by Ritz, David
After her third month, she moved into a studio apartment on Wabash Avenue close to Columbia College Chicago, where she began to audit a course on fashion/retail management. She liked the location of her place because she could walk to the school and hear concerts and lectures on everything from the art of Japanese flower design to contemporary film. She was starting to feel settled and relatively calm. She had survived a storm.
But when winter arrived and the freezing wind blowing off the lake turned the city bitter cold, Beauty fell into something of a funk. To some degree she could share her recent experiences in L.A. and New York with Solomon and Amir, yet she couldn’t share everything. She couldn’t tell them how much time she spent wondering about and dreaming of Power. This was especially true when she moved into her own apartment. She’d wanted to be alone. She preferred not to lean on Solomon and Amir for help. She was, after all, despite—or because of—everything she had gone through, an independent soul. She was eager to reclaim her independence. In doing so, though, she found herself fantasizing more and more about Power. For the thousandth time, she relived their night in bed after the explosion. For the millionth time, she thought of picking up the phone and asking Wanda to put her in touch with Power. He had reentered her dreams on a nightly basis. He even had her believing, at least on one Thursday afternoon, that he was following her through the mall.
She had come to work that day and, for reasons she couldn’t understand, felt his spirit close behind her. She wanted to turn around and look but she didn’t. She went to the store, punched the clock, and started greeting customers. At one point, though, she thought she caught a glimpse of Power walking past the shop. She almost stopped what she was doing and ran out of the store. She wanted to see if it was really him. She wanted it to be him, but she also did not want it to be him. The last thing in the world she needed was the complication that his presence in her life would bring. She needed quietude. She needed steadiness. She had a decent job, a decent apartment, and close proximity to a college she found stimulating.
Then why, night after night, did she torture herself with thoughts of the man? Why didn’t she—why couldn’t she—simply forget him? The prospects for her future had dimmed but not disappeared. Her manager at Claire’s, a pleasant woman named Sue, had praised her highly and said if her good work continued, she might recommend her as assistant manager. At least two or three times a day she would be approached for a date by a male shopper in the mall. Her invitations were countless and her refusals absolute. She did not want to bother with men—not now. After what had happened in New York, she felt vulnerable. She did not want to be taken care of, not even for a night. She did not want to be offered a free dinner, a free movie, a free concert, or a free anything. When she remembered how she had felt being bought, she recoiled.
Solomon and Amir had a close circle of other gay men friends, and she enjoyed their company. One named Thomas worked in public relations. His partner, Randy, taught art history at Columbia College Chicago, the same school that Beauty frequented. Solomon, Amir, and their friends were stimulating. They spoke of movies and books, politics and fashion. Together, they went to photography shows at the Art Institute of Chicago and blues jams at Buddy Guy’s Legends club. Thomas and Randy invited Beauty to her first opera, Aida, at the Chicago Lyric Opera. When the weather broke and spring arrived, she, Solomon, and Amir saw Kanye West give a spectacular outdoor performance in Millennium Park.
She liked this group of guys, not only because of the absence of sexual tension but also because of their ambition. After his setback at Neiman’s, Solomon quickly worked his way up at Macy’s to become the chief buyer of men’s clothes. Amir got a grant from an arts foundation to write original music. Thomas’s public relations firm promoted him to work on the Chicago Better Business Bureau account. At twenty-seven, Randy became the youngest professor at Columbia College to be given tenure.
The men were older than Beauty, and yet they treated her as an equal. They had empathy for her difficult past and recognized her need for support. They praised and encouraged her. They took her to a fancy dinner when she was named assistant manager of Claire’s. They were always talking about setting her up with straight men who they knew, but she wasn’t interested. They sensed her need to avoid romantic entanglements and, after a while, avoided discussions about her love life. She became their little sister, a woman they loved, respected, and protected.
It was a cold day in November, at the start of her second winter in Chicago, and Beauty arrived at Claire’s at noon. She was working the late shift.
