by Mary Monroe
“Who you talkin’ to, gal?” Daddy asked, walking toward me with his hands on his hips.
“Uh, I’ll talk to you later,” I told Rhoda, abruptly hanging up the telephone.
“Your mama done already told you your food is gettin’ cold,” Daddy said, nodding toward the booth near the kitchen where Muh’Dear was still seated, looking at me with a cross look on her face.
“Put it in a box and I will pick it up later. I have to get back to my office now,” I said. Hazel had not left her spot behind the counter, but she had stopped wiping it. Now she was wiping and rearranging glasses. I assumed she still thought that she was going to hear me say something that she could get some gossip mileage out of.
“Your mama told me to tell you that she might have a good person for that nail whatnot thing job Pee Wee got open,” Daddy announced, his arm around my shoulder as we walked back to the booth.
Before I could ask who, Muh’Dear answered that question.
“You remember Lizzie, that gal who does my nails? She works in that salon down the street from here.”
“Lizzie who?”
“Elizabeth Stovall.”
I shrugged. “Do I know her?”
“I thought you did. Y’all the same age and she asks about you every time she does my nails.” Muh’Dear paused and leaned back in her seat like she was about to attack somebody. In a way, she did. “Her mama is a white woman!”
My mother had a lot of white friends and a lot of white folks ate at her restaurant. Her lead cook was a white woman, and next to Scary Mary, she was Muh’Dear’s closest female friend, so I knew my mother was not prejudiced. I could not understand why she still held some animosity toward white women. Daddy was not the first black man to desert his family for a white woman, and he wouldn’t be the last. Another thing I couldn’t understand was, if Muh’Dear could forgive him enough to take him back, why did she still resent those women? I was glad that Daddy had not left us for a black woman….
“Oh, yes. That Lizzie. I went to school with her,” I said, suddenly interested. “She was the girl with that leg.”
“That leg? You make her sound like a car part.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to. You know I never make fun of people’s handicaps. Lizzie had polio, or something, when she was real young. One of her legs is a little thinner than the other one. But she was a really nice girl,” I said with eager anticipation. For once, Muh’Dear had aroused my interest.
Muh’Dear nodded. “Little Leg Lizzie. Last week she told me how she was ready for a change. She’d been passin’, you know. Like that half sister of yours that Frank had with his white woman.”
At this point, Daddy bowed his head and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Even though my mother had “forgiven” him for leaving her to marry a white woman, she would never let him forget it. Muh’Dear’s voice slid down to a sinister tone. “Once them white folks found out she had a black daddy, they stopped lettin’ her do their nails. I guess they thought they’d catch some kind of blackitis disease or somethin’. Some white folks is so strange. We done raised their kids, cooked their food, and some of us done had their babies, and they still think we some kind of subhuman race. If we ever wanted to strike them down with some kind of affliction, don’t they think we would have done it by now? Where I come from, some of them sisters in my generation know enough voodoo to bring the whole white race to its knees.”
One thing about my mother was, if you didn’t want her to hold you hostage for hours on end, you didn’t encourage her to elaborate on any of her off-the-wall comments. “Do you have Lizzie’s phone number?” I asked, looking at my watch. “I really have to be on my way,” I said firmly.
By the way she pursed and stuck her bottom lip out, Muh’Dear was clearly disappointed that I was about to depart. She reached in her bra and fumbled around in it for at least two minutes before she fished out a folded piece of paper. “Here. Here’s Lizzie’s number. Now she is a little on the homely side, so it might take some of them customers a while to take a shine to her. And with that shrunk-up polio leg, she won’t be posin’ for no pictures in Jet magazine or Playboy no time soon, so she’ll be stable. She ain’t never had no man, so you ain’t got to worry about her runnin’ off gettin’ married and leavin’ Pee Wee in a lurch neither.” Muh’Dear gave me a look that I couldn’t interpret. All I knew was that it made me nervous. “But a woman that ain’t never, uh, had her fruit plucked ain’t normal, so you might be gettin’ some kind of pig-in-poke….”
