When Tallulah left the shelter, it was after 2:00 pm. She spent the entire afternoon with Marc. She thought he was amazing. He owned a limo company and was a Lyft driver part-time. He told her he volunteered at the shelter as a way to give back.
"When I was a kid," he said, "me, my mom, sister, and brother stayed at a shelter. I know what it means not to know where you're going to sleep or when you're going to eat."
Those words resonated with her as she walked up the steps to her 2nd-floor apartment. She was deep in thought when she heard a voice call her name.
"Lula, mija, is that you?"
Mrs. Herrera was standing in the doorway of her apartment. She'd taken to Tallulah instantly. She insisted on calling her Lula. Tallulah had told Mrs. Herrera her grandmother called her that. "Well, I'll call you Lula, too. Such a pretty name," Mrs. Herrera remarked one day while helping Tallulah paint her apartment.
"Yes, Mrs. Herrera, it's me."
"Home a little earlier today, huh?" Mrs. Herrera asked.
"Yeah, I was at the Marigold shelter. I'm doing a story," she answered.
She was always trying to feed Tallulah. "I have some tamales if you're interested?" Tallulah could smell the aroma of homecooked Mexican food coming out of Mrs. Herrera's apartment. She was a great cook. Tallulah could eat her food anytime, but she had no appetite. She couldn't get the images of the people at the shelter out of her mind.
"No, thank you, I'm just not hungry," she replied.
"Well, if you get hungry, come get some. I made extra for my grandchildren, but they haven't shown up yet."
"I will. Thank you, Mrs. H. I really appreciate it," Tallulah said and continued up the steps.
Once inside her apartment, she dropped her bag and took off her shoes. She then walked over to her laptop sitting on the kitchen table and opened it. She clicked on her email and found the message from You & Me. She took a deep breath, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed the number listed in the message.
The voice on the other end of the phone said, "Sharon Eckerson's office. This is Patty. How may I help you?"
Tallulah stammered, "Ah, ah, yes, my name is Tallulah Brock. I received an email from Mrs. Eckerson regarding freelancing." She paused.
"Hold, please, Ms. Brock," Patty replied.
After several moments of dead air, a voice came on the phone. "Hello, Tallulah, this is Sharon Eckerson. Thank you for calling me." She replied, "Thank you."
"I received your email," Sharon continued. Tallulah could hear paper shuffling in the background. "Yes, yes. Hold on, I have your information right here in front of me. Now, if I remember correctly, you write for a newspaper, correct?"
Tallulah was nodding her head. "Yes. It's a local small paper. I've been with it since its beginnings." She could hear more paper shuffling in the background.
"Well, I've had the opportunity to read your samples. I think you're very talented, Tallulah. I'm looking for writers for freelance opportunities. Does this interest you?" Sharon asked.
"Very much. I love writing for the paper. But as I said, it's small. I have free time and could contribute to other publications."
"Great," said Sharon. "Why don't we set up a more formal interview? Most of my freelance writers live in other cities, so we can do this by Skype. Does that work for you?" Tallulah smiled. "Yes, Skype is fine."
"Perfect," said Sharon. "I'll have my assistant set everything up. It'll be myself and Sylvia Blass, the magazine's owner."
"That will be great," said Tallulah, smiling into the phone.
"I do have one more question. Do you read You & Me?" Sharon asked.
Tallulah thought for a moment. She could hear her grandmother in her head.
If you start out honest, it's easier to stay honest.
"No, I don't read it on a regular basis. I am familiar with the format."
Sharon laughed. "Well, there's something to be said for honesty. It's okay. We're a fashion magazine, Tallulah. We didn't start out that way in our 15 years of being around. Actually, You & Me started out as a gossip magazine. Like The Enquirer. It was called Chatter. About 12 years ago, Sylvia came in and re-branded and changed the direction of the magazine. Don't worry. Reading it isn't a prerequisite for the job. I just really wanted to know."
Tallulah felt a wave of relief run through her body. "I just want to be honest," she said.
"No worries. I'll have my assistant set up a Skype interview. I'm thinking next week, but my calendar isn't in front of me. I'll have her call you today or tomorrow for confirmation. It's been a pleasure, Tallulah," Sharon said.
"Thank you for the opportunity," Tallulah said and hung up.
She sat for a moment, then jumped up and danced around her apartment, still holding on to her cell phone.
"Yes yes yes yes!" she said.
She jumped on the sofa and danced around some more, then suddenly heard a knock at the door.
"Lula, are you okay?"
She stopped jumping.
"Yes, Mrs. Herrera. I'm fine," she answered as she walked toward the door. She unlocked it, opened it, and saw Mrs. Herrera standing in front of her with a plate covered in aluminum foil.
