Betsey Brown (14 page)

“But, Mrs. Maureen, you said I was almost like kinfolk. You said there was folks in Mississippi who looked like me. You said you'd love to have a child like me around to chat with and grow up.”

“Oh, Betsey, chile, I know your mama's missing you.”

Mrs. Maureen kept rubbing her hands together with Betsey's, as if rubbing hands together would rub the knowledge of the world into Betsey's head.

“But Mrs. Maureen, please, please don't call Mama. She doesn't even know I'm gone yet. They think I'm at school.”

“And that's where you should be.”

“I'm tired of those white folks.”

“Who you think aint tired of white folks?”

Mrs. Maureen was beginning to get mad at Betsey now. Of all the very last nerve, to be running away from a family as nice as the Browns. Betsey needed a good talking to.

“Well, now that you've run off and all, what are you gointa do?” Mrs. Maureen shoved a plate of grits and eggs and sausage under Betsey's chin, while she waited for a response.

“I was gonna help you out in the shop until I eloped.”

Mrs. Maureen liked to fell off her chair, which would have been quite something, seeing how Mrs. Maureen was quite something.

“Elope?”

“Yes, M'am.” Betsey's eyes gleamed as she said the word and tasted the peppers in the sausage.

Mrs. Maureen, who knew she was getting on in years and had heard just about everything there was to hear and seen more than there was to see, let herself light up the kitchen with laughter. “Elope.” Mrs. Maureen jumped up like she was twirling crepe paper for a wedding screaming: “Elope,” and trailing it with, “Where you goin'? To Arkansas? Chirren can't get married in Missouri and believe me, I know about the law. And that's the law.”

When she'd tired herself out, Mrs. Maureen asked Betsey: “Isn't elopin a bit ol' fashioned? How old is this boy and does he know too, or is this thing just a secret tween me and you?”

Betsey didn't see anything funny about her situation. She especially didn't think her friend, Mrs. Maureen, should be laughing at her this way. Eugene Boyd was a fine boy and thirteen was just a little way from being full grown. But it was Mrs. Maureen's or she didn't know what, so Betsey kept her mouth shut.

“Hum, elope? Hum. I've heard that one before. Sorry to say.”

Mrs. Maureen started to clear the dishes away. The morning throng began to mill about once again in tee-shirts and robes, nighties and nothing.

“If you're gonna stay with us, you might as well see it in the raw, honey.” Mrs. Maureen rubbed Betsey's back, which was stiff as a rail. “Don't worry, nobody's gonna hurt you.”

Betsey wisht she was home. Right now. Away from these men with stocking caps on and curlers in their heads. These women with too much rouge and not enough clothes.

“Betsey, I think a friend of yours ran away to me some time ago. I think she's still here. Let me go see. She was gointa elope, too, I recollect. Folks round your way sho' don't be keepin up
with the times. Elope. Two colored chirren elopin. I swear I hear all the bad news first. Even 'fore the President, they let me in on it. REGINA! Regina, bring your hot lil tail out here and talk some sense to this gal bout love and romance. Regina!”

Betsey watched as women passed by the kitchen table leaving wads of money in the center. The men with rollers strolled by too, pulling folds of dollar bills from their money clips. There was a lot of money on that table. More money than when she and Margot and Sharon emptied Greer's pockets and Jane's purses in order to go to the movies that time Jane and Greer went to Paris and left them with some skinny woman whose baby stank. There was really a lot of money on that table by the time Mrs. Maureen appeared with Regina. It hadn't occurred to Betsey that Regina could be Roscoe's Regina from love and kisses, but there she was in a awful flimsy red negligee, deep holes under her eyes, and a shame on her that made Betsey's skin cringe. Regina was pregnant. She laid her money on Mrs. Maureen's table too.

“Now do like I tol' you and tell this girl bout runnin off and elopin and carryin on like a fool over some no count niggah with his head fulla dreams. Go on, do like I say.”

Regina and Betsey hugged and hugged. Regina's tummy bumping Betsey's head. Betsey thought she could hear the baby singing. She knew she could hear it moving. Regina's stomach was so hard, like a drum. Betsey knew from the tears in Regina's eyes that the baby was Roscoe's.

“Gina, where's Roscoe? I thought youall were going to Chicago to have your family?”

“Guess who's in Chi-town, Betsey?” Mrs. Maureen asked, counting her money.

