“Well, I . . .” Mrs. Tartt touched the back of her hair, so nicely styled. “Henry always
said, you have to take risks to make real money.” She gazed down at the ring on her left hand. “I
suppose, with so much at stake, it’d only be wise to keep the place open a little longer.” She
seemed to be speaking to Henry when she said this. She glanced down at the money, then at me
and Charlie as if to say, I’ll let you deal with that and began the slow climb back up to the attic.
“I reckon we better get up to bed then, Frances. You must be tired. Charlie, don’t let the dance
club go too late now.”
Chapter 44
I cooked a big batch of pancakes and bacon the next morning and set it all in the dining room.
Charlie’d set the card tables beautifully with pressed linens and blue and white china and an
arrangement of red spider lilies twined with ivy from the yard. Pleasant details that might help
Mrs. Tartt digest the fact that she’d be having her morning constitution with five prostitutes.
At nine, I went up to the attic to check on Frances. She was lying on her bed, dressed for
the day, though she hadn’t come downstairs. She sat up and narrowed her eyes on me, no doubt
preparing to tell me something terrible about myself. I did not have the inclination or the time to
care where I landed on the Frances-o-meter today. Mrs. Tartt’s door was still closed.
“I’d appreciate it if you could please keep an eye on Mrs. Tartt today, Franny. Just to
make sure she doesn’t . . . see too much.”
“She walked in on the twins, Birdie. What else could she possibly see?”
“You’d be surprised,” I said.
I started to leave, but Frances said, “Wait.”
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“I’m busy, Frances.”
“Why didn’t you tell me Charlie was Meg’s mother?” she whined. “I had a right to know
that.”
When you’d clutched a secret as tightly as this one, it felt unsafe to open your fist and
finally let it go. But maybe this would help her understand what I’d been telling her all this time
about her highness, Chairlady Garnett. “Because Welty Pittman is Meg’s father, Frances. He had
an affair with Charlie.”
“You’re—sure?” I nodded. “So, you’re saying, all this time we—I’ve been harboring
Welty Pittman’s mistress?”
Of course Frances was making this about herself. But then, thank God, I saw it: doubt. It
cracked open across her face, widening her eyes. “That’s why Garnett . . . treated Meg so much
worse than the other girls?”
“I suspect it’s why she became chairlady in the first place and why she started that
horrible work program. To punish one little girl.”
Frances sat up straighter on the bed and crossed her arms. “You don’t know that, Birdie.
You don’t know what Garnett would do.” She was sliding back to where she was more
comfortable, following her leader like she’d been instructed. “She’s a good Christian, she
believes in—in the sanctity of family. Who knows, maybe she would’ve helped Charlie get her
little girl back.” When it came to Garnett, Frances was a sheep.
Did she need to know everything? I decided that she did. “Have you seen the scars on
Charlie’s wrists?” Frances eyed me warily, but she nodded. It made me sad trying to put it into
words that Frances would understand. “Garnett had Charlie deemed feebleminded so she’d get
sent to the state asylum. They tied her up and sterilized her.”
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Frances’s mouth turned down. Cold tables and knives and ropes. To make sure her
imagination was working, I gently wrapped my fingers around her small wrist. “Can you imagine
that, Frances? Your hero, Garnett, made that happen.”
She pulled her wrist out of my fingers and hugged herself like she was cold.
“Go downstairs and please keep an eye on Mrs. Tartt? She’s seen enough,” I said and left
the room.
***
After I took a quick bath that I didn’t really have time for, I dressed and went downstairs. This
was going to be a busy day. When I walked into the dining room, Frances was already at the card
tables. Virginia was sitting next to her, pointing to something in the big black textbook. “There’s
nothing wrong with the word vagina,” Virginia said to her. “You have one, you know.” Frances
looked speechless. She got up and moved so there was a chair between them.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Tartt sang brightly, walking in.
“Morning, Mrs. Tartt,” I said. She had on a light blue cotton dress, clean but very
wrinkled. Her hair was properly coiffed, and she’d put on cheery red lipstick, though it ran
slightly awry on the top left. I thought she looked pretty good, considering. I gave Frances a
look. Please watch her.
The screen door popped shut in the kitchen. When I went in there, Picador and Polly were
coming in from the clothesline, holding a basket of sheets. I looked each of them squarely in the
face and said, “She knows.”
