Read Online Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas by Maya Angelou - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maya Angelou
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cocktails per night. If I told the man I didn't drink, I'd lose the job.
“We use ginger ale and sometimes 7-Up with a lemon twist. And we got the fastest waitresses on the street. Show time is eight o'clock. Six shows a night, six times a week each one of you girls dance fifteen minutes a show.” He shifted his head, the spiel was over. I backed away, but he stopped me. “Uh, Rita, you belong to the union?”
“No.” I had never heard of a dancers' union or a B-girls' union.
“Soon as we reopen, the AGVA representative'll be down here. Every girl has to belong to the union or we get blackballed. If you want to, we'll advance your initiation fee and you can pay it back in two weekly payments.”
“Thank you.” I was beginning to like this man who talked like a villainous Edward G. Robinson, yet was too withdrawn to look directly at my face.
“I'm only the manager, but the boss thinks that you shouldn't strip. The other girls are strippers. You just dance. And wear costumes like you wore today.” The costume I had borrowed made stripping absolutely unnecessary.“Most girls buy their materials from Lew Serbin's Costume Company down on Ellis Street. Last thing is this, Rita: we've never had a colored girl here before, so people might say something. Don't get upset. If a customer gets out of line with any of the girls in a coming-on way, I take care of that, but uh, if they say something about your color, I can't help that. 'Cause you
are
colored. Right?” He nearly looked at me. “And don't go home with any guy or else the police'll be down and close us up.” He turned his back and began typing on the cash register keys.
“See you at seven-thirty tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
A showgirl. I was going to be a star shining in the firmament of show biz. Once more adventure had claimed me as its own, and the least I could do was show bravery in my strut and courage in the way I accepted the challenge. It was time to celebrate. No bus could take me back fast enough to Ivonne's house, where I had left my son. I stopped a taxi and gave the driver her address.
Ivonne grinned when I told her of my new profession and laughed outright at the salary.
“Seventy-five bones a week. What are you going to do with all that money? Buy a yacht?”
“It's going to be more than seventy-five.” I told her about the drinks and the percentage. Ivonne had the talent of forcing her face absolutely still and looking so intently at an object that her eyes seemed to telescope. She sat a few moments registering my information.
“My. I know you'll try anything once, but be careful. How many Negroes are working down there?”
“Only the guys in the band, as far as I can see. I'm the first Negro dancer they've had.”
“That makes it a little different, doesn't it?” Her voice had descended to a tone just above a whisper.
“I don't see that, Vonne.”
I had always wanted to believe that things were exactly as they seemed, that secrets and furtive acts and intents always made themselves known somehow. So I acted easily or uneasily on the face rather than the hidden depth of things. “I'm going there to dance and to make some money.”
She got up from the sofa and walked toward the kitchen. Our children's laughter floated out from a back bedroom.
“Aleasar made some spaghetti. Let's eat.”
We sat down at the wrought-iron dinette table.
I asked, “What worries you about my working down there?”
“I'm not worried, you can take care of yourself.” A smile widened her small mouth as much as it could. “All I want to say is what the old folks say, ‘If you don't know, ask’ But, don't let anybody make you do something you don't think is right. Your mother already raised you. Stay steady. And if that makes somebody mad, they can scratch their mad place and get glad.”
We laughed together. Our friendship was possible because Ivonne was wise without glitter, while I, too often, glittered without wisdom.
CHAPTER 7
The
“We use ginger ale and sometimes 7-Up with a lemon twist. And we got the fastest waitresses on the street. Show time is eight o'clock. Six shows a night, six times a week each one of you girls dance fifteen minutes a show.” He shifted his head, the spiel was over. I backed away, but he stopped me. “Uh, Rita, you belong to the union?”
“No.” I had never heard of a dancers' union or a B-girls' union.
“Soon as we reopen, the AGVA representative'll be down here. Every girl has to belong to the union or we get blackballed. If you want to, we'll advance your initiation fee and you can pay it back in two weekly payments.”
“Thank you.” I was beginning to like this man who talked like a villainous Edward G. Robinson, yet was too withdrawn to look directly at my face.
“I'm only the manager, but the boss thinks that you shouldn't strip. The other girls are strippers. You just dance. And wear costumes like you wore today.” The costume I had borrowed made stripping absolutely unnecessary.“Most girls buy their materials from Lew Serbin's Costume Company down on Ellis Street. Last thing is this, Rita: we've never had a colored girl here before, so people might say something. Don't get upset. If a customer gets out of line with any of the girls in a coming-on way, I take care of that, but uh, if they say something about your color, I can't help that. 'Cause you
are
colored. Right?” He nearly looked at me. “And don't go home with any guy or else the police'll be down and close us up.” He turned his back and began typing on the cash register keys.
“See you at seven-thirty tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
A showgirl. I was going to be a star shining in the firmament of show biz. Once more adventure had claimed me as its own, and the least I could do was show bravery in my strut and courage in the way I accepted the challenge. It was time to celebrate. No bus could take me back fast enough to Ivonne's house, where I had left my son. I stopped a taxi and gave the driver her address.
Ivonne grinned when I told her of my new profession and laughed outright at the salary.
“Seventy-five bones a week. What are you going to do with all that money? Buy a yacht?”
“It's going to be more than seventy-five.” I told her about the drinks and the percentage. Ivonne had the talent of forcing her face absolutely still and looking so intently at an object that her eyes seemed to telescope. She sat a few moments registering my information.
“My. I know you'll try anything once, but be careful. How many Negroes are working down there?”
“Only the guys in the band, as far as I can see. I'm the first Negro dancer they've had.”
“That makes it a little different, doesn't it?” Her voice had descended to a tone just above a whisper.
“I don't see that, Vonne.”
I had always wanted to believe that things were exactly as they seemed, that secrets and furtive acts and intents always made themselves known somehow. So I acted easily or uneasily on the face rather than the hidden depth of things. “I'm going there to dance and to make some money.”
She got up from the sofa and walked toward the kitchen. Our children's laughter floated out from a back bedroom.
“Aleasar made some spaghetti. Let's eat.”
We sat down at the wrought-iron dinette table.
I asked, “What worries you about my working down there?”
“I'm not worried, you can take care of yourself.” A smile widened her small mouth as much as it could. “All I want to say is what the old folks say, ‘If you don't know, ask’ But, don't let anybody make you do something you don't think is right. Your mother already raised you. Stay steady. And if that makes somebody mad, they can scratch their mad place and get glad.”
We laughed together. Our friendship was possible because Ivonne was wise without glitter, while I, too often, glittered without wisdom.
CHAPTER 7
The
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