“Let’s take a few minutes and go over to Starbucks,” said Sue, the store manager. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Beauty’s first thought was that she was being fired. Sue had dismissed three different salesclerks in the last two months. Business had been down, and although Beauty often relieved Sue and, as assistant manager, had been given the responsibility of closing the store and dealing with the cash and sales receipts, she knew that she was not irreplaceable. No one is.
A blond woman from Wisconsin with a brusque manner of speaking, Sue got them both caffe lattes and found a table in the back.
“Let me get right to the point,” Sue said. “Claire’s doesn’t want you working in Chicago anymore.”
Beauty’s throat went dry. She was being fired.
“They want you in Atlanta,” said Sue. “They want to you to assist managing their store in the Cumberland Mall.”
Beauty expressed relief and surprise.
“I’m from Atlanta,” she said.
“I know. That’s why I recommended you. I thought you’d be glad.”
“Well, I appreciate the recommendation, but, well . . . can’t I continue working in the store here?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m being transferred to Milwaukee and they’re bringing in a new crew. Besides, they’re giving you a substantial raise and the promise that, as soon as you turn twenty-one next August, you’ll manage a store of your own. They have you pegged to be the youngest manager in the history of Claire’s. They want to do a lot of publicity around that. And that’s only nine months from now.”
“Can I think about it?” asked Beauty.
“Of course. But I thought you’d jump at the chance.”
“I just need a little time.”
“It’s a career move,” said Solomon that night, “a good career move.”
“I don’t want to be stuck at Claire’s my whole life,” Beauty argued.
“You won’t be. But Claire’s is teaching you things—you’ve seen that for yourself—and the idea of being the youngest manager in the history of a major chain is a coup. It’s a stepping-stone. It’ll lead to bigger and better things.”
“We’d hate for you to move,” said Amir, “but I think Sol’s right. They’re advancing you because they recognize your talent. That’s a beautiful thing.”
“What is it?” asked Solomon. “Is the idea of going back home bothering you?”
Beauty had not gone into details, but she had mentioned Slim Simmons to Solomon and Amir. She had told them how repulsive she found the man.
“Atlanta is a big city,” said Amir. “You’ll have nothing to do with him. He doesn’t have to know you’re there.”
“He wouldn’t,” said Beauty. “He couldn’t.”
Buckhead
It had been nearly four years since Beauty had been back in Atlanta. She was not at all thrilled at being home, but she was determined to make the best of it. She was determined not to let her fears deter her future. Her future was her career, and at least for now, her career was with Claire’s. Solomon was right: Claire’s had much to teach her. It was a streamlined retail operation with expertise in proper pricing and careful merchandising. Their products moved, their customer base was loyal, and the stores had a steady stream of eager young shoppers. Beauty liked waiting on the preteen girls who sought out bracelets and backpacks. She remembered the time in her life when she herself h
ad gone from Hello Kitty stickers to Tiger Beat magazine. Most important, Claire’s afforded her stability.
It was one thing to climb the corporate ladder at Claire’s but another to reenter the city that had caused her so much pain. Yet Atlanta was merely a stopover to bigger things. She was told by her new manager, Dorothy Blairsworth, that come Beauty’s twenty-first birthday, she would have her own Claire’s to manage. In all likelihood that would be a new Claire’s due to open in Marin County in the north San Francisco Bay area, one of the most beautiful sections of the country. The location was perfect. It would transport Beauty to a new realm. For these coming months then she could tolerate being home, but only by living in Buckhead, an upscale uptown neighborhood called the Beverly Hills of Atlanta. She found a small studio apartment on Peachtree Road, leased a Corolla for $170 a month, and settled in quickly.
She liked driving through the residential streets of Buckhead. They were lined with mansions of virtually every architectural style. In the shopping area, fall and winter fashions were on display in the stores of Lenox Square and Phipps Plaza. Those shops—Giorgio Armani, Kate Spade, Fendi, Salvatore Ferragamo, Valentino, Bulgari—all gave Beauty a sense of well-being. The Claire’s location at Cumberland was less tony. The mall was anchored by Sears, Costco, and Macy’s. It was a twenty-five-minute drive through traffic in her Corolla, but she didn’t mind. The neighborhoods where she lived and worked were not the neighborhoods of her childhood.
