by Renée Rosen
After Red packed the last of his things he laced his fingers through Leah’s and kissed the back of her hand. What he felt for this woman had sneaked up on him. How could he have not immediately noticed her rare beauty, the exquisite brightness of her eyes, the smooth complexion, the natural pink blush to her cheeks, her tall, curvy frame? Now when he looked at her he couldn’t get over her loveliness. He could hardly believe that this wondrous creature loved him back.
Leah was different from other girls. And not because she was white. It was who she was. Hard to believe they’d been together for almost three years. It seemed like only yesterday when they’d first tentatively circled each other, wondering how to proceed. In the beginning they couldn’t get enough of each other, could barely make it inside his kitchenette. By now the urgency may have faded, but as the passion burned away he had discovered something deeper, richer underneath. He found a friend, a true friend like none other.
Their time together was never enough. He hated when they had to say good-bye, and found himself thinking more and more about waking up to her, growing old with her. His life had been on hold until now, but a record contract changed everything. Made him legit and freed up possibilities he wouldn’t have let himself consider before. He had a two-thousand-dollar contract and a record on the radio. He had put together his own band and had booked club dates around town and in nearby cities. If he could do all that, anything was attainable.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said.
“It’s just for two nights. And when I get back . . .” He snapped his suitcase shut and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.
“And when you get back what?”
This moment, like everything else with Leah, had snuck up on him. He’d thought he’d wait until he came back from the road and do it right, down on one knee, ring in hand, the whole bit. But now was the time. He knew it wouldn’t be easy—his mama and kin would be shocked; her parents would oppose it—but he had to let her know he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. If she’d have him.
“Red?”
“When I get back,” he said, kissing her, speaking into her pale lips, “I’m gonna talk to your daddy about us getting married.”
TWENTY-SIX
• • •
“Hideaway Man”
LEEBA
Red was back from St. Louis, but Leeba felt it would be better if she told her parents herself. She waited until Your Show of Shows was over. Her parents were sitting side by side on the davenport when she stood in front of the television set and said, “There’s something I need to tell you.” She’d rehearsed this so many times in her head and now she didn’t know how to get it out.
“What’s the matter?” her mother asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “Red asked me to marry him. And I said yes.”
Her mother’s jaw dropped open. “Iber meyn toyt gut,” she said. Over my dead body.
“Mama, you have to give him a chance.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Are you in trouble?” her father asked. “Is that why you’re getting married? Because you’re in trouble?”
“I’m not in trouble, Papa. I’m in love.” She laughed because it was easier than crying.
He dragged his hands over his face and let his head drop forward as if he were reading something off his chest.
“I’m getting married because I’m in love and I can’t live without this man.”
Her mother got up, the creak in her knee joints audible from across the room. She went into the kitchen and began slamming cupboards and drawers. Her father stayed seated, his mouth pinched, eyes darting back and forth, torn between hearing his daughter out and consoling his wife.
A crash came from the kitchen. They both sprinted through the alcove. Her mother had gone mad. Shards of porcelain were on the floor at her feet. She reached for a serving platter that she’d borrowed from Aunt Sylvie and held it high above her head ready to smash it, too, until Leeba stepped in and stopped her.
“I want you out of here,” her mother said, twisting free from Leeba’s hold. “Out of this house.”
“Freyda, please.” Her father protested, but it made no difference.
Her mother’s face was bloodred as she muttered, “Marrying a schwartze. Loving a schwartze. Can’t live without the schwartze.”
Leeba pulled the platter from her mother’s weakening grip and placed it on the counter. She towered over her mother, but still she feared her. For such a tiny woman her mother displayed a kind of superhuman strength that Leeba couldn’t match. Hers was that mother who could lift an automobile off her daughter trapped underneath—provided that daughter was Golda.
“I mean it,” said her mother. “I want you out of here.”
Leeba reached for her mother, but her hand was swatted away.
“You disgust me,” she said. “I can’t stand the sight of you. Go, go—you’re dead to me now.”
Leeba felt flushed with heat. Her mother was still hollering while her father covered his ears, shaking his head. He didn’t want to hear any more. Leeba couldn’t bear the anguish she was causing, and the longer she stood there, the worse it got. Without another word she went to her bedroom and packed her things.
As she emptied her drawers and closet she heard her parents still arguing, but couldn’t make out any of it until her father raised his voice, saying, “If this was Golda you wouldn’t be acting like this.”
“Because Golda would never do such a thing. Golda has some sense, some decency. Leeba has been defiant all her life.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Don’t you start with me on that.”
Leeba snapped the buckles shut on her suitcase. She wasn’t even sure if she’d packed everything, but she needed to get out of there. She turned off the overhead light and headed down the hallway, her parents still quarreling in the kitchen. Though she adored her father, her mother’s moods and presence filled every room, every corner of their home, making Leeba feel like a burden, an outsider. She had never been especially happy in that home, but still it was difficult for her to leave. With one last glance, she drew a deep breath, opened the front door and was gone.
