The Help. Part 21

I record the PSCA news, who's on the trouble list, who's not brought in their cans. The calendar of events is full of committee meetings and baby showers, and I shift around in my wooden chair, hoping the meeting will end soon. I have to get Mother's car back to her by three.

It's not until a quarter till, an hour and a half later, that I rush out of the hot room toward the Cadillac. I'll be on the trouble list for leaving early, but Jesus Christ, what's worse, the wrath of Mother or the wrath of Hilly?

I Walk INTO THE HOUSE five minutes early, humming "Love Me Do," thinking I ought to go buy a short skirt like Jenny Foushee wore today. She said she'd gotten it up in New York City at Bergdorf Goodman's. Mother would keel over if I showed up with a skirt above the knee when Stuart picks me up on Sat.u.r.day.

"Mama, I'm home," I call down the hallway.

I pull a Co-Cola from the fridge, sigh and smile, feeling good, strong. I head to the front door for my satchel, ready to thread together more of Minny's stories. I can tell she is itching to talk about Celia Foote, but she always stops after a minute of it and changes the subject. The phone rings and I answer it, but it's for Pascagoula. I take a message on the pad. It's Yule May, Hilly's maid.

"Hey, Yule May," I say, thinking what a small town this is. "I'll give her the message when she gets back." I lean a minute against the counter, wishing Constantine was here like it used to be. How I'd love to share every single thing about my day with her.

I sigh and finish my c.o.ke and then go to the front door for my satchel. It's not there. I go outside and look in the car but it's not there either. Huh, Huh, I think and head up the stairs, feeling less pink now and more of a pale yellow. Did I go upstairs yet? I scour my room, but it's nowhere to be found. Finally, I stand still in my quiet bedroom, a slow tingle of panic working its way up my spine. The satchel, it has I think and head up the stairs, feeling less pink now and more of a pale yellow. Did I go upstairs yet? I scour my room, but it's nowhere to be found. Finally, I stand still in my quiet bedroom, a slow tingle of panic working its way up my spine. The satchel, it has everything everything in it. in it.

Mother, I think and I dash downstairs and look in the relaxing room. But suddenly I realize it's not Mother who has it--the answer has come to me, numbing my entire body. I left my satchel at the League House. I was in such a hurry to get Mother's car home. And even as the phone is ringing, I already know it is Hilly on the end of that line. I think and I dash downstairs and look in the relaxing room. But suddenly I realize it's not Mother who has it--the answer has come to me, numbing my entire body. I left my satchel at the League House. I was in such a hurry to get Mother's car home. And even as the phone is ringing, I already know it is Hilly on the end of that line.

I grab the phone from the wall. Mother calls goodbye from the front door.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"How could you leave this heavy thing behind?" Hilly asks. Hilly never has had a problem with going through other people's things. In fact, she enjoys it.

"Mother, wait a second!" I holler from the kitchen.

"Good Lord, Skeeter, what's in here?" Hilly says. I've got to catch Mother, but Hilly's voice is m.u.f.fled, like she's bending down, opening it.

"Nothing! Just . . . all those Miss Myrna letters, you know."

"Well, I've lugged it back to my house so come on by and get it when you can."

Mother is starting the car outside. "Just . . . keep it there. I'll be by as soon as I can get there."

I race outside but Mother's already down the lane. I look over and the old truck's gone too, toting cotton seed somewhere in the fields. The dread in my stomach is flat and hard and hot, like a brick in the sun.

Down by the road, I watch the Cadillac slow, then jerk to a stop. Then it goes again. Then stops. Then slowly reverses and zigzags its way back up the hill. By the grace of a G.o.d I never really liked, much less believed in, my mother is actually coming back. back.

"I can't believe I forgot Sue Anne's ca.s.serole dish . . ."

I jump in the front pa.s.senger seat, wait until she climbs back into the car. She puts her hands on the wheel.

"Drive me by Hilly's? I need to pick something up." I press my hand to my forehead. "Oh G.o.d, hurry, Mother. Before I'm too late."

Mother's car hasn't moved. "Skeeter, I have a million things to do today--"

The panic is rising up in my throat. "Mama, please, just drive drive . . ." . . ."

But the Deville sits in the gravel, ticking like a time bomb.

"Now look," Mother says, "I have some personal errands to run and I just don't think it's a good time to have you tagging along."

"It'll take you five minutes. Just drive, Mama!"

Mother keeps her white-gloved hands on the steering wheel, her lips pressed together.

"I happen to have something confidential and important to do today."

I can't imagine my mother has anything more important to do than what I'm staring down the throat of. "What? A Mexican's trying to join the DAR? Somebody got caught reading the New American Dictionary New American Dictionary ?" ?"

Mother sighs, says, "Fine," and moves the gear shift carefully into drive. "Alright, here we go." We roll down the lane at about one-tenth of a mile an hour, putting along so the gravel won't knock at the paint job. At the end of the lane, she puts on her blinker like she's doing brain surgery and creeps the Cadillac out onto the County Road. My fists are clenched. I press my imaginary accelerator. Every time's Mother's first time to drive.

