Chapter One
New York City, October 2017

“Where are you from?”

“West Virginia, Ma’am. Beckley,” Rowena answered before adding, “You have a very stately apartment.”

Catty-cornered into a crooked lot the building was triangular and this gave the front room an especially impressive view of the Hudson River, New Jersey along the opposite shore and the George Washington Bridge to the south.

“I have enjoyed living here for quite some time,” the older Black woman told her visitor. Then she asked, “What made you decide to come to New York?”

“I didn’t,” the young redhead answered. “Actually, I had set off for San Diego, but my friend’s car died before St. Louis. Things went downhill from there. I was working at a diner in a truck stop and struck up a friendship that led to ghost-driving the guy and his rig to New Jersey. Then I took a train and walked to City University.”

The senior woman listened before asking, “Would you please go to my liquor cabinet and pour me some sherry?”

When the younger woman returned with the drink, the elder asked, “Would you like a little as well?”

“No, Ma’am. Both sides of my family are full of alcoholics and addicts; I can’t ever drink or use a recreational drug.”

Putting her sherry on the nearest counter before taking a tissue to wipe her nose, the older woman did a sort of hmm before asking, “How did you get Father Negedu to contact me? Are you a Catholic?” “Yes. My parents’ worship with the Pentecostals, but my grandparents and their parents before were Catholic.”

“The good Father wouldn’t have called for a Pentecostal. So, what made you return to the Catholic Church?”

“Belief has always provided me with comfort, but speaking in tongues and the other dramas just seemed ostentatious and crude. So, I returned to Catholicism because it is the original church and somehow tradition feels comfortable and safe.”

Shifting in her wheelchair before speaking, the elder explained, “He noticed your maturity and intelligence, but the good Father is still a man; he called because you’re in the sorority.”

Rowena blushed and answered that she is not a member of any sorority. Staring at the West Virginian, the older woman asked, “Are all of your people as attractive as you are?”

“Well, they’re mostly stouter and aren’t especially concerned with diet, exercise and dentistry. Also, I’m one of only two with red hair among six children and more than two dozen cousins.”

Another look of reflection came over the senior woman’s face. She asked, “Would you please go to my bedroom at the end of the hall,” and waved while adding, “Please, bring back the picture of the woman on the nightstand.”

Rowena fetched the framed photograph and brought it back. The older woman didn’t want to hold the picture so much as insist her caller to look at it.

“That is who I was.”

Rowena saw a breathtakingly beautiful Black woman sitting on a swivel chair at the bar of an ice cream shop. Her smile, skin, hair and legs were fabulous. A soda fountain was in view and she was holding a float with whipped cream, a cherry and a tall straw. Now in a wheelchair this frail woman had been an archetype of the sultry, alluring women of her day, a woman that all men, even white men, could not resist. “Were you in the movies?”

“It was called Black or Colored cinema in those days.” Then she explained that, “A well-groomed fellow with a moustache sang and danced through the shop. I was the lead of three girls who swooned as he approached,” going on to share that it took four takes because the other two women taunted him with cleavage, raising eyebrows and making kissy faces, and it really was comical that feminine wiles bothered him so much.” “Dean Ned Tyler was a big deal in Black entertainment and a fine song and dance man, but very closeted. He just had trouble interacting with pretty girls.”

They sat quietly for several minutes before the elder woman asked, “Are you prejudiced against Black people?”

“Oh, certainly, can’t you see it in my manner?”

They shared a small chuckle and then Rowena continued, “I’ve seen hard drinking, plenty of drugging, knives, ambulances, police raids and even shotguns and death. When I was little, more than one family member touched me. Kith and kin always used the N-word casually, still do, but I’ve never hated on anyone, especially over things that are immutable and unchangeable. I was at the top of my class. Still, I took an equivalency diploma so that I could strike out to find thinking that challenges and helps me to better myself. So, no Ma’am, I do not countenance prejudice, racial or otherwise, it only evidences weak thinking.”

The older woman sat quietly for a moment before saying, “I’d prefer you to call me Sallie.”

