Betsey Brown (8 page)

“Come on, Gene, let's play ball.” Charlie's voice floated round the edge of the house.

Eugene just kept looking at Betsey up on her perch with her hands over her knees and cheeks blushing like strawberries.

“You always stay up there?”

“No, I'm not always up here. I come up here to think is all.”

Betsey didn't know what else to say. She didn't want Eugene Boyd to think she was weird. Then, on the other hand, she didn't think it was weird to stay in her tree, comforted and free as she was when boys weren't throwing balls over her head.

“What you thinkin bout up there? Your boyfriend?”

“No, oh, I always think about him when I'm alone. He's so handsome and very tall, but he's not from round here. He's from somewhere else.”

“Where? Sumner? Beaumont? I wanna know cause if he's not as good looking as me, or a center forward like me, or nearby, I'd like to be considered, or rather, I'd like to come and visit with you sometime. Unless he's always on your mind.”

Betsey perked up. She looked all over the tree for some advice, some indication of what to do next. What should she say? How should she move? Where were her pretty dresses? Wasn't she supposed to have on a glorious dress at a moment like this? Eugene Boyd was at the foot of her tree. This was important.

“Could you wait just one minute? I'll be right down. I'd like to talk to you a little bit longer, if you don't mind. My boyfriend lives far away from here, don't worry about him, okay?”

Betsey somehow finessed her way to the balcony, looking like a trapeze artist. Once she reached it she jumped through
her window, onto her bed, about to scream with joy and surprise. Eugene. Eugene Boyd was downstairs. In minutes she'd oiled her legs, twisted her ponytail, washed her face, and put on her Sunday-school dress with the polka dots and the ribbon that tied just beneath her almost breasts. With a giant sigh and a smile right behind it, she took the front stairs very slowly, step by step, as if she were in a wedding procession. Then she forgot herself and skipped every other step, reaching the front door in a very unladylike sweat.

“Hi, here I am.”

Betsey waved to Eugene, who was still over by the side of the house looking up at her tree. The two of them were one big smile trying to cover itself up. Charlie'd left Eugene with the ball and gone off on his bike to razz the white girls, but Eugene had found his adventure right on Charlie's front porch.

“What'd you say your boyfriend's name was?”

“Oh, it doesn't matter, believe me. I watched you play the other day. You're so good.” Betsey scooped up her skirt and sat on the stoop, while Eugene dribbled and bounced and dunked and turned this way and that, doing his best to impress her and get close to her. He dribbled the ball up and down the steps, asking her questions, like how old she was and did she like to dance and had she ever seen the Shirelles. Betsey was in a sweet daze through most of the conversation. She liked the talk best when Eugene dribbled the ball right next to her dress, so his leg or hand touched her shoulders. She liked the shape of his calf under his pants and the smell of his dampness mixed with the evening's.

“I guess you'll be going when Charlie comes back, huh?” Betsey looked away as she felt out Eugene's intentions.

“Why would I do that, when I came to see you? I see ol' loud-mouthed Charlie every day.”

With that Eugene looped the ball round Betsey's back and caught it so his arms were on either side of her, his face directly in front of her. Betsey tried to keep her eyes open. In the movies, people closed their eyes when their faces almost touched, but that was almost kissing and Betsey'd never been kissed. She tried to keep her eyes open and Eugene kept looking in them, coming closer and closer till their lips met and Betsey's eyes closed of their own accord.

This kiss was soft and light, like petals of protea or Thai orchids. This kiss was a river wisp and innocent as dawn. It never stopped. They breathed a little and their lips parted as simply as they'd joined.

Eugene backed up and flung the ball through the air. Betsey lilted about in her glory.

“Maybe I'll come back by here, if it's awright with you? You sure are pretty, too pretty to be Charlie's cousin.”

“Oh, if you were to come by, I'm sure I'll be around somewhere.”

“What about your boyfriend who's so handsome?”

“Oh, I forgot about that, but don't you worry. He'll never find out. Really, he lives very far away,” Betsey cooed, knowing the closest she'd ever come to having a boyfriend was this boy standing right in front of her.

“Betsey—oh, no, I'm sorry—Elizabeth, may I kiss you again? You kiss so good.”

