What’s this for?”
“You don’t really think I’m going to waste a perfectly good rose on that fool, do you?” she said with a smile. “And I’m certainly not going to let one monkey stop my show. I’m going to go in and have a good time by myself.”
The driver grinned. “Good girl. But you don’t think he’ll recognize you?”
Dior shook her head. “We never exchanged pictures, and I never even gave him a description of myself. He’ll recognize me from the block, but I don’t think he’ll have the nerve to come over and say anything to me.” She smiled when she remembered what Margie had told her about him not bothering people once they stood up to him.
She walked inside MoBay and took a seat at the bar. “What would you suggest I have?” she asked the bartender when he came to take her drink order.
“Harlem mojitos are the house specialty. Can’t go wrong with that,” the man answered politely.
“Hey, that’s what I’m having. You’ll love it.”
Dior turned and faced Jerome, who had come up behind her. The man seemed stunned. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Dior said with a sneer.
“Forget you. I’m here meeting my girlfriend,” Jerome said angrily.
Dior snorted. “Judging by the way you look I can just imagine what she looks like.”
“I’ll have you know she’s a professional woman with a job. And she looks better than you,” Jerome retorted.
Dior snorted and turned back to the bartender, who was putting her drink on the bar. “Who’s that playing?” she asked him, pointing to a light-skinned man with long dreads blowing the sweetest sounds from his tenor sax.
“Julian Meyers. He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”
Dior nodded, then noticed a couple getting up from their table. She hurriedly paid the bartender, grabbed her drink, and rushed over before someone else could claim the spot. Her mood still lousy, she placed her jacket over the back of the vacant chair at the table to make it look as if she had a companion who had perhaps gone to the restroom.
Thirty minutes and two Harlem mojitos later, Dior’s mood finally began to mellow. She started swaying her shoulders to the soulful jazz and looked around the bar. This place really is nice, she thought. I really am glad I stayed. She looked over at the bar, then did a double take. Was that the girl who lived above her squeezed in at the bar? What was her name again? Tamara?
Things are looking up, after all, Dior thought happily. Who needs a man? Sometimes sisterhood is all it takes.
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