A little

Dear Diary, (May 23rd)

Angelica told me that I would get used to my new life. She said that in time I may even find some kind of satisfaction in my new life. For all the fine talk, she told me as she brushed my hair out, that gentlemen might give about the quality of their Southern belles, what got those men going was a nigga **** wiggling on their white cocks.

“Massa Hayward, he could have married most any Charlston debutant he wanted - even when he got older.” Angelica's deft fingers worked to remove the worst of the kinks from my hair as she talked, “But de Ol Massa, he like'm girls like me. I tink he had it bad for yo mamma, 'cause even affa all dese years he still talk about what a fine nigga she was.”

“Mamma told me Mr. Heyward and she were in love.” I don't know why I opened up like this, but it was nice to be able to finally talk about this to someone who might understand. “She told me that Mr. Hayward brought her with him to Delaware on purpose, so she could make her way the rest of the way north to Pennsylvania.”

“I don know 'bout dat, Miss.” Angelica shook her head “but iff'n a man still be talking about his fancy girl 'most twenty years later, she mus be one fine lay.” Almost as if she saw herself in my mother's place she wanted to know more about her.

“Whad'ya mamma do, once she got her freedom?” Angelica finished braiding my hair and sat back so she could give me all her attention. “She get herself a job in one of those fancy houses up North?”

“No, Mamma was really good at only one thing.” I shake my head sadly. For years I'd been deeply ashamed of the life my mother led; now I'm pretty much in the same place as she was, but unlike Mamma, I have no say at all about what happens to me. I found myself explaining to Angelica what a salon was and why so many men wanted to be invited to my mother's little gatherings.

“So, men dey pay money to sit in her parlor and talk?” Much about the North was a mystery to this young ****, but I could tell this was more than Angelica could believe.

“No, not just talk.” I smile at the curly haired negress. “More often than not, she'd invite one of the guests to join her for a nightcap in her bedroom when all the others took their leave.”

It was hard to explain what my mother did, and I didn't have much practice talking about how she was able to live the lifestyle she did. Her survival in Philadelphia depended on the generosity of rich men supporting her with gifts and favors. Her salons and dinners were renown for the interesting mix of guests including men of science, daring explorers, artists and writers sitting side by side with politicians and wealthy patricians of the city. I have no doubt that Mamma, as Angelica put it 'was one fine lay' but what made her special was her ability to entertain. The finest gentlemen of Philadelphia and as far away as Baltimore and New York sent mamma unsolicited checks in the hope of being invited to her soirees.

“These fine men, Miss,” Angelica was clearly excited by this kind of fairy-tail life, “like Master Hayward?”

I nodded my head even as I wondered if a Southern Plantation owner would be welcomed in my mother's salons. I was used to speaking to the finest authors, poets, musicians and artists as well as politicians and industrialists. Even ignoring the issue of slavery, one of Charleston's finest gentlemen might be perceived as little more than a backwards lout with little to offer other than his old-fashioned view of the world. In Angelica's eyes however, her old master was as fine a gentleman as she could imagine and so I readily agreed.

From my very early childhood, I became accustomed to having to share my mother with all sorts of 'Uncles'. In particular I was taken by one Mr. Robert Bird an up-and-coming playwright. Not only was the dark-haired man younger and far more handsome than many of my mother's other suitors, Mr. Bird had a way with words that made my young heart flutter.

Before, the light-skinned **** had a chance to ask me about my first lover, Ol' Will came calling to find what was taking Angelica so long.

“The new Massah, Miss,” Angelica warned me as she gathered together the rags and the bucket, “he wanna break you. You be strong.” The young **** shakes my shoulders firmly. “Be strong - you hear me?”