Clara didn’t say anything. Then seeing Sissy watching her, she smiled and mumbled something noncommittal and patted each lettuce leaf with another clean towel. It wasn’t until Sissy pressed her that she said, “It sounds kind of devious.”
“Well, of course,” said Sissy, dropping some more chicken into the brown paper bag. “That’s the beauty of it.”
Clara turned the tap on hard and rinsed out the sink. Then she took a box of cleanser and began scrubbing away at an old stain.
Sissy regretted having told her about the handbook. Now she felt she had to justify herself. She dropped the freshly coated chicken into the skillet and jumped back as the oil popped around her. “It’s sort of like being colored. I mean colored people have their devious ways, don’t they?”
Clara didn’t look up from her work, but Sissy could see her lips were pressed together. “No, ma’am.”
“Come on, when a white man calls you a bad name, well, I’ve never heard a colored person say”—Sissy pulled herself up and did an imitation of her grandmother—“I will not have you use that language in my presence.”
Clara couldn’t help giggling.
“And when a white woman asks you to do something you don’t want to do, you all don’t look her straight in the eye and refuse. No, you just get mumbly and you know”—Sissy searched for the right word—“colored.”
“That’s just self-protection.” Clara’s eyes blazed.
“Exactly.”
“White women aren’t treated like coloreds.” Clara ran her gloved hands under the tap. “It’s not the same thing at all.”
“Maybe not,” said Sissy. “But it’s still a man’s world. And any woman who thinks she can get a man to do anything by going at him head-on is a fool. Rule Number Ten. My mama always said, A smart woman never lets a man know how smart she is. That’s Rule Number Twenty-eight.” But Sissy thought she might drop that one. It just attracted dumb men.
Clara didn’t say anything for a few moments. She peeled off her gloves and laid them out on the drainboard to dry.
“It’s just something I do to keep myself occupied. You know advice I give myself.” Sissy felt uncomfortable.
“You say you remember all the rules?” Clara asked.
“A lot of them.”
“Why don’t you write them down?”
Sissy stopped. Her cigarette felt overcharged. She took it out of her mouth. “Whatever for?”
“To help other girls.”
“And give away all my secrets?” Sissy asked, flicking her cigarette. But she was flattered that someone thought she had something to write about.
“I know a lot of girls who could use them.”
“Really?”
Clara nodded.
“I’ll think about it.”
“If you need any help with the writing, I made real good grades in English.”
There was a hopeful, almost pleading note in Clara’s voice. Sissy was surprised to hear it. Her face was hot with excitement. But then the voice she took for reality nagged in her head. Who’re you kidding? Look at your life.
Clara turned on the oven. “You want me to make you some of my grandmama’s shortenin’ bread?”
“I always wondered what that was. I mean, I know the song.” Sissy’s voice was flat.
“Biscuits.”
“Sure, go ahead.” She was silent as she watched Clara scoop two cups of flour out of the chipped blue and white canister and add a pinch of sugar and salt.
Maybe someone would benefit from reading the handbook after all. There are a lot of women out there who are hopeless when it comes to men. But the handbook’s mostly common sense. Everyone likes to feel good about themselves. Especially men. You just kind of help them along. And when they feel good about themselves, they naturally feel good about you. Damned if she hadn’t thought of another rule. She’d number it One hundred and one. She wondered why men didn’t have these strategies to make women feel good. They don’t have to. It’s a man’s world. They get to earn the money. We get to stand around with our hands out. They get to make the calls. We get to wait by the phone. And without noticing when she started, Sissy found herself turning the chicken and thinking about Parker.
It seemed so unnatural for him to be right here in Gentry and never to see her. Not that she wanted to see him exactly. Okay, who was she kidding? She made up another rule, A girl has to be honest with herself or she’ll never get anything out of life but a palace of lies. She liked that, it was almost poetic. She remembered a play on educational television where the heroine kept talking about castles in the clouds, or were they castles in Spain? Anyway, a palace of lies was worth writing down. And it wasn’t even devious. Clara would like that. She wondered if Rule Number Sixteen was free. Maybe she ought to write them down just to keep track. She thought about telling Clara when she remembered, To thine own self be true. That was Shakespeare, wasn’t it? Okay, so she wasn’t original, but at least she was in good company.