Eugene drew up next to Betsey and put his face real close to hers one more time, but Betsey's eyes didn't try to stay open. Betsey's eyes lowered and words she'd heard from Vida somehow strayed from her lips: “I think that might be a bit forward, Eugene.” Then she stood glowing right next to him, so the hem of her dress danced along his back. “Maybe if you were to come calling again, I might see things differently.”

Betsey was thinking now on what she'd heard Liliana and Mavis discussing. Some “she” out there getting it or giving it to Eugene Boyd himself. No. He could wait till some other time. She needed to know if he was serious; besides, Vida had come out on the porch to crochet with the sunset and to make sure this darned boy went on his way.

“Grandma, this is Eugene Boyd. He's a friend of Charlie's.”

Vida began her crocheting, some afghan for one of her daughters, swinging in the rocker reserved for her. “I suppose that's why you've got your Sunday dress on and Charlie's gone to the store. Good Evening, young man. Boyd. Seems like I've heard that name before.”

“Yes, Grandma. Eugene plays ball for Soldan.”

“No, that's not what I mean. I mean I think there's some Boyds from Columbia, or maybe they were from Charlotte. Carolinians, ya know.”

“No, M'am. My folks are from Mississippi.”

“Oh, what a shame. I thought you might be a Boyd.”

Betsey and Eugene looked at each other, eyes twinkling, but fully aware they'd had their time for the day. Eugene teasingly dribbled the ball to Betsey, who took it up in rhythm. After all, she was Charlie's cousin.

“Good evening, M'am. It was nice to meet you.” Eugene waved to Vida, who looked up, nodded, and went right on crocheting. Then Eugene turned to Betsey and whispered, “Maybe next time you're up in your tree, you'll be thinking on me.” He pecked her on the cheek. “See ya.”

Eugene began to walk on down the street, but turned round to shout, “See ya soon, Elizabeth Brown.”

Betsey watched her new friend till he was completely out of sight.

“You gointa turn into a statue, if ya stay there much longer,” Vida chided.

“Oh Grandma, you don't understand.”

“That's what you think. Now you go on and get out of that dress before your mama wakes up and finds out you've been entertaining on the street.”

“Oh Grandma, I was not. He came to see Charlie.”

“Charlie's not here, Betsey. Anybody could tell you that. So if the boy came to see Charlie, why was he so busy talking to you? You don't look like Charlie. So don't call something what it's not. That little fresh boy came by here to see you.”

“Grandma, that's just not true.”

“That dress does more telling than your mouth'll ever do. Now, get on with ya. I mean to tell your mother to give you a good talking to. Now these boys gointa come creeping around. There's only so much a girl can do.”

“Grandma, stop. Why do you have to say something to Mama. We were sitting here talking, that's all.”

“That's all for now. A girl's got to think on her future.”

“Think on my future? Grandma, that's such a long way off. Let's think on right now. I'm gonna change my clothes and you won't say anything to Mama, okay?”

“If ya get a move on maybe, maybe not.”

Betsey moved as elegantly as she knew how up the front porch, past her grandmother, past the cut glass in the front door, and up the same stairs she'd glided down to meet Eugene Boyd. In her room she laid her dress out as if it were covered with emeralds and pearls, diamonds and things. She might actually have a beau. Maybe Grandma was right, and Eugene Boyd had set his sights on little Miss Betsey Brown.

Jane rolled over in her bed. She'd spent most of the day putting
her house back in order, missed work, missed her husband, missed her dreams of quiet and luxury, missed her version of mothering. Why do they have to be so much trouble? Why can't they just act right? Why aren't they lined up at the door in the morning all clean and silent? Oh silence. What she would give for an hour's silence. Greer would never understand. He
liked
noise. That's why he woke the house up with conga drums every morning. Tito Puente every evening for dinner music. Lee Morgan way into the night. No one in her house valued peace. Jane'd sent Charlie to the store for some Hershey's chocolates, where was he? Why did that boy always take twice as long to do a thing as anybody else would? There was nobody else she could depend on, besides Betsey.

“Elizabeth, come see your mother,” Jane called down the hall. Betsey was lying next to her dress, imagining herself cheering for Eugene at the basketball game and then going to Mr. Robinson's where everybody could see them.

“What, Mama?” she whispered.

“Elizabeth, are you up here? Come into my room. I want to talk to you.”