I knew that if I didn’t leave soon, Muh’Dear’s comments and remarks would wear me down to a frazzle. At the rate she was going, she had almost convinced me not to interview Elizabeth or anybody else to work for my husband. I felt like I was on a treadmill. I had Rhoda telling me to hire a plain woman, but not too plain. Muh’Dear was telling me to hire Lizzie, but since Lizzie wasn’t “normal” she might not work out.
“I really do need to get out of here,” I insisted. “Now.”
Daddy plopped back down in his seat and took up the conversation where Muh’Dear had left off. “What Gussie is tryin’ to say is, Little Leg Lizzie ain’t perfect, but she might be perfect for Pee Wee. As slow as she is mental wise, she still know how to do some nails. Hold up your hands, Gussie Mae.” Daddy grabbed Muh’Dear’s right hand and held it up to my face, the front of her French-tipped nails facing me. Muh’Dear proudly displayed her left hand, waving it in my face like she was trying to hypnotize me. Lizzie’s handiwork was good, but it was no better or different from any of the other manicurists’ work I’d seen.
“Nice work,” I agreed with a nod. “I’ll call Lizzie and see if she’s interested. Pee Wee is getting impatient.”
“He ain’t got to be impatient for long. Not if you get to Lizzie before some other nail person snatches her up. Like I said, she can change Pee Wee’s life.” Daddy released Muh’Dear’s hand and turned to me again. “He’ll be a changed man in no time,” he told me with a nod.
“I sure hope so,” I said.
CHAPTER 18
I had interviewed a lot of people in my office for positions at my company, but I didn’t feel comfortable interviewing people for my husband’s business on Mizelle’s property and time. I had each applicant meet me at a cute little coffee shop, where I often took my coffee breaks, two doors down the block from my office building. Whatever time I used to conduct the interview, I made up for it by not taking lunch or my two daily coffee breaks.
I didn’t like interviews. It didn’t matter whether I was the one being interviewed or I was the one interviewing somebody. For one thing, it was awkward for me to talk to a stranger. And in some cases, it was possibly dangerous. At least it was for a collection agent. Three years ago, I’d sent a process server to a man who had ignored an unpaid bill with the phone company for months. I hauled him into court and he still refused to pay. I had no choice but to have his wages attached. What was so bizarre about that case was, the man had once worked for the telephone company! A couple of weeks later when I had to interview applicants for a vacant position, he applied for it under a different name. This was a ruse that he’d concocted so he could get me alone somewhere to cuss me out and threaten me. And it had happened in my office during lunch. I was on the premises alone with just our meek, 100-pound receptionist. As soon as I’d closed my office door, that man started cussing at me. He blocked the door so I couldn’t escape; then he grabbed me and held me in place so I couldn’t make it to the phone on my desk. The receptionist heard the commotion and called the cops.
Now when I interviewed for positions at my company, I made sure to keep my office door open and that at least two of my male employees and our security guard are on the premises. I didn’t think I had to worry about any of that in the case of Pee Wee’s manicurist position. My main concern was whether he or she could do the job. But I also had to consider their appearance, their work history, their qualifications, and so on.
Another thing was that no ma
tter how good the applicant looked on their résumé and application, that was rarely the person you met in the interview. Not only did people lie and exaggerate during interviews, they usually told you whatever they thought you wanted to hear.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that people who really didn’t want to work came to interviews with that attitude. None of the ragtag group of people I interviewed seemed that interested in working for my husband. And from the indifference and slovenly appearances of each one, they probably didn’t want to work for anybody else either.
