Blanche Among the Talented Tenth (Blanche White series Book 2) Read online

  “If you’ve met Mattie, then you must have met Carol and Hank,” David said.

  “I like Carol.” Christine poured more seltzer in her glass. “She’s so real. She was probably one of those kids who told the other kids there’s no Santa Claus and that our parents still like having sex, even though it had already served its ultimate purpose of producing us.”

  “She used to be a dancer on the West Coast, you know.” David was munching nuts between words. “Seattle, wasn’t it, Chrissy? Had an auto accident that ended her career. I think that’s why she came east and opened the dance school. You know the one I mean. In Brookline. Deirdre and Casey take lessons there.”

  Blanche knew about the school. She and Taifa had had a number of go-rounds on the subject of why Taifa couldn’t take lessons there instead of at the Dance Institute of Roxbury. Taifa said Blanche was too mean to send her. Blanche kept trying to explain to Taifa about the differences including, but not exclusively, cost. She was more and more concerned by Taifa’s refusal or inability to understand.

  “What about Hank?” Blanche looked from Christine to David.

  “Hank’s OK,” David told her in the uninformative, slightly defensive tone that men use to protect a brother from scrutiny, especially one they, themselves, teased or put down in some way. Blanche and Christine smiled at each other.

  Blanche felt no temptation to tell them about the conversation she’d overheard between Carol and Hank.

  “Hank’s a watcher, like you,” Christine smiled affectionately at Blanche. “But he doesn’t just see everything, he feels it, too. A dangerous way to live.”

  “He seemed kinda far away, I thought.”

  “Ummhum, I know what you mean. I’ve felt that from him sometimes, too. I wonder if that’s his way of protecting himself. He has no emotional immune system, you know what I mean?”

  Blanche nodded. “Thin-skinned,” she said.

  “That’s right. I know Carol’s been worried. There was a big mess about his last promotion. The usual situation: The white males own the place and are determined to keep it that way. They used the usual argument, accused him of only being considered for a promotion because the University needs to fill its affirmative action quota. Sure it’s tired,” she said in response to Blanche’s expression. “But it still works on some of us, although it’s hard to understand why. Especially in Hank’s case. He graduated first in his class in every school he ever attended. People who know say his research and his teaching are both top-notch. Still, he was always kind of uncertain and shy and…Once he tried to…I know Carol’s been worried about him being so depressed by all this. He was in a very bad way for awhile.”

  Now Blanche knew what Carol had meant about the white boys having Hank on the run, and why Carol’s body language had disagreed with Mattie’s insistence that Hank was fine. She also understood what Hank meant about his coat being too big. Poor man. To let yourself be jerked around when you, yourself, were Dr. Big Dome was too sad. She thought about what Mattie had said about males and romanticism and wondered how many black women professors were out there falling for that affirmative-action-got-you-the-job bullshit. By the time a sister got that far, it ought to be pretty hard to convince her she wasn’t worthy of the prize.

  “Hank’s OK,” David announced. “He just needs some toughening up.”

  “Have you met the Tattersons yet?” Christine wanted to know.

  “Not exactly, met,” Blanche told her, “But we have come to each others’ attention. And I saw them with their son and his girlfriend at breakfast.”

  “I just bet you came to their attention,” David hooted. “Martin and Veronica are a couple of throwbacks.”

  “I Just wish they were that rare,” Blanche told him. “But it seems to me I been running into one version or another of Veronica and Martin all of my life.”

  David shook his head. “I guess I just want to believe most of us have gotten over color prejudice.”

  Blanche laughed. “Not as long as blue-eyed blondes are the flavor of the month. Ain’t like we’re in this alone.”

  “That’s true enough,” he agreed. “Chrissy, remember Monica Shapiro, in med school? She used to moan about her mother always being after her to get a blue-eyed, blond doctor boyfriend?”

  Christine turned to Blanche. “She found one, too. They got married. After about five years, she got tired of the beatings and left him.” Christine extended her palm to Blanche who slapped it and laughed.