"I heard pounding and wondered if you were okay?" Mrs. Herrera said, sounding worried. Tallulah moved to the side and let her in. "I'm good, Mrs. H. I was just jumping around the apartment," she said.
"That's a strange way to behave," said Mrs. Herrera as she walked into the apartment. "I thought you might be hungry."
She handed Tallulah the plate. Tallulah took it and closed the door. "I was jumping around because I have an interview next week!"
Mrs. Herrera smiled. "That's so good, mija. All the more reason for you to eat. Tamales. Eat." Tallulah took the plate into the small kitchen and unwrapped the foil, then picked up a tamale and took a bite.
"Ohhh, so good, Mrs. H. You should sell these," she said while chewing the food.
Mrs. Herrera smiled. "It's nothing. Something to keep me busy. I get lonely in my apartment. I like to cook."
Tallulah smiled. "Well, I love to eat, so we're a match."
Mrs. Herrera nodded her head. "I'm going to go. I'll get the plate later."
She opened the door and let herself out. Tallulah watched as she walked down the stairs. When she heard the apartment door open and shut, she closed her door.
* * *
Chloe was in a shopping mood. She thought she might have a problem with shopping but shook the idea from her head. Was it her fault if she made great money and had a sense of fashion? She just couldn't help herself. She loved makeup, clothes, bags, and jewelry, but she loved shoes the most. She blamed her mother.
She remembered being little, going into her mother's closet, and seeing nothing but shoes. High shoes, low shoes, pointy shoes, round shoes, shoes of all colors. She would play in the closet for hours. She would put on one of her mother's dresses, then a pair of shoes to match. She would parade around the closet, looking at herself in the full-length mirror.
Chloe had called Tallulah and told her to meet her for a day of shoe shopping. She needed her to be on time and motivated. As she waited, she started to get cold and impatient, then finally spotted her walking toward her. She waved and motioned for her to hurry up.
Shoe shopping with Chloe was a mission. She had so many pairs of shoes, she'd outgrown her closet and started using her living room to show off her array of heels, flats, pumps, sandals, and boots.
"I need a pair of power shoes for my meeting with Stanley Roberts," Chloe said while dragging Tallulah into the 6th shoe store of the day.
"All those shoes you have? Seriously?" Tallulah said, looking around the store.
"Yes. I need something that says, 'I can handle whatever you throw at me.' Feel me?"
Chloe smiled and turned and walked toward a display of Vivienne Westwood pumps. Tallulah sighed and begrudgingly followed her. After what seemed like hours, Chloe had triumphantly picked out a pair of Stuart Weitzman pumps that set her back just over $700.
It took everything in Tallulah's power not to say anything. To her, $700 was rent, food, and electricity. Definitely not a pair of shoes.
"These will set me apart from everyone else, T," Chloe gleefully said while putting the shoes on the counter.
"It should. They're as much as rent," Tallulah said.
"I'll look great, and the shoes definitely make the suit I just got," Chloe said with excitement.
"Can you afford $700 shoes?" Tallulah asked.
"Bitch, the question is, can I afford not to buy these shoes? The answer is, no, no, no. I must have them." Chloe smiled at her.
Tallulah smiled back and thought, Shoes are her crack. She just can't help it.
A young, stylish looking woman with long blonde hair was in front of them, speaking with a sales clerk. Tallulah caught herself listening to their conversation.
"You've got excellent taste in shoes," the clerk remarked to the blonde lady.
"I saw them and absolutely had to have them," the blonde replied back.
Tallulah watched the clerk and blonde go through the transaction.
"That will be $846.13. How do you wish to pay?" The clerk smiled at the blonde and gave her an approving look.
"I think I'll use one of my credit cards," the blonde replied and started going through her wallet, deciding which card to use. "Hmmm…I think it'll be AMEX today," she said and handed the card to the clerk.
Tallulah watched the clerk swipe the card and hand it back to the blonde. She then bagged up the shoes and handed them and the receipt to the blonde.
"Enjoy, and come back again." The blonde smiled and took her purchase.
The clerk looked at Chloe and Tallulah. She half-smiled and said, "Did you find something you like?"
Chloe pointed to the shoes on the counter, then turned to Tallulah. "I'm winning in these shoes, girl. Do you hear me? Winning." She then pulled out her wallet and handed the clerk her credit card.
Tallulah half-smiled and watched as the sales clerk took Chloe's credit card. She had a look of disapproval on her face.
"Ummm…do you have any ID?" the clerk asked, looking at both of them suspiciously. "We've had some issues with stolen credit cards, and I need to verify this card is valid." The clerk half-smiled and waited for Chloe to present her ID.
You didn't ask the lady in front of us for ID," Tallulah responded.
"Oh…well, she's a regular customer, so no need. I know her. Do you have ID or not? It's for your protection as much as ours." The clerk looked intently at Tallulah. "Are you saying this card may be stolen?" Chloe ask.
