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Aibileen is a black maid in 1962 Jackson, Mississippi, who's always taken orders quietly, but lately she's unable to hold her bitterness back. Her friend Minny has never held her tongue but now must somehow keep secrets about her employer that leave her speechless. White socialite Skeeter just graduated college. She's full of ambition, but without a husband, she's considered a failure. Together, these seemingly different women join together to write a tell-all book about work as a black maid in the South, that could forever alter their destinies and the life of a small town...
Mobley, I’m leaving now. Come give Mama a big hug.” But Mae Mobley don’t move. Miss Leefolt, she got a hand on her hip, waiting for her sugar. “Go on, Mae Mobley,” I whisper. I nudge her and she go hug her mama real hard, kinda desperate-like, but Miss Leefolt, she already looking in her purse for her keys, kind a wiggle off. It don’t seem to bother Mae Mobley so much, though, like it used to, and that’s what I can’t hardly look at. “Come on, Aibee,” Mae Mobley say to me after her mama gone.
coming tonight. Everybody enjoying their dinner?” There are nods and rumbles of consent. “Before we start the announcements, I’d like to go ahead and thank the people who are making tonight such a success.” Without turning her head from the audience, Hilly gestures to her left, where two dozen colored women have lined up, dressed in their white uniforms. A dozen colored men are behind them, in gray-and-white tuxedos. “Let’s give a special round of applause to the help, for all the wonderful
glass. Then I tell him that the manuscript has been sent to New York. That if they decide to publish it, it would come out in, my guess is, eight months, maybe sooner. Right around the time, I think to myself, an engagement would turn into a wedding. “It’s been written anonymously,” I say, “but with Hilly around, there’s still a good chance people will know it was me.” But he’s not nodding his head or pushing my hair behind my ear and his grandmother’s ring is sitting on Mother’s velvet sofa
we both turn to look at each other. Did I hear right? I say with my eyes. You heard right, Louvenia’s say back. Please, Miss Hilly, read. Read like the wind. MINNY CHAPTER 32 ANOTHER DAY PASSES, and still I can hear Miss Hilly’s voice talking the words, reading the lines. I don’t hear the scream. Not yet. But she’s getting close. Aibileen told me what the ladies in the Jitney said yesterday, but we haven’t heard another thing since. I keep dropping things, broke my last
her in college. She looks me up and down. “What are you, some kind of hippie now? God, your poor mama must be so embarrassed of you.” “Hilly, why are you here?” “To tell you I’ve contacted my lawyer, Hibbie Goodman, who happens to be the number one expert on the libel laws in Mississippi, and you are in big trouble, missy. You’re going to jail, you know that?” “You can’t prove anything, Hilly.” I’ve had this discussion with the legal department of Harper & Row. We were very careful in our