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Craig had now entered the fantastic world inhabited by white folks like Penelope Aaron. Folks who had been pegged as talentless in their own community but knew that their color made them top shelf in the Black arena. There was no doubt in my mind that as a white man writing about an unexplored Black subject, Craig would get a lucrative book deal even though he didn’t understand the subtleties, nuances, or cultural markers of what he was writing about. I stuffed bitterness into my mouth with every single bite of pizza.
Craig and I were still there when Annabelle materialized. I was struck again by her feminine mannerisms and youthful, almost ethereal, beauty. Dora trailed behind her and stood motionless as Annabelle kissed her husband, waved at me, and then flopped into a chair.
Dora was a pretty child who didn’t resemble either of her parents. She had an olive complexion, thick, black, curly hair which fell to her shoulders, and dark brown eyes. I remembered Annabelle’s difficult pregnancy so I knew that Dora wasn’t adopted but she definitely resembled a little Gypsy.
Craig, wearing a look of concern, waved his daughter closer to the table. “What’s the matter, Pixie?”
Dora didn’t move. “Mommy says I have to go to the doctor’s again. I don’t want any more needles.”
Craig looked anxiously at Annabelle. “What doctor has Pixie been going to? What is she talking about?”
Annabelle gave her child a shut-the-fuck-up-or-die look and said, “We’ll talk about all this later, Dora. It is impolite to make a guest feel uncomfortable in your home. Now say hello to Jackie.”
The last thing I needed was to be in the middle of some family drama. Thankfully, Dora heeded her mother’s words by giving me an obedient little wave, which I returned.
“Are you hungry, Dora? There is plenty of pizza left,” Craig said, smiling.
Dora shook her head and ran from the room.
Annabelle turned her attention to me. “What did you think of the ending?”
I chose my words carefully. “It needs some work, but have you ever seen a manuscript that didn’t?” I chuckled and took a sip of grape juice.
Craig looked unhappy. “How much work?”
“A few tucks here and there.”
Annabelle nodded. “Okay, tell Craig where to tuck.”
I took a deep breath. “Craig, you might want to rethink one thread of the narrative that some readers might find offensive. In other words, you seem to feel that Moms Mabley should have changed her entire act into one that would appeal to white audiences.”
No one said anything, so I took a huge gulp of grape juice and plunged on. “You also might want to take another look at the idea that Moms Mabley used up a lot of energy pursuing young Black men, which adversely impacted her career.”
“Do you find that offensive as well?” Craig asked mildly.
Moms was pleading with me from heaven to help keep this ridiculous thesis from ever seeing the light of day. “It just isn’t true,” I said flatly.
Annabelle’s mouth had stretched into a Thin Pink Line. A line that Blacks from the Big House to the Boardroom knew all too well. The line meant that I had only seconds to get back in My Place or there was going to be trouble.
I understood the Thin Pink Line but Annabelle should not have used it in this instance. She had four other senior editors on staff and the only reason I had been chosen over them was because Moms Mabley and I were both African-American. It made perfect sense and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, but to pick me for my Black sensibility and then give me the Thin Pink Line when I delivered it was totally absurd.
“There is nothing in Craig’s research to support such an assertion,” I said calmly. “What happened was that Craig gathered some material that he interpreted in the wrong way because he didn’t understand certain cultural nuances, but I can fix it for him.”
Craig said, “Well, if Jackie Mabley did not become a superstar because of her own uncontrolled lust for young men and a refusal to create material that whites could relate to, what do you say is the cause of her failure?”
“Well, first of all, I don’t consider Moms Mabley a failure, but racism certainly played a huge part in her life.”
Annabelle shook her head so hard that for a moment the silky, blond strands formed a swirling halo around her head. “We don’t want to fall back on that old saw. I also feel that if Craig writes that Miss Mabley’s problems were due to racism, that will diminish her as a woman.”
Say what?
My heart was pounding and I focused on the way Mama relied on me to pay for her rent, utilities, food, medicine, and social activities, the thousands of dollars I owed on my five charge accounts, and the fact that there was no other place for me to work at my trade where I wouldn’t encounter this same type of bullshit. I focused on these things and then pasted on my Corporate Negro smile. The Thin Pink Line disappeared, and Craig stopped frowning.
“Perhaps you’re right, Annabelle. I didn’t think about it that way.”
Craig grinned widely. “This calls for a celebration. Why don’t I uncork a bottle of chilled champagne?”
I stood up and stretched. “That sounds wonderful, but I promised my mother a visit today. I haven’t seen her in almost two weeks.” The lies flowed smoothly from my lips.
