who you are, the girl who shares a crib with a colored? Don’t rightly know why Mistah Anderson keeps lettin’ that slide.”
Mary was hardly listening. Instead, with each breath, she could feel the cash against her chest. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
“I want to pay it off,” she blurted out. “But not to get Lobrano out of jail. I want to pay for the crib, and I want my name to be put there instead of Lobrano’s.” Even she was surprised to hear the words sound so bold. She pointed to the entry. “Here. My name, not his.”
Tater gave her an oafish look. “Ain’t followin’, miss.”
“I want my name on that crib. Miss Mary Deubler, and I’ll pay off the twenty-five dollars here and now.”
“Don’t think that be the way it works.”
“I’ll pay for the next month up front too. Right now, I’ll give you thirty dollars total.”
Perplexed, Tater stared at her. Mary’s heart was thumping so loud she was certain he could hear it. Finally, he cocked his head. “I ’spect you’s just a whore, but the way I see it, your thirty dollars be as good as any.”
Mary kept very still, so as not to let on her relief. From her cleavage, she removed the roll of cash and counted off the bills. Only two dollars remained. She’d walked in with her life savings and was to leave with two single dollars to put in the cigar box—the box that had been its heaviest just this morning. What good were two dollars to a new baby? But what good was a cigar box of cash when there was no hope of a better life for that child? Shakily, she handed Tater the money.
Craning over the ledger, she watched like a hawk as Tater scratched graphite through Lobrano’s name. But as he was about to write a new line, Mary stopped him.
“Will you write it in ink, please?” she said. He again gave her a confused look. “Not in lead,” she explained, “but in ink. Please.” She didn’t want Tater—or anyone—to be able to scratch out her name the way Lobrano’s just was. She didn’t want there to be any question that Mary Deubler had paid thirty dollars and was entitled to that crib.
“Picky thing, ain’t ya?” Tater said. Mary just smiled sweetly. He dipped a pen in ink.
“The name’s Mary Deubler,” she repeated, and then spelled it out slowly, watching as Tater formed each letter, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. After he was done filling in the columns and had marked PAID and the date, she gave him her biggest smile. “May I trouble you for one more thing?” she asked.
He gave her a weary look.
“Is there some kind of paper I can have, to prove this crib’s paid up and is in my name?”
He rolled his eyes at the hassle, but Mary blinked her lashes and looked at him longingly. With a grunt, he riffled around in the desk, eventually turning up a piece of parchment. Again, his tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he wrote in big, uneven letters in crooked lines:
CRIB 19 BE RENTED PROPERTY OF MARY DEUBLER. PAID IN FULL.
“Sign it there too,” Mary instructed. “Please.”
He wrote: SINED BY TATER . He handed the paper to Mary. It looked as if a blind man had scrawled it, but it would do.
“Thank you . . . Sir,” she said, not sure how to refer to him. “Will you please send someone to take the boards down from the crib door?”
“I’ll get Sheep-Eye on it.”
“Thank you, again,” she said, and turned to leave. But then she turned back.
“What now, woman?”
“Just so we’re all clear, this ain’t no bail for Lobrano.”
Tater grinned big enough to reveal missing teeth. “Let him sit and dry out. But can’t keep him there forever, ya know.”
“Don’t need forever,” Mary said, and with that, she walked confidently through the door, feeling like her back was straighter than it had ever been, and that her body was lighter, as if the pressure of a peet daddy—of nasty Lobrano—was a sack of meal she’d been hauling on her shoulders and had just
Mary was hardly listening. Instead, with each breath, she could feel the cash against her chest. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
“I want to pay it off,” she blurted out. “But not to get Lobrano out of jail. I want to pay for the crib, and I want my name to be put there instead of Lobrano’s.” Even she was surprised to hear the words sound so bold. She pointed to the entry. “Here. My name, not his.”
Tater gave her an oafish look. “Ain’t followin’, miss.”
“I want my name on that crib. Miss Mary Deubler, and I’ll pay off the twenty-five dollars here and now.”
“Don’t think that be the way it works.”
“I’ll pay for the next month up front too. Right now, I’ll give you thirty dollars total.”
Perplexed, Tater stared at her. Mary’s heart was thumping so loud she was certain he could hear it. Finally, he cocked his head. “I ’spect you’s just a whore, but the way I see it, your thirty dollars be as good as any.”
Mary kept very still, so as not to let on her relief. From her cleavage, she removed the roll of cash and counted off the bills. Only two dollars remained. She’d walked in with her life savings and was to leave with two single dollars to put in the cigar box—the box that had been its heaviest just this morning. What good were two dollars to a new baby? But what good was a cigar box of cash when there was no hope of a better life for that child? Shakily, she handed Tater the money.
Craning over the ledger, she watched like a hawk as Tater scratched graphite through Lobrano’s name. But as he was about to write a new line, Mary stopped him.
“Will you write it in ink, please?” she said. He again gave her a confused look. “Not in lead,” she explained, “but in ink. Please.” She didn’t want Tater—or anyone—to be able to scratch out her name the way Lobrano’s just was. She didn’t want there to be any question that Mary Deubler had paid thirty dollars and was entitled to that crib.
“Picky thing, ain’t ya?” Tater said. Mary just smiled sweetly. He dipped a pen in ink.
“The name’s Mary Deubler,” she repeated, and then spelled it out slowly, watching as Tater formed each letter, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. After he was done filling in the columns and had marked PAID and the date, she gave him her biggest smile. “May I trouble you for one more thing?” she asked.
He gave her a weary look.
“Is there some kind of paper I can have, to prove this crib’s paid up and is in my name?”
He rolled his eyes at the hassle, but Mary blinked her lashes and looked at him longingly. With a grunt, he riffled around in the desk, eventually turning up a piece of parchment. Again, his tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he wrote in big, uneven letters in crooked lines:
CRIB 19 BE RENTED PROPERTY OF MARY DEUBLER. PAID IN FULL.
“Sign it there too,” Mary instructed. “Please.”
He wrote: SINED BY TATER . He handed the paper to Mary. It looked as if a blind man had scrawled it, but it would do.
“Thank you . . . Sir,” she said, not sure how to refer to him. “Will you please send someone to take the boards down from the crib door?”
“I’ll get Sheep-Eye on it.”
“Thank you, again,” she said, and turned to leave. But then she turned back.
“What now, woman?”
“Just so we’re all clear, this ain’t no bail for Lobrano.”
Tater grinned big enough to reveal missing teeth. “Let him sit and dry out. But can’t keep him there forever, ya know.”
“Don’t need forever,” Mary said, and with that, she walked confidently through the door, feeling like her back was straighter than it had ever been, and that her body was lighter, as if the pressure of a peet daddy—of nasty Lobrano—was a sack of meal she’d been hauling on her shoulders and had just
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