Passin'

by Karen E. Quinones Miller

  “Let’s go to the movies.”

  “Hmm?”

  Tyrone pointed to a movie marquee a block down from where they were. “Let’s go see a flick. That movie house always has old films from the thirties and forties. I’m in the mood for an old flick, how about you? We’re not doing anything, anyway.”

  “Sure.”

  “So how many clients do you have now?” Tyrone said as they crossed the street.

  “Well, I have four personal clients, whose accounts I work on personally, and then there’s another five that I work on alongside the team.” Nikkie smiled. “I have just enough to keep me busy.”

  “And to keep you at parties or in the clubs every night,” Tyrone deadpanned.

  Nikkie squeezed his hand. “Come on, not every night. Maybe two or three times a week. Just looking out for my clients, though. Making sure that they’re on point, and that they’re being seen with the right people, and the photographers only get their good sides. And you know you’re always welcome to come along. I’ve told you that.”

  Tyrone shook his head. “I’m sure Merrill Lynch wouldn’t be quite as understanding as Paxon and Green about me strolling in at twelve-thirty in the afternoon, saying I was up all night partying. No, dear, I’ll leave the club scene to you.” He stopped at the ticket booth outside the movie theater. “What time does the next show start?”

  “In fifteen minutes,” the clerk, an older man with a liver-spotted face and long gray ponytail, answered.

  “Two tickets, please.” Tyrone pulled out his wallet and pushed a twenty-dollar bill through the slot at the box office booth.

  “Well, I don’t complain when you spend twelve- or fourteen-hour days at your office,” Nikkie said.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Well, okay. But I don’t complain all the time.”

  “I don’t think I complain all the time about your spending all your evenings in the clubs,” Tyrone said as they walked over to the concession stand and ordered their popcorn and sodas. “But I’m a man, and no man likes his woman out every night at a club, unless he’s with her.”

  “Tyrone, it’s all work-related.”

  “I thought I already said I understood that.”

  “Then why are you still bringing it up?” Nikkie said irritably. They walked into the dark, almost empty auditorium, and settled into seats near the back of the theater. “What movie are we seeing, anyway?”

  Tyrone shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

  They both laughed. Nikkie’s mirth turned to horror, though, when she saw the movie begin to play.

  Lana Turner, John Gavin, Sandra Dee, and Juanita Moore playing in the 1959 version of Imitation of Life—a film about two women, one white and one black, and their difficult relationships with their daughters. The white woman, played by Lana Turner, is a struggling actress who finally makes it big, but whose daughter falls in love with the mother’s boyfriend. The black woman, played by Juanita Moore, acts as an unofficial maid for the white woman, and the difficulty with Moore’s daughter is that she looks white, and, to her mother’s horror, decides to pass.

  “I don’t want to see this,” Nikkie said, jumping up from her seat, and almost upsetting her soda.

  “Why? What’s the matter?” a startled Tyrone asked as he caught her by the arm.

  “I’ve just . . . I’ve seen it before. And I don’t want to see it again. I didn’t really like it.”

  “You’re kidding? How can you not like this film?”

  “I just don’t.”

  Tyrone shook his head in puzzlement. “Yeah, well, how about you just do me a favor and just sit down and watch just because I want you to? Can you do that for me? This happens to be one of my mother’s favorite movies, but I haven’t seen it since I was a kid.” He gently pulled her back into the seat. “Besides, it’s going to be different for you to watch the movie now that you know more about black culture. I bet you’ll have a whole new perspective. Come on, Nikkie. Let’s just stay.”

  Nikkie managed to control herself throughout the film, but it was the funeral scene that was finally her undoing. The mother dies of a broken heart after the daughter moves to another state to pass for white. In the church, gospel great Mahalia Jackson sings her solo, “Trouble of the World,” wailing about wanting to see her ma, wanting to see her mother. Then afterward, when the undertaker is about to shut the door of the horse-drawn hearse once the coffin is placed in

  side, the daughter runs up and flings herself across the casket, saying, “Mama, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, Mama.”