And yet she often felt anxious about running into someone she knew from her past. But why? She hadn’t broken any laws. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d gone to New York and worked, then to L.A., then back to New York, and then on to Chicago. She had never not worked except in Chicago when she was busy looking for work. She had nothing to be ashamed of. There was, of course, the episode with Primo Dalla Torre, but in truth he had never touched her. He had merely sponsored her.
A few days after arriving in Atlanta, Beauty met Wanda for lunch at Bistro Niko, a busy French eatery near Beauty’s apartment on Peachtree. Wanda showed up in a black polka-dot hat with a high crown, a wide white bow, and a sweeping brim of silver glitter. Her black dress, snug for her ample body, also carried the polka-dot theme. The lustrous jet-black hair of her expensive wig fell to her shoulders. After ordering iced tea and salads, the two women began to talk.
“I was shocked when you called, baby,” said Wanda, “but I was happy. Happy to see you back home. Got tired of that Chicago weather, did you? Well, this Georgia sunshine gonna warm you up in no time. Glad to see you, Beauty, I really am. To tell you the truth, I was a little hurt that you didn’t want to come back to Wanda’s Wigs to work, but Lord knows I understand. You’re way beyond that. Claire’s is a big national operation and they got their eye on you, don’t they?”
“I think so. I hope so.”
“I know so, honey. They ain’t stupid. They know when they got a winner in their organization. And they carry cute things. I know. I’ve taken my niece to Claire’s. Took her to get her ears pierced when she turned seven. She been wearing crazy earrings ever since. She loves Claire’s. All the girls love Claire’s. I’m proud of you, Beauty. I really am. After what happened to Anita, you picked yourself up, dusted yourself off, moved out there to Chicago, found you a job, and did what you had to do. You made of strong stuff, girl. You know where you’re going.”
“Well, I’m here and I want to make the best of it, Wanda. I wanted to see you, but, like I said on the phone, I’m not calling everyone I know.”
“I understand. You don’t have to worry about Wanda Washington. Wanda knows how to keep a secret. But I just don’t understand why it has to be a secret.”
“Well, it’s not a complete secret. I called Tanisha, my friend from high school. She’s married to a lawyer and they don’t live far from here. She has a little baby boy. I’m going to see her next week.”
“That’s wonderful. So you are reconnecting.”
“I just don’t want to reconnect with Slim. Or Power.”
“Power hasn’t lived in Atlanta for a while.”
Beauty had to stop herself from asking Wanda where Power was living.
“And Slim,” said Wanda, “well, he’s not the same man he used to be. I don’t see him that much.”
“He still owns your store, doesn’t he?” asked Beauty. “Isn’t he still your boss?”
“He’s the boss all right, but I avoid him. He’s changed. And not for the better. I do believe the man has mental problems.”
Beauty wanted more details about those problems—she wanted to hear that her own instincts about Slim’s murderous nature were absolutely right—but she also didn’t want to discuss the man. His very name made her cringe.
“But you’re all right, aren’t you?” Beauty asked Wanda.
“I’m fine, baby,” said Wanda. “I’ve been dealing with that man so long I know him better than he knows himself. He don’t scare me none. He never has. It’s just that I’ve always been able to bring out his better nature. But recently that better nature is getting worser.”
“Is there a way you can get away from him entirely?”
