Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas - Maya Angelou [106]
I told the agent I would accept any job and the only stipulation was that I had to have transportation and accommodation for my son. He was surprised at the unusual request, but we signed contracts and I went home.
My lighter mood influenced everyone. I told funny stories about the singers and stopped lying about how miserable I had been.
Mother said, “Well, at least. I knew you had to have some good times.”
Lottie was cheered by my new appetite and planned even more elaborate meals for my pleasure. And Clyde began to tell me secrets again. He resurrected Fluke and the two of them held interminable conversations in the house's one bathroom. I took him out of school for a week and we spent days riding bikes in Golden Gate Park and having picnics on the grass.
Before my eyes a physical and mental metamorphosis began as gradually and inexorably as a seasonal change. At first the myriad bumps dried and no fresh ones erupted. His skin slowly regained its smoothness and color. Then I noticed that he no longer rushed panting to my room to assure himself that I was still there. And when I left the house to shop we both took the parting normally, with a casual “See you in a minute.” His shoulders began to ride high again and he had opinions about everything from the planning of meals to what he wanted to be called.
“Mother, I've changed my name.”
I'm certain that I didn't look up. “Good. What is it today?”
In the space of one month, he had told Fluke and the rest of the family to call him Rock, Robin, Rex and Les.
“My name is Guy.”
“That's nice. Guy is a nice name.”
“I mean it, Mother.”
“Good, dear. It's quite a nice name.”
When I called to him later in the day, he refused to answer. I stood in the doorway of his room watching him spraddled on the bed.
“Clyde, I called you. Didn't you hear me?”
He had always been rambunctious, but never outright sassy.
“I heard you calling Clyde, Mother, but my name is Guy. Did you want me?”
He gave me a mischievous grin.
Mother, Lottie and I failed for a time to remember his new name.
“Aunt Lottie, if you want me, call for Guy.”
“Grandmother, I have named myself Guy. Please don't forget.”
One day I asked him quietly why he didn't like Clyde. He said it sounded mushy. I told him about the Clyde River in Scotland, but its strength and soberness didn't impress him.
“It's an O.K. name for a river, but my name is Guy.” He looked straight into my eyes. “Please tell your friends that I never want to be called Clyde again. And, Mother, don't you do it either.” He remembered “Please.”
Whenever anyone in the family called him Clyde, he would sigh like a teacher trying to educate a group of stubborn kindergarten students and would say wearily, “My name is Guy.”
It took him only one month to train us. He became Guy and we could hardly remember ever calling him anything else.
CHAPTER 30
I received a telegram from Hawaii:
OPENING FOR YOU THE CLOUDS. $350 DOLLAR WEEKLY, FOUR WEEKS. TWO WEEK OPTION. TRANSPORTATION AND ACCOMMODATION YOU AND SON. REPLY AT ONCE.
The three women who owned the hotel and night club met us at the airport dressed in long, colorful Hawaiian dresses. They were white Americans, but years in the islands had tanned their skins and loosened their inhibitions. Ann, a tall blonde and one-time professional swimmer, smiled warmly and draped fresh leis around our necks. Verne, the shortest of the trio, kissed us, while Betty, handsome and rugged, clapped our backs, grabbed our bags and herded the company into a car.
On the drive to Waikiki I imagined Bing Crosby and a saronged Dorothy Lamour standing under palm trees, singing “Lovely Hula Hands.” The air was warm and moist and the perfume of our flowers filled the car. Guy asked how deep I thought the ocean was and if there were