For the Love of Money

by Omar Tyree

  I was figuring on giving Vanessa’s friends a ride home before she quickly dismissed them. However, since E&S was an academic high school, many of the students who went there lived nowhere near North Philadelphia, but Vanessa did. She lived right off of Girard Avenue, across the bridge from the Philadelphia Zoo. Although, I didn’t imagine that she hung around there much. Vanessa was more of a traveler.

  She followed me over to my rented Ford in the parking lot and looked around as if I was driving something else. I was used to that. Hollywood was full of car watchers.

  “It’s a rental car,” I told my cousin. “All I need to do is get around in it. I’d rather not have all of the extra attention of driving a nice car while I’m home anyway.”

  Vanessa smiled off her disappointment and shrugged. “I guess you can get tired of so many people watching you,” she said.

  I nodded and opened the car doors. “You know I don’t have to answer that.”

  She said, “But you got a lot of attention before you moved to Hollywood.”

  “And you don’t?” I asked her as we climbed inside.

  She shrugged again. “I have other things to do.”

  Like what? I thought of asking, but we had plenty of time for that. I would be in town visiting for two weeks.

  “What kind of car do you drive out in Los Angeles?” she asked me.

  I was afraid to even answer, but I answered her anyway. “A Mercedes.”

  Vanessa grinned. “What color?”

  “Black.”

  She nodded. “I like the dark blue ones.”

  Have you been in one? I thought. Why was I holding back with her? I forced myself to ask her anyway. “Are you into cars or something?”

  She nodded. “I’m into a little bit of everything.”

  How about teenage sex and fast men? Are you into that ?

  I was assuming everything and I couldn’t help myself. I just started to laugh.

  “You’re not trying to play out all of the things I did in my life are you? Because that’s not the way to succeed,” I told her. I felt hypocritical as soon as the sentence left my mouth.

  “No, I haven’t done any of those things,” she said. “But I do want to live nice.”

  She did live in North Philadelphia. I was a Germantown girl in my days. That made a big difference in perception and in lifestyle.

  I was hungry so I decided to stop off at a steak shop for that nationally known Philadelphian treat: a cheese steak with fried onions, salt, pepper, and ketchup. Vanessa ordered a fish sandwich with cheese fries.

  “You don’t eat steaks?” I asked her.

  She frowned. “Mmm, sometimes, but not a whole one.”

  I looked over her body size. She was not my five foot eight height. Vanessa was closer to five foot six, and she did not have a body like I did at her age.

  “How much do you weigh?” I asked her.

  She grinned. “Why, I look skinny? I weigh a hundred and ten.”

  At five foot five and a half, one hundred and ten pounds was thin.

  “You better eat some of this steak, girl,” I teased her. “You’re not Calista Flockhart.”

  “Who?”

  “The girl who plays Ally McBeal,” I told her.

  “Oh. I’m not that skinny. I just don’t want to be like my mom.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. Her grandmother, my Aunt Marsha, was big, and my cousin Trish had followed in her mother’s footsteps. They both chose men who didn’t stick around. Vanessa had every reason in the world to want more. I just didn’t want to encourage her in the wrong way.

  “Well, just don’t overdo it,” I told her. “Good exercise will take care of any extra pounds before you even let it get that far.”

  By the time we finished our food, it was close to four o’clock. I had an appointment in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania, at six. I didn’t want to be caught in rush-hour traffic trying to make it, but I couldn’t take Vanessa, and I didn’t want to rush away from her either.

  “You know, I have an appointment I need to get to soon, but let’s say I pick you up from your school again on Thursday and we hang out then. I’ll try and see you all this weekend too.”

  I wanted to butter up the pot, but Thursday was my only promise.

  Vanessa nodded. “I have an assignment to finish today anyway,” she said.

  I couldn’t tell if she was brushing me off or if she felt slighted in some way. I was sure that she could get along without me though. She struck me as a big girl, and big girls don’t cry.

  I stood up and tossed our food in the trash bin. “Well, let me drive you home then, and I’ll pick you up again on Thursday on time,” I emphasized with a smile.

  Vanessa hesitated. “Can you drop me off at the main library on Vine Street? I have to look up a few things.”

  Was she really going there for homework? I would have it bad if I ever had a daughter. I had too many recollections on my mind from my own reckless days as a teen. I mean, Vanessa did go to Engineering & Science, one of the top public high schools in Philadelphia. She had good grades at that. How could I doubt her?

  “Yeah, that’s no problem,” I told her.

  We were less than five minutes away from Vine. I dropped her off at the front steps of the main library and made sure she was okay. She didn’t talk to me much on the short ride there.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her before we parted.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I just have a lot of things to do.”

  “You’re introverted, aren’t you?” I asked her.

  She looked squeamish, as if she didn’t want to answer. That told me all I needed to know.

  “Well ...yeah, I guess so.”

  That was another difference between us. I expressed myself all of the time, with my words, and with my actions. Vanessa was more of the sneaky type. They were more dangerous because you could never quite tell about them. My old next-door neighbor Mercedes was that way, and her story was tragic.

