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“She’s marrying a damn convict and drug-dealer, for crying out loud!” I snap in my head. I keep my thoughts to myself. Decide to fuck with her instead. “Well, don’t worry, Mom. We’re waiting for that right man to come along to sweep us off our feet, a man who will honor and obey us, handle our ravenous sexual appetites, and submit to our freaky whims.”
“Ugh! For the love of God,” she says, disgust dripping from her tone. “I know the three of you aren’t entertaining no nasty shit like that?”
“Why not, Mother? It’s no secret we sleep with the same men. And we’re raw-dogging it and sharing each other’s spit every chance we get.””
She lets out a disgusted grunt. “Persia, who in the hell are you talking to like that? Have you forgotten who the fuck I am to you? I want to know if you girls have even considered what would happen if the three of you end up pregnant by the same man, and you have the audacity to want to make smart-ass comments.”
“Of course we have,” I taunt, grinning. “We’ll give you beautiful grandbabies who’ll be cousins and half-siblings all in one.” The line goes dead. “Love you, too, Mother,” I say, laughing.
Paris
CHAPTER FOUR
“Paradise Boutique, this is Paris speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hi, yes,” the woman on the other end says. “I, um...was in your consignment shop a few days ago...”
“We’re not a consignment shop, ma’am,” I inform her, slightly annoyed that I have to keep telling people this. “Nothing in our boutique is secondhand. And most of our merchandise is one-of-a-kind exclusives.”
Geesh. This shit never ends. I’ve worked hard to build up my boutique’s reputation as one of the premier shopping experiences in the Tri-State area, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone refer to it as a damn consignment shop. After graduating from college and several jobs later, I realized that working a traditional nine-to-five was not something I could successfully do, so I decided that opening my own business was the most practical thing to do, for me.
After college, I landed a job as an assistant buyer for Bloomingdale’s on Fifty-ninth Street in New York. Although I loved my job, I realized after six months of being there that it wasn’t something I wanted to do for someone else for any long period of time. I worked there for two-and-a-half years while going back to school to get a degree in Fashion Merchandising at FIT—Fashion Institute of Technology, for those of you who might not know, then did an internship at a major fashion house for a year.
Two years later, with savings and a small business loan, I opened Paradise Boutique—a chic, upscale clothing and handbag store in Montclair, New Jersey that specializes in one-of-a-kind fashion by new and up-and-coming designers, as well as, highend designer handbags. Then two years after I opened its doors, Persia and Porsha bought into the business, and have become partners. Persia maintains and manages the website and does all of our marketing, while Porsha handles the bookkeeping, utilizing their degrees in marketing and accounting, respectively. And thanks to them, Paradise Boutique has become one of the hottest boutiques around.
“Oh, well, excuse me,” the woman says, bringing my attention back to her. “I thought it was one of those high-end consignment shops...” Well, you thought wrong. I purse my lips. “Anyway, you had a lovely oval beaded clutch there and I’m hoping you still have it.”
My ears perk up, and my tone immediately changes. “Oh, yessss, you’re talking about the Judith Leiber piece. Yes, we still have it. It’s an absolutely stunning bag.”
“Yes, it is. I have a wedding to go to in a few months, and it would go wonderful with my dress.”
Dress? This clutch is for an evening gown. I imagine her wearing some church-type getup instead of a chic gown, or flowing cocktail dress. She’s about to fuck up this purse wearing some dumb shit. “Oh, I’m sure it will. It’s not only eye-catching; it makes an elegant statement.”
“And what’s the cost for such a statement?”
“It’s on sale for nineteen-hundred-and ninety-five dollars.” I walk over to the glass case and unlock it, then pull the crystal and beaded bag out, locking the case back. “If you’d like, I can hold it for you for twenty-four hours.”
“Nineteen hundred dollars, for a bag? Oooh, that’s a bit pricey. Would you consider coming down on the price a pinch?”
I blink, frowning. What the fuck kind of store does this bitch think I’m running? I just told her ass this isn’t a consignment shop, and it isn’t some damn flea market where you can haggle down prices. “Unfortunately not,” I tell her flatly, immediately unlocking the glass case and putting the bag back. “The price is firm. But, if you’d like an evening bag that is a little more inexpensive we have a gorgeous pleated satin clutch.” She asks if I can describe it to her. “It has a sleek design of alternating crisp and softly ruffled gold satin stripes with a Swarovski crystal closure. It also comes with a chain strap tucked inside. It’s definitely a gorgeous piece.”
She grunts. Tells me she doesn’t think it will go well with her dress. “And how much is that bag?”
“It’s on sale for four-hundred-and-thirty dollars.”
She coughs. Repeats what I’ve said. “Well, do you have anything a little cheaper than that?”
I pull in my bottom lip. Try to catch myself from going off. “No, we don’t.”
She huffs. “In this economy, those kinda prices for a purse is a bit ridiculous. Some people are barely making ends meet.”
Then why the fuck are you calling here? I hear myself ask in my head. “I hear your concern, ma’am. But, that’s why they have Marshalls and TJ Maxx to cater to those same people. They offer designer wear at discount prices for people who have to pinch their dollars. This is a boutique; not a bargain basement store. Those who can afford the prices will gladly buy. And those who can’t, won’t. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“I don’t think I like your tone,” she says defensively. “And I don’t imagine you getting much business with that kind of attitude. I wanna speak to the owner, if you don’t mind.”
I smile. “I sure don’t. You’re speaking to her. And as I said, this is a high-end boutique, with high-end fashion at high-end prices, ma’am. No disrespect. But customers who come through these doors...are already prepared...to spend...top dollar for our merchandise. You can either afford it, or you can’t.”
I hear a man’s voice in the background saying something to her. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he’s asking her a bunch of questions, then the sound gets muffled as if she’s covering the mouthpiece. I hang up. Two minutes later, the phone rings again. It’s her, again. “I believe we were disconnected.”
