The Help. Part 3

Miss Leefolt head back to her bedroom and, just like I figured, the first thing she do is tie up the phone. First she call Miss Hilly. Then she call the hairdresser. Then she call the store about a wedding present, talking, talking, talking. Soon as she hang up, she come out and ask what they having for supper this week. I pull out the notebook and go down the list. No, she don't want pork chops. She trying to get her husband to reduce. She want skillet steak and green salad. And how many calories do I spec them meringue thingies have? And don't give no more cookies to Mae Mobley cause she too fat and--and--and-- Law! For a woman who ain't said nothing to me but do this and use that bathroom, all a sudden she talking to me like I'm her best friend. Mae Mobley's dancing a hot-foot jig trying to get her mama to notice her. And just when Miss Leefolt about to bend down to pay her some attention, whoops! Miss Leefolt run out the door cause she forgot she got a errand to run and a blooming hour done pa.s.sed already.

I can't make my fingers go round that dial fast enough.

"Minny! I got a job lined up. But you got to get to the phone--"

"She already call." Minny's voice is flat. "Leroy give her the number."

"So Miss Walter answer it," I say.

"Deaf as doo-doo and all a sudden it's like a miracle from G.o.d, she hear the phone ringing. I'm going in and out a the kitchen, not paying attention, but at the end I hear my name. Then Leroy call and I know that's what it was." Minny sound wore out, and she the kind that don't ever get tired.

"Well. Maybe Miss Walter didn't tell her them lies Miss Hilly started. You never know." But even I ain't fool enough to believe this.

"Even if she didn't, Miss Walters know all about how I got back at Miss Hilly. You don't know about the Terrible Awful Thing I did. I don't ever want you to know. I'm sure Miss Walters tell this woman I'm nothing short a the devil hisself." Her voice sound eerie. Like she a record player going too slow.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could a called you earlier so you could pick up that phone."

"You done what you can. Nothing n.o.body can do for me now."

"I be praying for you."

"Thank you," she say, and then her voice break down. "And I thank you for trying to help me."

We hang up and I go to mopping. The sound a Minny's voice scare me.

She always been a strong woman, always fighting. After Treelore died, she carry supper over to me ever night for three months straight. And ever day she say, "Nuh-uh, you ain't leaving me on this sorry earth without you," but I tell you, I was sure enough thinking about it.

I already had the rope tied when Minny found it. The coil was Treelore's, from back when he doing a science project with pulleys and rings. I don't know if I's gone use it, knowing it's a sin against G.o.d, but I wasn't in my right mind. Minny, though, she don't ask no questions about it, just pull it out from under the bed, put it in the can, take it to the street. When she come back in, she brush her hands together like she cleaning things up as usual. She all business, that Minny. But now, she sound bad. I got a mind to check under her bed tonight.

I put down the bucket a Sunshine cleaner them ladies is always smiling about on the tee-vee. I got to set down. Mae Mobley come up holding her tummy, say, "Make it not hurt."

She lay her face on my leg. I smooth her hair down over and over till she practically purring, feeling the love in my hand. And I think about all my friends, what they done for me. What they do ever day for the white women they waiting on. That pain in Minny's voice. Treelore dead in the ground. I look down at Baby Girl, who I know, deep down, I can't keep from turning out like her mama. And all of it together roll on top a me. I close my eyes, say the Lord's prayer to myself. But it don't make me feel any better.

Law help me, but something's gone have to be done.

BABY Girl Hug On MY LEGS all afternoon to where I bout fall over a few times. I don't mind. Miss Leefolt ain't said nothing to me or Mae Mobley since this morning. Been working so busy on that sewing machine in her bedroom. Trying to cover up something else she don't like the look of in the house.

After while me and Mae Mobley go in the regular living room. I got a load a Mister Leefolt's shirts to iron and after this I'm on get a pot roast going. I cleaned the bathrooms already, got the sheets changed, the rugs vacuumed. I always try to finish up early so me and Baby Girl can set together and play.

Miss Leefolt come in and watch me ironing. She do that sometimes. Frown and look. Then she smile real quick when I glance up. Pat up the back a her hair, trying to make it puffy.

"Aibileen, I have a surprise for you."

She smiling big now. She don't have no teeth showing, just a lip smile, kind you got to watch. "Mister Leefolt and I have decided to build you your very own bathroom." She clap her hands together, drop her chin at me. "It's right out there in the garage."

"Yes ma'am." Where she think I been all this time?

"So, from now on, instead of using the guest bathroom, you can use your own right out there. Won't that be nice?"

"Yes ma'am." I keep ironing. Tee-vee's on and my program's fixing to start. She keep standing there looking at me though.

"So you'll use that one out in the garage now, you understand?"

I don't look at her. I'm not trying to make no trouble, but she done made her point.

"Don't you want to get some tissue and go on out there and use it?"

"Miss Leefolt, I don't really have to go right this second."

Mae Mobley point at me from the playpen, say, "Mae Mo juice?"

"I get you some juice, baby," I say.

"Oh." Miss Leefolt lick her lips a few times. "But when you do, you'll go on back there and use that one now, I mean... only that one, right?"