  I was still not convinced about my little cousin’s library visit, but I had things to do as well, so I had to let it go.

  “Okay, I’ll see you Thursday,” I told her.

  She just smiled at me.

  I drove off and couldn’t get Vanessa off of my mind. Sure, she was my cousin and all, but I thought of her more as a girl who looked up to me, and someone ready to flower, who may just need a little more attention. A lot of girls needed more attention.

  I drove all the way to Jenkintown thinking about how hard it was to be a grown-up and a role model. I was a role model whether I liked it or not, because I was an African-American star in a land where too many of us were not given the opportunity to even breathe. It seemed unreal. How in the world did I do it? Everyone was watching and talking about me. That’s a lot of pressure on a person.

  I returned my rental and caught a short taxi ride to the Jenkintown car dealership. I was more than a half hour early for my appointment. I guess I overestimated travel time in Philadelphia because of all of the traffic jams in Los Angeles that I had become accustomed to. I figured I could get in and get out with the vehicle that I wanted to buy, but my original salesperson (a brother named Byron) was not there. Whenever you deal with two different car salesmen you end up starting all over again. I already liked my price, so I planned on waiting around a few minutes, until I saw the platinum-colored Infiniti SUV I had wanted for my father. Boy was it sexy! I just had to take another look.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  I turned and faced a young, eager white guy in a dark suit and tie. He looked straight out of college.

  I said, “Has anyone put a bid on this SUV?” I wanted to see if the other salesman had set aside my name and price for that platinum Infiniti like I had asked him to. I was also curious to see if I could even sweeten the deal, or if the new salesman would try and screw me. I had read in a magazine somewhere that African-American women got the worse deals in the country on new cars.

  “No,
not that I know of,” he answered me.

  “Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t want to take someone else’s car.”

  He smiled and said, “It’s not someone else’s car until they’ve driven off the lot with it.”

  “But what if another salesman was already working with it?”

  That poor guy had no idea how deep I was about to dig him.

  “Well, in that case, we would have a record of it.”

  Two things crossed my mind. First, if my initial salesman did not take me seriously, then maybe he didn’t record it. Second, if the new guy was a wheeler-dealer, then maybe he would lie about it even if it was recorded, or talk to his boss about unrecording it if the price was right. I thought of a lot of different imaginary plots as a writer. I couldn’t help myself. It kept me sharp.

  I planned to stir up the plot a little more. I said, “I’ll tell you what. What price would you give me if I could buy it today in cash?”

  “In cash? Tonight?” He looked hungry enough to eat for four.

  I said, “Yes,” and allowed him a full view of my style of dress and my purse to entice him.

  “Ah, I’ll be right back. I’ll have to go see.” He began to walk away, but then he turned, too quickly, and looked desperately at me. “Ah, would you like to walk inside with me?”

  “Why,do you think that I would leave?” I asked him with a grin. “I want to finish looking at it.”

  He nodded, and realized his own eagerness with a smile.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back out.” He turned to face me once more before he made it inside. “I’ll get the keys and let you take her for a ride.”

  I nodded to him and grinned. “Okay.”

  Byron, my initial salesman, showed up just in time to make it more interesting. Life was all a game anyway, especially when you have the money to play, so I was enjoying myself.

  He said, “Hey, you know what? After I talked to you last night, I wrote your name and number down and said, ‘Tracy Ellison Grant? I wonder if that’s the one who played in that movie Led Astray?’ Then I thought about it and said, ‘Damn, she is from Philadelphia. What the hell was I thinking?!’

  “I apologize for that, sister. I really do,” he said. “Let’s go ahead and make this deal.”

  The brother was raw energy, excited like a new boyfriend on that first private night. He even looked like a winner in his light gray pin-striped suit and burgundy striped tie that jumped out at me. I had gotten Byron’s name and number from a friend who had gotten a good deal from him. I didn’t make a big deal about my star status. I wanted to use that as my ace in the hole.

  Out walked my new salesman with the keys. I didn’t even know his name.

  I said, “You know, I had talked to Byron last night about this car before I came in. I just wanted to see if he had set it aside for me.”

  The white guy looked crushed, but he tried to play it off.

  “Oh, well, okay. Byron, you talked to her yesterday?” He had to make sure I wasn’t pulling a fast one on him just to give a brother a sale.

  Byron had betrayal written all over his face. He quickly played that off too.

  “Yeah, I talked to her. She wasn’t supposed to be here until six.”

  “I was running early,” I explained.

  Byron snatched those keys away as if he had to feed a greedy wife and eight kids.

  “Yeah, man, I got it.”

  The manager walked out and said, “Excuse me. You say you’re interested in this Infiniti?” He was a tall white man with gray edges invading his thick, dark hair. He wore a dark suit and tie himself. I guess Byron wanted to stand out and look a little jazzy at work with the light-colored suit.

