Absalom's Daughters (25 page)

“You really think that white gal kin sing?” said Iris.

“She sing just like a bird.”

Iris and Bethesda giggled.

“What kinda bird?” said Iris. “'Cause the only bird I could think she sound like was some kinda cacklin' hen.”

Eden Pomeroy came back about twenty minutes later and pulled Cassie aside. “What's this white girl to you?”

“We known each other a long time. We from a real small town.”

“You think she be good at maid work?”

“Oh, yessum,” said Cassie.

“You sure? She cain't seem to stop talking 'bout herself.”

“She jus' excited 'bout bein' this close to New York City.”

Eden Pomeroy let out a breath, like she wanted to believe what Cassie was saying but was too suspicious at too deep a level to let herself do that. “The boss says all right, you hired. Two dollars a day.”

“Yessum.”

“You say anythin' else sides ‘yessum'?”

Cassie looked back at the big room and at Iris and Bethesda, who were watching from a distance as though they could read lips. “You know anyplace got rooms for rent?”

“For who? You? Or you an' that white gal.”

She wasn't sure what to say.

Eden Pomeroy studied her for a long, uncomfortable minute. “Damn,” she said. “That girl's got your eyes. She got your mouth. You sisters?” She didn't wait for Cassie to answer. “You sisters. Does
she
know you sisters?”

“Ever'body in town knows.”

“This world, this world.” She angled her head at some point past the washing machines and dryers. “There's a storeroom where I stay in the winter when the weather's bad. There's a bed in there and a bathroom down the hall. You can have that.”

“Both of us together?”

“Yes, gal, both of y'all together.”

*   *   *

At six that evening, Cassie found Judith across the street from the hotel in her gray maid uniform, looking at the mannequins in the window of a fancy dress shop. Eden Pomeroy had given Cassie a uniform too, but it was such a depressing piece of clothing that Cassie had washed and ironed it and hung it so as to put off wearing it until the next day. On Judith, the gray drabness of the uniform made the dresses in the window seem even more exotic and out of reach. They were sleek and modern, close-fitting in shades of blue, each outfit with a matching but insubstantial hat.

“You sing like a chicken,” Cassie said to her. “And you cain't afford none of those clothes.”

“You got work?”

“I got work.”

“I got work too. What they payin' you?”

Cassie showed her the two dollars she had earned for the day.

“Me too,” said Judith. “Strange, though.”

“What's strange?”

“I thought they'd pay you more'n me.”

Cassie had been thinking just the opposite.

“'Cause you got experience.” Judith turned to stare at the dresses again. “He ain't on the second floor.”

“What?”

“Daddy. He ain't on the second floor. That's where they was showing me how they wants the beds made an' such. They showed me a buncha rooms. You know this a res'dential hotel? People live here. They got their pichers on the walls, little kids with toys all over. They got their dogs and cats! I din't see nuthin' of his.”

“He's here. For sure?”

“He is,” said Judith. “I asked.”

“You tell 'em he your daddy?”

“I ain't a idjit,” said Judith. “I asked about weren't there a big estate goin' up for auction 'cause of some rich man round here died.”

“And?”

“Well, the girl who was showin' me round looked real surprised, like how'd I know 'bout that, but she said there's a big to-do, and it been in the papers how the Forrest fam'ly fightin' over who gits what. She said las' fall relatives was comin' into town from all over.”

“Las' fall? They
all
still here?”

“I din't ask,” said Judith. “The Forrest fam'ly. Never knew there was that many Forrests. It must be the same ever'where when it come to progeny, like Miz Tabitha back home. Ever'body want their share.” She turned away from the window. “Let's go find 'im.”

“Right now?”

“He's spendin' our inher'tince ever' passin' minnit,” said Judith. “We got to get some 'fore it completely gone.”

Since they couldn't search the hotel for Bill Forrest in their street clothes, they stopped in the laundry for Cassie's uniform. She took Judith to the storeroom Eden had shown her and changed there.

