A few months later, our family doctor found out the reason for my mother's tiredness. According to him, a combination of fibroids and anemia were the reasons for my mothers fatigue. She was scheduled for surgery immediately, so I took a few days off work and return home from school to be with her during her surgery.
Nevertheless, it should have been no surprise that Joe never apologized to my mother for his comment. He had been dead wrong about her, but what can I say? That was Joe, which was the reason that I wanted to get as far away from that man as I possibly could.
After my mother was released from the hospital, I returned to my college dorm room and decided to concentrate less on Joe and his annotations, and focus on things that were more important—like my college education. However, a few weeks after I returned, I was reminded of the promise I had made myself right after high school graduation—the thorn that had been in my side for ages—finding my father.
On that day, I was preparing for one of my midday classes, when a television talkshow caught my attention. The guest on the talkshow was Rozonda Thomas, better known as Chilli, from the group TLC. I was intrigued because the show was about Chilli finding her biological father. It was then that I realized that I had more in common with this woman than just singing her music. And to be honest, the program inspired me to go through with my journey of finding my own father.
The Internet had just become a huge ordeal, so weekly I used the Internet to search for my dad. I searched every state in the US for Robert Levis, but I always came up empty-handed. Yet, I was determined to find him.
I guess my biggest motivation was that each day as I walked the campus grounds, I often wondered if I had other sisters and brothers. It was a shame because I could have easily walked by a half-sister or half-brother on campus and never have known!—That was the reason that dating was so scary for me as well. The last thing a young woman would ever want to find out is that she's dating a relative! (Yikes!) The thought of it absolutely sickened and me!
So, I spent most of my spare time on the Internet searching for my dad. However, each time, I found nothing.
It was frustrating to return to my dorm room every day empty-handed, which is probably the reason that I soon found myself going back to what I felt was familiar. Then, as the days seemed to have flown by, and my sophomore year in college soon began, once again I found myself at a crossroad in my life.
One night, Teresa and I went to a frat party on campus. Just before leaving, we noticed three young men standing near the entranceway of the building where the party was being held. One of the guys wanted to talk to Teresa. And since he was from a different college, and because he probably would have never seen Teresa again, the three young men walked several feet behind us as we made our way back to our dorm.
Of course, Teresa and I were fairly alarmed. The closer we came to our dormitory, the more paranoid we became. I held on tightly to my keychain which consisted of a mini-size can of mace that my aunt Glory had given me a few weeks back.
Fortunately, for those guys, Teresa and I soon realized that they weren't necessarily following us. Instead, they had parked their car in a parking space near our dorm. We realize then that the young men were harmless.
Therefore, with a sigh of relief, Teresa and I calmly made our way up the steps of our dorm. But just as Teresa and I were about to go inside, the young man finally found the nerve to approach Teresa, so the five of us stood in front of my dorm talking amongst each other.
The young men introduce themselves, and although I could not recall the names of any of the other fellows, I remembered Jake Morrison very well.
On that night, while Teresa and her "admirer" talked to each other, Jake told me that he was originally from the Shelby County area in Alabama, which was not very far from my hometown. And although I had not quite figured Jake out just yet, I knew instantly that there was something very different about him. I felt comfortable around him, so while the five of us went on to chat, it was not long before we found ourselves being a little silly.
It was obvious that Teresa was not interested in her new admirer, but there was no way I could resist an opportunity to tease her about it. So, I began to sing Zhane's Sending My Love song as a joke toward Teresa and her new found love (so to speak). But suddenly, the whole thing a boomeranged because somehow, Jake found my little serenade joke to be somewhat charming.
"You can sing!" he said, which completely caught me off guard.
I was just being silly and had no idea that anyone would take my singing seriously. However, I was glad when one of Jake's friends suddenly blurted out that Jake could sing as well.
With a breath of relief, I said "Okay, Jake, let's see whatcha got! Go ahead, sing for us."
Jake hesitated for a moment, but then he finally opened his mouth and let go, divinely and ardently singing the blessed words of the gospel song I Won't Complain.
"Man—you have a wonderful voice!" Teresa exclaimed.
"Thanks," Jake replied. "I've been singing in church all my life."
"Well, it definitely shows." I added.
"Thanks, Nakita," he said. "And what about you? Why don't you sing another song for us?"
Once again, I was put on the spot, and sadly, it was right after Jake sang a gospel song of—all things! I mean, it felt like Michelangelo had just finished painting the last angel on the ceiling of Sistine Chapel then climb down from his ladder, handed me a paintbrush and said Okay Nakita, now paint the walls!
There was no way I could compete with that! Besides, I didn't have the nerve to go through with singing a gospel song anyway. Therefore, I played it off. I changed things around a bit and put Teresa in the spotlight instead.
