He held her in his arms and kissed her. They stood in front of the mirror on the dresser.

He looked in the mirror. Then he said: “Look in dere. Don’t dat make yo’ think o’ somepin’?”

His hand started moving down her arms, fingering her black lace dress.

“Take dis here thing off,” he cried. “Ah jus’ can’t stand it. Ah’m jus’ goin’ to lose mah mind, that’s all.”

Over in the next flat, Fat Tess was playing a low-down record that was strangely appropriate to the moment:

“Oh, baby, yo’ hear dat?” cried Johnson. “Ah’m wild about dat thing!”

He intended to keep her there. Never to let her out of his sight. She couldn’t go back to the other man now. If things got too hot for him here, he figured on going to Paris with her where black and white could live openly.

Yes—he’d be her slave for life. She could be cruel to him—beat him, kick him, treat him like a dog, but just let him love her.

Afternoon passed into evening, and then night, but still Babe did not come down, and still Big Ida waited in the dark parlor with the door ajar and her black-jack handy.

Liza sat by her and together they drank gin, the old woman growing mellow as the hours went by. She began reminiscing of the old days she had known. She drew from her experience pictures of things which she connected with what was going on upstairs.

“Yes, chile,” she told Ida, “Ah seed duh white and duh black mixin’ jus’ lak now. Duh colored gals and duh white men and duh white gals and duh colored men. Duh mixin’ o’ duh black an’ white been goin’ on fo’ ages an’ ages. Yo’ read ’bout dat way back in duh Bible. Yes, chile, it’s right dere in duh Good Book.”

Big Ida grunted and took another swig of gin. She didn’t care much about Liza’s philosophy. All the philosophy she wanted was contained in that loaded leather club that lay in her lap.

Liza rambled on, rocking back and forth in rhythmic time to her romantic recollections.

“Yes, ol’ Liza sho’ knows life. Had a heap o’ experience.” From up above came the sound of a man and a woman moving about, the old boards of the building echoing every step. Then there was silence and from right over the heads of the watchers came the creaking of a chair. Liza cocked her head to one side and listened for a moment. Her lips twisted into a grin in the darkness.

“Dat man up dere,” she said, “after bein’ in jail for three months is feelin’ lively.”

“Shut yo’ mout’, Liza, goddam yo’!” Big Ida growled. “Ain’t Ah busted up enough inside widout yo’ remindin’ me about dat low slut up dere?”

Liza grinned to herself.