Celeste's Harlem Renaissance (12 page)

“Aunti, did you call Miss Jarboro?”

“I forgot where I put her card,” she mumbled.

“Right on the table, propped up against the sugar bowl. Want me to get it?”

“I can’t do anything with it now. Maybe next week.”

Next week? I swan! Why hadn’t Aunti called her? Talk about not moving fast. She might have already missed an opportunity. Poppa told me that the Lord would turn your burdens into blessings if you told him your specific needs. Well, I’d been telling him and telling him. Maybe he needed for me to
do
something specific, too. I listened to Aunti’s breathing gradually ease to her regular sleep snore.

All righty, Lord, here I go.
Back out of bed, I dressed quickly, and with my shoes and Miss Jarboro’s card in my hands, I tiptoed out of the room and hurried downstairs to the house telephone on the front desk. I gave one of my precious nickels to the night clerk, who told me what to do. Worried that Aunti would appear and force me to hang up — since she hadn’t given me permission to call or leave the room — I kept one eye on the stairs.

“Hello?”

I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Miss Jarboro, please, is that you?”

“What? Who’s this?” a sleepy-sounding woman said.

“Miss Jarboro, this is Celeste, Celeste Lassiter Massey, from North Carolina,” I yelled, remembering Poppa’s advice to talk loud. “Please don’t hang up.”

“Oh, yes, the girl in the lobby. This is Caterina Jarboro. Are you all right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Pardon me for calling so late, but I wanted to ask if you’d please help my Aunt Valentina. She needs a better job. She sings and dances, but right now we’re scrubbing floors.” I spoke quickly so she would hear everything and not lose patience and hang up.

“I don’t own a theater, and I’m not a producer or director, you know. Where are you?”

“At our boardinghouse. See, my Aunti lost her job being a maid for Madame Mercifal Gutness, so that’s why we got to scrub so much.”

When Miss Jarboro didn’t say anything, I got scared that she’d hung up. “Hello?”

“I’m listening. I’ve heard of Madame Gutness. She was in that
Aunt Susie Honeysuckle
play. Ha! May I speak to your aunt?”

“She’s asleep, upstairs. She doesn’t know I’m calling. She’s a — a — fabulous singer and dancer. She says she sings ‘Aunt Susie Honeysuckle’ much better than Madame. She had that part until Madame made her give it up, then she fired my aunt. I don’t know who else to ask for help, ma’am.” I held my breath.

“Hmmm. If I could talk with your aunt, maybe we could come up with something. You go get her, or have her call me back right quick.”

“All right, thank you, good-bye.” I hung up, slid on my shoes, and took those stairs two at a time. I had only used a telephone once before, back home, and had lost my nickel then. But I’d done it right this time! I paused at the top of the stairs and squeezed my eyes shut. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from which cometh all my help.”
Help us, Lord, please. If it be thy will. Amen. And please give me a sign, so I’ll know for sure.

When I opened my eyes, Aunti was frowning in the hallway, tapping her bare foot, braids bouncing under her scarf with each angry foot-slap. This wasn’t the sign from God that I was looking for. My blood drained from my brain to my toes.

“Where in tarnation have you been?” she demanded. Miss D — and, oh no, snaggletoothed Gertie, too — stood by her in their white anti-wrinkle cream and their nightgowns.

“I — I — was on the telephone, talking to Miss Jarboro,” I stuttered. “She wants you to call her right now.”

“Why?”

“To talk to you.” Hand shaking, I held out the card to her. But she leaned away from the card like it was covered with influenza germs.

“I told you I didn’t care to chat with that girl tonight. I need to get my sleep, and you do, too, instead of sneaking off like this! We got to go to work soon.”

“Wait now, Val,” said Miss D. “Cece must have a good reason for calling this girl. What does she do, Cece?” After I filled her in, Miss D raised her mushy white eyebrows. She looked like a chocolate cupcake with white icing on the top. “Val, she’s gone to all this trouble to run down this Miss Jarboro for you. The least you can do is ring her back, enty?”

“Ain’t no enty about it. I’m not gonna do it. She was just being polite, anyway, with Cece calling her so late.”

“Cece, you’re in trouble again,” Gertie said around her thumb.

“Hush, Gertie,” said her grandmother. “Val, she might can give you a name to contact or help some kind of way.”

“But I told Cece I might phone her next week. I’m not ready tonight!”

“How ready do you have to be to make a phone call?” I tried to give her one of my nickels.

