No Crystal Stair (3 page)

“Did you hear him, Daddy? He Talked right up to that policeman,” Lenny Said.

Mr. Suber clasped Dr. Carter's hand, fervently nodding his own thanks.

Ann Elizabeth, too, looked at her father in awe. This was a part of his life she'd never seen. He had his arm around Mrs. Suber and was telling her how to care for her sons' wounds when she expressed a worry that the policemen might come back.

“No,” he said. “You can depend on Officer Malloy. If you have any trouble, call me.”

Ann Elizabeth followed her father out into the fresh night air, leaving behind that smell of blood, cooking cabbage and fear. Once in the car she broke into tears she could no longer control. “Oh, Dad, it was horrible! All that blood and those policemen. I was so scared.”

“Hush, kitten. You did a good job.”

“No. You did.” She thought of him, never pausing, continuing to tend to the boys even as the policemen burst in on them. And later, just as young Lenny had said, talking right up to that policeman. “You know him, Dad? That . . . what was his name? Malloy?”

“Yes, I know him.”

“Where? How?”

“It's the nature of things, child. Strangers meet in stranger places.” He shook his head, a faraway look in his eyes. “And that doesn't matter. Just thank God he was one of the officers here tonight.”

Yes, thank God. If he hadn't been... She shuddered as the horror swept over her again.

“Hush child, it's over.” He held her as he's always held her, lending her reassurance and strength. Yet he had seemed so small, so vulnerable, standing in front of that hulk of a policeman. And he had humbled himself. She'd never seen him in that role before. She knew now that it had been necessary to protect the boys. The fierce pride she felt for her father battled with embarrassment at his humiliation.

“I love you, Dad,” she whispered.

 

 

A few blocks from the Suber house, Frank Malloy still argued with his partner. They had pulled their squad car to the curb.

“I called it like I saw it, Joe. Be honest and admit you saw it, too.”

“I saw nothing, Frank. 'Cept an old boy so pussy drunk he can't see straight. That nigger wench of yours must have a mink lined under yonder.”

Frank Malloy whirled and grabbed the other man with both hands. “Leave her out of this!”

“Okay, okay.”

“Okay, shit!” Frank's hold tightened. “I'm warning you. Another crack like that, and I'll—”

“Lay off. You're ch-cho...”

Frank released his grip. Damn! What was he doing? This was Joe His partner. If it hadn't been for him he would've been up shit creek with no paddle—just last night, when that pimp had come at him with a switchblade. “Sorry, Joe,” he muttered.

“It's been a hard day. And, well you know about Gussie.”

“Yeah.”Joe straightened his shirt and didn't add, as he usually did, “Better watch that pussy trap, boy!” He just gave Frank an uncertain glance and said. “I know.”

But he
doesn't
know, Frank thought as he drove away. He knows about Gussie. Knows about that ruckus on Decatur Street where we picked her up. Knows I drove her home, instead of to jail. Kind of trade-off that happens all the time.

But he doesn't know about the two years since. God, has it been that long?

Oh, he knows I check her out now and again. But he doesn't know how often I sneak into that little house on Glen Street.

And he doesn't know how it is between Gussie and me. How it is sitting in that kitchen at the back of the house, laughing with her and her grandma, eating her grandma's collard greens and custard-cream pie. Heap better'n boozing it up with the boys. First feel of home since I left Waycross. I was only fifteen, but Ma had died and all the love I'd known was gone.

Until Gussie. When she looks at me like I'm the Lord God Almighty himself, and when she lies beside me ... No, Joe doesn't know I love her. I didn't know it myself until the night Luke was born. Until I thought I was going to lose her. She was having a hard time, and her grandma called me. She told me I didn't have to come, she'd called a doctor, but wild horses couldn't have kept me away.

They'd called the nigger doctor. Carter. I'll never forget him. I was still in uniform, but it was like he didn't care that I was white and Gussie black. Like he was just there to save our baby. He did, too. Stayed most of the night to do it—a long one. I'll never forget how he placed Luke in my arms. All he said was “You have a fine healthy boy, sir.” And it was like he was handing me my life on a silver platter.

Yep, there are a lot of things Joe doesn't know.

And it's better that way. Frank decided, as he drove toward the station house in silence.

 

 

The chapel bell was tolling as Ann Elizabeth and her father drove through the lush campus with its old imposing brick buildings. It was as if they'd entered another world. Although it was a world familiar to her, tonight she seemed to be seeing it for the first time.

