The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [3]
I couldn't imagine how the afternoon was going to end. Maybe I'd be lucky; they would drink all the gin and Wilkie would take her to a bar on Sunset.
She sat at the table, gingerly. Each move of her body seemed to be considered before she attempted execution.
“You set a pretty table and you ain't got a husband?”
I told her I lived alone with my son. She turned with the first sharp action I had seen since she came into my house. “I can't stand children. The little crumb-crushers eat you out of house and home and never say ‘Dog, kiss my foot’”
“My son is not like that. He's intelligent and polite.”
“Yeah. Well, I can't stand to be around any of the little bastards. This is good chicken.”
I looked at Wilkie, who nodded to me.
Wilkie said, “Billie, I'm going to take you to a joint on Western, where you can get anything you want.”
She didn't allow the full mouth of chicken to prevent her from speaking. “Hell, nigger, if I wanted to go to a joint don't you think I could have found one without you? I know every place in every town in this country that sells anything that crosses your mind. I wanted to come to a nice lady's house. She's a good cook, too. So I'm happy as a sissy in a CCC camp. Let me have that drumstick.”
While I put away the remaining chicken, she talked about Hawaii.
“People love ‘the islands, the islands.’ Hell, all that shit is a bunch of water and a bunch of sand. So the sun shines all the time. What the hell else is the sun supposed to do?”
“But didn't you find it beautiful? The soft air, the flowers, the palm trees and the people? The Hawaiians are so pretty.”
“They just a bunch of niggers. Niggers running around with no clothes on. And that music shit they play. Uhn, uhn.” She imitated the sound of a ukulele.
“Naw. I'd rather be in New York. Everybody in New York City is a son of a bitch, but at least they don't pretend they're something else.”
Back in the living room, Wilkie looked at me, then at his watch. “I have a student coming in a half-hour. Come on, Billie, I'll take you back to your hotel. Thanks, Maya. We have to go.”
Billie looked up from her drink and said, “Speak for yourself. All I got to do is stay black and die.”
“Well, I brought you here, so I'll take you back. Anyway, Maya's probably got something to do.”
They both stared at me. I thought for a moment and decided not to lie.
“No. I'm free. I'll take her back to the hotel when she wants to go.”
Wilkie shook his head. “O.K., Pooh.” His face was saying, “I hope you know what you're doing.” Of course I didn't, but I was more curious than afraid.
Billie tossed her head. “So I'll see you when I see you, Wilkie. Hope it won't be another twenty years.”
Wilkie bent and kissed her, gave me a very strange look and walked down to his car.
We spent the first few moments in silence. Billie was examining me, and I was wondering what subject I could introduce that would interest her.
Finally, she asked, “You a square, ain't you?”
I knew what she meant. “Yes.”
“Then how come you invited me to your house?”
Wilkie really invited her, but I had welcomed his invitation.
“Because you are a great artist and I respect you.”
“Bullshit. You just wanted to see what I looked like, up close.” She interrupted my denial. “That's all right. That don't hurt my feelings. You see me now, though, you ain't seeing nothing. I used to be a bitch on wheels. Lots of folks thought I was pretty. Anyway, that's what they said. 'Course, you know how folks talk. They'll tell you anything to get what they want. 'Course, there are them that'll just strong-arm you and take it. I know a lot of them, too.” Suddenly she withdrew into her thoughts and I sat quiet, not wanting to break into her reverie.
She raised her head and turned half away from me, toward the window. When she spoke it was in a conspiratorial whisper. “Men. Men can really do it to you. Women would too, if they had the nerve. They are just as greedy; they're just scared to let on.”
I had heard stories of Billie