  “Meet any Outsiders?”

  Blanche told them about Linda and Gabriel.

  “Oh yes, Faith’s victim. We were there the night Faith was so awful to her.” She shook her head in dismay. “I never understood the woman, I must admit. She seemed mean for the hell of it, as opposed to because of something that might have happened to her.”

  “Who else have you met?” David asked.

  “Stu.”

  David sat forward in his chair. “And?”

  “And nothing,” Blanche told him. We met. We danced.” She didn't mention Tuesday.”

  For one of the few times since she’d been there, Christine and David shot each other a look.

  “I think he’s fine,” Christine said. “I always did.” She gave Blanche a speculative look. “And one of the few single black men around here.”

  “That must make the local ladies happy,” Blanche decided to end the conversation before it went any further.

  She set her empty glass on the caddy and rose. “I didn’t come to stay. I only wanted to holler at you. I think I’ll walk the monkeys into the village. You two could probably use some child-free hours.” Or maybe not, she thought in response to the look that passed between them.

  The children were playing tag ball on the lawn. The girls were the quickest—ducking and twisting, leaping just in time to avoid being hit by the ball. In a year or so, they’d consider themselves too grown for such a game with their little brothers. Now they all shrieked for the joy of making noise. The four of them could have been cousins, they were so close in looks and color—reddish with sandy hair and light brown eyes. In Taifa’s and Malik’s case, inherited from their Geechee father. The ball caught Casey on the ankle. He picked it up and threw it toward Malik.

  “Mama Blanche!” Malik kicked the ball back to Casey and ran toward her. Casey was close behind him. Blanche walked out to meet him and, despite her better judgment, gave him a smacking wet kiss on the cheek, which he accepted with an “Ah, Mama.” He smelled of sweat and milk and boy.

  “Oh, isn’t he the sweetest baby,” Casey teased. Malik pounced on him.

  The girls strolled toward Blanche with more decorum.

  “Hello my beauties.”

  They looked at each other and grinned.

  “What happened to Mrs. Brown?” Taifa wanted to know. Deirdre nudged her in the ribs and gave her a nervous look.

  “She died.”

  “From what?” Taifa asked.

  Blanche was glad Taifa knew she’d get nowhere with her by beating around the bush. “She was in the bathtub. Her radio fell in the tub and she was electrocuted.”

  For a few moments, the children were silent. Blanche steeled herself for questions about death.

  Deirdre turned to Taifa. “Water conducts electricity.”

  Taifa nodded in agreement. “Just like science class.” They looked at each other as though Faith’s death proved that their teachers really knew what they were talking about.

  “Are we going to the funeral?” Malik wanted to know.

  Blanche shook her head in the negative and remembered what it felt like to be old enough to know that everyone must die, yet young enough to expect to live forever. They likely thought anyone Faith’s age was dead even if she was breathing.

  “She told us she was going to bake something special for us today,” Malik said.

 
“Faith?”

  “She gave us cookies,” Casey added.

  “She made them for us,” Malik told her. “She said she always wanted two little boys like us.”

  Taifa poked Deirdre with her elbow. “She never gave us anything, did she, Dee?”

  Deirdre shook her head vehemently. “She didn’t even talk to us. I don’t think she liked girls. Some people are like that.”

  The children all nodded as though they knew exactly why this was—doing that trick of suddenly dropping their childness to become not adults, but their core selves, the persons they were now and would always be, no matter how long they lived.

  Deirdre sighed. “Well, at least she didn’t have any little boys who wouldn’t have a mother now.”

  Reassured by this knowledge, they abandoned their ball and raced down the beach past people lounging on the lawn, past the tennis courts, beyond the Inn, and on toward the small village. Casey’s shrill, “I won! I won!” was quickly followed by a chorus of “No you didn’t!” Their voices flew by her on the back of the wind. Blanche turned her face to the sun. Lord! That felt good. She could feel the heat penetrating to her marrow. Oh yes, this was just what she needed. No sirens or car radios, no belching busses, no superfast city pace. The clear air, the deep-green pines and blue, blue sea came together in a scene so perfect there were no words for it. She nearly skipped the rest of the way to the village.

