Authors: Mary Monroe

Mama Ruby (19 page)

BOOK: Mama Ruby

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CHAPTER 36

I
T DIDN’T TAKE LONG FOR RUBY AND OTHELLA TO GET VERY
comfortable in Maureen’s house, but there were a few things that bothered them both. They didn’t like the fact that they couldn’t sleep in the same bedroom, and that somebody was always reminding them that they were not white. But the biggest thorn in Ruby’s side was Mazel. Working with her in the kitchen was bad enough, but sharing a room with her was torture. That woman complained about everybody and everything.

Ruby didn’t waste any time letting Mazel know that she was no pushover. Even though Mazel was three times her age, and about fifty pounds heavier, Ruby sassed her. She stood up for herself every time Mazel tried to boss her around or scold her.

“Look, Ruby Jean, you can’t be walkin’ around this house grinnin’ all the time. These white folks already think we ain’t got but half a brain. Make ’em think you sorry you was born, and that workin’ for them is the best thing that ever happened to you. That’ll make ’em feel sorry for you and even feel less threatened. And believe me, you won’t be smilin’ when you start emptyin’ them slop jars full of piss and shit, and soppin’ up puke off the floor like I do. If anything, you’ll be rubbin’ vinegar under your nose to lighten up the stink,” Mazel barked at Ruby, a few days after they had begun to work together.

“Look, lady, I work for Miss Mo’reen. She tells me what to do and how to do it, not you.” There was a sinister expression on Ruby’s face, complete with narrowed eyes, twitching brows, and flaring nostrils. “If you don’t mess with me, I won’t mess with you. Now if you’ll get out of my way, I got some slop jars to empty.”

Ruby continued to do all of her chores with a smile. Even emptying the slop jars and spittoons and cleaning up puke. She knew that at the end of the day, and usually throughout the day, she could fiddle around with Fat Fanny’s beautiful blond baby girl.

Othella didn’t do as much smiling as Ruby. For one thing, she didn’t get to share that nice room upstairs with Fat Fanny after all. Cat Fish, and at least one of the other women, had complained to Maureen about a black woman sleeping in the same room with a white woman. Maureen decided that it would make more sense for Othella to sleep in the room across the hall from Fat Fanny’s. It was primarily used for Fat Fanny’s three children. There were four roll-away beds in the room, a large chifforobe, and a few chairs. It was the only bedroom in the house that was not used for entertaining clients. But when a part-time, roving prostitute dropped by and wanted to spend the night, Maureen let her sleep in this room in the fourth bed. Now that same over-used bed belonged to Othella

Al Holly was a large, plain looking black man in his forties. He spoke only when he was spoken to, or when he had to. His position was vague, but from what Ruby and Othella could determine, he was a handyman who did a variety of odd jobs around the house. He was also the mechanic who serviced Maureen’s Packard and Fat Fanny’s LaSalle. He played the piano when the regular piano player, a hatchet-faced Creole man named Maurice Dozier, didn’t show up.

Buster Campbell was another large man in his forties, except he was white and just as plain as Al. He didn’t talk much either, and his position was also vague. He was the bouncer who ejected unruly clients and dumped them on the front porch of one of the other houses on the block (after Maureen had instructed him to take all of their valuables). He also did some maintenance work around the house, as well as other odd jobs.

None of the male help resided in the house. Al showed up each day before the sun, every day except Sunday. He stayed until the last client left, no matter how late that was. Mazel had said something about him living across town, and that when he didn’t walk to and from work like a field hand, he rode up on his son’s bicycle. The piano-playing Maurice lived in a little house three blocks away with a wife and six kids. Buster lived in the toolshed behind the house right next to the chicken coops. He’d never been married, didn’t have a woman now, so he paid to have sex with the prostitutes. Because of his loyalty, Maureen rewarded him with a freebie every Christmas and on his birthday ; he got to choose the woman.

Fat Fanny and Marielle, a cute brunette in her early thirties, liked Ruby and Othella. They immediately regarded them as new friends. Betty Sue, another cute brunette in her thirties, was cordial, but she didn’t interact much with any of the other women. The others, especially Cat Fish, who was an attractive brunette in her late twenties, and the part-time workers, ignored Ruby and Othella as much as possible. The only time they acknowledged them was when they had something to complain about, or when they wanted a back rub or a foot massage. There were times when Cat Fish was downright hostile, especially when she thought the others were too friendly with the two newcomers.

Other than that, it was not a bad arrangement at all.

