4. Awkward Introductions
Dancing at The Orange Peel - Episode 4
Welcome to Episode 4 of DANCING AT THE ORANGE PEEL, a 1960-70s serialized historical novel. Just getting started? Episode 1 | Full Episode Guide | Extra related goodies in THE MAILBAG
Previously: Episode 3, “Hard Questions.” Friday, April 5, 1968. On their way home at the end of the day, Libby quizzes her Mama about the Black man she’s just seen at the Chamber. Libby worries what the other kids at school will think of her if they find out her Mama has befriended him.
In this episode: Saturday, April 6, 1968. Libby eagerly awaits Mama’s return from a Saturday movie with her friend Miss Cheryl. They finally arrive, laughing and chattering about Sean Connery. The mood shifts quickly, though, with the the unexpected arrival of Mama’s new acquaintance, Nate Boniface. Mama makes polite introductions, but Aunt June, who’s been babysitting Libby, is clearly unnerved by his presence. When Mama insists he is welcome, Aunt June departs in a huff of disapproval.
Episode 4: AWKWARD INTRODUCTIONS
A breeze blows in the open window and lifts the curtain, blocking the Kool-Aid commercial on TV. A dust bunny floats out from under the metal TV cart. I grab at it, but it disappears under the couch. At the window, I drop to my knees, prop my elbows on the sill, and scan up and then down Hillside Street. Mama and Miss Cheryl, Mama’s sales lady friend from Ivey’s department store, are taking forever to get home from their movie.
Above me, Mrs. Walker’s wooden living room floor creaks. Most everything in this big old house creaks and groans, and with four other families and Mr. Madden, the man Daddy used to listen to on the radio, all living in the different apartments, there’s always some kind of racket.
Another puff of wind lifts the curtains by my elbow. Miss Cheryl’s light blue Volkswagen Beetle pulls to the curb across the street and the engine turns off. Mama gets out on the passenger’s side, slinging her purse strap over her shoulder.
“Aunt June!” I call toward the kitchen. “They’re back!”
My aunt comes out carrying Mama’s yellow rose in a bud vase. She’s added fresh water to it.
“A friend from the Chamber gave that to Mama,” I tell her, even though she already knows. When she’d seen the rose on the side table a few mornings ago, she said to Mama how nice it was for Uncle Grant to bring it, but Mama explained right away it had been a gift, a nice, simple “gesture” from one of the members. I don’t know how it had made it here since Mama didn’t have it on the bus ride home that day. Couldn’t’ve been in her pocketbook. It woulda squished.
Aunt June returns the vase to the end table and stares at the flower. “All the roses we can get from your Grandmamma and your mama has to bring one home from a stranger.” I’m about to correct her when she turns to the kitchen and mutters, “A friend, huh?”
I nod. Mama hasn’t told either of us which friend.
Mama and Miss Cheryl’s chatter floats through the open window as they come up the sidewalk. Mama’s so pretty with her dark, straight hair hanging loose down her back. She told Aunt June that the black, white, and yellow-flowered bellbottoms with the black tie-belt and matching vest are called a Bolero pantsuit, whatever that means. Mr. Bolden won’t allow Mama and Mrs. Wells to wear pants at the Chamber, and Granddaddy won’t tolerate any of us girls wearing pants on Sundays. That only gives Mama Saturdays to wear them.
Mama and Miss Cheryl come in the front hall, still talking, but I can’t make out their words. Aunt June slides the chain off our door and swings it wide for them to enter. “All right, ladies. Tell me who was there today.” She’s always eager to hear about their days out—which movie they saw, who was eating lunch together at The Four Sisters Restaurant before the movie. She always has excuses for never going with them, though.
I lower myself cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, only pretending to watch “Lassie.” Their stories will be much more interesting than Timmy and his dog.
Miss Cheryl’s voice sounds sad. “Oh, it was really quite boring.”
I turn ’round as she flops down in the chair nearest the door. Me and Aunt June must look really disappointed, making Mama and Miss Cheryl snicker.
I lean my elbows on the coffee table. “Who was in the movie?”
The same way Miss Cheryl had flopped in her chair, Mama drops onto the couch. “Sean Connery.”
Miss Cheryl leans forward. “Yeees!” And giggles.
I’ve heard their stories before about Sean Connery as James Bond. It’s kind of a spy movie, they’ve told me. They call him ‘dreamy.’
A knock on the door makes Mama jump, and their movie talk stops.
Aunt June grabs her sweater from the wooden coat rack beside the door and slings it around her shoulders. “I’d better be on my way. Nelson expects me home to get the house ready for his card-playing buddies tonight.”
