Chicago

Chapter 21

“Good morning. I’m calling about the job you advertised.”

“It’s taken,” the man replied tersely then hung up.

The dial tone rang in Carol’s ear and she felt bitter. Nothing new there. It was her daily routine: every morning after Graham went to the university and little Mark to school, she made herself a large cup of black coffee and sat in the living room, spreading the help wanted pages in the Chicago Tribune, the Sun-Times, and the Reader. Then she prepared for her calls. She concentrated on controlling the tone of her voice in such a way as if she were inquiring about the job with dignified interest. She was not an unemployed black woman on welfare; she was not starving or begging and didn’t need anyone’s pity.

She was just inquiring about a job that she liked, no more and no less, as if she were asking about tickets for a concert or the closing time of her favorite restaurant. If she found what she wanted she’d be happy, but if she didn’t, that would not be the end of the world. That was what she came up with to combat humiliation. Every time, she asked the same questions and received the same answers. By the end of the day she would have accumulated all kinds of lists, addresses, and numbers. Over the last few months she had been all over Chicago and had had interviews for various jobs: secretary, receptionist, babysitter, day-care supervisor. But she never got the job. The head of human resources at the Hyatt told her with an embarrassed smile, “You’ll find a job somewhere else. But be patient, unemployment is at its highest rate. Dozens, sometimes hundreds of people apply for one job. The competition is horrendous.”

Two months ago she applied for a job as a telephone operator for an elevator company. She passed the first interview and had to pass a voice test. The company executive told her, “You’ll get this job if you know how to make your voice smooth, feminine, and seductive but at the same time not vulgar. Your voice must carry a sense of humor and superiority. It should sound as if you were making ten times your salary. It’s your voice that introduces our company to the customers.”

Carol trained seriously. She recorded her voice dozens of times saying the same thing: “Hendrix Elevator Company. Good morning. How may I help you?” Every time she listened to the recording she discovered a new flaw: the voice was too soft, a little shaky, faltering, too fast, letters elided, she had to pronounce the name of the company better, and so on.

After days of training she settled on a good delivery and went to take the test. There were five other applicants. They all sat in the same room in front of the company executive, who was a fat white man, over fifty, completely bald with wide sideburns that made him look unpleasant. It seemed from his swollen eyelids, bloodshot eyes, and foul mood that he had drunk too much the night before and hadn’t had enough sleep. He began to signal to one applicant after another to deliver the sentence, looked at the ceiling as if evaluating the performance in his mind, and then bent over a sheet of paper and wrote something down. At the end of the day the result was announced. Carol didn’t get the job. She received the news coldly; she had got so used to being disappointed nothing shocked her anymore. What pained her the most was the way some white employers treated her. None of them came out and said they didn’t hire black people. That would be against the law. But as soon as one of them saw her, his face would have a cold, arrogant expression, and he would end the interview promising to give her a call that she knew very well would not come. These successive humiliating situations felt like slaps on her face. She sometimes cried on her way back home and some nights stayed awake imagining that she was taking revenge against the racist employer, teaching him a lesson, and assuring him that it was she who refused to work with a despicable racist like him. The drama reached its peak when she had an interview for a job as a dog walker for twelve dollars an hour. The job was so menial that it took her three days just to convince herself to go. She needed the money badly. She couldn’t stand the suffering she was putting Graham through. What had he done to deserve living through this hardship to support her and her son? What pained her most was that he was bearing the hardship without grumbling. If he complained or treated her in an unfriendly way she would have been somewhat relieved. But on the contrary he was treating her very nicely, amusing her, and always laughing merrily. He was unbearably tender. She was going to get that job for his sake. Wasn’t dog walking a job like any other in the final analysis? Even if she didn’t like it, did she have any other choice? She would tend dogs for the time being until she found something better.

The interview was at a luxurious mansion in a northern suburb of Chicago. It was so elegant and extravagant that she imagined it to be part of a movie set. She was met by a dignified butler in a formal black suit and led to a large room. She sat on a comfortable Louis Seize-style chair and began to look at the large oil paintings on the wall. After a little while an old lady came in and welcomed her tepidly. She sat in front of her and began a disconnected conversation about the weather and public transit in Chicago. This vacuous dialogue went on until Carol interrupted it by asking in an affected, miserable merriment, “Where’s the dog I’ll walk? I looove dogs.”