  Suddenly, it wasn’t Juanita Moore in the casket, but Rina Jenkins. And it wasn’t Susan Kohner berating herself for hurting her mother, but Nicole. Hadn’t Rina also gone to her grave under the same circumstances? Hadn’t she gone to her grave grieving because Nikkie had turned her back on her race, and, in doing so, had turned her back on Rina and the rest of her family?

  At first, Tyrone thought the tears and sniffles were cute, even endearing. But when she started all-out sobbing, and finally went into near hysterics, he hurried her out of the theater.

  “Nikkie, sweetie, come on. I know the movie was sad, but you have to get ahold of yourself,” he said once they were on the sidewalk. “It’s only a movie.”

  “It’s not just a movie!” Nikkie yelled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s . . . it’s . . . okay, it’s just a movie, but I told you I didn’t want to see the damn movie! Why did you make me?” She started sobbing again.

  Tyrone looked around hopelessly, then pulled Nikkie into his arms. “Okay, baby, I’m sorry. I knew it was a sad movie, but, God, I didn’t know you were going to act like this.”

  Nikkie continued sobbing in Tyrone’s chest.

  “You know, you’ve been really emotional lately,” he said, gently pushing her away and lifting her face up, and kissing her on her tearstained face. “You need to get more sleep. See,

  that’s what happens when you’re out in the club partying all night, instead of snuggled up with your man in bed.”

  Nikkie managed a smile. “That must be it. Maybe I will slow down a bit.” She squeezed his hand.

  “Come on, let’s go home.”

  I only wish I could, Nikkie thought as she docilely followed him. I only wish I could.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nikkie. Nikkie.” Lucia snapped her fingers, trying to get the woman’s attention. “Did you even hear what I just said?”

  “Huh?” Nikkie snapped out of her reverie and frantically tried to replay Lucia’s word in her head. It wasn’t often that her star client invited her to her home for brunch, so it had to have been important. She should have been listening intently rather than drifting off thinking about her own problems. She put down the unbuttered biscuit she’d been holding in midair.

  “Yes, of course I heard you. You were saying you’re on your way back out to Hollywood?” She pushed her untouched plate of French toast and sausage away from her. “When are you leaving? Do you need me to make your plane reservations?”

  Lucia rolled her eyes. “And why did I say I was going back out to Hollywood?”

  “Because . . . um . . . uh, I guess my thoughts must have drifted off,” Nikkie admitted sheepishly.

  Lucia sighed and shook her head. “Okay, you’re obviously not interested in what I’m saying, so what the hell is going on in your life? And it better be good.”

  Nikkie shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. Sorry.”

  “Come on, you can do better than that, girl.”

  “Really, it’s nothing. I just had a bad weekend.” Nikkie’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Just stressed, I guess.”

  “Anything to do with that new boyfriend of yours? What’s his name again?”

  “Tyrone.”

  “Right, that very handsome, dashing, and charming Tyrone. How is he?”

  “He’s fine.” Nikkie looked away so that Lucia wouldn’t see the tears brimming in her eyes. “Well, we ha
d kind of a row this weekend, but nothing we can’t get over.” The tears she tried to hide spilled over, and she quickly brought the napkin in her lap up to dab at her eyes. “You have to excuse me. I don’t know why I’ve been so emotional lately.”

  Lucia’s brow furrowed. “What were you two arguing about? Or is that too personal?”

  Nikkie’s shoulders sagged. “Not really. It was stupid, really. He got upset because I cried while watching a movie.”

  Lucia looked at her quizzically. “Why would he get mad about that? A lot of people get mushy when they watch movies. What film was it?”

  “Imitation of Life.”

  A strange look appeared on Lucia’s face. “Oh. Well.” She paused. “Well, now that’s exactly the kind of movie people cry over. I mean, who can help but tear up when Mahalia Jackson starts belting out that song at the funeral?”

  Nikkie tried to sniffle back the additional tears forming.

  “And then when the daughter rushes up and throws herself at the hearse and tries to climb on top of the coffin . . .”

  Nikkie’s chest began to heave.

