Chances Read Online Free PDF Page A

established her rights. Carrie
had
to go with her. God almighty, she was the girl’s
grandma,
her only true blood relative, and no amount of argument in the world could change
that
fact.
    “How old are you?” the pudgy chef demanded.
    Carrie, on her knees scrubbing the filthy kitchen floor, glanced up nervously.
    “I bet my ass you
ain’t
sixteen,” the fat man sneered.
    Every day the same conversation. Twenty times she had told him she was sixteen, and he never believed her.
    “So?” He licked his wormy lips, “What we gonna do about it?”
    “Huh?” she replied listlessly.
    “What we gonna
do?
I mean the manager find out you too young an’ he’ll sling your pretty black ass outa here quicker than a whore suck cock.”
    Carrie concentrated on scrubbing the floor. Maybe if she ignored him he would go away.
    “Nigger, I am tawkin’ to ya.” He bent down beside her. “I don’t hafta tell no one nothin’—not if you’re nice to me, I don’t.”
    Before she could move, his fat hand was exploring under her skirt.
    She leaped up, knocking the bucket of soapy water over. “Don’t you dare touch me!”
    He backed off, his pudgy face reddening.
    The kitchen manager appeared, a thin miserable man who hated coloreds anyway. His cold eyes surveyed the mess of spilled water. “Clear it up,” he said to Carrie, his eyes staring at the wall behind her as if she didn’t even exist. “Then get the hell out of here and don’t come back.”
    The fat chef explored the contents of his left ear. “Silly girly,” he said. “I wouldn’t have hurt ya.”
    Slowly she mopped up the spilled water, not believing what her life had become. She wanted to cry but had no tears left. When the woman who called herself her grandma had come and taken her she had cried enough to last for years. And then New York—no more school—and working her hands raw scrubbing floors. “You bin spoiled,” grandma Ella had told her. “Well, no more, my girl. You hear me? Your momma always worked. She cleaned the house an’ took care of her brother, an’ she
loved
every minute of it.”
    Carrie
hated
every minute of it. She hated her grandma, and New York, and working. She just wanted to go home to what she considered her real family in Philadelphia.
    Now she was fired from her job, and grandma Ella would be steaming, and no more would she be able to hide away the odd cent here and there that she found on the floors she scrubbed. It just wasn’t fair.
    She left the restaurant after clearing up, and stood on the sidewalk in a daze, wondering what to do. Maybe she should look for another job before grandma Ella found out about her getting fired.
    Winter was beginning to take root. It was cold, and she had no coat. Shivering, she walked along, passing the five-and-dime and sniffing hungrily at the smell of sizzling hot dogs. A sniff was all she could afford; besides, they didn’t allow negroes to eat in the store.
    In New York Carrie had learned about being black. She had heard the word nigger for the first time and taught herself to shut her ears when she was taunted about her color. In Philadelphia it was the whites who were the outsiders. She had lived in a colored neighborhood, gone to a colored school. Whites. What made them think they were better anyway?
    Men looked at her as she hurried by. Lately men were always looking at her. She kept her sweater pulled firmly around her breasts. She hated the way they jiggled. Mama Sonny had promised her a brassiere, but when she had mentioned it to Ella, her grandmother had looked her over with a sharp eye and said, “Strut your stuff, honey. Show ’em your titties. Give those ofays a hard-on an’ you’ll
always
have a job.”
    It wasn’t true, was it? If that big fat chef had kept his eyes to himself she would still be working.
    She passed by an Italian restaurant that looked warm and inviting. Standing outside she shivered. The wind was biting now, turning her skin to gooseflesh. She