CHAPTER

Fifteen

Mildred stood on the subway platform awaiting the number two train to come rolling through. The trains were a total mess that morning, running twenty minutes behind schedule.

When the train finally arrived, she pushed herself on with the rest of the grumbling straphangers and found herself caught in the middle of the car, pressed up against the pole in such a way that when the train jerked into motion, she experienced a small thrill down between her legs.

She yelped in surprise and embarrassment. Had she really felt that?

She wiggled her hips a bit and was awarded with another jolt of pleasure.

Mildred snickered to herself and looked around cautiously to see if any of her fellow passengers had noticed.

When they finally arrived at Franklin Avenue, the conductor announced that the train would be running on the 4 line, making express stops only. Twenty percent of the passengers groaned and stepped off, clashing with fifty percent of the people who were already waiting on the platform.

There was a small scuffle at the door between two women who looked well into their fifties. Mildred watched with awe as they shoved and cussed each other until a police officer approached and pulled them both from the car.

Mildred secured a seat and dug deep into her cloth tote bag and pulled out the latest issue of African-American Brides. She'd dog-eared some pages the night before and now sat drooling over the photographs.

“Congratulations.”

Mildred turned and met the striking green eyes of a young woman with a pierced nose.

“Huh?”

“I said congratulations,” the woman said, pointing to the glossy magazine page. “On your engagement.”

Mildred continued to offer her a dumbfounded gaze.

“On your wedding!” The woman beamed.

Mildred blinked and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“So do you have a date yet?”

“Um, well, we haven't decided yet,” Mildred heard herself say with horror. What was she doing?

“Oh, me and my fiancé are getting married next April, but we haven't decided on a specific date yet. I figured getting the month pinned down is half the battle.”

Mildred nodded again.

“Have you started looking at reception halls yet?”

Mildred shook her head no.

“Oh my God,” the woman said as she threw her head back in one dramatic motion, “it is so aggravating!”

Mildred just stared.

“But finally we've decided on the Brooklyn Opera House.”

Brooklyn Opera House? Mildred had never heard of it.

“Sounds nice,” Mildred said, closing the magazine and turning a bit toward the woman. “Where is it?”

“Well, it's called the Grand Prospect Hall and it's on Prospect Avenue. It's gorgeous. Gorgeous!” the woman said, throwing her hands up into the air and knocking the New York Times out of the hands of the man sitting beside her. “Oops, sorry.” She giggled.

“Anyway, look, you've just got to go see it,” she said as she dug into her Coach pocketbook, pulling out her Black-Berry.

Mildred just stared at her.

The woman hit a few buttons and then said, “Aha—here it is. The number is . . .” she started, and then looked at Mildred. “Well, aren't you going to put it in your Black-Berry?”

Mildred blushed, “Oh, no, I forgot mine at home today.” Another lie. She didn't even own a BlackBerry. What was she turning into?

“Oh. Well, do you have a pen and paper?”

Mildred dug into her sack and found an old receipt and a pencil.

The woman quickly recited the number.

“Oh, this is me,” she said, springing up from her seat. “My name is Beth, by the way.”

“Mildred.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Mildred, and good luck with your wedding,” she said, and bounded off the train.

Mildred looked down at the number she had written there. She told herself she would toss it, but even as the thought occurred to her she knew she wouldn't, and even more, she knew that she would call Prospect Hall and make an appointment to see the space.

When she raised her eyes, she saw that she'd been so engrossed in her conversation with Beth that she had missed her Wall Street station stop—the train was pulling out of the Lexington Avenue station.