  “. . . but then I guess some people would find it hard to feel sorry for the girl, huh?” Lucia continued. “I mean, her being so mean to her mother and all. Not only denying her heritage, but denying her own mother—that’s gotta be some hard guilt to live with. Wouldn’t you think?”

  Nikkie managed to nod her head before breaking out into deep sobs. She bunched the napkin into a ball and held it against her mouth to muffle the sound. To her surprise, Lucia immediately got up from across the table and sat next to her.

  “Look, you go ahead and let it out,” she said, patting Nikkie on the back. “That’s the only way you’re going to feel better.”

  Nikkie shook her head miserably. “I’ve been crying all weekend,” she said in between sobs. “Believe me, I don’t feel any better.”

  “Yeah, well, now you’re crying to someone who understands why you’re crying. And it wasn’t because of some damn actress up on some movie screen.”

  “What do you mean?” Nikkie said as she attempted, once again, to wipe her eyes.

  “I mean, I know your little secret, silly,” Lucia said as she picked up the water glass from the table and offered Nikkie a sip.

  “What secret?” Nikkie asked, ignoring the glass.

  Lucia sighed, then leaned into Nikkie’s ear. “The secret. The fact that you’re black and passing for white.”

  Nikkie’s face contorted with horror.

  “And my guess is that your mother died knowing you were passing, and not feeling too good about it. Am I right?”

  Nikkie looked at Lucia, not knowing how to react, then finally collapsing into her arms, no longer trying to stifle her sobs. “She begged me to stop, and she died knowing I let her down. How could I hurt my mother like that? Oh God, I know I hurt her so bad. I hurt her so bad!”

  “It’s okay, Nikkie,” Lucia said soothingly, while rocking Nikkie back and forth. “Let it out. Let it all out.”

  “I never invited her to New York because I didn’t want anyone to see her. I never told her that was why, but I know she knew.” Nikkie wailed. “She must have thought I was ashamed of her. She died thinking I was ashamed of her, Lucia. And I never got the chance to tell her any different.”

  “I’m sure she knows, sweetie. Mothers always know.” Lucia stroked Nikkie’s hair as she talked. “I’m sure she’s looking down from heaven right now, wanting you to know she understands and that she forgives you.”

  Nikkie shook her head. “I can’t forgive myself.” Her sobs increased in volume. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

  Nikkie continued to cry for another five minutes, and Lucia continued to murmur that it was okay, and to let it all out.

  “I can’t believe I’m sitting here acting so stupid,” Nikkie said finally. She gulped down the water Lucia offered her. “You must think awful of me.” She paused, still holding the glass midair. “Oh, my God, you must think awful of me!” She buried her face in her hands and started sobbing again.

  “Nikkie, come on!” Lucia’s sympathetic tone turned to one of exasperation. “Do I act like I think awful of you?”

  Nikkie hesitated, then shook her head. “But how did you know? I mean, about me, you know—”

  “About you passing?” Lucia chuckled. “Come on. I’m an actress. I know when someone’s putting on an act. I’m trained to be observant.”

  Nikkie cocked her head and looked at Lucia suspiciously. “So you’ve known from the beginning?”

  “No. It was right after the magazine shoot, remember? When you, Hal, and I went to lunch. After I kind of burst his bubble about the affirmative action thing, I noticed the look on your face. You were really happy.” Lucia smiled. “At first, I simply put it down to you being glad that I had put Hal in his place, but then when I studied your face more, I thought I saw relief. Then when studying your face more, I began to think, ‘Well, if she’s glad he was put in his place, why didn’t she say something to that effect?’ I mean, it was obvious you wanted to. So why didn’t she? That’s when I began to really look at you, Nikkie. And if someone is really looking, they can see it. At first glance you look like you have a really good tan, but damn, that’s the best tanning I’ve ever seen. And of course, you have an ass.” She laughed. “I don’t know, I just started putting a whole bunch of different things together, and I just knew.”

  “So then, I mean, how come you didn’t, or did you . . .” Nikkie pulled back a little in her chair. “Have you said anything to anyone?”