Rowena called her, “Ms. Sallie,” but was quickly corrected with, “No, just Sallie, please.”

Slowly rolling her chair down the hall to her guest bedroom, gesturing for Rowena to follow, both ladies arrived and looked about the room. “Is that all you’ve got, a book-pack?”

Rowena explained that she had been compelled to discard her suitcase and consolidate her things earlier in the day: “A pair of guys came up on me at Penn Station. I might have broken the first guy’s wrist or hand by jabbing the suitcase at him, and then his bud grabbed it. So, I kicked his knee out, and took off.”

In the bedroom, Sallie asked the young redhead to come closer before struggling to rise and hug her. She said, “You don’t look like I did, but I believe in you Ro.” Then Sallie added, “You need to stop fighting membership, it will help you if you let it.”

Rowena guided Sallie back into her wheelchair before accepting two keys. Afterwards, she took Sallie’s hand and insisted on kissing it. “I will never forget this kindness.” Then she asked, “Would you please tell me what you require as far as care, Sallie?”

“Well, I have doctor visits that we can arrange beforehand. I do still enjoy cooking, but mostly you will cook and clean, help me to bathe and try to fix whatever breaks. Additionally, the laundry and shopping are your responsibility; I will give you lists. Also, my eyesight isn’t so good anymore, so you will read aloud to me. But mostly I want to hear from you about events, what is going on out there in the city and the world.” Ro produced a sheet of paper from her book-pack that she had printed out earlier in the day. “Please, if you will sign that I live here, then I can open a bank account and get a library card to establish residency.” Sallie promptly signed.

After Ro rolled Sallie back to her front room, the senior woman commented, “There are coats in the closet beside the door. Please put one on before heading back out; I don’t want you to catch your death of cold.” “Thank you again,” the younger woman said before leaning down to kiss her benefactor on the forehead.

With her glass of sherry in hand, Sallie told her, “Supper is at six. Please, try not to be late.”

Chapter Two

Just ahead of 5 pm, Sallie heard Rowena enter the apartment. Hanging up her coat and putting down her book-pack, she called out “Hello, hello.” “I’m in the kitchen,” Sallie answered, and Rowena followed the sound of her voice.

“Well, don’t you look nice,” Sallie commented.

“I have accepted my membership, and put our sorority to good purpose,” Rowena said as she smiled and slowly turned to show her skirt, shoes, hair barrettes and makeup. “It’s the false eyelashes and lipstick that do the heavy lifting. The trick is to not go so big on lashes or flashy on lipstick, and then consciously blink a bit slower while speaking even more deliberately.” “So, what did you do with all that prettying up?” “Well, I went to campus and talked my way into wrangling through the lost and found. Then up to the French Department office to see if they had any job postings? They did, and I went out and interviewed.” “Did you get a job?”

“Yes. I already had a resume prepared and just added my new address. The man asked all sorts of questions before just conversing with me in English and French. I worked the conversation around to my Father teaching at West Virginia University for 18 years before becoming Dean of the Chemistry Department, how Mom is from Tulle and that we spoke French at home as well as my summers with family in France.” “Is any of that true?” Sallie asked.

“Only a bit, I did study the language well enough to become conversational, and being an exchange student in Tulle was the best learning experience of my life. So, I can do the work of corresponding with French speakers.”

“Congratulations. What sort of job is this?”

“I’m not slinging hash at a diner anymore. You are looking at the newest executive assistant at an architectural firm with clients in Quebec, France and Cameroon—and these people pay far better than a waitressing gig.” Over supper the junior woman asked, “Why don’t you tell me about your life. Where did you come up?”

Sallie insisted that she guess first, and Ro commented that there were little things that came out when she spoke – “…don’t want you to catch your death of cold”—suggesting that she was Southern, perhaps Georgia or the Carolinas, but she wasn’t sure.

“You’ve got a pretty good ear. I came up in Beaufort, South Carolina. My Mother was a lunch lady at the parochial school, so they got used to seeing a little Baptist girl attending mass. I was pretty and pleasant, so they allowed me to attend primary school so long as I sat in the back and didn’t raise my hand. That was four years before little Linda Brown took on the Topeka Board of Education.”

