Blanche Among the Talented Tenth (Blanche White series Book 2) Page 8

  Mattie’s eyes followed Blanche’s gaze. “Isn’t she remarkable? Tina the Magnificent. The younger man is her beau. Durant Tatterson, Martin and Veronica’s only son.”

  “Tina the Magnificent is the perfect name for her. But his parents don’t look impressed.”

  Mattie chuckled. “Oh they’re impressed, all right. They’re in shock.” Mattie gave Blanche a sidelong glance. “You can guess why.”

  Blanche didn’t need to guess. Poor child, she thought. She wondered how soon after the first baby was born of the rape of a black woman by a white man did some slaver decide that light-skinned slaves were smarter and better by virtue of white blood? And how long after that had some black people decided to take advantage of that myth?

  Mattie dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Well, as interesting as this little drama may be, I promised my agent a phone chat about my next book before she meets with the publisher tomorrow. My phone is likely ringing away right now.”

  Mattie had hardly left before Martin and his wife finished their meal, rose, and left Tina and her young man at the table. The young man looked after them, then at Tina, then at his parents again. He said something to Tina and hurried after his parents. Tina watched him for a moment, then rose, and headed for the breakfast buffet. She put some things on a tray and looked around as though she needed a seat, other than at the Tatterson table. Without thinking about it, Blanche beckoned to her and pushed Mattie’s plate to the side. “No one’s sitting here,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Tina held a tray with two peaches, an orange, and a glass of iced tea.

  “I’m Blanche White.”

  “Tina Jackson.” She smiled a tight little lips-only smile and sat down. She picked up her orange.

  “What happened to your friend?”

  Tina shrugged and tore the orange apart as though she hated it. Blanche watched and waited.

  “He told me his parents need time to get used to me, like I’m a freak or something!” The words exploded out of her in a voice just below a shout. She noticed people looking in their direction and lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t have come if he’d told me they were here. I don’t know why I agreed to come here anyway! Everyone knows about the light-bright preference at this place. They only want you if you’re…” She blinked back tears.

  Blanche reached over and grasped Tina’s wrist. She gave it a strong squeeze and let it go. “It don’t have nothing to do with you honey, they don’t even know you. Don’t take it personally.”

  Blanche watched Tina consider this advice.

  “Really, it ain’t about us,” she told the young woman. She thought about Veronica and her hair products. She was tempted to tell Tin about the incident, but it was only adding kerosene to a fire ready to burn the place down. “It’s about them,” Blanche added. “They hate themselves more than they hate us, I think.”

  Tina tore her orange into sections. “Yeah. I know. But it makes me so mad! I just wanted to grab them by the throat and squeeze.”

  “And Mattie thinks there’s something wrong with young black women today!” Blanche laughed.

  Tina’s face lit up. “That really was her? I thought it was, but I didn’t want to stare. When I first saw her, I wanted to just walk right up and hug her! I mean, she’s like a living treasure, like a walking shrine! Her book really changed my life.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, I guess I really hadn’t thought about what kind of person, not woman, but person, I wanted to be until I read her book. She made me see that a lot of what we’re told makes a good woman is not what makes you a good person. You know what I mean?”

  Blanche nodded. “Yeah, I know, like be quiet and sweet and don’t talk back. I wish Mattie’s book had been around when I was your age!” Blanche finished her tea. “I promise I’ll introduce you, but you’ve got to promise me you won’t crush the woman to death.”

  Durant Tatterson climbed the steps from the grounds and looked around until he spotted Tina.

  “Have you met Blanche White?” Tina asked him when he approached. Her voice was high and tight.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Durant shook Blanche’s hand and nodded before turning to Tina.

  He had an average build, slim and not too tall; a nice face, all the features in balance, nothing stood out. Harmless as chocolate milk, she thought. At Tina’s age she’d liked the boys her mama warned her against—the ones who looked at you like they knew what you dreamed last night.

  “Tina, could we talk, please?” Durant asked.

  “No.” Tina abandoned her orange, and bit down hard into a peach. She stared straight ahead.

  Blanche was suddenly absorbed in the last bit of toast on her plate. She willed Durant to sit down in the empty chair across from her and pretend she didn’t exist.

  “We have to talk, Tina. It doesn’t make any sense to…”

  “Nothing about this makes any sense, Durant! You never should have tricked me into meeting them. You never…”

  “It was the only way! You’re as bad as they are!”

  “Don’t put me in the same category as your color-struck parents.”

  Durant groaned and sank into the chair across from Blanche. Blanche knew she should leave but had no intention of doing so.

  “I’m sorry, Durant. It’s not your fault your parents don’t like dark-skinned people. But none of this would have happened if you’d been honest with me. I’m leaving tomorrow morning and that’s that.” Tina rose, grabbed her remaining peach, and ran across the terrace.