On the County Road, she speeds up to fifteen and grips the wheel like we're doing a hundred and five.

"Mama," I finally say, "just let me drive the car."

She sighs. I'm surprised that she pulls over into the tall gra.s.s.

I get out and run around the car while she slides over. I put the car in D and press it to seventy, praying, Please, Hilly, resist the temptation to rummage through my personal business. . . . Please, Hilly, resist the temptation to rummage through my personal business. . . .

"So what's the big secret, what do you have to do today?" I ask.

"I'm . . . I'm going to see Doctor Neal for some tests. It's just routine, but I don't want your daddy to know. You know how upset he gets every time somebody goes to the doctor."

"What kind of tests?"

"It's just an iodine test for my ulcers, same as I have every year. Drop me at the Baptist and then you can take yourself to Hilly's. At least I won't have to worry over parking."

I glance at her to see if there's more to this, but she's sitting straight and starched in her light blue dress, her legs crossed at the ankles. I don't remember her having these tests last year. Even with me being up at school, Constantine would've written to me about them. Mother must've kept them secret.

Five minutes later, at the Baptist Hospital, I come around and help her out of the car.

"Eugenia, please. Just because this is a hospital doesn't mean I'm an invalid."

I open the gla.s.s door for her and she walks in, head held high.

"Mother, do you . . . want me to come with you?" I ask, knowing I can't--I have to deal with Hilly, but suddenly I don't want to drop her off here, like this.

"It's routine. routine. Go on to Hilly's and come back in an hour." Go on to Hilly's and come back in an hour."

I watch her grow smaller down the long hall, clutching her handbag, knowing I should turn and run. But before I do, I wonder at how frail and inconsequential my mother has become. She used to fill a room by just breathing and now there seems to be . . . less of her. She turns a corner and disappears behind the pale yellow walls. I watch a second longer before I rush back to the car.

A MINUTE and a Half LATER, I'm ringing Hilly's bell. If these were regular times, I'd talk to Hilly about Mama. But I can't distract her. It is the first moment that will tell me everything. Hilly is an exceptional liar, except for the moment right before she speaks.

Hilly opens the door. Her mouth is tight and red. I look down at her hands. They are knotted together like ropes. I've arrived too late.

"Well, that was quick," she says and I follow her inside. My heart is seizing inside my chest. I'm not sure I'm breathing at all.

"There it is, that ugly thing. I hope you don't mind, I had to check something in the minutes from the meeting."

I stare at her, my best friend, trying to see just what she's read in my things. But her smile is professional if not sparkling. The telling moments are gone.

"Can I get you something to sip on?"

"No, I'm fine." Then I add, "Want to hit b.a.l.l.s at the club later? It's so gorgeous out."

"William's got a campaign meeting and then we're going to see It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World."

I study her. Didn't she ask me, just two hours ago, to double-date to this movie tomorrow night? Slowly, I move down to the end of the dining table, like she might pounce on me if I move too fast. She picks up a sterling fork from the sideboard, thrums her index finger along the tines.

"Yes, um, I heard Spencer Tracy's supposed to be divine," I say. Casually, I tick through the papers in my satchel. Aibileen and Minny's notes are still tucked deep in the side pocket, the flap closed, the latch snapped. But Hilly's bathroom initiative is in the open center section with the paper where I wrote Jim Crow or Hilly's bathroom plan--what's the difference? Jim Crow or Hilly's bathroom plan--what's the difference? Besides this is the draft of the newsletter that Hilly has examined already. But the booklet--the laws--I tick through again--they are gone. Besides this is the draft of the newsletter that Hilly has examined already. But the booklet--the laws--I tick through again--they are gone.

Hilly tilts her head, narrows her eyes at me. "You know, I was just thinking about how Stuart's daddy stood right next to Ross Barnett when they fought that colored boy walking into Ole Miss. They're awfully close, Senator Whitworth and Governor Barnett."

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but then two-year-old William, Jr., totters in.

"There you are." Hilly picks him up, nuzzles his neck. "You are perfect, my perfect boy!" she says. William looks at me and screams.

"Well, enjoy the picture show," I say, going for the front door.

"Alright," she says. I walk down the steps. From her doorway, Hilly waves, flaps William's hand bye-bye. She slams the door before I've even made it to my car.

AIBILEEN.

chapter 14.

I BEEN IN SOME tense situations, but to have Minny on one side a my living room and Miss Skeeter on the other, and the topic at hand be what it feel like being Negro and working for a white woman. Law, it's a wonder they hadn't been a injury. BEEN IN SOME tense situations, but to have Minny on one side a my living room and Miss Skeeter on the other, and the topic at hand be what it feel like being Negro and working for a white woman. Law, it's a wonder they hadn't been a injury.

We had some close calls though.

Like last week, when Miss Skeeter showed me Miss Hilly's reasons why colored folk need they own bathroom.

"Feel like I'm looking at something from the KKK," I said to Miss Skeeter. We was in my living room and the nights had started to get warm. Minny'd gone in the kitchen to stand in front a the icebox. Minny don't stop sweating but for five minutes in January and maybe not even then.