“I’ve got a woman to suit every man’s needs,” Maureen often said, especially to new clients. “I’ll line ’em up, so you can take your pick. It don’t matter which one you choose, I guarantee you she’ll do
anything
you ask her to do . . . as long as it don’t involve somethin’ with a tail and four legs.” And that was true. There was nothing of a sexual nature that the women who worked for Maureen O’Leary wouldn’t do, as long as it didn’t involve something with a tail and four legs.

Most of the men who patronized the brothels in the District were professional white men—doctors, lawyers, politicians, and a few military personnel. And the majority of them were married to women who were either too cold, too dainty, too worn out, too disinterested, too squeamish, or too clumsy when it came to bedroom activities. It didn’t matter who or what the men were to Maureen. Even though she considered herself to be a true patriot of her adoptive country, she would accommodate Adolf Hitler as long as he had money and was willing to spend it. To her, a horny man was a horny man. His politics were his business, as long as it didn’t interfere with her business.

Maureen played hostess to a lot of men with wives who had “retired” completely from the physical side of their relationship. These men, some of them still young, felt that they had no choice but to visit the brothels—if they still wanted to feel good. And they were willing to pay for the privilege of spending time with women whose business was to make them feel like men, and give them some physical pleasure. However, the majority of the same men typically ignored women of color who expected to be paid for their services.

Maureen didn’t have one single client who had not slept with a black woman, even the ones who claimed to be avowed racists. Several of them had fathered children with black women. Some slept with black women on a regular basis, but always in some back room in a shack in a shantytown. Not only did Maureen and her girls glean this type of information from loose-lipped clients, but Al and Mazel, her only other black employees, shared information on a regular basis with her that they picked up from the black blabbermouths that they associated with. Maureen rewarded her sources to deliver information that could be useful to her in some blackmail-related manner, if that client got out of line. That reward was usually an extra dollar, a glass of whiskey, or a few hours off.

Maureen was pleased that there were enough white men willing to pay to sleep with a black woman in her house when they got drunk or curious enough. That justified her decision to hire Othella. For one thing, Othella was not
that
black. Her features were neutral enough that in the dark, a nearsighted man might even mistake her for an Italian or Spanish woman. Ruby didn’t fit that mold by a long shot, and that was the reason Maureen couldn’t hire her for her body. But things would take a dramatic turn a few weeks later.

In the meantime, Othella made considerably more money than Ruby. Last week, Othella made several hundred dollars, Ruby made twenty; but that was only because Ruby had received some generous tips from clients who’d requested foot massages. Maureen fed and provided uniforms for Ruby, but she only paid her ten dollars a week.

So that Ruby would not feel bad, Othella assured her that the money she made was their money, not just hers. Unfortunately, she didn’t make nearly as much as the white women for providing the same services to Maureen’s clients. But whether she made fifty dollars in one night or a hundred, it was more than the
zero
dollars that she had received doing all that housework for Ola Mae in the tacky house they’d snuck out of.

“As soon as I sock away enough for us to live on for at least two months, we gettin’ up out of here,” Othella told Ruby in a low, nervous voice in the kitchen one morning just before noon, three weeks later. She stood by the stove as she watched Ruby drag a broom across the floor.

“That’s nice,” Ruby mumbled with a shrug.

The night before had been long and busy. Buster had to eject two unruly clients. One highly intoxicated man had kicked over a coffee table in the parlor, spilling several drinks onto the carpet that Ruby and Mazel had just cleaned a few hours before. Ruby had been up since dawn cleaning liquor stains off the carpet, removing stacks of shot glasses, cups, and spittoons from the tables in the parlor to the sink in the kitchen. She had no idea she was going to be this busy. She didn’t complain because at the end of the day, and during the day, too, she got to tend to little Viola.

Ruby was glad that Fat Fanny’s two boys stayed out of her way. When they weren’t in school, or with Fat Fanny’s mother, they were usually in the backyard harassing Miss Maureen’s chickens or throwing rocks at the shed where Buster lived. Other than that, they usually stayed in the room that they shared with Othella, doing puzzles and whatever else it was that young boys did in a brothel. They also liked to peek through bedroom keyholes at some of the prostitutes when they were doing their business, and they liked to sneak a few sips of whiskey from a shot glass that somebody had set aside. If anybody other than Ruby noticed what Fat Fanny’s boys were up to, they didn’t mention it. But the boys’ behavior bothered Ruby.

“How are you gettin’ along with them boys of Fat Fanny’s?” Othella asked.

“If them was my boys, I’d whup their behinds, left and right,” Ruby complained to Othella. They didn’t get to spend much time with each other so whenever they did, they had some interesting discussions. “White folks don’t know the first thing about raisin’ kids. It’s a good thing they got us to help ’em out.”

