“No, it fell into my lap. The whole thing. It was impossible to refuse.”
“Reviews say the film is good. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Everyone wants to know who Kitty Karr is now. Your face is everywhere.”
“I can’t believe it myself sometimes.”
“Well, I don’t want people knowing me. I don’t want to be photographed or interviewed. No one should know you have a sister.”
“That’s why you didn’t come to the premiere?”
“I have family who would love nothing more than to recognize me in some newspaper and ruin my whole life.”
Kitty realized how self-centered she’d been to forget that. “But you could have at least called me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You can’t cut me out of your life. How would I hear if something happened to my momma?”
Emma groaned. “Would it even matter at this point?”
“Of course it would matter!”
“You wouldn’t go back.”
“I would so!”
“You would not, you liar!” She spoke in a whisper, hearing the kitchen door open again. “You could never return to that miserable place without yearning for here.”
Emma reached for her plate and, after two bites of the ham sandwich, abandoned it for another cigarette.
“Are you going to finish eating?” Kitty asked. “These hot peppers on here are good.”
“I wasn’t really hungry to begin with.”
Watching Emma drain her second vodka lemonade in an hour, Kitty began to consider that she’d been summoned. “Why don’t you come back to the studio?”
“Rick said he’s not doing his job as a man if I’m letting others pay me for my time. Funny thing is, I would be perfectly happy with two or three kids to care for. But that won’t ever happen, so what’s left for me?”
“How about college?”
Emma sounded impatient. “I don’t have records as Emma Karr.”
“That’s right. Come work with us, then.”
“Kitty, I just said—”
“No, charity work. He can’t say no to that.” Kitty didn’t have permission to tell Emma about Blair House, but she did then, in short summary, omitting key details and without calling it by name. She thought Emma might be receptive, being that she was so unhappy.
She was wrong. Emma was horrified. “That’s what you’ve been doing? And I thought the acting was insane. You’re crazier than I thought!”
“I’m like any other White woman trying to do some good.”
“White women have their own fights; our struggle doesn’t affect them.” Emma pointed toward the house. “Her lot in life allows me to sit out here and complain about my own.”
“That’s why I do it.”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“I’m not protesting or writing or giving speeches! I just get people to give, and I’m doing what I can to nudge Nathan at the studio. The easiest thing would be to convince Rick to donate.”
“I can’t jeopardize my marriage.”
“You wouldn’t be.”
“I would be asking him to write a check to the NAACP!”
“Doesn’t he give you an allowance? Give some of that.” Kitty realized she was giving away too much information.
Emma crossed her arms. “Can I be honest without you getting upset?”
Kitty waited, knowing that precursor was simply a forewarning that the conversation would indeed incite the very emotion named.
“I don’t see how you could jeopardize your whole life—and mine—for people you don’t even know.”
“I know my momma. I can’t sit back and do nothing when people are dying, Emma.”
Tears came to Emma’s eyes. “Goddamn it,” she said, wiping them. “I can barely get out of the bed in the fucking morning, and here you go coming to make me feel worse.”
“It makes me feel better doing something to help.”
Emma chuckled. “You all think things will magically improve once we get some laws passed. Maybe a few of us will live in neighborhoods like this one and drive expensive cars, and we’ll pat ourselves on the back, ignoring the fact that—as a whole—we’re still way behind and we’ll always be.” Emma squinted. “I want equality as much as you, but I’m not willing to jeopardize the comfort I worked for, for people who’ve never done anything for me. And you’re stupid to want to.”
“We have an obligation. Things won’t be better for any of us until they’re better for all of us.”
“They’re already better for me. I grew up locked in the attic, and now, I’m the lady of a house twice as big as the one I grew up in.”
“You were locked in the attic? You never told me.”
“No one wants to talk about the bad things, Kitty. There’s nothing I would do to jeopardize what I’ve built, and if you continue down this path, you’ll become nothing but a memory to me.” With that, Emma collected her drink and cigarettes and tossed the magazine onto Kitty’s lap. “I’m going to take a nap.”
* * *
Emma was still in her room at dinnertime. The door was locked, and knocks were met with silence. Kitty was going to go home until Abigail offered to feed her. “There’s cornbread, butter beans, and okra in here already made—I can fry some fish. It’ll only take a second.”
“Yes, please.” Kitty followed her into the kitchen like a dutiful child. Watching her shake salt and pepper on the catfish, Kitty remembered how Hazel only salted the beaten egg; all the other seasonings went into the flour. Fish is salty already; you only need a pinch. Sure enough, Abigail’s fried fish would taste slightly salty.
“Emma told me you’ve worked for Mr. Denman for many years,” Kitty said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please, it’s Kitty.”
Abigail looked at her. “Mrs. Denman prefers the formalities.”
“She’s asleep.”
Abigail smiled. “I’m glad you came. She gets lonely.”
“She didn’t seem happy to see me. Any idea why I’m here?”
“I told you, she gets lonely—real lonely.”
“Are she and Rick having problems?”
“Miss Kitty, I cook and clean. That’s all.”
Kitty let her lie, knowing for certain now it was her, and not Rick, who had invited her that weekend. Kitty could see Abigail wasn’t yet ready to trust her.
* * *
Abigail was already making breakfast when Kitty woke up the next morning. When Emma still hadn’t surfaced at almost noon, Kitty inquired.
“She stays up late.” Abigail began clearing the plates from the table, running from the conversation.
“She doesn’t eat well either.” Kitty pointed to the rows of spices and flours collected like souvenirs on the shelves. “I know you miss cooking.”
Abigail produced a single key from a drawer next to the stove and unlocked one of the doors in the kitchen that Kitty had assumed was another pantry. There was a staircase behind the door.
“She told me not to bring you up here,” Abigail said.
“I’ll take the blame.”
She gestured for Kitty to follow her. When she opened the door at the top, stale, sour air hit Kitty’s nose. The shades were drawn but, in the darkness, Kitty saw Emma lying facedown and sideways on her bed, snoring. Clothes, dishes, makeup, and books littered the floor and furniture.
“She stays up all night, drinking and pacing. I pick her up off the floor drunk. She slept on the bathroom floor last night. I found her naked, sound asleep. She’d taken all her clothes off and run a bath. I covered her with a towel and left her there.” Abigail whispered to explain, “Last time I tried to help her into bed, she tried to hit me.”
Kitty laughed at the look on Abigail’s face. Emma could rile a person.
“Does Rick know?”
“No. She doesn’t drink as much when he’s here, but she’s still up all night, pacing. He comes down sometimes, and they fight. He sleeps on the third floor; it’s been that way for a while now. He used to fawn over her—always wanted her to join him on his trips,” she explained. “Now he barely speaks two words to her at meals. Still, they sit at the table, silent.”
“Is he seeing someone else?”
Abigail began to stutter. “Now, Miss Kitty, please—”
“You called me. Might as well tell me everything I need to know. I know you know what’s going on.”
“I can’t—”