Mama Carla’s eyes bug out of her head, then she splits, and I meansplits,in two. She gets to laughing so hard I think she may have a stroke. Her face turns as red and hot as a chili pepper. Watching her gets me going, then the two of us cackle like a couple of farm hens. She bends over, holding her stomach, then drops off the chair. I drop off mine, too, and we roll around on her carpet, so tickled we can’t breathe. I mean it. We laugh and laugh like it’s the last time we’ll ever do it. Until a certain sound takes away our fun. All we hear is someone clearing her throat, but we both know from whom it came.
Mama Carla and I look up from the floor and there that she-devil is, dressed fancier than I’ve ever seen her: An ivory-lace dress—showing off all her curves—and a light blue silk scarf tied loosely around her neck, little short booties on her feet. And there’s that pin again, dangling from her left bosom.
I resist the urge to scramble up off the floor, especially when I see Mama Carla taking her own sweet time.
“I hate to break up the party,” Mrs. Whitmore says. There’s a clipboard in one hand and the other is on her hip.
I put both hands on the chair and slowly pull myself up.
Mama Carla climbs back onto hers and Trudy, who usually welcomes everyone who stops by, jumps up next to Mama Carla, turns around on the edge of the chair with her curly tail pointed out straight, and growls.
“No party,” Mama Carla says with a hand squeezing Trudy’s mouth shut. “Miss Pearl just said a funny.”
“Oh? Do share.” Completely ignoring the growl, Miss Lilith tucks the clipboard in her armpit and claps her hands together. “I so love a funny.”
And the tension over Trudy, who is still growling even with her mouth shut, makes things even funnier. Before I have a stroke from thinking howwe’re going to lie our way out of this mess, Mama Carla saves us. She sucks in her cheeks, then says, “Miss Ophelia’s hearse got lost on the way to the cemetery.” Then she tee-hees all over again, like it’s the gospel truth.
Now I’ve known folks who take life too seriously, but I’ve never met anyone who can’t grin when something even a little funny is said. This woman takes the cake. She gazes at us with a blank stare. Then says, “What’s so funny about that?”
I better not look at Mama Carla. Between Trudy’s growl, Miss Whitless’s face and the undeniable truth that she was born without a funny bone, that strikes me funnier than the reason we were laughing in the first place. Out of the corner of my eye, I happen to catch sight of Mama Carla’s shoulders shaking. I know I’m in trouble, so I excuse myself and run off to the ladies’ room.
When I get back Mrs. Whitmore is in my seat. I wait for a lull in the conversation then I look at her and with my nicest voice say, “While you’re here today, I’d like to sit down and talk with you when you get a chance.”
She glances at a poker-faced Mama Carla to gauge her reaction, then turns back to me. “Can you tell me what this is regarding?”
“No, ma’am. I’d rather wait.” I’m still smiling, but she’s not.
After another glance at Mama Carla, she says, “All right. How about two o’clock?”
“That would be fine. Where would you like to meet?” I ask.
“Downstairs in the chapter room.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
***
I’m polishing the piano when I hear the grandfather clock in the receiving room strike one. Kadeesha’s on her way to Mama Carla’s apartment for her paycheck.
“Pssst. Can I talk to you a minute?” I call from the piano.
She stops, looks at me, then sashays over, smacking on Juicy Fruit. I can smell it as soon as she walks up. She studies the piano keys first, like she’d like to sit down and play, then looks at me.
“I’m sorry if my not being here these past two weeks has caused you trouble.”
Smack, smack, pop, pop.“Forget it. I’m all right.”
“I hate that you had to come in so early. I know you’re not an early bird.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.” I hadn’t anticipated this response. For the first time since she’s been working here, I don’t hear that haughty tone.
“Thank you for helping me out,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” Now she’s smiling.
All of a sudden I feel connected to her. Maybe it’s the smile or the honey in her tone, but whatever it is, I lean closer. “Can I trust you, Kadeesha?”
She straightens. “Trust me? With what?” That ugly tone sneaks back in.