Othella gave Ruby a pensive look. “Colored kids is lucky, I reckon. At least our mamas and papas know how to raise kids right. Look how me and you turned out. . . .”

They both laughed.

Othella had already acquired a regular weekly morning trick—a moon-faced lawyer with an ass so flat it looked like an extension of his back. She had just spent time with him, paddling his flat ass raw for being a “bad boy” and letting him lick whipped cream off her titties. “Lord knows why this buttless fool comes to this house every Wednesday just to get a whuppin’ and to lick
my
titties,” Othella complained with a dry laugh as she returned a tall can of whipped cream to the icebox. “Him bein’ a lawyer, I am sure he deserves a weekly whuppin’, but this whipped-cream-lickin’ hobby is ridiculous. Now I could see if I had a rack like you, Ruby.” Othella chuckled some more.

“And if you did have a pile of meat on your bosom like I got, your trick would just have to lick a little longer,” Ruby teased, still sweeping the floor.

“I wouldn’t have no problem with that. I swear to God, I am goin’ to buy me a pair of them fake foam titties if it’s the last thing I do. It’ll be real soon, I think. I’m makin’ more money in this whorehouse than I ever thought I would make in my life. But I got to work hard because we won’t stay in this house long. Hear?”

Before responding, Ruby looked around to make sure nobody was listening or watching. Maureen had made it clear that she didn’t tolerate her employees discussing anything that was related to their earnings. There was a lot of competition in her house so naturally some of the girls made more than others. The last thing that Maureen wanted to deal with, was some jealous heifer running out on her because one of the others made more money.

“We ain’t got to rush and leave here,” Ruby said, blinking. “I don’t mind livin’ in this nice big house. And that Miss Mo’reen, she is a nice old lady.”

Ruby’s words caught Othella off guard. She coughed, grabbed her throat, and swayed slightly from side to side. Then she reared back on her legs and held onto the counter. “Excuse me?” she gasped. “I thought you was itchin’ to move on as much as I am.”

“I am.” Ruby stopped sweeping, clutching the broom handle with both hands. “But this ain’t as bad as I thought it was goin’ to be.”

“It’s that baby girl, ain’t it? You done got attached to Fat Fanny’s baby girl.”

Ruby dropped her head and nodded.

“You don’t mind livin’ in a whorehouse just so you can be with that baby?”

Ruby looked Othella straight in the eye and nodded again. “And you know exactly why I am so attached to that little baby. . . .”

CHAPTER 37

O
THELLA ROTATED HER NECK AND MASSAGED HER FOREHEAD
with her eyes closed. A few seconds later she looked at Ruby and shook her head in exasperation. “Ruby Jean! Do I have to keep remindin’ you that you are a preacher’s daughter?”

“And do I have to keep remindin’ you that that preacher daddy of mine is a low-down-funky black dog that couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants where it belongs? You forgettin’ I seen him doin’ his dirt with your mama with my own eyes?”

“So what? Your papa is just a human bein’!”

“So am I. He ain’t perfect, so he don’t always do the right thing, and neither do I. There’s whores everywhere and men that are goin’ to behave the way they been doin’ since God put ’em here. No matter where we go, we are goin’ to run into them, and every other kind of devil loose in the world. Yeah, I’m attached to Fat Fanny’s baby girl. But as long as we stay here, at least we got food, a warm bed, ain’t nobody beatin’ on us or molestin’ us in no other way, and we makin’ a few dollars to boot. So I don’t mind bein’ here in this whorehouse after all.”

“That’s because you ain’t got to be layin’ up under all them sweaty men like I do. All you do is cook and clean.”

“And take care of that sweet little Viola,” Ruby added with a vigorous nod. “And every now and then her two brothers.”

Othella let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. “I should have realized this might happen. I should have knowed that you would want to stay around here as long as you could, just because of that little baby girl.”

“What’s wrong with that? What else is there for me to do?” Ruby asked with a pout, stomping her foot on the hard floor with so much force the empty pots and pans on the counter rattled.

“Look, girl. You need to get over losin’ your baby. You can’t let that situation rule your life.”

“It’s a little too late for you to be tellin’ me that! That’s the one situation I can’t get off my mind,” Ruby shouted.

“Well, sooner or later you have to! You can’t let this one thing keep eatin’ at you. You might as well be attached to a ghost, girl!”

A hopeless look crossed Ruby’s face and she practically whispered, “My baby didn’t die. She ain’t no ghost.” She sucked in her breath and held it. She looked like she was going to cry, but she didn’t want to. She knew that once the tears started, she would have a hard time stopping them. “Sometimes I wish she had died. We could have buried her somewhere. That way I could have had a grave to visit and put flowers on from time to time. At least that way I would have been able to move on, not be left hangin’ like I’m hangin’ now. That would have been better than me never knowin’ how she doin, how she bein’ treated.”

