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“Dante, it’s Asha and we need to talk.”
“What about?”
“I’m pregnant” I said slowly.
“OOOOH!” Keisha giggled.
“HANG UP THE FUCKING PHONE!” Dante screamed.
We heard another giggle and a discreet click.
“I can’t help you.” he said.
“So am I what am I going to do? You helped to make it.”
“Sorry.” Click.
It seemed like my life was over and every time I saw him at school he would look the other way. To make matters worse, he told everyone what happened and everyone started staring at my stomach as if I would show so early.
I was the subject of a major scandal and the ridicule was tearing me apart. Saundra tried to defend me but the opposition was too great.
I finally told my mother one Saturday evening and after crying all night, we decided I’d have an abortion. That was during the month of September.
By the end of October, my problem had been solved. My baby was dead and a new Asha Mitchell was born. She wasn’t taking no shit from any man.
The abortion and all of that other mess was eight years ago. Today, I make a decent living as an accessories buyer at the Herald Square location of Macy’s department store, but I make an even better living as a serial dater. I have no intention of settling down or even being faithful to any one man. Right now I am a girlfriend to three different men: Brent, Nick, and Randall.
I live in a spacious one bedroom apartment on 14th Street and 6th Avenue in Manhattan. Nick, one of the rich guys I’ve been sleeping with for the past year, has promised to buy me a home on the beach so I’ll be able to escape the city on weekends.
Since I live in one of Manhattan’s more expensive areas and my building has a doorman, several women have asked me how I can afford the rent. But a question like that is not even worth answering. Any woman can find a man or men to pay her rent if she isn’t dog-ugly or too lazy to do the work involved.
A sister with blue-black skin and trailing a waist-length blonde hair weave was hollering up in some brother’s face on the Maury Povich Show, while the audience hooted, screamed, and egged the dumb duo on to even greater heights of public humiliation.
The sister squared off, shook the weave, and wagged her finger back and forth in the brother’s face. “Hennessey is three years old and your sorry ass ain’t nevah gave him a damned thang!” she screeched.
The sorry-looking deadbeat dad adjusted his do rag, hunched up his baggy pants and pushed her finger away. “You betta get up on outta mah face. How I know that baby’s mine? You done gave it up to everybody roun’ the way.”
Maury Povich stepped in and suggested a DNA test.
If I had a hammer, I would use it to pulverize Maury Povich, the dark-skinned sister with the blonde weave, her dumb-ass man, and the poor little boy named Hennessey to save him from ever finding out that he was named after a bottle of liquor.
Chapter 2
SAUNDRA
Detective Phillip Patterson is my daddy and the sweetest man in the world. Before he left for work this morning he made me a delicious breakfast of hash browns, wheat toast, and a fruit salad. I feel so blessed to have someone in my life who loves me so much, and I can’t imagine what I would do without him.
Mama had a stroke and died when I was sixteen. She was only thirty-five years old. I still can’t understand why it took the paramedics so long to arrive. I dialed 911 as soon as mama crumpled to the floor.
The social worker said I could not stay with Asha because I was still underage. By that time, though, Daddy had bought a house in Queens and was living alone. We had always been close, so he took me in. We’ve had a wonderful life together over the past six years.
Around the time I moved in, Daddy met Evelyn Blake at a police officer’s ball. She’s a forty-something detective and just what my father needed. An intelligent, classy, sophisticated woman with a heart of gold. She also happens to be extremely well-groomed and attractive. And Evelyn wasn’t only a treasure-find for Dad. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. She introduced me to yoga, meditation techniques, and Taoism.
What no one can figure out is why Dad doesn’t propose to Evelyn. In fact, she doesn’t even live with us. Every time I raise the issue, Daddy rattles off a string of ridiculous excuses. Lately, I’ve stopped bringing up the subject. One day she’ll wake up and realize that she deserves someone who is really into her enough to go the distance.
Since Evelyn came into my life, I have become a faithful student of Asian and African philosophy with an extensive library of books on both subjects. But what is more rewarding than merely reading the literature is its application. When I think of who I was before, I wince. My sphere of awareness was almost mechanical and I worshipped the major gods of this society: excuses, materialism, selfishness, and linear thought. These are deities I no longer wish to serve. Now I’m free of crippling limitations and I can concentrate fully on my goals. I’m a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology and I’ll be graduating in May with a bachelor’s degree in Fashion Design.
Finally, after four long years of hard work, I’ll be able to open my own boutique. My father promised that as a graduation present he would get the ball rolling on renting me a little shop to sell my Afro-centric clothing at cost to poor women who can’t afford the high prices charged elsewhere.