Clara came out of the pantry with a box of baking powder. Sissy watched her measure out two and a half teaspoonfuls. What exactly do I want from Parker, anyway? I wouldn’t even take his last call. Of course I never expected it to be his last.
You want him here, a voice in her head whispered. But not really here, not now, not in the kitchen with Clara. That wouldn’t make any sense. Here, said the voice loud and clear. “You never told me why you took up with Parker,” Sissy said aloud.
Clara reached into a cabinet and searched around until she found Sissy’s aluminum sifter with the red wooden ball on its handle. She made a big production out of sifting the flour and baking powder into a pottery mixing bowl. Finally she spoke. “I told you he was waiting for me when I came out of the funeral home.”
“Yes, but why’d you have anything to do with him?”
Clara shrugged and took a stick of margarine out of the icebox. Sissy watched her chop it into the flour with two knives until the dough was the consistency of coarse meal. “It gets real lonesome, when all your friends are getting married and having babies and you’re just waiting for your life to start.”
“What about the boys from your high school?” Sissy turned the crackling chicken with a fork.
“It’s not easy for me.”
“Because you’re so light-skinned?” Sissy asked, hoping Clara would take her into her secret world.
“Because I’m smart. Besides, I don’t want to mess with some boy telling me how much he loves me and asking me all the time if I love him and begging me to forget about college. I’m getting out of here. You know, some of the boys in my school are smart, too, but none of them are going anywhere.” She made a hole in the center of the dough and poured in milk.
“You still haven’t told me, why Parker?”
Clara stirred the batter with a big slotted spoon. “I don’t know. Because he was nice to me. He listened like he was really interested in what I had to say. And well, why do you like one man instead of another? It wasn’t because he was white, if that’s what you’re thinking. The last thing I want is to repeat my mama’s life.” She set out a pastry board and sprinkled it with flour.
Sissy wondered if she simply couldn’t help herself. Or maybe she was looking for a sweeter version of her daddy. She didn’t have time to explore this thought, though, because Marilee crawled into the kitchen, barking at them like a dog. Sissy told her to hush, so the little girl picked up a rubber ball with her teeth.
“You don’t want to put that dirty old thing in your mouth, honey,” Clara said. She looked relieved at the interruption.
Marilee crawled across the floor away from Clara, who caught up with the child in the corner and took away the ball. It was covered in drool. The child snapped at her and growled. Then she scooted around the room, barking and howling until Sissy flicked her cigarette in the general direction of an ashtray and said, “For Lord’s sake, let her have it. My grandma always said a little good, clean dirt is nature’s own homeopathic medicine.”
Marilee panted in agreement. Clara went back to the sink and washed her hands. She shook her head at the white folks’ foolishness, but she wiped off the ball and threw it across the kitchen where Peewee caught it as he opened the door.
“Hey, Peewee.” Sissy moved her cigarette-filled lips to the side so he could kiss her cheek as she dropped fresh pieces of chicken into the pan of hot, sizzling lard.
Peewee turned to Clara. She was letting her hair color grow out to minimize the resemblance, but Sissy suspected Peewee wouldn’t notice anyway. When a man believes it’s only right and natural for physical characteristics to determine every aspect of a person’s life, from where he goes to school to where he’s buried, this same man is not likely to acknowledge, even to himself, that his wife looks like their Negro maid. “Think you could stay and serve tonight?” he asked Clara and then added with pride, “We’re having company for dinner.”
“Thanks for giving me so much warning,” Sissy said indignantly. “Would it be too much for me to ask how many you invited or what you expect them to eat?”
But before he could tell her, Marilee set up a terrible racket, barking and growling as she ran into the living room.