Judith surveyed the room. There was a bed covered with a clean throw and a mirror on the wall. A lightbulb hung from a cord in the middle of the ceiling, tented with parchment paper from the kitchen. The walls were thin enough to let in the heat and the rolling thrum of washers and dryers.

“We kin stay here?” said Judith. “Both of us together?”

“That's what she said.”

“They gonna charge us?”

“I don't think so.”

“I bet they do. You too innocent. People look at you and think,
Well, there's a ignorant Negro from somewheres south. I bet I can soak her
. You gotta learn to say, ‘What's this gonna cost me?'”

Cassie wiped her forehead. She was hungry, and the heat in the laundry had left her with a layer of grit on her skin. What she really wanted was a decent dinner and a tub full of cool water, but Judith was in too much of a hurry.

Judith took a moment to pat at her hair in the mirror. “I'm ready,” she said.

She already seemed to know the hidden passages for the service staff, and they went up the back stairs to the lobby. They stood by the service door for a moment, flanked by potted palms. In the lobby, framed by a pair of glass doors, a desk clerk with a pencil behind his ear handed out keys and mail from a bank of wooden pigeonholes. Outside, it was early evening. The streetlights had come on, casting a yellow glow over the Veranda's marble porch.

“You see 'im?” said Cassie.

“Nope,” said Judith. “Maybe he in the salon.”

Cassie followed Judith around the corner, where the marble floor of the lobby ended and the thick rugs of the salon began.

The salon was the biggest room Cassie had ever seen. Dark wooden beams in the high ceiling gave the room a gloomy graciousness. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling, draped with green velvet curtains. Sofas and soft chairs were arranged around little tables, where people read newspapers and smoked cigarettes. Two big chandeliers, each missing a noticeable number of lightbulbs, made the flocked green velvet wallpaper look faded and the leather furniture dull. Smoke caught in the lamplight, diffusing it into a layer of golden haze. The salon made Cassie think of the elephant in Richmond, big and old and a little dirtier than it ought to be.

Judith poked Cassie in the side. There was Bill Forrest, sitting, reading a newspaper. He, too, was smoking, a pipe, not a cigarette. Smoke curled over the top of the newspaper and made a little cloud.

“That's a new jacket,” hissed Judith. “An' lookit them shoes. An' a
pipe
?” She let out a kind of growl. “Oh, I shore as hail hope he ain't spent my entire inher'tince already.”

Bill Forrest shifted in the chair, crossing his legs, checking the clock. He folded the paper, tapped out his pipe, and glanced expectantly at the elevator at the far end of the salon. The elevator made a sharp
ding
, the doors opened, and a thin, elderly woman with a cane came out. She was dressed all in black, including a thin veil that covered her face, as though she were in mourning.

He stood up as she came across the room.

“Good evenin', Miz Eula,” he said, so loudly that everyone looked up.

“That mus' be Eula Bonhomme,” whispered Cassie. “The one who wrote to your momma.”

Eula Bonhomme extended her gloved knuckles for Bill Forrest to kiss. “How are you this evening, suh?”

“Jus fine, ma'am, and you?”

“As well as can be expected.” Her voice was faint and papery. She fanned herself feebly with her fingers. “My heavens, I feel I've had one foot in the grave all day.”

“I kin gitcha glassa water,” said Bill.

“No, no thank you. I've just come down to get my mail.”

“You set down right there,” said Bill. “I'll git it for you.”

Eula Bonhomme lowered herself to the edge of a leather sofa, stiff as a dry branch. Bill Forrest strode across the salon, right past Cassie and Judith, heading for the lobby and the desk clerk. He passed close enough to leave a trail of aftershave. Cassie could have touched his sleeve. He looked neither left nor right. He shouldered through the guests waiting for the clerk and rapped on the front desk with his pipe.

“Miz Eula Bonhomme's mail,” he said in a very loud voice. “Room 414.”

The clerk checked the pigeonholes with the kind of indifference that made it seem like this happened every day.

“Nothin', suh.”

“You certain?”

“Certain, suh.”

