“Entertaining but unrealistic.”
Kitty touched her lips like the secret was going to spurt through her lips and land all over his face. Sitting there in the bed in his blue silk pajamas and combed-over hair, he looked and sounded like a boy, naive about his luck.
“Besides,” he continued, “no one would need to pretend to be White in New York. They say Harlem is full of opportunity.”
Kitty sauntered back to the bathroom as he went on.
“Don’t forget our job is to make people feel good,” he yelled. “Not guilty about the things they can’t control.”
Kitty yelled back, “But they can control it! That’s the point.”
“Control that mess happening in the South? Hell no, they can’t. Not even the government knows what to do.”
Kitty brushed her teeth, thinking only of the way he called the degradation of the American Negro “a problem,” as though it was something they brought upon themselves. She stood before the mirror and for the first time understood why some of the women at Blair House had, like Nina, floated back over the color line, carrying on emotional, sometimes sexual relationships with the Negro men they met through the resistance. Kitty never did, knowing the grass wasn’t greener.
“Fine,” she said, spitting in the sink. “I’ll find myself the role of a lifetime.” Kitty might not have been able to control Nathan as Blair House hoped, but adopting Cora’s dream of winning an Oscar was second best.
“You do that, dear.”
* * *
So, Kitty started going out again, not just to work for Blair House but also for fun. She met some of the Telescope dancers at a club. Planning to use them for inspiration, she left with new friends. There were lunches with voice-over artists who also could draw. A couple of actresses met her for lunch. She had macaroons and tea with a group of poets from London. She played tennis with a French museum curator who gave her an open invitation to Paris. There was an Indian man she didn’t speak to but who, recognizing her, gave her a gold necklace. She was photographed so often without Nathan—and most noticeably with these male creatives of color—that people began to talk. These rumors reached Nathan and created questions in his mind about whether Kitty was his.
He was sitting in the dark when she came over after dinner with a Spanish director, who had written a film about the first conquistadors in America. She curled up on his lap to tell him about it. “He’s a genius; you have to meet him. I have a copy of the script for you to read.”
“Out until all hours of the night with a man you refer to as a ‘genius.’” Nathan shifted his body, causing her to fall on the cushion next to him. He put the bottom of his cold, wet glass on her bare thigh. “Why won’t you marry me?”
Kitty sighed. Being that he was a film executive, Kitty thought he would have appreciated her lack of interest in common milestones. “You know I’m focused on my career.”
“You can do whatever you want after the baby.”
“You’ve never mentioned wanting a family.”
He shrugged. “Did I need to? It’s the natural progression of things. I was waiting to meet the right woman, I did, and eventually I want a child. Maybe two or three.”
“Two or three?”
Now the palm of his right hand came down on her leg. It stung. “I want a son—or a daughter, someone to pass all of this on to.”
“I can’t get pregnant right now. What about Daisy Lawson?”
“It can wait.”
Kitty threw out more reasons—a fear of childbirth, no maternal instincts—and he dismissed every one. “We’ll get you help. Anything you need.”
Kitty, distressed to learn her career ambitions wouldn’t protect her from what was expected, started sleeping at her own home. She also increased her savings deposits and hid some cash in the attic of the house on Orange Drive. She had no plans to leave but, if necessary, could be ready in less than an hour.
Lucy thought all of it was tied to the rumors about her exploits in a mixed crowd. “Marry him,” she advised.
* * *
Kitty, sobering to the reality that her lifestyle was in danger, did as she was told. They married in a private ceremony at the Beverly Hills Hotel, with only Nathan’s family in attendance. Kitty sent clippings from the Los Angeles Times to her mother. Maude told her Nathan distributed their wedding photos. “Consider yourself lucky to have a man so proud to be a husband.”
She did, but she also felt guilty, especially after Nathan gifted her his mother’s favorite six-carat emerald and gold necklace. The woman had a collection fit for a fourteenth-century queen. Kitty touched her earlobes, admiring the way the gold balls from her mother matched the deep brilliance of the twenty-four-karat gold in the necklace. She had always thought the dark hue was a sign of age and perhaps poor care, when maybe it was indicative of quality. Noticing, Nathan handed her a small black box. “I thought you could use another pair of earrings.”
She moved her head when he reached for her lobes. “Thank you, but I like these.”
He pointed to the box. “Aren’t you going to at least look at them? They match the necklace.”
She shook her head. “But these were my mother’s, and I—”
Nathan bent to kiss her neck. “Don’t worry; they won’t go missing.” He went for her ears again, and she swatted his hand. He frowned, offended now. “You wear those plain old balls all the time.”
The characterization stung, and she wished she could defend their worth. Trading up felt disloyal, but she let him replace the earrings with the new jeweled clusters, as if she needed another reminder that the past was truly gone.
CHAPTER 30
Kitty
January 1964
Years passed without further talk of a baby. After three films, four years of matrimony, and nine years together, Kitty and Nathan were partners in life and business. Their intellectual and creative interests were their sustaining strength, and when one grew bored, it was the world’s admiration of the other that brought them back.
Riding home after a friend’s play one night, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. She’d received a standing ovation once the theater crowd learned she was in the audience, and Nathan had beamed at her side, marveling at all the people staring at his wife. Once they were inside their house, he unzipped the back of her sequined dress even before they made it upstairs.
Having sex with him was something Kitty always enjoyed. She never told him how much, and never initiated it, but also never turned him away—never. From some of the stories she’d heard, she gathered that she only knew great sex. Nathan seemed to be in awe of her when they made love, touching her as if it was the only task that mattered. He ran his hands through her hair, grabbing her head as he kissed her. His assertiveness was part of their dance, but that night, after a third time reaching for her diaphragm, she had to use her entire body to resist him.
“Just be here with me.” He pinned her arms above her head against the bed. Normally, he cared if sex was good for her, but that night he acted as if her body was only there for his pleasure. The nightmare only got worse when he released himself inside of her. In that moment, Kitty hated him. He already owned her career, and that night, he showed her he thought he owned her too. After it was over, he crawled over her onto his side of the bed and went to sleep.
Kitty wiped herself clean with a hot washcloth. She ran a bath, already sore between her legs, and sat there until it turned cold, unsure of what had just happened.