“Excuse me?” Aunti snapped, and slapped her hands to her hips. “Who gave you permission to tell me what to do?”

“Nobody,” I said aloud, but inside I thought,
The Lord.

Aunti stared at me. Then she sighed and released her hold on her shapely hips. “Oh, I know you mean well, but you don’t understand how horrible it is for me to keep being rejected. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Come on.” She moved toward our room.

“Valentina Lassiter, ain’t you got any gumption anymore?” Miss D broke in. “Do I need to sprinkle ‘Get Right’ powder in your shoes to set you on the right road? Go ring this girl
now.
”

“Let me be, Ripsey Dillahunt.” She went into our room. I heard the bed creak when she got in again.

Miss D took my nickel and the card. “You’ve done all you can,” she told me softly. “Now leave it to me. C’mon, Gertie.”

Behind her back Gertie shook her finger at me as if to say, “Shame, shame.”

“Keep doing that and you’ll have a nub yet,” I hissed. Back inside our room, I undressed again and eased into bed. “Aunti, I’m sorry for butting into your business.”

“Things aren’t as easy as you think they are. So many important, high-up folks have already told me they can’t help. Somebody as far down as her won’t be able to do a lot of good.”

“Momma always said nothing beats a failure like a try,” I said, and added, “I didn’t mean that to be sassy,” when she opened her mouth.
Don’t get your hackles up with me again!

“Miss Goody Two-shoes, let me be,” she said. Then she laughed. “I see I have to make my Pitiful Promenade by myself tonight. You’re sure not gonna help me feel sorry for myself.”

I just grunted. When I was sure my aunt was asleep, I crept out of bed, got my packet of goldenseal powder from my schoolbag, and dropped a pinch into her work shoes. The Aunt Valentina that I used to know back in Raleigh wouldn’t have been too tired to call anybody or too scared to do anything. I didn’t have any of Miss D’s “Get Right” powder, but maybe my goldenseal would do the trick.

The next morning I received a picture postcard from Mr. Smalls. One side showed him sitting stiffly in a chair with Mr. USA on his knee. On the other side he wrote, “A young fella named Richard S. Roberts in Columbia, S.C., yearned to take our picture, so we let him.” He asked about my family, and hoped I was having fun with my aunt and Miss Pinetar in New York. He planned to be in our Great Negro State Fair again and hoped he’d see me there.

“Aunti, you think Poppa’ll be well enough to go to our state fair? It’s in October.”

“Let’s pray he will. You know, I haven’t been to that fair myself in years. That’s where I met —” She paused. “That’s where you meet so many fine people and see such great sights and learn about accomplishments that our people have made.”

“Maybe we can go back in time for it,” I hinted, but she didn’t reply.

“Yoo-hoo, Valentina! Cece!” Miss D called from our doorway, dolled up in a beige crinoline dress and a floppy white hat with red and yellow flowers, green ribbons, and blue plumes. She looked like a plump bouquet. “Stir your stumps and get dressed, ladies, we got places to go.”

“Where’re we going, with you decked out so grand?” Aunti asked through a mouthful of toast and raw New York poached eggs. “Where’s Gertie?”

“Gertie’s momma got her early this morning. C’mon. We’re going out, I said. Wear that pretty emerald two-piece suit, the one with the fringe, and that beige cloche hat, and your beige dancing shoes.” Miss D slapped her white gloves across her right palm. “Celeste, you throw on something nice, too.”

“What’ve you got up your stylish sleeve, Ripsey Dillahunt?” Aunti didn’t budge. “Why do you keep looking at Celeste? Celeste, have you been on the telephone again? Somebody, speak to me!”

“I called that Jarboro girl last night,” Miss D said. “She’s very nice, Val, just like Cece said. She wants you to come by today to this new musical
Shuffle Along
that she’s rehearsing with. Listen. She said, and I’m repeating her words, ‘If Miss Lassiter’s as good as her niece says,’ and I declared you were, then she thought maybe you could get on as somebody’s understudy, or even get a real part before they put this show on the road, before they open it on Broadway.”

I clapped my hands. Praise God and Miss D! “Broadway!”

But Aunti snorted and flapped her hands at Miss D. “A Colored show on Broadway? Oh, please. All we Colored ever get are minstrel shows and washerwoman plays. You and that girl’s been sipping on something to pickle your brains. No full Colored show’s ever been on Broadway before.”