Of all the times to want to talk this was not one of them. Betsey'd been kissed. She didn't want to talk, she wanted to hold her mouth still just like when Eugene had kissed her. It was amazing that Grandma could have figured out what had been going on. Amazing how anyone sides Betsey and Eugene existed at all. Betsey wondered if Jane had felt her kissing and that's why she wanted to talk. Jane might have sensed it through the walls or the open windows, where the scents of dusk lingered and the laughter of the little children wrapped the screens in tinkling, bubbling surprises. Betsey ran her finger along the rim of her mouth to make sure it was there, right there that
Eugene had kissed her. Kiss. She wanted to know more about kissing.

“Elizabeth, do you hear me? Come to my room right now. I want to tell you something.”

Jane had no idea Betsey had done anything besides study her lessons and play rope or read like she usually did. Jane noticed a soft blush in her daughter's cheeks, but beyond that she saw a little girl with magic eyes and an impish smile that was hiding some huge secret.

“Elizabeth, what are you smiling about?”

“Oh, I'm just happy, Mama, that's all. I had a wonderful day. An absolutely wonderful day.”

“Well, what happened?”

“Oh, nothing. Charlie and a friend of his came over to play ball. I talked to Grandma. And it was just wonderful. That's all.”

Jane motioned for Betsey to sit by her on the bed.

“Betsey, sweetheart, we're going to have to try really hard to keep the house straight and the children off your grandma's nerves until I can find someone to help out around here. I'm going to put an ad in the
St. Louis Argus
asking for someone who's good with children and can do light housework. I won't be accepting anybody off the streets again.”

Betsey sank into her mother's arms. It hadn't been sucha wonderful day after all. There was good in it, like a kiss, and bad in it, like where was Miss Calhoun?

Then Regina came. Greer'd discovered that Mr. Johnson had a granddaughter who had finished high school and was in need of a job. Jane didn't take to the notion at first. She had had her fill of the Johnsons in more ways than one, but Regina seemed to be a nice girl. Fresh, and neat, slender with a heavy curl cross her forehead, the fashion of the day. The only thing that bothered Jane was that the beautician who did Regina's hair had used an electric razor on her neck. Jane believed in the use of scissors on a woman's head, no razors. That was too common. Other than that, Regina fit right in. She sang with the children and somehow managed to keep them out of trouble.

Charlie was moon-eyed all the time. Regina wasn't that much older than he was. She was so grown though. She wore tight skirts even when she was cleaning the kitchen table legs.
Her blouses pointed out straight in front of her like the Playtex bra ads said they would if you wanted “lift.” Charlie's crush on Regina calmed the house considerably. He was willing to do anything she asked him to.

Betsey liked Regina cause she knew about boys. Regina wore a big gold ring from Roscoe round her neck, on a gold chain that danced in the cleavage of her breasts every time she bent down. Every afternoon after school Regina read out loud to Margot and Sharon and Betsey from
True Romance
and
Love Is the Way.
The girls would huddle round Regina, whose left ankle was decorated with a bracelet that had a heart with an arrow going through the center. Regina wore hose with a seam down the back and was always pushing her cuticles back or using emery boards to save her nails.

Regina liked the way Jane lived, even if Jane had second thoughts about it herself. A doctor, a big house, a bunch of children, a garden and porches everywhere you looked. Regina sometimes took the girls upstairs to Jane's room to try on Jane's evening gowns. Jane entertained a lot. That's how the children knew about the rhumba, chocolate-covered grasshoppers, and caviar. Regina and the girls played dress-up till it was time for Regina to get dinner started, or till Vida came ambling along, humming a song to let everyone know she was in the general vicinity.

Vida believed deep in her soul that Regina was a bad influence on the girls at this critical stage of their lives. Rouged cheeks on weekdays and lipstick at 8:00 in the morning were not signs of careful living, to Vida's mind. So much preening in all the mirrors, from Sharon on up, caused Vida to click her teeth and shake her head. Jane didn't understand young folks was the decision Vida reached. If Jane understood young folks,
she'd know that Regina was introducing the girls, and that ruffian Charlie, to more than orderly living. Regina carried the children all around the town, every time one of those colored singers with straightened hair like a white woman's came to town. Why, once the girls did a whole routine from somebody called Mary Wells or Baby Washington. Something about “Bells.” The problem was not that Regina didn't have a hold on the household, but that she had too much a hold on the children. They quoted everything she said, and Regina was hardly more than a child herself, all dolled up in jewelry and perfumes.