The old lady fell silent. She had been taken aback a little and avoided looking at her face. “Well, I am going to be frank with you. I don’t think the job suits you. Leave your telephone number and I’ll find another job for you as soon as possible.”

Carol’s sad days continued. She became so frustrated that she totally lost her enthusiasm. She no longer read the newspapers looking for jobs. She spent the morning sprawled on the bed, drinking several cups of coffee and looking at the ceiling, thinking about her life. She was thirty-six years old, but she had never lived life as she had wanted to. No one treated her fairly. She recalled the faces that had shaped her destiny: her kind, peaceful mother; her drunken stepfather, who beat her up cruelly, and when she grew up, wanted to sleep with her (she sought her mother’s help several times, but her mother was so sexually dependent on him that she was not much help); her boyfriend Thomas, with whom she lived for ten years and with whom she had little Mark and who ran off, leaving her to shoulder everything alone. She also recalled the face of good old Graham, whom she loved, but instead of making him happy, she’d brought him hardship. She had always been treated harshly, that was a fact. She had always been hardworking, organized, and ambitious, and what had been the result? Total misery. She had lost her job at the mall because she was black and now she couldn’t find another job. The old lady even thought dog walking was too good for her; maybe she didn’t want her beloved dog to be exposed to a black face.

That morning Carol was lying in bed drowned in her sorrows when the telephone rang. She was surprised that anyone would call at such an hour. She turned over and decided to ignore the call, but the ringing continued. She finally got up to answer and it was the voice of her friend Emily, a black friend from her high school days who finished college because her father, a lawyer, could afford to pay the tuition. Carol had not seen her friend in months, so she was happy she called and welcomed her invitation to grab a bite at the French restaurant Lafayette in downtown Chicago. From her high school days Emily loved fancy restaurants and had taken Carol along. Carol was always happy to go because she couldn’t afford to go on her own. The Lafayette was truly magnificent, with elegant tables and Vivaldi playing in the background, adding to the luxurious ambience. Carol ordered a spinach croissant and pate and cafe au lait. She looked at her friend’s face for a while then teased her, “I can tell from your rosy complexion that your love life is going very well.”

They laughed from the heart and Emily told her about her new love. Carol tried to keep up with her in her happiness but something heavy was weighing on her. Emily noticed that, and as soon as she asked her, Carol started sobbing and told her everything. She needed to vent with an old friend like Emily. Looking far into the distance, Emily said, “If there were any jobs available in Dad’s office I could’ve got you one. But I’ll try somewhere else.”

It was a beautiful outing and Carol came back ready to resume the struggle. The following morning she started looking for a job again. For a week it was the same old story: the telephone calls, interviews, apologies, and a few brazen racist remarks. It was getting close to one in the afternoon when she received an unexpected call from Emily. As soon as she said hello, Emily asked her in an earnest voice, “What are you doing now?”

“I’m cooking.”

“Leave everything and come right away.”

“I can’t. John and Mark will come and find nothing to eat.”

“Leave them a message.”

“Can I come later on?”

“It can’t wait.”

She asked persistently, but Emily would not tell her why. Carol guessed it had to do with a job. She wrote a few words and posted them on the refrigerator door, put on her clothes in a hurry, and went out. Emily lived half an hour away by train. She opened the door immediately as though she had been waiting behind it. She permitted Carol to say hello to her mother, then pulled her by the hand to her room and locked the door from the inside.

“Emily, what’s come over you?” Carol asked, still panting. Emily smiled mysteriously then gave her a strange, scrutinizing look and said, “Show me your chest.”

“What?”

“Take off your shirt so I can see your chest.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Do what I tell you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain to you after you take this off.”

She reached for the buttons on Carol’s blouse, but Carol restrained her hand and said somewhat angrily, “No, you won’t.”

Emily sighed hard, as if her patience had run out. Then she looked at her for a long time and said, “Listen. I didn’t ask you to come here to play. I have to see your chest.”