Extrait
As Lanita approached the salon, she could barely contain her excitement. It had been a long time since she’d had the extra time or money to even get her hair done, let alone indulge in the pampering she was about to enjoy, but her husband had insisted she spare no expense during her visit. Today was their special day. Today they would celebrate what had taken years of struggle and sacrifice to complete—their college education.
As Lanita reached for the salon door, she looked down and noticed four quarters scattered on the sidewalk. Smiling, she bent down to pick them up. Another small gift to remind me of who I am and what I’ve accomplished, she thought. She tossed the quarters from one hand to the other and then placed them in her pants pocket before opening the door.
Already feeling more relaxed, Lanita approached the receptionist, a pretty young woman with immaculately groomed hair and a cheerful, welcoming smile. “Hi, my name is Lanita, and I’m scheduled to see a stylist, nail tech, and facialist. I’m not sure in which order,” she said with a small laugh, “but I know I’m supposed to begin at ten. I’m a few minutes early, but I believe it’s better to be a few minutes early than a few minutes late, if you know what I mean.”
“Sure,” said the receptionist. “Have a seat over there. Someone will be with you shortly—but are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Lanita said. She touched a hand to her hair. “Why do you ask?”
“I saw you bending down outside. It looked like you’d lost something.”
“Oh, that,” Lanita said with another laugh. “Thanks for asking, but I haven’t lost anything in some time. I was actually reaping my blessing, that’s all.” Smiling warmly at the receptionist, Lanita glanced around, noting the tasteful, expensive decor. “Wow, this is really a nice salon. It reminds me of the ones on those reality shows where they take people to get makeovers. This setting really makes a person feel like she’s privileged to be here.”
It was the receptionist’s turn to laugh. “Well, we are one of the top salons in Los Angeles, the crème de la crème. Our clients include a number of celebrities and their families. I think you’ll find our staff is top-notch.” The young woman winked at Lanita, giving her a knowing smile.
“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been pampered—in fact, almost twelve years—but believe you me, there was a time when I would go to places like this weekly.” Lanita sat down, easing herself into her chair and unconsciously assuming the air of someone accustomed to the luxurious setting. A heavy sigh followed, and before she knew it, she had fallen into deep thought. As excited as she was about what the day would bring, she couldn’t help but remember the events that had led her there. She shook her head, choosing to distract herself by enjoying her surroundings and focusing on the present. After all, that was what today was all about—the present and the future. “So what’s your name?” Lanita asked the receptionist.
“I’m Natasha,” she responded. “By the way, would you like something to drink?”
“Sure. What are my choices?”
“There’s bottled water, sparkling or flat, red and white wine, or orange juice.”
After a moment of thought, Lanita said, “I’ll take the sparkling water. I’m graduating from USC today, and I don’t want to begin celebrating too early, if you know what I mean.” Lanita snapped her fingers, all but dancing in her chair.
“Congratulations!” Natasha said. “Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine? You should start the day off with a bang.”
Lanita instantly felt somber. “To be honest with you, I never touch the stuff—alcohol, I mean. Not after what it did to my mother and me.”
Natasha looked down at her phone, seeming unsure of how to respond. Then she said, “I’ll get that water for you.”
Across the room from Lanita was a large chrome-trimmed mirror. After Natasha left the room, Lanita got up and slowly walked over to it. Gazing at her reflection, she saw an aging woman wearing red Capri pants, a yellow T-shirt, and a silver chain with a silver-dollar pendant. Frowning at what she saw, she ran her fingers through her hair. “Girlfriend,” she said, “you’re in a bad need of a relaxer, and when was the last time your thirty-eight-year-old self had that dead skin removed from your face?”
She grabbed the pendant and kissed it. Then she placed it so that it lay just so against her chest.“Flat as pancakes,” she said of her breasts. Sliding her hands over her body, admiring her trim figure that otherwise had curves in all the right places, she smiled. She then turned her back to the mirror, looked over her shoulder, and placed her hands on her hips, shaking her derriere in the mirror. She might be close to forty, but her backside still looked just fine.
Just then Natasha came back in the room, carrying a glass of water. She cleared her throat unobtrusively and Lanita abruptly stopped dancing. She was caught. She managed a nervous giggle, saying, “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m usually more dignified, but I . . .”
Natasha laughed. “No need to apologize. Sometimes you just have to celebrate in your own way.” She handed Lanita the water.
“I’m so embarrassed,” Lanita said, feeling the flush in her cheeks.