“Ruby, you don’t want to spend too much time workin’ in a whorehouse just so you can be close to a young baby. That ain’t normal. But I’ll pray for you, and I won’t stop buggin’ God until He do somethin’ for you that’ll make you feel better.”

Ruby was glad that Othella had finally said something that indicated she had more sympathy for her. But she didn’t appreciate what Othella said next: “I know how you must be feelin’. . . .”

Ruby was so taken aback by Othella’s words, she thought she was going to jump out of her freshly starched white maid’s uniform. A headache had formed, one so painful it moved from the back of her head to the front within seconds. It almost brought her to her knees. She moaned under her breath and massaged her forehead. “You didn’t have no baby and have to give her up, Othella. How in the world can you fix your lips to say you know how I’m feelin’?”

Othella immediately regretted what she’d just said. “I’m sorry. What I meant was, I hope I never know what it is you feelin’.”

“And I hope you don’t neither! Especially since you and your mama is the reason I lost my child!”

“How many more times are you goin’ to ride me about that? How many more times do I have to tell you that if you had
really
wanted to keep that baby, you could have? Me and Mama didn’t hold no gun on you! We didn’t twist your arm that night! We didn’t beat you to make you do nothin’, so stop puttin’ all of the blame on me and my mama!” The more Othella talked, the more she stunned and angered Ruby.

“Y’all talked me down to a frazzle that night! I didn’t know which way to turn! Y’all rode me down until I couldn’t do nothin’ but what you and your mama told me to do! And another thing—your mama made it clear that she wasn’t about to take a chance on my daddy jumpin’ to the conclusion that Ike was my baby’s daddy.” Ruby didn’t care if somebody entered the kitchen and heard her rant. “You owe me, Othella! You are goin’ to owe me till death do us apart!”

“Owe you? Owe you what?” Othella cackled like a hen, long and loud. This didn’t even faze Ruby because she had already reached her limit of tolerance.

Ruby’s lips moved, but nothing came out for a few seconds. She didn’t know how to answer Othella’s question. “I don’t know
what
you owe me, but you ought to care more about what I feel—over losin’ my child—than you been showin’ so far.”

“I do. I do care, Ruby. I swear to God that if I got pregnant today and gave birth to a baby girl in nine months, I’d give that child to you,” Othella yelled. She stopped talking long enough to catch her breath. “If I thought it would make you happy. If I thought it would make you stop moanin’ and groanin’ about that other baby.”

If a house had fallen out of the sky and landed on Ruby, she could not have been more stunned by what Othella had just told her. This news made Ruby’s whole body tremble.

“You would do that for me? You would be that good to me?” Ruby asked, her voice low and weak. Othella was glad to see that a smile had replaced the hostile expression on Ruby’s face. “I could have one of your baby girls?”

“Yeah, if it would make you happy!” Othella barked. She was getting tired of this clumsy conversation, and was willing to say whatever it took to appease Ruby—even if it meant telling Ruby that she could have one of her children if she had some.

Othella wouldn’t think about what she’d just said again until many years later when Ruby did
take
one of her children, a baby girl—and not because Othella gave the child to her. . . .

“You been a real good friend to me, Othella. Ain’t a woman nowhere, not even in the Bible, that would offer to do for me what you just did,” Ruby said, now beaming.

“I’m glad you realize that. Now let’s do our business here for Miss Mo’reen and move on. Once we do, we’ll find husbands. And with that big juicy body you got, you’ll probably have a house full of kids before you reach twenty-one. When this war mess is over, I know a lot of prisoners of war will be comin’ home from them foreign countries so desperate and horny that they will marry the first woman they see. And that could be you and me.” Othella gave Ruby a harsh look and shook her finger in her face. “In the meantime, you concentrate on somethin’ other than babies!”

The smile disappeared from Ruby’s face. She gave Othella a look that Othella couldn’t interpret. She couldn’t decide if Ruby was angry, happy, confused, or what.

“I got to wash these dishes next, so I can go upstairs and tend to that sweet little baby Viola,” Ruby said in a calm voice.

Othella returned to the parlor where there was a modest crowd of men waiting to trot upstairs and do their business with the women of their choice. She noticed right away that none of the other prostitutes, including the four rovers who had checked in that morning to work for just a few hours, were present. And there were twice as many men present than there had been when she left the parlor, less than fifteen minutes ago. Maureen occupied the middle spot of the settee, flanked by the Harrison brothers on either side. Four other men stood off to the side of Maureen. She stared at Othella, giving her one of her “where the hell have you been?” looks.

