Emma Lou awoke with a headache. Someone was knocking at her door, but when she first awakened it had seemed as if the knocking was inside of her head. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples, and tried to become more conscious. The knock persisted and she finally realized that it was at her door rather than in her head. She called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s me.” Emma Lou was not far enough out of the fog to recognize who “me” was. It didn’t seem important anyway, so without any more thought or action, she allowed herself to doze off again. Whoever was on the outside of the door banged the louder, and finally Emma Lou distinguished the voice of her landlady, calling, “Let me in, Miss Morgan, let me in.” The voice grew more sharp … “Let me in,” and then in an undertone, “Must have someone in there.” This last served to awaken Emma Lou more fully, and though every muscle in her body protested, she finally got out of the bed and went to the door. The lady entered precipitously, and pushing Emma Lou aside sniffed the air and looked around as if she expected to surprise someone, either squeezing under the bed or leaping through the window. After she had satisfied herself that there was no one else in the room, she turned on Emma Lou furiously:
“Miss Morgan, I wish to talk to you.” Emma Lou closed the door and wearily sat down upon the bed. The wrinkled faced old woman glared at her and shifted the position of her snuff so she could talk more easily. “I won’t have it, I tell you, I won’t have it.” Emma Lou tried hard to realize what it was she wouldn’t have, and failing, she said nothing, just screwed up her eyes and tried to look sober.
“Do you hear me?” Emma Lou nodded. “I won’t have it. When you moved in here I thought I made it clear that I was a respectable woman and that I kept a respectable house. Do you understand that now?” Emma Lou nodded again. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do. “I’m glad you do. Then it won’t be necessary for me to explain why I want my room.”
Emma Lou unscrewed her eyes and opened her mouth. What was this woman talking about? “I don’t think I understand.”
The old lady was quick with her answer. “There ain’t nothin’ for you to understand, but that I want you to get out of my house. I don’t have no such carryings-on around here. A drunken woman in my house at all hours in the morning, being carried in by a man! Well, you coulda knocked me over with a feather.”
At last Emma Lou began to understand. Evidently the landlady had seen her when she had come in, no doubt had seen Alva carry her to her room, and perhaps had listened outside the door. She was talking again:
“You must get out. Your week is up Wednesday. That gives you three days to find another room, and I want you to act like a lady the rest of that time, too. The idea!” she sputtered, and stalked out of the room.
This is a pretty mess, thought Emma Lou. Yet she found herself unable to think or do anything about it. Her lethargic state worried her. Here she was about to be dispossessed by an irate landlady, and all she could do about it was sit on the side of her bed and think—maybe I ought to take a dose of salts. Momentarily, she had forgotten it was Sunday, and began to wonder how near time it was for her to go to work. She was surprised to discover that it was still early in the forenoon. She couldn’t possibly have gone to bed before four-thirty or five, yet it seemed as if she had slept for hours. She felt like someone who had been under the influence of some sinister potion for a long period of time. Had she been drugged? Her head still throbbed, her insides burned, her tongue was swollen, her lips chapped and feverish. She began to deplore her physical condition, and even to berate herself and Alva for last night’s debauchery.
Funny people, his friends. Come to think of it they were all very much different from anyone else she had ever known. They were all so, so—she sought for a descriptive word, but could think of nothing save that revolting, “Oh, sock it,” she had heard on first entering the apartment where the house-rent party had been held.
Then she began to wonder about her landlady’s charges. There was no need arguing about the matter. She had wanted to move anyway. Maybe now she could go ahead and find a decent place in which to live. She had never had the nerve to begin another room hunting expedition after the last one. She shuddered as she thought about it, then climbed back into the bed. She could see no need in staying up so long as her head ached as it did. She wondered if Alva had made much noise in bringing her in, wondered how long he had stayed, and if he had had any trouble manipulating the double-barrelled police lock on the outside door. Harlem people were so careful about barricading themselves in. They all seemed to fortify themselves, not only against strangers, but against neighbors and friends as well.
And Alva? She had to admit that she was a trifle disappointed in him and in his friends. They certainly weren’t what she could have called either intellectuals or respectable people. Whoever heard of decent folk attending such a lascivious festival? She remembered their enthusiastic comments and tried to comprehend