"Teresa can sing, too!" I said, trying to draw the attention away from myself.
Now of course, Teresa did not mind that I had just passed the buck to her. Being the character that she was, she played along with the whole thing. Teresa pretended as if she were holding an invisible microphone as she danced side to side singing Shirley Temple's Lollipop song, deliberately singing off key. Instantly, we burst into laughter.
As Teresa went on entertaining us in song with her comical gestures, and Jake smiled with his illuminating smile, for just a moment I felt free. It was great to take my mind off my problems, even for just a moment. Yes, being in a cheerful atmosphere was quite uplifting, and honestly, I wanted to forget my issues all together. I often longed for a quick getaway, and for the moment, laughter was the alternative.
However, fun never last. It was getting late, so it was time for the fellows to leave.
Since Jake seem to be a down-to-earth kind of guy, I wanted to keep in touch with him, but I didn't know how to ask. So, being that I was not the forward type, I remained silent and said nothing at all. But, God is good, because although I never came out and said exactly what was on my mind, unexpectedly Jake asked for my telephone number.
Of course, since Cayman and I had broken up again, I saw nothing wrong with Jake and me exchanging numbers. Then, Teresa and I made our way back inside our dorm, and Jake and the rest of the fellows drove off campus to their own college dormitories.
Ironically, that night, when I returned to my room, there was a message on my answering machine from Cayman. Since we had broken up over the summer (which was about the umpteenth time we had called it quits), Cayman wanted to patch up our relationship and get back together. He invited me to spend the weekend with him so that we could talk things over.
Needless to say, however, I thought that our last break up was the final straw. I had had it with Cayman, and after we split up the last time, I told him that we would never get back together again. But silly me, I still had feelings for Cayman; and to be honest, I missed him. Therefore, I decided to try one last time to make things work so I accepted his invitation.
This time, however, I was smart. As a safe haven, I invited Teresa to go along with me. That way, if Cayman and I did get back together, it would be because I truly wanted the relationship and not just passion (if you know what I mean).
On that October weekend, the drive to Cayman's was long. It took approximately three-and-a-half hours to reach his apartment from my college dorm.
I was used to the drive though, because Cayman and I visited each other sporadically throughout my freshman year in college. My sophomore year was different, because Cayman had a brand new apartment—a beautiful townhouse apartment in which his mother was making the monthly payments as a reward to Cayman for excelling in college.
It was my first time visiting his townhouse. When we arrive, Cayman had prepared a spaghetti dinner and rented movies. Halfway through the first movie, his doorbell rang. He answered it then stepped outside. Of course, Teresa and I were so into the movie The Crow that we did not think much about Cayman and his being outdoors. But then all of a sudden, it hit me—I wondered what Cayman was up to.
Maybe he's just clowning around with the guys, I thought. So I brushed off the thought and then headed upstairs to the bathroom. Moments later, I returned downstairs. As I walk down the stairway, I gaze through the window of the front door. It was then that I realized what was going on—Cayman was talking to a girl.
She was faced in the opposite direction and toward Cayman, so of course she did not see me looking out the door's window.
Cayman, on the other hand, could see me. His eyes became as big as saucers when he saw me peering through that window. He looked worried—and he had every reason to be—because sadly, I will admit that seeing the two of them together sparked a fuse in me that had been buried since my childhood.
I was out raged! Not just because they were together—I was angry because I recognized the girl! It was the same girl that caused our break up over the summer. So, I took a deep breath then open the door. And since the townhouse had a storm door, I opened that glass door as well. Then, with the glass door slightly cracked open, I tried to persuade Cayman to come inside and give me an explanation.
"Cayman, can I speak with you for a moment?" I asked while holding the door slightly open.
Without hesitation, Cayman took a few steps toward the door. But desperately, the girl stood in his path. She then began to back up toward me while pleading with him not to go inside. Slowly, she continued to back up, pleading, until eventually she bumped the door and then close it shut.
"Oh no this Heffa' did not just close the door on me!" I said aloud. And then vindictively, I opened the glass door again, and this time—BUMP!—Intentionally, I hit her in the back with the door. She was smart, though—she didn't say a word. She didn't even turn around, which was a good thing, because I was about to cold snap.
"NAKITA!" I heard Teresa yell behind me. "Don't you think you should come back inside?"
But I just stood there full of rage. I wanted nothing more than to have my revenge. But nonetheless, I then realized that my beef was not necessarily with the girl, it was with Cayman. I knew then that it was time to kick his butt to the curb —and for good!
"You're right, Teresa. He's not worth it!" I said. Then I stormed back inside.
