Chapter 2
Sasha held the hanger that safeguarded the long multicolored maxi sundress from making its home on the floor among all of the other secondhand garments. In pursuit of a couple new outfits for her new position through the temp agency, Sasha had stumbled upon this particular piece. Considering that she was shopping in one of the upscale Atlanta consignment shops she’d searched and found on Google, she wasn’t on a shopping spree for spanking brand new clothes. But anything she purchased and brought home today would be new to her closet.
The particular dress she was eyeing was low cut with a plunging back. It would complement Sasha’s figure in all the right places. Not too much of her 36Cs would be on display. Just enough of her back muscles and all of her arms would show, displaying how those fitness training classes she’d managed to squeeze into her busy schedule had paid off. There was no doubt—she had a sexy figure.
She ran her hand down the silky dress with her free hand. Next she brought the dress to meet her nostrils and inhaled. The corners of her mouth lifted as her lips formed a smile. She exhaled and let out an almost orgasmic breath. Only someone who breathed, slept, ate, and thought fashion got this kind of high from the scent of clothing. This was also part of Sasha’s test. It was a requirement that underneath it all, she had to be able to smell just a hint of the new clothes scent before she took a secondhand garment home. This meant that the item still had a story to tell. This dress definitely passed the test.
Like a good smelling man, this dress wanted Sasha to take it back to her place. She wouldn’t mind having it wrapped all around her. Looking down at the tag, she saw the price was right. Sasha draped the dress across her arm without another thought and then went to walk away. Buyer’s remorse hit her before she could even get away from the clothing rack for good. She stopped in her tracks and looked down at the dress. It was definitely not what Sasha had set out to purchase. “Work clothes, Sasha. Stay on point,” she scolded herself and then reluctantly put the dress back on the rack. She had a one-year plan that required her to adhere to a particular budget. How would she be able to invest in her own business if she was steadily feeding her pennies to fund everyone else’s business?
“Hunty, that dress is calling your name. It was made for you.”
Sasha initially didn’t realize she was being spoken to until the voice continued and she turned around to see that the owner of the voice was making eye contact with her.
“That’s why it’s in this secondhand boutique. The first bitch knew she didn’t have no business buying it in the first place. She probably wore it out and her real girlfriends told her the truth: that she looked like a fat prostitute on her last ho stroll before Jenny Craig gets a hold of her. So she had the decency to do the right thing and bring the dress here in hopes of its rightful owner finding it. And you, dear, are the rightful owner. So please don’t fuck up a divine moment by being disobedient and not accepting your blessing.”
Sasha was truly taken aback. She had to ask herself, had she really just been read by a complete stranger. She had to have been, because she didn’t know a single soul in Atlanta well enough that they would approach her like that. She looked up and stared at the stranger who’d just said a mouthful. In her quick but discreet once-over, Sasha’s eyes caught the red patent leather pumps. Next there were the skinny jeans, which didn’t need to be that skinny on all that extra meat, but they were hot. The vintage red, royal blue, black, and gold Versace shirt, tied at the belly button, screamed that this person knew fashion. It was all so well coordinated. Sasha would have done a couple things differently as far as makeup. She would have trimmed the fake eyelashes down just a tad and used matte instead of gloss lipstick. The shiny gloss of the lips was fighting for attention with the shiny shoes. But that wasn’t a biggie. After all, they were in a neighborhood consignment shop, not somebody’s red carpet event.
Sasha looked down at the extended hand of her unauthorized fashion consultant.
“Hi, I’m Norman,” he said, “but my friends call me Norma.”
Sasha shook his hand while admiring his manicured gel nails, which looked better than her own. She prayed her surprise at the man’s amazing fashion choices didn’t show on her face.
She couldn’t help her immediate reaction. Back in her little town in Ohio, Sasha had never run into someone as . . . let’s say as flashy and open as Norman or anyone with such divine taste in shoes. She was a little beside herself, but would try to not snatch that gorgeous bag away from him. “Hi, I’m uh . . .” Sasha stammered as she pulled her hand away.
“A fool if you don’t snatch that dress right back up off that rack.” He laughed, doing the stereotypical hand flip that some people imitate gay men doing.
“You think so?” Sasha asked with uncertainty. She slowly lifted the dress back off the rack again.