Miss Leefolt wear a lot a makeup, creamy-looking stuff, thick. That yellowish makeup's spread across her lips too, so you can barely tell she even got a mouth. I say what I know she want to hear: "I use my colored bathroom from now on. And then I go on and Clorox the white bathroom again real good."

"Well, there's no hurry. Anytime today would be fine."

But by the way she standing there fiddling with her wedding ring, she really mean for me to do it right now.

I put the iron down real slow, feel that bitter seed grow in my chest, the one planted after Treelore died. My face goes hot, my tongue twitchy. I don't know what to say to her. All I know is, I ain't saying it. And I know she ain't saying what she want a say either and it's a strange thing happening here cause n.o.body saying nothing and we still managing to have us a conversation.

MINNY.

chapter 3.

STANDING On that white lady's back porch, I tell myself, Tuck it in, Minny. Tuck it in, Minny. Tuck in whatever might fly out my mouth and tuck in my behind too. Look like a maid who does what she's told. Truth is, I'm so nervous right now, I'd never backtalk again if it meant I'd get this job. Tuck in whatever might fly out my mouth and tuck in my behind too. Look like a maid who does what she's told. Truth is, I'm so nervous right now, I'd never backtalk again if it meant I'd get this job.

I yank my hose up from sagging around my feet--the trouble of all fat, short women around the world. Then I rehea.r.s.e what to say, what to keep to myself. I go ahead and punch the bell.

The doorbell rings a long bing-bong bing-bong, fine and fancy for this big mansion out in the country. It looks like a castle, gray brick rising high in the sky and left and right too. Woods surround the lawn on every side. If this place was in a story book, there'd be witches in those woods. The kind that eat kids.

The back door opens and there stands Miss Marilyn Monroe. Or something kin to her.

"Hey there, you're right on time. I'm Celia. Celia Rae Foote."

The white lady sticks her hand out to me and I study her. She might be built like Marilyn, but she ain't ready for no screen test. She's got flour in her yellow hairdo. Flour in her glue-on eyelashes. And flour all over that tacky pink pantsuit. Her standing in a cloud of dust and that pantsuit being so tight, I wonder how she can breathe.

"Yes ma'am. I'm Minny Jackson." I smooth down my white uniform instead of shaking her hand. I don't want that mess on me. "You cooking something?"

"One of those upsidedown cakes from the magazine?" She sighs. "It ain't working out too good."

I follow her inside and that's when I see Miss Celia Rae Foote's suffered only a minor injury in the flour fiasco. The rest of the kitchen took the real hit. The countertops, the double-door refrigerator, the Kitchen-Aid mixer are all sitting in about a quarter-inch of snow flour. It's enough mess to drive me crazy. I ain't even got the job yet, and I'm already looking over at the sink for a sponge.

Miss Celia says, "I guess I have some learning to do."

"You sure do," I say. But I bite down hard on my tongue. Don't you go sa.s.sing this white lady like you done the other. Sa.s.sed her all the way to the nursing home. Don't you go sa.s.sing this white lady like you done the other. Sa.s.sed her all the way to the nursing home.

But Miss Celia, she just smiles, washes the muck off her hands in a sink full of dishes. I wonder if maybe I've found myself another deaf one, like Miss Walters was. Let's hope so.

"I just can't seem to get the hang of kitchen work," she says and even with Marilyn's whispery Hollywood voice, I can tell right off, she's from way way out in the country. I look down and see the fool doesn't have any shoes on, like some kind of white trash. Nice white ladies don't go around barefoot. out in the country. I look down and see the fool doesn't have any shoes on, like some kind of white trash. Nice white ladies don't go around barefoot.

She's probably ten or fifteen years younger than me, twenty-two, twenty-three, and she's real pretty, but why's she wearing all that goo on her face? I'll bet she's got on double the makeup the other white ladies wear. She's got a lot more bosom to her, too. In fact, she's almost as big as me except she's skinny in all those places I ain't. I just hope she's an eater. Because I'm a cooker and that's why people hire me.

"Can I get you a cold drink?" she asks. "Set down and I'll bring you something."

And that's my clue: something funny's going on here.

"Leroy, she got to be crazy," I said when she called me up three days ago and asked if I'd come interview, "cause everbody in town think I stole Miss Walters' silver. And I know she do too cause she call Miss Walters up on the phone when I was there."

"White people strange," Leroy said. "Who knows, maybe that old woman give you a good word."

I look at Miss Celia Rae Foote hard. I've never in my life had a white woman tell me to sit down so she can serve me a cold drink. Shoot, now I'm wondering if this fool even plans on hiring a maid or if she just drug me all the way out here for sport.

"Maybe we better go on and see the house first, ma'am."

She smiles like the thought never entered that hairsprayed head of hers, letting me see the house I might be cleaning.

"Oh, of course. Come on in yonder, Maxie. I'll show you the fancy dining room first."

"The name," I say, "is Minny."

Maybe she's not deaf or crazy. Maybe she's just stupid. A shiny hope rises up in me again.