Moments later, the girl left and Cayman came back inside. However, I was peeved—I couldn't believe that after all the nice guys I crossed paths with at college, I had been completely faithful to Cayman. Four years, he and I dated—which was nothing more than a waste of time! I was angry with him for that! Therefore, the next morning, when Teresa and I headed back to our dorm, the last person I ever wanted to see again was Cayman.
At this point in my life, I was beyond frustrated: Joe was crude, my father was nowhere to be found, and the man that I loved was an idiot! The worst part was that since my scholarship only covered half of my college expenses, I was now $850 short on next semester's tuition, room, and board. I had no idea how I would finish out my sophomore year of college without money to pay for it, and working part time with minimum-wage wasn't cutting it.
Yes, indeed, I was up the creek (so to speak). I had no idea what I was going to do, so I prayed every day for a miracle. And then, one day, while shopping in a grocery store, a loophole was flung in my direction—or at least that's what I hoped it was.
On that day, I wore a long white button-up shirt, black spandex pants, black riding boots, and a newsboy cap, in which my long dark brown hair hung over my shoulders. The entire outfit was something I had once seen Jennifer Lopez wear when she danced as a Fly Girl on television. Therefore, I was looking rather fly—or at least I thought so, anyway. Apparently, someone else thought so as well, because everywhere I turned in that store, a tall African-American man followed me around.
It was beginning to freak me out, so I went down the feminine hygiene aisle just to get away from him. But then minutes later, as I stood on that aisle with a grocery basket on my arm, pretending to shop, the stranger suddenly appeared.
What's this weirdo doing on the feminine hygiene aisle? I thought. Oh it's time to set him straight!
"Is there something I can help you with?" I asked with an attitude.
"What?" the man asked with a confused look on his face.
"I mean, which brand were you looking for? Regular or super with wings?" I asked while holding up a box of Maxi pads.
The man laughed. "I'm sorry, young lady. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"Well, you did just that. What's the problem?" I asked, trying to sound tough.
"I'm a photographer," he replied. "You have a very unique look about you. Have you ever considered modeling?"
"What is this? Some kind of pick-up line?" I asked.
"Oh no," he replied, "my studio is a few blocks from here. And with your complexion and those eyes, I believe you'd take some great shots."
I laughed. "Are you serious? You think I could be a model?"
"Oh yes!" he replied. "I've always had a good eye. As a matter of fact, that hat you're wearing is what caught my attention. Do you think you could model a cowboy hat?"
I stood there for a moment looking at the man as if he were crazy. I did not believe a word that he was saying, and he easily picked up on my suspicion.
"Well, here's my business card," he said, handing me the card. "I do photo shoots all the time, mostly college students. You know. Young women around your age."
"College students? Here in Montgomery?" I asked while flipping over the card for a better look.
"Of course! As a matter of fact, I did a portfolio for a student who lives on campus in Bethel Hall dormitory a few blocks from here."
"Really," I said, once again sounding as if I did not believe a word the man was saying.
What can I say? I was still in suspicion. Furthermore, I found it strange that he mentioned Bethel Hall, especially since I lived in Bethel Hall. But I was no fool I was not about to tell a stranger where I lived.
"You do realize I'm going to check into this, right? I asked.
"Sure, go ahead," he replied. "And I tell you what. Drive on campus. Go to the third floor of Bethel Hall, room number 319. You'll find Gabriella there. After you talk to her, give me a call at the number on my business card."
As soon as I returned to my dorm room and put away my groceries, I walked down the hall to Gabriellas room then knocked on her door, which was only a few doors from Teresa's room. A tall African-American girl with long wavy hair and green eyes answered the door.
"Hi, are you Gabriella?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"I'm Nakita. I live down the hall."
"Come on in."
After I explained to her why I was there, Gabriella then pulled out her portfolio. I turned several pages and found the photos to be pretty good.
"Wow! You let him take pictures of you in a swimsuit!" I exclaimed.
"Well, actually, my boyfriend was with me when I had those taken." Gabriella said.
"Really? That was smart of you." I said. "So tell me, how long have you modeled?"
"Oh, I've been doing this a long time. Not with this studio though, but with a studio back home in Miami."
"Really?"
"Yes," she replied. "But Nakita, I'll give you a word of advice. Never sign any contract without a lawyer. Never eat or drink anything when offered, and never go to a photo shoot alone, unless you are extremely familiar with the photographer.
"O-kay," I said with sarcasm. "I'm not afraid now."
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to scare you, Nakita. I just know what I know."
"Well, I appreciate the advice, Gabriella. Besides, I've never done this before," I replied while flipping over to the next page in her portfolio. I was astonished because the next photo was even more captivating than the previous ones—I was in complete awe.
