My fear from earlier has now transformed into anger and disgust. Just who does Miss Mindy think I am? What does she think I am if she believes I would agree to be with a man for a bracelet and spending money?
“He hasn’t given me anything. And I haven’t given him anything either!”
“Oh, sure,” she says dryly.
“I haven’t!” I yell, then catch myself when I realize I’m shouting.
This woman has made me so mad that I have forgotten who I am, who she is, and where I am. But I have to remember quickly. I am a black woman and a maid in her employ. She holds all the cards—and she knows it.
“So you’re still dangling him on the hook then, are you?” Miss Mindy shrugs. “Well, he’ll get tired of that eventually. But before he does, I want you to do something for me.”
She pauses, making me uneasy again.
“I know you overheard my conversation with my husband. We’ve been trying to get a small loan from Chauncey to help keep our household afloat, to help pay your salaries. He’s refused to give it to me. So I want you to ask him for the money for me.”
“What?” My mouth starts flapping open and closed like a dying catfish, gasping for air. “I-I don’t . . . I don’t know if . . . Miss Mindy, I can’t—”
“Before you tell me that you can’t do what I’ve asked, consider this, Delilah. I am willing to share some of the money with you if you can convince my darling brother to give you the cash. A small sum, but still, it’s better than nothing! Also consider that you already have a strike against you for your underhanded behavior. Mr. Williams told me that we should’ve fired you on the spot, but I argued that we should give you a chance to redeem yourself first . . . to regain our confidence.”
And this is how she wants me to redeem myself? By begging her brother for money?
“The decision is yours, but if you can’t do this one little favor for me,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t see why I should convince Jake to let you stay here.”
I stare at Miss Mindy, trying to reconcile the woman standing in front of me with the vulnerable one I saw yesterday. This woman isn’t the least bit like her—she is too cool, cunning, and mean.
“How much money?” I whisper.
“Not much. A thousand dollars will do.”
“A thousand dollars?” I nearly choke on the words. “You . . . you want me to ask him for a . . . a thousand dollars?”
“That’s what I said.”
A thousand dollars. Why not ask for ten thousand or a million at this rate? This woman is insane if she believes Cee will just hand over that much money to me. But insane or not, I can tell from the look on her face that she is serious. And I think about the money I had planned to save while working here, and how Mama and my brothers and sisters back home in Lynchburg are waiting for the envelope filled with cash that I will mail later this month. That money could mean the difference between an empty table and full bellies during the upcoming winter. I think about my dream of a better life I had planned for myself.
“So what will it be, Delilah?” Miss Mindy persists.
I know what my answer must be.
* * *
“Where to, gorgeous?” Cee asks me as I climb into the passenger seat that evening. He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. He then takes a nip from his flask, like he always does, and offers it to me. I shake my head at his offer and whisper, “Wherever you wanna go. Just have me home by seven-thirty.”
He flips open the door to his glove compartment, tucks the flask inside, then pulls off, eying me the whole time.
“You’re frowning again,” he shouts over the girlish chants of “Soul Finger” squealing on the radio. “I can’t have that! You were smiling when I left you yesterday. What changed?”
“I’ve just . . . I’ve just got a lot on my mind, Cee,” I say, staring down at my hands under the dim roadway light coming through the car windows. He shifts beside me, grumbling as he drives.
“I gathered as much. But you wouldn’t tell me yesterday what it was. Are you finally ready to tell me today?”
I have two choices: tell Cee the truth or lie. I can tell him that his sister caught me spying on her and her husband and I witnessed something that can now get me fired. To keep from getting fired, she is forcing me to beg Cee for money—an insane amount of money. Or I can make up a story that will get Miss Mindy the thousand dollars she wants. Neither is appealing. Both make my stomach twist into knots and make me chew my lower lip.
He throws back his head in exasperation. “For God’s sake, Dee, just tell me! Maybe you’ll feel better if you get it off your chest!”
