Chapter Two
Two
MAZELLE’S TAP SHOES WERE TOO tight. She hadn’t noticed the pinch during rehearsals, or in the borrowed Model T for the drive from Gracetown to Jacksonville, but when she started walking on the long paths and hallways at Norman Studios, her feet were hurting so much that it was hard to smile and stay excited about the new sights as she tried to keep pace with her family.
Scout, beside her, whimpered as if he knew her pain when her shoes click-clicked on the floor.
Her family had retired their showcase of dancing, singing, and jokes, but today they were costumed like the Washington All-American Family Troupe: Daddy and Brother in smart black suits, Doris and Dottie in matching yellow dresses and identical bobs, and Mother as prim as if she were at church.
Scout wore a new leash and bright red collar Mother had borrowed from a friend.
And one of Daddy’s red bow ties. Mazelle wore a sparkling tutu because her parents thought the dancing was the most dazzling part of her act.
“… brought the house down in Atlanta back in ’twenty-four,” Daddy’s cousin was saying to his white boss. “Folks was lined up around the block. This man here?” He pointed to Daddy. “In his prime, cousin Emory could put Bojangles to shame. Dancing plus acrobatics! Whole family’s a sight to see.”
Mazelle tried to forget her pinched feet by watching the white man’s face, how his lips curled to a smile beneath his mustache.
It seemed like a listening-politely smile more than a hiring smile.
And when was Daddy’s cousin planning to mention her and Scout?
The white man, Mr. Norman, caught Mazelle staring and winked at her.
Most Negroes Mazelle had met in Florida were afraid of white men and would be shocked at the way she boldly looked Mr. Norman in the eye.
But Mazelle knew the difference between white men to fear and white men to do business with: She’d watched Mother negotiating contracts with white men her whole life, and while some were nicer than others, she’d learned to spot white men who hated Negroes and white men who loved to do business with Negroes.
Mazelle could tell already that Mr. Norman was the latter, since he called Mother ma’am and had shaken Daddy’s hand, and even Brother’s, with strong pumps like they had made his day.
“I remember your act,” Mr. Norman said. “Chicago? A revue at the Vendome. Pleasure to meet y’all.
Benny here is an exception, but we don’t see too many colored sophisticates down here.
” Mother’s face froze a bit, so Mr. Norman quickly added, “Literacy rates are so low, is all. So few opportunities compared to the North.”
“That’s why I’m teaching now.” Mazelle heard the veiled annoyance in Mother’s voice.
“Why’d you retire from the stage, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mr. Norman said.
Daddy glanced at Mother. “Well… you know.”
“The road is no place for a family,” Mother said.
Mr. Norman nodded. Maybe he didn’t understand the overflowing toilets in Negro train cars or her parents’ worries for their safety in each new town searching for a boardinghouse, but he seemed to know enough. His face grew grim with his own untold stories.
“No argument from me on that count,” Mr. Norman said. His eyes finally fixed on Mazelle. “And what’s your pooch’s name, little lady?”
Mazelle threw her arms open. “Presenting—Little Mazy and Scout the Wonder Dog!”
Scout followed her cue, standing on two legs beside her, his front paws posed wide.
Mr. Norman looked startled, and so did Daddy’s cousin and the two other white men behind them in the hall.
Staring. Mother only looked surprised that she had called herself Little Mazy, a name that had popped into Mazelle’s mind.
The name Washington didn’t fit her if the Washington All-American Family Troupe had retired.
Mazelle had been her grandmother’s name, and Mother never called her daughter anything different.
“Me and Scout have the best act in the whole world,” Mazelle said.
Scout barked his agreement. Daddy’s cousin laughed nervously.
“All righty then,” the producer said. “We’ll just see about that.”
“She’s come up with something truly special,” Mother said. “A fitting continuation of our family legacy. But one better suited for pictures than the stage. So we thought of you.”
Mr. Norman looked distracted, as men often did when Mother was talking, because they didn’t realize that Daddy was more interested in performing than negotiating.
He gestured to another white man down the hall with a file folder in his hand.
“Say—” he called. “Did Micheaux mention if he’s looking for kids? Or an animal act?”
The man barely broke his stride, shaking his head before he disappeared into a doorway.
“Oscar… Micheaux?” Mother asked. From her voice, he must have been important.
“Just a thought,” Mr. Norman said. “The picture I’m prepping isn’t suited—”
“Both of my older girls are wonderful actresses,” Mother said.