The first applicant I interviewed was still employed, and for an asshole who monitored every move she made. Her lunch hour and breaks combined didn’t add up to enough time for her to do an interview with me that could possibly be an hour long. She was afraid to take off any time and practically begged me to interview her after business hours. In her case, I was glad to schedule an after-business-hours appointment. Despite the fact that she had arrived on time and seemed like a good candidate, she was a huge disappointment. She chomped and cracked a wad of chewing gum during the whole interview, and even told me, “I’m just looking for something now until I can get hired at the water company.”
Another applicant admitted that she’d come to check out the job only because she thought that by working in a barbershop, she’d meet more men. The one that I’d really been interested in didn’t bother to show up for her interview, or call to cancel or reschedule.
When Lizzie called to confirm her appointment, I told her to just meet me at the coffee shop. It was February and there was still a lot of snow on the ground, so it was cold enough for overcoats and boots. There was some ice and sleet on the streets, so a lot of people didn’t like to drive or even walk around outside if they didn’t have to. Muh’Dear had told me that Lizzie had a car, but public parking was so bad on the street where I worked I wasn’t sure she’d be on time, so I arrived fifteen minutes later than the time I told her to meet me. I was surprised and embarrassed when I got to the coffee shop and she was already there.
As soon as I entered Mike’s Place and saw her, I felt hopeful. I didn’t know just how handicapped she was because of her leg. I wasn’t even sure that that word applied to her. She had been in my PE classes all through high school and she’d done everything that the rest of us had done, including jumping jacks and cartwheels. Even when our classmates had laughed at her when we did square dances, she had done as many do-si-dos as the rest of us, and with a smile.
I had not seen Lizzie since high-school graduation night, but I would have recognized her anywhere. The poor thing. She was as plain as ever. She occupied one of the six red plastic tables with matching chairs next to the ladies’ room. There was a huge smile on her face when she saw me walking toward her.
“Lizzie, it’s so good to see you again,” I squealed, pulling out a chair across from her. She surprised me by rising and extending her hand. She had a firm grip for a petite woman. “I’m sorry I’m a little late,” I told her as I plopped down in my chair. “We had a small emergency back at the office that I had to take care of.” I beckoned for the waitress to bring me a cup of coffee. “Would you like a bear claw or something? This place doesn’t look like much, but they are giving Starbucks a run for their money. The pastries here are fantastic.”
“Oh, no thanks. I’m trying to watch my weight,” she told me with a shy smile as she eased back down in her seat, scooting it closer to the table.
“I heard that,” I mouthed. I sucked in my stomach, not that I had to do that anymore, but out of habit. We both ordered just a cup of black coffee, decaf for her.
I sniffed and discreetly looked her over with a critical eye. I smiled and grinned a lot so I wouldn’t be too obvious. Lizzie didn’t look like she had to worry about her weight. I didn’t see any bulges or lumps on her body. Like me, she was of average height. From what I could see, none of her body parts were bigger or smaller than they were supposed to be. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say the same thing about the rest of her. Her shoulder-length hair was thick and had once been jet black. Well, some of it was still jet black, but most of it had already turned gray. Her lopsided ponytail, held in place by a red rubber band, was flat and stiff. Each time she shook or bobbed her head, that drab ponytail flip-flopped from side to side like a beaver’s tail.
There was no makeup on her round, almost porcelain white face, but for the first time, I realized she had nice features. In spite of the saucer-size, Coke bottle–like glasses she wore, I could see that she had nice, big brown eyes and long, thick lashes. She had a cute little nose that wiggled slightly each time she smiled. I could tell from the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes that she smiled a lot. She worried a lot, too. I could tell that from the lines on her forehead and the noticeable dark shadows beneath her eyes.
She had draped a plaid coat across the back of her chair. It was a style that I had not seen since the seventies. It had what looked like a Nehru collar and black buttons as big around as silver dollars. Her drab, pea-colored woolen dress reminded me of a long nightgown that my mother used to sleep in. I couldn’t see her feet, so there was no telling what kind of shoes she wore. What I couldn’t understand was how a woman her age could let herself go to the point of ground zero. By anybody’s standards, Lizzie was a rag doll. She was one woman who was screaming for a makeover.
