“Not yet. It’ll only make them panic. They seem to think you can help with all of this.”
“Imagine that,” Rebecca said. She was, Elise knew, refusing to be guilted or roped into a fight. Her need for some separation or change would have been plausible had the lifelong struggle between them not come to a head that March, after Rebecca deleted several of Elise’s controversial Instagram posts. Rebecca had said she deleted them because similar content was reposted everywhere; she didn’t think it mattered. But then she admitted being uncomfortable with some of the recent comments on Elise’s page. Then, she said she thought all of Elise’s content as of late had been “off brand.”
Rebecca reminded her about the real racists in the world, waiting for the right moment to reclaim their country. She had always spoken about the “embarrassing” paraphernalia her family collected—her great-great-grandfather and uncles had fought for the Confederacy—in a whisper. “They’re a bunch of sore losers with those sad flags. You know people still dress up and act it all out for entertainment?” Rebecca had had a lot to say after the events in Charlottesville that August.
But back in March, Rebecca had told Elise to focus on acting. She didn’t understand the responsibility Elise felt, as a Black American woman, to speak out. “You donate, a lot. Isn’t that enough?”
Finally, they had stumbled upon the real issue, which was that Rebecca thought Elise’s posts about the #blacklivesmatter movement were “racist.”
Elise was instantly annoyed. “Black people, being the minority, can’t be racist.”
“I understand the philosophical argument, but everyone suffers.”
Elise was speechless. Rebecca had attended one of the best private schools in the country since nursery school and apparently still didn’t know American history. Once, when they were kids, they’d been headed off to Girl Scout camp, and Elise had been nervous she’d be the only Black girl there. Rebecca, trying to help, had suggested, Just pretend like you’re White. No one will notice.
Stunned, Elise had worked to deconstruct Rebecca’s solution. How does someone pretend to be White? What is being White as opposed to being Black?
Elise had given her a pass all those years ago because, well, they were eight. The two had never talked about it again, and Elise sighed, deciding it was childish to bring it up now. Race was never not an issue for Elise, but for Rebecca, there was always a simple solution.
“That’s not even the point.” Elise decided it was time to politely kick Rebecca out her house. “There’s nothing else we need to discuss before tomorrow, right?”
After the blowup that spring, Rebecca had gone to her mother, worried about Elise’s safety and her own. Demands for an apology had come from all sides, but Elise refused. She didn’t have a “sorry” left in her. That week’s inheritance news leak had unleashed a second wave of racist hostility that her team, so far, had ignored—in order, Elise knew, to avoid apologizing for trying to force her apology in March.
Rebecca followed her into the house. “The studio called back. They want you to talk about Kitty, explain your relationship with her.”
“What happened to the wedding angle?”
“They don’t think it’ll stick.”
Elise began shaking her head. “No shit.” She handed the stack of photos to Rebecca. “I love how they say what they want to say after the meeting.”
“This is a difficult position for everyone.” Rebecca sat down. “They’re worried about people boycotting Drag On.”
“So, Kitty’s death explains my anger about racism and police brutality?”
Rebecca squirmed, which let Elise know she had helped craft the spin. “You have a job to do, Elise. They can sue you for breach of contract.”
Elise gave her another look. “I thought you agreed. I can’t talk about Kitty.”
“I don’t know how we get around it now. The studio said—”
“Well, I have not agreed. It’s no one’s business.”
“First, you complain when they say nothing, now, you complain—”
Sarah appeared in the kitchen, having heard Rebecca’s voice. “My gingersnap! You’re here early.” Sarah looked Rebecca over from head to toe. “No jeans tonight.”
“I’m coming back. I just came to pick up the photos.”
Sarah looked between Elise and Rebecca. “What photos?”
“For the life-sizes of Kitty for tonight.”
“Oh, yes, that’s going to look nice.” Sarah produced a bottle of Riesling from the double refrigerator. “Where’s your momma today?” Sarah said, asking about Alison. After working together for thirty years, the two normally talked a couple of times a day.
“Over at my grandmother’s.”
“How’s she doing?” Rebecca’s grandmother was newly widowed and having a hard time being alone. She called Alison and Rebecca constantly.
Rebecca motioned her hand as if to say, So-so. “Flustered about tonight.”
Sarah reached for a glass in the cabinet. “What’s tonight?”
Rebecca and Elise exchanged a look.
“Kitty’s memorial, Mom.”
“I know, but Rebecca’s talking about her grandmother.” Sarah still looked puzzled.
“Kitty invited her,” Rebecca said. “Apparently, they knew each other back in the day.”
“I look forward to hearing that story.” Sarah put more glasses on the table. “You girls want some?” Sarah started a pour for Rebecca before she could answer.
“How are you all doing?” Rebecca asked, touching Sarah’s arm.
“I think we’re all in and out,” Sarah said.
“But mostly out,” Elise said, pouring her own splash of wine. “Vogue and the studio want me to talk about Kitty.” She waited to take some pleasure in her mother’s discomfort.
Sarah took a sip of wine. “So, talk about Kitty, Elise. Someone has to dispel the rumors about her being deranged.”
“How about you?” Elise asked.
“I’m not the one she left money to. Obviously, she wanted you and your sisters to go to bat for her, defend her honor.”
Despite the sarcastic undertone in Sarah’s take, Elise sensed that something about what her mother said was right, but she didn’t think it was about honor. That seemed too egotistical, too shallow for Kitty, who had been so antisocial.
“What did Alison say?” Elise asked.
“We haven’t discussed it,” Sarah said. Rebecca shook her head to cosign Sarah.
Elise started for the door. “I’m going to get dressed.”
“And I need to get to the printer,” Rebecca said, collecting the photographs on the table.
Elise waved and ascended through the gateway of her little slice of heaven. The only thing on her mind, for a change, was a bath and another joint before the night began. Feeling nothing was her aim.
CHAPTER 12
Mary
May 1955
Years flew once Mary fell in love with Richard Collins. They had first met in the third grade, when Richard’s family moved to Cottonwood. He quickly became popular because his father owned a janitorial services company and made enough money for his momma not to have to work.
Mary became fond of him after he announced to the class that he wanted to be a doctor. His confidence had received some snickers.
Mary cornered him later, at recess. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?”
Startled she was speaking to him, he stammered. “I—I don’t know yet.”
“Is your father a doctor?”
“No. He wants me to be. He’s been saving since I was born to send me to medical school.”