Holding Bessie’s chin, she wiped her brow, her cheeks, her chin. “Learn how to do this for yourself, and don’t mention I let you use my makeup. I’m not known for my generosity.”
After a few minutes, Honoree turned Bessie to the mirror. “See. Makes a difference.”
Bessie grinned at her reflection. “We have the same shape mouth.”
“I’ll admit a slight resemblance,” Honoree said begrudgingly, not wanting to burst Bessie’s bubble. “Though it won’t make you the next Queen of Sheba.”
Bessie winced. Honoree rolled her eyes, but a tinge of sympathy ran through her. “I guess we do have similar mouths,” she conceded. “Our lips are too thick for Clara Bow’s heart-shaped lips.” She picked up the lipstick. “Colored girls paint their mouths differently.”
Bessie puckered her lips.
“Stop acting up and watch me.” Honoree coated her lips with a dark red color, the shade of sunset. “Are you watching?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bessie said eagerly. “May I ask you another question?”
Honoree nodded.
“What’s your name, or should I call you ma’am, or is it miss?”
“Don’t miss or ma’am me. We save that for Miss Dolly out of respect ’cause she’s been here since before Miss Hattie died. My name’s Honoree, spelled with twoe’s but pronounced Honor-ray.”
“You sure have a pretty name.”
“Yes, it is. And French. My father was Louisiana Creole.” She raised an eyebrow at Bessie and her bruised but young face. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen—”
“You look younger. Not old enough to do much of nothin’. Where are your parents?”
“Ain’t got no parents. Been on my own for a while.”
Honoree knew about being on her own. “Who beat you up?”
Bessie stared at the floor as if she were counting splinters.
“Go on, you can tell me; I won’t say anything.”
“A man I met who I thought would treat me better, but I was wrong.”
“You should leave him,” Honoree said, putting away her makeup. “I never get my bloomers in a bunch over a man, in particular when the man doesn’t treat me right.”
“I ain’t as pretty as you, and I don’t—I don’t have much to say.” Her voice softened. “I gotta take what I can get if I wanna man.”
“Then don’t want a man so bad.”
Bessie’s jaw fell like a poorly stitched hem. “Can’t help myself.”
“You’re sixteen years old. Sure you can.”
“My mama married my pops when she was fourteen.”
Honoree had fallen in love with Ezekiel when she was twelve, but what good had that done her?
“A woman who doesn’t leave a man who beats her is a fool.” Honoree applied another coat of lipstick. “I would never stay with a man who hit me more than once.” She patted her lips with a tissue. “I’ll never marry, neither. Those are my rules—rules a girl like you should keep in mind.”
The door banged open. The mirrors shook. Ms. Dolly James stood at the top of the steps, a hand on her hip, her generous bosoms heaving. “What are you two jabbering about?”
Honoree put down her lipstick.