“I know so. This is what I do for a living,” Norman said. “I dress the stars, hunty. The ones with some real movies under their belts as well as the ones with nothing more than a so-called leaked sex tape.”
Sasha chuckled when he winked at her, his long eyelashes beating against his eyebrows. “So you know fashion, huh?” she asked, although it was obvious.
“Chile, asking me if I know fashion is like asking Precious does she know all thirty-one flavors of Baskin Robbins’ ice cream.”
Sasha laughed. She hadn’t chuckled and laughed this much since she could remember. She’d always been so serious. She’d always had a one-year plan for something or other. This meant she was always focused on meeting her goals. There was never time to be laughing and joking and carrying on. The time for her to let out a great big, hearty laugh would be when she was laughing all the way to the bank after reaching the level of success she’d imagined.
“You think I’m joking,” Norman said. “But you gon’ be kicking yourself for not buying that dress. The next time your boo wants to take you out for date night and you all up in your closet looking for something to wear, you gon’ wish that baby was a part of your wardrobe.” He folded his arms and nodded his head up and down.
Sasha looked back at the dress again. She then looked up at Norman, whose facial expression showed that he was dead serious. Once again, she flung the dress over her arm. “You’re right. I’d be a fool not to buy this dress. And a double fool not to take advice from a professional like yourself.”
“Umm hmmm, Miss Thang. And I gave you that for free.”
“And I’ll take that freebie,” Sasha said. “A sistah is on a budget.”
“All the more reason for you to cop that dress. Your boo is going to appreciate it even more that you look damn good and you didn’t break the bank.”
This was the second time Norman had mentioned Sasha having a boo. She decided to correct him so that there wouldn’t be a third. “Well, there is no boo, but I’m still getting this dress . . . for me.”
“Ohhh, independent woman. I see you, girlfriend,” Norman said. “One of those ‘I don’t need a man’ kind of chicks.”
“I don’t!” Sasha declared. “But sometimes I want one.” She scrunched her nose and smiled. Every now and then, after watching an episode of Rosewood with Morris Chestnut’s fine self, Sasha had urges and desires that only a man could fulfill. But she’d quickly get her mind off of that by watching an episode of Project Runway.
“Then as fine as you are, why don’t you have a man?” Norman put his hand up. “Oh, chile, I almost forgot. You are in Atlanta. Unless you like sharing, they are hard to come by.”
“I don’t know about all that. I’ve only been in Atlanta a week.”
“Oh, so you just a nectarine. You ain’t quite a Georgia peach yet. Gotta get a little fuzz on ya.”
“Fuzz?”
“Boo, yeah. You gotta get out here and learn the city. Learn how the city operates. Hunty, the city of Atlanta itself is like a person. It’s set in its ways. You can never change it, but it can change you.”
A look of fear shadowed her face, which didn’t go unnoticed by Norman.
“Have no fear, your official teacher is here,” Norman said, throwing his fists on his hips, spreading his legs, and going into his Superman stance. “I’m here to school you on the ins and outs of this town. You look to be too nice of a girl for me to just let you out in the jungle on your own.”
“Jungle? No one has ever referred to Atlanta as a jungle.”
He leaned in and whispered to Sasha, “That’s because they never made it out alive.” He pulled back, nodding like he was telling the truth and his word was bond.
Sasha swallowed hard.
“But, honey, God must really be watching over you today. You got a new dress and a new BFF.” Norman looped his arm through Sasha’s arm that held the dress. “Now let’s go ring up this dress and get started on lesson number one, which is simply an introduction to Atlanta over a drink over at Marty’s Bar, right across the street.” He pointed out the store window.
Sasha stopped in her tracks. She would have loved to go over and shoot the breeze with Norman. He was so refreshing, plus she’d been cooped up in her place Googling and researching the town the entire week she’d been in Atlanta. A new scene wouldn’t have been so bad. But she was already splurging on the dress, which wasn’t on her list. She refused to throw caution to the wind and pay for one glass of wine what she could pay for an entire bottle if she’d go back to her place to have a drink. She decided to keep it real with her new friend. After all, lies were no way to start off a new friendship. “Well, I’m kind of on a budget and—” Sasha started.
“It’s on me,” Norman said, pulling Sasha over to the cash register.