“I . . . I need money,” I say before I can stop myself. The lies start seeping out one after another. One pops up, then the next, and I can’t stop the deluge.
“My . . . my mother . . . she called yesterday and told me that . . . that the harvest wasn’t good again this season. We were already in arrears with the bank on a loan. I was sending her money, but it isn’t enough, and now the bank is calling in the loan. They want to collect and . . . and she’s scared we’re gonna lose everything if she doesn’t give them their money, but we don’t have it.”
I look up at him. I have never been good at lying. Even as a little girl, my mother told me she could always tell when I was fibbing. I expect to find Cee chuckling at me, ridiculing my feeble story. Instead, he’s squinting. His expression is serious.
“How much money do you need?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I can no longer meet his eyes. “A . . . a thousand dollars. A thousand dollars will pay off the loan, I . . . I think.”
He brakes at a stoplight and turns back around to face the windshield. He doesn’t say anything else for what feels like forever.
Cee’s silence unnerves me. I’ve played the wrong hand. I realize that now. I can’t believe I let Miss Mindy talk me into doing something so stupid. What made her think I could convince Cee to give me a thousand dollars?
I open my mouth to tell him I really don’t need the money and to forget everything I just said, but then he murmurs, “I can give it to you by the end of next week.”
“What?”
“I said you can have it by the end of next week. Do you need it sooner?” he asks, glancing at me.
“No, no . . . next week is fine,” I whisper, still stunned. “Th-thank you, Cee. Thank you so much!”
He nods. His gaze lingers on me a few seconds longer, and then he returns his attention to the roadway. We say nothing else about it for the rest of the drive.
CHAPTER 17
I told Miss Mindy last week Cee agreed to give me the money she needed, and now she won’t stop pestering me about it.
“What do you mean he hasn’t given it to you yet?” she hissed behind me just yesterday as I carried a basket of dirty laundry from the children’s room. She was at my heels, almost tripping over me as we both made our way down the stairs to the floor below.
“He said by the end of this week,” I whispered back to her over my shoulder, but I stopped short when she grabbed my arm. She squeezed it so tight I could almost feel her nails digging into the flesh.
“Don’t make a fool out of me, Delilah. I told my husband we would have the money soon. You aren’t lying to me, are you?” she asked between clenched teeth. “Because if you are, I’ll—”
“N-n-no, ma’am,” I stuttered, and she gave one last long look before finally releasing me and walking away.
Her desperation makes me regret lying to Cee all over again. I wish I hadn’t done it, that I hadn’t ever turned back to look at what was happening in the Williamses’ bedroom that evening. Who knew ninety seconds worth of watching would land me in this much trouble?
I am in the laundry room, hand-scrubbing a tablecloth when I hear a knock behind me. I turn to find Cee leaning against the door frame with a smile on his face and his hands tucked in his pockets. His long, auburn hair is parted down the middle and catches in the light, maki
ng it look almost as shiny as a new copper penny.
“Hey, beautiful!” he calls out to me.
“Hi, Mr. Buford,” I say in my best formal tone before peeking over his shoulder to make sure neither Agnes nor Roberta are lingering in the kitchen and can hear us. When I realize neither are in sight and hopefully not in earshot, I wipe the water and soap from my hands on a nearby towel, rush across the room, and give him a hug. “What are you doing here?” I whisper with a grin.
He pulls his hands out of his pockets. In one is a thick roll of bills held together by a rubber band.
“I came to give you the money you asked for,” he says, holding it out to me, “that you said your mother needed.”
“Oh, Cee!” I grab the money from him and feel its heavy weight in the palm of my hand. I stare down at it in awe. “You really did it!”
“Of course I did. I said I would.”
“That you did. Thank you, Cee.” I then stand on the balls of my feet and timidly peck him on the cheek, surprising even myself. I can feel his beard stubble against my lips. “You’re wonderful.”
His brows knit together. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I want a kiss . . . a real kiss, Delilah!”
I laugh and playfully smack his shoulder. “Oh, Cee . . .”
