“A reason like what?”
“Kitty’s story is just one of many.”
Rebecca groaned. “I thought we were on the other side of this.”
She picked up her phone to text Aaron’s publicist. “I’ll sync with Marcus about the talking points.”
Elise gestured for her phone back. “No, I’ll text Aaron myself. He doesn’t know I know about Maya.”
“No wonder you’ve been so cranky. All this stuff you’ve been holding in.”
Elise shrugged. She was used to a heavy load. Rebecca didn’t get it—never would—and it was okay. Hitting SEND on her text to Aaron cut some weight.
Later, after Aaron and Elise gave an exclusive of their breakup to British Vogue, Aaron moved on publicly with Maya the day he landed back in Los Angeles.
CHAPTER 47
Elise
Out of curiosity, the St. John sisters spent subsequent months trading researched information. Deciding the details of their donation took a back seat as they learned facts about their background from the Internet. Giovanni was back on set, and Noele was in New York, but they talked more than they had in years. It was fun, until it became clear how many innocent people, like their mother, could be hurt.
Only Jasper cared about how many could be helped. Her sisters had other passions and thought of it as a hobby. Her mother wouldn’t talk about it, and Kitty’s friends cut off all communication. Only Jasper could dream about it turning into something good. They brainstormed what an ideal reparations plan would look like and expanded the visual timeline his book had started.
With Jasper, over the course of weeks, Elise made a decision.
She persuaded Lucy, after showing up unannounced on her Beverly Hills doorstep, to give her the ledger. She would connect all the dots, look through census records, and scour the Web. Jasper’s father was a professor of African American history at UNC Asheville and enlisted a few of his trusted graduate students to help under a nondisclosure agreement.
Then she’d mail letters, which would no doubt hit the desks of the upper echelon in America (and Europe too), requesting donations to the reparations fund. Researched information from their family trees would be included as incentive. It was merely a marketing push—a solid “why.” By going ahead and starting a fund herself, Elise hoped others would contribute, which would help increase the pressure for reparations at the federal level.
In that first phase, reparations recipients would have to get a blood test to prove both African and European ancestry. Applicants would receive money to pay off student loans, start businesses, and buy houses. There would be money set aside for drug and alcohol abuse treatment, for lawyers.
Phase two would consider formerly incarcerated individuals and the homeless. Things would happen in short phases, but eventually, with government help, every affected American would receive financial assistance and concentrated resources.
Helping everyone would increase the country’s wealth and finally create the utopia imagined long ago by rich, White men with the time to ponder the meaning of human existence from their porches or shady, grassy spots—time granted by their West African slaves and their offspring, who did all the work.
Like them, Elise had time to dream.
CHAPTER 48
Elise
March 2018
Elise froze when they called her name as the winner of the Oscar for Best Actress. Her father’s assistance to stand just looked like a tender moment on camera. To Elise, it felt like he was pulling her into reality for the first time that day.
Elise had been on a red carpet many times before, but that evening had a lot riding on it. The part of her that didn’t care about winning had been replaced with an intense longing. She planned for a memorable evening, but the day began chaotic, with her parents’ house inhabited by twenty extra people. The St. Johns were all going to the ceremony and dressing at Sarah and James’s. The comradery was meant to give Elise support, but she couldn’t hear herself think. She put on her headphones to disassociate from the noise while she got a facial and her hair straightened.
Things almost went downhill when her gown was too loose in the bodice—seemingly a minor issue, but good luck finding an available seamstress to work on an eight-thousand-dollar gown hours before the Oscars.
Refusing to panic, though she was starting to sweat in her scalp and ruin her press, she stepped out of the dress and fetched the joint from the sill of the rose window. To the surprise of the room, after lighting it she offered it to no one, not even her sisters. She turned to the window, not-so-patiently waiting for a fix.
She was a little mad at herself. The gown had fit two weeks before, but she had allowed her mother’s reminders that the night’s photos would live in infamy to kick up her anxiety. Elise had shifted into high-gear prep: two workouts a day, a smoothie for breakfast, a salad for lunch, and soup for dinner. No bread, no snacks. Only still, room temperature water.
“Don’t we have another option?” Elise would be disappointed not to wear it. The royal blue, black, and silver gown was a combination of her and Kitty’s favorite colors. But it was also beaded and full-length, substantial on her frame, like a weighted blanket. Elise imagined it sliding off if it was not properly sized.
Her stylist held up a roll of double-stick tape. “I think it’ll work unless you start to sweat.”
Elise handed her joint to Giovanni’s makeup artist and went back to the mirror. “I’m changing anyway for the after-party.”
The tape was an ingenious idea and made the dress cling to her body as intended.
She had been the queen of the red carpet, even though the questions centered around Kitty, and Elise’s anticipation of the night’s tribute. Elise gave a version to about fifteen different outlets, smiling at all attempts to get her to mention Jasper. He, with a push from his publisher, had curated the night’s video presentation. Elise and Jasper weren’t public, but reporters were desperate to validate the rumors—all of the rumors—surrounding the St. Johns.
Her father escorted her up the stairs to the stage. Stepping in front of the mic, she was unsure of what she was going to say. A production assistant waved for her to go.
Her mother, sensing what she was about to do, gripped the armrests of her chair. When the PA cued her again, Elise quickly started speaking.
“None of us can help the circumstances of our birth. It’s by mere chance I have the life I have, and it’s all thanks to my grandmother, the late Mrs. Kitty Karr Tate.”
As anticipated murmurs began in the crowd, the cameras circled the St. John family, seated in the first row. Sarah looked as though she wanted to die.
“Kitty grew up dreaming of being on-screen but felt, being Black, that those dreams were unrealistic. So, she left the segregated South and passed for White upon arriving to Hollywood in 1955. She knew it still wouldn’t be easy, but she successfully removed the barrier of her race to give herself a fair chance.” Elise spoke louder over the increasing noise in the room.