Because it was terrible.
“Regardless, no version would have passed the board’s approval with your name—or any woman’s name—on it.”
“I see.” Kitty started toward his office door.
“Wait—you can’t blame me for that. It’s just the way things are.”
“You own the studio. Who else shall I blame?” She went for the door handle.
“Kitty, I’m not the only decision maker.” Over her head, he pressed the door shut. “What can I do? What do you want?”
“Nothing. Nathan, I thought you were someone else, and now I see you’re just as greedy and unfair as the rest of the world.”
He stepped around her to block her exit. “Listen, I can’t lose you.”
“There are other smart women on the lot. Every one of them wants this job.”
“And I want you.” It sounded like he wasn’t talking about the job anymore. He looked desperate for her to stay. “Kitty, please forgive me. I have so much to prove here, and your script was so good, and it seemed so easy … until I saw how I hurt you.”
It wasn’t an absolution of his character flaw, but she believed he was sorry—wanted him to be, anyway. “I’ll stay, but only if you keep paying me. Above my weekly pay.”
He held his hand out for a shake.
“And I want to write under my own fake name.”
“We can’t be a team anymore?”
Kitty winced at the whine in his voice. It wasn’t enough to be the head of the studio, without any prior experience—now, he wanted to take the credit for writing features too? She cursed herself for having suggested it in the first place.
“People are expecting a follow-up from me now.”
Confirmation of Lucy’s hypothesis gave Kitty confidence, and she pushed to change his mind. “Tell them it was a one-time gesture, to pay homage to your father, and your focus is at the executive level. No one will question that.”
He whined again. “I’ve promised one.”
“That was a mistake, seeing as you can’t write.”
His mouth gaped open for a split second, astonished by her insult, before he composed himself with a deep breath. “I can see you’re still angry with me.”
“No, but it won’t help to lie to you. You can learn, though. I’ve never had lessons.”
“And I will—but first, just help me write one more feature?”
Kitty held out her hand again, agreeing. “And a monthly expense budget.”
Nathan laughed. “For what, exactly?”
Kitty didn’t return his smile. “I’ve been meeting a lot of people. It would be nice to be able to host them and see what ideas they have for Telescope.”
“Where are you meeting these people?”
“Lucy Schmitt has been showing me around.” Kitty evaded a direct answer.
“I see.” He went to his window. “Be careful out there, Miss Karr.” Noticing his formality in addressing her, she wondered if he was cross. “Everyone will want to share their brilliant ideas with you.”
“You can trust my measure of quality.”
He studied her for a moment. “That’s good to know.”
His gaze caused Kitty’s breath to quicken and a familiar throbbing in her heart—and then under her skirt.
“Stay and have a drink with me,” he said.
“Not tonight.” Kitty wanted to but, enjoying the brief redistribution of power, waved goodbye.
* * *
Nina’s city beautification fundraiser was the first event of the new year. The cocktail party and art auction were in full swing when they arrived; cigarette smoke loomed over everyone’s heads like a rain cloud. The room had no windows, so it was the type of environment in which you had to join in on the smoking or risk suffocation. Kitty, deciding to join in, navigated around the perimeter of the room to the bar. Just ahead of her in line was a woman she recognized as Claire, holding the tips of her middle and pointer fingers against her nose to block the smoke. Kitty stepped ahead of her to put her cigarette out in the ashtray. “Gimlet time again?”
“Oh, hi!” She was perkier, maybe drunk.
“Having fun?”
“I had better company tonight.” She pointed into the crowd on the dance floor. “Brought some of my clients.”
“I thought you were a donor.”
“That’s not what I do. I give the models career advice.”
“Like a manager?”
Claire nodded, clearly surprised Kitty knew. “What do you do?”
“I’m the assistant to the owner of Telescope.” It did sound impressive.
Claire’s eyes lit up. “How wonderful.” Suddenly, Claire became the most talkative person Kitty had ever seen. She had question after question about her job, its function, working with Nathan … Kitty couldn’t sufficiently answer before she had something else to say. Kitty bulged her eyes at Lucy, begging for rescue.
“Conversation must be riveting—neither of you has touched your drink.” Lucy started to the bar.
Claire followed, introducing herself. The cycle repeated after she learned that Lucy also worked at Telescope.
“Are you interested in working at the studio?” Lucy finally was able to ask.
“Not per se…” Claire stopped, seeing someone behind them. “I’m sorry, my husband is calling me.” She gave a regretful smile and a hug to each.
“Thank God,” Lucy said.
Again, Kitty watched her go. She could only take short steps in her long tan dress; her legs were bound by the fit.
“Is she Negro?” Lucy asked.
Kitty couldn’t tell. “I don’t think so.”
“Be careful with her.”
Kitty was puzzled. “Why?”
“What do you know about her?”
Kitty recited the facts as she would at a meeting. “She’s a donor. Manages models. Her husband is a photographer. She’s old money, probably. Why?”
“She peppered us with questions so she didn’t have to talk about herself.”
Maybe Lucy was right, but Kitty didn’t care. Her chatter was a reprieve from the work.
* * *
It was instantly clear how essential the Negro dollar was to the continued financial viability of the bus company in Montgomery. Many employees had already lost their jobs; the buses used less gas, needed less maintenance, and sat idle. Meanwhile, Negroes were still going to work somehow, some way—with their heads held high, sometimes walking tens of miles a day. This realization caused panic, and an increase in the death threats and violence against Negroes all over the South.
“Many of them don’t even ride the damned bus!”
“Their Whiteness blinds them, makes them stupid,” Kitty said, calling on her momma’s words.
Blair House was funneling monies for protection—the young Dr. King remained a proponent of nonviolence even after his house was bombed—but everyone was waiting for a slaughter.
They were split in their belief about whether things would ever change. The only good was that the boycott became national news, and many Whites they encountered would now donate outright.
“Why don’t we solicit monies from Negroes?” Kitty asked. She had long wondered this but felt too new until now to question things.
“We give dues.”
“I mean from others, who aren’t a part of the house.”
This caused a stir. “They ain’t got no money to give!”
“We should be soliciting to give a monthly stipend to them.”
“The government has done that for White people,” Liberty said.
“Maybe they’ll do it for us,” Kitty said.
The room laughed for the first time in weeks.
CHAPTER 25
Kitty
Spring 1956