Goodbye Without Leaving Read Free Page A

attend thousands of weddings, tea dances, and balls when we grew up. At these dances the boys went out and planted cherry bombs in mailboxes and the girls talked about what animals the boys were. As for me, I was usually in love with some gangly misfit or other with whom I discussed such works as No Exit by Jean Paul Sartre. There were a few girls who really liked to kiss boys. I was one of them, although I only kissed those boys who agreed with Jean Paul Sartre that hell was other people.
    The first time I heard “Amazing Grace,” in a sweaty little chapel outside of Gainesville, Florida, I began to cry. I found I could not stop crying, on and off, all day.
    â€œPoor little white girl has flipped out,” said Vernon.
    I had a healthy, upright hatred for Vernon. Everyone did. He was the sort of person who, it would not have surprised you to learn, had sex with lizards and embezzled funds from handicapped widows. Ruby may have hated him too, but he was her engine; he was everyone’s engine. He had come up from the most dire poverty in which ten children slept in a shack and were probably molested by their relatives. He had discovered Ruby and, by dint of being able to pluck the strings of a secondhand guitar and possessing an ambition that made forest fires look like birthday candles, he claimed Ruby—who could sing—and went out to set the world on fire. He had come a long way. At home in New Orleans, he and Ruby lived in a big pink house with a pink piano in the living room and a pink piano in the music room. He drove an elongated black Cadillac and had a collection of Civil War pistols. Ruby had her own masseuse, her own hairdresser and, when she finally hit the big big time (by which time I was long gone, as the song says), she even had her own designer and nutritionist.
    Ruby was not interested in the private lives of her staff. The people who worked for her—musicians and dancers—were just so many crabs or spiders. She did not like the sight of anyone having trouble. The only reason she and Vernon saw me crying was because I burst into tears inside the church.
    â€œToday is the anniversary of my grandmother’s death,” I lied. This made them all feel better.
    I was taken for a little walk by Doo-Wah Banks, on whom I had a useless crush. Doo-Wah was a dense, middle-sized man with short hair and the kind of eyes that take in everything—like a cop’s. He had actually graduated from Juilliard—I alone knew this—and he was having himself a little fun by traveling with Ruby. Since he was divorced and had to send money to his wife and two boys, being on the road prevented him from running up expenses. He had big shoulders and was shiny black. His affect was an irresistible combination of fatherly and sexual.
    â€œNow, now, now, little chicken,” he said as he walked me into the countryside. “Now, stop crying, you poor little thing. Are you lonely for your own people?”
    â€œI don’t have any own people,” I said. “I think I’d feel a lot better if I could get in bed with you, Wah.”
    â€œOh, no, honey-babe. We’d get lynched for it. Besides, I don’t sleep with colleagues, that’s my rule.”
    â€œWell, listen,” I said. “How about just letting me put my arms around you.”
    He led me behind a large tree and allowed me to hug him. He was an excellent person, a truly good man, kind to girls and women, a teacher and friend to children, and he kept his mouth shut when it was wise to. A person could learn a lot from a guy like Wah. I held him tight. He smelled of spicy aftershave. I really believed that if I could just curl up with him everything would be fine. He put his arms around me and I began to cry again.
    â€œPoor lonely girl,” he said. “Why don’t you get a boyfriend?”
    â€œI have no faith,” I sobbed.
    Doo-Wah, who believed in self-improvement, thought I meant that I