Wives, Fiancées, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta

by Shereé Whitfield

  She then clicked on the virtual tour. It showed the apartment at such an elongated angle that she could now see why it appeared to be much bigger than it actually was. She sucked her teeth at the trickery. It was like airbrushing a fat chick for the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. She waited until the camera entered the bedroom and the attached bathroom. Sasha got excited with anticipation. A few seconds later a frown covered her face. “What the . . .” Neither the photos nor the virtual tour showed a bathroom with a tub.

  Sasha flopped back, legs spread and arms dropped between her legs with phone in hand. “How did I miss that?” It was her own oversight. She took one of her hands, washed it down her face, and moaned. She hadn’t even been in Atlanta an hour and already things weren’t looking good.

  She exhaled and then stood. “Guess I’ll have to take up yoga,” she said out loud, sounding defeated.

  Since she was outside, she walked over to her four-year-old Honda SUV and grabbed a couple more things to take into the apartment. She’d stuffed everything she owned in that car. As she walked back to the apartment, she recalled nine hours ago driving away from the only home she’d ever known. It was the one she’d shared with her mother. A proud smile spread across her lips when she thought about her mother, a strong black woman. Sasha thought of all the struggles her mother had gone through to raise her. Being a single mother was no joke. Sasha was reminded of that as in the distance she saw the manager escorting the woman and her children back toward the rental office.

  “Dante, if you don’t get your tail over here,” the mother snapped at the toddler who was trying to wander off in the opposite direction.

  Being a single mother, in Sasha’s eyes, had always looked as though it was the hardest job in the world. She watched so many of her friends either become teenage mothers during high school, or end up as single mothers sometime between graduating high school and college. Her best friend had even ultimately become a single mother, which ruled out the dreams she and Sasha used to share about being roommates in a college dorm. Because her best friend had to dedicate so much of her time to mothering her child alone, the two eventually drifted apart.

  Just thinking about how much both her best friend and her mother had on their plates as single mothers made Sasha shake her head. She’d rather follow behind dogs and scoop up their poop for a living before becoming a single mother. Financially, the hardest job in the universe had no monetary payment. Sure there was the joy of motherhood in itself. Nonetheless, Sasha declared that she would be and could be, just as Chaka Khan had declared, every woman. But she would not be a single mother. That was something she’d promised herself.

  After three hours of lugging in all her belongings, which included her sewing machine, unpacking and putting away things, Sasha didn’t even want to be a single woman. Where was the shirtless hunk of a neighbor who showed up to help a sister move like the ones that appeared in all the romance movies? All that hoopla about Atlanta and its fine black men. Well, where is just one of them right about now?

  “Oh yeah, that’s right,” Sasha said to herself. “He’s getting his butt beat by Kels.”

  Sasha lay with her arms spread-eagled on the oversize chair she’d lucked upon at an estate tag sale. The apartment manager had seen her struggling with the piece of furniture she now rested on and had the decency to help her remove it from the back of her SUV and carry it inside. Her body was so stiff, it hurt to move a muscle. After a five-minute breather she managed to peel her body off of the chair and drag herself to her bedroom. Although someday, after the phenomenal success of her fashion boutique, she would own at least a five-thousand-square-foot home with a spiral staircase, at the moment she appreciated the short trek from the living room to her bedroom. A spiral staircase would have kicked her butt.

  With nothing but a blow-up mattress, nightstand, lamp, and television in her bedroom, there was no dresser drawer for her to go retrieve her pajamas from. Nope, just a laundry basket and some boxes. She rummaged around until she found her blue-and-white-striped with red trim Ralph Lauren pajama short set. She’d been a college student on a budget, but thank God for the boutiques and consignment shops she loved spending hours in. She’d been able to treat herself to a designer brand item here and there on a budget, thanks to those classy shops that most of her friends weren’t up on. They had no idea how financially smart it was to let someone else pay full price for a garment, but end up enjoying the comfort and perfect fit of a designer classic . . . for less than half the price. And Sasha always considered it a good thing when every item she lucked upon still had the original tags on it.