“So I hear you’re looking for a change?” I began.
“I am not going to lie to you. Yes, I could sure use a change,” she responded with another eager smile on her face. “And if anybody can help me, it’s you, Annette. Please don’t think that I am kissing up to you, because I am not. People think that because I’m real quiet and shy that I don’t know how to speak up for myself. But when I want something bad enough, I go for it.” At this point, Lizzie paused and sucked in some air.
“Have you been in Richland all this time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve been out of school for decades and I lost track of a lot of people.”
“I lost track of people, too. Me, I spent a couple of years with some of my mama’s folks on their farm in West Virginia. I had a few problems down there because of my daddy’s blood. I worked in a country deli, and a lot of those rednecks didn’t want my ‘black’ hands making their fried frog leg sandwiches. I didn’t put up with that mess long. I came back to Ohio and went to cosmetology school, and I took a few other courses in the beauty field.” Lizzie stopped talking and let out a dry laugh as she patted her hair. “It surprises most people when I tell them that. They expect me to look more glamorous, I guess.”
“I’m sure you remember what a frump I was in school,” I said quickly with a grimace on my face.
“But you are no frump now.”
“You should have seen me about a year ago. I was almost twice as big as I am now. Back in school, I was miserable like a lot of kids. Most of them left this hick town running. I was one of them.”
“Oh yeah. I think somebody told me that not long after graduation, you took off to Pennsylvania with a man….”
I rolled my eyes. “I took off to Pennsylvania, but it was not with a man. I was on my own. I didn’t even have a boyfriend then. You can’t believe everything you hear in this town. Anyway, things didn’t work out for me in Pennsylvania, so I came back here. I worked hard to improve my life, and I did.”
“I am not surprised that you got that high-level job at the collection agency, and that you married a big shot like Pee Wee. I remember how smart you were in Mr. Brown’s debate class. All of the kids wanted to be on your team because you always made your team win. Annette, I know I said I wasn’t trying to kiss up to you, but I know that what I am going to say next might sound like I am. The truth is, I want to be where you are some day. I want the same things you’ve got.”
“Thank you,” I said, beaming proudly.
“I hope you can help me make that happen.”
“Oh, I hope I can, too.” I gave Lizzie a hopeful look. �
�And my husband will treat you better than your last boss,” I assured her.
CHAPTER 19
I could tell a lot about a person by the way they sat in a chair. And from the stiff-backed way Lizzie was sitting with both hands wrapped around her coffee cup, she was not comfortable with a lot of things. Another way that I could tell she was uncomfortable was the way she looked. She kept blinking her eyes, fiddling with her hair, and licking her lips. From the movies I’d seen and some of the things I’d read and heard, I had decided a long time ago that being biracial was not a picnic for some mixed-blood people. My half sister Lillimae was biracial, but she was the exception to the rule. She was one of the most confident and well-adjusted women I knew. Lizzie looked and behaved like a frightened deer. Her mother was a rather plain-looking white woman, and her biological father was a pure-blooded Jamaican with skin that was so black it looked purple in certain light. However, Lizzie had inherited her mother’s European features, which she could have used to her advantage if she lived in a big city where people didn’t know her ethnic background. Living in a small town like Richland, where everybody knew everybody else’s business, she could not have passed for white successfully for long; no matter how hard she tried. I just found it hard to believe that in this day and age she’d lost her job because of her mixed blood, like Muh’Dear had told me.
“Do you mind telling me why you quit your last job?”
“I didn’t exactly quit….”
“Oh. Lizzie, I don’t know if what I heard is true, but it doesn’t matter to me.”
“What did you hear?” she asked, looking me in the eye without blinking. She suddenly seemed defensive.
I shrugged. “I heard a rumor that some of the white customers had a problem with you doing their nails?” I put it in the form of a question.
