Mama Pajama scared Adrian.
He had never been touched by a white woman--never been around many; and Mama was no ordinary white woman, no indeed. Her bulky body was squeezed into a pearl-white dress, the plunging neckline revealing deep cleavage between huge pendulous breasts, her styled hair a golden-platinum, her eyes dark blue, the drooping eyelids heavily shadowed, her full lips a glistening blood-red. But all her exposed skin was deathly pale, and her slightly puffy facial features were heavily lined, crow's feet etched in the corners of her sleepy eyes; and even though she had probably once been a stunning beauty, Mama Pajama was fighting a losing battle to maintain a grand illusion.
"Adrian, this is Mama," Lady had said as simple introduction. "Mama, my brother, Adrian."
"Ah, little brother," Mama replied, her lidded eyes critically assessing Adrian. Lady had warned him earlier that morning, after picking up Adrian from the Greyhound bus depot that even though Mama spoke kind of funny and slow, like they did here in New Orleans, she was still plenty sharp. Lady also instructed Adrian to be especially respectful, because Mama was very strict about proper manners, obeying rules, and appearances.
During the introduction Lady had nudged Adrian closer to Mama; and the white woman had reached out and run her fingers lightly along his bare arm. Her touch was slightly moist, leaving a clammy feeling on his dark skin that repelled him, but Adrian did not even flinch. He remembered his sister's admonition.
"He kinda puny for sixteen," Mama said, squeezing his shoulder, then poking Adrian in the ribs, before clutching his crotch. "Doan think he'll be entertaining paying customers jus' yet," she said in a serious voice. "Look an' feel only 'bout a skinny fourteen or so to me, and Lady, you know I never run that kinda place."
"Oh, the accident and spending so much time recovering makes him look pale and weak, Mama," Lady explained, smiling deferentially at her boss. "He was on the baseball team in school before the wreck; and he's only been out of the hospital a week or two." Adrian's parents had perished in the collision that had put him in the hospital three months ago--he'd been on life support in ICU in a coma for the first week, nearly died himself.
"He's okay, now."
Mama Pajama snorted, then reached out and fingered the long, ugly scar beside Adrian's right eyebrow, disagreeing with Lady, "Getting your head smashed in, then waking up days later and finding your parents gone, you ain't never gonna be okay, I bet you on that ... They ever catch them white boys driving the truck?"
"Don't think so, Mama," Lady answered carefully, sliding around the racial issue. "Things are handled a little differently in East St. Louis. Aunt Em just said Adrian needed a place to stay until he got back on his feet; and she couldn't take it on any longer with Uncle Lou close to passing..."
The white woman nodded absently at Lady, brushing Adrian's scar again. Then, she said, "Bet you was an outfielder, boy." She smiled, staring at him, but with that distant, non-seeing look.
Outfielder? He'd only been the team equipment manager.
"One of my husbands was an outfielder. Handsome, dark devil..." The fat woman blinked, frowned, and continued hoarsely, "So, you wanna live here with us, boy?"
Adrian wasn't sure if he was supposed to nod or what.
"You sure he unnerstands but jus' can't talk, Lady?" the fat woman asked impatiently. "Plate in his head and all. Boy might be simple now--"
"No, no, Mama," Lady interrupted, defending Adrian. "It just effected his speech. Oh, Aunt Em said sometimes Adrian still limps a little when he's tired or nervous. But he'll get over that, soon. And he's very sharp. B plus student. Doctor told Aunt Em he'd probably speak again too, faster if he gets some therapy from a professional. But Aunt Em would've had to take him over to St. Louis to see a specialist, and she didn't really have the money for all that. Maybe I can get him some help here."
Mama Pajama stared at Adrian, shaking her head skeptically, a kind of sour pout on her face, as if Lady were trying to palm off a mongrel as a thoroughbred. Then, she sighed and shifted the discussion to practical matters, asking Lady, "You think he can help Calpurnia in the kitchen some, washing up and the like? Make hisself useful, while he getting his strength back?"
"Oh, yes, Mama, he would be a big help to Cal."
"You still responsible for some of his room and board, you unnerstand?" Mama Pajama instructed, pointing a finger at Lady, who nodded back vigorously. "Okay. Get Jim to fix him up with a bed in the attic loft. Spell out the rules of the House." She smiled at Adrian. "You and Jim get along, he know how to deal with boys ... And, Lady, don't want no fourteen-year-old wandering the House when the paying customers are here, you know. Keep him outta sight."
"Thank you, Mama," Lady said gratefully, not bothering to correct the age thing. "He can stay in his room after business begins at night, right, Adrian?"
He nodded that he understood.
The fat woman patted his arm. "You work hard in the kitchen and obey all the rules, you gonna like it here, I bet you on that."
Suddenly, Adrian shivered, despite the warmth of the office, confirming that the old woman scared him big time, even raising the hair on the back of his neck. It wasn't just her fat whiteness, or her clammy touch, or squeezing his dick, or her funny way of talking, or her being bossy to Lady. It was the strange tingling itch beside his right eye that began immediately after she touched his scar and wouldn't ease up, a signal usually of the onset of the transition. It was like he was projected into some kind of sci-fi parallel reality ... detached, watching himself play a scene in a movie or a comic strip or even a book. Usually the transitions lasted only briefly, but they were always kind of unsettling, scary.
So he peered more closely at the pale fat woman, kind of squinting, feeling like he was watching an old black and white film; and he actually saw her in a different way, kind of transformed, much younger--thirty years or so--and thinner, very beautiful, her low-cut, pleated white dress suddenly blowing up in the air revealing her elegant legs.
Then, Lady was tugging him out into the hall, but Adrian couldn't resist glancing back once more at the younger Mama Pajama as he left her office, nor could he suppress a shudder, thinking about his transformation.
Lady was assuring him that he'd like Jim. "...And he comes from Missouri, too," she said, closing the office door, "a little town north on the Mississippi River, called Hannibal."
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