"Oh, no, it's just...well...they are $700 shoes, and, well…" The clerk trailed off.
Tallulah looked at Chloe, who had that Not today, bitch look on her face, but before she could speak, Tallulah took the ID out of Chloe's hand and handed it to the clerk. "See, they match," Tallulah remarked.
"Oh, so they do," replied the clerk.
She watched as the clerk swiped the card and bagged up her purchase.
"Enjoy, and just so you know, all sales are final, and we do not accept used merchandise." Chloe looked at the clerk, then Tallulah.
"You know what…" Chloe started.
Tallulah grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the exit. She didn't let go of Chloe until they were clear of the store.
"What the fuck just happened? That bitch just assumed I couldn't afford to buy the goddamn shoes!" Chloe yelled. "I'm so tired of this shit, fucking assumptions based on skin color," she continued. "Now, the old me would have just jumped over the counter and snatched her ass up!"
"Well, let's be glad the old you didn't show up. The last thing I need is to be bailing your crazy ass outta jail," Tallulah joked.
"I'm serious, T. That's bullshit. I'm tired of this shit. Damn." Chloe sat down on the bench and folded her arms. "What more do we need to do? What?"
Tallulah saw the seriousness in Chloe's face and walked slowly over to the bench and sat down.
She took a deep and breath and said, "Look, I know it's hard to be Black sometimes, but we can't be what they think we are. We're better than what they think. I know they expect us to act a certain way."
"You mean ghetto," Chloe interrupted.
"Okay, ghetto. But we know we're educated sistas out here, doing the damn thing. The minute we lower ourselves to their level, we've lost. Haven't we?"
They sat quietly on the bench.
"It may be subtle, but it's still racist," Chloe said, breaking the long silence.
"I know, girl, but look at it this way. That bitch is still going to work at a shoe store while we out killin' it. We gotta stay on our grind, right?" Tallulah smiled at Chloe.
"You're right, as always. The yin to my psycho yang. Let's go get us a taco." Chloe jumped up. "I'm buying. I got you."
"You'd better." Tallulah stood up, and they headed to the taco stand. "Better not tell Zoe we settled for tacos," she said with a smile.
"Can't nobody be eating that damn pie every day. I'll be as big as all outside," Chloe said.
They both laughed and walked toward the taco stand.
Sharon walked into Sylvia's office, carrying a folder with her. As she sat down on the small sofa located near the large window, Sylva looked and up. "Oh, is it that time?" she said. Sharon nodded her head. Sylvia walked over to the sofa and sat down. "So, what do you have for me?" she asked.
Sharon shifted on the sofa and cleared her throat. "Well, I've been interviewing freelance writers all week, and this is the cream of the crop." Sharon handed the folder to Sylvia, who looked through each applicant while humming. Sharon sat patiently, not wanting to interrupt her. Finally, she spoke. "Tallulah? You can't get more southern than that."
Sharon didn't speak. She wasn't sure if Sylvia expected an answer or was just commenting to herself. Sylvia continued going through the file, the finally put it down and looked at Sharon. "Well, all of these writers look pretty good. I mean, I'm no editor, but I like what you've brought me." She smiled an eerie smile.
Sharon answered, "I'm setting up Skype interviews for next week. Are you available?"
Sylvia frowned. "Probably not. I'm going to the Maldives for a friend's anniversary party. Didn't I mention that to you?" Sharon shook her head no. "Well, it doesn't matter. I trust you can handle things by yourself. I mean, you are the editor, for God's sake. I just want someone who'll do as they're told, write the way I think it should be written – and no foreigners this time, Sharon. I can't stand a thick accent. We need someone who can speak to our readers. You know, speak their language."
Sharon could feel herself getting warm all over. She bit her lip. Sylvia looked at her. "Yes, Sylvia. I understand what we're looking for," Sharon answered.
"Good. Now, did you fire Maria?" Sharon nodded her head yes. "Good. Her foreign gibberish was making me nauseous. I mean, my God, this is America; speak English. Is it really that difficult?"
Sharon took a deep breath before speaking. "Sylvia, Maria spoke three languages. She was a good writer and a good employee. I hated to see her go."
Sylvia stood up. "Well, that's why I'm the owner. I have to make the tough decisions. If she speaks 3 languages, then English is what she should have spoken while she was here. Our readers want to know we hold ourselves to a certain…standard. Everyone in your file looks good. So, hire 1 or 2. We'll need them for the spring anniversary issue." Sylvia smiled. Her voice was condescending and demeaning. "You can go now."
She waved Sharon away as if she were a fly. Sharon stood up, picked up the file, and left the office.
"I love my job. I love my job. I love my job," Sharon repeated all the way to her office. She walked in and shut the door. "She is such a wicked old bitch!"