“I thought you liked taking care of people.”
“I don’t know who told you that. It’s my job to take care of my family. But cooking for some stray Negro who’s screwing three silly women? That is not part of the deal.”
“We’re African people, Belle. Polygamy is accepted in the motherland.”
“I don’t believe we’re in Africa no more. Matter of fact, I know your people haven’t been there for quite some time.”
“I can’t help that I’m light-skinned, Belle. This is how I was born.”
“Do you think that nasty rascal can please those three women?”
“Belle.”
“Just tell me that and I’ll leave it alone.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It’s not my business, but you want me shaking a fanny ’round the kitchen for him!”
He put a palm down. A soothing gesture. “What you’re doing is so important for the movement. And it’s appreciated.”
“Okay, Geoff. Fine.”
“And I’m trying to help, too, along with providing for my family.”
Actually, his parents were still paying his med school tuition and his living expenses, facts that Belle’s mother-in-law made sure to broach at least three times a month. But Belle couldn’t wound his pride. She had to stay on message.
“Is the movement why I don’t even see you half the time?”
“Baby, all I’m doing is going to school and meetings. That’s it.”
He scraped up the last bits of food and held out his plate. She cut into the meat loaf and gave him another serving.
*
“It’s not so bad, I guess,” Belle said.
“Yes, it is! It’s incredibly male chauvinist! You should threaten to leave.”
They walked aimlessly through the neighborhood where the women’s group met. Diane was telling her, wasn’t this a nice place? Didn’t she want to come to the next group meeting? But as Belle pushed the baby in her stroller, white people on the sidewalk stared at them, and she knew her sister-in-law wasn’t catching on.
Belle laughed. “You want me to leave my husband over macaroni and cheese?”
“No! Because he is disrespecting your position as a woman in American society! I thought you said Geoff was nothing like his brother. But he is. I knew it. He’s just as arrogant.”
“No, he’s not. He’s an excellent husband. And he knows I’m not having our child become a welfare baby, like one of those kids Moynihan talked about in that report.”
“That wouldn’t happen to you, Belle. You’ve got a college degree.”
“And no job experience. And no money, except my mad fund. I’d have to move back home.”
“Better that than putting up with this foolishness. Don’t you want to be a liberated woman, Belle?”
“Sure I do, just like my cousin. She’s real liberated. Every month, the social worker comes by to lecture her about her illegitimate kids. Only thing is, my cousin used to have a husband before he got killed in Vietnam. Her kids have the same father, too, but she’s scared to talk back because she needs that welfare check.”
*
At the next community meeting, everyone was talking about Oscar Bradley. His friends had been with him when the police stopped them. They weren’t even smoking weed, only drinking wine on the corner. The police let the other two go, but Oscar had been arrested and held for seven days so far, though not yet charged. They wouldn’t even let him see his mother. Irma Bradley was too upset to come to the meeting and talk about her son, but she’d given Evelyn Dawson her proxy to make her case.
That evening, there was no cigarette in Evelyn’s hand and no cursing. Instead of her usual dashiki dress, she was attired much more formally. Elegantly, and her purple jersey dress clung to her long frame, her unrestrained, firm breasts and hips.
“We need some donations for this young boy,” she said. “He needs a lawyer, and I haven’t passed the bar yet. But this is an outrage! Here we have a mother who doesn’t know what happened to her child! Doesn’t Mrs. Bradley deserve her son back?”
The other women nodded. A few dabbed at their eyes, and Belle thought of Lydia. She’d only been walking for a few months. What if somebody took her away?
After the meeting, Geoff told her he wanted to talk to Evelyn about building a neighborhood legal fund. Surely, they could gather some donations. Belle stayed at the table, serving folks who came up with their paper plates, but she kept looking across the room. The smoke from Evelyn’s lit cigarette climbed around the two of them. Evelyn looked so fresh. Free, while Belle had to wonder, was there too much salt in the macaroni and cheese? Was the chicken done to the bone? Did the pies have enough spices? Belle’s hair smelled like old grease, but there hadn’t been time to wash and press it again.