TWENTY-THREE
MISS PEARL
The House is as quiet as falling snow when my alarm goes off at six, early on Saturday morning. Lord have mercy, it feels like I just slipped into this bed. The clock read threeA.M.when my head finally hit the pillow last night. The last thing in the world I want to do right now is move out of this silky cocoon. So I lie in Mama Carla’s bed a little longer, running my hand along the top of her comforter, feeling the slickness of the silk against my fingers.
Suppose I woke up every morning swaddled up this way? What if I really was the House Director? I’d make a good salary. Have a beautiful place to live. Get my insurance paid for. As crazy as that seems, I can’t help but fantasize. Who wouldn’t? Just for the fun of it, I let my mind drift, imagine myself as Pearl Johnson, House Director of Alpha Delta Beta sorority. Before I know it, I’m replaying every detail of the night before. But this time I’m the House Director for real.
I stayed outside the apartment door like Mama Carla does early on Friday nights, watching the girls come and go, each of them dressed up and ready for the town. After supper, around ten o’clock, I returned, ready for them to come on home. Now I see why she does it. If one of the girls gets over-servedand needs a hand finding her room, someone needs to steer her in the right direction.
Poor little Cara Moore, that baby didn’t know what day it was when she came stumbling through the door around midnight. Oliver, our security guard, told me she was all by herself when she walked up. When he passed her off to me her hair was hanging down in front of her face and she reeked of bourbon. I took her by the hand, led her straight upstairs, and tucked her safely in bed. I gave thought to her mama, living way down in Vicksburg, blissfully unaware of Cara’s ways. I certainly would appreciate it if someone did that for my daughter.
Bless his heart. I can’t believe Oliver ever came back for a second round. That poor man looks nothing like a security guard. He’s chunky, especially around the middle, and his pale pudgy face has ruby red cheeks with very little facial hair. From what I hear, the girls teased him unmercifully last weekend. He told his supervisor that one of them actually spanked him on the behind. Said another girl squeezed his cheeks and called him her baby, only she liked to rip the skin off. I know they didn’t mean anything by it. But all kinds of things can happen at that hour and I certainly didn’t want another repeat on my watch.
Around one o’clock in the morning, I found several of my babies milling around the kitchen looking for treats. Mama Carla would have told them to take their hineys and skedaddle right on out of there. But I couldn’t help myself. I did the opposite. Brought out all their favorites: chips, M&M’s, popcorn. I know what it’s like to get the late night munchies. I’m not dead yet.
When I roll over to get out of bed, my angry body is yelling at me to stay put. I have to force myself off the mattress and into the bathroom. After using the toilet, I wrap my head up in a shower cap to protect my weave. Looking around, I imagine for a moment this bathroom is mine. I run my hand across the pretty white tile, then feel the plush towels Mama Carla has hanging on the rack. What would it be like if I woke up here every morning?
After stepping inside the shower, feeling the water beat down on my back, I get to thinking about that ornery Kadeesha and how she’s taking over housekeeping today. Lord, I hope I don’t have to get on to her. I have a certain way of doing things, and I take pride in my work. Marinating on her nasty self only lasts another minute, though. Once I feel the hard pressure of thisshower and enjoy how long the hot water lasts, I soon forget all about her and luxuriate in what I’m doing right now.
***
It’s sevenA.M.by the time I make it into the kitchen. We don’t serve meals on the weekends, but Mama Carla always puts out a breakfast bar—bagels and cream cheese, sweet rolls, and fruit. Once that’s done, and I get the coffee made, I take a bagel and a coffee cup and mosey around the house like Mama Carla does, feeling like I’m queen for the weekend.
By chance, I happen to glance out the front window at the Chi Theta House and notice a car pull up. There’s a boy behind the wheel, and I watch him lean to the passenger side to kiss one of the girls. She steps out of the car barefoot, still in last night’s sundress, with shoes in her hand. She shuts the car door, then scurries up to the House. Pushes in her code and she’s gone.
Makes me think back to the last time I kissed a man. That was three years ago. I might be forty-four, but I am not deceased. I still want a man’s arms wrapped around me, feeling my bare skin, working his way down my neck. I’m not sure why, but today I feel more ready and alive than I have been in a long time. Auntie’s right. I do need a man.
Over the next few hours, pregame fever spreads all over the house. One of the alums brought over a cake—big enough to feed everybody—and put it in the dining room. It’s in the shape of our mascot, the black bear, holding a little terrier in a headlock. A win over the Wofford Terriers today is just about guaranteed. For some reason a sobering thought strikes me. As long as I’ve been working on this campus I’ve never once seen the inside of Vaught-Hemingway Stadium.
As the girls prance down the stairs they look like they’re stepping off the runway, wearing pretty sundresses, rompers, boots, and high heels. I try wearing heels but my feet get angry with me. So today I’m wearing a pair of flat gold sandals. Got my toes painted up Alpha Delt blue, like all the girls do theirs, and my fingernails, too.
I even dug out my favorite dress. Made sure it was clean and pressed up real nice. It’s pale yellow, with buttons running clear down the back. Buttons are only for show, hiding a long zipper, but no one can tell. Donnie, my ex-husband, used to say this dress fits my curves in all the right places withoutbeing too tight. It’s old, but nobody around here has ever seen it. Fee told me to be sure and wear my Mississippi pearl necklace. Pearl is the official jewel of Alpha Delta Beta.
***
I’m standing in the foyer, around noon, when I spot Miss Lilith hurrying through the front door. Her blond hair is pulled back in a high ponytail with a bump on top, like Barbie styles hers. The pale blue pantsuit she’s wearing is some kind of pretty and her earlobes are so sparkly I can see them from here. She never looks in my direction, just makes a beeline to the powder room.
A few minutes later, when she flies out, my body tightens. That’s not a smile on her face and the beeline she made into the powder room has changed course. Now she’s buzzing straight toward me. “Hello, Pearl,” she says, soon as she lights. “Don’t you look nice?” I watch her eyes travel all the way from my weave down to my big toe, with a brief stop at my necklace. Then she stares at my arm. For a moment I wonder if I’m bleeding or if there’s a spider on my arm, then I remember my tattoo.
“Thank you, Miss Lilith. You look nice yourself. I love your pantsuit and your earrings are gorgeous.” Lord. Now I’m gushing over her, too. Same as Mama Carla.
“Perhaps you are unaware… but the ladies’ room needs more toilet paper.Twoof the three holders are empty and the trash cans are overflowing.” Her eyes have left mine and shifted over to Mama Carla’s apartment. “Pardon me,” she says, as she pushes past and raps on the door. “Carla, yoo-hoo.”
I turn to see the backside of her blue pantsuit as she disappears inside. Just walks right in Mama Carla’s apartment, uninvited. I consider stopping her, but she’s already gone.
Before I can blink, she’s right back out. “Where is Carla?”
“She had to leave town.”
“Oh?”
“Her daughter was in need and Mama Carla had to help her.” It is none of my business, and certainly not Miss Lilith’s, so I stop short of explaining the need.
Miss Lilith puts a hand over her heart, sucks in a pound of air. “Are you… who is her weekend replacement?”
I’ve been expecting this. “I am.” I don’t add an explanation. I simply let those two words soar out of my mouth, then float down and land softly, like a duck on a pond.
After a long pause she says, “Huh,” and stares at me as if I should give her an explanation. I resist. So awkwardness comes between us. Similar to that feeling you get when you call someone by the wrong name. “Have her call me, please. The minute she gets back.”