“You mean retire? Why should I? I love the store and the customers love me. The customers depend on me. Half of the women in this city are wearing my wigs. It’s a going concern. Has been for over thirty years. Besides, it affords me a good living. Reverend at church looks to me to tithe, and I never fail. I’m proud to tithe. Proud to hold my head high and praise the Lord every Sunday for giving me what I need. There are times when I need a man, and I got my choice there. You’d be surprised, Beauty, you really would, but I got me a whole army of men at my command. Got four or five on speed dial that will drop everything the minute I give the word. And I’ll tell you something else, Beauty, that I don’t tell most people. I’m telling you, though, ’cause it’s a good lesson for a young woman to learn. These men I’m talking about—and none of them are married, because I do not believe in fooling with married men—these men are sweet and kind and eager to please, but I do not trust them entirely. Truth is, before we get into anything heavy, I demand a health certificate. I make them go to a doctor for serious testing. I got to see for myself that none are carrying any of those awful diseases running through this city. You see, I understand human nature. I understand men. They are not built for one woman. They may tell you you’re the only one, but you ain’t. That’s why I never married. I’m a realist, baby. And what’s real is that men wander and will keep wandering as long as they can. So if they wanna wander over my house, that’s fine. Like any woman, I get in the mood. I want me a wandering man, but I understand that after we have our fun he’ll be wandering off. And as long as he don’t leave me with no disease, let him go wandering. That’s why you’re looking at a woman who is a hundred percent healthy. My doctor says I need to lose thirty pounds, but my doctor is a white man who don’t understand black women are big-boned and made different. I’m feeling fine, Beauty. Never felt no better.”
“Well, you look great.”
“There’s only one favor I’d like to ask of you, baby.”
“What’s that?” asked Beauty.
“Come to church with me this Sunday. It’s something both your mamas would want you to do.”
“I’ve never really been much of a churchgoer,” said Beauty.
“That don’t matter. God is patient. But he’s waiting for you. He’s been waiting for you. Just a matter of you accepting his gift.”
Beauty didn’t want to argue with Wanda about religion. She liked her too much. She also recognized Wanda’s genuine love for God. She wished she could share it, but she also didn’t want to be hypocritical.
“Maybe sometime,” Beauty said, “but right now I’m just getting used to being back.”
“God will never lose patience with you,” Wanda said assuredly. “God is patience.”
Beauty patiently pursued her new life. She stayed focused on her goal—do well as assistant manager at the Cumberl
and Mall and move on to manage the store in Marin County. One night she dreamed that she was living in a house that sat across the Golden Gate Bridge with a view of San Francisco. The house was all wood and glass and filled with fragrant flowers. Upstairs the master bedroom overlooked a blooming garden. Downstairs the living room and den were furnished with rustic chairs and overstuffed couches of butter-soft leather. Jaheim, her favorite R&B artist, was singing soothing songs on the radio. She went to the kitchen and began preparing a breaded macaroni and cheese dish that her adopted mother, Charlotte, had taught her. A plump tabby cat named Snuckles sat by her feet and purred. When the dish was ready, she carried it to the kitchen, highlighted by sunshine-yellow tiles, and set the table for two. “It’s ready, darling,” she called upstairs. She waited for a moment or two, and then, wearing only his pajama bottoms—his broad chest bare—Power appeared. He was smiling.
When she awoke, she did not dismiss the dream. She wanted to keep it, relish it, allow it to linger. It felt good. There was no one in the world she would ever tell about this dream. She didn’t have to tell. She could simply keep the images in her mind for five or ten minutes while she remained in bed. But then came the guilt and shame followed by the return of her resolution that she would not, under any circumstances, renew that relationship. It was too complicated, too emotionally entangled. She didn’t want to reexamine or reapproach it.
Nine months went by quickly as Beauty fell into a life that met her criteria for what was sane and productive. Although Tanisha and her husband, Grant, wanted to set her up, she still refused to date. Their family, and especially their baby boy, Isaac, brought her comfort and joy. They asked her over often, and she liked spending time with people who were stable and drama free. Once or twice she went to church with Wanda, where she found the music inspiring and the preacher long-winded. Three times a week she audited courses at Georgia State University, one on sociology, another on world history, and a third on techniques of modern marketing. She was determined to be a well-rounded person. She avoided the singles bars and dating websites. For her twenty-first birthday in August, Tanisha took her to dinner at Jalisco Mexican Restaurant, Beauty’s choice. She didn’t want anything fancy. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself.