Power & Beauty (27 page)
It was a cold day in November, at the start of her second winter in Chicago, and Beauty arrived at Claire’s at noon. She was working the late shift.
“Let’s take a few minutes and go over to Starbucks,” said Sue, the store manager. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Beauty’s first thought was that she was being fired. Sue had dismissed three different salesclerks in the last two months. Business had been down, and although Beauty often relieved Sue and, as assistant manager, had been given the responsibility of closing the store and dealing with the cash and sales receipts, she knew that she was not irreplaceable. No one is.
A blond woman from Wisconsin with a brusque manner of speaking, Sue got them both caffe lattes and found a table in the back.
“Let me get right to the point,” Sue said. “Claire’s doesn’t want you working in Chicago anymore.”
Beauty’s throat went dry. She
was
being fired.
“They want you in Atlanta,” said Sue. “They want to you to assist managing their store in the Cumberland Mall.”
Beauty expressed relief and surprise.
“I’m from Atlanta,” she said.
“I know. That’s why I recommended you. I thought you’d be glad.”
“Well, I appreciate the recommendation, but, well . . . can’t I continue working in the store here?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m being transferred to Milwaukee and they’re bringing in a new crew. Besides, they’re giving you a substantial raise and the promise that, as soon as you turn twenty-one next August, you’ll manage a store of your own. They have you pegged to be the youngest manager in the history of Claire’s. They want to do a lot of publicity around that. And that’s only nine months from now.”
“Can I think about it?” asked Beauty.
“Of course. But I thought you’d jump at the chance.”
“I just need a little time.”
“It’s a career move,” said Solomon that night, “a good career move.”
“I don’t want to be stuck at Claire’s my whole life,” Beauty argued.
“You won’t be. But Claire’s is teaching you things—you’ve seen that for yourself—and the idea of being the youngest manager in the history of a major chain is a coup. It’s a stepping-stone. It’ll lead to bigger and better things.”
“We’d hate for you to move,” said Amir, “but I think Sol’s right. They’re advancing you because they recognize your talent. That’s a beautiful thing.”
“What is it?” asked Solomon. “Is the idea of going back home bothering you?”
Beauty had not gone into details, but she had mentioned Slim Simmons to Solomon and Amir. She had told them how repulsive she found the man.
“Atlanta is a big city,” said Amir. “You’ll have nothing to do with him. He doesn’t have to know you’re there.”
“He wouldn’t,” said Beauty. “He couldn’t.”
I
t had been nearly four years since Beauty had been back in Atlanta. She was not at all thrilled at being home, but she was determined to make the best of it. She was determined not to let her fears deter her future. Her future was her career, and at least for now, her career was with Claire’s. Solomon was right: Claire’s had much to teach her. It was a streamlined retail operation with expertise in proper pricing and careful merchandising. Their products moved, their customer base was loyal, and the stores had a steady stream of eager young shoppers. Beauty liked waiting on the preteen girls who sought out bracelets and backpacks. She remembered the time in her life when she herself had gone from Hello Kitty stickers to
Tiger Beat
magazine. Most important, Claire’s afforded her stability.
It was one thing to climb the corporate ladder at Claire’s but another to reenter the city that had caused her so much pain. Yet Atlanta was merely a stopover to bigger things. She was told by her new manager, Dorothy Blairsworth, that come Beauty’s twenty-first birthday, she would have her own Claire’s to manage. In all likelihood that would be a new Claire’s due to open in Marin County in the north San Francisco Bay area, one of the most beautiful sections of the country. The location was perfect. It would transport Beauty to a new realm. For these coming months then she could tolerate being home, but only by living in Buckhead, an upscale uptown neighborhood called the Beverly Hills of Atlanta. She found a small studio apartment on Peachtree Road, leased a Corolla for $170 a month, and settled in quickly.
She liked driving through the residential streets of Buckhead. They were lined with mansions of virtually every architectural style. In the shopping area, fall and winter fashions were on display in the stores of Lenox Square and Phipps Plaza. Those shops—Giorgio Armani, Kate Spade, Fendi, Salvatore Ferragamo, Valentino, Bulgari—all gave Beauty a sense of well-being. The Claire’s location at Cumberland was less tony. The mall was anchored by Sears, Costco, and Macy’s. It was a twenty-five-minute drive through traffic in her Corolla, but she didn’t mind. The neighborhoods where she lived and worked were not the neighborhoods of her childhood.
And yet she often felt anxious about running into someone she knew from her past. But why? She hadn’t broken any laws. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d gone to New York and worked, then to L.A., then back to New York, and then on to Chicago. She had never
not
worked except in Chicago when she was busy looking for work. She had nothing to be ashamed of. There was, of course, the episode with Primo Dalla Torre, but in truth he had never touched her. He had merely sponsored her.