I tuck the money into my apron pocket next to my battered paperback of The Red Badge of Courage, turn, and grab the tablecloth I was scrubbing earlier. I dunk it back into the soapy water and start scrubbing it again. “Are you going to stay for a bit or head back out? Miss Mindy won’t be back for another few hours. I wasn’t sure if . . .”
My words fade when I realize he is no longer standing in the doorway but only a few inches behind me. He rests his hands on my hips and pulls me back so he is pressed against me, so his groin rubs against my behind. My throat goes dry.
“I’m not leaving until I get my kiss,” Cee whispers, and I tingle at the warmth of his words and the feel of his breath against my ear and neck. My mind harkens back to us on the leather seat of his GTO and me in his arms under the moonlit sky, but I push the memory aside. We are in his sister’s laundry room. I am hand-washing a stubborn stain from one of the chenille tablecloths. There is no reason why he should be in here with me.
Miss Mindy and Mr. Williams are having lunch at the country club today, but Roberta, Agnes, or one of the children can walk into the room at any moment and see us. It is a risk I cannot take.
“No,” I whisper back, drawing up my will and getting back to my work. I stare down into the foam and continue to scrub. I try to ignore him and his body up against mine. I don’t dare look over my shoulder because if I look into his eyes, I’m lost. He grabs my wet, soapy hands, and I stop again. Startled, I drop the tablecloth into the hot water.
“Kiss me, Dee,” he orders.
His voice is deeper when he says it, and there is a hard edge to it, making me almost frightened to disobey his command. As soon as I turn to him, his lips meet mine. My eyes drift closed, and just like that, I’m gone—I’ve handed myself over to him.
The kiss is long and slow, and I have finally figured out what to do with my tongue and my teeth, how to tilt my head in just the right way. He pulls me closer, almost crushing me in his embrace. I link my arms around his neck, and his hand slides from my waist to my bottom. He tastes like rum, peppermint gum, and smoke. I’m finding it hard to think, to breathe. That’s when I hear the laundry room door squeak.
I open my eyes and see Agnes standing in the doorway. She is carrying another basket of laundry. When she sees us, her eyes widen. Her mouth gapes. I start to push Cee away as she backs out of the room, letting the door swing wildly behind her.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning and taking a step back from me.
“A-Agnes saw us,” I stutter, unable to hide my panic. I wring the front of my apron in my wet hands. “We shouldn’t have done that in here! I told you we shouldn’t!”
He laughs and rolls his eyes. He rubs my arms like he’s trying to warm me. “Oh, who cares!”
“Who cares? She saw us, Cee! She—”
“So what?” He shrugs. “So what if she saw us! All that matters is us two. Who cares what they say.”
I bite down hard on my bottom lip. It is still swollen from his kisses.
He is right. So what if Agnes saw us? Miss Mindy already knows Cee and I are together. She thinks we’re doing a lot more than kissing, but this was something I did not want Agnes to see, for her to know. I feel embarrassed and ashamed that she witnessed us together.
“Look,” he whispers, realizing I’m still upset, “if she tells anyone, I’ll say she’s lying. I’ll say it never happened—and so will you. It’ll be our word against hers!”
I know he really means his word. I could swear on the Bible and no one would care what I had to say, but they’ll certainly believe Cee over Agnes, and knowing this is unsettling, not comforting to me.
“It’s all right,” he assures me, raising a hand to my cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”
After Cee leaves, I find Agnes sitting alone at the kitchenette table where she, Roberta, and I usually eat our breakfast and lunch together. A wicker sewing basket and a spool of blue thread are on the tabletop. A rumpled pair of Mr. Williams’s pants are in her lap as she carefully stitches the hem of one of the pants legs. The light from the kitchen window plays on her face—her broad nose, high cheekbones, and cleft chin—and I can see she’s frowning with concentration.
I don’t know what to say to her. She does not like Cee and warned me against him, but she does not know the man that I know. I don’t want to argue with her, but I prepare myself to defend him against her harsh words.