"He takes really good pictures, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he does," she replied. "I have to hand it to him. He has connections with the modeling scouts, too. I know this because I personally know one of the scouts. But one thing I've learned the hard way is to always look out for myself, and, Nakita, you should do the same.
"I heard that," I replied. "Thanks, Gabriella."
"Good luck out there. If you need me, you know where to find me," she said.
"I admit it—I was curious about having my pictures taken. First of all, I wondered how the pictures would look. Secondly, I hoped this was the answer to my financial problems. Therefore, after leaving Gabriella's room, I called the photographer to see what kind of ideas he had.
As an advertisement strategy for his company, he said that he wanted a "new face" for his gallery, and for some reason he thought a canvas picture of me in a white cowboy hat would be perfect.
Now, the thought of me in a cowboy hat sound ridiculous to me, but what did I know about photography? As long as I was not asked to degrade myself, and as long as the pay was decent enough, I was determined to go through with it.
And then, it was time to discuss the bottom line. I gave him a round figure, but of course, he laughed. I explained to him the reason that I was asking that amount was that I needed it for tuition. He then said that he would see what he could do, and that he would call back with an answer.
The next day, when I spoke with the photographer again, he said he'd work something out. However, the downside was that he wanted to get started right away, and he wanted to shoot the first set of photos the following day.
I agreed—however, I needed a trustworthy friend to go with me. Since my brainiac of a roommate was taking 21 credit hours in classes that semester, there was no way that she could go with me.
Instantly, I thought of Teresa. However, when I got to her room, she was all dressed for work and wearing a fast food restaurant's baseball cap with it's company logo on front.
"I'm sorry, Nakita, but I have to work," she said, "Lord knows I don't want to work tomorrow much less today, especially after what happened yesterday."
"What happened at work yesterday?" I asked.
"I got cursed out over the telephone by a customer. Some elderly man got mad then told me to shove that baked potato up my ass." Teresa laughed. "Girl, I'm so tired of taking these crazy customer's food orders. And why do we have to wear a company hat? The customers can't see us through the telephone."
"Teresa, you're going to be alright."
"Stupid hat, messing up my hair," Teresa said playfully.
"You and your hair—you're such a diva!" I said. "Girl, maybe you should talk with Gabriella. Besides, you look more like the model type anyway."
"See, there you go again, putting yourself down."
"I'm not putting myself down, Teresa. I just think you should talk to Gabriella, that's all. Besides, I really wish I had someone to go with me tomorrow."
"Well, why don't you ask Jake? I bet he would go," Teresa said.
"I thought about asking him, but I don't know, Teresa. Jake's too hard to figure out—I think he's got a girlfriend hidden away somewhere." I laughed. "And that kind of drama is the last thing I need right now."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You know how I get ready to rumble sometimes, especially with girls," I said. "Remember Caymans townhouse?"
Teresa laughed. "Yeah I remember," she said. "I don't ever want to see that side of you again." She giggled.
"But seriously, Nakita. I won't be able to go with you tomorrow. I've got to finish work this week because I've got big plans for my next two paychecks. Thanksgiving is in a few weeks, you know."
"Yeah, I know. By the way, what time do you have to be at work today?"
"I'm supposed to be there in about 30 minutes." Teresa said, "I'm waiting for my roommate's class to end. But if you're free, you could take me instead."
"Sure. I don't mind," I replied.
"Thanks, girl," Teresa said, "I really appreciate it."
Teresa and I got on the elevator and then walked outside to my car. As soon as I cranked my car, Just Got Paid by Johnny Kemp was playing on the radio.
"Oh, that used to be my song!" I said, "Every time I hear it, it reminds me of when I first started working at Mickey D's."
"Dang, Nakita!—How long have you worked at that fast food restaurant?"
"Three-and-a-half years now."
"Wow! I can barely stand working at this restaurant six months!" She laughed. "But I'm not going to stress on that place too much, because I know someday we'll have real jobs and be making some real money!"
"Ya' got that right," I said, turning the radio up louder.
Teresa and I grooved to the music of Just Got Paid as we drove off campus and in the direction of Teresa's job, acting silly the entire drive—so silly that we were lucky the cops didn't pull us over for the way that we were carrying on.
And then, as usual, the next morning, I went to my three classes. Immediately after class, I drove as instructed to the location of the photo shoot. Although it was in the late fall, the temperature was fairly warm, which was perfect weather for the outdoor pictures the photographer planned on taking.
As promised, I was completely dressed from head to toe: in cowgirl boots, the blue jean miniskirt with a ruggedly torn hemline, the blouse, and the cowboy hat, all of which the photographer had chosen for me to wear. Since Teresa was unable to go with me, I brought along a fellow student from one of my classes.