A few days after arriving in Atlanta, Beauty met Wanda for lunch at Bistro Niko, a busy French eatery near Beauty’s apartment on Peachtree. Wanda showed up in a black polka-dot hat with a high crown, a wide white bow, and a sweeping brim of silver glitter. Her black dress, snug for her ample body, also carried the polka-dot theme. The lustrous jet-black hair of her expensive wig fell to her shoulders. After ordering iced tea and salads, the two women began to talk.
“I was shocked when you called, baby,” said Wanda, “but I was happy. Happy to see you back home. Got tired of that Chicago weather, did you? Well, this Georgia sunshine gonna warm you up in no time. Glad to see you, Beauty, I really am. To tell you the truth, I was a little hurt that you didn’t want to come back to Wanda’s Wigs to work, but Lord knows I understand. You’re way beyond that. Claire’s is a big national operation and they got their eye on you, don’t they?”
“I think so. I hope so.”
“I know so, honey. They ain’t stupid. They know when they got a winner in their organization. And they carry cute things. I know. I’ve taken my niece to Claire’s. Took her to get her ears pierced when she turned seven. She been wearing crazy earrings ever since. She loves Claire’s. All the girls love Claire’s. I’m proud of you, Beauty. I really am. After what happened to Anita, you picked yourself up, dusted yourself off, moved out there to Chicago, found you a job, and did what you had to do. You made of strong stuff, girl. You know where you’re going.”
“Well, I’m here and I want to make the best of it, Wanda. I wanted to see you, but, like I said on the phone, I’m not calling everyone I know.”
“I understand. You don’t have to worry about Wanda Washington. Wanda knows how to keep a secret. But I just don’t understand why it has to be a secret.”
“Well, it’s not a complete secret. I called Tanisha, my friend from high school. She’s married to a lawyer and they don’t live far from here. She has a little baby boy. I’m going to see her next week.”
“That’s wonderful. So you are reconnecting.”
“I just don’t want to reconnect with Slim. Or Power.”
“Power hasn’t lived in Atlanta for a while.”
Beauty had to stop herself from asking Wanda where Power was living.
“And Slim,” said Wanda, “well, he’s not the same man he used to be. I don’t see him that much.”
“He still owns your store, doesn’t he?” asked Beauty. “Isn’t he still your boss?”
“He’s the boss all right, but I avoid him. He’s changed. And not for the better. I do believe the man has mental problems.”
Beauty wanted more details about those problems—she wanted to hear that her own instincts about Slim’s murderous nature were absolutely right—but she also didn’t want to discuss the man. His very name made her cringe.
“But you’re all right, aren’t you?” Beauty asked Wanda.
“I’m fine, baby,” said Wanda. “I’ve been dealing with that man so long I know him better than he knows himself. He don’t scare me none. He never has. It’s just that I’ve always been able to bring out his better nature. But recently that better nature is getting worser.”
“Is there a way you can get away from him entirely?”
“You mean retire? Why should I? I love the store and the customers love me. The customers depend on me. Half of the women in this city are wearing my wigs. It’s a going concern. Has been for over thirty years. Besides, it affords me a good living. Reverend at church looks to me to tithe, and I never fail. I’m proud to tithe. Proud to hold my head high and praise the Lord every Sunday for giving me what I need. There are times when I need a man, and I got my choice there. You’d be surprised, Beauty, you really would, but I got me a whole army of men at my command. Got four or five on speed dial that will drop everything the minute I give the word. And I’ll tell you something else, Beauty, that I don’t tell most people. I’m telling you, though, ’cause it’s a good lesson for a young woman to learn. These men I’m talking about—and none of them are married, because I do not believe in fooling with married men—these men are sweet and kind and eager to please, but I do not trust them entirely. Truth is, before we get into anything heavy, I demand a health certificate. I make them go to a doctor for serious testing. I got to see for myself that none are carrying any of those awful diseases running through this city. You see, I understand human nature. I understand men. They are not built for one woman. They may tell you you’re the only one, but you ain’t. That’s why I never married. I’m a realist, baby. And what’s real is that men wander and will keep wandering as long as they can. So if they wanna wander over my house, that’s fine. Like any woman, I get in the mood. I want me a wandering man, but I understand that after we have our fun he’ll be wandering off. And as long as he don’t leave me with no disease, let him go wandering. That’s why you’re looking at a woman who is a hundred percent healthy. My doctor says I need to lose thirty pounds, but my doctor is a white man who don’t understand black women are big-boned and made different. I’m feeling fine, Beauty. Never felt no better.”
“Well, you look great.”
“There’s only one favor I’d like to ask of you, baby.”
“What’s that?” asked Beauty.
“Come to church with me this Sunday. It’s something both your mamas would want you to do.”
“I’ve never really been much of a churchgoer,” said Beauty.
“That don’t matter. God is patient. But he’s waiting for you. He’s been waiting for you. Just a matter of you accepting his gift.”