“Well . . .”
“And I won’t take no for an answer. Girl, get that dress and let’s go. Like I said, it’s on me.”
Sasha gave in and agreed, placing the dress on the counter.
“Hi, did you find everything you were looking for?” the clerk asked Sasha.
Sasha nodded.
The clerk rang up the dress and bagged it. “That will be twenty-seven dollars and thirty-three cents with tax.”
Sasha looked to Norman.
“Bitch, please,” Norman said to Sasha. “I meant the drink was on me, not the dress. I don’t know you like that.” Again, Norman was over-the-top serious with his neck snapped back, eyeballing Sasha, then giving her the side-eye.
Sasha paid the clerk and then she and Norman exited the shop. They jaywalked across the street over to Marty’s Bar, where in a couple hours Sasha would not only get to know Norman like that, but the city of Atlanta as well.
“A zombie,” Norman told the bartender after he and Sasha took two seats at the bar. He looked to Sasha. “And you?”
“A wine spritzer for me please,” Sasha said to the bartender. “Made with Moscato, thank you.”
“A wine spritzer?” Norman turned his nose up. “It’s bad enough wine by itself is only a step up from Kool-Aid. And you want to water it down. Tuh!” He looked to the bartender. “Just a glass of Moscato wine for the lady, please. Minus the Spritzer.”
The bartender nodded. “Coming right up.”
Sasha watched the bartender walk away and begin preparing their drinks, leaving the two, ten minutes short of being practical strangers, alone to get to know one another.
“A wine spritzer,” Norman said, rolling his eyes and sucking his teeth.
“I’m not a big drinker,” Sasha informed him. “I need my mind alert and functioning to the best of its ability as much as possible. Otherwise I’ll end up exactly like the name of the thing you ordered,” she said. “What is a zombie, anyway?”
“It’s a tricky drink. Kind of like me.” Norman wriggled in his seat, crossing his legs. “It’s full of all different kinds of vodka.”
“Sounds hard,” Sasha said, frowning.
Norman made googly eyes. “But it has orange juice, pineapple juice—”
“Oh, so it’s fruity, too.”
“Girl, did you not hear me say it was just like me. Hard and fruity. Yes, Gawd!” Norman raised his hand to high-five Sasha.
Sasha laughed and slapped Norman a five.
A couple minutes later the bartender returned. He placed Sasha’s glass of wine in front of her and Norman’s zombie in front of him.
“Thank you,” they each said upon receipt of their drink.
“Umm, I needed this,” Sasha said after taking a sip of her drink.
“Girl, we all need to unwind. Atlanta will do that to you.” Norman drank some of his zombie. “Damn, these shitz are good.” He looked to Sasha. “You want to try it?” He pushed his glass toward her.
Sasha put her hand up. “Oh, no, thank you. Moscato is hard enough for me.”
“For now. But just give it a month. You’ll be downing these babies like bottled water after a five-K run.” He took another sip and then placed his glass back down on the bar. “So, what brings you to the ATL anyway?”
“Chance, really,” Sasha said. “I mean, I always knew that as soon as I graduated college I was leaving Ohio. It’s not artsy enough for what I want to do.”
“Which is?”
Sasha’s eyes lit up. “Be a fashion designer. Be the owner and operator of a boutique with vintage designs as well as my own originals. Have some of the best up-and-coming designers working for me, you know, to give them a chance at making it big. Maybe ultimately have a chain, then open up boutiques in France and—”
“Whoa, slow down, Dorothy. You’re still in Kansas,” Norman said. “Take a breath.”
Sasha inhaled and then exhaled.
“Now take a drink.”
She guzzled down several swallows of Moscato.
“Another one for the lady,” Norman told the bartender, who nodded. Norman turned in his chair to face Sasha. “You all right?” He sipped his drink as he waited on her reply.
Sasha nodded, using a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth.
“So that’s what gets your panties wet, huh?”
Sasha scrunched her face and twisted her nose up at Norman.
“Fashion, clothes, design,” Norman clarified. “That’s what gets you all riled up, huh?”
