“Yes, that’s tonight. I’ve been reminding you all week.”
Had she? If so, Ozzie had forgotten, and after the day he’d had, the last thing he wanted was to go all the way uptown to hang out with rich folks he didn’t know.
Rita filled the teakettle and lit the pilot light. “I have already ironed your suit. It’s hanging on the back of the closet door in the middle room.” Then she moved next to him and sniffed. “You smelllike a hard day’s work, baby. Why don’t you go wash up while I get Aunt Reese situated. I want to leave here by seven-thirty. You put gas in the car?”
Ozzie nodded. “Soon as I got paid.”
“Good.” She pecked him on the top of his head. “Go get ready. Make sure you wash your hair too.”
Ozzie groaned.
“What was that?” Rita stretched her fingers over her hips, but Ozzie stood and replaced her fingers with his. Then he pulled her to him and rested his forehead against hers, peering down into her brown eyes.
“Just tired, baby. World ain’t been treating me so good.”
Rita rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, love, I’ll take care of you tonight. Give you something to look forward to.”
“I’ma hold you to that.” He kissed her eyelids, then her nose, and then pressed his mouth against hers until she murmured, “Go on now, ’fore we mess around and miss this party.”
He rocked his hips against hers. “I’m okay with that.”
“Later tonight, baby. Promise,” she said, pushing him off her and out of the kitchen just as the kettle whistled.
At 7:35, Ozzie stood holding open the passenger door of his Chrysler Windsor for Rita. The car was ten years old, but he had bought it cheap and tinkered with it on the weekends until it purred. Rita’s floral scent took up all the breathing space in the car, and he draped his arm around the back of her seat as he steered the car up Broad Street, past City Hall, and then into North Philadelphia.
The Alexanders lived in a three-story redbrick house at the corner of Seventeenth and Jefferson. Ozzie slowed the car, looking for parking. “Why don’t you get out here, sweetie. I’ll park and meet you inside.”
Rita pulled the vanity mirror down and scanned her face. Then she turned to Ozzie. “How’s my makeup?”
“You the prettiest thing walking.” He kissed her hand.
“Okay, see you inside.” As she lifted herself out of the car, Ozzie reached up and squeezed her behind. “Ozzie,” she squawked, swatting him away.
Ozzie watched as her hips sashayed under her wool wrap onto the sidewalk and up the front stairs. Then he put the car in drive and circled the block until he found a parking spot two streets away. The slight buzz from his beer was long gone, and he slipped a peppermint into his mouth as he walked up the steps of the stately home pulsing with the sounds of jazz and boisterous laughter.
A young caramel-colored woman opened the door, balancing a silver tray of champagne flutes. “Welcome to the Alexander residence,” she said, holding the tray toward Ozzie. He winced at the black-and-white uniform she was wearing. It was identical to his mother’s.
Nettie had worked as a maid for a white family in Center City since Ozzie was a young boy, and now his wife worked for Negroes who had their own maid. What type of money did one have to earn in order to have personal domestic help? Ozzie and Rita couldn’t even figure out how to purchase their own house, let alone the help to go with it.
He picked up a flute and swallowed down his unease with the bubbles of the champagne. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling of the foyer, and the woman with the drink tray pointed him toward the parlor. As he walked across the gleaming white oak floors, he scanned the room for Rita. Piano music played, and after a few beats, Ozzie recognized the albumThe Amazing Bud Powellplaying from the phonograph. His shoulders relaxed a bit as he gave in to the familiar tune.
A ruby-colored settee hugged the wall, flanked by two overstuffed matching Queen Anne wing chairs. People stood in clusters with diamond-cut glasses in their hands. The women were dressed in silk and satin frocks that looked like they came straight from thedisplay windows of Gimbels or Wanamaker’s. Ozzie was wearing a black suit, one that he had bought from a secondhand store not far from work; it stood out against the gray and blue sharkskin suits most of the other men wore.
Ozzie could hear Rita’s laugh and followed it into the living room, where a few nodded as he passed through to the dining area. Rita glowed like she was onstage in a magenta swing dress with a keyhole neckline. Ozzie recognized Raymond and Sadie Alexander standing next to her, but he did not recognize the white woman who completed their circle.
“My love.” Rita smiled, making room next to her. As he slid in beside her, he felt beads of sweat on his forehead.
Mr. Alexander held out his hand. “Ozzie, right?” He was dressed in a textured double-breasted suit, and his jacket hit mid-thigh. Ozzie knew if he touched the man’s lapels, they’d feel soft as butter between his fingers. The ensemble looked like it cost more than two weeks of Ozzie’s salary.
“Mr. Alexander, nice to see you again.” Ozzie pumped his hand with a firm grip.
“Please, call me Raymond.”
“And you remember my boss, Sadie.” Rita turned to Ozzie with a smile so radiant it almost knocked him off his feet. It was clear that she was in her element.
“If anyone’s the boss, it’s her.” Sadie chuckled. Her hair was in tight curls rolled away from her face. “I don’t know how we got anything done before Rita joined our team. And this is our dear friend Martha Markoe. She works at the law school at Penn.”
“Nice to meet you.” Ozzie tilted his head.
