Kitty shook her head, and Lucy linked arms with her. “Let’s go shopping. His family has to see me as a political asset—maybe even a future First Lady.” She winked.
Back in the car, Kitty got a better view of the house. Rose and ivy vines climbed the walls, highlighting the ten drawn window shades. “Isn’t it suspicious with the house all closed up like that?”
“It’s not always like that. And typically, as long as you’re quiet, people in this neighborhood mind their business.” Hancock Park was an exclusive, old-money neighborhood in Los Angeles. “The house was donated to us.”
“By whom?”
“Anonymous.”
To Kitty, the lush green lawns and the thick Georgian columns made it look as if it had been plucked from a White neighborhood in Winston.
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Lucy said, noticing Kitty’s wonder. “Mine and Laurie’s childhood home was one room.”
Lucy now lived in a house far grander, but Kitty appreciated she hadn’t forgotten where she came from. “My momma and I slept in the same bed,” Kitty said.
Lucy started out of the driveway and then hit the brakes as a black Buick lurched from its parked position at the curb. The Negro man at the wheel waved in apology, distracted by kisses from his passenger. When he made a U-turn in the middle of the street, Kitty saw Nina McCullough nestled underneath his arm before they passed in opposite directions. “Was that Nina?”
Lucy handed her cigarette to Kitty to light. “If anyone or anything made your sister uncomfortable around us, it was Nina. But that’s only because Emma didn’t understand.” Lucy tapped the steering wheel as she drove. “Love is rare for women like us. So if you find it, grab it. But you must know, sometimes we’re mistresses first—sometimes forever—and usually second or even third wives.”
“That’s a sin.” Kitty wasn’t religious, but she did believe in the basics; marriage-only consummation had been the easiest one. Seeing what her mother had gone through raising her, being unmarried with a child wasn’t a road she planned to travel, or even parallel. Lying, stealing, and killing—most folks, if they were being honest, could see just cause for all three.
“For us, it’s a haven. As a mistress, you get all a man’s affections and none of his expectations. You never have to worry about him wanting a baby. You eat at the best restaurants, get gifts of jewelry and fine clothes. You’re taken care of, but you don’t always become a wife.”
“Is that how you met Jack?”
“No. I’ve been lucky. Happened to me just like it does in the movies. Twice. People say love like that doesn’t really exist, but they couldn’t write about it if it didn’t. Losing it is agony. That’s why I understand Nina.”
“Your first love was Negro?”
Lucy held up her fingers. “And my second and third. Have you ever been in love?”
“I’m not sure.” Despite her sadness over how things ended with Richard, her feelings for him weren’t enough to return to what could have been. Still, she worried about him and hoped that he didn’t hate her. Thinking he did hurt her more than losing what they’d called love.
“What about Nathan?” Lucy gave her a curious look when they stopped at a light.
“I’m not sure.”
Lucy adjusted the rearview mirror. “Marry one day, but only if it’s right. After all, you can be married and completely disregarded by your husband. Then it’s all work and no reward. Security is important. But men will be there, trust me—and for you, especially.”
“Maybe we should all marry so we don’t die alone,” Kitty said, thinking of her mother, who probably would. A lump rose in her throat. Hazel never talked about having romantic interests. She was Lefred and Adelaide’s willing third wheel, but she was thirty-five, and it saddened Kitty to think that would be the end of her story.
“Marriage doesn’t ensure that. The only surety is money. It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor one.” Again, Lucy sounded like Emma. “Marriage is a good thing, but there’s a lot of responsibility in it too.” She rolled her eyes. “More for women.”
“Now.” Lucy’s voice lowered. Kitty had noticed they all whispered when speaking about Blair House; soon she would adopt the same practice, able to conduct an entire conversation at a barely audible pitch. “That was Thomas you saw Nina with. Her first husband was also Negro. He was the love of her life; that’s why she vacillates over the color line the way she does. They knew each other as kids. He was a cook and got hired at a hotel downtown. They promised to promote him, but instead, they stole all his recipes and let him go. He started drinking, disappearing for weeks. To leave, she passed, hoping he’d never find her. Two years later, she met Titan.”
“Is it a coincidence she married a hotelier?” Kitty asked.
“Nothing we do is by coincidence.” Lucy pushed the gas pedal, flying through a light just as it turned red.
* * *
Holden’s, just down the road from Blair House in Beverly Hills, was three stories high, with gold-trimmed windows and doorframes. When they pulled up to the curb, two Negro men in black tuxedos and red bow ties approached either side of the car. Kitty went for the door handle, but Lucy stopped her. “Let them.”
“Good evening, ma’am.” The man, who was balding, kept his eyes to the ground.
“Thank you, sir,” Kitty said.
He looked at her, startled she’d spoken.
Coming around the car to take her arm, Lucy joked, “Why don’t you kiss him on the cheek too?”
Kitty hushed her. “I was being polite.”
“You don’t thank people for doing their jobs, Kitty.”
The store’s golden double doors floated open thanks to a second pair of older Negro men. This time, Lucy greeted them both. “Mr. Banks. Mr. Stills.” Neither acknowledged her nor flinched at her greeting. Their faces remained blank, trained not to betray them. “Addie’s and Liberty’s husbands,” Lucy said as they continued toward the women’s department. “Liberty’s husband is writing a piece, and Mr. Banks offered to let him shadow him.”
“Liberty’s husband is a writer?”
“A prolific writer. He writes speeches for the movement.”
“You didn’t know the men at the car?”
“No. Unless I say so, we don’t, and you should act regular. Don’t be too nice.” She sifted through a rack. “Does Emma have a charge account here?”
“No,” Kitty said, “because her sister does.”
“What does that matter?”
“Emma took her real name. We both took her sisters’ real names.”
Lucy didn’t look happy to hear this but, seeing the clerk coming, held an emerald-green dress up to her rail-thin frame. “This would be perfect for Christmas. My in-laws do a big party every year, with tree trimming, carols, a petting zoo, and fireworks. Quintessential Christmas.”
“It’s beautiful. Is that your right size?” The salesclerk smiled as though she knew Lucy. Lucy stared at her. The clerk stammered a bit before adding, “Mrs. Schmitt?”
Lucy spoke then, still a little unfriendly. “It is, but I need one in her size too.” Lucy gestured to Kitty’s yellow dress. Borrowed from Emma, it was a little big. “We’re shopping for her. She needs a signature look,” she said.
The salesclerk pulled out a measuring tape and secured it first around Kitty’s hips and then her bust. She scurried off as though Lucy’s instructions were clear.
“The way you dress is a message to the world. You’re about to have a whole new life, and it’s time to say”—Lucy shimmed her shoulders—“something. You’ll come everywhere with us, and you’ll need to be dressed.”
“Where?”
“Ballrooms for parties and fundraisers, dinners at private homes and clubs, the opera, plays—everywhere,” Lucy said, sifting through the dress rack.
“But Nathan expects me in the office until evening.”