PARKER WALKED ACROSS the front porch. Anxiety was churning in the pit of his stomach. What was he going to say when the children recognized him? This was insane, but he’d run out of strategies. He’d never actually gone after a woman before. They’d always come to him. Even Sissy. Especially Sissy. He smiled as he remembered her setting her sights on him, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, arranging to bump into him accidentally on purpose, books spilling in the hall between classes, dropping by the shoe store when he was working there. Not that he hadn’t had his eye on her all along, but he’d appreciated the encouragement. He’d never had anything to do with a married woman, but this seemed different. He’d known her before. If she’s happy, I’m gone, he promised himself as Peewee opened the door.
“Come on in, boy.”
Parker handed him a six-pack of beer and slapped him on the shoulder, but what he said was drowned out by Marilee.
“Arf, arf, arf!” she shrilled, when she saw the way this dangerous man was looking at her mother. And then she saw her mother run her tongue over her lips and straighten her halter.
Peewee saw it too, but he didn’t let it register.
“Arf, arf, arf!” Marilee screamed. All the fear she’d felt when she saw this enormous man with his arms around her mother came back to her. She looked up along his legs, up to his crotch where the material of his light summer slacks was bunching above her. Her barks, mixed with growls, were edged with hysteria.
Parker didn’t know what to do. He wanted to pick up this little girl and soothe her, but of course he didn’t dare. Still he had to do something before the whole purpose of the visit flew apart on him.
And then he saw Clara come out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. Oh shit, what’s she doing here? He thought she’d have gone home by now! Was this going to be another squeeze play? He nodded. She didn’t respond. Instead she checked the button at the round collar of her crisp white blouse.
“Grrr,” the little girl growled.
“Cut it out, Marilee.” Peewee’s voice was authoritative and loud and did absolutely no good. He grabbed at her, but she was too fast. She sunk her sharp little teeth right through Parker’s light summer slacks and into his shin.
He let out a high-pitched howl, startling the child, but she hung on. His automatic response was to kick her right across the room, but he restrained himself. What can a six-foot-two-inch man do when a six-year-old child has him in her teeth? He can’t yank her back by her hair.
He heard Clara mutter, “These white folks sure do know how to entertain company,” as she walked back into the kitchen.
“Marilee, what the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?” Peewee yelled, yanking the little girl off Parker.
Marilee, shocked at her father’s tone, began to weep. Sissy sat down on the floor, took her baby into her arms, and rocked her. Her eyes caught Parker’s. She could see he felt foolish, but he managed to smile and refrain from rubbing his shin, which must have been smarting like crazy.
“I don’t know what came over her,” Peewee said. “She’s not usually like this.” Sissy heard an angry edge to his voice. He wants to be proud of his family, wants to show us off, and let a bachelor like Parker see what he’s missing, she thought.
“No damage done.” Parker was back in control. The two men squared off. Sissy could hear the testosterone buzz around the room.
When she was young she was thrilled when men fought over her, but now she knew that fighting was just something they did naturally. Women were only an excuse. If a man really loved you, he’d want you to be happy. He’d share. Of course, that man had yet to be born.
Parker knelt down on one knee and said gently, “I’m sorry I frightened you.” He spoke to Marilee, but Sissy could feel the nearness of his body reach out to her and beg her to give him another chance.
The little girl wrapped her arms around her mother. Sissy held her, but didn’t move away from Parker so the child would know she wasn’t afraid.
“What you need is a real dog to play with,” Parker said.
The little girl nodded. Sissy caught the calculating look on the child’s face. The little girl twisted away from her mother and looked at Parker. “I like dogs,” she said.
“You look like a girl who’d take real good care of one,” Parker said, standing up.
Marilee nodded enthusiastically. Suddenly she grabbed her mother, hid her head, and began to scream again. Sissy stroked her daughter’s head. “What’s wrong, sugar? Tell Mommy.”
That did it for Peewee. He went to his wife and yelled, “For Pete’s sake, Sissy, don’t encourage her. You’ve spoiled these kids rotten. Marilee, you stop that crying this minute or I’ll give you something to cry about!”
