For the Love of Money (13 page)

“Like to where?”

“I don't know, Atlanta or someplace?”

“Sometimes I do, but I like it here,” he answered. “What about you?”

“I like it here too, but sometimes, when you stay home too long, you start to feel like you haven't done anything.” That was all that I planned to say about my relocation.

Mike chuckled and said, “I know the feeling, but whenever I'm away too long, I can't wait to come back home. So I know that Philly is the only place for me until I feel differently.”

He pulled his clothes off and finished the job with our naked bodies clashing. I cooled down and took a shower after he had left to wash the lust away. After I pulled the wet sheets from my bed, I called my girl Raheema at home in North Jersey, well after midnight. Regardless of the time, I had something to say. She was used to my late-night phone calls anyway. Sometimes I would just leave a message for her.

She didn't pick up when I called that night, so I left another message on her machine:

“Well, girl, you said it when we were still living on Diamond Lane, ‘Tracy, you're gonna be rich and famous one day, if you keep writing stuff like that.' Remember that?

“Well, I'm getting set to go out to Hollywood and try my luck. And my book by Omar is coming back out this year too. So it took me a little while to get back on track for this, but everything happens for a reason. So here I go. And I'll talk to you when—”

BLOOOP!

The damn machine cut me off. Was that a sign that I wasn't going to make it? I called Raheema right back and finished my message.

“Like I was saying, I'll talk to you when you call me. And I
will
make things happen when I go back out to California. You can
count
on it, or my name ain't Tracy.”

I hung up and wrote another poem, “A Mission,” before I crashed in a fresh bra and panties on clean bedsheets.

Kiwana named me Camara,
one who
teaches
from experience.

But when will
I learn
from my own
lessons?

When will
you
learn
from yours?

Copyright © 1992 by Tracy Ellison

I
went home and took a nap before leaving my parents' house at lunchtime. I was headed for King of Prussia Mall on I-76 West. The Wendy Williams morning show was no longer on the air by then, and I felt safe enough to listen to Power 99 again. They were playing Will Smith's classic anthem, “Summertime.” That song had to be at least eight years old, but in Philly, everybody still loved it. When that song played, I thought back to my college years. I was a lot more subdued at that time, waiting for Victor to sweep me up off my feet when he got out of jail, which never fucking happened. I was a damn fool, saving myself for nothing. So I grew sour and turned the song off, tired of the hurtful reminders of my heart wound. Who the hell needs bad memories on their mind?

When I arrived at the mall, I had to decide where I wanted to park. King of Prussia had to be one of the largest malls in the country, and they were always adding something new to it, including parking lots. I had been going there to shop for as long as I had a license to drive, especially after discovering they had no taxation on clothing. You could just about buy an extra outfit or a pair of shoes from the savings, and I usually did. I planned to hit the mall and splurge in a big way!

I used the restroom in Nordstrom's and entered the second level of the mall, and a sharp-looking white man with slick dark hair in a tailored gray business suit stopped me immediately.

“Tracy Ellison Grant.”

He said my name as if we were old friends, but we were not. I waited for him to explain himself.

“I have to tell ya, I just
loved
your performance in
Led Astray,”
he said excitedly.

He didn't appear to be the kind of man who got excited about much. He looked very poised and calculating, like a million-dollar-a-year lawyer.

“Oh, well, thank you,” I responded.

“And you wrote the screenplay yourself?” he asked me.

He had even done his homework.

“Yes, I did.”

He shook his head, amazed by me, and didn't know what else to say. I was used to the glazed eyes of men, going all the way back to high school. I smiled, because I knew that he would break his neck to take me out,
if
I went that way.

I started to thank him again and excuse myself, but he was not ready for me to leave.

“My name is Tom Slayer,” he said, pulling out a business card.

I took it and looked it over. It read “Loebe, Lewis & Slayer, Attorneys at Law.”I nodded and grinned at him. I was right again: he
was
a big-time lawyer.

“You don't look old enough to be a partner. I guess you're a real go-getter then,” I flattered him. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“You're married?”

“Divorced.”

“Two kids?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

I nodded back to him. “Your wife couldn't take the pressure?”

He grinned, big and guilty.

“You're the writer. You tell
me
the story. So what are you working on next?” he asked me.

“Shopping,” I hinted. He was holding me up, and I was not interested. He pressed his luck anyway.

“Well, how long are you in town? Maybe we could do dinner or something. You know, I can talk about law money and you could talk about Hollywood money. I'm sure we
both
have plenty of stories to tell.”

“I'm sure we do,” I told him, “but I'm just about booked up with family and friends. Outside of that, I would like some time to myself.”

“I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes the days move a little too fast,” he said. “But let's say you, ah, hold on to my number, and who knows, maybe I could fly out to Hollywood and you show me around out there. I'm game. Maybe I could find a few stars out there to represent. I'm assuming that you have representation already.”

He was smiling like a kid who had just caught a baseball at the Phillies game. He was really putting himself out there for me. That was the difference I had learned concerning white men and black men while out in Hollywood. I hate to say it, but white men were a lot more determined. However, I couldn't get past the history of white men and black women in America to fall for one. White men had had their way with us long enough.

I said, “Yes, I do have a lawyer, but I'll think about that visit,” just to get away from him.

