first number, we both were wringing wet with sweat, and people were shouting and pounding our
backs.
I remember leaving early with Laura, to get her home in time. She was very quiet. And she didn't
have much to say for the next week or so when she came into the drugstore. Even then, I had
learned enough about women to know not to pressure them when they're thinking something out;
they'll tell you when they're ready.
Every time I saw Ella, even brushing my teeth in the morning, she turned on the third degree.
When was I seeing Laura again? Was I going to bring her by again? "What a nice girl she is!" Ella
had picked her out for me.
But in that kind of way, I thought hardly anything about the girl. When it came to personal matters,
my mind was strictly on getting "sharp" in my zoot as soon as I left work, and racing downtown to
hang out with Shorty and the other guys-and with the girls they knew-a million miles away from
the stuck-up Hill.
I wasn't even thinking about Laura when she came up to me in the drugstore and asked me to
take her to the next Negro dance at the Roseland. Duke Ellington was going to play, and she was
beside herself with excitement. I had no way to know what was going to happen.
She asked me to pick her up at her house this time. I didn't want any contact with the old
grandma she had described, but I went. Grandma answered the door-an old-fashioned, wrinkled
black woman, with fuzzy gray hair. She just opened the door enough for me to get in, not even
saying as much as "Come in, dog." I've faced armed detectives and gangsters less hostile than
she was.
I remember the musty living room, full of those old Christ pictures, prayers woven into tapestries,
statuettes of the crucifixion, other religious objects on the mantel, shelves, table tops, walls,
everywhere.
Since the old lady wasn't speaking to me, I didn't speak to her, either. I completely sympathize
with her now, of course.
What could she have thought of me in my zoot and conk and orange shoes? She'd have done us
all a favor if she had run screaming for the police. If something looking as I did then ever came
knocking at my door today, asking to see one of my four daughters, I know I would explode.
When Laura rushed into the room, jerking on her coat, I could see that she was upset and angry
and embarrassed. And in the taxi, she started crying. She had hated herself for lying before; she
had decided to tell the truth about where she was going, and there had been a screaming battle
with grandma. Laura had told the old lady that she was going to start going out when and where
she wanted to, or she would quit school and get a job and move out on her own-and her grandma
had pitched a fit. Laura just walked out.
When we got to the Roseland, we danced the early part of the evening with each other and with
different partners. And finally the Duke kicked off showtime.
I knew, and Laura knew, that she couldn't match the veteran showtime girls, but she told me that
she wanted to compete. And the next thing I knew, she was among those girls over on the
sidelines changing into sneakers. I shook my head when a couple of the free-lancing girls ran up
to me.
As always, the crowd clapped and shouted in time with the blasting band. "Go, Red, go!" Partly it
was my reputation, and partly Laura's ballet style of dancing that helped to turn the spotlight-and
the crowd's attention-to us. They never had seen the feather-lightness that she gave to Undying,
a completely fresh style-and they were connoisseurs of styles. I turned up the steam, Laura's feet
were flying; I had her in the air, down, sideways, around; backwards, up again, down, whirling...