“Roscoe's getting things ready for us, Betsey. Honest he is.
He told me to stay here till he could send for me. Said it wouldn't take long.”

“And how many weeks you been here now? You'll still be here when that baby comes flying outta ya.”

“He told me I was coming here to work for you.”

“He didn't tell me you couldn't press heads, so I put you to work doing what you obviously knew how to do awready.”

Betsey helped Regina sit down. Gina couldn't stop crying or holding her tummy, her baby. She kept whispering Roscoe's name, praying for him to come get her. She was bout to lose her mind. Betsey held on to her real tight. She remembered Roscoe standing up to Grandma. She was sure Roscoe loved Regina. She was sure Roscoe didn't know the kinda trouble Regina was in.

“Regina, I know Roscoe loves you. I was there. I saw you kiss. He's gonna send for you. Believe me.” Betsey pulled closer to Regina's naked legs, swollen and overperfumed.

“You think so, Betsey? You think he's gonna get me outta heah?”

“You can get outta heah anytime you pay me the money you owe me for your room and board.”

“Mrs. Maureen, I could stay and help you press heads. Mommy lets me press Margot and Sharon's sometimes when they need a touch-up. I'll help Regina and that way I could stay with you, too. Would that be awright with you, Gina?”

“Oh, Betsey, you can't stay here. There's too much going on that I don't want you to see, ever. Things I never want you or my baby to see.”

“Looks to me like you saw a bit too much 'fore you came prancin through my front door, missie. Don't you be holdin me responsible for your behavior.”

Mrs. Maureen divided the money in small stacks, which were picked up by the strangely clad women who'd put it there. The largest portion went right in the cleft of Mrs. Maureen's bosom. She patted it over and over, smiling at Betsey. She did like Betsey.

“Girl, why don't we go in the other room and I'll do your head up real pretty, with some bumper curls we'll comb out together. You got to go home, chile. I know your mama's missing you. A sweet chile like you got no business here 'cept on Saturday mornings when your head needs doing. C'mon, let's get the combs heated up.”

“No, Mrs. Maureen. Let me stay at least long enough to help with Regina's baby. I could baby-sit, you know that, and help you keep the place straight.” Betsey was frightened. How could Roscoe leave Regina like this? What was Gina doing with all that money and the baby? How could being in love leave you so sad and alone? “Mrs. Maureen, please let me stay, just a few days? Mama won't be mad when she knows I've been with you.”

“Your mama aint never gointa know you been with me. Her heart's probably breaking right this minute, wondering where is that bright sweet girl she loves so much. And here you are making a fuss over a fool gal got herself knocked-up and left behind.”

Mrs. Maureen was fiddling with Betsey's braids now. Taking them down one by one and running her fingers through the hair looking for split ends she'd have to cut.

“You think that school won't call your mama and tell her you aint there? What you think she's gonna imagine? Well, let me tell you. She's gointa think some crackers got hold to you and beat you good! That's what! This city is going to the dogs
these days. I'm tellin you. Gina, go on and tell her what I tol' you. Do like I say, now.”

Regina's eyes were sunken and swollen now. She knew Betsey couldn't stay at Mrs. Maureen's. That was out of the question, but she didn't want Betsey to think that love left you pitiful like that song went, “They Call Me, Mr. Pitiful.” Gina wanted Betsey to remember the joy and the hope of two hands joined, swinging down the street. She also wanted Betsey to have hope for her.

“Listen, I've got an idea, Mrs. Maureen, why don't you do Betsey's hair, while I give her a manicure.”

“Least you learned to do that.”

“No, now let me finish. I'll give Betsey a manicure and a pedicure. Then we could do her face up like in the Ebony Fashion Fair. That way, when she does get home, she'll be looking so pretty her mama will forget how mad she is. You know she's going to be mad, don't you, Betsey?”

“Yeah, but it's her fault. She won't let me play the music I want to hear or dance the way I want to dance. You know, Regina, how we usedta fool around at Soldan when Smokey Robinson came, or the time you took us to see the Olympics. We danced in the aisles with everybody else. It was so wonderful when you were there, Regina. Remember, we did routines from the Shirelles and you rolled our hair up like the Ronettes with those false hairpieces from Mr. Robinson's. She doesn't want me to be like everybody else, Regina. She wants me to be special, like I lived inside a glass cage or something. She actually thinks those white kids where I go to school think I'm alive. Gina, they hardly speak to me. And the one time I had a spend-the-night party only one of them showed up, and she was Jewish. They don't like her, either. But I can't tell anybody
these things cause how would that look, to say we weren't up to white folks. I know we got to fight the white people and be better than them, Gina. It's just I'm so tired of them and I feel so much better when I'm with the colored. I feel so much better when I'm like everybody else.”