"Hilly wants me to print it in the League newsletter," Miss Skeeter said, shaking her head disgusted. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have shown it to you. But there's no one else I can tell."

A minute later, Minny come back from the kitchen. I gave Miss Skeeter a look, so she slid the list under her notebook. Minny didn't look much cooler. Fact, she looked hotter than ever.

"Minny, do you and Leroy ever talk about civil rights?" Miss Skeeter ask. "When he comes home from work?"

Minny had that big bruise on her arm cause that's what Leroy do when he come home from work. He push her around.

"Nope" was all Minny said. Minny do not like people up in her business.

"Really? He doesn't share the way he feels about the marches and the segregation? Maybe at work, his bo--"

"Move off a Leroy." Minny crossed her arms up so that bruise wouldn't show.

I gave Skeeter a nudge on the foot. But Miss Skeeter, she had that look she gets when she's all up in something.

"Aibileen, don't you think it would be interesting if we could show a little of the husbands' perspective? Minny, maybe--"

Minny stood so quick the lightshade rattled. "I ain't doing this no more. You making this too personal. I don't care about telling white people how it feel."

"Minny, okay, I'm sorry," Miss Skeeter said. "We don't have to talk about your family."

"No. I change my mind. You find somebody else to spill the beans." We been through this before. But this time, Minny s.n.a.t.c.hed up her pocketbook, grabbed her funeral fan that fell under the chair, and said, "I'm sorry, Aib. But I just can't do this no more."

I got a panicky feeling then. She really gone leave. Minny can't quit. She the only maid besides me who agreed to do it.

So I leant up, slipped Hilly's piece a paper out from under Miss Skeeter's notebook. My fingers stopped right in front a Minny.

She look down at it. "What that?"

I put on my blank face. Shrugged my shoulders. Couldn't act like I really wanted her to read it cause then she wouldn't.

Minny picked it up and started skimming. Pretty soon, I could see all her front teeth. But she wasn't smiling.

Then she looked at Miss Skeeter, long and heavy. She said, "Maybe we keep going then. But you stay out a my personal business, you hear?"

Miss Skeeter nodded. She learning.

I MIX a Egg salad for Miss Leefolt and Baby Girl's lunch, put them little pickles on the side to fancy it up. Miss Leefolt set at the kitchen table with Mae Mobley, start telling her how the baby's gone be here in October, how she hope she don't have to be in the hospital for the Ole Miss homecoming game, how she might have her a little sister or a little brother and wonder what they gone name it. It's nice, seeing them talking like this. Half the morning, Miss Leefolt been on the phone with Miss Hilly gossiping about something, hardly noticing Baby Girl at all. And once the new baby come, Mae Mobley ain't gone get so much as a swat from her mama.

After lunch, I take Baby Girl out to the backyard and fill up the green plastic pool. It's already ninety-five degrees outside. Mississippi got the most unorganized weather in the nation. In February, it'll be fifteen degrees and you be wishing spring would come on, and the next day it's ninety degrees for the next nine months.

The sun shining. Mae Mobley's setting in the middle a that pool in bathing bottoms. First thing she do is take off that top. Miss Leefolt come outside and say, "That looks like fun! I'm fixing to call Hilly, tell her to bring Heather and little Will over here."

And fore I know it, all three kids is playing in there, splashing around, having a good old time.

Heather, Miss Hilly's girl, she pretty cute. She six months older than Mae Mobley and Mae Mobley just love her. Heather got dark, shiny curls all over her head and some little freckles, and she real talkative. She pretty much just a short version a Miss Hilly, only it look better on a child. Little William, Jr., he two. He tow-headed and he don't say nothing. Just waddle around like a duck, following them girls to the high monkey gra.s.s on the edge a the yard, to the swingset that hitch up on one side if you swing too high and scare me to death, and back into the baby pool.

One thing I got to say about Miss Hilly, she love her children. About every five minutes, she kiss little Will on the head. Or she ask Heather, is she having fun? Or come here and give Mama a hug. Always telling her she the most beautiful girl in the world. And Heather love her mama too. She look at Miss Hilly like she looking up at the Statue a Liberty. That kind a love always make me want a cry. Even when it going to Miss Hilly. Cause it makes me think about Treelore, how much he love me. I appreciate seeing a child adoring they mama.

We grown-ups is setting in the shade a the magnolia tree while the kids play. I put a few feet between me and the ladies so it's proper. They got towels down in them black iron chairs that gets so hot. I like to sit in the plastic green folding chair. Keep my legs cool.

I watch Mae Mobley make Barbie Doll do the skinny dip, jumping off the side a the pool. But I got my eye on the ladies too. I been noticing how Miss Hilly act all sweet and happy when she talk to Heather and William, but ever time she turn to Miss Leefolt, she get a sneer on her face.

"Aibileen, get me a little more iced tea, would you, please?" Hilly ask. I go and get the pitcher from the refrigerator.

"See, that's what I don't understand," I hear Miss Hilly say when I'm close enough. "n.o.body wants to sit down on a toilet seat they have to share with them."

"It does make sense," Miss Leefolt say, but then she hush up when I come over to fill up they gla.s.ses.