  The manager moved toward the keys as if he wanted to give me a personal look through, but Byron beat him to the driver’s-side door with them instead.

  He said, “;I talked to her about this SUV last night. She’s an actress. Tracy Ellison Grant. She has a book out too. Flyy Girl, right?” he asked me. He damn sure wasn’t giving up those keys. I mean, if you want to see some real acting you should visit one of these hungry car dealerships.

  The manager got the picture and said, “An actress? Oh.” He gave me a long stare. I knew what was coming next. “So, what have you starred in?”

  The first young white guy stuck around just to be nosy. I guess his feelings were hurt at losing a golden sale. I was sure that he would talk about me. He would probably call me all kinds of names, but I was used to that. Some people just had to grow up.

  Byron jumped back in and answered, “Led Astray. It was about this black woman who was trying to make it out in Hollywood, and how she got all caught up in the game, and decided to play her own game.”

  All of a sudden, the brother was my public relations rep.

  His manager and coworker were still nodding, both dying to have those keys in hand.

  “Well, you ready to take it for a ride?” Byron asked me. He was as eager to get away from them and secure his sale as they were to try and take it from him.

  First the boss had to chat me up with the usual: How long had I been acting? How does it feel to be a star? He apologized for not knowing any of my work, and then he promised to look out for me in the future. He thanked me for doing business with them, asked me how I found out about the dealership, and just went on and on.

  I was so happy to climb inside of that beautiful Infiniti that I didn’t know what to do with myself. People will outright talk your ear off sometimes. I only listened to all of his jabber because I wanted to sweeten my final sale price at the end of the night. You can’t expect to do that with a nasty attitude.

  When we pulled off, Byron got real on me and started talking that black talk.

  “You see that?” he asked me, shaking his head with a grin. “They were scheming to take this damn sale. I’m glad you looked out for me like that, sister. I didn’t know you could make it out here early. If I would have known that, I wouldn’t have taken my break until after you came.”

  I smiled back at him and toyed with all of the gadgets in the car.

  “Oh, she’s nice, ain’t she? This is top of the line here,” he told me.

  “Why do men refer to cars as ‘she’?” I asked just for the hell of it.

  “Because we’re men,” Byron answered. He laughed, a strong hearty laugh. Maybe it was too hearty. He was really pleased with his sale. In fact, he seemed to think more about the sale than explaining to me the features on the car. I wanted it anyway so I let it ride.

  “They didn’t know who you were,” he said. “They don’t even watch black TV shows, let alone go to see black films. I get so tired of telling white folks about black culture around here that I just don’t feel like commenting on it sometimes. But I have to because we’re Americans too. You know what I mean, sister? We’re Americans too.

  “I know that they think that we’re not, but we are,” he continued. “Hell, the only black stars they know around here is Bill Cosby, Will Smith, and Allen Iverson.”

  After a while, I just blocked the brother out and listened to the sound system. He caught on to my deaf ears and got back to telling me about the car. Brothers can drive themselves crazy about race sometimes. Not that I don’t ever think about it, but damn!

  I said, “Byron, actually, a lot of white people do pay attention to our culture, but they do so on their own time. They’re coming around. Just have a little patience.”

  He laughed more civilly and said, “Just have a little more patience, hunh? It’s just like a sister to say that. I guess we need to give them another four hundred years.”

  I grinned and changed the subject. He didn’t understand me, and I didn’t understand him. That was exactly why I wasn’t married, because I didn’t have time for man-woman misunderstandings every damn day of my life!

  We drove back to the dealership, and they gave me a six-thousand-dollar deal. They took the initial price of thirty-nine thousand dollars down to thirty-three, all because I was
paying it off in cash. In fact, since I was not planning to finance it, I probably saved more like twelve thousand in the long run. Money talks, but then they tried to sell me everything else to knock the price back up, maintenance plans, additional packages, extended warranties, car phones, anything to make an extra buck.

  I finally said, “Look, this car is a gift for my father’s fifty-first birthday. If he wants to get anything extra put in it, then he can come back and get it himself.”

  “If you get it included today, it’ll be a lot cheaper than as a separate package,” the manager told me.

  I said, “It won’t mean a thing to him if he knows he didn’t pay the thirty-three thousand dollars for the car. What’s another thousand for toys?”

  They were starting to get on my damn nerves! The next thing I knew it was close to nine o’clock at night, and I still hadn’t signed all of the paperwork yet. Damn car salesmen! They need to be shot!

  The manager noticed my agitation and finally decided to close the deal. Byron was smiling his brown behind off, but he didn’t look so handsome to me anymore. He had ruined my short-lived fantasy. They all do. Maybe my standards were too high.

  “Would you mind if we took a picture of you while you stand next to the car?” the manager asked me before I pulled off. He had a camera in hand already and they were all smiles at the dealership.

  I snapped, “For what? So you can show me off with the car and talk about it?” I was tripping because I was pissed off already! Why the hell would I want to take a picture after being there for nearly four hours?! I was tired of their faces and breath, smelling of coffee and cigarettes.