As we patiently waited for the photographer to show up, we parked in front of an old barn which was the exact location of the photo shoot. Then my fellow classmate and I stood around talking to each other.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked.
"I'm short on cash for college."
"Your parents won't just give you the money?"
"My mom has done everything she could."
"Your mom, huh?" he shook his head. "You do realize that if your father won't help you, you could always take him to court. That's what I did."
"You took your father to court?" I chuckled. "Did they make him pay for your college education?"
"Sure did."
"Wow!—That's pretty bold," I said, "but who wants to make their father help them? Besides, I can't find my real father anyway, and my stepfather is definitely not helping me. I bet I can't take my stepfather to court, can I." I laughed.
"Actually, I believe you can," he said, "and I bet the courts will find your biological father for you, too. If they can't find him and your stepfather is still unwilling to help you with your education, they'll establish you as an independent student. Then you can apply for a college grant."
"Wow, that's something to think about..." I began. But then, we suddenly heard the sound of tires rolling over gravel—the photographer had finally arrived. Therefore, I powdered my nose and then place the white cowboy hat on my head in preparation for the photo shoot.
——➿ ➰➿——
After the photos were taken, immediately, I returned the cowgirl boots and hat to the photographer. Then, I put on my own shoes, which I had neatly stashed in the backseat of my car. And since I did not bring a change of clothing, I promised to return the outfit later.
It was then that my fellow classmate and I decided to grab something to eat and to catch a movie. We stopped at a local fast food restaurant, but we never quite made it to the theater because while we ate our meals, out of nowhere, a girl suddenly approached our table.
"What are you doing with her?" she shouted.
"Who is this?" I asked.
"I'm his girlfriend!" she yelled.
She was shouting like a lunatic. Nonetheless, I dismissed the girl's tone and then turned back to my classmate again.
"I thought you and your girlfriend were no longer together," I said, but he didn't say a word. He just sat there with a perplexed look on his face. —"Does she know you're not together anymore?"
"Excuse me?" The girl shouted with a threatening attitude.
"You know what? Handle your business, girlfriend. I'm out of here," I said, standing up from my chair.
As I begin to walk away, they got into a huge argument. And then, moments before I walked out the door, I could hear the manager telling them to leave the restaurant.
Later on that night, I was sitting in my room studying for a biology test when the telephone rang. It was Teresa. She wanted to know how the photo session went. I told her that the session went rather well, however, my date had gone the complete opposite.
Perhaps there was distress in my voice, because a few moments later, Teresa walked down the hall and knocked on my door.
"Everything's going to be alright, Nakita," she said.
"Yeah, I know, I replied. I should've known something was up with that guy the first day you and I met him."
"Really? Teresa asked with the surprise look on her face.
"Remember how he kept smiling at you one moment and then smiling at me the next? That dude was like a fat man in the buffet line. He couldn't decide which one of us he wanted more—you or me.
Teresa laughed then began making her way toward the door again. "I'm glad you're feeling better now," she said. "Remember, I'll be in my room if you need me."
"Thanks, Teresa."
"No problem," she said. Then she suddenly stopped. "Oh! By the way, after work tomorrow, I need you to hook a sista's hair up," she said, running her fingers over the back of her hairline.
"Are you serious? You want me to give you a haircut?" I exclaimed.
"My hair is getting too long and I won't be able to go to Birmingham this weekend for a trim. So, I thought I could pay you to do it. Besides, I see you doing girls' hair in this dorm all the time."
"Yeah, but I don't know anything about hair clippers. Are you sure you want me to trim your hair?"
"Yes, I trust you," Teresa said. "Besides, I have a really good set of hair clippers. Not to mention, I know you could use the money. As a matter of fact, that's how you could make extra money around here. You need to start charging these chicks to style their hair instead of doing it for free."
"But, I don't have a cosmetology license. How could I possibly charge a bunch of broke college students?"
"See, that's your problem, Nakita," Teresa said. "You're just too nice. If I were you, I would charge them full price." She laughed before opening the door to leave. "See ya' later." She smiled. Then she closed the door behind her.
The next morning, the weather abruptly turned cooler, and the rain had something to do with the sudden change in temperature.
I grabbed an umbrella and walked to class as usual. When I returned to my room, there was a message from the photographer on my answering machine. He said the pictures were ready and that he wanted me to see them. He also said that he found more work for me, which was great. So, I quickly returned his call and agreed to meet at his studio right away.
When I got there, I was so excited I quickly raced to the studio doors. I accidentally left my jacket and purse inside my car. I contemplated on going back for my jacket, but since I didn't want to go to the trouble of dashing through the rain again, I decided not to bother.
