Chapter 19

“Ashland Estates”

As they drove to the new house, Johnnie was quiet. She thought about the fight with her mother and the whole neighborhood seeing the good little Christian girl ride off into the sunset with her white lover. Following that, Billy Logan’s final words, “Ya whore,” resonated in her mind over and over again. Although she had heard the constant whispers and subsequent laughter, she couldn’t live with the idea of all of her classmates knowing her shame.

I can never go back to the neighborhood or the school again. By the time school opens tomorrow, it’ll be all over the school. The kids will be talking about the fight between Lucas and Billy. Billy’s face all puffy will spice up the stories being told. And with the kids seeing Lucas walking me home, they’ll probably think I did it with him too. After all, I am a whore. What if Mama told Shirley about the fight we had? What if Shirley’s kids overheard her? Shirley’s kids will tell the other kids at school and further demoralize me.

In her mind’s eye, she could see herself walking into the school and being accosted by her rivals—girls who she had once ridiculed about their lascivious ways. There was no way she could subject herself to that kind of humiliation. It was settled.

I’m dropping out and that’s all there is to it. I’ll find a job and invest my money. I’ll learn how the stock market works from Martin then I’ll be rich someday. I will not give away the best part of me for nothin’. I will not end up like my mother. Men want me. Fine. They’ll pay for the privilege.

They turned onto Main Street, where a host of Baroque Parish’s black businesses were located. Well dressed Negro men and women were everywhere, going in and out of stores and restaurants. The Sepia Theater, owned by local entrepreneur Walker Tresvant, was the first building Johnnie saw. Tresvant was a millionaire who held the mortgages on several buildings on Main Street, including an office building, which contained the offices of Attorney Ryan Robertson, Cambridge Books and Publishing, Bernard Coleman’s architectural firm, and several other successful Negro owned and operated businesses.

Continuing down Main Street, Johnnie saw Philip Collins’ barber shop, with its red and white stripes just outside the front door. Further down, she saw a sign that read: DENNIS EDWARDS’ TAILOR AND CLOTHING STORE. Across the street from the clothing store was Nagel’s Construction Company, which was right next to Michael and Beverly’s Bakery and Sweets. At the end of the block near First Street was New Orleans’ only Negro newspaper called The Raven. Across the street from The Raven was Mr. Big Stuff’s World Famous Plantation Barbecued Ribs.

Just before Earl turned onto East Ashland Avenue, where the upper class Negroes lived, Johnnie saw a sign for Ashland Estates. Among its residents were many of New Orleans’ educated colored professionals, the descendants of well-to-do slave owners. Among them were doctors, lawyers, an architect, and even a few published writers. The neighborhood was also full of maids who served as courtesans for their white employers. Many of these women were the mothers of illegitimate children spawned by these unholy unions.

As they rode down the street, Johnnie could see how pristine the neighborhood looked. This must be a mistake. This must be where the white folks live. The houses were huge and well-maintained, with manicured lawns. Seeing this impressive display of luxury, Johnnie couldn’t help being roused from her dispirited thoughts. She was just about to ask Earl if they were in the right place when she saw a black man using a key to go into the front door of one of the homes.

She looked at Earl. He was smiling. He loved doing nice things for her. It made him feel necessary. But right now, he was smiling because of what she was going to do for him later.

Earl pulled into the driveway of a yellow two-story home with shrubs and daffodils near the entrance. He turned off the ignition and looked at her.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Is this my place, Earl?” Johnnie asked, unable to contain herself.

“Yes. It’s all yours,” Earl said, dangling the keys.