Dr. Carter stopped near the chapel. And she put her arms around him, loving his clean antiseptic smell. One of his favorite quotations flitted through her mind—“Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.” He'd said it a thousands times, but only tonight did she begin to get a glimmer of what it meant. She kissed his cheek, glad he could return to the quiet serenity of his home. Glad her mother would probably have a bridge game arranged. It would help him forget. She realized now that she was glad too, that President Read insisted all seniors live on campus. It was good to slip back into campus life, leaving the horror she'd witnessed behind. Study for the exam tonight. Rehearsal tomorrow afternoon. She joined the girls hurrying in to the stately Sisters Chapel for vespers. She passed through the tall marble columns to the sanctuary, slipped into her assigned seat between Jennie Lou and Josephine and lost herself in the soothing tones pouring from the organ, singing the words softly under her breath. “This is my Father's world / He shines in all that's fair . . .”

T
hat afternoon, Sophie stood quietly at the window as she watched Dr. Carter depart with his daughter. “Ann Elizabeth's quiet but stubborn, Julia Belle. You can't handle this one as easily as you did Randy.”

“Randy? What are you talking about?”

“That girl—what was her name? You said her father was a garbage man.”

Abruptly Julia Belle got up to noisily stack dishes. “Goodness, that was just a high-school thing.” Public high school! The only one in Atlanta for Negroes. Full of all kinds of youngsters, some of them from nowhere. Will had insisted on it. “They need to meet different people,” he said. He was wrong.

“Careful, Julia Belle, you'll break that dish. Here, let me help you.” Sophie said, gathering up silver.

Easy for her to be complacent, Julia Belle thought. Helen Rose was still in private school, while hers... Well it was difficult to keep them from becoming too intimate with the wrong people. Ann Elizabeth still kept in touch with that Clayton girl.

“Sadie, Sadie Clayton,” Sophie amused. “That was her name, wasn't it? Lord, was that boy besotted! And I sure can't tell why. Nothing to look at—coal-black with that real nappy hair. What would their children have looked like? No matter which gets the color, it's always the girl who gets the kinky hair.”

“Their children? Sophie, what in Sam Hill are you thinking? They'd never—”

“Well, he was that far gone. He could have married her,”

“Don't be ridiculous! He was only eighteen.”

“Eighteen and full of wild oats. What if he'd
had
to marry her?”

“Sophie! There was nothing like that going on.”

“Don't get so huffy. These things do happen and you know it. I don't blame you for getting rid of Sadie.”

“Sending her to nursing school was not getting rid of her.”

“Yes, it was. Away from the college—and Randy.”

“She wasn't headed for college. And she would've been more out of Randy's reach as a live-in maid at the Grants' estate. That's where her father wanted to place her as soon as she graduated from high school.”

“No!”

“Yes. He called it a great opportunity. I guess it was from his perspective.”

Sophie nodded. “Sure. Sure. At least she'd be out of Beaver Slide and living high. If you have to work as a maid, best to do it for rich folks.”

“Well, I'm glad I talked him out of it.”

“Paid her tuition, too, didn't you?”

Julia Belle shrugged. “Wasn't much. Sadie has a good mind. I'd hate to see it wasted on other people's toilets.”

Sophie chuckled. “So you did her a favor, as well as yourself. Where is she now?”

“Working at Grady where she trained.”

Sophie shook her head. “Strange isn't it? A Negro doctor can't get near the county hospital. Yet they train and hire colored nurses.”

“Nothing strange about it. Can you see white nurses handing out bedpans to Negroes in the colored wards?”

“Not likely,” Sophie said, and they both laughed. “Still,” she added, “I understand colored nurses are also permitted to tend patients in the white wing.”

“Nothing strange about that, either. Haven't we been waiting on white folks all our lives?”

“That's the God's truth. Anyway. I'm glad the girl's doing well. Guess something good comes out of everything. And I'd better be getting home. Herb will be wondering. I hope you can talk some sense into Ann Elizabeth. Negro professionals are few and far between.”

“Oh, I'm not worried. She'll marry Dan. She just needs time to think about it.”

Alone, Julia Belle tried to reassure herself. But despite the heat of the kitchen, a chill of apprehension persisted. Why was Ann Elizabeth hesitant? Surely she wasn't thinking of refusing Dan! He could give her... “linen and crystal on the table! That's what you mean isn't it Mother?”

