rehabilitation.
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
Billie often found herself the subject of attention of the police, who wanted to prove to the public that they were dealing with the drug plague, no matter where it was found, and of the press, which was eager to reveal her true character when she was away from the lights and the glamour. She had become the archetypal black jazz junkie, and there was no way she could deny it. Most of the passages cut from the book concerned her involvement with the white elite, which perhaps would have helped make her case for her rehabilitation and widened her social circle beyond African Americans and junkies of both races. But when they were edited out for fear of litigation,
Lady Sings the Blues
became what we know it to be today: a confession in which she blames no one but herself, and doesnât ask for sympathy.
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
After Billieâs death Bill Dufty wrote several articles in which he cited a number of topics that hadnât been discussed in the book, either becauseBillie didnât want them there or because she hadnât remembered them. Some of what she had recalled had been triggered by minor incidents. One day Dufty and Billie were having lunch in a tiny Chinese restaurantâroast duck and 7 Up and gin, favorites of hersâwhen the waiter brought some mustard to the table.
Ask him to take away that damn mustard . . .
I hate the smell of mustard. I sat in a tub of mustard for eighteen hours one time, killed my baby so I wouldnât be a bad girl. Having a baby without being married. My mother worried about that. It happened to her. And all she prayed for was it wouldnât happen to me. I didnât want to hurt her so I sat in a damn tub of hot water and mustard. God will punish her, the kids used to say. He damned well did, too. The only thing I ever wanted is that baby.
It was well known thatBillie loved children, talked about having them, and openly fantasized about what it would be like to be a mother and have a family that lived in a house with a white picket fenceâan image she had carried from her childhood. She enjoyed the company of children so much that she often asked her friends to bring theirs to see her or offered herself as their babysitter. When she lived in Queens, young Miles Davis and his family were her neighbors at a time when both of them were experiencing brief moments of domestic bliss. On Saturday afternoons Miles would borrow a bicycle and pedal over to Billieâs house to talk and drink gin. He said she reminded him of his mother, with her light brown skin, long hair, and regal carriage.Billie always asked him to bring his two-year-old son Gregory along with him, occasions on which she happily played with him and never wanted him to leave. She often found excuses to spend time with her friendsâ children, babysitting for Maya Angelouâs son Guy, or Jack Crystalâs son Billy, and she was quick to ask to be godmother to the children of the Duftys, as well as to Leonard Feather and Rosemary Clooney. (âIt takes a
bad
woman to be a good godmother,â she said to Rosemary.) Bevan Dufty recalled Billie doting on him as a child and trying to breastfeed him from her milkless breasts. At one point,she attempted to adopt a child in Boston, and was devastated when she learned that she had been turned down because of her drug conviction.
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
After the book was published, Dufty read somewhere that Billie had once been a guest at the White House while Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president, but she had never mentioned it to him or anyone he knew. When he asked her about it, she shouted, âJesus Christ, donât remind me of that damn thing. I donât even want to
think
about it.â Her explosive response was puzzling, since Billie had always spoken of FDR as one of the few
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
Billie often found herself the subject of attention of the police, who wanted to prove to the public that they were dealing with the drug plague, no matter where it was found, and of the press, which was eager to reveal her true character when she was away from the lights and the glamour. She had become the archetypal black jazz junkie, and there was no way she could deny it. Most of the passages cut from the book concerned her involvement with the white elite, which perhaps would have helped make her case for her rehabilitation and widened her social circle beyond African Americans and junkies of both races. But when they were edited out for fear of litigation,
Lady Sings the Blues
became what we know it to be today: a confession in which she blames no one but herself, and doesnât ask for sympathy.
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
After Billieâs death Bill Dufty wrote several articles in which he cited a number of topics that hadnât been discussed in the book, either becauseBillie didnât want them there or because she hadnât remembered them. Some of what she had recalled had been triggered by minor incidents. One day Dufty and Billie were having lunch in a tiny Chinese restaurantâroast duck and 7 Up and gin, favorites of hersâwhen the waiter brought some mustard to the table.
Ask him to take away that damn mustard . . .
I hate the smell of mustard. I sat in a tub of mustard for eighteen hours one time, killed my baby so I wouldnât be a bad girl. Having a baby without being married. My mother worried about that. It happened to her. And all she prayed for was it wouldnât happen to me. I didnât want to hurt her so I sat in a damn tub of hot water and mustard. God will punish her, the kids used to say. He damned well did, too. The only thing I ever wanted is that baby.
It was well known thatBillie loved children, talked about having them, and openly fantasized about what it would be like to be a mother and have a family that lived in a house with a white picket fenceâan image she had carried from her childhood. She enjoyed the company of children so much that she often asked her friends to bring theirs to see her or offered herself as their babysitter. When she lived in Queens, young Miles Davis and his family were her neighbors at a time when both of them were experiencing brief moments of domestic bliss. On Saturday afternoons Miles would borrow a bicycle and pedal over to Billieâs house to talk and drink gin. He said she reminded him of his mother, with her light brown skin, long hair, and regal carriage.Billie always asked him to bring his two-year-old son Gregory along with him, occasions on which she happily played with him and never wanted him to leave. She often found excuses to spend time with her friendsâ children, babysitting for Maya Angelouâs son Guy, or Jack Crystalâs son Billy, and she was quick to ask to be godmother to the children of the Duftys, as well as to Leonard Feather and Rosemary Clooney. (âIt takes a
bad
woman to be a good godmother,â she said to Rosemary.) Bevan Dufty recalled Billie doting on him as a child and trying to breastfeed him from her milkless breasts. At one point,she attempted to adopt a child in Boston, and was devastated when she learned that she had been turned down because of her drug conviction.
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
After the book was published, Dufty read somewhere that Billie had once been a guest at the White House while Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president, but she had never mentioned it to him or anyone he knew. When he asked her about it, she shouted, âJesus Christ, donât remind me of that damn thing. I donât even want to
think
about it.â Her explosive response was puzzling, since Billie had always spoken of FDR as one of the few
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