Read Online Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas by Maya Angelou - Free Book Online

knew it. Within seconds, they began their murmuring again, and Babe collected her discarded clothes and waved at the musicians, who grinned in response. She passed me saying nothing.
    I waited in the dark, not quite knowing if I should introduce myself or just go up and start dancing, or be sensible, race downstairs, put my clothes on and go home.
    A voice shouted, “Where's the colored girl?”
    I nearly answered “Present.” I said, “Here.”
    “Well, let's go,” the voice ordered.
    I walked onto the stage and the musicians stared their surprise. The drummer beckoned to me.
    “Hi, honey. What's your routine?”
    Certainly not “Alice Blue Gown.”
    I said, “I don't know.” And added, “I can dance, but I need something fast to dance to.”
    He nodded. “How about ‘Caravan’?”
    “That's fine.”
    He spoke to the other players, counted down four and the music began. I started dancing, rushing into movement, making up steps and changing direction. There was no story, no plan; I simply put every dance I had ever seen or known into my body and onto the stage. A little rhumba, tango, jitter bug, Susy-Q, trucking, snake hips, conga, Charles ton and cha-cha-cha. When the music was finished I had exhausted my repertoire and myself. Only after the low talking resumed in the rear did I realize the men had stopped to watch me and that the other women had dressed and were sitting at a small table in the dark.
    The drummer said, “Baby, you didn't lie, you can dance.” All the brown and black faces smiled in agreement.
    I thanked them and went downstairs with pride to change clothes. Babe passed me on the stairs, carrying her bag.
    She asked, “How did it go?”
    I said, “O.K. What about these things?” meaning her G-string and bra.
    She said, “Bring them up with you. I'll just put them in my purse.” They would have fit comfortably in a cigarette package.
    I said, “O.K. In a minute.”
    The big bartender stood over the table after I joined the other dancers.
    He said, “Rusty, you, and Jody and Kate and—” He turned to me. “What's your name?”
    I said, “Rita.”
    “—and Rita. Start tomorrow.” He looked at Babe. “Babe, try again. We had you here last year. The customers like new faces.”
    He went back to the bar. The three women got up silently and walked over to him. I was embarrassed for Babe, and when I handed the costume to her I wanted to say something kind.
    She said, “Congrats. You've got a job. You'd better go over and talk to Eddie. He'll explain everything. How much, hours and the drinks.”
    I said, “I'm sorry you didn't make it.”
    She said, “Aw, I expected it. All these guys are down on me since last year.”
    I asked, “Why?”
    She said, “I got married. My old man is colored.”
    I went to join the others, and the bartender said, “O.K., Kate, you and the other girls know the routine. See you tomorrow night. You.” Although he didn't look at any of us, he meant me. The bartender was a fleshy man with large hands and a monotone voice. His thin, pink skin barely covered a network of broken veins.
    “You worked around here before, Rita?” His eyes were focused on the edge of the bar.
    “No.”
    “You been a B-girl?”
    “No.” I had no idea what he was talking about.
    “Salary is seventy-five a week and you work the bar.”
    I began to get nervous, wondering if I should tell him I knew nothing about mixing drinks.
    He continued, “If you hustle you can clear ten, fifteen bucks a night. You get a quarter for every champagne cocktail a customer buys for you and two dollars off every eight-dollar bottle of champagne.”
    Eddie had given the spiel so often he no longer listened to himself. I began to pick meaning from his litany. I was expected to get men to buy drinks for me and I would get a percentage. Ten extra dollars a night sounded like riches, fur coats and steaks. I rattled around twenty-five cents into ten dollars and choked on the idea of forty