Kitty, fearing repercussions, tried to do as she was told, but it was difficult. Deep down, she didn’t want these people’s help. It was always the same, and it was tiring.
The rioting and boycotts are proof—the country’s Negro problem has become a headache.
They considered themselves to be liberals and called Southern Whites’ behavior “despicable,” “shocking,” and “hard to stomach.” They argued with the few bigots who showed up from time to time, yet, more than once, even they made nigger jokes while red-faced and pissy with liquor.
The others always confronted bad behavior with a gentle authority, speaking to the men as if they were children. Such talk around women—my goodness!
Most disturbing was that the bad behavior was merely for sport. It didn’t mean they supported the government’s blatant disregard of “the Negro situation.” A lot of them had even donated to the NAACP. I just want this business settled, so we can all move on.
“Donate to the campaign of someone who wants things to change,” Lucy said at a judge’s retirement party. “Like Jack.” She pointed to him in the other room.
“Takes more than one politician, Mrs. Schmitt.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is—they’d only have to mingle in public. Negroes are always going to live together, because they can’t afford our neighborhoods.”
“Even if they can, they aren’t welcome. Coloreds wanted to move into our neighborhood, so we collected money and bought the house ourselves.”
Kitty doubted her ability to be polite, so she stayed quiet, a rare instance in which Emma’s advice prevailed. Their laughs lingered, sending her home to chain-smoke—her vice to Emma’s gin.
Her only solace was knowing that sometimes, the servers had spit in the drinks these men reached for, men who never once said thank you or looked them in the face. When the libations were unsanitary, trays were carried on the left, so those who knew would wait for the next round. Being White, Kitty saw how easy it was to ignore Negroes—even when they were standing in front of you. Society demanded their invisibility, and as such, the servers might as well have been the air. That was why these subtle changes in behavior were never noticed.
Some Whites did feel they were good people, and paid their Negro maids, nannies, butlers, and drivers well to prove it. “Top dollar! For the holidays, they get their choice of meat—ham, a roast, turkey. Hell, I’ll buy ’em chicken or pig feet if they want!” Wives wrapped their children’s toys, abandoned from the year before, for their staff to give to theirs.
These were callous attempts at goodness thrown out with defiance, daring someone to be ungrateful. At times like this, Kitty thought about the Lakeses and what little she and her mother had been given and how much they were owed. The Lakeses kept the same employees for years, but without raises—only perks, like the ones the men Kitty was now in the company of bragged about.
Few of these men were brilliant, but they were all self-absorbed, plotting the next mountain to climb, oblivious to the luxury they had of being White and male. Kitty wondered if her father was like these men. Some of them were judges and lawyers like him. And rich like him. They likely knew her father or her grandfather, some maybe even personally. The whole world smoked Lakes.
She told herself that keeping her secret gave her power—over everyone—but really, she had no choice. As on that day in Charlotte when she’d assumed her half sister’s name, she never knew when or if someone would know her family better than she did. Worse than that, she could be in the same room with her father or another Lakes and not know it. Emma’s threat was worse, because she could be recognized.
Kitty’s truth would make her more valuable at Blair House. But she was too chicken to unearth her roots, let alone attempt to reap the benefits of her lineage. Her great-grandfather’s face was etched into her memory, from her momma’s snuff tobacco can, but her father she had never seen. She avoided his face even when it was in the paper. Even now.
Who she did look for in these places, but never saw, was Nathan. Most nights she left him at the studio, working, but still she wished him everywhere. “These men are his father’s associates,” Lucy explained. Nathan hadn’t yet earned his own invitation into the club.
Nina pointed out the eligible men to Kitty, who found she preferred Nathan over all of them. Theoretically, they had little in common, but their experience of disregard was most significant: being ignored, excluded, forgotten. Abner wouldn’t mean to let it, but nature would soon have its way with his mind and erode tunnels through his memory, erasing Nathan altogether. Hazel, on the other hand, had extracted Kitty so efficiently from her life, sometimes she wondered whether she’d ever been seen.
CHAPTER 24
Kitty
Late December, 1955
Before the studio closed for the holiday season, Nathan gave Kitty his rewrite of The Misfits to read. Between that and working the phones when the Montgomery bus boycott began, she had sufficient distraction from Christmas, though it was forced upon every inanimate object in town. Light poles, benches, and tree trunks were wrapped in tinsel, Christmas trees were displayed in every store window, and lights were up in every tree. Kitty found herself scowling at the happy families dining and shopping. Emma hadn’t wanted to get a tree—she’d be with Rick’s family until just after the new year—and so the Christmas spirit passed over the Karr household.
Kitty didn’t know different anyway. Hazel hated Christmas. In their home, there was never a tree or Santa or even Jesus, though she was a believer. She worked on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so they went shopping in Charlotte the day after, when things went on sale. Kitty used to resent it. Now she would give anything to do nothing on Christmas with her mother.
“Lots of guilty givers during this season,” Billie said. Their unit was boxing donations for Montgomery. Days had already been spent at Blair House writing letters, making press calls, and canvassing White neighborhoods for donations.
Lucy cut some tape. “I hear Nathan stayed in town for the holiday. That should cheer you up.” Lucy, having noticed Kitty’s melancholy, had begun calling her Scrooge.
“I haven’t heard from him.”
“He’s probably working.” Lucy winked. “I’m starting to think the two of you may be made for each other.”
“Maybe,” Kitty said. To both her horror and amazement, Kitty had missed Nathan since the studio had been closed for the holidays.
“Finally! She admits it!!” Lucy started cheering and hit her shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“Not a chance.” Kitty blushed, remembering Lucy’s admission of having sex with her husband a few times on the lot.
* * *
After the last of the boxes had been mailed, Kitty went to the studio for a few days in a row, looking for Nathan. Drawn to the stages as always, she began rewriting the script by reciting each character’s lines aloud on one of the sets. Acting the different parts became her freedom from the confines of the other versions of herself she’d created. She enjoyed these predetermined destinies.
Living in La-La Land was how she forgot it was Christmas Day until a man wished her a merry one as she came up the sidewalk to her house. She almost screamed but heard something familiar about his voice.
“Mary, it’s me.” Richard opened his arms, expecting a hug, only to be pushed farther onto the porch, behind the hanging ivy.
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” Kitty shut the front door behind them harder than she intended. “How long were you waiting?”
“An hour, I guess.”
When he turned on the table lamp, she raced to close the blinds. “What are you doing here?”
Richard looked wounded. “It’s Christmas. And I’ve missed you.” His white-collared shirt and brown pants looked dusty and wrinkled, as though he’d walked from wherever he came from.