• • •
It hit her hard after she walked out of her parents’ home and boarded the bus for Maxwell Street. She would have no wedding, not that she’d expected a big affair like the one they threw for Golda and Ber. Something small, private, after her mother had come to accept Red. But no, that would never happen. And there would be no going down South to meet Red’s family, either. He’d already told her the Klan would come running if they even suspected a white woman was in his mother’s house. There would be no wedding dress, no honeymoon. They were on their own and she’d never felt more alone.
By the time she turned up on Red’s doorstep, suitcase in hand, she had tears in her eyes. Red was still living in the same tenement house down on Canal Street, saving his money for a better place. The hallway always smelled of urine and stale beer. People a few doors down were yelling. She stepped into Red’s apartment, seeing it through new eyes. Milk crates for tables, splinters and nails sticking out of the floors, naked bulbs overhead, rust stains in the sink. From now on this was home.
“You can’t stay here,” he said, as if reading her thoughts, cupping her face in his hands. “I’ll find us a better place.”
“Where? Where are we going to go? Who’s going to rent to a white woman and her Negro husband?” She glanced around, thinking how this place wouldn’t have fazed her when she first arrived in America. It wasn’t any better or worse than how they’d lived back in Poland. But now, having grown used to hot water, a real kitchen, a sturdy roof, a bedroom and a bathroom with a door, she realized how spoiled she’d become.
Later that night she eased onto Red’s bed. He’d finally got
ten a proper box spring and mattress, but still the bed creaked beneath them each time they moved. He made sad, slow love to her while she held on tight, clinging to him like ivy to a trellis. He was all she had left.
When Red reached over and turned off the night-light she listened in the dark as the room came alive. The mice and rats scratched behind the walls; a couple argued in the apartment down the hall. She pictured the cockroaches coming out of hiding, making their way inside her suitcase, crawling along the countertops, over the dishes and glasses. Before they’d gone to bed she’d taken their toothbrushes and put them in a box, sealing the lid with tape in hopes of keeping them out.
She rolled onto her side and looked at Red. Even in the dark she saw his lashes blinking. “Can’t sleep?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You deserve better than this. Better than what I can give you right now. Who knows how many records I’ll make, how many club dates I’ll book. There’s still time to change your mind. Go find yourself some nice rich Jewish boy to give you a proper home—”
“But if I have that, then I won’t have you.”
Leeba nestled into the crook of his arm like that spot had been created for her. Just then that was all she needed. No matter where they lived or how many people gave them sideways looks, she knew she wanted to be married to this man, and only him, for the rest of her life.
• • •
The next day they left city hall as husband and wife. Two thin gold bands pawned by another couple were now on their ring fingers. After the ceremony, Leeba and Red celebrated with their friends at a black-and-tan club in Bronzeville.
Leeba looked around the long table in the back, a centerpiece of overflowing ashtrays and whiskey bottles. No flowers, no wedding cake—although Aileen had bought a day-old unclaimed cake from a bakery that said Happy Birthday, Brenda in pink icing. As a young girl this wasn’t the wedding reception she’d pictured for herself.
She was pleased, though, that Leonard and Phil stopped by with their wives. They were the closest thing to family she would have there.
“Do you hear that?” Leonard said to Leeba, his hand cupped to his ear.
“Hear what?”
“The sound of young men’s hearts breaking back at the J.P.I. dances.”
She gave him a playful slug.
“Come here, you motherfucker.” He pulled her in for a hug. “Seriously, I know your family ain’t too crazy about this, but I’m happy as hell for you.”
Revetta stepped in and handed Leeba a gift from the four of them, Phil and Sheva, Leonard and herself. It was a beautifully wrapped box with a silver bow on top. It would be the only wedding present they’d receive.
Aileen, who had already had too much to drink, swayed and slurred as she raised her glass. “To my best friend in the whole wide world—Mrs. Red Dupree.” She paused for a round of cheers. “Soon there’s gonna be babies and—” She stopped, seeming to have lost her train of thought, and picked things up somewhere else. “I’m gonna miss you, girl. I really am . . .”
Aileen was rambling and Leeba wanted to stop her, but didn’t know how.
“So let me just say—” Aileen paused in the middle of her toast to take a sip. She’d been talking for so long that people had set their glasses down, resumed their conversations. “I’m happy for y’all,” she said as her eyes turned glassy. Hefting her glass up again, she had tears running down her face. And Leeba knew these were not sentimental ones. “I really am happy,” she said, breaking down into full-blown sobs.
She dropped to her chair and tugged on Muddy’s arm. He was talking to the woman who had come with Walter. She was stunning and with skin so fair Leeba thought she was white at first. Her name was Mimi Cooke. She was introduced to Leeba as an old, old friend of Red’s and Walter’s.
