Free Juba! by Walter Dean Myers Page B

us line up some good Irish performers,” I said. “We’re going to have some rehearsals, and everybody has to show up. This is a chance to do ourselves some good.”
    â€œYou think Almack’s is thinking about keeping us on for good?” Freddy asked.
    Peter Williams hadn’t said anything about permanent jobs, and I knew he wasn’t going to be throwing around that kind of money every week. He had a greedy little mind, a taste for money, and an eye for where the money was hidden.
    â€œI just think he wants to see what can be done,” I answered Freddy. “I’ve performed for him before, but most of what I was getting was jingle thrown out on the floor, and Pete wants part of that.”
    When Freddy left, me and Stubby took the cart out to sell fish. Stubby was full of talk about getting real menus printed up, and I told him I didn’t want to spend money getting anything printed for just one day. He looked disappointed.
    We didn’t sell much. Stubby talked to a black cook and asked her if he could borrow some serving plates for a party he was giving. She said he could if he was nice enough to her, and Stubby said he would be as nice as she wanted him to be. I don’t think he understood that she was wanting some kissing and hugging. She was twice as big as Stubby, and just about twice as old, so he was going to have to cook up something special for those plates.
    Back home, I was so tired. It seemed like every day I was getting more and more tired, and I knew it was because I had too many things to think about. Jack was disappointed that we didn’t sell more fish, and he said so.
    â€œYou just got your mind on this one night, and you’re letting the rest of your life slip away from you!”
    That was right. I wasn’t as hard up as Freddy, but I was feeling the same cold breeze he was feeling. A good chance only came along once in a while, and you had to jump on it when it came your way. If we didn’t put on a good show for Pete Williams, everybody would know about it and it would be hard to get any kind of job dancing or singing.
    I fell asleep on the bed and was surprised when I heard a banging on the door. I thought Stubby had left his key someplace. It wasn’t Stubby, but Miss Lilly and Priscilla, the girl she called Cissy.
    â€œI told Cissy you didn’t bite, so there was no reason for her to be shy about telling you she was ready to sing for you,” Miss Lilly said. “Go on, girl, sing.”
    Now, the thing is that nobody who did any acting or singing could do it just like that. You had to get yourself in the mood, or warm up, or put your lucky charm in your pocket, or whatever it took for you to be somebody else. That was what show business was about. For a few minutes or a few hours, you were somebody else, somebody with a strange kind of magic.
    The girl had her head down and didn’t move.
    â€œYou sing for Juba and then you come back over to Almack’s,” Miss Lilly said. “You got a peck of work to do, girl.”
    I watched as Miss Lilly started down the stairs, stopped, sent a mean look toward Priscilla, and continued on down.
    â€œYou want some tea?” I asked.
    Priscilla shrugged, and I moved aside so she could come in. She stood in the doorway for a minute and looked inside, then stepped in.
    I went to the cupboard and took down the tin we kept the tea in. Empty. “You want some water?”
    She shrugged again.
    â€œYou like working at Almack’s?” I asked.
    â€œI owe him a lot of money,” she answered. Her voice was soft and a little breathy. “The way I’m working now and paying him a little every week, I’ll never get finished.”
    â€œThat’s about how half the people in the world work,” I said. “I know people who owe their bosses so much money, they got to borrow their pay every week.”
    â€œHe wants me to dance with his customers,”