They were introduced through a mutual friend, at a social gathering held at the Bridgeses’ residence. Residence, indeed, Langston noticed, stepping onto a covered verandah and into the three-story home. Residence has three syllables; home has one. The front door had a brass knocker. A chandelier hurled squares of light around the living room. A staircase, wide enough to take two linebackers between the oak banisters, wound up to a second floor. Dr. Edward Bridges, a dentist who was known to have a number of white patients, and Mrs. Hazel Bridges stood at the door. Mrs. Bridges greeted him. She kissed Langston’s friend, who was an old family acquaintance and a known Catholic. Langston received an assessing nod and a handshake.
“What did you say your last name was?” Mrs. Bridges asked in a nasal tone. The woman could have passed for white, she was so light-skinned. She clasped one of her wrists with the other hand and studied Langston.
“Cane.” Langston met her eyes equally. Green. The woman had green eyes, reddish-brown lipstick, and brown hair combed straight back.
“Where are your people from?”
Africa, just the same as yours, he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He had heard, from his friend, that Dr. and Mrs. Bridges had a daughter of incomparable beauty. So he just said, “Baltimore.”
“I thought that name was familiar,” Mrs. Bridges said. “Your father is of A.M.E. stock, I believe.”
“My father is the minister of the Bethel A.M.E. Church in Baltimore, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, isn’t that a fine thing,” she said, forcing a smile. “And I suppose you’re at college now. Morgan?”
“Lincoln.”
“I’m sure you’ll do admirably there. Well, help yourself to something to eat. Get yourself a nice big helping.”
Langston looked straight at her green eyes to drive her gaze away. Most people, if they said something insulting, flinched if he looked right at them. But Mrs. Hazel Bridges kept watching him. He held her gaze equably. Then he allowed himself to be led away by his friend.
His father had always said Langston should stand tall, back straight, chin up, in the finest African tradition. No head hanging for a son of Hannibal. The coach of the Lincoln debating team stressed the same point. He didn’t actually mention Hannibal, but he knew about the dignified way to hold oneself in public, and drove that message home time and again. So Langston kept his head high and caught sight of Mrs. Bridges’ eldest daughter — the one he had heard about. She stood in a corner holding a bottle of Coca-Cola. She had been watching him. Watching him hold off her mother’s stare.
Langston allowed his lips to lift, just enough to let her know that he’d seen her looking. He thought she would smile back because he figured that she would enjoy watching a young man stand up to her dominating mother, but she didn’t smile. She turned quickly to take the arm of her younger sister.
“What’s the name of Dr. Bridges’ daughter?” Langston asked his friend.
“Which one?” Ed said.
“The one I’m going to marry.”
Ed chortled. “Her name is Rose. And that’ll be the day I’m president.”
“Introduce me.”
“Not so fast. What’s wrong? This your first high-society party?”
It was. But Langston wasn’t listening. He accepted a fried oyster on a cracker from a maid carrying a platter, and tried to find a way to eat it without putting the whole thing into his mouth. He raised the entire snack with his right hand, shielded his mouth with his left, and put the thing where it was meant to be. Rose was looking at him again. She had a grin all over her face. Langston headed over to meet her.
“Rose Bridges? I’ve heard of you from my friend, Ed Ryan.”
“And what is your name?”
Those first five words made Langston fall in love with her. Rose had the loveliest voice he had ever heard. It barely lifted above a whisper, but it radiated confidence.
“Langston Cane.” He reached out with his hand. She shook it. It was a lovely hand. Smooth. Long, piano fingers. Nutty brown. Cool, though. Her hand was cool. It stayed in his just long enough for that thought to register.
“You sound as if you have a sore throat,” Langston said. “Can I get you something to drink? Lemon in water, perhaps?”
Her brown eyes held him like an embrace. This was the woman for him. Langston sensed that she knew it, too.
“No, thank you. My throat is fine. I always sound like this.”
