Composing themselves, they entered the store from the 7th Avenue side, which allowed them to see the vast array of murals that were painted on the front wall of the building. The mural was composed of the faces of many men and women from the halls of black history’s Who’s Who. This bookstore was a haven for the Who’s Who of Black America. You could bump into Sistah Soldier, Mike Baisden, or Malcolm Jamal Warner, just to name a few. It was filled with books, art, videos, and pretty much anything dealing with the Pan-African experience. Terri and Kenya went straight to the fiction section. They were always captivated by the suggestive covers that plastered the front of the sexy love stories. They knew what they wanted; they just didn’t know what it looked like. Their search was based on scant information they had received about some new black romance novel by some up-and-coming writer. They wanted to get the jump on reading the book, before their book club could vote it onto the list. The gangly man, who had an air of wisdom beyond his years, approached the pair.
“Can I interest you all in our new collection of autobiographies? We have soon-to-be United States President, Senator Barack Hussein Obama’s book for you.”
“Do you have him in here?” Asked Kenya, with a soft smile.
The bookstore clerk was blushing, but you could not see it. “No ma’am we sure don’t.”
Terri put her two cents in with a sideways glance. “If you did, I was going to take all of the copies for me and my friend.”
“Yes ma’am, but we don’t have him in stock.”
“My brother I have enough trouble dealing with the real world day to day stuff. I just need this little piece of escapism.”, Terri stated as she flashed her disarming smile.
“I know that’s right.”, added Kenya.
They gave the man the little information they had. He knew exactly where to find the book. They smiled and thanked the clerk for assisting them so quickly. Eager to continue on to their next destination, they approached the counter to pay for the books. Behind the counter stood a man, woman, boy, and a girl who appeared to be posed for a portrait. Beautiful is what this family was. They looked like an African version of a Norman Rockwell painting. The man and the woman were the owners of the bookstore. Terri recognized them from an article she read in the Westside Gazette newspaper. Stephanie passed the baby to her husband “DC” and rang up their purchase. Stephanie’s smile was as wide and beautiful as the northern end of the Nile River. “DC” stood poised and looked like an ancient black sentinel, surveying the land that God had entrusted him to protect. Terri and Kenya were both caught up in the vision of what a family should look like, or the vision that they wanted their family to look like. Kenya saw exactly what she was looking for. She craved a brother who would be there because he truly wanted to share in the responsibilities, both economic and domestic, and truly wanted to be with her. She just wanted somebody to want her. Terri on the other hand, saw a woman who was happy because her man was willing to do whatever it took to make his family happy, even if it made him a little uncomfortable. She admired that quality in the brother that stood before her.
“Excuse me”, Stephanie whispered in a soft voice. “Are you ladies okay?”
Her whisper was enough to shake Terri and Kenya out of fantasy land. Kenya received her change and the owners urged them to come and visit again.
Within the blink of an eye, they were back on I-95 headed to Coconut Grove, to a hot dress shop, Kickin’ Fashions. It specialized in chic fashions for the businesswoman who was smart about her money. Some called it being cheap, they preferred frugal. It took no time because unlike most women, Kenya knew exactly what Kenya wanted. She bought two sharp suits for her upcoming interviews. She purchased the navy blue eight-button double-breasted pantsuit for the days she would be interviewing with women officials. She felt that older women seemed to be put off by hot young women or what they perceived as women who were trying to get ahead on their looks. Ironically, most of these women made it to where they presently sat, playing the same angle. Not that they were not smart enough for the job, it was just a reality of human nature that was worthy of noting. She added a powerhouse three-button black skirt-suit. The skirt-suit was for the days she would be interviewing with male officials.
So, craftily and carefully choosing a wardrobe was a must to prepare for the other games people played in the Broward County Public School system. Sex was everywhere. Not that you wanted to get involved, but you had better take notice and work the playing field. There is nothing worse than showing up to a football game dressed as a basketball player. It was a quick visit because Kenya already had a fierce pair of shoes and a handbag for both outfits. So they just popped in and out in less than twenty minutes. On to the next store to make the final pickup.
“Now, you do know if Chapman were here he would be crying like a baby. Complaining about us going into stores that we knew we didn’t have money to widow shop in.” Terri poked.
“Girl, you need Jesus. Now. Right now!”
This was the last stop on this quick shopping spree. We went quickly and directly to what she wanted. Kenya found it and made her way to the counter. The sales lady bagged the dresses and the pair were on their way once again. They passed “The Beautiful People”, or at least that is what they fancied themselves as. They were the folks who were dying to rub shoulders with the celebrity crowd or the socialites. You could always find them dropping the names of who they saw, where they saw them, and what they were talking about. Leaving The Grove, Kenya decided to take a detour and rolled by The Conch Republic. It was a swanky little Caribbean-styled eatery with a live house band. It was the place where all of the young upwardly mobile professionals came to wet their thirst throughout the week and gamble at a chance to rub shoulders with players from the Dolphins, Marlins and the Heat. Kenya and Terri looked like a couple of real live regulars. A handsome, young, dark chocolate brother opened each of their car doors and directed them to the front door. When Kenya handed the attendant the keys to the car she held onto the keys until the young man made eye contact with her. He responded with a boyish smile and instructed them to enjoy their evening out, before she surrendered the keys to his grip.
Unlike any other night, they were able to walk right into the restaurant and get two prime seats near the piano.
“Girl I feel like kicking off my shoes.”
Kenya teasingly replied, “That’s what you get for trying to get those twelves into those size eight.”
Terri rolled her eyes at Kenya and drew a circle on the tablecloth with the middle finger on her right hand.
“At least I don’t hunch up to every hairy chest I see.”
“Well you shouldn’t. Hell, you got dick on tap at the house.”
“Girl, it ain’t even like that no more.”
“Speaking of that, what was it that you had to ask me this morning that was so burning that you had to put it off until later?”
“Nothing,” mumbled Terri.
“Nothing my ass! Girl, you looked like you had been run over by an eighteen wheeler in drive and in reverse...So, are you going to tell me or what?”
Awkward silence rolled in like the last train leaving the station. Kenya nudged Terri under the table. Terri was looking down and picking at the fine woven tablecloth to avoid the subject that was rearing its ugly head. Cocking her head to the side enabled her to catch an errant tear with her left ring finger. Kenya reached down and touched her on her hand that rested on the table.
“I...I don’t know what to say.”
“Just get it off your chest,” urged Kenya.
“I don’t know what it is. It’s like I don’t know ...”
Kenya passed her a napkin as the waiter approached the table. Gesturing with her hand, she stopped the waiter before he