  She went into the bathroom and set her pajamas down on the closed toilet lid. She then removed her sweaty, dirty clothes and placed them on the floor. She slid the frosted shower door back and turned on the water. She grabbed her shower cap off the hook on the back of the door, where she’d placed it, and looked into the mirror. Her soft brown hair, which usually cupped her neck in a bob haircut, today was in a ponytail. She figured she would have sweat it out with all the unloading and unpacking she had to do today. She made sure she tucked all of her hair into the shower cap, especially the loose strands that had fallen out of the ponytail holder over the hours.

  Sasha walked back over to the shelf and out of habit picked out a bubble bath scent. After a day like today, a bubble bath would have definitely been in order. Once she realized what she’d done, she shook her head and set the bubble bath back on the shelf along with four of her other favorite scents. She picked up a bottle of skin cleanser instead. Before walking away, she looked down at all the bubble bath scents that she now had no use for. In one swoop, she scooped them off the shelf and into the trash can she’d placed beside the shelf. There was no use in keeping things around that she didn’t need. All they would do was take up space.

  So as Sasha stepped into the shower, she made a mental note that as long as something didn’t have a place in her life or she didn’t have a need for it, she’d discard it. That went for people, too. Everything in life was replaceable. That’s why Sasha vowed she’d never find herself in Kels’s position. If a man had proven to her that she couldn’t trust him, she would not make a fool of herself over him. She’d kick him out of her life just as quickly as she’d let him in. Eventually Sasha would learn that it was easier said than done.

  Chapter 2

  Sasha held the hanger that safeguarded the long multicolored maxi sundress from making its home on the floor among all of the other secondhand garments. In pursuit of a couple new outfits for her new position through the temp agency, Sasha had stumbled upon this particular piece. Considering that she was shopping in one of the upscale Atlanta consignment shops she’d searched and found on Google, she wasn’t on a shopping spree for spanking brand new clothes. But anything she purchased and brought home today would be new to her closet.

  The particular dress she was eyeing was low cut with a plunging back. It would complement Sasha’s figure in all the right places. Not too much of her 36Cs would be on display. Just enough of her back muscles and all of her arms would show, displaying how those fitness training classes she’d managed to squeeze into her busy schedule had paid off. There was no doubt—she had a sexy figure.

  She ran her hand down the silky dress with her free hand. Next she brought the dress to meet her nostrils and inhaled. The corners of her mouth lifted as her lips formed a smile. She exhaled and let out an almost orgasmic breath. Only someone who breathed, slept, ate, and thought fashion got this kind of high from the scent of clothing. This was also part of Sasha’s test. It was a requirement that underneath it all, she had to be able to smell just a hint of the new clothes scent before she took a secondhand garment home. This meant that the item still had a story to tell. This dress definitely passed the test.

  Like a good smelling man, this dress wanted Sasha to take it back to her place. She wouldn’t mind having it wrapped all around her. Looking down at the tag, she saw the price was right. Sa
sha draped the dress across her arm without another thought and then went to walk away. Buyer’s remorse hit her before she could even get away from the clothing rack for good. She stopped in her tracks and looked down at the dress. It was definitely not what Sasha had set out to purchase. “Work clothes, Sasha. Stay on point,” she scolded herself and then reluctantly put the dress back on the rack. She had a one-year plan that required her to adhere to a particular budget. How would she be able to invest in her own business if she was steadily feeding her pennies to fund everyone else’s business?

  “Hunty, that dress is calling your name. It was made for you.”

  Sasha initially didn’t realize she was being spoken to until the voice continued and she turned around to see that the owner of the voice was making eye contact with her.

  “That’s why it’s in this secondhand boutique. The first bitch knew she didn’t have no business buying it in the first place. She probably wore it out and her real girlfriends told her the truth: that she looked like a fat prostitute on her last ho stroll before Jenny Craig gets a hold of her. So she had the decency to do the right thing and bring the dress here in hopes of its rightful owner finding it. And you, dear, are the rightful owner. So please don’t fuck up a divine moment by being disobedient and not accepting your blessing.”

