let him know. He was the first person to show her the physical affection that she so desperately longed for, and she wasn’t about to let him go.
“It was beautiful!” she said, then looked into his eyes and kissed him. “I love you, Rudy. I love you so
much!”
He glanced down at his wristwatch and quickly started the car. “We’d better get going. The movie’s gonna be out in just a few minutes. We don’t want anyone to know where we’ve been. Oh, and don’t forget. We can’t let anyone know about this, OK?”
“I’ll do anything you want—anything!”
“Good, then let’s just keep this a secret.”
When they returned to the theater, everyone was just walking out. She stayed in the car and acted as though nothing had happened. If she were ever going to see Rudy again, it would be impossible to say anything to anyone.
The following day she moped around the house, hoping that she would see Rudy again. In a naive attempt to heal, she was very careful not to be too active. Her emotions were mixed with remorse and elation, each jostling the other for position. When Rudy stopped in a few days later, the former lost out and she was again euphoric—in love for the first time.
For the next few months, not a moment went by without her thinking of Rudy and all the wonderful love he was giving her—something she felt she had been missing her entire life. They pretended not to notice each other while in the company of anyone even remotely connected to either one of them, sneaking away at every opportunity to be alone.
Rudy increased the frequency of his visits. Jimmie mistakenly believed that she, certainly not Pat, was the object of Rudy’s attentions. But gradually, Jimmie Lee’s suspicions surfaced. She noticed the subtle difference in Pat’s attitude when Rudy was around. And more so each time she had another drink. For a short while, it became a game between Jimmie and Pat. Pat trying to hide any evidence that she was even remotely aware that Rudy existed, and Jimmie snooping about Pat’s room trying to uncover any indication of the same—whether real or imaginary.
Pat never knew how Jimmie Lee finally found out about them. The only person who knew of their affair was Inez, Rosie’s niece, who found out when she returned a jump suit that she borrowed from Pat weeks earlier. After a session of lovemaking with Rudy, some wet spots were visible on Pat’s bed. Looking down at the mess, Inez asked surprisingly, “What’s that?”