Polly grasped the counter. “What she say?”
“She said . . .” I had to take a second to breathe, myself. “We can stay open for the last
two nights. I think she’s in some sort of a look-the-other-way mood.”
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“Law have mercy on my soul,” Polly said, shaking her head. “Here I thought this gone
put her in Methodist Cemetery, laid up next to Mr. Henry.”
Picador pursed her lips. “Miss Viktoria ain’t no dummy. She know what a dollar bill
smell like, prolly better’n any a us do.” She sounded sort of proud of Mrs. Tartt. “But we gone
act like nuttin going on, don’t wanna wave it in her face now.”
“Thank you, Picador,” I said.
Polly’d gone out to the clothesline again when Mrs. Tartt came into the kitchen. Picador
walked out of the washroom with an armful of wet sheets. Mrs. Tartt stopped in her tracks.
“Good morning, Picador,” Mrs. Tartt said.
“Mawning, Miss Viktoria,” she said. They stood looking at each other. Picador did not
glance down at the mountain of wet sheets in her arms. Neither did Mrs. Tartt. For a moment, the
two of them had the loudest silent conversation I’d ever heard about why there were so many wet
sheets piled in her arms.
“I hope you’re doing fine this morning?” Mrs. Tartt finally asked.
“Fine, we all fine.”
“Fine, glad to hear it, then.” Conversation over. Mrs. Tartt went back to the dining room,
and I prayed the rest of the day would go just like this.
***
By two thirty, I had had it with Frances. I walked out on the back porch to find her asleep with
her mouth open. “Frances!”
She opened her eyes and wiped her mouth. “She’s in there.” She pointed to the window
behind her. “Which is why I’m out here.”
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I went into the parlor to find Mrs. Tartt sitting up very straight on the settee as Flossy
painted her fingernails a slick dark pink.
“The trick is long, quick strokes.” Flossy winked. “Now look, ain’t that attractive?”
Mrs. Tartt smiled politely. “And how am I supposed to get this off?” she asked.
“Why would ya?” Flossy said.
Ah, but the day was not over yet.
At some point, Mrs. Tartt was headed toward the stairs to go lie down awhile when the
telephone rang. I gave Ruby a shove and grabbed it myself.
“Yes sir,” I said and then, “It’s for you, Mrs. Tartt. He says it’s Harry Holtzman calling
from Biloxi.”
She smoothed her dress down and took the receiver from me and I went to get Frances in
case she was needed for this. By the time we got back, Mrs. Tartt was hanging up. Her face was
drawn, the color of cold ash. She went over and sat on the bottom stair.
“What? What did he say?” Frances asked, sinking down beside her. I didn’t know if I
should give them a minute, but Frances said, “Stay.”
“Holtzman did it. He made a deal with the judge, the papers are signed and everything,”
Mrs. Tartt said. She swallowed hard. “Rory’s going to the hospital. He says he’s ready.” She
closed her eyes and covered her face. “My poor son.”
“You spoke to Rory?” Frances asked. Mrs. Tartt nodded. “What else did he say?”
“That he was so sorry he’d disappointed me. And sorry he’d embarrassed Henry all those
years ago. He promised to get better, and I told him he didn’t have to do this, he could serve his
time instead, I would stand by him but he said no, he had to. That was all he said and he put Mr.
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Holtzman back on the line.” She was perspiring, she looked nauseous. I was afraid she might be
sick so I went to the kitchen and brought back glasses of water for them both.
Mrs. Tartt drank half of hers in one long sip. “Mr. Holtzman said he had the address and
the keys to the apartment Rory’d rented in New Orleans. Anything Rory hadn’t sold yet was
there, but Henry’s gold watches, the jewelry, the silver—Rory sold it all for quick cash, and that
money will have to go toward the fees and his treatment. Holtzman said he’d arrange to have
what’s left shipped up here with the Studebaker.”
“Do you think it would’ve made any difference if I’d told him not to go to the hospital?”
Frances asked. Her eyes were filled with tears. Did I do this? was what she was asking.
“No, dear. Rory made his own choice this time.”
I watched her face. Frances looked grateful to be absolved, and it really wasn’t her fault.
She was put on this earth to be Mrs. Rory Tartt, and she truly believed her husband would get rid
of this “illness” of his.
