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“You can’t just hit your customers, you know.” His voice shakes. “What kind of business are you all running here? A card declines, and you start smacking people around?” His hands wave around in the air.
“Or we can get your coat now,” Nayomi responds quickly and shuts him up. “We don’t have customers—we have members. Do you understand? We are more than happy to treat our members with respect. As long as we’re treated with the same respect. Your card declining is disrespectful.” She speaks quietly and fast, with a nonchalant air. Senator Blanche sits with his back straight and his hands on his knees. Alert. Obedient. Somewhere inside, Nayomi wishes for the opposite reaction. She imagines herself in the same seat. A man, someone else, tall, his back to her, almost as wide as the door, turning a lock.
She continues. “I’m sure you can imagine how expensive it is running this place.”
“Everything is Top shelf,” Yasmin responds.
“Oh yes. No cheap stuff for this crowd,” Nayomi volleys.
“That Macallan you like isn’t easy to get,” Yasmin replies.
“Did you see Chapelle perform last month?”
“Steam cleaning that carpet every other day.”
“Oh, the steam cleaning.”
“Glassware from Blown.”
“They were featured in Vogue last week.”
“Plants from Green Green.”
“Can you imagine? A club in the middle of Manhattan with landscapers?”
“We don’t even have a backyard—”
“Fine!” the senator interrupts, becoming dizzier as they go back and forth. “How much can I give you for the trouble, $50?”
The two women start laughing simultaneously. Their lilting giggles flow through the air like butterflies.
“Five hundred?”
Nayomi sighs and looks toward the ceiling. He turns around, but Yasmin has pulled out a nail file from somewhere and draws it against the tip of her thumbnail.
“Fine… Eight hundred.” His eyes widen, and he puts his hands out.
“Did you change your hair?” Yasmin asks Nayomi.
“I did.” Her sister flips her curls around, showing off new auburn highlights, and flashes a quick smile. “You like it?”
“A thousand?”
“How much are your monthly dues?” Nayomi asks him.
“Don’t you have that information?” he asks. That's when she notices a thin film of sweat on his brow.
“You mean, you don’t know,” Yasmin points out.
“That says a lot, doesn’t it.” Nayomi looks over at her and nods.
“Five,” he says, his voice quiet.
“And?” Yasmin asks.
“It will never happen again. And I am sorry—” Yaz starts to say something, but he speaks up first. “Very sorry.”
“Good.” Yasmin nods and stares at the back of his head. “You know, I believe you—I don’t think this is ever going to happen again.”
“Trust is important in a relationship,” Nayomi says to him. “Right, Senator?”