I clear my throat to get her attention, and she glances in my direction but doesn’t face me. “You finish the tablecloths?”
I nod. “I’ll get to the napkins next.”
“Good. We’ll start on the silver tomorrow,” she says, not looking up from her work. The needle and thread make a high arc in the air, then dip down again.
“If you’re busy with that, I can finish up vacuuming the rest of the house later. I just have to—”
“No, this won’t take too long. I can vacuum.”
The needle goes up and then comes down again.
I pivot anxiously from one foot to the other. I fight the urge to wring my hands. Why hasn’t she mentioned what she saw in the laundry room? Why hasn’t she asked me about Cee?
“Well,” I say after the silence in the kitchen seems to stretch for a full minute, “I guess I’ll get back to the washing.”
I wait for her to respond, but she says nothing. I purse my lips and start to turn back toward the doorway.
“You know how all of this ends, don’t you?” she says out of nowhere, and I pause. “You think you’re the first Colored gal those white boys have come sniffing after? You think you’re the first one who’s gotten caught up by one of them or their nonsense?” She sucks her teeth and continues to sew. “You ain’t the first, Dee, and you ain’t gonna be the last either! But it always ends the same way, and you’re a fool if you think any different.”
I’m mute with shock. I knew she would have nothing nice to say about Cee, but I’m surprised and hurt by the venom she’s spitting at me. Slowly but surely, I regain myself.
“I’m . . . I’m not a . . . a fool. I know what—”
“Yes, you are.” The needle and thread finally fall to rest in her hand. She pivots in her chair and glares up at me. “Any gal who thinks one of them wants anything more from you than to get in her pants, is a straight-up fool! He just wants a piece of that black tail, Dee! Don’t you get it?”
I shake my head. “That’s not true!”
“Roberta was right! All that book learnin’ hasn’t done you a bit of good if you can’t see what’s right in front of your face . . . if you’re gonna be deaf and dumb to the ways of the world! Dee, you’re just any ol’ cow . .
. just any ol’ cow being led to the slaughterhouse, and you’re—”
“You don’t know as much as you think you know! I’m not dumb or a ‘cow’! And he knows it. He thinks I’m smart and beautiful. We talk. We talk about books and life and . . .”
My words trail off when she coughs out a laugh that makes her shoulders go up and down, that makes her lean forward. “Lord, would you listen to this nonsense?” she mumbles. Her eyes level me with so much contempt that I have to fight the urge to look away. “If you can’t hear how stupid you sound right now, Dee, I feel sorry for you.”
I raise my chin and glare right back at her. “You know what? I don’t think you’re trying to warn me off of him because you’re worried about me. I think . . . I think you’re jealous.”
Her cold smile fades. “Jealous?”
“Yes!” I take another step toward her. “I think you’re jealous that he likes me and not you! That . . . that he can see I’m not like you and Roberta, and I’m . . . I’m meant for more than just . . . just washing dishes and cleaning shit out of toilets!”
I am smiling because I can spit venom too.
“I’m meant for more than frying chicken and scrubbing floors! And it eats you up inside that he knows it, and you know it too! So it’s you I would feel sorry for, Agnes. Not me! You’re just a maid. Just a stupid maid, and that’s all you’ll ever be,” I snarl before turning around and marching out of the kitchen.
CHAPTER 18
Now when I kiss Cee, I do it with a vengeance. In the back seat of his GTO at night as the car sits idle in deserted parking lots, in the laundry room midday unbeknownst to anyone except maybe Agnes, he and I kiss with a fierceness and passion I did not know was possible. His mouth and tongue against my bare skin, his body pressed against mine—I must have it, and I don’t know why.
“I’d love to keep going, but we’re going to have to slow down, sweetheart,” Cee told me breathlessly just last night. He pulled his mouth from mine, licked his lips, and sat upright in the seat. “I didn’t bring a raincoat.”
The House on Harbor Hill Page 15
