"I can't stay long," I say, probably too quickly.

"Well, I found out." Hilly smirks. "He is definitely coming this time. Three weeks from today."

I watch Yule May's long fingers pinch the dough off a knife and I sigh, knowing right away who she means. "I don't know, Hilly. You've tried so many times. Maybe it's a sign." Last month, when he'd canceled the day before the date, I'd actually allowed myself a bit of excitement. I don't really feel like going through that again.

"What? Don't you dare say that."

"Hilly," I clench my teeth, because it's time I finally just said it, "you know I won't be his type."

"Look at me," she says. And I do as I'm told. Because that is what we do around Hilly.

"Hilly, you can't make me go--"

"It is your time your time, Skeeter." She reaches over and squeezes my hand, presses her thumb and fingers down as hard as Constantine ever did. "It is your turn. And d.a.m.n it, I'm not going to let you miss this just because your mother convinced you you're not good enough for somebody like him."

I'm stung by her bitter, true words. And yet, I am awed by my friend, by her tenacity for me. Hilly and I've always been uncompromisingly honest with each other, even about the little things. With other people, Hilly hands out lies like the Presbyterians hand out guilt, but it's our own silent agreement, this strict honesty, perhaps the one thing that has kept us friends.

Elizabeth comes in the kitchen carrying an empty plate. She smiles, then stops, and we all three look at each other.

"What?" Elizabeth says. I can tell she thinks we've been talking about her.

"Three weeks then?" Hilly asks me. "You coming?"

"Oh yes you are! You most certainly are going!" Elizabeth says.

I look in their smiling faces, at their hope for me. It's not like Mother's meddling, but a clean hope, without strings or hurt. I hate that my friends have discussed this, my one night's fate, behind my back. I hate it and I love it too.

I HEAD back to the country before the game is over. Out the open window of the Cadillac, the fields look chopped and burned. Daddy finished the last harvest weeks ago, but the side of the road is still snowy with cotton stuck in the gra.s.s. Whiffs of it blow and float through the air.

I check the mailbox from the driver's seat. Inside is The Farmer's Almanac The Farmer's Almanac and a single letter. It is from Harper & Row. I turn into the drive, throw the gear into Park. The letter is handwritten, on small square notepaper. and a single letter. It is from Harper & Row. I turn into the drive, throw the gear into Park. The letter is handwritten, on small square notepaper.

Miss Phelan, You certainly may hone your writing skills on such flat, pa.s.sionless subjects as drunk driving and illiteracy. I' d hoped, however, you'd choose topics that actually had some punch to them. Keep looking. If you find something original, only then may you write me again.

I slip past Mother in the dining room, invisible Pascagoula dusting pictures in the hall, up my steep, vicious stairs. My face burns. I fight the tears over Missus Stein's letter, tell myself to pull it together. The worst part is, I don't have any better ideas.

I bury myself in the next housekeeping article, then the League newsletter. For the second week in a row, I leave out Hilly's bathroom initiative. An hour later, I find myself staring off at the window. My copy of Let Us Now Praise Famous Men Let Us Now Praise Famous Men sits on the window ledge. I walk over and pick it up, afraid the light will fade the paper jacket, the black-and-white photo of the humble, impoverished family on the cover. The book is warm and heavy from the sun. I wonder if I'll ever write anything worth anything at all. I turn when I hear Pascagoula's knock on my door. That's when the idea comes to me. sits on the window ledge. I walk over and pick it up, afraid the light will fade the paper jacket, the black-and-white photo of the humble, impoverished family on the cover. The book is warm and heavy from the sun. I wonder if I'll ever write anything worth anything at all. I turn when I hear Pascagoula's knock on my door. That's when the idea comes to me.

No. I couldn't. That would be... crossing the line.

But the idea won't go away.

AIBILEEN.

chapter 7.

THE HEAT WAVE finally pa.s.ses round the middle a October and we get ourselves a cool fifty degrees. In the mornings, that bathroom seat get cold out there, give me a little start when I set down. It's just a little room they built inside the carport. Inside is a toilet and a little sink attached to the wall. A pull cord for the lightbulb. Paper have to set on the floor.

When I waited on Miss Caulier, her carport attach to the house so I didn't have to go outside. Place before that had a maid quarters. Plus my own little bedroom for when I sit at night. This one I got to cross through the weather to get there.

On a Tuesday noon, I carry my lunch on out to the back steps, set down on the cool concrete. Miss Leefolt's gra.s.s don't grow good back here. A big magnolia tree shades most a the yard. I already know that's the tree gone be Mae Mobley's hideout. In about five years, to hide from Miss Leefolt.

After a while, Mae Mobley waddle out on the back step. She got half her hamburger patty in her hand. She smile up at me and say, "Good."

"How come you not in there with your mama?" I ask, but I know why. She rather be setting out here with the help than in there watching her mama look anywhere but at her. She like one a them baby chickens that get confused and follow the ducks around instead.

Mae Mobley point at the bluebirds getting ready for winter, twittering in the little gray fountain. "Boo birds!" She point and drop her hamburger down on the step. Out a nowhere, that old bird dog Aubie they don't never pay no mind to come up and gobble it down. I don't take to dogs, but this one is just plain pitiful. I pet him on the head. I bet n.o.body petted that dog since Christmas.

When Mae Mobley see him, she squeal and grab at his tail. It whap her in the face a few times before she get holt. Poor thing, he whine and give her one a those pitiful people-dog looks, his head turned funny, his eyebrows up. I can almost hear him asking her to turn him loose. He ain't the biting kind.

So she'll let go, I say, "Mae Mobley, where your tail?"

Sho nuff, she let go and start looking at her rear. Her mouth's popped open like she just can't believe she done missed it all this time. She turning in wobbly circles trying to see it.

"You ain't got no tail." I laugh and catch her fore she fall off that step. Dog sniff around for more hamburger.

It always tickle me how these babies believe anything you tell em. Tate Forrest, one a my used-to-be babies long time ago, stop me on the way to the Jitney just last week, give me a big hug, so happy to see me. He a grown man now. I needed to get back to Miss Leefolt's, but he start laughing and memoring how I'd do him when he was a boy. How the first time his foot fell asleep and he say it tickle, I told him that was just his foot snoring. And how I told him don't drink coffee or he gone turn colored. He say he still ain't drunk a cup a coffee and he twenty-one years old. It's always nice seeing the kids grown up fine.

"Mae Mobley? Mae Mobley Leefolt!"

Miss Leefolt just now noticing her child ain't setting in the same room with her. "She out here with me, Miss Leefolt," I say through the screen door.

"I told you to eat in your high chair, Mae Mobley. How I ended up with you when all my friends have angels I just do not know . . ." But then the phone ring and I hear her stomping off to get it.

I look down at Baby Girl, see how her forehead's all wrinkled up between the eyes. She studying hard on something.

I touch her cheek. "You alright, baby?"

She say, "Mae Mo bad."

The way she say it, like it's a fact, make my insides hurt.

"Mae Mobley," I say cause I got a notion to try something. "You a smart girl?"

She just look at me, like she don't know.

"You a smart girl," I say again.

She say, "Mae Mo smart."

I say, "You a kind little girl?"

She just look at me. She two years old. She don't know what she is yet.

I say, "You a kind girl," and she nod, repeat it back to me. But before I can do another one, she get up and chase that poor dog around the yard and laugh and that's when I get to wondering, what would happen if I told her she something good, ever day?

She turn from the birdbath and smile and holler, "Hi, Aibee. I love you, Aibee," and I feel a tickly feeling, soft like the flap a b.u.t.terfly wings, watching her play out there. The way I used to feel watching Treelore. And that makes me kind a sad, memoring.

After while, Mae Mobley come over and press her cheek up to mine and just hold it there, like she know I be hurting. I hold her tight, whisper, "You a smart smart girl. You a girl. You a kind kind girl, Mae Mobley. You hear me?" And I keep saying it till she repeat it back to me. girl, Mae Mobley. You hear me?" And I keep saying it till she repeat it back to me.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS is real important for Mae Mobley. You think on it, you probably don't remember the first time you went to the bathroom in the toilet bowl stead of a diaper. Probably don't give no credit to who taught you, neither. Never had a single baby I raise come up to me and say, Aibileen, why I sure do thank you for showing me how to go in the pot. Aibileen, why I sure do thank you for showing me how to go in the pot.

It's a tricky thing. You try and get a baby to go in the toilet before its time, it'll make em crazy. They can't get the hang of it and get to thinking low a theyselves. Baby Girl, though, I know she ready. And she know she ready. But, Law, if she ain't running my fool legs off. I set her on her wooden baby seat so her little hiney don't fall in and soon as I turn my back, she off that pot running.

"You got to go, Mae Mobley?"

"No."

"You drunk up two gla.s.ses a grape juice, I know you got to go."

"Nooo."

"I give you a cookie if you go for me."

We look at each other awhile. She start eyeing the door. I don't hear nothing happening in the bowl. Usually, I can get them going after about two weeks. But that's if I got they mamas helping me. Little boys got to see they daddy doing it standing-up style, little girls got to see they mama setting down. Miss Leefolt won't let that girl come near her when she going, and that's the trouble.

"Go just a little for me, Baby Girl."

She stick her lip out, shake her head.

Miss Leefolt gone to get her hair done, else I ask her again will she set the example even though that woman's already said no no five times. Last time Miss Leefolt say no, I was fixing to tell her how many kids I raised in my lifetime and ask her what number she on, but I ended up saying five times. Last time Miss Leefolt say no, I was fixing to tell her how many kids I raised in my lifetime and ask her what number she on, but I ended up saying alright alright like I always do. like I always do.

"I give you two two cookies," I say even though her mama always getting on me about making her fat. cookies," I say even though her mama always getting on me about making her fat.

Mae Mobley, she shake her head and say, "You go."

Now, I ain't saying I ain't heard this before, but usually I can get around it. I know, though, she got to see how it's done fore she gone get to business. I say, "I don't got to go."

We look at each other. She point again and say, "You go."

Then she get to crying and fidgeting cause that seat making a little indent on her behind and I know what I'm on have to do. I just don't know how to go about it. Should I take her out to the garage to mine or go here in this bathroom? What if Miss Leefolt come home and I'm setting up on this toilet? She have a fit.

I put her diaper back on and we go out to the garage. Rain make it smell a little swampy. Even with the light on it's dark, and they ain't no fancy wallpaper like inside the house. Fact, they really ain't no proper walls at all, just plyboard hammered together. I wonder if she gone be scared.

"Alright, Baby Girl, here tis. Aibileen's bathroom."

She stick her head in and her mouth make the shape of a Cheerio. She say, "Oooooo."

I take down my underthings and I tee-tee real fast, use the paper, and get it all back on before she can really see anything. Then I flush.

"And that's how you go in the toilet," I say.

Well, don't she look surprise. Got her mouth hanging open like she done seen a miracle. I step out and fore I know it, she got her diaper off and that little monkey done climbed on that toilet, holding herself up so she don't fall in, going tee-tee for herself.

"Mae Mobley! You going! That's real good!" She smile and I catches her fore she dip down in it. We run back inside and she get her two cookies.

Later on, I get her on her pot and she go for me again. That's the hardest part, those first couple a times. By the end a the day, I feel like I really done something. She getting to be a pretty good talker and you can guess what the new word a the day is.

"What Baby Girl do today?"

She say, "Tee-tee."

"What they gone put in the history books next to this day?"

She say, "Tee-tee."

I say, "What Miss Hilly smell like?"

She say, "Tee-tee."

But I get onto myself. It wasn't Christian, plus I'm afraid she repeat it.

LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Miss Leefolt come home with her hair all teased up. She got a permanent and she smell like pneumonia.

"Guess what Mae Mobley done today?" I say. "Went to the bathroom in the toilet bowl."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" She give her girl a hug, something I don't see enough of. I know she mean it, too, cause Miss Leefolt do not not like changing diapers. like changing diapers.

I say, "You got to make sure she go in the pot from now on. It's real confusing for her if you don't."

Miss Leefolt smile, say, "Alright."

"Let's see if she do it one more time fore I go home." We go in the bathroom. I get her diapers off and put her up on that toilet. But Baby Girl, she shaking her head.

"Come on, Mae Mobley, can't you go in the pot for your mama?"

"Noooo."

Finally I put her back down on her feet. "That's alright, you did real good today."

But Miss Leefolt, she got her lips sticking out and she hmphing and frowning down at her. Before I can get her diaper on again, Baby Girl run off fast as she can. Nekkid little white baby running through the house. She in the kitchen. She got the back door open, she in the garage, trying to reach the k.n.o.b to my my bathroom. We run after her and Miss Leefolt pointing her finger. Her voice go about ten pitches too high. "This is not your bathroom!" bathroom. We run after her and Miss Leefolt pointing her finger. Her voice go about ten pitches too high. "This is not your bathroom!"

Baby Girl wagging her head. "My bafroom!" "My bafroom!"

Miss Leefolt s.n.a.t.c.h her up, give her a pop on the leg.

"Miss Leefolt, she don't know what she do--"

"Get back in the house, Aibileen!"

I hate it, but I go in the kitchen. I stand in the middle, leave the door open behind me.