  Lucia waved her hand. “Please. It’s nobody’s business. Why should I care what you do?”

  Nikkie looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Well, so then you know. Cool. I mean, what the hell, you know?”

  “But Tyrone doesn’t know, huh?”

  Nikkie shook her head. “No, not at all.”

  “And he doesn’t know you’re pregnant?”

  Nikkie’s eyes widened. “I’m not pregnant.”

  Lucia sucked her teeth. “Oh please.”

  “No, I’m serious. I’m not,” Nikkie insisted.

  “Oh, so it’s just a coincidence that all of a sudden you’ve become—as you say—overly emotional? And here my cook fixed this wonderful breakfast and all you’re doing is nibbling on a biscuit? And unbuttered at that?”

  Nikkie shrugged. “I’m not really hungry. And my stomach’s been a bit upset lately. I’ve been a little nauseous, and . . .” Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God, I’m pregnant!”

  Lucia laughed. “You really didn’t know, huh?”

  “No, no,” Nikkie said slowly. “But what’s today, the tenth? I should have had my period a week ago. I didn’t even realize I was late.”

  “Well, congratulations. Looks like you’re going to be a mommy.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” Nikkie said incredulously. “I mean, I guess I am.” She jumped up from the chair. “Oh, my God. I’ve got to get one of those drugstore pregnancy tests. And then I have to figure out how to tell Tyrone!”

  “So I take it you’re happy about it? Or at least the possibility of it?”

  “You know, I think I am.” Nikkie clasped her hands together.

  “And you think Tyrone’s going to be as happy about it?” Lucia said skeptically. “You’ve only been together a few months, and he seems to be a very practical guy—not the type to be rushed into anything.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Nikkie said, waving her hand. “He’s been hinting about marriage since almost the day we met. And he’s one of those people who are really big about family values. Once I tell him about the baby, he’ll insist we get married right away. And I know he’s going to be a great father, and a wonderful husband.”

  She grabbed her purse, but as she did, tears once again pooled in her eyes.

  “Hey, now what’s wrong?” Lucia stood up and pulled her into a loose hug.

  “It’s just that, well, I wish I could tell my mother,�
� Nikkie said with a watery smile.

  “I’m sure she knows.”

  Nikkie nodded. “You’re right. And it’s like I may have lost one family, but now maybe this is my opportunity to start another.” She kissed Lucia on the cheek. “Thanks for everything. I hope you don’t mind me rushing out like this.”

  “Not at all. We’ll talk tomorrow before I leave for the Coast, okay?”

  Nikkie was almost at the door when she suddenly swung around to face Lucia. “Oh, wait a minute, you never did say why you were heading for Hollywood.”

  Lucia grinned. “Actually, I did, but you just weren’t listening. I’m going out for a screen test.”

  “Wonderful!” Nikkie clasped her hands together. “I’ll get a press release together immediately!”

  “Well, let’s wait to see if I get the part,” Lucia said with a laugh.

  “Of course you’ll get it. What’s the name of the movie?”

  “Guess.”

  “Guess?” Nikkie shrugged. “How am I supposed to guess?”

  “You’re not going to believe me.”

  “What do you mean?” Nikkie looked at her quizzically.

  Lucia reached over and picked up a bound script that was lying on an end table and handed it to Nikkie.

  Nikkie gasped when she read the title. “Imitation of Life? Are you serious?”

  Lucia nodded. “And would you believe I’m reading for the part of the black girl who decides to pass for white?”

  Nikkie sunk down into a nearby chair. “I don’t believe it.”

  Lucia giggled. “I told you that you wouldn’t.”

  “But, well,” Nikkie said as she gathered her thoughts, “you don’t think there’s going to be an outcry in the African-American community about them getting a white girl to play the part? I mean, shouldn’t they find a light-skinned black for the role?”

  “Yeah, and I’m sure they’re going to test some for the part,” Lucia said nonchalantly, “but I’m also sure that if I get the role and there’s some flack, I have a very good PR agent who I know can manage to put a positive spin on it.”