“Don’t worry,” Natasha said, squeezing Lanita’s shoulder. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and said, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you,” Lanita said, her cheeks still hot with embarrassment. She took the glass from Natasha and again turned to view herself in the mirror. “For the past few years, I’ve been doing my own hair. I use my husband’s clippers to keep the ends trimmed. I’m not good at all, but I’ve gotten better.” She smoothed her hand over her short-cropped hair. “Recently I’ve been going for the Halle Berry look, but I’ve had so much going on these past few weeks, with finals and all, that I’m definitely missing the mark by a long shot.”
Still staring into the mirror, this time Lanita noted the effects of years of living. “Time waits for no one,” she said under her breath before looking at Natasha. “I hope the stylist here will hook me up. You know, make me feel beautiful again.”
“We have exceptional hairstylists, the best in town. I’m sure they’ll do a good job of reminding you just how beautiful you are.”
“I sure hope so, because my husband is a good man and he’s spending a lot of money on me today, money we really don’t have to blow.” Lanita turned to look at Natasha. “Don’t get me wrong,” she continued. “We pay our bills. We’ve just been putting a lot back saving for another house.” She took a sip of water. “He doesn’t have much, but he treats me like I’m a princess. When I was a little girl, I used to dream of one day marrying a prince. Let me tell you, the man I married is as chivalrous as any of those men in the royal families over there in Europe—maybe even more so. He’s handsome, considerate, loving, and dashing. You know what I mean?”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “I wish I did. They don’t make many men like that anymore, especially not in Los Angeles.”
“Girl, he’s broke compared to the rich men I dated once upon a time. He doesn’t have two pennies to rub together to make a dime. He cuts glass for a living, you know, for mirrors and tables and shelves. We’ve invested a lot of money into our education. We both decided to go for broke and get our degrees.”
Lanita walked past Natasha and sat back in her chair. “We’re gonna be just fine. After today I’ll have my degree and he’ll have his. We’ll both be able to begin new careers.”
The phone rang and Natasha rushed to pick it up, resuming her seat behind the front counter. After listening for a few moments, she said, “Okay, I’ll let her know,” and then hung up.
She turned to Lanita, saying, “You were supposed to be getting your facial first, but Miss Lina is running a little late, so you’ll see Jimmy Choo first. He’s going to style your hair. He should be here in a couple of minutes, just as soon as he’s finished up in back.”
“Jimmy Choo?” Lanita said. “You mean the guy who makes those thousand-dollar shoes does hair too?”
“Well, no,” Natasha said. “They do share the same name, but they are two different people.”
“Is Jimmy Asian?”
“Yes, he is,” Natasha said. “Is that okay?”
Lanita almost jumped out of the chair. “I don’t mean to overreact, but is he educated about caring for African-American hair? Everything has to be right today. I’ve had some real horror stories in the hair department. Once a French lady gave me a relaxer and my mane shed for weeks. I nearly went bald until my mother gave me a protein treatment.” Lanita frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little scared. I mean, I can’t go across the stage looking all crazy. When I take off my cap, my hair needs to be bouncing and behaving, not embarrassing and shaming.”
“Trust me,” Natasha said. “Jimmy knows what he’s doing. As a matter of fact, he does my hair.” She reached up to fluff her smooth, shiny layered bob.
“Well, your hair looks good,” Lanita said. “Now that I think about it, the guy who does Halle Berry’s hair is Asian too, isn’t he?” At Natasha’s nod, Lanita said, “Now, that’s a good sign. Maybe he’ll be able to make me look as good as her.
“So, how late is he going to be? I have to meet my sweetie on campus at one o’clock sharp. Graduation begins at one-thirty.”
“He should only be about ten more minutes.” Natasha’s warm smile put Lanita at ease.
“Oh, that’s not bad at all,” Lanita said, relaxing back.
Natasha took another call. When she was finished, she looked up and asked, “Do you have any plans after graduation, or are you going straight into job hunting?”
“We’re considering a short vacation,” Lanita said. “We hope to begin working at the end of the summer.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“The French Polynesian islands,” Lanita said, sighing.
“But how could you two afford that? I thought your money was tight. I don’t mean to be forward . . .”
“That’s okay. Yeah, the islands are pricey, but a girl can wish, can’t she?” Lanita smiled, crossing her legs. “You’ll be surprised at the amazing things that have happened in my life that weren’t supposed to.”
“But, Tahiti and places like that.” Natasha shook her head. “That’s a lot to wish for just out of school.”