“There’s always a first time, Val.” Miss D glanced around. “So much junk in here! Cece, can you find her green suit in all this mess? Val, get up!”

While they fussed at each other, I pushed around dusty boxes and bags under the bed, and finally found the beige shoes. After fumbling and twisting around on the walls through her clothes, I reappeared with a mouthful of boa feathers and her green suit.

I put on the most pitiful face I could think of as I held the suit out to my aunt. She stared at me, then at Miss D. “Cece, you should see your face! You look like the sad mask we see on the theater marquees. Oh, Ripsey, all right, I’ll go. But don’t you expect much. I know I won’t.”

But still I thought I saw a spark of excitement on her face as we dressed. My face was lit up, for sure. Maybe this was Aunti’s big break! And mine!

Out on the street Aunti kept jerking up on her skirt. Miss D stopped. “What in the world’s wrong with you?”

“I feel like I’m wearing one of my great-great-grandmomma’s old-fashioned long skirts, with this ugly fringe around the waist.” Aunti tried to roll up the skirt around the belt.

I pulled down on my new secondhand yellow dress. Miss D had hemmed it too short! “This makes me feel like everything from my ankles to my thighs is naked. Aunt Society said decent young ladies don’t let their knees be seen in public.”

“Well, that cuts me from her list, doesn’t it?” Aunti muttered. “If Society’s legs were as fine as mine, she’d want to show hers, too.”

Miss D snorted. “Mirror turn its face from you two upstairs so you couldn’t see these things before you left? I reckon you’ll snatch everything off and get bare right here on One Hundred Thirty-sixth Street! Ole country gals, tugging and wrenching right in front of Madam Walker’s shop, with everybody gawking.”

I glanced around and sure enough, women in chairs inside the salon stared at us. My face burned. I saw Aunti peer up at the third-story windows like she suspicioned that Miss A’Lelia was up there watching and scorning us. “Cece, behave.” Aunti smoothed her suit.

We fell in behind Miss D where she couldn’t see us, and wiggled on up the street.

Aunti pointed to a large building we passed on the right. “This is the One Hundred Thirty-fifth Street branch library. Much as you love to read, I’ll have to take you in sometime. It’s the Colored branch. New York has bunches of libraries.” I craned my neck, staring. I couldn’t think of a Colored library anywhere in Raleigh, except maybe at Shaw University or Saint Augustine’s, but I couldn’t go to them. I just had our little library at school.

Aunti stopped again. “I don’t plan to ruin my good shoes walking in all this dust. Let’s take the subway.”

“Only if you promise not to embarrass me,” Miss D grumbled.

Was a subway ride like a trolley? Momma and I rode in a trolley in Raleigh a long time ago. The Colored section in the back was so crowded that we had to stand up, even when I saw empty seats in the White section up front. Momma said those seats were reserved for White people. My face was pressed up against people’s behinds, and I had to shove bags and sacks from pushing against my head.

But before I could ask, Miss D and Aunti went down some steps, and I had to follow. We were going to take a ride underground! Aunti paid our fares and we stood on a platform with a crowd of people, and a long train sped up. Folks hurried out of the doors, then a rush of people — and us — got on. We sat down together and rolled away, so fast I think I left my stomach back at the platform. We were like moles moving lightning-fast around in the ground. I pressed against Aunti, trying to remain calm.

I noticed, too, that we were sitting with White folks. Had Miss D and Aunti made a mistake and got on the wrong part of the train? We had to sit separately on Raleigh’s trolleys. But quickly looking around, I realized that White and Colored were sitting together. All righty now! I smiled at Aunti and leaned back to enjoy my first subway ride. I didn’t much care for it because I couldn’t see anything but bored-looking people. I was glad when the train stopped and we came back up into the sunshine.

A steady honking, backfiring, and yelling parade of cars, trucks, buses, bicycles, carts, and people passed us. It seemed like the buildings must be as tall as the sky, but Aunti explained that there were buildings even taller in other parts of New York.

Eventually we reached a dilapidated one-story building that looked like a single good breeze could blow it down. We entered a large chilly, dim room. Another windowless place! Maybe New York ran out of glass when these neighborhoods were being built.

A group of folks in one corner kicked up their legs and danced, while another group sang, and a third worked over their lines. All the ladies, I noticed, had short bob hairstyles — like mine! Aunti tucked her braids farther under her hat. I hoped her long hair wouldn’t be a strike against her.