  The boys tugged her toward the crafts shop, the girls toward the ice cream parlor. Blanche dug in her pockets and gave them all some spending money, then decided to follow the girls into the ice cream parlor.

  She had to be quick not to be caught with her mouth hanging open. She remembered that Stu’s dad had been the pharmacist here, but she’d somehow got the impression that although Stu was from here, he was presently a guest at the Inn. Now she waved to him as though she’d expected to see him here—behind a soda fountain, wearing a white apron and one of those submarine-shaped hats. She was glad he was a man who worked with his hands. The two girls preceded her to the counter.

  Was it having a little money, being in town or perhaps the looks of the man behind the soda fountain tipping his hat to them that caused two perfectly normal loud and raucous little girls, to become silly little prissies? Granted, Stu had the kind of looks that could make lots of girls of all ages stand up straight. But she had a feeling these two were at the practice-your-fem-skills stage where they’d do their number for any male who tipped his hat or otherwise acted as though he thought they were cute. Taifa and Deirdre minced down the wide aisle to the old-fashioned hardwood soda fountain counter and arranged themselves on stools near the middle.

  Stu tipped his white cook’s hat even further. “Bon jour, mademoiselles. How may I serve you?” His phony French accent was accompanied by a wide smile. The two girls put their heads together, covered their mouths with their hands, and giggled. Stu drew Blanche into the game with a wink. She took a seat two down from the girls. She watched Stu tease and flatter them into repeated fits of giggles and coyly lowered lashes. Every once in a while they shot her a see-how-well-we’re-handling-him look.

  Where do we learn that shit? she wondered. She’d practiced the same moves when she was their age. Did it come with mother’s milk, this reflex to play to the guys? To massage their little egos to over-size? She’d seen girls hardly able to walk bring grown men to their knees with a well-placed “Da-da.” It’ll only bring trouble she silently yelled at the girls. No need to say it aloud. They wouldn’t understand. Not yet. Not until it was too late. Would they wonder why no one had told them? Or why they hadn’t listened? She hoped so. She hoped they’d be recruited by a bunch of nine-to-twelve-year-old black girl revolutionaries.

  Stu sliced bananas with a speed and flare that earned “ahs” from the girls, dipped ice cream and swirled whipped cream, all the while keeping up a playful banter. He was very good with his hands and with little girls. His full lips were so finely defined they seemed to be outlined. He looked up, caught her watching him, and gave her a sweet smile. Blanche sat up a little straighter and sucked in her stomach. No wonder she didn’t want to tell the girls what to do.

  “Voilà! Mademoiselle Deirdre.” He placed her concoction in front of her. “And your friend, she is?” Deirdre told him. “Et voilà! Ma petite Taifa.”

  The girls dove in. Stu came to stand before Blanche.

  “And what can I get for you, Ma’am?” No phony French accent now, only those honeyed tones that made her want to squirm. She asked him for a glass of iced tea. While his back was turned, she ordered herself to be cool. He set a tall beaded glass of dark tea with a slice of lemon and a sprig of mint floating on top in front of her.

  “Stu, I didn’t realize you…”

  “That’s the first time you’ve said my name,” he interrupted. “Say it again.”

  “Not while you’re working. I wouldn’t want you to swoon on the job.”

  Stu leaned on the counter. “I loved dancing with you.”

  They were both suddenly aware that the girls had gone completely silent. They seemed to be deep in the banana splits, but Blanche knew better. She leaned back from the counter.

  Stu began wiping the space in front of her. “So, Dave and Chrissy are back,” he said, nodding in Deirdre’s direction. “We go back a long way, you know.”

  Something about the way he said it made Blanche think he was offering David and Christine as references.

