The Help

But Miss Celia’s already walking up a big curving staircase. I follow her upstairs, to a long hall with sun coming through the windows. Even though there are two yellow bedrooms for girls and a blue one and a green one for boys, it’s clear there aren’t any children living here. Just dust.

“We’ve got five bedrooms and five bathrooms over here in the main house.” She points out the window and I see a big blue swimming pool, and behind that, another house. My heart thumps hard.

“And then there’s the poolhouse out yonder,” she sighs.

I’d take any job I can get at this point, but a big house like this should pay plenty. And I don’t mind being busy. I ain’t afraid to work. “When you gone have you some chilluns, start filling up all these beds?” I try to smile, look friendly.

“Oh, we’re gonna have some kids.” She clears her throat, fidgets. “I mean, kids is the only thing worth living for.” She looks down at her feet. A second passes before she heads back to the stairs. I follow behind, noticing how she holds the stair rail tight on the way down, like she’s afraid she might fall.

It’s back in the dining room that Miss Celia starts shaking her head. “It’s an awful lot to do,” she says. “All the bedrooms and the floors . . .”

“Yes ma’am, it’s big,” I say, thinking if she saw my house with a cot in the hall and one toilet for six behinds, she’d probably run. “But I got lots a energy.”

“. . . and then there’s all this silver to clean.”

She opens up a silver closet the size of my living room. She fixes a candle that’s turned funny on the candelabra and I can see why she’s looking so doubtful.

After the town got word of Miss Hilly’s lies, three ladies in a row hung up on me the minute I said my name. I ready myself for the blow. Say it, lady. Say what you thinking about me and your silver. I feel like crying thinking about how this job would suit me fine and what Miss Hilly’s done to keep me from getting it. I fix my eyes on the window, hoping and praying this isn’t where the interview ends.

“I know, those windows are awful high. I never tried to clean them before.”

I let my breath go. Windows are a heck of a lot better subject for me than silver. “I ain’t afraid a no windows. I clean Miss Walters’ top to bottom ever four weeks.”

“Did she have just the one floor or a double decker?”

“Well, one . . . but they’s a lot to it. Old houses got a lot a nooks and crannies, you know.”

Finally, we go back in the kitchen. We both stare down at the breakfast table, but neither one of us sits. I’m getting so jittery wondering what she’s thinking, my head starts to sweat.

“You got a big, pretty house,” I say. “All the way out here in the country. Lot a work to be done.”

She starts fiddling with her wedding ring. “I guess Missus Walters’ was a lot easier than this would be. I mean, it’s just us now, but when we get to having kids . . .”

“You, uh, got some other maids you considering?”

She sighs. “A bunch have come out here. I just haven’t found . . . the right one yet.” She bites on her fingernails, shifts her eyes away.

I wait for her to say I’m not the right one either, but we just stand there breathing in that flour. Finally, I play my last card, whisper it because it’s all I got left.

“You know, I only left Miss Walters cause she going up to the rest home. She didn’t fire me.”

But she just stares down at her bare feet, black-soled because her floors haven’t been scrubbed since she moved in this big old dirty house. And it’s clear, this lady doesn’t want me.

“Well,” she says, “I appreciate you driving all this way. Can I at least give you some money for the gas?”

I pick up my pocketbook and thrust it up under my armpit. She gives me a cheery smile I could wipe off with one swat. Damn that Hilly Holbrook.

“No ma’am, no, you cannot.”

“I knew it was gonna be a chore finding someone, but . . .”

I stand there listening to her acting all sorry but I just think, Get it over with, lady, so I can tell Leroy we got to move all the way to the North Pole next to Santy Claus where nobody’s heard Hilly’s lies about me.

“. . . and if I were you I wouldn’t want to clean this big house either.”

I look at her square on. Now that’s just excusing herself a little too much, pretending Minny ain’t getting the job cause Minny don’t want the job.

“When you hear me say I don’t want a clean this house?”

“It’s alright, five maids have already told me it’s too much work.”

I look down at my hundred-and-sixty-five-pound, five-foot-zero self practically busting out of my uniform. “Too much for me?”

She blinks at me a second. “You . . . you’ll do it?”

“Why you think I drove all the way out here to kingdom come, just to burn gas?” I clamp my mouth shut. Don’t go ruirning this now, she offering you a jay-o-bee. “Miss Celia, I be happy to work for you.”

She laughs and the crazy woman goes to hug me, but I step back a little, let her know that’s not the kind of thing I do.

“Hang on now, we got to talk about some things first. You got to tell me what days you want me here and . . . and that kind a thing.” Like how much you paying.

“I guess . . . whenever you feel like coming,” she says.

“For Miss Walters I work Sunday through Friday.”

Miss Celia chews some more on her pink pinky-nail. “You can’t come here on weekends.”

“Alright.” I need the days, but maybe later on she’ll let me do some party serving or whatnot. “Monday through Friday then. Now, what time you want me here in the morning?”

“What time do you want to come in?”

I’ve never had this choice before. I feel my eyes narrow up. “How bout eight. That’s when Miss Walters used to get me in.”

“Alright, eight’s real good.” Then she stands there like she’s waiting for my next checker move.

“Now you supposed to tell me what time I got to leave.”

“What time?” asks Celia.

I roll my eyes at her. “Miss Celia, you supposed to tell me that. That’s the way it works.”

She swallows, like she’s trying real hard to get this down. I just want to get through this before she changes her mind about me.

“How bout four o’clock?” I say. “I work eight to four and I gets some time for lunch or what-have-you.”

“That’s just fine.”

“Now . . . we got to talk bout pay,” I say and my toes start wriggling in my shoes. It must not be much if five maids already said no.

Neither one of us says anything.

“Now come on, Miss Celia. What your husband say you can pay?”

She looks off at the Veg-O-Matic I bet she can’t even use and says, “Johnny doesn’t know.”

“Alright then. Ask him tonight what he wants to pay.”

“No, Johnny doesn’t know I’m bringing in help.”

My chin drops down to my chest. “What you mean he don’t know?”

“I am not telling Johnny.” Her blue eyes are big, like she’s scared to death of him.

“And what’s Mister Johnny gone do if he come home and find a colored woman up in his kitchen?”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t—”

“I’ll tell you what he’s gone do, he’s gone get that pistol and shoot Minny dead right here on this no-wax floor.”

Miss Celia shakes her head. “I’m not telling him.”

“Then I got to go,” I say. Shit. I knew it. I knew she was crazy when I walked in the door—