After shaking the water off my umbrella I tried opening the studio doors, but for some reason they were locked. I knocked on the door and tried peering through those large, heavily-tinted glass windows. However, the windows were so dark that I could not see anything, not even a single light.
I wondered if the photographer had already left. But then, the door open. The photographer poked his head from behind the door and then motioned for me to come inside.
He told me to have a seat and then handed me the pictures. I sat down to look at them, and he was right—the pictures were gorgeous!
The black-and-white film he used was perfect. That old barn blended in rather nicely, and the fact that it was old and abandoned was hardly noticeable on film. And, just as he had predicted, the cowboy hat and boots were just the right touch.
"This is my favorite," he said, sliding over a particular photo.
It was a full body shot of me standing in the barn doorway. I was turned slightly to the right with my hand on one hip, while propping my opposite arms elbow against the door frame and slightly tipping my cowboy hat.
I was very impressed with the snapshots as well. I was glued to the photo and completely astonished. I could not stop staring at the picture because it was so beautiful—it was hard to believe that it was actually me!
"I hope you've painted your toenails," he said, dropping a long, satiny red gown over the arm of the sofa. "Because I think this gown would be stunning on you in color film.
"You want me to model lingerie? Right now?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, the changing room is down the hall to your left."
"But... I wasn't expecting to do this today."
"It's short notice, but I know I can present these photos to one of my major resources. If they like what they see, they'll use you more frequently."
The idea of taking pictures in a nightgown was a bit much. Honestly, I was a little frazzled about the whole thing.
"Well, let me call Gabriella." I said, "I'm sure she'll come over."
"And by the time she gets here, we could be finished already," he said, "I promise. It won't take long. Just give me a few minutes to set up."
Although it was against my better judgment, I agreed to take the pictures. I went to the changing room, put on the gown and then pulled my hair up into a romantic style ponytail. Since my 14 karat gold bracelet look rather nicely with that red gown, I decided not to remove it. I kept my bracelet on my wrist as my only piece of jewelry. Moments later, I returned to the photographer dressed in that long, red, satiny nightgown.
Now, once in a self-defense class in high school, I learned about using a set of car keys as a defense weapon. Just in case things got a little dangerous with the photographer, I had a back up plan. I brought along my car keys then planned on stashing them nearby doing the shoot. With that in mind, I slowly walk toward the set where the photographer had everything ready.
The lighting was perfect, both cameras were ready and of course the props which consisted of a white bearskin rug and faux fireplace, we're all inviting.
"Okay, Miss Lark. I want you to sit here in front of the fireplace," he said. "Do you know how to flirt with the camera?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, making my way onto the rug and secretly hiding my car keys underneath it.
"Well, just pretend that the camera is your boyfriend. That's all you have to do."
Cayman and I were no longer together, so of course there was no way I would pretend that the camera was Cayman. So, I improvised. I imagined that I had finally found my husband, the man of my dreams: tall, dark, and handsome himself! In fact, I imagined that he looked exactly like the actor Morris Chestnut.
In my imagination, the cameraman magically changed into what I thought was the perfect man—a man of understanding, intelligence, integrity, a natural-born father and husband, and most importantly, heaven sent!
"Now, turn on your side and put one hand to the side of your face," he said, softly.
As instructed, I turned on my side and put my hand to my face while looking at the camera somewhat in a flirtatious manner—nothing sleazy, of course, but just a little flirty.
Instantly, he took several snapshots. Then, after he had the shots he wanted, very serenely he said to me, "Now, just do what comes naturally."
Once again, I improvised, making things up as his camera continued to flash and click. But then suddenly everything changed— The image of Morris Chestnut quickly disappeared when the cameraman said something that completely blew my mind.
"Now, slide down your straps."
I sat up. "Excuse me?"
"Slide down the straps of your gown," he said.
"Are you crazy? You want me to be naked!"
"Nude photos aren't that big of a deal, Miss Lark."
"Oh yeah? Then you take them," I snapped.
"Come on, Miss Lark. We had an agreement, so you have to finish."
"I don't have to do a thing. I never signed any contract!"
"Finish the shoot, Miss Lark!" he insisted. "It's not like you're going to have that body forever!"
That was it—I grabbed my keys from underneath the bearskin rug and then stood up as if I were about to leave.
"Oh! So now you're leaving?" he said.
His sudden mood swing frightened me, so I began to back away. But then, with his camera still in one hand, the photographer grabbed me by my wrist with his other hand, twisting my gold bracelet as he held on tightly.
"Where do you think you're going?" he shouted.
