The House of Eve (32)
Still, I hadn’t told Nene about Leap touching me because I was ashamed that I had allowed it to get that far. Knowing Inez, she hadn’t told either, seeing as how she took Leap’s word over mine. If my mother had only cared enough about my future to make sure I had carfare each week, none of this would have happened. But with two kids gone from the program I was still in position, and I needed to wear stockings to show the people in charge that I was professional and that I would represent them well.
Aunt Marie’s noes usually meant no. But I remained persistent, promising her everything under the moon if she would just say yes. I left pictures of nylons that I had cut out of Jet magazine on her nightstand before I went to bed.
The next day was Saturday, and Aunt Marie woke me up with a glass of tomato juice. “Go and put something nice on so I can take you downtown.”
She had finally acquiesced, and I leaped up and kissed her on the cheek.
“Doing this for you, sweetness. Lord knows I hate interacting with those siddity folks downtown.”
I dressed carefully, in my best box-pleated skirt with a seafoam-colored blouse that I tied at my waist. I wondered if Shimmy would notice when I wore my sleek new nylons. Our time together had become the highlight of my weeks, and when we weren’t sneaking around in dark parking lots listening to music and eating chocolate, I was thinking about being near him, feeling the stubble on his chin. His warm breath against my earlobe, and his slick hands exploring under my blouse.
Our conversations flowed, and I never tired of hearing stories about his family. In comparison to me, even with his father’s drinking, Shimmy was living a storybook life with both of his parents under one roof, and two younger siblings who seemed to adore him. In the front seat of their fine car, he would entertain me with tales about visiting his aunts and uncles in Brooklyn, cracking me up with his imitation of their accent by stretching his syllables with a high voice, and then dropping them down low at the end.
I marveled at his descriptions of skyscrapers, of going through the Holland Tunnel, driving through Chinatown, crossing the Williamsburg Bridge with its steel towers into Brooklyn, where the cultural patchwork of Irish, Italian and Jewish immigrants lived within blocks of each other. The farthest I had ever traveled was down to Atlantic City.
“Ready?” Aunt Marie sauntered into the living room, interrupting my thoughts.
When I looked at her, I gasped. “You look…”
“Like a woman? It’s my costume among them highfalutin white people.” She struck a pose, and I couldn’t stop gawking at her flowy skirt and frilly, powder-pink blouse. She closed her tube of lipstick and dropped it into a tobacco-brown handbag.
“Don’t get used to this, it’s just an act. Let’s go before my dogs start barking.” She pointed to her heeled shoes.
I was so excited about our trip to the department store that I chattered nonstop, even though I could tell by the pinched expression on her face that Aunt Marie wasn’t listening to a word I said.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her as the bus rounded city hall, giving way to the row of fancy boutiques and department stores. There was Gimbels on the left and Wanamaker’s on the right. Woolworth took up the entire corner.
“Nothing,” she said, reaching up to pull the stop cord to halt the bus. On the street, crowds of people were moving to and fro. Most of the men were dressed in dark business suits and porkpie hats. The women had shiny blonde or brown hair and were dressed in jackets stuffed high with shoulder pads in shades of green, blue, brown and red. Pleated skirts ruffled around their knees as they clutched scalloped purses that matched their colorful gloves. I followed Aunt Marie two blocks, assuming we were going into Wanamaker’s, but she kept on marching until we reached the five-and-dime.
“What happened to the department store?”
“Maybe for your birthday,” she said.
My elbows slumped against my waist.
“Cheaper for the same thing. ’Sides those uppity salesladies don’t know how to treat us. Ain’t got time to be arrested for sucker punching a white woman today.”
At that moment, I realized she was doing more for me than my own mother. This whole trip downtown took Aunt Marie out of her safe space. The costume she wore was just that, and she had done it all for me on a Saturday morning when she could have been resting up for her long night at Kiki’s. As the light changed and we stepped down off the curb, I laced my arm through hers and squeezed.
“Five-and-dime is perfect,” I said, putting on a smile. “Thank you.”
She patted my hand. “After we get you those stockings, we can walk through Gimbels, so you can see all those pretty displays.”
That perked me up. I would at least get to witness what the fuss was about. The five-and-dime was on the corner of the next block, and we went in and rode the escalator upstairs to the second floor. The women’s brassieres, step-ins, girdles and all-in-one corselettes were tucked away in the back corner along with the nylon display case. A toffee-colored woman stood behind the counter and pointed out all my choices. My head spun. It was a much more confusing process than I had imagined. To fit into the right pair, I needed to figure my proportion and the denier, decide on the color and if I wanted seam or no seam, reinforced heel and toe or sandal foot, knit or mesh. Aunt Marie had wandered off, leaving me alone with my choices.
“What would you suggest, ma’am?”