Beauty didn’t want to argue with Wanda about religion. She liked her too much. She also recognized Wanda’s genuine love for God. She wished she could share it, but she also didn’t want to be hypocritical.
“Maybe sometime,” Beauty said, “but right now I’m just getting used to being back.”
“God will never lose patience with you,” Wanda said assuredly. “God
is
patience.”
Beauty patiently pursued her new life. She stayed focused on her goal—do well as assistant manager at the Cumberland Mall and move on to manage the store in Marin County. One night she dreamed that she was living in a house that sat across the Golden Gate Bridge with a view of San Francisco. The house was all wood and glass and filled with fragrant flowers. Upstairs the master bedroom overlooked a blooming garden. Downstairs the living room and den were furnished with rustic chairs and overstuffed couches of butter-soft leather. Jaheim, her favorite R&B artist, was singing soothing songs on the radio. She went to the kitchen and began preparing a breaded macaroni and cheese dish that her adopted mother, Charlotte, had taught her. A plump tabby cat named Snuckles sat by her feet and purred. When the dish was ready, she carried it to the kitchen, highlighted by sunshine-yellow tiles, and set the table for two. “It’s ready, darling,” she called upstairs. She waited for a moment or two, and then, wearing only his pajama bottoms—his broad chest bare—Power appeared. He was smiling.
When she awoke, she did not dismiss the dream. She wanted to keep it, relish it, allow it to linger. It felt good. There was no one in the world she would ever tell about this dream. She didn’t have to tell. She could simply keep the images in her mind for five or ten minutes while she remained in bed. But then came the guilt and shame followed by the return of her resolution that she would not, under any circumstances, renew that relationship. It was too complicated, too emotionally entangled. She didn’t want to reexamine or reapproach it.
Nine months went by quickly as Beauty fell into a life that met her criteria for what was sane and productive. Although Tanisha and her husband, Grant, wanted to set her up, she still refused to date. Their family, and especially their baby boy, Isaac, brought her comfort and joy. They asked her over often, and she liked spending time with people who were stable and drama free. Once or twice she went to church with Wanda, where she found the music inspiring and the preacher long-winded. Three times a week she audited courses at Georgia State University, one on sociology, another on world history, and a third on techniques of modern marketing. She was determined to be a well-rounded person. She avoided the singles bars and dating websites. For her twenty-first birthday in August, Tanisha took her to dinner at Jalisco Mexican Restaurant, Beauty’s choice. She didn’t want anything fancy. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself.
Not drawing attention to herself had been her game plan in Atlanta. She only wanted to do the work necessary to manage her own Claire’s store in California. When summer turned to fall, she began asking her supervisors when that would happen. They were evasive, claiming that there was a change in plans for the Marin County store and a more senior manager would have to be brought in. Beauty was crushed. She had been counting on this promotion. She wanted to get away from Atlanta and move up the corporate ladder.
Her ambition had not diminished. She was growing impatient with Claire’s. The job, once exciting, had grown routine. How many ears can you pierce? How many turquoise bangles can you sell to eight-year-old girls wanting to look eighteen?
At night, when she returned from her courses at Georgia State, she looked through the sketchbooks she had been keeping for years. Working for Anita and Soo and Lena, she had begun accumulating ideas for what she had always envisioned as her own line of clothing. Recently she had added jewelry designs. She had watched the best and was convinced that she was just as good. Primo Dalla Torre had recognized her talent, just like his wife, Soo, and Soo’s mentor, Anita. Lena Pearl had told Beauty that her stylings showed originality. She had done particularly well at Claire’s because of her ability to accessorize the preteen customers with flair. She felt not only that she was ready to manage a Claire’s store but that she was perfectly capable of being a Claire’s buyer, even a Claire’s designer. In that regard, she wrote a letter to the president of Claire’s, arguing that her talent was being overlooked. With three thousand stores in the United States, two hundred in Japan, and another four hundred throughout the world, Claire’s could make better use of her. She reminded the president that she was tagged to be the youngest manager in the history of the chain and that the promotion, a golden publicity opportunity that could be used to attract Claire’s young customer base, was being squandered. Two weeks later, the president responded, saying that he appreciated her letter, her diligent work, and her can-do attitude. He was passing on her letter to a vice president who would be in touch with Beauty’s supervisors. Attention would be brought to the matter. Beauty waited a month, then another month, and finally gave up.
She fell into something of a depression. Atlanta was weighing on her. Her self-inflicted isolation was weighing on her. She was growing lonely and restless. She accepted a date from a man she had met at Wanda’s church, a successful real estate agent and former football star. He was handsome. His face and build were reminiscent of Power. But he could do nothing but talk about himself—his achievements, his money, his status as the head of the church’s building fund. At the end of the evening when he took her home, she did not ask him up. When he called the next day for another date, she invented an excuse.
The days were long and the nights even longer. Beauty was bored and wanted to leave her job and this city behind her. But where would she go?