Sasha relaxed her shoulders and sighed. “Yeah. Pardon me for going on and on, but it’s been my dream ever since I can remember.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Atlanta is just the spot for you to get your foot in the door or to just start up a business period. These divas down here are always getting dolled up for this event or the other, even getting dressed up to go to the mall. They are always trying to outdo one another with these parties they be throwing. Then you have all these theater stage plays, Tyler Perry’s studio. The gigs for costume and fashion are endless. Honey, this might as well be the black capital for fashion and designs. They can take Manhattan, honey, leave Hotlanta for moi!” Norman fanned himself with his hand and fluttered his eyes.
The bartender placed Sasha’s second glass of wine in front of her. She nodded her thanks and he walked away.
“For you and moi,” Sasha corrected Norman. “But watch out, because I didn’t come here for sloppy seconds.”
“Oooh, is she trying to read me after I just bought her two drinks? Rude.” Norman rolled his eyes and turned his chair away from Sasha.
“You are too much.”
“So I’ve been told,” Norman said. “That’s why I left Alabama. Chile, talk about being too much for a place that I couldn’t be myself there even if I tried. Everything and everybody is so country there.”
“Yeah.” Sasha sounded sympathetic. “I’m sure it was difficult coming out and trying to live the life of a gay man there.”
“Gay?” He had the most shocked looked on his face. “I’m married with a wife and two kids. What made you think I was gay?”
Norman’s words gave Sasha pause. She sat there with the glass of Moscato to her lips. Her mouth was wide open and the horrified look on her face was definitely a Kodak moment.
Norman gave her the evil eye a few seconds more but then, unable to keep a straight face, he burst out laughing. “I’m just playing with you. Chile, bye.” Norman shooed his hand at Sasha and continued laughing. “Did you really think for one second I wasn’t gay?”
Sasha tightened her lips and shook her head. “You play too much.” She allowed a smile to spread across her lips.
“And you don’t play enough,” Norman shot back, taking a sip of his vodka concoction.
“How do you know?” Sasha asked. Norman had only known her all of five minutes.
“I had to twist your arm to buy that fun maxi dress, to get you to come over here and have a drink. Honey, you got the word ‘intense’ engraved on your forehead. Next to me folks are going to think you are deadpan, ’cause, honey, I’m a live one.” He snapped his fingers in a circle.
Up until now, Sasha hadn’t minded the fact that people felt she was straitlaced or even uptight. But Norman made it sound like she was the walking dead. “You act like I’m Bernie or something.”
“Bernie?” Norman questioned.
“Yeah, from that movie Weekend at Bernie’s. You act like I don’t even have a pulse. Like you’re going to be dragging me around Atlanta trying to resuscitate me.”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha,” Norman laughed, pointing at Sasha. “You made a funny. You’re getting the hang of this thing already.”
Sasha sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Norman said, playfully nudging her. “By the time I get through with you, you’ll want to go back and repeat kindergarten, you’re gonna wanna play so much.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sasha said in disagreement. “I’m on a mission. I came here for a reason. I have some goals to achieve and I’m not leaving here until I do. I’m going to focus more on business than playing.”
“I hear you. Well, should I say Norman hears you? But once Norma—my alter ego—gets a hold of you, you’ll be able to find that happy medium between business and pleasure. You have to get some play time in. All work and no play makes Sasha—”
Sasha cut Norman off and finished his sentence. “A very dull girl.”
“No. All work and no play makes Sasha too serious for Norman or Norma to rock with. And trust me, I can show you some thangs in this town, sweetie.” Norman let out a harrumph.
“Hmm, now you got me scared.”
“And you probably should be. They don’t call it Hotlanta for nothing. Chile, you can get burned. But just roll with me and I’ll be your fire extinguisher.”
“And why should I trust you to put all the fires out?” Sasha asked.
Norman turned and gave Sasha a serious diva look. “Because, hunty, nine times out of ten I started them. Now let’s turn up.” Norman raised his glass to toast with Sasha.
Sasha hesitantly raised her glass. She wasn’t a turn-up kind of girl, so she didn’t know exactly what to make of her connection with Norman. But what the hell? Perhaps Norman was right. Maybe she didn’t have to be so serious all the time. There had to be a balance between working hard and enjoying life. But Sasha’s mother had always taught her to work hard and play later.
As Sasha raised her glass to toast with Norman, she couldn’t help but wonder if for the first time ever, her mother could be wrong.