No, Ann Elizabeth. It's more that that. Much more.

Julia Belle picked up a napkin ring from the table and held the sliver circle in her hand, turning it over and over seeing in its place the old bent one she'd held so long ago. Oh, Mama, you tried so hard. Secondhand napkin rings and frayed napkins. It wasn't easy on Papa's small teaching salary.

Even now Julia Belle could hear her mother's voice. “The napkin goes on the left, and the glass is above the knife here on the right, see?” Take your elbows off the table, Julia Belle. You ain't no field nigger—you're quality!”

Equality. Lord, how Mama drummed that word into us. Quality—clearly distinguished from field niggers and poor white trash. Julia Belle could almost see her mother now, small and wiry, wielding that heavy iron, running it across Papa's carefully starched shirt. “Some folks think if you look white you got quality,” she'd explain. “And that's how Madame Walker, with her straightening comb, and Dr. Palmer, with his skin-whitening cream, done got themselves rich. But quality ain't black or white. It's who you are and how you act! Straighten up your
shoulders, Sophie. And Jimmy, don't you go out of here looking like a tramp! Go back and get your coat and tie.”

Julia Belle smiled as she plunged her hands into the dish water. Papa might have been the revered professor, but it was her uneducated down-to-earth mother who ruled the roost.

Lord! If I had as much control over my own children! Mama sure kept us in tow with her strict rules and strange admonitions.

“Manners will get you where money won't.” “Lie down with dogs and you'll get fleas.” And “You Professor Washington's daughter and don't you forget it! What are you doing with that field nigger?”

“Mamma, nobody works in the fields here,” Julia Belle had said. “He's a bellhop down at—”

“Same thing. Beholden to white folds, ain't he?”

Mama had one firm rule about white folks: “Stay away from them. Long as you working for white folks they let you get mighty close. Let you cook their food, nurse their babies, have their babies. That's why we got so many white niggers that don't know where they come from!”

Where had mama come from? Pretty blue-eyed redheaded Mama. So quiet about herself. So proud of her husband—Professor James Washington. Everybody knew where he'd come from—a slave, son of the farmer who'd owned him. Julia Belle recalled how, as a child, she would be taken to visit Grandma Evvie, who lived in East Atlanta in a small house on Mr. Washington's back lot. Old man Washington, a big white man with a heavy cane, would come down sometimes to watch them play and he would pass out peppermint sticks.

Yes, there was no secret about Papa. Mr. Washington had given him his name, sent him north to school and provided for Grandma Evvie until she died. Maybe, Julia Belle thought now, it had been a real love match.

Not in Mama's case, though. Evidently Mama's father had also been white, but that wasn't talked about. Julia Belle knew almost nothing about her mother's background, just bits and pieces here and there. Mama's mother had died when Mama was a teenager. “I started to work in the same house where my Ma had been a cook. After that I worked in a lot of big houses.” Cleaning. Dusting. Placing the fork in the right place! For other people.

Mama had learned all the proper etiquette. But she'd learned something else, too. Something that caused the bitter line around her mouth and drew from her another admonition. “No, siree! You can't take a job at the tearoom. You'll have to make do with that old dress of Sophie's. You ain't working in no white man's kitchen. I been there. Would still be there if I hadn't had the good luck and the good sense to marry your father!”

That was another thing. “Be careful who you marry. Someone who'll keep you from contact. White men ain't got no respect for colored women.”

Mama hadn't liked Will Carter when Julia Belle brought him to the house that first day. “He's coal-black, Julia Belle! And did you say he's a dining-car waiter?”

“Just part-time, Mama. To pay for medical school.”

“Oh.” Mama had smiled. “Going to be a doctor eh?” Will Carter had immediately become quality. “Doctoring's a good calling for a back man, Julia Belle.” Mama's blue eyes had brightened with a knowing look. “Like I told you, the white man don't care how close he gets when you're serving him. But he don't like to serve you. He'll take the black man's money as long as he don't have to touch him. He don't want to doctor, beautify or bury you. He gonna leave that to black folks.”Mama had laughed. “So, honey, you just marry yourself a doctor or a funeral director. He ain't gonna be on no salary and he ain't relying on no white man for his money. He's independent.”

Independent. Not beholden. Julia Belle thought of her brother, Jimmy. He was a doctor in the little Georgia town and he didn't allow his wife to go to the grocery store. “Don't want her to have to deal with those white clerks.” Protecting her from contact.