Stepping around me to answer the knock, Mama says. “You sure do baby that man.” When she opens the door, Mama and her sister look out together. Then they both go stiff and quiet. From my spot on the floor, I can’t see, but I hear a man’s soft voice, one I don’t know.
Miss Cheryl twists in her chair to see and then shifts her eyes to Mama. I watch her, too. I want to get up and move closer to see who’s there. But the room has changed, like it’s suddenly in a bad mood—if a room could do that. By the way Aunt June looks at Mama, I’m pretty sure that feeling is coming outta my aunt.
Mama uses her formal Kent Creek Chamber of Commerce voice. “Good afternoon.” She sidesteps away from the door, bumping Aunt June on accident, nearly stepping on her toe. Brand-new yellow patent leather shoes and Mama’s already got a scuff on the heel. Aunt June scowls, says nothing, and backs away. Mama opens the door wider. Is it to let Aunt June out or this man in? I still can’t see who’s there.
In a voice higher than usual, Mama says, “Come in, Mr. Boniface.”
The Negro from the Chamber.
I scoot on the floor just enough to see some of Mama’s face. She smiles and takes another step back. As the man comes in, a wide grin spreads all the way across his face. Mama bites her bottom lip. Her lips twitch the way they do when she’s trying to hold back a smile.
She turns slowly—I can see her full face now—and extends her right hand, palm up, between Mr. Bonny Face and Aunt June. She speaks to him first. “This is my sister June.” She pauses. “June, this is Nate. Nate Boniface.”
He nods. “Good afternoon.” His voice lifts at the ends of his words, making them sound happy.
Aunt June doesn’t speak, just stares at Mama. A really long time. Mama raises her eyebrows and holds her gaze. Finally, Aunt June breaks her stare and turns to me. “Your Mama’s got company. Come with me.” She stretches out her hand and flaps her fingers into her palm. “We need your help, dyeing eggs.”
I reach to take her hand, but then stop. “Easter’s a whole week away.” I scan their faces, first Aunt June, Mama, then Mr. Bonny Face. The corners of his mouth turn up a little, but he’s not paying any attention to us. I follow his gaze. The rose on the end table.
Aunt June barks, “We have plenty to do. Picking colors, putting prizes in the plastic eggs.” She flaps her fingers into her hand again. “So you just come.”
I love to dye eggs and play in the colors, so I stand and am about to give in. Mama comes beside me, and Miss Cheryl shifts in her chair again, not saying a word, still watching.
“That’s not necessary,” Mama tells Aunt June. “She’ll stay.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and steers me to stand at the man’s elbow, between him and her.
I glance sideways, up at him. The only Negro I’ve ever been this close to is Dark Willie—Mr. Willie. He always has on brogans and dungarees. This man wears shiny, brown leather shoes with clean laces, and a suit like yesterday. It looks like suede, though, about the same color as his skin. I have an odd urge to reach out and touch them both, but it doesn’t seem right.
“Come on, Libby.” Aunt June motions to me again and narrows her eyes.
Putting up her index finger, but not pointing to anything in particular, Mama says to me, “You’ll stay.” Fine with me. She half-smiles and lifts her chin. “It’s okay, June.”
My aunt fumbles with a sweater button. Those wrinkles she gets whenever she’s mad at Mama have come up on her forehead.
“June,” Mama repeats, trying to catch her eye. But Aunt June won’t look at her. Now she’s fiddling with the shoulders of her sweater.
Mama has changed from how she was before the knock. She’s serious now, not funning around like she and Miss Cheryl were. She gets her face up close to Aunt June’s. Then quick—like she’s out of breath—she says, “He’s a new member, June, at the Chamber.”
Aunt June’s eyes dart around everywhere except toward Mama and Mr. Bonny Face. She seems scared to look at him. Does she think he’s one of the bad ones Granddaddy talks about? He catches me glancing at him this time and grins. Mama wouldn’t be friends with a bad man. She told me on the bus he’s kind. He seems that way.
Mama reaches toward him, and he moves closer to her, behind me. He sticks his arm out past my head, offering his hand to Aunt June. “It was lovely to meet you.”
She stares at the floor like a bump on a log, her mouth open and her eyes big. Mama wraps her hand around her sister’s elbow and lightly squeezes. “June, Nate is . . . a friend. He’s welcome here.”
I repeat Mama’s words in my head: He’s welcome here. She told me already he’s her friend. Does that mean, like Miss Cheryl and Uncle Grant, that we’ll see him regular now? That’s seems fine. But then the boy on the bottom step of the school bus comes back to me. So does the name he called the girls. My stomach knots.