Of course, I knew that he couldn't hold on to both me and his camera, so I jerked my arm, ripping the clasp and snapping my bracelet. Then, I ran—leaving my bracelet in the photographers hand as I raced violently towards the door.
"You're not getting a dime until you finish this job!" he yelled. "Miss Lark... MISS LARK!
He was screaming like a lunatic, so I did not return to the changing room for my clothes. I didn't ask for my photos back or even my gold bracelet. I didn't even stop for my umbrella!—I just ran like crazy. But when I got to the office doors, I realized they were locked.
"Tell me, Miss Lark," the photographer calmly said, standing a few feet behind me, "what did you think you'd have to do for a thousand dollars?"
It was like a nightmare from hell—I was so afraid that I couldn't even turn around to look at him. All I wanted to do was get out of there, so I looked up, wishing that God would just take me away from there.
But then, as I stood at those locked doors, I realized the doors didn't need a key to be unlocked from the inside of the building. So, I twisted the knob on the deadbolt. As soon as I heard it click, I burst through those doors and ran like never before.
As I ran, I could still hear the photographer yelling behind me, and by the time I made it to my car, the rain was pouring. Nevertheless, I got inside and quickly shut the door. It was freezing—I was soaked to the point that as soon as I sat down, the interior of my car became drenched, too.
One thing about it, I was glad that I accidentally left my jacket and purse in the car, because I never would have gotten past our dorm director without them.
With that in mind, I grabbed my jacket from the backseat, put it on, and then zipped it up. And, because my hair was wetting up my neck and back, I pulled my wet ponytail out the collar of my jacket and then squeeze the water out of my hair. When I looked up for the second time, the photographer was standing directly in front of my car, looking at me.
Is he out of his mind? I thought as the photographer stood in the pouring rain looking at me.
Immediately, I turn the ignition. My car sputtered, but it would not crank!
"Look, Miss Lark." he said, sounding more calm, "just come back inside and..."
But, before he could finish, I turned the switch again, but the stupid car just would not crank. Before I could panic, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which was probably the best thing I could ever have said.
Lord get me 'up outta here'! I shouted, speaking ebonically.
And then the strangest thing happened—this time when I turned the ignition, my little hoopty' finally cranked. Quickly, I revved up the engine, put my car in reverse, backed up, and then drove away.
When I made it back on campus, I was devastated. But at the same time, I was so glad that I was back at my dormitory that I did not know what to do! I found a parking space and then sat in my car for a moment with my hands over my face, crying like a child.
When I had finally gotten myself together, I grabbed my purse from the backseat then headed inside.
Miraculously, there were no students in the lobby, which made me feel a little better because I could only imagine how students would have looked at me, especially since I was completely soaked and wearing a nightgown without shoes or anything on my feet.
I saw our dorm monitor, sitting in her office, reading a book with the television blaring loudly. Although her television was on, she was so into that book that she did not seem to notice me. So, while embracing myself in my jacket and trying to keep warm, and at the same time trying not to be noticed by my dorm director, I slowly began to ease past her door, leaving a trail of water dripping behind me on the carpet.
I was almost there and almost passed her door when, "Good night, Miss Lark!" she suddenly yelled without looking up from her book.
She startled me, so I stopped dead in my tracks without ever turning around to look at her. "Good night, Miss Godfrey," I said just loud enough for her to hear. Then I raced toward the stairwell and upstairs to my room.
I knew my roommate's class would end soon, so I had to move quickly. I put on my bathrobe and stuffed that wet nightgown in a garbage bag. Then, after taking a long, hot shower, shampooing and blow-drying my hair, I dumped that garbage bag down the dormitories trash chute.
I had just sat down on the bed to relax when suddenly the telephone rang.
"Hello," I said, sounding rather drained.
"Dang, girl!" Teresa said, "you sound so dry."
"It's just... one of those days, Teresa," I replied, "what's up?"
"Can you swing by my job and pick me up?"
"Yeah, I'll be there in about 15 minutes," I said.
I got up from my bed, washed away my tears, then threw on a jogging suit and headed out the door again.
When Teresa got in the car, immediately she did all the talking. However, I just listen. Well, not really—I pretended to listen. I was completely dazed as I drove, somewhat tuning Teresa out while listening more closely to the sound of my windshield wipers as they flopped back and forth, sloshing the rain.
"Are you all right, Nakita?" Teresa asked.
"Why do you ask that?" I replied.
"You seem a little... disturbed," she said.
To be honest, I did not know what to say to Teresa. I was too ashamed, which is why I was relieved when we finally arrived on campus. I found a parking space, parked my car, and then turn off the headlights. Then, I just sat there quietly.
"Girl, I told you everything's gonna be alright," Teresa said. "Stop worrying about your tuition. God knows what he's doing. He's going to work it out."