  “I first saw you when you were in your mother’s arms,” he told Deirdre. “Casey, too.” He turned his gaze back to Blanche. “I was amazed to see how they’d grown! I only came back to take over my Dad’s business last fall.” He chuckled. “Boy! We were devils, wild devils.” He looked quite pleased about it.

  Deirdre’s eyes lit up. “What kinds of devil things did you do?”

  “I remember the time we stole old man Roscoe’s dinghy.” He pointed at Deirdre. “It was your mother’s idea. She was Chrissy Fields, then, of course.”

  “What happened? Did my parents get in trouble?” Deirdre’s voice was sharp with the possibility of some leveling information from her parents’ childhood.

  He wiped the already clean counter. “Old man Roscoe wasn’t a bad sort. He didn’t tell our parents we were responsible for the hole in the dinghy, but he did make us repair it. Our parents thought it was so nice that we were voluntarily helping the old man.” They all laughed. The girls began whispering between themselves.

  “I had a great time last night.” His voice reached out and caressed her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, Blanche saw Deirdre and Taifa exchange knowing glances.

  She realized that she’d already decided to like this man, even though she was generally extra suspicious of good-looking men. And it wasn’t just horniness, or Leo. Niceness seemed to float from him like waves of cologne.

  Malik and Casey tumbled through the door. “Can we have ice cream, too?” Blanche got them cones to go.

  “By the way, the name’s Robert Stuart. Friends call me Stu,” he told Malik and Taifa.

  “My name’s Taifa.” She pointed at her brother. He’s Malik.”

  Stu shook hands with both of them. “Pleased to meet you.” He turned to Blanche. “See you.” He refused to take her money. The girls were hardly outside before they began teasing Blanche about her new boyfriend.

  “She doesn’t even know that guy, you dopes!” Malik shouted. He and Casey chased the shrieking girls toward the Inn.

  The sun seemed hotter. Blanche unfolded her Panama and put it on. Taifa skipped back to walk beside Blanche. “Mama Blanche, can I borrow your hat?”

  Blanche shook her head in the negative. “Unh-unh. I told you to pack your visor, but you wouldn’t. You said you didn’t need one.”

  “Please, Mama Blanche!”

  “No. You can walk under the trees a little further on.”

  �
�Please,” Taifa wheedled. “It can’t help you!”

  Blanche slowed almost to a stop. “What do you mean?” Her voice was quiet, cautious.

  Taifa hesitated, squirmed, twisted her fingers and then her hair. When it was clear Blanche wasn’t going to let the issue pass, the child sighed with impatience.

  “Well, you’re already dark. It doesn’t matter if you stay out in the sun.”

  Blanche’s first impulse was to look up and around. The impulse hurt her. As a child her first response had always been to look around to see who had witnessed her being called names that said black was ugly. The Tar Baby and midnight monkey taunts, were easier to fight when there were no bystanders to hear and stare and jeer. She couldn’t look at Taifa. Tears stirred behind her eyes. She fiddled with the brim of her hat, hiding behind her upraised arm, blinking and willing her tears away.

  When she was ready, Blanche reached out and took Taifa’s arm. She pulled the child to her side. She wanted them to be touching. She wanted her warm, familiar hands stroking Taifa, reminding her of the love that lay within that touch, even through the hard parts.

  “How come you’re so worried about getting darker?” Blanche was careful not to stiffen her spine or tighten her grip on Taifa’s arm.

  Despite her attempt to be nonchalant, Taifa was suddenly still in the way of a rabbit caught in the beam of a flashlight. Blanche could feel her trying to figure out what she’d done wrong. Blanche wished she could help her, make it easier for her. Blanche waited a bit longer then gave Taifa a little tickle. “Hey! Wake up! I’m talking to you!”

  Taifa sighed. “Well, you know, Mama Blanche, if you have dark skin, people laugh at you and say you smell bad and nobody wants to be your friend.” She spoke all in a rush and in a tone that implied she was only repeating what everyone knew.