“You’re right, but stranger things have happened in my life. My mother always said that just enough of King Midas’s blood runs in my veins to turn hard luck into gold, but not enough to keep it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I was born lucky.”
“Lucky?” Natasha said, skepticism creeping into her voice.
“Yes. I consider myself an intelligent and levelheaded woman, but honestly, I’ve had a streak of luck that has followed me since birth. I was born during the Watts riots of 1965, and my birth prevented a man’s store from being burned to a crisp.”
“You were born in Watts, California, during the actual riots?” The skepticism in Natasha’s voice was beginning to turn to awe. “That must have been crazy for your mother.”
“Yeah, and because that man’s store didn’t get burned down, he gave me and my mother a place to live rent-free for years. Isn’t that lucky?”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Natasha said. “I remember reading about the Watts riots back when I was in high school. It seems like your real luck was making it out of there alive.”
Lanita tilted her glass and took another sip. She made herself comfortable and began easing down memory lane. “Since we have a few minutes before Jimmy Choo will be ready for me, I’ll tell you about my birth. It’s one of my favorite stories. My mother loved to tell it whenever she and her friends sat around and got drunk on cheap liquor. She told it so many times that I sometimes feel like I saw it with my own eyes.”
Two
Two T
The night of August 11, 1965, was hot and humid. The day had been depressing, but the night would prove to be even worse.
Earlier that day, my mother, Aretha, had spoken on the phone with her friend Marquette Fry. Both were broken up because of their financial condition. Marquette told my mother that he had been trying to get a job, but nobody wanted to hire him.
“It seems like everybody I know cain’t get no work,” my mother replied. “I’m so close to being evicted, my baby and me might be homeless soon. Even if the doctor hadn’t ordered me to take bed rest, I still wouldn’t have a job. I don’t know what me and my baby are gonna do after it’s born.”
“My mother moved us up here from the South because she thought me and Ronald could at least find some work making a dollar twenty-five an hour,” Marquette said. “But it ain’t no better here than down there. With the delay on that federal antipoverty program, what are we supposed to do? I don’t want to spend my day hanging out on the street corner. I want to work, Aretha.”
“I know you do, Marquette. Just hang in there. Things can only get better. They have to get better.”
“I hope you’re right, Aretha, I just hope you’re right.” Sighing, Marquette changed the subject to a lighter topic. “So what you gonna name your baby?”
“I was thinking Lamont if it’s a boy and Lanita if it’s a girl.”
“Lanita. That’s a pretty name.”
“I hope it’s a girl. In fact, I pray it’s a girl because I don’t want her to have to deal with what y’all men have to go through with the police.”
“But this is the West,” Marquette said. “It’s supposed to be better, right?”
“Nah, Marquette, North or South, East or West, this world ain’t no place of peace for colored people, especially a Black man.”
“I guess you right about that. That’s why I’m gonna let loose tonight, forget about all the madness,” Marquette said. “If you weren’t about to drop that baby, you could hang out with Ronald and me. So, Aretha . . . who’s your baby by?”
“None of your business!” Aretha snapped. “Stop being so nosy. So what y’all gonna do tonight?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Man, just get a few drinks to chase the blues away,” he responded.
· · ·
That night, Marquette Fry did just that. He and Ronald partook of that no-good firewater, trying to forget about the woes of life. Then Marquette got behind the wheel of his ten-year-old gray Buick. He and Ronald had just turned down Avalon Boulevard, not far from home, when they heard a police siren behind them.
Ronald, twenty-two at the time, said, “Marquette, what did you do wrong?”
“I didn’t do nothing wrong,” Marquette, younger by one year, responded, frustrated that they were being pulled over and that his older brother was blaming him.
“I told you, you should have let me drive,” Ronald bickered.
“Just sit back and don’t say a word, big brother. You’ve had more to drink than me,” Marquette said.
The cop who pulled them over at the corner of Avalon and 116th Street was a patrolman named Officer Lee W. Minikus. He approached the Buick and asked Marquette and Ronald to step out of the car. They cooperated. When the officer asked Marquette to take a sobriety test, the poor man saw his life flash before him. He’d been drinking too much and jail was the last place he wanted to be. It would take a miracle for him to pass that test.
Not only did he fail the test, but he had an audience to witness his humiliation. Because 116th and Avalon is in the heart of Watts, every time something happened, a group of people gathered to watch, mumbling and pointing and discussing what was going on and why.
After Marquette had finished making a spectacle of himself, trying his hardest to pass a sobriety test when he was stone drunk, Officer Minikus announced, “I’m gonna have to take you to jail.”
The cro...
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