“Really?” Langston said. He found that he had to lean forward to catch all of her words. “Well, it’s a very nice voice, nonetheless. Ed says you’re at Howard. How do you like it?”
“Fine, I suppose,” she said. “I would have liked to go to Radcliffe. But mother wanted me close to home. Loretta’s going, though. Loretta, this is Langston Cane. Langston, my sister, Loretta.”
Loretta, who was lighter than Rose, gave Langston a calculating glance. Langston could imagine the questions going through her mind. But Ed came to the rescue. “So, Loretta, what are you going to take at Radcliffe?”
“Pre-med,” she said. “I’m going to be a doctor.”
A maid with a platter came up again. This time she was serving crab cakes and hot biscuits. Langston shook his head. “Don’t be shy,” Rose said, laughing. “I already noticed your difficulty with that oyster.” Langston tried not to grin. “Go ahead,” Rose said. “I’m having one. You take this one, I’ll get another.”
Langston took it and eyed her as he bit into it. She eyed him back. She had her mother’s poise, that one.
“Lincoln is debating against Howard next Friday,” he said. “I’ll be on the Lincoln squad. Why don’t you come out? We could talk.”
“I’d love to, but I’ve got classes and a volleyball game that day.” He took a step closer, to hear her more easily. “And after your game?”
“Are you always this forward?” she said.
“Never.” For a moment, Langston felt tongue-tied.
“I saw my mother interrogating you,” Rose said.
“Why do you suppose she seemed so suspicious?”
Rose let out a laugh. It was tinged with nervousness.
“Go ahead,” Langston said. “Tell me.” She spoke at the same time that laughter rang out from a corner of the room. Langston asked her to repeat herself.
“You’re dark, you’re poor, and you’re not Catholic.”
Langston was wearing his best — as well as his only — suit that day. He’d taken meticulous care in dressing. Had shaved perfectly, shined his shoes. “I am by no means poor. And how do you know I’m not Catholic?”
“If your family was wealthy or Catholic, she would have heard of you. She wouldn’t have been inquiring. So what did you tell her?”
“I’ll tell you if you have a soda with me after that volleyball game.”
“Okay. One soda. Around two p.m. in the Howard cafeteria. But tell me who you are.” “Langston Cane the Third.”
“The Langston Cane part you already told me. If you’re the Third, who is the Second?”
“He’s an A.M.E. minister in Baltimore.”
Rose’s face lit up with delight. “And you told her that?”
“I sure did.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Why?”
“My mother beckons, if you must know. Don’t turn to look.”
Rose’s mother was upon them. “Excuse me, dear, someone wishes to meet you.” She steered her daughter to safety. Langston glanced around the room. He didn’t see one face as dark as his. Actually, Dr. Bridges was richly complected. But he was permitted. He was a success. And it was his home.
Rose Bridges didn’t come to the cafeteria. Langston waited for fifteen minutes. He waited half an hour. He walked around the campus, checked the gymnasium in vain for volleyball players, checked the cafeteria once more, and left Howard University. He had won his debate, in which he had argued in favor of the resolution that “Negroes suffered as much in the Reconstruction Era as they had during sl
avery.” But he felt entirely dissatisfied. Already, he had taken an afternoon away from classes to travel to D.C. for the debate. And instead of taking the long trip back to Pennsylvania in the university bus — which would have been free of charge, and which would have involved a ham sandwich and drink provided by the school — Langston had stayed on to meet Rose. Now, on his own meager savings, he had to locate a place to stay for the night, find something to eat, and then make it all the way back to Lincoln the next day. His father had demanded that he keep a rigorous accounting of his expenditures, and Langston would have trouble justifying this leisure time in Washington.
He considered taking a bus straight back to Pennsylvania, but rejected that idea. He considered knocking on the door of his friend Ed — the fellow who had taken him to the Bridgeses’ residence — to sleep on his spare mattress. Things might come to that, but Langston rejected this possibility for the time being.