All over that big ole doodied up house she walks and talks and I follow. There are ten rooms downstairs and one with a stuffed grizzly bear that looks like it ate up the last maid and is biding for the next one. A burned-up Confederate flag is framed on the wall, and on the table is an old silver pistol with the name "Confederate General John Foote" engraved on it. I bet Great-Grandaddy Foote scared some slaves with that thing.

We move on and it starts to look like any nice white house. Except this one's the biggest I've ever been in and full of dirty floors and dusty rugs, the kind folks who don't know any better would say is worn out, but I know an antique when I see one. I've worked in some fine homes. I just hope she ain't so country she don't own a Hoover.

"Johnny's mama wouldn't let me decorate a thing. I had my way, there'd be wall-to-wall white carpet and gold trim and none of this old stuff."

"Where your people from?" I ask her.

"I'm from . . . Sugar Ditch." Her voice drops down a little. Sugar Ditch is as low as you can go in Mississippi, maybe the whole United States. It's up in Tunica County, almost to Memphis. I saw pictures in the paper one time, showing those tenant shacks. Even the white kids looked like they hadn't had a meal for a week.

Miss Celia tries to smile, says, "This is my first time hiring a maid."

"Well you sure need one." Now, Minny Now, Minny-- "I was real glad to get the recommendation from Missus Walters. She told me all about you. Said your cooking is the best in town."

That makes zero sense to me. After what I did to Miss Hilly, right in front of Miss Walters to see? "She say... anything else about me?"

But Miss Celia's already walking up a big curving staircase. I follow her upstairs, to a long hall with sun coming through the windows. Even though there are two yellow bedrooms for girls and a blue one and a green one for boys, it's clear there aren't any children living here. Just dust.

"We've got five bedrooms and five bathrooms over here in the main house." She points out the window and I see a big blue swimming pool, and behind that, another another house. My heart thumps hard. house. My heart thumps hard.

"And then there's the poolhouse out yonder," she sighs.

I'd take any job I can get at this point, but a big house like this should pay plenty. And I don't mind being busy. I ain't afraid to work. "When you gone have you some chilluns, start filling up all these beds?" I try to smile, look friendly.

"Oh, we're gonna have some kids." She clears her throat, fidgets. "I mean, kids is the only thing worth living for." She looks down at her feet. A second pa.s.ses before she heads back to the stairs. I follow behind, noticing how she holds the stair rail tight on the way down, like she's afraid she might fall.

It's back in the dining room that Miss Celia starts shaking her head. "It's an awful lot to do," she says. "All the bedrooms and the floors . . ."

"Yes ma'am, it's big," I say, thinking if she saw my house with a cot in the hall and one toilet for six behinds, she'd probably run. "But I got lots a energy."

". . . and then there's all this silver to clean."

She opens up a silver closet the size of my living room. She fixes a candle that's turned funny on the candelabra and I can see why she's looking so doubtful.

After the town got word of Miss Hilly's lies, three ladies in a row hung up on me the minute I said my name. I ready myself for the blow. Say it, lady. Say what you thinking about me and your silver. Say it, lady. Say what you thinking about me and your silver. I feel like crying thinking about how this job would suit me fine and what Miss Hilly's done to keep me from getting it. I fix my eyes on the window, hoping and praying this isn't where the interview ends. I feel like crying thinking about how this job would suit me fine and what Miss Hilly's done to keep me from getting it. I fix my eyes on the window, hoping and praying this isn't where the interview ends.

"I know, those windows are awful high. I never tried to clean them before."

I let my breath go. Windows are a heck of a lot better subject for me than silver. "I ain't afraid a no windows. I clean Miss Walters' top to bottom ever four weeks."

"Did she have just the one floor or a double decker?"

"Well, one . . . but they's a lot to it. Old houses got a lot a nooks and crannies, you know."

Finally, we go back in the kitchen. We both stare down at the breakfast table, but neither one of us sits. I'm getting so jittery wondering what she's thinking, my head starts to sweat.

"You got a big, pretty house," I say. "All the way out here in the country. Lot a work to be done."

She starts fiddling with her wedding ring. "I guess Missus Walters' was a lot easier than this would be. I mean, it's just us now, but when we get to having kids . . ."

"You, uh, got some other maids you considering?"

She sighs. "A bunch have come out here. I just haven't found... the right one yet." She bites on her fingernails, shifts her eyes away.

I wait for her to say I'm not the right one either, but we just stand there breathing in that flour. Finally, I play my last card, whisper it because it's all I got left.

"You know, I only left Miss Walters cause she going up to the rest home. She didn't fire me."

But she just stares down at her bare feet, black-soled because her floors haven't been scrubbed since she moved in this big old dirty house. And it's clear, this lady doesn't want me.

"Well," she says, "I appreciate you driving all this way. Can I at least give you some money for the gas?"

I pick up my pocketbook and thrust it up under my armpit. She gives me a cheery smile I could wipe off with one swat. d.a.m.n d.a.m.n that Hilly Holbrook. that Hilly Holbrook.

"No ma'am, no, you cannot."