Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas by Maya Angelou Page A

kind of money.” His hand covered some dollars on the bar.
    My protested innocence was forceful but without explanation. I could not reveal to him that I told all mycustomers about the ginger ale and that they knew the percentage I made from the champagne.
    “Please believe me, Eddie. When I leave here, I go straight to my house and let the baby-sitter take my cab so she can go home. I have a child at home.”
    “Rita, it's not me. Far as I'm concerned, you're a straight-shooter. Good people. But these other broads. They, uh, what I mean is they can give us a bad time. If they want to make real trouble all they have to do is hint to the right people that girls here accept B drinks.” He wiped at a long-dried spill on the bar and my ears began to burn. “The State Board of Equalization suspended our license once before.”
    I had ignored the fact that officers from the Board visited the club in plain clothes. I told each man who offered me a drink the composition of the drinks and the percentage I would receive. So I had been dense before, but if I thought fast I could recover.
    “Eddie, if they do that—I mean, tell the wrong person— they'll lose their jobs, too.”
    He found another spot to rub. “They don't care, not if they get mad enough. They'll just go to work down the street or around the corner. These joints are always looking for experienced girls. And that's what I want to tell you. I'm putting you on notice. Two weeks. You start looking for another place. I'll tell the girls tomorrow night that you're on notice. That ought to make them happy. If you haven't found something in two weeks, I'll try to keep you on a week at a time, but you won't have no trouble finding another job.”
    Shock made me patient. I stood silent and sheeplike as he counted out my night's money. In the taxi I gathered hiswords together and poked at them dully. Two weeks' notice. Fourteen days before the good life faded and my son and I would be cut loose to scud again without anchor. The dancers didn't like me and the disaffection was mutual. If they envied the money I made, I was jealous of the whiteness of their skin that allowed them to belong anywhere they chose to go. They could pick up their tassels and pack up their G-strings and go to another job without hesitation, but I remembered Babe. She was as white as they, but just because she slept side by side with her black husband, she was banned from the street. And what about me? I was black all over. No—the strippers felt nothing for me that I didn't feel for them.
    I was always tired after the six shows, but this night sleep did not rush to float me out of exhaustion.
    The next evening the dressing room was filled with electricity. The women were costumed, but had not made their customary dash upstairs. When I entered, they all turned to look at me. Sour little grins played on their faces. Rusty said, “So, you're leaving, huh, Rita?”
    I gaped, surprised for a second. Eddie had told them already. I offered them my most gracious smile, looking into each woman's eyes.
    “Good evening, ladies. Jody”—turn—“Kate”—turn— “Rusty.”
    Jody said, “Lovely evening, isn't it?”
    My grandmother would have been proud of me. She had purred into my ears since babyhood, “Three things no person worth a hill of beans won't do. One is eat in the street and another is cry in the street. And never let a stranger get your goat.” If they were going to lick theirchops over my distress, they would find their tongues stuck to a cake of salt.
    Upstairs I greeted Eddie as if he was simply a bartender. I looked away from him quickly and around the club. A few women sat at the tables with male companions. Their two-piece knit dresses and bouffant hairdos were strikingly out of place in the musty club.
    I sucked in my breath and followed the opening bars of my music to the stage. Since I was on notice, I could forget the audience and go for myself.
    Three fashionably dressed men