  Durant’s polite, “Excuse me, please,” and his, “It was very nice to have met you,” directed at Blanche, were nearly swallowed as he pushed his chair back and ran after Tina. She headed across the lawn toward the beach. Durant ran down the terrace steps. When he reached the grounds, he was intercepted by his father. He placed his hand on Durant’s shoulder and spoke to him. Durant shook off his father’s hand. As Durant turned away, his father reached out with a gesture that reminded Blanche of a mother trying to stop a toddler from falling. Durant looked at his father, but kept walking toward Tina. Martin slowly dropped his arm. His face was naked with a pain half the parents in the world knew well. It told her more about the man than anything he was ever likely to say. Only the cause of his particular parental grief kept Blanche for feeling any sympathy for him. Martin watched his son for a few moments.

  Blanche suspected Durant would be very lucky to keep his fiery girlfriend and wondered if it would be as lucky for Tina.

  “Mama Blanche! Mama Blanche!” Malik came barreling up the stairs from the lawn. Even though she’d felt him running toward her before she saw him, he nearly knocked her off her chair, his strong, young arms hugging her hard.

  “Did you miss me, Mama Blanche? Did you?”

  “You know I did, sweetie.” She held her other arm out to Taifa whose lips were trying to smile while a frown was forming on her forehead. Blanche wasn’t surprised. Half the time Taifa acted as though Blanche could do no wrong. The other half the time she treated Blanche with a disdain that bordered on pity and made Blanche’s head throb. Taifa was at an age when it was normal to want some distance between herself and her parent. What worried Blanche was the basis for that distance. That’s where she thought the school came in. Instead of Taifa dismissing her for being old fashioned and not hip enough or whatever the new word was, Blanche felt Taifa looking down her nose at Blanche’s world and therefore at Blanche.

  “What’s the matter, Miz T?” They were on their way to the Crowleys’ cabin so Blanche could pay her respects. Malik had run on ahead. “You mad about something?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mama Blanche. I’m not mad about anything. Honest.” Taifa stopped to scratch her ankle.

  Blanche gave the girl a long, level look. Labor pains and breast milk. If she’d done twenty-four hours of the former and provided the latter,
would Taifa be less likely to lie to her? She had only to remember her own girlhood and the hell she’d made of her mother’s life to know the answer. Under Blanche’s unwavering glance, Taifa developed a serious interest in the scenery. “It’s pretty here, don’t you think?”

  “It sure is. It’s a great place to think. I’m glad I came up a day early. I found a perfect place to do some ritual cleansing, too.”

  Taifa didn’t respond. They’d already had many lengthy conversations on the issue of Blanche’s unorthodox spiritual practices. The major problem, as far as Blanche could figure it out, was that the child was afraid her friends would think it weird.

  “Time to think about what?” Taifa asked.

  The question made Blanche stop and take a serious look at Taifa’s tall, leggy body, with its just-budding breasts. The girl’s big, dark eyes didn’t waver from Blanche’s face. Blanche approved. The girl was no wimp. She whined sometimes, but she was a scrapper, like all the women in the family.

  “Oh, what’s going on in my life, what’s going on in your life, what I need to do to grow up to be the woman I want to be and to help you and Malik be the best people you can.”

  Taifa gave her a puzzled look. “But you are grown up!”

  “Only in a manner of speaking. I don’t think any of us is ever all grown up. No matter how old we get, life’s always got a lesson for you. Most likely one you’ve learned ten times before,” she chuckled. “That’s all growing up means, you know, acting like you know what you’ve learned.”

  Taifa didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about Blanche’s definition of adulthood. She brightened as she provided her own: “And making lots of money, and having your own apartment and a nice car and going on vacations and to parties and stuff, and having boyfriends and maybe a baby. That’s part of being grown up, too, isn’t it?”

  Blanche could feel Taifa champing at the bit to get to her tomorrows. She wished she could convince the child to take her time. She noticed that marriage wasn’t included in Taifa’s litany of adulthood markers. She wondered how much her own suspicion of the institution had to do with that. Probably not a lot. Given the items Taifa had included, there was no reason for Blanche to believe she’d had any influence on the girl’s fantasy future whatsoever.

  “I’m glad to see you, Mama Blanche. I really am.” Taifa’s eyes and voice were anxious for Blanche to believe her.

  Blanche touched the child’s shoulder. “Likewise, honey, likewise.”

  Taifa took Blanche’s hand. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  “Blanche! Welcome! Good to see you!” David Crowley’s round, smooth-cheeked face beamed at her. He gave her a one-armed hug and a peck on the cheek. His usual high-yellow coloring had been bronzed by the sun.

  Christine Crowley came out onto the porch. “How are you?” The two women hugged. Blanche was once again struck by how much Christine and David looked alike—same coloring, same fresh, round faces.

  “Arthur left us a strange note. Not very informative. Just that Faith Brown who has a place here had had a fatal accident. Have you heard anything?”

  Blanche told them what she’d heard. Neither Christine nor David spoke. Blanche wondered if they, like Hank and Carol, had reason to be glad Faith was dead. “You’re not the only ones who didn’t like her,” she said.

  Christine laughed an embarrassed laugh. “It’s true. We don’t know how to respond to the death of people we’re supposed to like. You’d think as doctors we’d have a ready-made response to death.”