Julia Belle chuckled to herself. It was highly probable that the middle-class Negro woman was the most protected woman in the country.

She sighed. Ann Elizabeth was completely unaware of how vulnerable she was. She had always been protected and had always lived in a completely segregated environment. Except for shopping downtown. But even there, although they were banned from the tearooms and restrooms, they were treated with respect because they were spending money earned by Dr. William Carter.

It's more than linen and crystal. Ann Elizabeth. It's much more. It's security, protection, even a little respect. If you marry Dan...
If
. Oh, she was being ridiculous. Of course Ann Elizabeth was going to marry Dan.

And such a wedding we'll have Julia Belle thought. Even grander that the one Ada Simpson had for her daughter. Ada will be green with envy.

Julia Belle felt a little irritated. All this dillydallying! She wanted to get cracking with lists and invitations and... goodness! The dresses will have to be ordered and no telling how long that'll take. She must have another talk with Ann Elizabeth as soon as possible. Wouldn't it be wonderful if they could make the announcement at her debut?

Dan Trent. The catch of the season. She could just see the jealousy in Sally Richard's face. Sally had been trying for months to match Dan with her Jennie Lou.

If only Ann Elizabeth wouldn't fool around! Oh, she was just being coquettish. And she had so many things on her mind.
Graduation. Rehearsals for that play. Well, she'd talk with her soon—next week—and they'd start making plans.

Julia Belle's thoughts reverted to her husband. He'd looked tired when he drove off with Ann Elizabeth. A bridge game always relaxed him. She would call Ada. Maybe she and her husband could come over. Julia Belle went into the hall and picked up the phone

 

 

“I love you, Mrs. Moonlight, very very dearly.”Ed Sanford spoke the words in a loud stage whisper as he leaned solicitously over Ann Elizabeth, a few bits of powder from his simulated gray hair making tiny spots on her blue satin gown.

Ann Elizabeth gazed at him adoringly, lifting her hand to gently caress his cheek, then let it fall. She sighed heavily, closed her eyes and very gracefully died.

The curtains swept together amid a crescendo of clapping hands. Ed helped Ann Elizabeth to her feet and she stood, her hand in his, as the curtain opened again and the other players hurried back onstage to receive the applause. Then she and Ed were left for a standing ovation.

Ann Elizabeth knew her face was flushed with exhilaration. She loved acting, pretending to be somebody else for a moment. Mrs. Moonlight wasn't one of her favorites—some fantasy about a beautiful woman who never wanted to grow old. Her wish was granted, but when she saw her husband growing old without her, she was ashamed and ran away. Years later she returned to die in his arms. Silly.

Someone thrust a bouquet of roses at her. She selected a bud and carefully placed it in the button hole of Ed's old-fashioned coat. He kissed her cheek. “Thank you, my wife, always and forever.”

It was a standing joke. In how many plays had she been his wife? Five? No, six. She'd been Juliet to his Romeo, Desdemona
to his Othello, Anne Hathaway to his Shakespeare. Once, in a black play, she'd forgotten her lines and he had prompted her, muttering, “Say something, nigger woman.” She had answered in kind and their adlibbing brought such response from the audience that they'd kept the lines in.

Oh, this had been fun, rehearsing and performing and the applause. She felt sad that it was over. Well, maybe it wasn't. She'd been asked to remain with the University Players for the summer season.

Upstairs in the little dressing room over the stage, she read the note attached to the roses. “You were great. Love, Dan.”

“Ann Elizabeth, there's someone here to see you.”

“Thanks,”
Dan
. She hurriedly wiped off all traces of makeup, leaving her face bright and shiny. She slipped on her skirt and a pullover cashmere sweater and left the dressing room. Was Dan still in the theater, or was he waiting downstairs in the lobby?

 

 

Sadie Clayton, descending the stairs to the lobby tried to stem the wave of disappointment. It had only been a faint hope that Randy would be here to see his sister perform. Of course, he'd be occupied doing whatever those pilots did at Tuskegee while they were waiting to be called overseas. Possibly occupied with other interests, too, she thought with a flare of jealousy. She wished—

Good heavens! Would she rather have Randy overseas in combat, risking his life, than exposed to the flood of women who'd descended upon Tuskegee, as eager for one of the handsome new Negro pilots as for a job at the base?

How long was it since she'd seen Randy, anyway? And it was longer still since they'd been close. So why couldn't she stop dreaming about him?