  Sasha was truly taken aback. She had to ask herself, had she really just been read by a complete stranger. She had to have been, because she didn’t know a single soul in Atlanta well enough that they would approach her like that. She looked up and stared at the stranger who’d just said a mouthful. In her quick but discreet once-over, Sasha’s eyes caught the red patent leather pumps. Next there were the skinny jeans, which didn’t need to be that skinny on all that extra meat, but they were hot. The vintage red, royal blue, black, and gold Versace shirt, tied at the belly button, screamed that this person knew fashion. It was all so well coordinated. Sasha would have done a couple things differently as far as makeup. She would have trimmed the fake eyelashes down just a tad and used matte instead of gloss lipstick. The shiny gloss of the lips was fighting for attention with the shiny shoes. But that wasn’t a biggie. After all, they were in a neighborhood consignment shop, not somebody’s red carpet event.

  Sasha looked down at the extended hand of her unauthorized fashion consultant.

  “Hi, I’m Norman,” he said, “but my friends call me Norma.”

  Sasha shook his hand while admiring his manicured gel nails, which looked better than her own. She prayed her surprise at the man’s amazing fashion choices didn’t show on her face.

  She couldn’t help her immediate reaction. Back in her little town in Ohio, Sasha had never run into someone as . . . let’s say as flashy and open as Norman or anyone with such divine taste in shoes. She was a little beside herself, but would try to not snatch that gorgeous bag away from him. “Hi, I’m uh . . .” Sasha stammered as she pulled her hand away.

  “A fool if you don’t snatch that dress right back up off that rack.” He laughed, doing the stereotypical hand flip that some people imitate gay men doing.

  “You think so?” Sasha asked with uncertainty. She slowly lifted the dress back off the rack again.

  “I know so. This is what I do for a living,” Norman said. “I dress the stars, hunty. The ones with some real movies under their belts as well as the ones with nothing more than a so-called leaked sex tape.”

  Sasha chuckled when he winked at her, his long eyelashes beating against his eyebrows. “So you know fashion, huh?” she asked, although it was obvious.

  “Chile, asking me if I know fashion is like asking Precious does she know all thirty-one flavors of Baskin Robbins’ ice cream.”

  Sasha laughed. She hadn’t chuckled and laughed this much since she could remember. She’d always been so serious. She’d always had a one-year plan for something or other. This meant she was always focused on meeting her goals. There was never time to be laughing and joking and carrying on. The time for her to let out a great big, hearty laugh would be when she was laughing all the way to the bank after reaching the level of success she’d imagined.

  “You think I’m joking,” Norman said. “But you gon’ be kicking yourself for not buying that dress. The next time your boo wants to take you out for date night and you all up in your closet looking for something to wear, you gon’ wish that baby was a part of your wardrobe.” He folded his arms and nodded his head up and down.

  Sasha looked back at the dress again. She then looked up at Norman, whose facial expression showed that he was dead serious. Once again, she flung the dress over her arm. “You’re right. I’d be a fool not to buy this dress. And a double fool not to take advice from a professional like yourself.”

  “Umm hmmm, Miss Thang. And I gave you that for free.”

  “And I’ll take that freebie,” Sasha said. “A sistah is on a budget.”

  “All the more reason for you to cop that dress. Your boo is going to appreciate it even more that you look damn good and you didn’t break the bank.”

  This was the second time Norman had mentioned Sasha having a boo. She decided to correct him so that there wouldn’t be a third. “Well, there is no boo, but I’m still getting this dress . . . for me.”

  “Ohhh, independent woman. I see you, girlfriend,” Norman said. “One of those ‘I don’t need a man’ kind of chicks.”

  “I don’t!” Sasha declared. “But sometimes I want one.” She scrunched her nose and smiled. Every now and then, after watching an episode of Rosewood with Morris Chestnut’s fine self, Sasha had urges and desires that only a man could fulfill. But she’d quickly get her mind off of that by watching an episode of Project Runway.

