Page 86 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
We continued volunteering our time and money to the Civil Rights Movement, culminating in the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. We lived through it all, and Montgomery was just one of the sparks of the massive changes that swept through the country.
We left the South soon after that, renting a two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles and making our lives there as she pursued her dreams. She got small parts at first until making her big break inThe Last Dance at Midnightin 1971.
While Gabby pursued her acting dreams, I earned a role of my own, one I’d never thought possible—the role of mom.
I never thought I’d have the chance again, and Winston made every bit of it pure joy. I was his “Aunt Jimi,” and he was my best bud. An active boy, Winston was all knobby knees, taller than us both, and his growth reminded me of how much I stayed the same. He never questioned it, though, and together we navigated middle school, highschool, and college, him choosing Savannah State. Living with them made it easy to find evidence for Death. I would file stories, still writing as Jimi, mainly about travels as the three of us journeyed according to the postcards. I wrote about our trips and the seemingly unending changes that continued to sweep across the world, one of the biggest in our life being the rise of Gabby’s career.
By 1978, Gabby had regular guest spots on everything fromThe JeffersonstoGood Times. She became increasingly recognized, and we were swept into the fashionable set. It was like my time in 1920s Harlem as she mingled in parties with the stars of the time—Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis, whom we’d met at the March on Washington, plus Alice Walker, Sidney Poitier, and Billy Dee Williams, whom she’d played opposite in their last film. I slipped into the background, happy to let her shine. But I won’t lie—there were moments when being seen felt suffocating.
We were at an industry party that October, celebrating the film release ofThe Wiz, when a woman shrieked near me.
I turned, clutching my chest, imagining some danger, to find a brunette with thick winged eyeliner and tight bell-bottoms jumping and down. She shouted over the pulsing disco music, “Oh my God! It’s her!TheGabby Reynolds! How do you know her?”
“I’m her assistant.” The lie cut me the way it always did. I was more than that, but the role gave people a place for me in her life, explaining my presence and protectiveness.
The woman’s eyes filled with interest. I could see she thought this was her chance. For what, I wasn’t sure. But the ’70s had taught me everyone wanted their fifteen minutes of fame. “Maybe I’ll give you a headshot?”
“Maybe,” I said, rattling my empty glass. “Going to get another drink.”
“I can get it for you,” she said, but I’d already slipped off, snaking between the sweaty bodies, the packed space stifling.
I searched for Gabby and found her at the center of a cluster, enthralling them, her allure magnetic. I didn’t need or want the spotlight. Our life worked.
I got a refill and calculated how long we needed to stay for her to schmooze. We had no time constraints, as Winston was fully grown and living in Atlanta by now, working in finance and doing the books for Gabby and me. After the party, it’d be a quiet evening of reading books or any upcoming scripts from her agent.
I’d just taken the first sip when my skin hummed, alert. A shadowy energy filled the room. I swallowed the harsh bite of the martini and readied myself. I gripped the lip of the bar for support.
Death stood at my side, dressed in all black, his vest opened to almost his navel. In his regular form, with his brown skin glistening under the flashing party lights, we blended into the crowd, the music pulsing, bodies swaying around us. The noise of the room dissipated.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, harsher than I’d intended.
“Don’t worry,” he said, seeing my face. “Not an official visit. Just in the neighborhood.”
“You just happened to be in this nightclub on a Saturday night?”
He shrugged elegantly. “It’s a nightclub on Saturday night. Someone in a bathroom downstairs is going to realize that ingesting large amounts of liquor and cocaine is averybad idea. He motioned for a beer, scanning the crowd. “Fear not, Nella. Your Gabby will be here for many years to come.”
“How long will that even be?”
“How long is long enough?”
It took everything I had not to run from the bar, dragging her with me.
Death took no notice as his drink arrived. He brought the glass to his lips, murmured something I couldn’t hear, then drained it in one long swallow.
Over the last few visits, Death had been drinking more. It brought back painful memories of René slipping to a place I could not reach him. That couldn’t happen to Death, could it? “Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. You’re not acting like yourself.”
“You’re an expert on Death.” The statement caught me off guard. “Tell me, Nella, what do you see when you look at me?”
“I’m not sure.” I always avoided looking too directly at him, but I couldn’t deny this. His mood was erratic, his eyes tired. I didn’t know what he had done in the intervening years except work without reprieve, but how lonely that must have been. Despite all that was at stake and everything he had taken from me, I felt sorry for him. What did he want me to say?
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ve been preoccupied. The number of souls I gather daily in Afghanistan and Cambodia is staggering.” He motioned for a refill. “Famine, war, disease ... the work never ends. And yet you all dance to your music and drown out the rest of the world.”
Guilt set in, as it always did, but I had to squash it down. He had his role, just like I had mine. “After all this time, do you have even one good thing to say about them? Us?”
