The Other Black Girl(94)

“Fine,” he’d finally said, after a long, drawn-out pause. “What the hell do you want to do?”

I’d proceeded to tell him how I’d recently returned to Newark and run into Imani, a childhood friend I’d also attended Howard with, in the freezer aisle of Wegmans. How I’d asked her what she’d been up to since the two of us had fallen out of touch after graduating, and she’d told me that she’d recently received her PhD in chemistry from George Washington University. She’d started working at a cosmetics company just a few months earlier.

That had been her dream, and her parents’ dream for her, back when we’d talked future plans on Kenny’s stoop. I was so proud of her. So proud. I congratulated her on it all, and she congratulated me, too, on Burning Heart—my own professed stoop dream.

I’d started to cry then. Right there in the freezer aisle.

Then, I’d handed her an article about the Kenny controversy. It was news to Imani, but not extraordinary news. And here I was thinking that the science world had all the problems, she’d said.

And then—after looking down the aisle to make sure we were alone—she’d told me all about the pet project she’d started working on afterhours. A project that could make the lives of Black women all over the country just a little bit easier.

“But I don’t get why any Black person would want to do that,” Dick had said. “Isn’t Black Pride still in?”

“Of course it’s still ‘in,’?” I’d snapped. “And Imani’s creation isn’t going to change any ounce of that. It’s just supposed to… help keep that pride intact. Help us Black women wade a little easier through the waves of racism without feeling like we have to swim so hard.”

“?‘Waves of racism’? Sounds like something—”

“Kendra Rae would say. Yeah. I know.” I was beginning to regret bringing this up to Dick. I was about to tell him to forget it when he took a deep breath and slowly released it.

“And this is supposed to fix everything?” he asked softly.

“That’s my hope.”

“Hm. I don’t know, Di… that’s a tall order for a chemical that might not work. On one of the most stubborn women to walk this earth, especially,” Dick had added, his voice cloaked in bitterness. But I knew I had him. I’d have the check in hand within a week; maybe sooner, if Elroy ended up going to visit his folks like he’d been planning to.

“I’m not saying I want her shucking and jiving. I’m just going to help her chill out a bit, that’s all,” I’d whispered. “Help her find her footing again. Trust me—she’s better relaxed than uptight.”

Relaxed. Help her. That’s what I’d told Imani I wanted to do, too. That’s what I’d planned on doing all along. Smooth Kenny’s kinks out for a little, just long enough to make everyone happy so that everything could go back to normal. We’d play the long game, just as Kenny had told me to do. We’d eventually shoot to the top, maybe create our own imprint. Maybe even our own Black publishing house. I owed Kenny that much.

But then she’d disappeared. A few weeks later, Dick told me about a friend of a friend who was having some problems with a Black writer who was spreading rumors about his white boss at a magazine in Tulsa. A few days after that, a Black adjunct professor at Wash U claimed she’d been called the n-word multiple times at a Christmas party. I refused both of Dick’s asks, only to learn later that both of these individuals had been fired and left unemployed, with families to feed and no one to hire them.

So, when the next ask came… well, I hadn’t been able to save Kenny. But maybe I could save others.

I grabbed the pages off the printer, cringing through the names of the women’s college instructors: “?‘Quinnasha,’ ‘Rayquelle,’ ‘Kasselia,’?” I read, shaking my head. “My goodness. We people keep naming our kids these names and yet we still wonder why we’re not getting any of the jobs?”

“Aw, shoot. Who we got now? Involuntaries?”

I looked up and registered Imani’s tall frame standing just inside the door. “Seems like that’s all we get these days,” I said.

“Mmm.” Imani crossed her arms. “Well, if you asked me—and I know you didn’t—I’d sleep a lot better at night if they weren’t Involuntaries.”

“And I’d sleep a lot better if that last big batch you concocted didn’t make these girls so darn competitive against their own,” I snapped. “I’m very concerned about how often our Lead Conditioners end up being the Last Black Girl Standing at the office. That’s not what this grease is for.”

“I know, I know, I know. How many times do I need to tell you, I’m sorry? It’s an unfortunate side effect. But I’ve been working on it, and I think I got the right balance on my newest batch. Less Terminator this time.”

“Good. Thank you.” I handed her the list I’d printed. “Here’s the latest.”

“?‘Quinnasha’?” Imani’s tone rose higher than her eyebrows. “What the hell happened to ‘Mavis’ and ‘Cheryl’ and ‘Estelle’?”

We both giggled. “So, what do we think? Who’s the closest Lead Conditioner that can get into that college?”