Chapter Three #2
Mazelle’s parents shared the biggest bedroom in the house, with space for a dressing table and a large wardrobe.
When they first bought the house, Mazelle had argued that she should have the biggest bedroom (hadn’t they moved to Los Angeles because of her?), but Daddy had told her she was being foolish and disrespectful—and besides, she needed to sleep close to Scout.
The dog whimpered all night long on the nights Mazelle slept in her parents’ bed when she woke up from bad dreams.
Mother coughed into her hand. Mother had been coughing and sleeping later in the mornings. Daddy said she should see a doctor, and Mazelle was worried about Mother’s stubbornness. Mazelle was always on the lookout for the bad luck trailing her to make up for the good luck of finding Scout.
“Pumpkin, hand me that water,” Mother said, her voice hoarse, and Mazelle gave her the beveled glass from her bedside night table. Mother drank half the glass, and the coughing stopped. Good. “All right, let’s get this done.”
Ugh. Every Saturday, Mother unbraided and then re-braided Mazelle’s hair in the style that Mr. Lorenzo insisted she must wear.
Mazelle hadn’t liked Mother’s hot comb, considering how often Mother accidentally singed her ears, but she would tolerate a thousand burns if she could wear her hair pressed in her old style of two pigtails that reached her shoulders instead of so many small, nappy plaits Mother intentionally mussed to look neglected.
“Why does Mr. Lorenzo make me wear my hair like this?” Mazelle whined. “He says he loves us all the same, so how come I’m the only one with messy hair?”
Mother went quiet. She never said a word against Mr. Lorenzo when Mazelle was present, although Mazelle had heard her grumbling to Daddy from behind their door about more than just her hairstyle.
“I’m sure he does love you, child,” Mother said. “Oh, I’m very sure of that.” Her voice said there was more she didn’t want to say. But if Mother had complaints against him, why did she negotiate the contract?
Mother worked quickly, parting Mazelle’s hair into sections, braiding it tightly.
She’d had to cut Mazelle’s hair shorter so her braids would stick up instead of drooping down.
Between braiding her hair and tying the white ribbons, the work took Mother more than an hour.
But Mazelle didn’t mind being settled between Mother’s thighs.
Aunt Ruby would come next, and Mazelle was in no hurry to see her.
“Why does Aunt Ruby have to stay with us?” Mazelle asked glumly. “We have more money now. I have a contract.”
“Shhhh,” Mother said. “Lower your voice. I don’t want her to hear you talking like that.
This house partly belongs to her, you know.
We didn’t have two cents to rub together when we came out here.
And do you know I never would have been onstage and met your father if she hadn’t given me lessons when I was your age? ”
“Daddy can teach me!”
“Not anymore,” Mother said quietly. “Not the way he wants to—with his back so sore. We want you to have the best chance to keep up your career. I hate to put it this way, but dogs don’t live forever.
We have no idea how old Scout is. And once your contract is up and you’re closer to a young lady than a little girl, you’ll be relying more on your other talents. ”
Mother never liked to say it, but Doris reminded Mazelle at every opportunity: She didn’t have any other talents except for Scout.
Mazelle couldn’t dance or sing as well as her sisters, and they were having no luck finding work in Los Angeles.
Mother didn’t want them working in nightclubs until they graduated from high school, and no one in pictures would talk to them, even Mr. Lorenzo.
Mazelle could still do backflips and cartwheels, which she often performed for the camera with Scout, but Mother said she needed a stronger act if she wanted to have longevity.
“Aunt Ruby hits me,” Mazelle said, her voice hushed, although her words were so loud that they should have made Mother’s ears ring.
Mother only sighed. “I sure hated that paddle too,” she said, just as quiet.
This wasn’t the first time Mazelle had complained about Aunt Ruby’s paddling, and Mother had said she would talk to Aunt Ruby about using a gentler hand.
But Mazelle didn’t think she had, or Aunt Ruby wasn’t listening.
During Mazelle’s sulking silence, Mother squeezed Mazelle’s shoulders.
“Come on, she’s not that bad,” Mother said.
“I know she’s strict, but just mind your mouth and do as you’re told.
You’ll be better for it—just like I was. ”
Then Mother coughed several more times. Mazelle heard her lungs rumbling deep inside.
“All right, Mother,” Mazelle said. Maybe pleasing her could be a cure.
It took the rest of the water glass to quiet Mother’s cough, but then she patted Mazelle’s back. “All done. Go look at yourself and tell me if Mr. Lorenzo will like it. Last time, he said you looked too much like Easter Sunday.” Her voice carried a slight wheeze.
Mazelle went to the dressing table mirror hoping her hair wouldn’t look as silly as it usually did, but she was disappointed.
Two dozen limp white ribbons were festooned across thin braids that stuck up every which way all over her head.
Mother had made the braids frizzy and sloppy instead of fresh.
As usual, Mazelle barely recognized herself.
She hated to leave the house because her hair was so embarrassing, especially at church.
She missed attending school with classmates instead of only having a tutor on the set, but she could never go to a city school looking like a pickaninny from a soapbox.
All she was missing was inflated, bright red lips.
Now that she had signed her contract, her required hairstyle bothered Mazelle more.
“You and Daddy never did no minstrel shows,” Mazelle said, half to herself.
“Tell the truth, your father and brother slapped on some cork once or twice,” Mother said.
Burnt cork was the most popular way performers, colored and white, blackened their faces.
“Had to, in the early days. Don’t you worry about that.
Better you playing that part than another white child.
At least you don’t have to play dumb. Mazy is the smartest one in the pack. ”
“Scout’s the smartest.”
“Same thing. There’s no Scout without you. That’s a fact. Two sides of a coin.”
No Scout without her.
No Mazy without Scout.
But for how long?
“Where the hell have you been, girl?”
Aunt Ruby looked demure with tightly pinned silver-blue hair, but she swore like a drunk.
Aunt Ruby was already frowning, her dreaded black hairbrush clutched in her palm.
If she got annoyed, Aunt Ruby would swat Mazelle’s rump with the brush’s wide, flat back.
Daddy and Mother never whipped her, but Aunt Ruby was quick to swat her with the brush without notice or a good excuse.
But Mazelle refused to be afraid of her.
Doris’s bullying had made Mazelle swear she would never be afraid of anyone.
“Talk to Mother if you don’t like it.” Mazelle didn’t glance her way as she sank to her knees to roll up the heavy living room rug. This was the largest space for dance lessons, but the floor had to be bare. She would get paddled today for sure at the first excuse.
“Don’t you sass me,” Aunt Ruby said.
Mazelle was tempted to show her what sassing really sounded like, but she held her tongue when she saw Scout watching through the screen door.
With the front door open to let in the morning breeze, Scout was a smoky silhouette behind the screen.
His ears were perked high, paying close attention.
Scout didn’t like it when people spoke to Mazelle with a certain tone, the same tone Mazelle didn’t like herself.
Scout had growled at Mr. Lorenzo twice, but thankfully no one else had heard him.
Mr. Lorenzo slipped easily into that tone when he was running behind.
When Mazelle looked up at Scout, his tail thumped.
“Leave that dog be and get your shoes on,” Aunt Ruby said.
“Can we start with piano today?”
“Too early for all that banging. But all right.”