“Please do,” he told me.

When I walked away, I was afraid to look back, embarrassed to catch his eyes glued on my ripe ass. I wore blue jeans that were not tight enough for extra attention, but not loose enough to hide my curves either.

I just kept right on walking until a short, dark brown sister noticed me.

“Tracy Ellison Grant. I heard you on Power 99 this morning.” She shook her head and said, “Girl, don't you worry about that lesbian stuff, just keep right on making that money.
I
sure would.”

I told her “Thank you,” smiled, and kept walking. I figured that I would never be able to shop in the Philadelphia area at night or on the weekend when the stores were actually crowded. I could barely walk through the mall while it was halfway empty, and King of Prussia was filled with mostly white shoppers who wouldn't notice me. It wasn't as if I was Julia Roberts or anything. I was just a local black girl who had made
one
movie.

I noticed a few more stares as I walked, but I had to ignore them. I couldn't react to everything, but I did feel a bit uncomfortable about it. It was my first shopping spree in the Philadelphia area since my movie was released in February. I didn't want my hometown fans to think that I was stuck on myself. They probably loved me more than anyone. Nevertheless, shouldn't I be allowed to shop in peace like everyone else?

I didn't walk into any shops until I saw the Enzo shoe store on the bottom level. Comfortable shoes were
always
number one in
my
book, no matter
what
I wore.

As soon as I walked in I came face-to-face with Kiwana, my college friend from Cheyney State University during my high school years at Germantown. Kiwana had graduated from Cheyney and moved back to New York during my sophomore year at Hampton. She had been my number-one positive influence to get me back on track from my reckless flyy years. When we set eyes on each other inside of Enzo's, we just about lost our minds!

“OOOOHHH!” we both screamed, hugging each other like two maniacs. We fought to get out the first words.

“So how's it been going?” she asked me.

“How's it going with you?” I asked her back.

“Everything is beautiful,” she told me.

I stopped myself and said, “Well, I can't say all of that, but I can't complain either. Not really.”

“Yeah, because you're the big star now,” she said. “Everyone knows what you have to offer.”

I immediately felt guilty. What did Kiwana feel about me taking off my clothes for the camera? She had obviously heard about my movie. I guess I underestimated myself and the power of Hollywood films.

I grabbed Kiwana by her arm and said, “We have to sit down and talk. Are you hungry?”

She still had the prettiest brown skin that I've ever seen in my life, and she had put on the perfect amount of weight in her bright sundress, like a mother who had gotten her schedule in order. I couldn't wait to ask her about
everything,
and to get her opinions on
me.
The Lord works in mysterious ways, and Kiwana was just what I needed at just the right time.

“As a matter of fact, there's a Friendly's right around the corner that I was going to hit right after this,” she told me.

“Have you picked out your shoes already?” I asked her.

She held up a pair of brown and a pair of black leather sandals and smiled.

“I'm trying to make up my mind about the color I want.”

“What size?” I asked her.

She looked at me suspiciously and answered, “Seven.”

I got the attention of a saleswoman and pulled out my wallet from my bag. I didn't want to delay our talk for another minute. I wanted Kiwana's full attention, even if I had to buy it.

“Can we have both of these in a size seven?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Kiwana shook her head. “I can't let you do that, Tracy. I pay my own way.”

“You turn thirty-one on August seventeenth, right?” I asked. I had memorized her birthday. “Just consider this an early birthday present,” I told her. “I owe you
a lot more
for what you did for
me.
”

“All I did was become your friend, Tracy. I don't deserve a reward for that.”

“Yes you do too, because you were the right kind of friend at the right time,” I argued.

The saleswoman brought out the shoes, and I grabbed them before Kiwana could.

“Would you like to try them on first?” I asked her with a grin.

“Not if
you're
buying them,” she responded.

“Girl, cut it out,” I pouted. “It's not like they cost a thousand dollars. I'll even let you pay for lunch, and I'll order enough for two doggie bags just to make you feel better.”

She laughed and finally agreed to try on the shoes. They looked good on her too.

Done deal. We headed to Friendly's ice cream restaurant.

“So, what do you think about me taking my clothes off in the movie?” I asked her quietly, as soon as we were seated and looking over our menus.

“Are you ashamed of your body?”

“Of course not.”

“Did they force you to do it?”

I had to think about that one. “Well, not exactly.”

“Was it written in your screenplay? You
did
write the movie, right?”

“Yeah, but I wasn't supposed to
star
in it.”

“Oh, so some other sister was supposed to drop
her
clothes?”

She made me feel guilty again.

“Yeah, somebody else was supposed to do it,” I admitted with a chuckle.

“I think it was a good film, actually. It took Spike Lee's
Girl 6
to the next level, because a lot of people slept on that movie. I loved it.”

“I did too,” I told her excitedly. “I bought the tape and watched it eight or nine times.”

“Your movie also reminded me of
I Shot Andy Warhol,
starring Lili Taylor,” Kiwana added. “I guess the only people who can really understand the black woman actress are the people who do it themselves, you know.”

“Are you still performing?” I asked her. I felt terrible about not knowing. It made it seem as if
my
work was more important than hers. Kiwana had been performing for years. I had just started. I was a rookie.