The Other Black Girl(71)
The first time, Hazel had waved a silent hello to her before continuing her conversation with a woman who appeared to be one of the students’ parents. Nella let her be.
The second time, about fifteen minutes later, she saw Hazel head toward the bathroom in the back corner of the shop. She excused herself from Malaika and Owen and claimed she had to go to the ladies’ as well. She thought she’d wait in line for Hazel and then pounce. But a tug on her arm when she was a mere five steps away from the bathroom deterred her from this mission, and she suddenly found herself in a conversation with Juanita and a young light-skinned Black man she’d seen putting out the folding chairs before the event started. He had a case of straight-up baby face, capped with a high-top fade and rounded out by what appeared to be a grill on his bottom set of teeth.
“Hey, girl! I thought maybe you’d be able to offer Andre some pointers,” Juanita said to the space above Nella’s head. She was clearly drunk, maybe even a bit coked out, and the pink liquid that had been in her hand earlier was replaced by a Miller High Life. “Andre, this is Stella. She works with Hazel-May at Wagner. Nicole, this is Andre—he’s one of my best sweepers here. He’s a freshman at Brooklyn College and he’s trying to get his novel published.”
“Sophomore,” Andre said, at the same time Nella said, “Nella.” They both stared at each other blankly, unsure of what the other had just said, but not in any particular need of clarification.
“Perfect! So how about you two chat. Talk! Converse! Parlez! I have a feeling this will be very productive.” Juanita patted them each on the back and wandered off.
Nella had liked Andre’s calm vibe—he reminded her of her baby cousin a little bit—and so she gave him fifteen minutes. It was long enough for him to tell her the synopsis of his book—“sort of like Do the Right Thing, but it’s a sequel, and it’s like, what would happen if Mookie killed Sal after Radio Raheem was killed by the cops, instead of helping him, and if it took place in Baltimore”—and long enough for her to tell him what she told any writer who pitched his or her novel to her, which was to get an agent first, before he paid some rando on the Internet eight hundred dollars to design a “dope-ass” cover.
Nella wished him luck and started to walk away, still unsure if that glint in his mouth was a grill or just a few golden teeth. But then he asked her if she’d take a look at his writing. When she said yes and gave him her work email, he grinned. She went back over to Malaika and Owen feeling vindicated, and much calmer than she had fifteen minutes earlier.
“Cool,” Malaika said flatly, when Nella told her about Mookie’s Revenge and, more importantly, Andre’s grill. “But have you talked to homegirl yet? It’s getting late and I want to start thinking about how I’m going to get home.”
Nella reached over for Owen’s arm to check his watch. It was getting close to ten and the trains were all rerouted thanks to late-night construction. With every passing minute, their way home was becoming less of a trip and more of an odyssey. “I need to talk to Hazel. Just give me ten minutes, okay? Owen, is that okay for you?”
Owen ran a hand across his jaw. “Aw, Nell. I’m so tired… and you know I have to wake up early tomorrow morning…”
“Ten minutes,” promised Nella. “If I’m a minute longer, I’ll pay for the car. Alright?”
Malaika raised her eyebrows.
“For all of us,” Nella clarified.
“Fine,” said Malaika. “But only ten. I have an early morning tomorrow, too, with Igor.” Malaika scanned the crowd, which didn’t take too much time since it had thinned out to about one-third of its original size. Many had started to trickle out roughly half an hour earlier, once they’d walked up to Hazel to give her a hug and wish her well. “Snake’s over there.”
Nella turned. Hazel and Juanita were standing by the windows that faced out onto the street, giggling into tightly wound fists about something. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”
“Let me know if you need anything, girl,” Malaika said, pretending to take off her earrings again. “What?” she asked, when Owen made a face.
“Why is she a ‘snake’? Do you have a problem with her or something, Nell?”
“I’ll tell you all about it in the car,” Nella said, an echo of herself. Again, this was a part truth. She would tell Owen about how Hazel had screwed her over with Shartricia, but not about the letters.
He was still eyeing Nella closely, like he could sense that she was lying. Because of course he could. They did live together, after all. “I feel like there’s something else I’m missing here,” Owen said, slowly.
Poor Owen: a man whom Nella loved, but who would almost always be one half step behind. “She’s just been a little shady lately, babe,” she said as soothingly as she could. “I just want to talk to her about a couple of things at work and then we’ll go.”
She started to walk away, but Owen spoke again. “Shady? That seems hard to believe. She seems pretty…” He trailed off, his eyes fixed on Hazel and Juanita.
That stopped Nella in her tracks. She didn’t like the irritation that tinged every single part of her being, and she especially didn’t like the way Owen was looking at the two Black women by the window. It was her own fault. She’d created this anxiety—not tonight, but weeks ago, when she’d first met Hazel and felt envious of Hazel’s clothes and Hazel’s sense of self-confidence.