Betsey wept on Gina's thighs just where the baby was jutting out. Mrs. Maureen was mixing egg yolks and beer to give Betsey a conditioner, shaking her head, mumbling bout the things children had on their minds these days. A child had a right to be a child. Even in Mississippi a girl was a girl till her time came. White folks or no white folks. Nobody sent a little ol' thing out to take up for the whole damn race. That's what was wrong with the colored, always putting it off to the next generation to do battle with the white man.

“Betsey, honey, that's called loneliness. You're gonna be lonely sometimes, sweetie. Cause you are special. Your mama's not making that up. You are different and it's not the color of your skin, either. You have a good time the way nobody else can, and you feel things the way nobody else can. There is no such thing as ordinary, Betsey. Nobody's ordinary. Each one of us is special and it's the coming together of alla that that makes the world so fine.”

Mrs. Maureen almost dropped her egg yolks and beer concoction, listening to Gina. Then she motioned for Gina to move Betsey's head round so they could condition it real good.

“Betsey, I'm not saying that there's not different kinds of folks. You and me, we're different.”

“You better believe that,” Mrs. Maureen added, her fingers gooey with the yolk and malt coating Betsey's head.

“That's not what I meant, but in a way it is. Betsey, you and I can do certain kinds of things together and then there are
other things we can never do together. It's hard to explain, but there's all different kinds of colored folks. You're one kind and I'm another, that's all.”

“But don't you like me, Regina?”

“Oh Betsey, I love you. You're like my own sister. Why if the baby is a girl, I'ma gonna name her Elizabeth and call her Betsey with a ‘e.' Cross my heart.”

“She's ready for a rinse now.” Mrs. Maureen wrapped Betsey's head in a towel, while Regina threw an old shirt around Betsey's very Lord and Taylor school outfit.

Regina laughed silently. Betsey even ran off like a doctor's daughter. How was she going to be ordinary when there weren't but five thousand Negro doctors in the whole country. Gina'd heard Dr. Brown say that to Charlie one time, when Charlie said he wanted to be like Jackie Robinson. What a whipping that was. Thinking bout the Browns took Regina's mind off Betsey and to her baby.

How was she gonna feed her child? How could she ever have a child like Betsey, who heard the word colored and thought of something good? How was she gonna explain who or where Daddy was, when she'd planned for Daddy to be right there?

The rinse was set and Betsey was under the dryer in the front of Mrs. Maureen's, where the hincty Negro ladies lined up with their furs and polished faces. Mrs. Maureen's demeanor had changed entirely, as had her clothes. She was in her little pink uniform with the appliquéd flower on the collar and the white nurse's shoes she wore every day as she stood over the doctor's wife, the lawyer's wife, the minister's wife, and the undertaker's wife. The helpers were clad in smart white jackets moving quickly from hand to hand, foot to foot. It was the only
place in town a Negro woman could get a manicure or a pedicure, if she was brave enough. They lived in a world of their own and never ventured past the French doors where Mrs. Maureen's other world thrived.

Betsey was as pampered as a princess. Mrs. Maureen explained her presence on a school day as a mixture of a birthday present and as a prelude to Betsey's solo clarinet performance in front of the white people at one of those “schools.”

The women nodded their heads. Yes, it was important to look good if you're dealing with white folks. Yes, it was lovely of Mrs. Brown to think of letting Betsey have a manicure when her hands were going to be so prominently displayed.

Betsey couldn't hear, but she could see some of what Regina meant. There were different kinds of Negroes. She bet money some of these Negroes wouldn't give a stone's throw if something happened to Roscoe, they didn't care what was gonna happen to Regina's baby. “Niggahs” they'd say and leave it to the will of God that people, especially colored people, suffered. Yet, they couldn't go anywhere else to have their hands done but a bordello. Betsey burst out laughing. She could tell by the looks on the women's faces that it was an “inappropriate” laugh. As if being a Negro was appropriate. Betsey knew they'd never get that joke. So she went back to reading bout a murder in
Tan.