Bill turned and marched back to Eula Bonhomme, and this time Cassie was sure he would see them. He didn't. He sat next to Miz Bonhomme and spoke in a low voice. She put her hand to her forehead as though she felt faint. He helped her to her feet and walked her to the elevator. They both got on, and the doors closed like a curtain. In a moment, the lights above the elevator door stopped at the fourth floor.

Judith turned to Cassie with her face an expression of pure disgust. “Oh, he's a rat, jus' like Momma said he was. Oh, he's jus' a
rat
.”

They took the stairs with no clear idea of what to do when they found Miz Bonhomme's room, what they would say if Bill was there—or how to explain themselves if he wasn't.

They arrived panting on the fourth floor. Judith made a beeline to the linen closet and took out a stack of towels.

“You better put those back,” said Cassie. “What if someone sees you takin' 'em?”

“This what a maid does inna hotel,” said Judith. “You bring clean towels to each room, ever'day, and you takes th' old towels to the laundry whether they dirty or not.”

“You mean we washin'
clean
towels?”

“That's what they tol' me this mornin. Come on.”

Cassie followed her down the hall, watching the numbers on the doors, which were even on one side and odd on the other. Miz Bonhomme's room was on the right.

Judith pressed her ear to the door.

“What're you
doing
?” whispered Cassie.

“I just wanna know if he's in there.” Judith listened another moment. “He ain't.”

“Course he ain't. She's proper.”

Judith put her hand on the doorknob, but Cassie caught her wrist. “What if this isn't a good idea? What if she think we're thieves?”

“We practically her relatives.”

“We got nuthin' that says who we are.”

“We got her letter.”

“You got her letter?”

Judith took her hand off the doorknob. “Don't you?”

“I ain't seen it since we was at the Glades'.”

Judith switched the towels to her other arm. “Was it in the car?”

“It don't matter where it
was
if we don't have it
now
.”

“Well, we got the words in her letter anyway.”

“She's old,” said Cassie. “What if she can't remember what she wrote?”

“Well, we ain't lost nuthin' till she say
no
. An' even if she does, we ain't no worse off. Ain't that right?” She patted Cassie's cheek. “You got to have a little more conf'dence,” and before Cassie could say anything else, she rapped on the door. “Maid with th' towels heah, ma'am!”

There was a rustling behind the door. It opened, and Eula Bonhomme peered out. She was even older so close. Her hair hung in a long braid, iron colored, with the unsilky look of a horse's mane. Her eyes were black, sharp over high cheekbones and a narrow, suspicious mouth.

“More towels already? Put them in the powder room.”

Cassie followed Judith in. The room was spare and dim. The bed was neatly made. There was a kitchenette with a sink, a refrigerator, and a hotplate. Opposite the bed, ancient pictures of an ancient family hung behind the armchair where Miz Eula had been sitting, reading by lamplight. She eased herself back into the armchair while Judith puttered in the bathroom.

Cassie stood in the middle of the room, realizing that she had no duty to perform.

Miz Eula picked up a leather-bound book from a side table, opened to the middle, and marked the place with a piece of ribbon. “You're new,” she said. “You both are.”

“Yessum,” said Cassie.

Judith emerged from the bathroom, and Miz Eula raised an eyebrow. “I didn't know Mrs. Pomeroy hired white girls for the laundry.”

“We been doing laundry together since we was little,” said Judith, stretching the truth yet again. “We sisters.”

Miz Eula examined Judith. “Most young women in your position would have the sense to pass for white.”

“Ma'am,” said Judith, “I am white. Cassie an' me, we got diff'rent mommas but the same daddy.”

Miz Eula smiled faintly. “I'm sure it's most interesting,” she said, “and sadly, far too common, but you must have other things to do this evening besides explaining yourselves to me.”

“Ma'am,” said Cassie, because there was no stopping now, “our daddy's name is Bill Forrest.”

Miz Eula put the book in her lap. “William Forrest.”

“You wrote a letter to my momma,” said Judith. “You said there was a inher'tince. You said I was
progeny
.”

“I recall the letter.” Miz Eula looked at Cassie, piercingly this time. “And what are you?”