Mr. Norman’s smile thinned as he glanced at Doris and Dottie, who stood at their full height to preen for him.
“They’re a bit young still. Anyway, I’ve already cast it with Lafayette Players out of New York.
Husband and wife. Anyway… let’s do a proper screen test. How’s that, Mazy?
” Mr. Norman said, Mother flinched at her made-up stage name.
“We’ll go out to the stage and shoot a couple feet.
Maybe Roach will give us a finder’s fee. ”
His people chuckled, but Mazelle didn’t get the joke. Even Mother and Daddy looked confused. Whose feet were they going to shoot? And why was he talking about a cockroach?
“Hal Roach,” Brother whispered. “Those kid pictures. He wants to ‘shoot’ you on film.”
“Is it a long walk?” Mazelle said. “My shoes are too tight!” She thought she might cry if she had to walk another step. She had forgotten she should never walk in her tap shoes.
Mr. Norman and his people laughed again. She was enchanting them like a witch with a spell and she wasn’t even doing her act!
No, it was Scout, she remembered. Without Scout, it would have been just her sorry tap dancing, and Daddy would never have taken a day off from work to drive them here. She ruffled Scout behind his ears the way he liked, to say thank you.
“Don’t worry,” Daddy said. “I’ll carry you, pumpkin.”
Despite everything to come, for the rest of her life Mazelle Washington would look back fondly on the day she shot her first screen test, sipping on the memory like bourbon until the day she died.
The lot was fenced off from the thicket of thin pines and scrub brush just beyond it.
Florida towns were never far from the forest. Mr. Norman led them across the grounds to a wood-frame warehouse.
Inside, it was cluttered with large lights on black stands, the walls bare and ugly except for several dressed stages.
One dark corner had wallpaper, a bed, and a night table.
A bigger set was so detailed that it looked real: fresh paint and two office desks, lamps, mail slots on the wall, and a sign that read TICKET OFFICE.
The large space housed several sets without seats for an audience.
Mr. Norman walked toward a corner where a large white screen hung on one wall.
A giant black contraption stood in front of the screen with wheels and three legs that made it taller than a man.
Once she got closer, Mazelle saw the giant lens and realized that the beast was a camera, with two humps like a camel’s.
Mr. Norman went to the camera controls, fiddling with them, adjusting the angle.
His smile was gone: He was working now. One by one, workers flicked the lights on to make the screen bright, a ready stage, while Mr. Norman called out instructions to them. All this bustling for her!
Gently, Daddy let Mazelle down and pressed his hand to her cheek.
The pain in Mazelle’s feet flared fresh again when she was back on the ground, but her excitement numbed her.
Daddy didn’t have to say, This is everything you will ever want, because that truth radiated all around them.
Daddy had a thin sheen of tears in his eyes to tell her how proud he was.
Dottie rubbed Mazelle’s shoulder with encouragement, and when Mazelle glanced up at Doris, her meanest sister smiled back at her too. Brother made a playful fist, reminding her of his promise to sock anyone who didn’t like her act.
“Forget about the camera,” Mother instructed. “Do it just like you practiced. And curtsy like a lady at the start. Let Scout do a bow.”
“Okay, stand right there,” Mr. Norman said to Mazelle, pointing to an X written in chalk on the floor between the screen and the camera. Mazelle’s shoes click-clicked, while Scout’s long toenails click-clicked beside her.
“They walk like twins,” Mr. Norman said.
Brother chuckled. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, mister.”
After Mazelle and Scout had taken their places, Mr. Norman said, “Someone grab the slate and write, ‘Little Mazy and Scout.’ M-A-Z-Y.”
By now, Mother was beaming as if she’d thought up the stage name herself.
“Every second costs money,” Mr. Norman told Mazelle. “Don’t save your best for last. Give it everything for about a minute, ninety seconds. No singing or talking. Just dancing. Stare straight into the camera lens, not at anyone else. Don’t forget to smile.”
Mazelle nodded, trying to remember it all. (But what kind of rube would forget to smile?)
A young colored man ran up in front of the camera lens with a small chalkboard with black-and-white stripes. He held it in front of the lens while Mr. Norman kept fiddling with the controls. Doris and Dottie watched the young man’s every move, whispering to each other.
Mazelle fanned out her arms. She didn’t feel nervous like she had in her backyard the first night; she just wanted to finish so she could take off her shoes.
A loud whirring came from the camera.
“Mazy? You ready?” Mr. Norman called.