Read Online Magic City by Jewell Parker Rhodes - Free Book Online Page B

road except her. All right. She’d just lie here and die. Like Lena.
    Mary didn’t know if Lena had been an Indian or a colored, but she knew Lena had been pretty and had let herself drown. Somebody would’ve cared about Lena because she had been beautiful. Even now folks talked about her. Everybody had their own explanation for why a lovely girl let herself die. Her man had left her. She couldn’t have babies. A prettier girl had stolen her man .
    Dying somehow made Lena lovelier. Folks who claimed they’d seen her ghost said she was stark, raving beautiful.
    Nobody would care about Mary Keane. She could lie here and starve. Some coyote could gnaw her bones. There wouldn’t be any legend. Pa, at the funeral, would call her dumb.
    Mary gave a big hiccuping cry. Pictures of Dell raping her snuck into her mind. She balled her hands into fists and punched her head, trying to batter out the memory. She sat up, squealing. Red ants crawled on her arms. “Damn. Double damn.”
    She squinted in the sunlight, looking back where she’d traveled. She patted the money in her pocket. She was more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. Where would she live? How would she eat?
    A roadster with a bleating horn swerved, showering dirt and small rocks. A goggle-eyed man cursed.
    â€œDamn you too. Damn you all to hell.” If she’d been pretty, the car would’ve stopped.
    She fell back, waiting for a car or a horse’s hooves to run over her.
    Then she heard a sweet voice call, “Rise.”
    â€œMa?” She picked herself up. Nothing around but empty road. Nothing to do but walk.
    She tried to move with new confidence—she tried to sway and glide like she’d seen pretty women do. Pretty women with golden hair and pink cheeks. The heelless shoe kept tripping her.
    â€œRise,” she told herself. She was glad she didn’t have a mirror. She could feel terror settling on her face. She walked. Mincing steps. Gimpy-legged like Jody.
    She started singing: “I Want to Be Happy.”
    A man in her elevator last week had been singing the song as they rode up. He’d laughed and spoken into the air, “It’s stuck in my head.” Then, he’d looked directly at her, his hair and beard luminous white, making his albino face even paler. He’d said, “ No, No, Nanette . I saw it in New York.” He’d smiled, inviting her laughter.
    She hadn’t had the slightest idea of what he was talking about. He didn’t sound like a Tulsan, no twangy drawl; instead, his voice was lilting, high pitched. Such a curious man, she’d thought, making herself stop staring at his skin. He’d tipped her a quarter and exited into the lobby. Then he’d turned back, his hand stopping the elevator door, and confided, “You should’ve seen the dancers. They tapped like angels.”
    The sun grew bigger on the horizon. She hummed. She’d buy a silk scarf, maybe feathers for a hat. She’d even go to the cinema.
    Swatting flies, trudging the long, dry road, Mary kept singing until she grew hoarse.
    Â 
    Mary’s head hurt. She’d gotten to town too early; she didn’t start work till noon. At first, she thought she’d arrived in the wrong place. Red streamers decorated lamp poles, flags adorned shops, and coloreds were building a stage in the center of Courthouse Square. Then she remembered Decoration Day. Tomorrow, ex-soldiers were going to march.
    For a while, Mary stared in the Ladies’ Emporium window, but the display of jewelry, boots with tiny buttons, perfume flagons, and beaded dresses paralyzed her. Fashionable, well-cared-for women entered the store whispering, turning to stare at her ghostly face through the window. Embarrassed, she limped back and forth along Main, nearly a hundred times. Drenched in sweat, she lost track of time, feeling confused by the busy street with its motorcars, newspaper