You know whatll happen if people catch us? Forget the time I accidentally use the wrong changing room down at McRaes womens wear, Id have guns pointing at my house.
Theres a still, tight moment in the room with just the sound of the brown Timex clock ticking on the shelf.
You dont have to do this, Minny, Aibileen says. Its alright if you want a change your mind.
Slowly, warily, Minny settles again in her chair. I do it. I just want a make sure she understand, this aint no game we playing here.
I glance at Aibileen. She nods at me. I take a deep breath. My hands are shaking.
I start with the background questions and somehow we back our way into talking about Minnys work. She looks at Aibileen as she talks, like shes trying to forget Im even in the room. I record everything she says, my pencil scratching as fast as I can move it. We thought it might be less formal than using the typewriter.
Then theys one job where I work late ever night. And you know what happened?
Whats that? I ask, even though shes looking at Aibileen.
Oh, Minny, she cat-calls, you the best help we ever had. Big Minny, we gone keep you on forever. Then one day she say she gone give me a week a paid vacation. I aint had no vacation, paid or unpaid, in my entire life. And when I pull up a week later to go back to work, they gone. Moved to Mobile. She tell somebody she scared Id find new work before she move. Miss Lazy Fingers couldnt go a day[123] without having a maid waiting on her.
She suddenly stands up, throws her bag on her arm. I got to go. You giving me the heart palpitations talking bout this. And out she goes, slamming the door behind her.
I look up, wipe the sweat off my temple.
And that was a good mood, Aibileen says.
Chapter 13
For the next two weeks, the three of us arrange ourselves in the same seats in Aibileens small, warm living room. Minny storms in mad, quiets down as she tells Aibileen her story, then rushes out in a rage as fast as she came in. I write down as much as I can.
When Minny lapses into news about Miss Celia She sneaking upstairs, think I dont see her, but I know, that crazy lady up to something she always stops herself, the way Aibileen does when she speaks of Constantine. That aint part a my story. You leave Miss Celia out a this. She watches me until my writing stops.
Besides her furiousness at white people, Minny likes to talk about food. Lets see, I put the green beans in first, then I go on and get the pork chops going cause, mmm-mmm, I like my chops hot out the pan, you know.
One day, while shes saying, got a white baby on one arm, green beans in the pot she stops. Cocks her jaw at me. Taps her foot.
Half this stuff dont have nothing to do with colored rights. Aint but day-to-day business. She eyes me up and down. Look to me like you just writing life.
I stop my pencil. Shes right. I realize thats just what I wanted to do. I tell her, I hope so. She gets up and says shes got more important things to worry about than what Im hoping for.
The next evening, Im working upstairs in my room, banging the keys on my Corona. Suddenly I hear Mother hit the stairs running. In two seconds shes made it in my room. Eugenia! she whispers.
I stand so fast my chair teeters, trying to guard the contents of my typewriter. Yes maam?
Now dont panic but there is a man a very tall man downstairs to see you.
Who?
He says his name is Stuart Whitworth.
What?
He said yall spent an evening together awhile back but how can that be, I didnt know anything
Christ.
Dont take the Lords name in vain[124], Eugenia Phelan. Just put some lipstick on.
Believe me, Mama, I say, putting on lipstick anyway. Jesus wouldnt like him either.
I brush my hair because I know its awful. I even wash the typewriter ink and correcting fluid off my hands and elbows. But I wont change clothes, not for him.
Mother gives me a quick up and down in my dungarees and Daddys old button-up white shirt. Is he a Greenwood Whitworth or a Natchez?
Hes the state senators son.
Mothers jaw drops so far it hits her string of pearls. I go down the stairs, past the assembly of our childhood portraits. Pictures of Carlton line the wall, taken up until about the day before yesterday. Pictures of me stop when I was twelve. Mother, give us some privacy[125]. I watch as she slowly drags herself back to her room, glancing over her shoulder before she disappears.
I walk out onto the porch, and there he is. Three months after our date, there is Stuart Whitworth himself, standing on my front porch in khaki pants and a blue coat and a red tie like hes ready for Sunday dinner.
I walk out onto the porch, and there he is. Three months after our date, there is Stuart Whitworth himself, standing on my front porch in khaki pants and a blue coat and a red tie like hes ready for Sunday dinner.
Asshole.
What brings you here? I ask. I dont smile though. Im not smiling at him.
I just I wanted to drop by.
Well. Can I get you a drink? I ask. Or should I just get you the entire bottle of Old Kentucky?
He frowns. His nose and forehead are pink, like hes been working in the sun. Look, I know it was a long while back, but I came out here to say Im sorry.