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Lark seemed to mull this for a bit.
“Iris, the truth is, I needed him to watch the kids, ya know? I couldn’t afford to pay no daycare for after school let out and in the summers, but that’s not even worth it no more. He hardly works. He smoke up all my cigarettes, eat all the food in the house. When I get home, he wanna fuss ’nd fight. I got a plan this time.”
Iris took another chug of her drink. “You do? And what’s this new plan?”
“My sister is movin’ back home from Kentucky. She’s gonna watch Tonya and B.J. for me. She’ll be here soon, matter of fact. I ain’t said one word to Tom about it. Then, if I get that managerial position, I can afford to hire an overnight babysitter. My sister said she’s tryna get down here and go back to school eventually, but she’ll do it for a few months… let me get on my feet.”
“What are you going to do if you don’t get the managerial position though, Lark?”
Lark shrugged, then tapped some more ashes into the trashcan. She looked down at the roach and stomped it with her thick soled tennis shoe. “I’ll ask for a raise. I been here five years. Three years at the other location. Pay only went up a dollar that whole damn time. There’s other places that’ll pay more. I don’t wanna leave ’cause I like Cindy, Ginette, and them, but I will if I have to. I got enough experience. I can work at the Dollar Tree down the road, or Dollar General.”
“Hell, I heard they pay their retail clerks less than Kroger. You’d be jumping from the frying pan to the skillet.”
“I know, but I could get a managerial position at one of those, and then I’d be makin’ more.”
“You can’t just walk up in there and be a manager though, Lark. There’s people there with tenure. I’m not saying it’s impossible, I just want you to have a plan B is all.”
“I don’t need no plan B. I can do just what I said. Watch me.” She blew out more smoke, her eyes sparkling with big aspirations and glittery dreams. “I’ve done it before; I can do it again. What about you? I know you ain’t wantin’ to be no cashier forever. Thought about trying to do somethin’ with that cosmetology degree?”
“No, I didn’t like that too much. It’s a way to earn some money, but it’s not my passion. I want to open my clothing store. The fancy boutique. It’ll be decorated in purple and silver, and—”
“I know you aren’t still talkin’ about that store, Iris. Now you know that—”
“Hell yes, I’m still talkin’ about it. What’s wrong with wanting to open a nice boutique for ladies and girls? With pretty clothes and accessories?”
“You don’t have any experience doing that. You’ve never earned a business degree before.”
“I told you I worked at that thrift store back when I still lived in Memphis, and I had a good eye for what went with what. Got customers in there from my mannequin displays alone.” Lark put her hand on her bony hip and pursed her lips. “I’m for real. We don’t have anything like that ’round here, something to give these girls and women some confidence, and ever since I moved to Bordeaux to take care of Ayanna, it’s been nothin’ but people satisfied with life ‘as is.’ Just ’cause we’re not used to having something, or seeing it be done, doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Dream big is what I say, but always have a solid plan. Believe me, I’ve got one. It’ll happen. Eventually.”
Lark took a long drag of her cigarette and shook her head.
“I’m not saying you can’t do it, honey. I’m just saying people ’round here won’t appreciate it, is all.”
She stared at Lark, picking at the tiny unsaid, sugary words smashed between the rough lines.
Maybe because I’m Black, she thinks nobody will come, but she ain’t got the heart to say it? I don’t give a shit what she says. This is doable. It’s something that could benefit the community, and when we as women feel good about ourselves, we make better choices. When I was a little girl, I loved playing dress up. I want to give that same feeling to others, but on a bigger scale. I tell her to have a Plan B, but she is standing here telling me to forget my dream altogether. She means well, but thankfully I’m not easily discouraged. She is the shoe and the roach.
“Well, tell me this, Iris. Where are they going to wear a cocktail gown to, huh? ’Cept their own funeral. Half the girls ’round here go to their proms pregnant.” She cracked up, her face reddening at the thought of it. “It’s a damn shame, but that’s what happens when you don’t have shit else to do. Eat. Drink. Shoot up. Fuck.”
Here she goes again…Iris took another swig of her drink.
“I ain’t stayin’ here forever no how. My store doesn’t have to be here. I can set up shop anywhere in Tennessee and be just as content. Regardless, my boutique would have nice shirts, pants, things for dinner and luncheon dates. Business suits for office jobs, or those in sales. Costume jewelry that looks nice, well made. Not like the stuff at Walmart. I mean, Walmart is all right, but this would be better, and not cost much more. Not just dress up clothes, either. I’d have a consignment area for teenagers, too—the stuff they like to wear. The name brands. Nice uniforms for nurses, not that hard, scratchy, stiff scrubs they’re used to. I can get some of the folks I know in Memphis to help me with it. I know plenty of seamstresses. I got it all planned in my head, but first I need to get my niece through high school, then I can take some business classes and focus on it.”
“Shit, since you hellbent on this, you can go to business school now. On the computer.”
“And who’s gonna pay for it?”
“Monroe. You know he sweet on you. Called you his little sweet chocolate drop the other day.”
They both burst out laughing at that.
“That man is a fool. Crazy. I told him not to call me that shit again. The week before that, he called me his African Queen. I ain’t never been to Africa a day in my life, but I know his drunk ass has been hugged up with a toilet a few times too many.”
Just then, a big gleaming white Ford F-250 pulled up close, right beside a handicapped spot. The windows were tinted a slick ombre of greens and blues, and the sounds of ‘Sick Of This Place,’ by Charlie Farley, blasted from the interior. A blue light glowed from beneath the vehicle, moving in tune with the music. The truck’s engine turned off abruptly, and the driver’s side door swung open. Out poured thick smoke, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered dark-haired man with a full beard and a black star tattoo under his left eye. Normally it would’ve been hard to see from such a distance, but a parking lot light shone right down upon his head… like a halo.
His silver and diamond chain glinted in the front store lights as he drew closer, wearing all black from head to toe—from his leather jacket, down to his black cowboy boots that beat against the pavement.
Iris couldn’t look away. She’d seen this man come in often, and his visits seemed to increase as of late, but damn if he wasn’t a sight to see. He was always friendly enough, but also short on words. In and out, no dilly dallying. When he’d look at her, she’d feel as if he were staring right into the depths of her soul with those light amber eyes of his.