  “Then as fine as you are, why don’t you have a man?” Norman put his hand up. “Oh, chile, I almost forgot. You are in Atlanta. Unless you like sharing, they are hard to come by.”

  “I don’t know about all that. I’ve only been in Atlanta a week.”

  “Oh, so you just a nectarine. You ain’t quite a Georgia peach yet. Gotta get a little fuzz on ya.”

  “Fuzz?”

  “Boo, yeah. You gotta get out here and learn the city. Learn how the city operates. Hunty, the city of Atlanta itself is like a person. It’s set in its ways. You can never change it, but it can change you.”

  A look of fear shadowed her face, which didn’t go unnoticed by Norman.

  “Have no fear, your official teacher is here,” Norman said, throwing his fists on his hips, spreading his legs, and going into his Superman stance. “I’m here to school you on the ins and outs of this town. You look to be too nice of a girl for me to just let you out in the jungle on your own.”

  “Jungle? No one has ever referred to Atlanta as a jungle.”

  He leaned in and whispered to Sasha, “That’s because they never made it out alive.” He pulled back, nodding like he was telling the truth and his word was bond.

  Sasha swallowed hard.

  “But, honey, God must really be watching over you today. You got a new dress and a new BFF.” Norman looped his arm through Sasha’s arm that held the dress. “Now let’s go ring up this dress and get started on lesson number one, which is simply an introduction to Atlanta over a drink over at Marty’s Bar, right across the street.” He pointed out the store window.

  Sasha stopped in her tracks. She would have loved to go over and shoot the breeze with Norman. He was so refreshing, plus she’d been cooped up in her place Googling and researching the town the entire week she’d been in Atlanta. A new scene wouldn’t have been so bad. But she was already splurging on the dress, which wasn’t on her list. She refused to throw caution to the wind and pay for one glass of wine what she could pay for an entire bottle if she’d go back to her place to have a drink. She decided to keep it real with her new friend. After all, lies were no way to start off a new friendship. “Well, I’m kind of on a budget and—” Sasha started.

  “It’s on me,” Norman said, pulling Sasha over to the cash register.

&nbs
p; “Well . . .”

  “And I won’t take no for an answer. Girl, get that dress and let’s go. Like I said, it’s on me.”

  Sasha gave in and agreed, placing the dress on the counter.

  “Hi, did you find everything you were looking for?” the clerk asked Sasha.

  Sasha nodded.

  The clerk rang up the dress and bagged it. “That will be twenty-seven dollars and thirty-three cents with tax.”

  Sasha looked to Norman.

  “Bitch, please,” Norman said to Sasha. “I meant the drink was on me, not the dress. I don’t know you like that.” Again, Norman was over-the-top serious with his neck snapped back, eyeballing Sasha, then giving her the side-eye.

  Sasha paid the clerk and then she and Norman exited the shop. They jaywalked across the street over to Marty’s Bar, where in a couple hours Sasha would not only get to know Norman like that, but the city of Atlanta as well.

  “A zombie,” Norman told the bartender after he and Sasha took two seats at the bar. He looked to Sasha. “And you?”

  “A wine spritzer for me please,” Sasha said to the bartender. “Made with Moscato, thank you.”

  “A wine spritzer?” Norman turned his nose up. “It’s bad enough wine by itself is only a step up from Kool-Aid. And you want to water it down. Tuh!” He looked to the bartender. “Just a glass of Moscato wine for the lady, please. Minus the Spritzer.”

  The bartender nodded. “Coming right up.”

  Sasha watched the bartender walk away and begin preparing their drinks, leaving the two, ten minutes short of being practical strangers, alone to get to know one another.

  “A wine spritzer,” Norman said, rolling his eyes and sucking his teeth.

  “I’m not a big drinker,” Sasha informed him. “I need my mind alert and functioning to the best of its ability as much as possible. Otherwise I’ll end up exactly like the name of the thing you ordered,” she said. “What is a zombie, anyway?”