He started walking. It gave him time to compose his thoughts. He had to create an excuse for popping by Rose’s house uninvited. Hello, Rose, is everything all right? You had me worried, not showing up at Howard. I thought you might have injured yourself at the volleyball game. No. Too transparent. Hello, Rose, I waited for you at Howard. I hoped not to leave D.C. without rescheduling a visit for another time. No. Too direct. Rose, how are you? … Yes, it was for today. But don’t worry. Why don’t we try again later? I’m in town again in three weeks. Or, if you’re not terribly tied up, I’ll be in town until Sunday. No, how would he swing that? Where would he stay? What about his budget?
Forget the rehearsals. He did not want to sound rehearsed. This would have to be a case of spontaneous creation. Of improvisation. As a debater, at times he entered into a competition called “impromptu public speaking.” It was usually a one-on-one match, in which he and another contestant were given slips of paper and two minutes to prepare. One slip of paper would say: You must argue in favor of this statement. … And the other slip would say, You must argue against this statement. … Dropping by the Bridgeses’ residence would be a case of impromptu public speaking. Before he got to Rose, he would have to get by her mother. She would set the tone for their meeting. No — perhaps Langston should take the quick lead. After all, he had the element of surprise. Mrs. Bridges would be shocked by his arrival. How quick was she? How shrewd? How much of a panic would his visit generate? She would assume there was more to Rose and Langston than she had first thought. She would assume that they had seen each other, in at least some circumstance, outside her house. Yes, he told himself, take the lead. When she answers the door, throw her off balance, greet her civilly, reintroduce yourself, ask if you might have a word with Rose. Yes. That was the way. He knew he didn’t have to worry about Rose. She would make it easy for him. She wouldn’t say a word against him — not in front of her mother. Rose Bridges liked him.
Langston wanted to arrive well in advance of the supper hour, so as not to oblige the Bridgeses to invite him to eat, but he didn’t want to work up a sweat by walking too fast. So he walked at a comfortable pace, neither hurried nor leisurely, and covered the distance in just over an hour. He checked his watch when he got to Linden Street — it was four-fifteen. He checked it again, after walking a few blocks under the shade of the lindens — four-twenty. He used the brass knocker, rapping twice. The door opened.
“Dr. Bridges?” Langston said, extending his hand.
Dr. Bridges met him with a casual smile, and shook his hand. “I saw you the other evening. You are —”
“Langston Cane. We didn’t actually meet the other night, but —”
“Yes, yes, but I saw you. Rose mentioned you to me. Come to see her, I suppose?”
“Yes.” My, my, this couldn’t be easier.
“I’m afraid she’s out.” Damn. “Won’t be back before dinner.” Double damn. “My wife informed me that you’re of the Baltimore Canes.” “Yes, sir, I am.”
“Well, say hello to your father, for me.”
Triple damn. This would get back to the old man. “You know my father?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Dr. Bridges was a tall man. Three inches taller than Langston. He leaned over, conspiratorially, and, with a grin on his face, said, “I was raised in an A.M.E. family, too.”
Langston’s face opened into a natural smile. “Is that a fact?” “It sure is. What brings you to D.C. again?” “I lead the Lincoln debating squad, sir, and we were up against Howard this afternoon.” “You beat ‘em?” “We cleaned their clocks, sir.”
“I like to hear that. I was a Lincoln man myself. Are you in a hurry? Why don’t you come in? All the women are out, right now, and I was just taking care of some paperwork, but I’d much rather catch up on the goings-on at Lincoln and so forth.”
“All right, thank you. It would be my pleasure.”
“Sit down. Take your blazer off. You’ve worked up a sweat. Don’t tell me you walked all the way from Howard?”
“I had some time on my hands. And I don’t mind a little exercise.”
“Humph! I don’t mind a little exercise, but I don’t mind a little drink now and again either. This is the only time to snatch one, when the women — well, when Hazel — is out of the house. How about a shot of brandy?”
If he consented, Mrs. Bridges would smell it on him, probably see his glass the moment she came in. But Mrs. Bridges was going to be an enemy no matter what he did.
