Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas - Maya Angelou [86]
At the waterfront, Dustin doled out cabin assignments and announced that Lee Gershwin was throwing a champagne party on the ship for the entire cast before lunch.
If only Yanko and Victor and Mitch could see me now. I had dredged up some Greek learned during my marriage and greeted the crew members. They were already excited by the cluster of Black people, and when they heard me speaking their language they nearly saluted. Three men left their posts to help me find my quarters, where my suitcases, books and mandolin were already stacked on a table in the single room.
Martha, Lillian, Ethel and Barbara Ann came down the passageway talking about the ship, the champagne party and the handsome Greek sailors.
I stopped them, and said, “Hey, you guys, aren't you surprised that Lee Gershwin is inviting the humble nobodies to her affair?”
Martha said, “Darling, Miss Fine Thing has never been humble, and for your information, she has always been Somebody. She shall grace the motley crew with her presence.” She grinned and flung her head back.
Lillian said, “Dearie, there's going to be champagne?” She nodded, answering her own question. “I'm going to drink Madame Gershwin's champagne.”
Barbara Ann said smoothly, “Maya, you've never forgiven her for telling you and Joy what to wear in Venice, have you?” She shook her head and managed a sad smile. “And I thought you were supposed to be a Christian. Shame, Maya, shame.”
They continued looking for their rooms and left me thinking about Lee Gershwin. She had approached me and Joy in Venice's Saint Mark's Square on our second day in Italy.
“Don't you girls know you shouldn't wear slacks in Italy? The Italians don't like it.” Her narrow face was sour with propriety. “Be nice. Remember, we are all ambassadors.”
Joy had told her: “One, it's cold. Two, I'm singing every night on a cold stage and changing in a cold dressing room, and three, I'm working six hours a day with the cast on their roles. Four, I shall continue to wear slacks and, if I need it, a parka!”
I simply looked at Lee. If I had given tongue to my voice, I'd have said too much. I simply continued to wear slacks when I thought it necessary, counting on my own sense of propriety to dictate what I should wear where and when. The incident had slipped from my consciousness, but once reminded of it I had to admit that Lee's maternalistic attitude had so infuriated me that, although she traveled with us, I had erased her from my thoughts.
I unpacked the clothes I would need for the three-night, two-day trip to Alexandria and changed into a dress for lunch.
When I walked up the stairs, stewards grinned and spoke to me in Greek, and as I entered the dining room a large, bushy-haired man in a black suit caught my arm.
“Mrs. Angelos?”
“Yes?”
“I am the purser.”
I couldn't dredge up one idea of what to expect.
“You speak Greek?” he asked.
“Yes. A little.”
“How did you learn?”
“My husband was Greek.”
“Ah.” And he grinned a broad approval. “Mrs. Angelos, may I make a suggestion?” He turned his large body sideways and spoke out of the side of his mouth as if he were giving me the secret of building an atomic bomb.
“Yes.”
“There is a party. A champagne party.” He inclined his head toward the table where members of the cast were already lifting glasses. “We expect a very rough trip to Alexandria. It would be better if you didn't drink today. Or tonight. Not champagne. Not wine. Not water. Eat lightly. Bread. Biscuits. And no drinking.”
I thanked him and asked if he had warned anyone else. He smiled, pulling his lips leftward to reveal a solid gold tooth.
He said, “They are opera singers. I wouldn't try to tell them. But you”—again he grinned—“you are nearly Greek”—he took my hand and kissed it—“and you have my sympathy. Good-bye. Remember.”
Sympathy? He thought having married a Greek made me deserving of his compassion? Strange.
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