“I’m glad you’ll have some of your things back.” Frances reached over and squeezed
Mrs. Tartt’s hand, which I’d never seen her do.
“I don’t care about any of those things anymore, Frances. I just want my son, whole and
happy . . . I can’t imagine what they’re going to do to him.” She sobbed deeply into the palms of
her hands. It sounded guttural, full of bright, fresh pain.
***
The temperature dropped as the afternoon wore on and a cool fall breeze sent the lanterns and the
ornaments swaying. I decided to make us a picnic supper, or lunch for some, on quilts I’d laid
out in the side yard: hot ham and cheese sandwiches, potato salad, cold Co-Colas, and the can of
cigarette singles. With just two nights left, we couldn’t sell them all and it made me think of all
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those johnnies that would be left up under the sink too. The ladies were mostly all ready for the
evening, bathed and shaved and their faces made up, but still in their comfortable “own-ers.”
While we ate, Flossy and Ruby were playing a game of whist with the twins. At first I
thought the twins were real good at it until I realized they were cheating. Coughing and sniffing
signals with cards tucked under their legs. I wondered when the others would catch on. Charlie
had the appointment book out, though mostly she was staring off at the crape myrtles. She’d
been deathly quiet all day and I knew it was because of Meg. Now that she had the money to
take care of her, she still had no way of making that happen. She looked sick, gaunt. The waiting
was hell on her.
“Golly jeez, it’s getting chilly,” Flossy said. Sitting cross-legged, she pulled Frances’s
bathrobe tighter. That October wind was brisk. “So what’s everbody’s plan after this? Dr. Twat,
what will you do when your favorite prostitute patients ain’t here to catch something?”
Virginia looked up from her textbook. “Work at the hospital and for Kleinkamp until I
hear back from med schools. If I get into Woman’s Med up in Pennsylvania, there’s a hospital
there that’ll hire second years, but I still need to earn the first year’s tuition.” She chewed the end
of her pencil. “Birdie, think your sister needs to get checked for gonorrhea?”
“Sadly, she does not,” I said.
“What about you, Es?” Flossy asked. “Going straight to Paris to get Frenchy with the
frogs?”
“I’m driving to Memphis first,” Esmeralda said. “There’s a fella there who wants to buy
that fancy car of mine for a good price. Then I have to get back down south to New Orleans by
Monday morning before the ship leaves. Otherwise, I’ll have to leave out of New York. And in
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few weeks, I’ll be in Paris with my girl.” She stretched her long legs out on the quilt. She was
wearing the pale silky pants again. I wanted some for myself.
“Your girl in this business?” Virginia asked.
“No, my girl’s a singer in the clubs.” Esmeralda smiled, her cheeks shimmering. “She is
the cat’s meow over there. If you gals ever heard her sing, she’d turn all y’all’s asses lavender.”
Esmeralda closed her eyes, showing the neat black line of Cleopatra kohl on her lids. She opened
them and looked at me. “What are your plans for the future, Birdie? That big fella coming for
you?”
I nodded. I couldn’t believe the future was only two days away. “I have to go home to the
Delta for a while.” Saying that sounded like an ending. It sounded like death. But it wasn’t. “I’ll
be coming back up here to see him . . . and I’m thinking about setting up my own business.”
“You need girls?” Dixie asked.
“Not that kind of business, Dixie.” But what an idea. “A bookkeeping business, for
businesses around here.”
“What about you, Flossy? You think you’ll still go up to North Dakota?” Virginia asked.
I looked at Flossy. I didn’t know this plan had become real. Flossy examined her hands,
which were veiny and yellow. “I thought I’d give it another try. Then me and Rube are getting a
place in Chicago, ain’t we, Rube? See can we get us some Capone types.”
“We got a good thing going here,” Ruby said in a strangely high voice. “Why the hell we
gotta shut down?” I thought I saw her lip actually quiver as she tossed a card in the pile.
“You gettin’ sentimental on me, Rube?” Flossy asked and squeezed her arm.
Ruby looked away. “No. I just don’t like what you said before.”
“What did she say?” I asked.
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Flossy laid her hand of cards down and leaned back. “I been getting this feeling. That
Chicago’s my last ride.”
“You mean, you’re gonna retire?” I asked.
“No, it’s bigger than that. It’s just a hunch, and it’s alright, I made my peace with it.”