Marilee must have figured she already had something to cry about. Clutching her mother, she sobbed for all she was worth. Peewee grabbed the little girl and shook her, stopping her sobs. They were replaced by hiccupping screams.
Clara came back into the living room to see who’d been bitten this time. “Parker, look at your leg!” Blood was seeping through his summer slacks.
Peewee wondered why the colored girl had said Parker, not Mr. Parker. He’d never heard a Nigra make that mistake before, unless… Peewee smiled a man-of-the-world smile. The BMOC, Gentry’s greatest Jew-boy jock, wasn’t after Sissy, dark meat was more to his taste. He was after a high yeller! And his servant to boot. If Sissy only knew. Of course it wasn’t the sort of thing a man should tell a woman, but Sissy was his wife. She had a right to know. It would do her good. He’d tell her that very evening as soon as they were alone. Feeling sophisticated as hell, Peewee went into the back to get Parker’s tool belt.
SISSY WALKED INTO the kitchen with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and found Clara with Parker’s leg in her lap gently bathing it. She also saw how much Parker was enjoying her ministrations. They were talking softly and laughing. Damn him, damn him to hell. He didn’t come to see me at all. He came to see her! The man has no shame. She looked at Peewee coming back with Parker’s tool belt and silently renewed her marriage vows. Trying to commit adultery is just too tacky.
She slipped back into the bathroom, put the peroxide away, and came out with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “This is going to hurt,” she said with easy confidence.
“Sissy,” Parker protested, “you don’t have to…”
“Oh, but I do,” she said pouring the alcohol straight into the open wound. Parker inhaled sharply and bit his lip to keep from calling out in pain. Sissy poured on a little more alcohol. “I wouldn’t want you to get an infection.”
Sissy caught Peewee watching them, chuckling to himself. He threw out his chest. “Clara, you want to bring us a couple of beers and set an extra place for dinner. We’ll eat in the dining room tonight.”
“That’s okay, Peewee, I don’t want to be any trouble,” said Parker, who looked as if he were planning a strategic retreat to some safe place like a rattlesnake farm.
“No trouble at all, boy,” Peewee said. And taking Parker by one arm and his wife by the other, he led them both out of the kitchen.
Clara went to the icebox. It was one thing to hang around helping Sissy. She did that for her own mama, and she’d taken care of kids all her life. But this was different. She looked into the living room and saw the white folks laughing in the breeze from the ceiling fan. She studied the man she thought had cared for her sitting with them. They’d put her in “her place,” all right. Well, she wasn’t staying there.
Sissy came out to the kitchen to see what was keeping Clara and found her putting on her white gloves. “What are you doing?”
“I gotta go.”
“I thought you were going to help me with dinner.”
Clara just stared at her and pressed her lips together. “The biscuits are in the oven. You can take them out in five minutes.”
Clara checked her hair in the mirror by the door. Her face was closed down.
“Go on then,” Sissy said, remembering with what pleasure she’d bathed Parker’s leg.
WHEN PEEWEE CAME into the kitchen for another beer, he found Sissy looking out the door. “You paying her good money and she just walks out when we’re having company? I told you to hire Hester Lee. But you wouldn’t listen. Oh no, nothing would do, but you had to have that piece of high yeller trash. I knew it was a mistake from the start. There’s none of them know how to work. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
Sissy turned to her husband. “She’s day help, Peewee. Lincoln freed the slaves.”
Meanwhile, Parker had stepped out on the front porch to stretch his legs and figure out what to do next. He lit a cigarette and saw Clara walking down the street. Thank God. Maybe he could get Sissy alone yet, and somehow convince her to meet him.
Suddenly he knew how to do it. Simple. With Clara gone, he’d offer to help Sissy with the dishes. He imagined the two of them standing together at the sink. Again. Only this time he’d control himself. Peewee won’t be a problem. Hell, if he keeps on guzzling beer, he won’t be able to find the kitchen. Parker’s confidence had returned. All he had to do was encourage Peewee on the path he’d already chosen. He could be as good a drinking buddy as the next guy. He saw Clara turn and look at him. He waved.
The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc Page 13
