Did You Hear About Kitty Karr?

“We rarely go before nine.” Lucy handed her a red ball gown with a full skirt. “You’ll want to always look your best. No one’s going to be persuaded to do something by someone who doesn’t look like they belong.”

The salesclerk returned with an armful of clothes. Lucy picked about fifteen pieces for Kitty to try on: separates and matching sets in neutral and bright colors, and more evening gowns.

In the dressing room, Kitty admired herself in outfit after outfit, feeling more like the version of “Kitty” she imagined. Every skirt, dress, and jacket was made with the finest fabric and looked just right on her frame.

“I can’t afford any of this.” Kitty touched the red skirt. “This alone is two weeks of my pay.” She had opened a savings account with the money her mother gave her, but she didn’t want to touch it.

Lucy took everything to the cashier. “Telescope has an account for costuming.”

Their purchases left them with little sitting room in her car. Lucy tried to wrangle the ruffles and netting of several dresses behind the seats. “I think I got carried away.” Once she’d secured one side, the other would pop up. They howled at the ridiculousness of it until they were red in the face and gasping for air, their joy painful now. Kitty rode home smoking a cigarette and feeling as though life couldn’t get any better than it was right then.

But it did.

When she got home, she found Emma in a good mood. Every light was on, Little Richard was playing, and she was cooking. She spun around, pointing a metal soup spoon like a weapon when Kitty tried to sneak past the kitchen.

“What’s all that?” Emma pointed to the dress bags Kitty was struggling to hold. A dollop of tomato sauce dripped from the spoon onto the floor.

“Clothes from Wardrobe.” Kitty had made sure the scripted Holden’s name was hidden before she came in.

“That’s a lot of things.”

Kitty nodded at the stove. “Nice of you to cook.”

Emma pouted her lips. “It’s not for you per se. It’s for dinner tomorrow night. You’re my tester.”

“Who’s it for?”

“Rick.”

“Who?” Kitty was thrilled to hear a man’s name besides Nathan’s come out of her sister’s mouth. “Let me hang these things. I’ll be right back.”

Rick Denman, Kitty learned, was a friend of Judy’s fiancé. He was an executive at a manufacturing company, and they’d been out, almost every evening, for the past month.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“’Cause I always talk about things too soon, and they never work out.” In the same breath, she grasped both of Kitty’s hands. “But I think he’s going to propose.” He had invited her to his family’s house in Minnesota for Christmas.

“That’s wonderful!”

“I don’t know if I should go. He has four sisters. His wife died five years ago, but she was close with all of them.” Emma feared her ability to win over so many people. Lincoln’s parents had been alive but barely coherent, a state Emma preferred; they wouldn’t have known had he gotten married, had a child or, quite frankly, died. These were safer familial circumstances. “You know how nosey women can be.”

“Go.” The proposal was Emma’s greatest chance for happiness before Judy’s wedding, paramount for Kitty’s peace.

“You really think so?”

“Yes. You’re in here cooking for him, and you don’t cook for yourself.”

Emma dropped the spoon against the side of the pot. “Is it too much?”

“No. You like him.” Kitty found it sweet.

“I’ve never been happier.”

Remembering Lucy’s words about her duty as a sister, Kitty put on an apron. “Might as well make him dessert too.”





CHAPTER 23

Kitty




November 1955

“She sings here twice a month,” Lucy said of Billie, who was onstage two nights later at Reed’s Nightclub. She was backed by a Negro band, but aside from them and the servers, everyone, including the dance line, was White. Kitty recognized the saxophonist as the man who had been with Nina in the car.

Kitty’s unit, plus Mamie—who had decided to pass that night to scope out musicians—were at a table in the back.

“Some are Cuban,” Cora said, of the dancers. “Half the time you can’t tell the difference until they speak.” Cora gestured to a table near the stage, where Billie’s husband sat. At thirty-five years old, he was already a judge. “He’s her biggest fan. Goes to every show. Sweet—but also how she got three children.”

“I thought having children wasn’t a good idea?” Kitty asked.

“Billie got lucky. Both her parents are half-White, so far it worked out—which, you know, is rare. All three of them are White as snow. She’ll never tell them,” Cora said.

“Never?”

“It’s a personal choice.”

“Is singing her work?”

“It’s just a hobby. She’s working to get more libraries built around the city,” Cora said.

“How?” Kitty remembered going to the library for story hour sometimes in Charlotte. She liked going until she learned she couldn’t borrow a book, because she couldn’t use her real name on the library card.

“By steering her husband’s passion for advocacy away from animals and toward the Colored folks down the street.”

“He wasn’t suspicious?”

“If he wasn’t a good person, he might have been.”

“But he is,” Nina said. “Talked about the Emmett Till trial nonstop to anyone who would listen—wanted those boys to be found guilty.”

Kitty was introduced when Billie brought her husband over after her blues set. “Kitty’s in development at Telescope.”

He and Nathan, it emerged, had gone to the same university. “Tell him hello for me. Bastard sure got lucky.”

“Don’t you all…” Cora sniped under her breath as he and Billie kissed goodbye. She slid into the chair next to Lucy. “He starts a trial tomorrow.”

Maude put out her cigarette. “Can we go now? I’m hungry.” She looked down at her uneaten plate of smothered chicken.

Kitty had never heard sweeter words. Her baked chicken was undercooked, and so was the lemon cake she’d ordered instead.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you.” Billie looked around the table. “They brought in a new kitchen staff. Complaints about how many Blacks were on payroll.”

Maude’s hand popped in the air. A very young, blond waitress came over. “The chicken was disappointing tonight.”

“This too,” Cora said, pushing her meat loaf to the center of the table. Nina followed with her Cobb salad, as did Mamie.

“Can you send over the manager?”

Billie gave a sympathetic look to the girl, who looked ready to cry. “Let me get some help.”

The help was Liberty and Lilly.

“Guess you all heard,” Liberty said, slowly reaching for the first discarded plate. Her lips barely moved. “They had them prep for the weekend and then let them go this morning.”

Kitty continued eating around the raw bits of her cake.

“Tell them to call Jimmy at the hotel; we’ll hire them,” Nina said.

“Will do,” Liberty said.

“Still want the manager?” Lilly said.

“Several calls over the next week or so would be better,” Lucy said.

Liberty’s tone dropped to address Kitty. “Kitty, give me your plate.”

Kitty sighed and let her fork drop. It seemed no one ate in Los Angeles.

As the slice passed by, Nina put her cigarette out in it. “I’m ready too.”

“All right; see y’all in a bit,” Liberty said. She and Lilly led the line as those passing let their voices carry over the music about how disappointing their meal was.

At the door, Nina and Mamie decided to take a cab.

“Be careful,” Cora said, as the others piled into her Rolls Royce, chauffeured by the Tates’ longtime driver, Percy Mitchell, who was also a friend of Blair House.

Almost an hour later, they arrived at an older but stately house with a porch and baskets of lilac flowers hanging from the windows.

“Where are we now?” Kitty asked.

“Mamie’s Place. Everyone is a friend here.”

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