magazine.”
For Dolly, that was strong talk.
There are some people who are fastidious about the language they use, possibly because of their upbringing. Dolly and I could be alone in an empty apartment, yet if Dolly said “hell,” she always spelled it.
Now she was still irate. She said, “If the editor had enough damned nerve to ask you for that much work in two days, you have enough damned nerve to write the pieces and deliver them in person before noon on Monday.”
On Monday morning I stepped crisply into the office of the
Saturday Review.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Cousins.”
The receptionist said, hardly looking up, “He’s not here.”
“But I’m supposed to give him some digests. May I see his secretary?”
“She’s not here, either. You can just leave them there.”
She never once really looked at me, but I had the sensation that she had looked and seen right through me. At first glance, I appeared a nice-looking woman in her late thirties, well dressed, carefully coiffed, with more than enough confidence.
But the receptionist knew that I didn’t belong there and she did. To her I was just another colored girl out of my place. Dangerously, her knowledge almost became my knowledge. I laid the pages on the desk and somehow got to the elevator as quickly as possible.
Twenty-four
Jimmy Baldwin had visited me the night before and our conversation had turned into a loud row. I was not surprised to hear his voice on the telephone.
“Hey baby, are you busy?”
“Not too busy, why?”
“I’m coming to pick you up. I’ll be in a taxi. I want to talk to you.”
We didn’t speak in the cab. The argument had been over the Black Panthers in general, of whom I approved, and Eldridge Cleaver in particular, who I thought was an opportunist and a batterer.
Jimmy had said, “You can’t separate Cleaver from the Panthers. He is their general.”
I had argued that Huey Newton was the general and Eldridge was a loudmouth foot soldier.
The Black Panthers had earned respect in the African-American community. They had started a school where the students were given free breakfasts and professional tutoring. They were courteous to women and addressed one another with kindness. Even the most archconservative privately admired their trim Panthers’ uniforms topped by rakishly worn berets. The people were happy to see them stride through the neighborhood like conquering heroes accepting greetings.
Eldridge had a different air. It was as if he were years older than the others. When I saw him on television, he seemed more inimical and bitter than the other Panthers. They were angry, enraged and determined to do something about the entrenched racism, but he was aloof and chilly.
Jimmy had said, “Why are you skirting the issue? You don’t like Cleaver because you don’t like what he said about me.”
“That’s true. But that’s not all.”
“Yeah?” He had smiled, and his fine hands flew around in the air like dark birds. He knew me very well. “You can’t stand hearing anyone insult or even talk about your friends.”
I had not responded. Not only was it true, I thought, but it was a good way to be.
When the cab stopped now on Forty-fourth Street, off Broadway, I asked, “We had to come to a transient hotel?”
He paid the driver. “It’s sleazy, I know that, but I used to hang out here years ago. I come here a lot of times when I want to think.” I was pleased that he would want me around while he thought.
It was early afternoon outside, but the dim bar and the reek of spilled beer and urine made me think of midnight in a low-down and dusty dive during prohibition.
Jimmy’s eyes had no more time than mine to grow accustomed to the gloom, but he led me directly to the bar. Obviously he was familiar with the place.
He pulled out a stool. “Baby, you order drinks, I’ve got to make a phone call.”
I ordered two Scotches and thought about the mind’s whimsy. James Baldwin,
For Dolly, that was strong talk.
There are some people who are fastidious about the language they use, possibly because of their upbringing. Dolly and I could be alone in an empty apartment, yet if Dolly said “hell,” she always spelled it.
Now she was still irate. She said, “If the editor had enough damned nerve to ask you for that much work in two days, you have enough damned nerve to write the pieces and deliver them in person before noon on Monday.”
On Monday morning I stepped crisply into the office of the
Saturday Review.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Cousins.”
The receptionist said, hardly looking up, “He’s not here.”
“But I’m supposed to give him some digests. May I see his secretary?”
“She’s not here, either. You can just leave them there.”
She never once really looked at me, but I had the sensation that she had looked and seen right through me. At first glance, I appeared a nice-looking woman in her late thirties, well dressed, carefully coiffed, with more than enough confidence.
But the receptionist knew that I didn’t belong there and she did. To her I was just another colored girl out of my place. Dangerously, her knowledge almost became my knowledge. I laid the pages on the desk and somehow got to the elevator as quickly as possible.
Twenty-four
Jimmy Baldwin had visited me the night before and our conversation had turned into a loud row. I was not surprised to hear his voice on the telephone.
“Hey baby, are you busy?”
“Not too busy, why?”
“I’m coming to pick you up. I’ll be in a taxi. I want to talk to you.”
We didn’t speak in the cab. The argument had been over the Black Panthers in general, of whom I approved, and Eldridge Cleaver in particular, who I thought was an opportunist and a batterer.
Jimmy had said, “You can’t separate Cleaver from the Panthers. He is their general.”
I had argued that Huey Newton was the general and Eldridge was a loudmouth foot soldier.
The Black Panthers had earned respect in the African-American community. They had started a school where the students were given free breakfasts and professional tutoring. They were courteous to women and addressed one another with kindness. Even the most archconservative privately admired their trim Panthers’ uniforms topped by rakishly worn berets. The people were happy to see them stride through the neighborhood like conquering heroes accepting greetings.
Eldridge had a different air. It was as if he were years older than the others. When I saw him on television, he seemed more inimical and bitter than the other Panthers. They were angry, enraged and determined to do something about the entrenched racism, but he was aloof and chilly.
Jimmy had said, “Why are you skirting the issue? You don’t like Cleaver because you don’t like what he said about me.”
“That’s true. But that’s not all.”
“Yeah?” He had smiled, and his fine hands flew around in the air like dark birds. He knew me very well. “You can’t stand hearing anyone insult or even talk about your friends.”
I had not responded. Not only was it true, I thought, but it was a good way to be.
When the cab stopped now on Forty-fourth Street, off Broadway, I asked, “We had to come to a transient hotel?”
He paid the driver. “It’s sleazy, I know that, but I used to hang out here years ago. I come here a lot of times when I want to think.” I was pleased that he would want me around while he thought.
It was early afternoon outside, but the dim bar and the reek of spilled beer and urine made me think of midnight in a low-down and dusty dive during prohibition.
Jimmy’s eyes had no more time than mine to grow accustomed to the gloom, but he led me directly to the bar. Obviously he was familiar with the place.
He pulled out a stool. “Baby, you order drinks, I’ve got to make a phone call.”
I ordered two Scotches and thought about the mind’s whimsy. James Baldwin,
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