“People aren’t all bad; sometimes they just need to be pushed to do the right thing.”
“But he wouldn’t be doing it because it’s the right thing,” Kitty said. “He’ll be doing it to save his profits.”
“People’s souls are their business,” Lucy said.
Inside Blair House, they fortified one another’s. Aside from their duties to the group, they convened to celebrate and enjoy one another. If Kitty had time, there was always something happening at Blair House. But she didn’t.
* * *
With Emma occupied by new love, Kitty was out with her unit four or five nights a week. She worked all day and then went home for a quick bite before Nina’s or Cora’s chauffeured car arrived. They were invited to everything happening that mattered—dinners and parties at fancy private residences and clubs, the theater, the fair, movie premieres, Disneyland. Kitty never spent any of her own money and never knew who was paying the tab. As food, liquor, cigarettes, transportation, and the events all happened without her assistance, she came to understand this was the way it was. Dressed to be noticed, these women used every event as an opportunity to solicit money, influence opinion, and gather information from the exclusive sect of White, rich families able to shape America to suit their interests.
If the men themselves didn’t have a hand in the mechanics of government, they advised or had the ear of those who did. Their surnames were those of American royalty, titans in every industry. They were dignitaries, oil mavens, manufacturers, bankers, engineers, and creatives; famous faces, musicians, writers, actors. Many were obscure, but all were influential and either came from money or were “self-made,” as Nina liked to say.
“Whatever that means, already being White.” Cora argued with her every time she classified a White man this way. Her resentment was not unfamiliar to Kitty.
“Some are born into wealth; others have obtained it themselves.”
“How hard is it to make money when the world bends to your whims?” Cora, everyone said, had been unusually bitter these days, though things in her orbit were moving again. She was dating an esteemed gentleman whom she and Lucy were tight-lipped about.
“Says the actress,” Maude joked.
“It’s not even close,” Cora resigned.
“It’s all relative; everyone has their cross to bear,” Kitty said, knowing how precarious Cora’s situation really was.
From a fly-on-the-wall vantage point, Kitty learned how the network worked. Someone from or a friend of Blair House was working everywhere they went. Their presence made her feel safe, should things take a turn, but unable to perform.
Instead, she eavesdropped on the men who talked over and around the women about the news, politics, rumors from the South, books, religion, and the arts. They were deep thinkers, and like Blair House—although for different motives—wanted an end to segregationist policies that were disrupting their profits. These men were the ones who could be influenced, if not by conscience, then by dollars and cents. And it was their women who were ready to give to everything—not out of goodwill but because charity was tied to social status and tax breaks.
At a fundraiser for a hospital, Kitty finally decided to say something. She sat with Edna and Mamie, passing again that night to solicit funds for her business, two smartly dressed businessmen, and Nina, who had come alone.
“We can open the doors, but how much ‘equality’ can we guarantee, since we all have different abilities?”
“I’d say hurdles,” Kitty said. “Hurdles that have impeded abilities.”
“Yeah, has to be hard to be somewhere you’re not wanted.”
“I don’t see why they want to.” The two tall businessmen seemed nice at first. Kitty had thought they were brothers, until one sipped the drink of the other.
“They want to improve their lives.”
“Then they should work harder.”
“What do you think they’re doing?” Kitty said.
“Honestly? A lot of complaining, not enough doing.”
“And what are you doing?”
He lit a Lakes. “I’m not sure equality makes sense.”
Kitty pushed her chair away from the table. It was infuriating to her how he didn’t believe in equal rights for Negroes but had to hide his relationship with his “business” partner. The cockiness of it—as if no one knew. She headed for the bar, all the quicker for seeing Edna’s red mane in line.
“I’m so mad I could spit!” she whispered.
The woman, not Edna, turned with a knowing look. “First time with this crowd?”
“Oh! I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“Don’t apologize.” She ordered a gimlet and looked at Kitty. “What would you like?”
“I’ll try a gimlet.” Kitty touched the woman’s shoulder. “Thank you.” They looked to be about the same age.
“You’re welcome. I’m Claire.”
“Kitty.”
“I’ll need two or three to get me through the night. What happened to you?”
Kitty was honest but unsure of how to elaborate if pushed. “Just ignorance.”
“Welcome to America, honey.” She chuckled as if to show that Kitty should too. “I find myself so bored at these things.”
It wasn’t Kitty’s exact feeling but it was close. They sat in chairs just outside the hall’s doors. They could hear the music. “The party’s started.” They looked as the doors opened and a thin, barefoot man grasping two bottles of champagne appeared.
“There’s my party animal,” Claire said. He bent to kiss her. “I was looking for you.”
“Meet Kitty…”
He kissed Kitty’s hand.
“Karr,” she said.
“Love you. I’m going back in.”
Claire shook her head. “We never leave until the cleanup.” Her husband, Winston, was a photographer. Claire had kick-started his career among this set, having known most of them before marrying. “I’ve attended a lifetime’s worth of events like this. We’re talking in baby gowns and slippers.”
These hints of wealth used to make Kitty uncomfortable, but now they piqued her interest. How rich? “Are you on the fundraising committee with Nina McCullough?”
“Yes, we’re donors.”
“Oh, you’re a philanthropist.”
“I’d like to think so. I never feel like I’m doing enough.”
“I know”—Kitty tried to pitch—“I work with an orphanage; I wish I could adopt them all.”
Claire smiled and rose from her seat. “Well, you enjoy your night.”
“You too…” Kitty watched her go, unsure of what had spoiled things. Not in the mood for dancing, she went outside for a cigarette, where she caught sight of Nina getting into a car with another Colored man. Kitty couldn’t tell who it was.
Liberty saw it too. After seeing Kitty talking so long to Claire, she had followed her. They avoided eye contact, wary of strangers, but Kitty heard her whisper, as she held the door, “Don’t tell.”
Kitty didn’t have to be reminded. She already knew the pattern. Whenever her husband traveled (which was often), Nina arrived at events in a cab instead of her chauffeured car. Now Kitty understood it was so her house staff couldn’t track her comings and goings. Those were the nights she spent with one of her Negro men—the saxophonist wasn’t the only one. In the coming weeks, Nina would disappear with a bartender, or an usher, or one of the few Colored patrons present, sometimes leaving the others to get home alone. One night at Mamie’s Place, she disappeared with Dr. Mills, just missing colliding with his wife on the way out.
Everyone looked the other way. Their personal lives were to remain private, and for good reason. If we’re ever caught, our stories about one another have to be the same, Lucy had told her. It’s better to be labeled a “nigger lover” than be found out to be Negro.
* * *
Kitty was scolded about her behavior at the banquet.
“You’re there to talk and learn what they may have to offer us.”
“We have bills to pay—it takes money to run a business, even if that business is helping people.”