“Thank you, I’ll have a little, straight up.”
Dr. Bridges grinned as he splashed an ounce — no, two ounces — into a wide glass.
“Straight up, as you requested.”
Dr. Bridges had been to Lincoln to study sciences, but spoke of it lightheartedly, almost disparagingly — in contrast to the reverent tones of Langston’s father. Dr. Bridges, apparently, had taken his degree in dentistry at Harvard. Langston noticed that the man had long, agile, smooth fingers — much like Rose’s. Langston’s father had always made his own accomplishments sound as if they’d been torn from stone. But this man had a way of minimizing his successes — perhaps because his visitor was a dark young man from an A.M.E. background. Langston wondered if the offhanded treatment was a subtler version of Mrs. Bridges’ open dismissal. He vowed to be careful with the brandy, which burned his throat.
In the middle of stories about a stodgy professor of Greek who had terrorized Lincoln students twenty-five years earlier, and of a young white woman who had come to him recently, expecting to find a white dentist, Dr. Bridges asked Langston if he had dinner plans. Langston said he really had to be going.
“Nonsense,” Dr. Bridges said, “it’s a Friday evening, you’ve won your debate, you may as well stick around and catch up with Rose, and how well do you know her, by the way?”
Langston put down his glass and said something to the effect that they’d only met recently.
“You can imagine that a fair number of young men ask to take her out.”
“She is so vivacious, I can understand that.”
“Vivacious. Yes. But you’re the only young man who has had the courage to knock on our door. On his own initiative, I mean to say.” “Well, we had been planning a visit earlier today, but it fell through.”
“Yes, yes, so you said. Here they are now. All three coming in together. Let’s put these things away, shall we?” Dr. Bridges winked, snapped up the two glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other, and disappeared.
Mrs. Bridges was first in the door. She took a step back when she saw Langston rising from a chair. “Oh, you gave me such a fright.”
Loretta came in next, saw Langston, and frowned. “Oh, hello. I saw you at the party. It was Cane, wasn’t it? Langston Cane, of Baltimore?”
“That’s right,” Langston said, unsure of whether to walk over and attempt to shake her hand. He decided against it.
Rose finally appeared, with bundles under each arm. Dr. Bridges came out of the kitchen at the same time. “Hello, Daddy,” she said. She put down her packages and kiss
ed her father. Then she turned to Langston and offered her hand. “Hello, Langston. Sorry about today. Our tournament ran late, and then I had to meet mother and Loretta.”
“That’s all right, Rose. Nice to see you again.”
Rose turned back toward the front door. “Mother, you met Langston the other night. Langston Cane the Third, I believe it was.”
“Hello again, Langston,” Mrs. Bridges said. The accent was on again. “What brings you here today?”
Dr. Bridges planted a friendly hand on Langston’s shoulder. “Young Cane and I were having a chat about Lincoln. I was telling him about my old days there. And he was about to tell me about how things are these days at my old alma mater.”
Hazel Bridges cleared her throat. “Rose, would you help me in the kitchen?” Dr. Bridges stepped in. “Why don’t you let her stay out here and chat with Langston? He walked all the way up from Howard to pay her a visit.”
Langston flinched. So much for avoiding the poor-boy image.
“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Bridges cast a stern look at Langston. “But don’t delay. We have much work to do.”
“Oh, and darling,” Dr. Bridges said to his wife. “I’ve invited Langston to dinner. And Langston has accepted. Isn’t that right, young Cane?”
“Yes, yes, sir, I’d be delighted.”
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Bridges said, moving quickly to the back of the house. “Wonderful. Come along, Loretta.”
Langston waited until mother and sister were out of earshot, and then pounced. He judged that the old man wouldn’t mind.
“Rose, would you like to step out for a walk, for a few minutes?”
She smiled easily at her father and said, “That sounds like a lovely idea.”
The sky was darkening against the trees. Once they were alone outside, Rose let out a sigh. “Do you know how many questions I’ll have to answer?”