radical white feminist named Eva Pitts. They both spoke at the town center, and their speeches had been met with the warmest applause. It was a fact of which the town was very proud.
"It's fine that this town isn't racist, but I won't be staying here forever," Mimi stated with calm firmness.
"Well, me, neither," I agreed uncertainly. I was determined to go at the first chance, but where to or how I was going to accomplish this was still a mystery. Plus, I wasn't really ready to wrench myself away from my mother and sisters, or even from the town itself, truth be told. Weird though it was, it was still the only home I knew.
"That reminds me," Mimi said as she took a torn-out square of a newspaper from the back of The Souls of Black Folk. "This morning I found this item in a paper one of Mother's clients left on the porch. You weren't around, so I tore it out and stuck it in my book. I can't believe I nearly forgot to give it to you."
I read over the advertisement she handed to me. It was a notice of a journalism contest sponsored by the Sun. The winner would receive five hundred dollars and an internship at the Sun, complete with board "at the home of a family of impeccable repute."
Mimi and I looked at each other, bursting with possibilities. "But Mother would never let me go, even if I did win," I pointed out.
"I'd go with you," Mimi said.
"You would?"
She nodded vigorously. "Think of what fun we'd have on our own in New York City. And there are all sorts of different people in the city: black, white, people of all shades. I could discover how I want to deal with this new news about my... heritage. Not telling anyone just seems so ... wrong. It's deceitful. Inauthentic."
"What could you do differently in the city?" I asked.
"In a city like New York, I could figure things out. I could tell people who I really am, maybe get to know other black people."
"I suppose," I conceded. I didn't really understand why she couldn't go on just as she was, but I wasn't in her shoes and couldn't feel it as she did.
"You're a great writer, Jane, and you say you want to write for a newspaper someday. You have to enter this contest. I know you could win it," Mimi insisted. "I don't want either of us to stay in this town forever."
Her confidence was contagious but I still wasn't sure.
Did I have the nerve to try for this? Was I really good enough?
"I've been wanting to write an article about Tesla," I admitted to Mimi. "But I'd need to interview him, and I have no idea where to find him. He's not on Houston Street anymore, and I read that he had a Fifth Avenue lab but it also burned down. His project on Long Island is closed."
Mimi's eyes lit with excitement. "I can't believe this! I know where he is. It was meant to be!"
"How do you know?"
Mimi got to her feet. The Sun was still on the porch table, held from blowing off by a rock. She retrieved it and paged through until she found the article she sought in the society page. She handed it to me with a triumphant smile.
The photo showed Tesla inside eating alone at a round table in a gorgeous dining room complete with high windows and enormous, lavish bouquets of shining porcelain flowers. The mention of Tesla in the gossipy article was very short, and I scanned it quickly.
September, 1911. Scientist and inventor Nikola Tesla was spotted looking dapper but dining solo at the world's tallest hotel, the swanky Waldorf-Astoria on 34th Street in New York City today. The creator of the Tesla coil and famed rival of Thomas Edison has lived at the Waldorf-Astoria for some years now. It's rumored that despite several recent crushing financial setbacks, the eccentric genius is able to afford such posh digs due to his long-standing friendship with his occasional financial backer, the hotel's co-owner and the world's richest man, John Jacob Astor. The two men met back in 1893 at the Chicago World's Fair and have been fast friends ever since.
I gazed at Mimi blankly. What good was this
"It's fine that this town isn't racist, but I won't be staying here forever," Mimi stated with calm firmness.
"Well, me, neither," I agreed uncertainly. I was determined to go at the first chance, but where to or how I was going to accomplish this was still a mystery. Plus, I wasn't really ready to wrench myself away from my mother and sisters, or even from the town itself, truth be told. Weird though it was, it was still the only home I knew.
"That reminds me," Mimi said as she took a torn-out square of a newspaper from the back of The Souls of Black Folk. "This morning I found this item in a paper one of Mother's clients left on the porch. You weren't around, so I tore it out and stuck it in my book. I can't believe I nearly forgot to give it to you."
I read over the advertisement she handed to me. It was a notice of a journalism contest sponsored by the Sun. The winner would receive five hundred dollars and an internship at the Sun, complete with board "at the home of a family of impeccable repute."
Mimi and I looked at each other, bursting with possibilities. "But Mother would never let me go, even if I did win," I pointed out.
"I'd go with you," Mimi said.
"You would?"
She nodded vigorously. "Think of what fun we'd have on our own in New York City. And there are all sorts of different people in the city: black, white, people of all shades. I could discover how I want to deal with this new news about my... heritage. Not telling anyone just seems so ... wrong. It's deceitful. Inauthentic."
"What could you do differently in the city?" I asked.
"In a city like New York, I could figure things out. I could tell people who I really am, maybe get to know other black people."
"I suppose," I conceded. I didn't really understand why she couldn't go on just as she was, but I wasn't in her shoes and couldn't feel it as she did.
"You're a great writer, Jane, and you say you want to write for a newspaper someday. You have to enter this contest. I know you could win it," Mimi insisted. "I don't want either of us to stay in this town forever."
Her confidence was contagious but I still wasn't sure.
Did I have the nerve to try for this? Was I really good enough?
"I've been wanting to write an article about Tesla," I admitted to Mimi. "But I'd need to interview him, and I have no idea where to find him. He's not on Houston Street anymore, and I read that he had a Fifth Avenue lab but it also burned down. His project on Long Island is closed."
Mimi's eyes lit with excitement. "I can't believe this! I know where he is. It was meant to be!"
"How do you know?"
Mimi got to her feet. The Sun was still on the porch table, held from blowing off by a rock. She retrieved it and paged through until she found the article she sought in the society page. She handed it to me with a triumphant smile.
The photo showed Tesla inside eating alone at a round table in a gorgeous dining room complete with high windows and enormous, lavish bouquets of shining porcelain flowers. The mention of Tesla in the gossipy article was very short, and I scanned it quickly.
September, 1911. Scientist and inventor Nikola Tesla was spotted looking dapper but dining solo at the world's tallest hotel, the swanky Waldorf-Astoria on 34th Street in New York City today. The creator of the Tesla coil and famed rival of Thomas Edison has lived at the Waldorf-Astoria for some years now. It's rumored that despite several recent crushing financial setbacks, the eccentric genius is able to afford such posh digs due to his long-standing friendship with his occasional financial backer, the hotel's co-owner and the world's richest man, John Jacob Astor. The two men met back in 1893 at the Chicago World's Fair and have been fast friends ever since.
I gazed at Mimi blankly. What good was this
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