In my heart, I knew that Teresa was right, so I took a deep breath then turned the ignition to shut off the engine. However, the crazy car continued to sputter and shake as if it were trying to remain cranked. Finally, it's sputtered one last time and then went dead. I looked at Teresa.
"Girl, what is up with your car?" she asked.
It was so funny that I couldn't help but to laugh. I burst into laughter, and so did Teresa.
"But, wait a minute, Nakita," Teresa said, adding to the amusement. "Check this out!"
"What?" I asked.
"At least you have a car." she joked.
Again, we burst into laughter.
We made our way upstairs. As we walked down the hallway toward Teresa's room, I saw Gabriella's room and once again was reminded of the photographer.
I knew that I needed to warn Gabriella, so I asked Teresa to meet me in my room after she had gotten her hair clippers. Then I knocked on Gabriella's door. However, it was her roommate who answered the door.
"Hi, is Gabriella here?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied. "Come on in."
I walked inside the room and saw Gabriella sitting on her bed, talking on the telephone. She held up one finger as if she were asking me to wait a moment. Then, Gabriella's roommate grabbed a basket of clothes from her bed and once again headed toward the door where I stood.
"When Gabrielle is finished on the phone, tell her I'm going downstairs to wash a few clothes," Gabriella's roommate said to me as she opened the door. "Bye."
"Goodbye." I replied as she close the door behind her.
"Um-huh," Gabriella said into her telephone. "Okay, see you soon." Then she put the telephone back on the receiver.
"Hi, Nakita" she said "what's up?"
"Gabriella, I just had to warn you about that photographer."
"What do you mean?"
"I was there today and he got really nasty with me. Actually, it was a little scary."
"Are you serious? He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"Not physically. Only with his words," I explained.
"Well, that's extremely unprofessional!" She said. "He's probably just mad at me because my agent has found me a better photographer."
"Oh. Well, thank goodness! I'm so happy you're not working with him anymore."
"Yeah, but he shouldn't be acting this way. As a matter of fact, I think I'll call my agent and tell him about it. Nakita, I'm sorry I ever referred you to him."
"No worries. I won't go back to him, that's for sure. Now that I know your okay, I guess I'll go back to my room."
"Well, if you need anything, let me know," she said. "And once again, I'm really sorry."
After talking to Gabriella, I went back to my room. Teresa and I had just walked in the room when I noticed there was a message on my answering machine. It was from my mother, so once again I had to put Teresa's hair on hold. Quickly, I dialed my mother's number.
"Hello," my mother answered.
"Hi, Ma," I said, "you called?"
"Yes," she replied. "I was just letting you know that you've got some mail here."
I was relieved. "Oh, is that all? Well... open them and tell me what they say."
"Okay, I'll go get them."
Moments later, she returned to the phone with the letter.
"Kita!" she said. "Did you apply for a credit card?"
"Oh yeah! That was months ago. I had forgotten all about that!" I laughed. "So what did they say? Not approved?"
"No, actually the credit card is attached to the letter. So it looks like you've been approved,"
I laughed nonchalantly. "Oh yeah? For how much?"
"I'm not sure. It doesn't say in this letter. But you've got another piece of mail here, and it's from the same company. Do you want me to open it, too?" she asked.
"Yes Ma'am," I replied.
"Let me see..." she said while opening the letter to read it. "They're giving you $1000 credit limit!"
I chuckled. And then, I laughed out loud when I thought of that photographer. Instantly, my laughter turned into tears.
Teresa wondered why I was suddenly crying, so she stood to her feet.
"KITA!" my mother exclaimed. "Are you crying? A thousand-dollar credit limit is a good start for credit, so don't be disappointed."
"I'm not disappointed, Momma," I sobbed. "I'm overjoyed. I'll call you back in a few."
I hung up the telephone and then out of concern, Teresa asked if everything was okay with my family.
"My family's fine Teresa," I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. "And you were right. God had it all worked out!"
"So, you've found a way to pay your tuition!" Teresa gleamed, "I told you God knew what He was doing!"
"Yes you did, Teresa."
"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" She asked.
"Yes, I'm good." I replied.
"You'd better be," Teresa playfully joked. "Because you've still got to cut my hair, and you can't be jacking it up!"
I laughed. Well, I guess you better show me how to do this.
Teresa grabbed a chair and sat in front of a large mirror. With a handheld mirror in her hand, she explained to me exactly how she wanted her hair.
I listened to Teresa, but as I did, I could not help but think about how right she was earlier that day. She said that God knew exactly what He was doing and that He had worked it all out. God most definitely did!—and in the process, he delivered me from the clutches of my own disaster.