With the hand Mr. Bonny Face offered to Aunt June, he gently pats Mama’s wrist where she still grips Aunt June’s elbow. As she lets go, Aunt June jerks away. My aunt crosses her arms and rubs them up and down like she’s trying to scrub something off. “My”—she breathes out the words—“my, my.” She won’t look at any of us.
I’m used to seeing Aunt June upset with Mama. She’s always telling people Mama is too bold, rebellious, careless. She says Mama behaves that way to get a reaction outta people, especially Granddaddy. Seems to me Aunt June is mad at Mama most of the time for no good reason. Now, though, I have a feeling Aunt June really believes Mama has done something bad. No matter the sweet, smiley way Mama and this man looked at each other when he first walked in, Aunt June must think Mama’s doing a terrible wrong by letting him in our house. Mama said he’s welcome, though. Why’s he here?
Bending to the coffee table, Aunt June gathers the rest of her things, a book and her reading glasses. She clomps the heels of her loafers with each step around the room. She acts like Mama’s friends aren’t even in the room. She’s being rude, but it isn’t the first time.
“Gwen,” she finally says to Mama but looking stare-straight at me. “Libby should come home with me . . . to spend the night with Constance and Pam.” Fumbling with her belongings, she nearly drops her book.
“I told you,” Mama says, firm, “that’s not necessary.”
“Fine.” Aunt June spins toward the door, but turns back, this time, glaring into Mama’s face. “Are you trying to find some way to set Daddy off again? There’s always something with you.” Her voice is shaky. “This ain’t right.”
Not mean, just matter-of-fact, Mama tells her, “This is my house.”
Aunt June gets her way about most things, but she knows when not to mess with Mama. My aunt leaves, and the moodiness in the room seems to leave with her.
Miss Cheryl, quiet all this time, jumps up from the chair and picks her red purse up off the floor. She’s smiling ear to ear. “I need to get going, too.” She bounces toward the door.
“Oh, Cheryl!” Mama seems like she forgot her friend was in the room. “I’m so sorry. Let me introduce you.” She grins like the cat in Alice in Wonderland. Boy, moods sure change quick around here.
“Nate,” Mama says to Mr. Bonny Face, and then motions to Miss Cheryl, “this is my good friend, Cheryl Turner.” Mama raises on her toes a little, and without looking away from him, she adds, “Cheryl, this is Nate Boniface.”
“It’s nice meeting you, Mr. Boniface.” Miss Cheryl offers her hand. He takes it. But instead of shaking, he gently sandwiches hers between both of his as he dips his head. She raises an eyebrow at Mama. He releases her hand and steps back. Keeping her eyes on Mama, Miss Cheryl says to him, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” She pauses, then repeats, “A lot.” That seems to please Mama.
“Call me Nate. How was your movie today?”
His question doesn’t seem odd to anybody but me. How’d he know they went to the movies? Maybe that’s what he and Mama were talking about at the Chamber yesterday.
Miss Cheryl’s cheeks turn red. “Anything with Sean in it is fabulous.” She steps toward the door. “I really gotta run. It was nice to meet you, though.”
“Don’t rush off because of my arrival.”
The way he talks is different from any man I’ve ever heard, white or Negro. Even more formal than Mama using her Chamber voice when she helps a tourist. It’s “proper,” as Grandmamma says.
Miss Cheryl nods at Mama. “Oh, I have errands.” She opens the door, then turns back and shrugs. “But I’m certain we’ll meet again,” she says to Mr. Bonny Face. She rolls her fingers in a quick wave to me over Mama’s shoulder. “Bye, Lib.”
“Bye.”
We’re alone now, me and Mama and this new colored man Mama is telling everybody is her friend. I watch him as he watches Mama close the door behind her friend. Maybe, with everyone gone, I can find out why he’s here. I can tell he likes Mama. Will he like me, too? I’m not sure why since I hardly know the man, but I actually care whether he does. But what if the things Granddaddy says about coloreds are true? No, no. Mama says not. Besides, she’s already told me he’s nice.
Standing straight like a doorman, his hands behind his back, he apologizes to Mama. “I didn’t mean to frighten off your guests.”
“Oh, it’s all right.” She smiles, takes a breath, and motions me beside her. “Now there’s time for a proper introduction.”
Thanks for reading! Each episode is a work-in-progress, which means you’re a vital part of my creation process, and the story may expand or contract as I write. I encourage and value your comments.
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