Othella stopped and stood next to Maurice, who had just made it to the house to play his piano. He was playing a lively tune, the kind of swing number that Othella’s brother Ike used to play when she threw her wild parties. She wanted to ignore Maureen, but she knew not to. Maureen was still looking at her and her mouth was moving. Othella couldn’t imagine what Maureen was saying to the men surrounding her.

“. . . that colored gal there, that’s Othella. She swallows . . .” Maureen said proudly. The men all started talking at once. “Hold on, gentlemen. She’s young and eager and the day is early. Y’all can all spend time with her before you leave.” Maureen rose, pulling one of the Harrison brothers up by the hand. “Now you get over yonder and acquaint yourself with Othella.” Maureen gently pushed her client with both hands in Othella’s direction. She returned to her seat and resumed the conversation that she’d been involved in before Othella entered the room.

“Now where were we?” Maureen asked, accepting a fresh drink from Buster at the same time. Buster gave her a rare smile and quickly returned to his post by the door. He crossed his arms and fixed a menacing look on his face. When he was on bouncer duty, he spent most of his time serving drinks, which he preferred to hauling drunks out on their ears and looting their pockets.

“It was that goddamn war,” one of the men drawled.

“They say that damn fool Hitler ain’t about to stop until he’s ruined all of Europe,” somebody else said, his drunken voice full of contempt.

“Who would have thought that we Americans would be fightin’ Japs and Krauts at the same time?” another man asked.

After a few minutes of the men’s war chatter, Maureen spoke in a voice with extreme exasperation. “Now y’all look! Y’all came here to forget about that damn war. There are much more pleasant things for us to be discussin’,” she scolded.

“You’re right, darlin’,” said a grinning Father Dyer, a priest from a nearby parish. “And I’m lookin’ at somethin’ right now that’s much more interestin’ than Adolf Hitler.”

Maureen followed the priest’s gaze and smiled. Marielle had just returned to the parlor and was moving toward Maureen and her audience. Walking behind her like he had a stick up his behind was Patrick Cone, one of Marielle’s regular clients. He tipped his hat and rushed toward the exit.

Maureen lifted her chin to address Marielle. “Sugar, as soon as you slow down, you need to pay a little attention to Father Dyer.”

Marielle gasped and tilted her head to the side. Speaking as she raked her fingers through her hair, she said with a snicker, “Slow down? This is the first time I’ve been able to leave my room since I got up this mornin’. I don’t remember the last time I got pestered back to back for several hours straight. By the end of the day, my hole will be so dilated, a train could pass though it!”

Maureen and most of the guests within hearing range guffawed.

“Business sure is boomin’ these days,” the other Harrison brother agreed, fishing a watch out of his pocket, frowning at the time. “My time is money, and I’m about to run short of it if I don’t get some female attention soon.”

“Well, be a little more patient!” Maureen said quickly, rising again. She looked toward the staircase and was glad to see that Othella was already on her way back to the parlor. The other Harrison man who had left the room with Othella was a “minute man,” literally. That was how much time it took to satisfy him. He appeared a few moments after Othella. There was a huge smile on his flushed face as he smoothed back his thick gray hair with one hand and adjusted his suspenders with the other. He returned to the settee and lit up a thick Cuban cigar. The other men noticed the joy on the Harrison man’s face and in his demeanor.

“What’s that gal’s name?” Father Dyer asked, looking at Othella as she approached an elderly man with a helmet of curly white hair. “She sure is easy on the eyes.”

“Her? That’s Catherine. She used to be married to one of them fool Fisher boys. We call her Cat Fish,” Maureen replied, smiling and nodding toward Cat Fish, who had suddenly appeared behind Othella. “You could put your whole foot down her throat if you had a mind to.”

“Pffftt!” the priest snapped, waving his hand like he was shooing away a fly. “Hell’s bells, woman! I know Cat Fish! I don’t mean her. I’m talkin’ about that brown-skinned gal. The one that took a walk with Bob Harrison a hot minute ago. I . . . uh . . . them brown-skinned gals really know their way around the bedroom.”

“Her? Oh, that’s Othella,” Maureen said. “As you can see, she’s got another trick already lined up. As a matter of fact, she’s booked solid for the next few hours. And let me tell you one thing, she is well worth the wait.” Maureen rose. “However, since you have a itchin’ for dark meat, I might have another piece that you might like to taste. If you can hold your horses, I’ll take you to her after things slow down.”

“I can wait,” Father Dyer said eagerly. His eyes lit up and he licked his lips.

“Good! Now have another drink,” Maureen yelled.

BOOK: Mama Ruby

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