Flossy nodded to herself, watching leaves drift down from the pecan tree. I didn’t like that either.
“Hey, it’s been a hell of a ride.” She sat up and played a card and winked at Ruby, her card
partner, with a see what I just played there? look.
Dixie rearranged her legs, coughed twice, and a few minutes later the twins won the
game.
“Jeez Louise,” Flossy laughed, “what do you two, share a brain or something?”
“Brain damage is more like it,” Ruby muttered and threw down her cards.
“There she is,” Flossy said.
“If we are, you are,” Dixie said, looking straight at Ruby. It was rare but I guess she
figured she better get it in while she could. “Try and tell me which one a us here ain’t damaged?”
There were looks around the quilt, like we were measuring it in each other, even Charlie.
I’d always thought I was the most damaged person in the room until I’d lived with five
prostitutes and a madam. Ruby reached over and snatched a ten of clubs out from under Dixie’s
leg.
“You stupid geeks been cheating this whole time?” But instead of threatening to shove
the card down Dixie’s throat, Ruby just chuckled. Not head back laughter, like the first busy
night when she’d danced so much, she forgot what she was here for, just a chuckle. “Maybe y’all
ain’t as stupid as you look,” she said and stood up and went in the house, leaving her dirty plate
behind for me to take in. She still scared the daylights out of me.
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“Charles, what’s your plan from here?” Flossy asked.
Charlie didn’t look glum like Ruby had; it was deeper, almost bottom of the well. I
thought about when she’d stood, so obstinate, on the back porch that day, chin out, telling me
how things would be run—that sureness looked like it was slipping through her fingers.
“Next week . . . I’m driving north to go talk to some people. I’ll stay in Memphis while I
wait to see if it works out, and then hopefully I’ll be taking the train . . .” She pointed a thumb to
the left.
“Anywhere but? I know the town,” Esmeralda said. “How you getting up there?”
“Mr. Binny said he’d drive me.”
“Maybe I can make you a better offer?” Esmeralda asked.
Afterward, as Charlie washed dishes, I listened to what that offer was. Charlie would
drive Esmeralda’s Pierce-Arrow up to Byhalia then on to Memphis to the man who wanted to
buy it for a good price. She’d collect the money and wire it to Esmeralda in France, keeping a
small fee for herself. “He won’t give you any trouble about the money,” Esmeralda had said.
“But don’t fall for him. He’s tall, very dark, and handsome.”
“What do you plan to do when you get to Byhalia?” I asked Charlie.
She turned the tap off. There came a point where desperation didn’t take no for an
answer, but I wanted her to handle it wisely. “I’ll try and reason with the Heidelbergs,” she said.
“Tell them who I am and what happened and I’ll ask them to let me talk to Meg, and once they
see the way she is with me . . .” Her chin quivered, but she took a deep breath and reeled her
heartache back in. Charlie was the strongest person I’d ever known. I looped my arm through
hers. “And if they refuse, I’ll hire a lawyer in Memphis and try to go through the courts.”
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I nodded, something like approval. Her words were thick with defeat. “There’s no other
way to do it, Charlie.”
Charlie’d more or less collected herself when Esmeralda came back into the kitchen, her
silky pants swishing around her. “I meant to remind you, on your way to Memphis, make sure
you don’t get stopped by the cops. If they see the registration papers, they’ll think the car’s
stolen.”
“Is the car stolen?” I asked.
Esmeralda frowned at me for asking this. “No, it’s not. But if the police ask to see the
registration, they’ll know Charlie’s not me. Most of the time they don’t even believe I’m me. But
they might still give you trouble when they see it’s registered to a Negro. They hate a colored
person owning a car that nice. So drive careful and drive slow.”
If we’d been caught . . . or rather if we get caught . . . we still had two nights to go.
“I’ll watch out,” Charlie told her.
Esmeralda must’ve seen my face because she studied me. Her look wasn’t unkind, it was
more sympathetic that I was so naive. “In case I don’t get the chance to tell you, it’s been an
absolute pleasure working with you, Birdie.” She set a hand on my shoulder.
“You too, Esmeralda. More than you know.”
She swished out and I looked at Charlie, my heart beating faster.
“You didn’t know,” Charlie said. It was not a question.
“Does . . . everybody know but me?”
Charlie nodded. “We assumed you knew.”
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