  “What do you mean, ‘supposed to like?’ ”

  “Oh, you know, Blanche. Someone you grew up around, who attended the same weddings and dinner parties. Someone who’s in your set, even though you might wish otherwise.”

  It was the third time someone had used the word “set” in trying to explain the relationships among people here. It was a word Blanche associated with exclusive clubs and people who put on airs.

  “The irony of it is that it couldn’t have happened if she hadn’t refused to rewire when everyone else did,” David said. “Well, at least we should show some sympathy for poor Al J.,” he added.

  The three of them exchanged glances, then burst out laughing.

  “Maybe he loved her.” Blanche suggested.

  “Well, he’d have had to, wouldn’t he?” Christine countered.

  Blanche and Christine laughed.

  “He once told me he was addicted to her.” David gave Christine a look so deep and intimate, Blanche looked away.

  Christine ignored David’s remark. “Taifa and Malik haven’t been a bit of trouble,” she said. “I wish Casey and Deirdre were so well behaved,” she added.

  Blanche didn’t think she’d ever heard Christine or David refer to one of their children as “my child.” Blanche took it as a sign of the high quality of their shared parenting.

  “Hey, you two!” Blanche turned to Deirdre and Casey Crowley. They both had their parents’ coloring and round-faced cuteness, as well as Christine’s delicate hands. They were a good match for Taifa and Malik. Casey added some spice to Malik’s good-boyness. Deirdre was more serious about her schoolwork than Taifa, but Taifa was competitive enough to try to keep up with her friend. Casey and Deirdre smacked loud kisses on Blanche’s cheeks before they ran off with Taifa and Malik toward the sparsely wooded area beyond the cottage.

  The adults settled on the porch around a drinks caddy. David fixed Blanche’s gin and tonic as though he did this every day. It was flattering to be remembered. As usual, Blanche was aware of the everydayness of the vibes she got from them. Somehow Christine and David managed to be just folks, even though she knew they both came from money. That dose of arrogance that so often went with privilege, and was almost a must for doctors, seemed to be missing in them. They brought their kids to the Kwanzaa celebrations in Roxbury—Boston’s major black community and Blanche’s current community as well. They both gave time to the community health clinics and exercised at the Roxbury YMCA instead of some posh health club. Still, she would not likely be on friend terms with a pair of doctors if their kids didn’t go to the same school.

  David wanted to know how she was adjusting to Boston and agreed when she told him it was likely the most racist city in which she’d ever lived. Christine questioned her about who she was working for now and how she was being treated which segued into Christine’s complaints about the arrogance of the medical director of pediatrics at Boston General Hospital. Listening to Christine and David talk about the need for the residents and interns to join the union, they could have been a waitress and a truck driver, or a schoolteacher and a postal worker, or any other combination of competent hard-working colored folk who believed in the race and felt some responsibility to move it, and therefore themselves, forward. She wondered what their mamas and daddies had taught them about being a well-off black person in a world of poor blacks that made it possible for them to remain connected in a way she doubted any of the other Insiders were. The three of them talked about the children, the sea, the weather, and the state of the economy. They agreed the so-called UN peace mission in Somalia was creating more problems than it solved; shook their heads at the thought of US troops on African soil; and worried about what the New World Order was going to mean to black and brown people around the world. All of which led them to appreciating how fortunate they were to be in this beautiful place for a little while. In the small silence that followed, Blanche was aware of holding two conversations: David and Christine were both talking to her, but had hardly said a word to each other. She looked at them over the top of her glass. What was up?

  “Who’ve you met?” Christine fished an ice cube from her glass and chewed it with perfect teeth.

  Blanche began with Mattie Harris.

  “She’s wonderful, isn’t she? She’s exactly what I’d like to be when I’m an eighty-year-old matriarch!” Christine’
s voice had the same hint of reverence Blanche had heard in Glenda’s and Tina’s voices.

  “Do you know her well?”

  “Not really. My parents gave a lot of cocktail parties and clambakes for the Amber Cove crowd. Mattie came to many of them, and, of course, we visited. I remember Mattie as being very still, as if she were waiting for something. I was always sneaking peeks at her. I was fascinated by that stillness. A part of me probably hoped to catch her fidgeting or scratching or something. I was that kind of kid.”

  “Yeah,” David added. “Mattie was cool. You know, kind of with us but not of us? I once heard my mother say that Mattie put on a lot of airs for an ugly shapeless girl whose only accomplishment was hooking Carlton Syms.” David shook his head, “Poor mama, she really got it wrong that time!”

  “You mean because of her books?”

  “Not just her books, Blanche.” Christine’s eyes gleamed with glee. “Some of Carlton Syms’s most important and celebrated essays, both on education and social justice, are actually based on Mattie’s work. That’s what it says in a new book out about Mattie’s influence on the feminist movement.” Christine gave Blanche that especially joyous, triumphant, and knowing look women exchange when one of their sisters beats the boys at one of their games.