Skeeter, come on in. Elizabeth opens her own front door and I fear Aibileen might not be working today. She has on a blue bathrobe and jumbo-sized rollers, making her head look huge, her body even more waif-like than it is. Elizabeth generally has rollers in all day, can never get her thin hair full enough.
Sorry Im such a mess. Mae Mobley kept me up half the night and now I dont even know where Aibileens gotten off to.
I step inside the tiny foyer. Its a low-ceilinged house with small rooms. Everything has a secondhand look the faded-blue floral curtains, the crooked cover on the couch. I hear Raleighs new accounting business isnt doing well. Maybe up in New York or somewhere its a good thing, but in Jackson, Mississippi, people just dont care to do business with a rude, condescending asshole.
Hillys car is out front, but shes nowhere to be seen. Elizabeth sits at the sewing machine she has on the dining room table. Im almost done, she says. Let me just hem this last seam Elizabeth stands, holds up a green church dress with a round white collar. Now be honest, she whispers with eyes that are pleading for me to be anything but[54]. Does it look homemade?
The hem on one side hangs longer than the other. Its wrinkled and a cuff is already fraying. One hundred percent store-bought. Straight from Maison Blanches, I say because that is Elizabeths dream store. It is five stories of expensive clothes on Canal Street in New Orleans, clothes that could never be found in Jackson. Elizabeth gives me a grateful smile.
Mae Mobleys sleeping? I ask.
Finally. Elizabeth fiddles with a clump of hair thats slipped out of her roller, grimaces at its obstinacy. Sometimes her voice takes on a hard edge when she talks about her little girl.
The door to the guest bathroom in the hall opens and Hilly comes out talking, so much better. Everybody has their own place to go now.
Elizabeth fiddles with the machine needle, seems worried by it.
You tell Raleigh I said You are welcome, Hilly adds, and it hits me, then, whats being said. Aibileen has her own bathroom in the garage now.
Hilly smiles at me and I realize shes about to bring up the initiative. Hows your mama? I ask, even though I know this is her least favorite subject. She get settled in the home alright?
I guess. Hilly pulls her red sweater down over the pudgy roll in her waist. She has on red-and-green plaid pants that seem to magnify her bottom, making it rounder and more forceful than ever. Of course she doesnt appreciate a thing I do. I had to fire that maid for her, caught her trying to steal the damn silver right under my nose. Hilly narrows her eyes a bit. Yall havent heard, by the way, if that Minny Jackson is working somewhere, have you?
We shake our heads no.
I doubt shell find work in this town again, Elizabeth says.
Hilly nods, mulling this over. I take a deep breath, anxious to tell them my news.
I just got a job at the Jackson Journal, I say.
There is quiet in the room. Suddenly Elizabeth squeals. Hilly smiles at me with such pride, I blush and shrug, like its not that big of a deal.
Theyd be a fool not to hire you, Skeeter Phelan, Hilly says and raises her iced tea as a toast.
So um, have either of yall actually read Miss Myrna? I ask.
Well no, Hilly says. But I bet the poor white trash girls in South Jackson read it like the King James[55].
Elizabeth nods. All those poor girls without help, I bet they do.
Would you mind if I talked to Aibileen? I ask Elizabeth. To help me answer some of the letters?
Elizabeth is very still a second. Aibileen? My Aibileen? I sure dont know the answers to these questions.
Well I mean, as long as it doesnt interfere with her work.
I pause, surprised by this attitude. But I remind myself that Elizabeth is paying her, after all.
And not today with Mae Mobley about to get up or else Ill have to look after her myself.
Okay. Maybe maybe Ill come by tomorrow morning then? I count the hours on my hand. If I finish talking to Aibileen by midmorning, Ill have time to rush home to type it up, then get it back to town by two.
Elizabeth frowns down at her spool of green thread. And only for a few minutes. Tomorrows silver-polishing day.
It wont be long, I promise, I say.
Elizabeth is starting to sound just like my mother.
The next morning at ten, Elizabeth opens her door, nods at me like a schoolteacher. Alright. Go on in. And not too long now. Mae Mobleyll be waking up any time.
I walk into the kitchen, my notebook and papers under my arm. Aibileen smiles at me from the sink, her gold tooth shining. Shes a little plump in the middle, but it is a friendly softness. And shes much shorter than me, because who isnt? Her skin is dark-brown and shiny against her starchy white uniform. Her eyebrows are gray even though her hair is black.
Hey, Miss Skeeter. Miss Leefolt still at the machine?
Yes. Its strange, even after all these months home, to hear Elizabeth being called Miss Leefolt not Miss Elizabeth or even her maiden name, Miss Fredericks.
May I? I point to the refrigerator. But before I can help myself, Aibileens opened it for me.