to his heavy breathing as he leans forward and removes first one shoe and then the other. She knows the routine. First the socks, and then the shirt, and then he will stand and remove his pants, careful to fold them neatly and drape them over the back of a chair, and soon after he will slide into their bed, but there will be no touching. Her new husband will lie next to her on his back and fall smartly into a deep sleep that will be announced by the thunderous rumbling of his snoring. And Lottie will lie next to him and stare at the ceiling and continue to plan their escape from this hotel and the dull routine that is already threatening to choke the life out of their young marriage.
She looks at two houses, both of which are beyond their pockets, and she wonders if this Mr. Nail insists on showing her such extravagant residences because of the manner in which she is dressed. However, the third house is better suited to Mr. and Mrs. Williams’s needs and their budget. Williams and Walker’s new production, The Policy Players , is doing well, but not well enough for her husband to buy this property without her help and so this will be her gift to him. She looks out of the drawing room window onto the broad expanse of Harlem’s Seventh Avenue— Negro Broadway—and observes finely dressed colored folks promenading up and down the boulevard. This uptown world is changing, and a tall, four-storey house means that if Mr.Williams truly does wish to bring his mother and father out from California, then there will be plenty of room right here. Mr. Nail watches and waits until he imagines that whatever thoughts are running through her mind have finally completed their circuit, and then he steps forward. She already has her hand extended in his direction, and he gently shakes it.
“I can just picture yourself and Mr. Williams in a fine home like this.”
She looks at his beaming face, but having been married to a businessman she understands that punctuating the transaction with such small talk is merely part of the routine.
“Believe me, Mrs. Williams, it is only a matter of time before this whole area boasts the finest-quality colored people.”
He places both of his hands behind his back, pushes himself up and onto the balls of his feet, and then rolls forward.
“You know, I do not care to employ the word ‘fashionable’ because such a word suggests that things may soon change. You are, of course, familiar with the old saying ‘Fashions come and fashions go.’ The word sounds a little insubstantial to me, if you understand what I am saying.”
She does understand what he is saying, but she chooses to say nothing further to this man who seems to care little that he is wasting his time. After all, their business is already concluded. The price is fixed and agreed upon. Why is he still nervously running his untrustworthy mouth in this way? They move deftly down the steep steps and onto the sidewalk. Her mind is made up. She will stroll south as far as 110th Street and the park and then ride a streetcar. Mr. Nail walks six blocks with her and then stops, claiming that he has other clients with whom he is expected to rendezvous. He doffs his hat and politely bids her farewell, and she watches him turn to the left and her eyes follow this man until he is swallowed up by the pedestrian traffic onWest 129th Street. Lottie continues south, walking slowly and with as much proprietorial elegance as she can muster, happy in the knowledge that these fine streets will soon constitute her new vicinity.
He takes the news of the house calmly, as though determined to conceal his true feelings from his wife, but these days so much of his behavior falls into this pattern. They seldom exchange more than the occasional sentence, but he eventually looks up at her as though he wishes to say something. She watches his face struggle with the emotions, but finally there is peace and just two words, “thank you.” She asks him if he would
She looks at two houses, both of which are beyond their pockets, and she wonders if this Mr. Nail insists on showing her such extravagant residences because of the manner in which she is dressed. However, the third house is better suited to Mr. and Mrs. Williams’s needs and their budget. Williams and Walker’s new production, The Policy Players , is doing well, but not well enough for her husband to buy this property without her help and so this will be her gift to him. She looks out of the drawing room window onto the broad expanse of Harlem’s Seventh Avenue— Negro Broadway—and observes finely dressed colored folks promenading up and down the boulevard. This uptown world is changing, and a tall, four-storey house means that if Mr.Williams truly does wish to bring his mother and father out from California, then there will be plenty of room right here. Mr. Nail watches and waits until he imagines that whatever thoughts are running through her mind have finally completed their circuit, and then he steps forward. She already has her hand extended in his direction, and he gently shakes it.
“I can just picture yourself and Mr. Williams in a fine home like this.”
She looks at his beaming face, but having been married to a businessman she understands that punctuating the transaction with such small talk is merely part of the routine.
“Believe me, Mrs. Williams, it is only a matter of time before this whole area boasts the finest-quality colored people.”
He places both of his hands behind his back, pushes himself up and onto the balls of his feet, and then rolls forward.
“You know, I do not care to employ the word ‘fashionable’ because such a word suggests that things may soon change. You are, of course, familiar with the old saying ‘Fashions come and fashions go.’ The word sounds a little insubstantial to me, if you understand what I am saying.”
She does understand what he is saying, but she chooses to say nothing further to this man who seems to care little that he is wasting his time. After all, their business is already concluded. The price is fixed and agreed upon. Why is he still nervously running his untrustworthy mouth in this way? They move deftly down the steep steps and onto the sidewalk. Her mind is made up. She will stroll south as far as 110th Street and the park and then ride a streetcar. Mr. Nail walks six blocks with her and then stops, claiming that he has other clients with whom he is expected to rendezvous. He doffs his hat and politely bids her farewell, and she watches him turn to the left and her eyes follow this man until he is swallowed up by the pedestrian traffic onWest 129th Street. Lottie continues south, walking slowly and with as much proprietorial elegance as she can muster, happy in the knowledge that these fine streets will soon constitute her new vicinity.
He takes the news of the house calmly, as though determined to conceal his true feelings from his wife, but these days so much of his behavior falls into this pattern. They seldom exchange more than the occasional sentence, but he eventually looks up at her as though he wishes to say something. She watches his face struggle with the emotions, but finally there is peace and just two words, “thank you.” She asks him if he would
Similar Books