When Aileen couldn’t get Muddy’s attention, she poured herself another drink, dribbling some onto the table. There was another toast, this one by Little Walter, who was almost as drunk as Aileen, and Leeba braced herself for what might come out of his mouth.
With his eyes glued on Mimi, Walter started talking about love. “If you ain’t got love, you ain’t got nothin’. Now, Red here, he done found his true love . . .” The only time Walter took his eyes off Mimi was to address Muddy. “Now, y’all gotta stick with your own love. Don’t be takin’ nobody else’s . . .”
As the party wore on, Aileen got sloppier and sadder. “I’ve been with Muddy since before you were with Red,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “This ain’t fair. I was supposed to marry Muddy before you married Red. And look at him—Muddy’s been drooling over that woman since we got here. And she’s been flirting with Red, too.”
Leeba didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t worried about Red, but it was obvious that Muddy was making a play for Mimi and right in front of Aileen.
Even Walter knew it, because as they were slicing the cake Walter pushed his plate aside, bolted out of his chair and whipped out his gun, pointing it in Muddy’s face. “You’d better back off,” Walter slurred.
Muddy jumped up and so did Mimi, shaking her head as she reached for the gun. “Every time, Walter,” she said, taking it from him like it was a toy, “every damn time, you gotta pull out your gun. Gotta be the big man, huh?”
And that was the end of their wedding celebration.
• • •
The following week Leeba and Red got lucky and found an apartment in Hyde Park on Fifty-seventh Street. Nothing fancy, just a small one-bedroom, but it was clean, or at least cleaner, and it had a real kitchen with an icebox and a stove and a bathroom right in their unit. Hot water, too.
The downside was there was no room for a piano and the walls were so thin they could hear their neighbors’ conversations, their radio and TV programs playing, their alarm clocks going off. But it was one of the few places that would tolerate a couple like them. It was close to Bronzeville, so a Negro passing by on the streets wouldn’t pique anyone’s curiosity or cause concern. Some neighbors knew they were a mixed couple. They gave Leeba looks when she took out the trash, went down to get the mail or ran into them in the laundry room. Others didn’t say anything but they were cool to her, kept their distance. Still, the neighborhood had lots of jazz clubs and black and tans, like the Nob-Hill and Club Rodeo on East Forty-seventh Street.
Leeba’s father came to see the apartment after they moved in. Red wasn’t home and Leeba wasn’t sure if she was relieved about that or disappointed. She desperately wanted her father to get to know Red but didn’t want to cause any more upset than she already had. When her father arrived, the place was barren, without any real furniture, but he didn’t comment on that.
“Now, don’t tell your mother I was here,” her father said, kissing her hello.
“Don’t worry. She hasn’t said two words to me since I moved out. She’s always in a hurry when I call and hangs up right away.”
“Give her time,” he said as he inspected the windows, flushed the toilet, told her she needed a new washer for the kitchen faucet. He twisted the knob on the radiator and it made a terrible squeak. “Have your husband oil that.”
Her husband. He’d called Red her husband. A small concession that made her eyes mist up.
Eventually Leeba and Red settled in. They got some furniture, some of it found in alleys or Dumpsters. They dragged a chest of drawers up three flights of stairs, maneuvered a table through the hallway, turning it sideways to get it through the door. They sanded, nailed, painted and polished, made do with what they could afford. Leeba sewed pillows for the secondhand davenport they found in a thrift store and the landlord came through with new shades for the windows. It started to be a comfortable place, and feel like home.
When they first got married the simplest things filled Leeba with pleasure: watching Red shave while she perched on the edge of the tub, bringing him coffee in bed and reading the Defender o
ver his shoulder. He read that newspaper front to back. She’d never seen it before and certain stories disturbed her, stories about segregated schools, Klan rallies, torched churches, discrimination and violence. It reminded her of the brick thrown through the stained-glass windows of their synagogue, or that day at Marshall Field’s when she overheard the salesclerks saying they didn’t want to wait on “that Jew lady.”
A Jew lady married to a Negro man. It was complicated. She hadn’t figured out how to balance their lives, how to bring their worlds together. She wrestled with herself over abandoning her faith for Red, fretting about not keeping a kosher home, not observing Shabbos. She didn’t exactly miss any of it, but still feared that God would punish her later on.
And He did. Two months into her marriage the cramps woke her in the middle of the night, the sheets already bloody. They spent the next four hours at the hospital only to discover that she’d lost a baby she didn’t even know she’d been carrying.
The next day she lay in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Red was gone. He had a rehearsal that day and was going on the road at the end of the week for some club dates in St. Louis and Kansas City. He wanted to cancel the trip, but she wouldn’t let him. He needed to play in front of as many people as possible to prove that he was his own man and not a Muddy wannabe.
Leeba rolled over, stared at the wall and imagined what might have become of the child she’d started with Red. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Red’s rich dark skin, or her paleness? A combination of the two? Height and musical abilities—this child was certain to have had both. She thought about holding their baby and she cried.