“Very nice, were you able to continue beyond primary school?” “No, but I got out of segregated public school at 15 by joining Jim Mumfries Gospel Rapture. It was sort of a pious church review with song, dance and lots of leg. Jim was a nasty piece of work, treated all of us like dirt, but I hung on to that awful tour until Baltimore. Then I met Preston Cetro. He had a more secular show that paid better for fewer weekly performances.”

“Goodness, did your mother approve?”

“Well, I always wired home money and she had three other children to feed and clothe.”

After supper Ro cleaned, washed and dried as well as putting away leftovers. Then she asked, “Are you ready for a bath tonight?” Sallie lit up and smiled as she was rolled down the hall, through the main bedroom and into the bathroom beside a grand bathtub with feet. “Always loved a good-sized tub; you have taste, my lady,” Ro commented before closing the door. Then she started the water and added some scented, bubble mixture.

Reaching into the carry bag strapped to the back of Sallie’s wheelchair, Ro pulled out a book and began reading: “Take a few long breaths, and then choose an area either geographic or emotional. Bring a garbage pail and a storage bin, but remain mindful that you must go through whatever is to be stored in the bin to process and resolve further.” Putting down Leaving on Your Own Terms, and sardonically commenting, “Really, quite a hot read,” Ro unzipped her pack and removed a paperback.

Ro paused to ask, “Do you prefer that I return to your book, or may I continue from this one?”

Sallie was old and frail, but fondly remembered her own dalliances. “Please, continue,” she said while smiling as she pushed bubbles against her neck and face.

Chapter Three

Oatmeal with half a dozen raisins – not one less or more – black coffee with half a grapefruit on a dish instead of in a bowl and Sallie’s serrated spoon beside was all the lady of the apartment liked for breakfast. “What about you?”

“I’ll pick up some cream for my coffee on the way home. I don’t want to be late for my first day. I’ll clean up and cook supper when I get home. Okay?” Ro said before kissing Sallie on the forehead.

Handing her disabled pass for the subway and buses, Sallie explained, “Don’t worry. Nobody will ask to see it.”

Ro thanked her again before rushing to put on her coat and head out.

Orientation lasted until cake came out for Fran’s birthday. Fourteen coworkers sang to her, and then fretted as Fran told of her daughter making her a batik skirt.

Later in the day, Ro participated in a conference call to Quebec where a French-speaking partner introduced and prompted her to speak with two fellows for several minutes about an interior garden and some sculptures. She did not stammer or struggle for vocabulary, and although Ro could hear the shrillness and peculiarity of their accents, she resisted thinking about how French natives pooh-poohed the sound of French-Canadians. Alexandre, the partner and lead figure of the phone call, was pleased with Rowena’s performance and told her so afterwards. “We’ll call Cameroon first thing next Thursday. They have the most sing-song pronunciation you’ve ever heard; you just float along with their words.” Then she prepared a brief report on the call, did some filing and callbacks, and the workday was over. Ro headed out to get some creamer before heading home.

At home, after cleaning up and making supper she served Sallie and then excused herself from the table.

“Aren’t you going to eat with me?”

“Can’t, have to go for a run or I won’t be able to review trigonometry.” Sallie asked her to “Please, roll that back for me, only this time with more detail.”

“Okay. It takes roughly ten months or exactly 184 days to establish residency. Then I can enroll at City University and begin taking placement examinations. Beyond French, English and Global History – what they used to limit to Western Civilization – I want to take Algebra and Trigonometry exams, maybe Chemistry. If I can demonstrate proficiency, then I will be awarded the requisite credit hours without having to spend time and money taking those courses. However, I cannot effectively review until expending enough energy to allow me to sit still and focus. Also, I cannot run if there is food in my belly.”

Sallie now understood and commended her younger companion, asking only, “Please stay on trails in the lighted parts of the park.”

Nodding in agreement as she headed out, Ro promised to return in less than an hour.