Dior said as they entered the building.
Margie grunted. “Most of the people on this block are nice. But that damn Jerome is a pain in the ass. Whatever—you don’t be nice to him, because if you do he’ll be in your face all the time and trying to get into your panties, too. Damn shame. That man’s pushing thirty years old and still living off his mother. Trifling is what I call him.”
“Oh my God, this place is just beautiful,” Dior gasped as they entered the apartment. “It looks even better than the pictures the broker sent me!”
“It should look good. I spent a bunch of money on the renovations. They just finished sanding down the floor, so make sure the moving men don’t scratch them up when they move your furniture in.”
“The floors are gorgeous. I’ve never lived in a place with hardwood floors before. And look how high the ceilings are. It makes it look like a ballroom. Oh my God, does that fireplace work?” She rushed over and ran her hand over the wooden mantelpiece. “I can just see myself drinking champagne in front of a roaring fire! Oh, I’m going to love it here!”
Margie chuckled. “Look at you getting all excited. Yeah, the fireplace works. Come on, let me show you the rest of the place.”
“And oh my God, look at the shutters! The windows actually have shutters!” Dior ran over to the window and started flipping the shutters open and shut. “It’s just like in the movies.”
“Uh-huh, just like in the movies. Listen, are you mixed with something? You look like you might have some Chinese in you with them small slanted eyes and that long black hair. Your mother was Asian? Not that it’s none of my business. Not my business at all. But I’m just curious.”
Dior smiled. “No, I’m all black. Both of my parents were light-skinned, too, though.”
“Okay, just asking. It looks good on you, anyway. Now, you wanna see the rest of the apartment? Like I said, I don’t wanna be late for bingo.”
The walk through only lasted another fifteen minutes, but Dior enjoyed every moment. The kitchen was spacious and had all new cabinets. The bathroom, on the other hand, was quaint and old-fashioned, with a large tub that looked as if three people could fit comfortably. And because she had what Margie called the garden apartment, she also had use of the small backyard.
“Now, here’s your keys. This one is for the front door, and this is for the apartment,” Margie said when they were through. “You don’t have a key to the upstairs front door because you’re not going to be using it. I rented out the three upper floors, and the new tenants are going to be moving in soon, but you’re the only one with a private entrance. That’s why you’re paying twelve fifty a month instead of eleven hundred like everyone else. And believe me, that’s still cheap. But that’s enough for now, ’cause I gotta go. And remember, I just live two doors down if you need me.”
Dior waited until her new landlady left, then pulled out her cell phone.
“Auntie Claudia, I’m here! I’m at my new place! And it is sooo beautiful! It’s just like the pictures! The hardwood floors are amazing and the fireplace, Auntie, it’s marble!” Dior exclaimed, rubbing her delicate hands across the mantel. “Oh, and the ceilings, they reach up to the heavens, Auntie, I swear to you!”
Dior walked into the bedroom and opened the closet. She thrust herself inside and leaned her back against the wall. She closed her eyes and smiled. “Auntie, the closets are to die for! They’re huge! And there are quite a few. I can use one just for my pocketbooks!”
“Hard to believe with as many pocketbooks as you have,” Aunt Claudia joked. “I would think you’d need two or three closets.”
“Well,” Dior giggled, “we all have our vices.”
“Honey, I just want to let you know how proud I am of you, landing this new job and moving to a new city on your own. You’re really proving yourself to be quite a young lady.”
Dior smiled. That meant a lot to her. Aunt Claudia had been the guardian of her and her two younger brothers since their parents died in an automobile accident ten years before when she was only sixteen.
“Thanks, Auntie,” Dior said sincerely.
“The only thing is, Dior, I want to remind you that you have to be more responsible about your finances. You spend way too much money on clothes and pocketbooks. I don’t want you getting in over your head, okay?”
Dior sighed. “I won’t, Aunt Claudia. I promise. But listen, I’m going to get off the phone because I want to do some sightseeing while it’s still light out. I love you!”
“I love you, too, baby. Be good now!”
Dior hung up and went into the living room and laid her suitcase down to open it and realized that it was locked. She dug through her duffel looking for the key and then her pocketbook. She couldn’t find it. She began to rack her brain trying to figure out where she had put the key to her suitcase. All of her clothes and shoes were in that bag. All she had in the duffel were pajamas, underclothes, and toiletries. She started to panic thinking about what she would have to wear for the next few days if she didn’t find the key to her luggage.
She snapped her phone open again.
“Auntie Claudia,” Dior said frantically. “I cannot find my key to my suitcase and all of my clothes are in there.”
“Well, did you look in your pocketbook?”
“Yes. It’s not in there. And it’s not in my duffel bag, either.”
“Well, what about your jeans and your coat? Check all of your pockets.”
“I have. I can’t find it anywhere! Auntie, it’s lost. I don’t believe this. I’m going to have to go out and buy some new outfits.”
“Dior,” her aunt all but shouted. “Didn’t we just talk about your spending habits? Girl, just take a bobby pin or something and pick the lock.”
“You’re right,” Dior said quickly. “I’ll do just that. Love you!”
Now, Auntie knows me well enough to know that any excuse I have to buy new clothes is a good one in my book, and come on, no one can deny that this is a very good one, Dior thought as she checked her pocketbook to make sure that she had everything she needed—her credit card, her cash, her cell phone, her keys, and her lip gloss.
The walk to 125th Street only took a few minutes; the shopping took almost two hours. Despite the wintry cold weather, the streets were packed with shoppers and drivers. Dior was enthralled with not only the stores, but the dozens of street vendors who lined the streets hawking their wares. There was eye-catching activity everywhere. On one corner there were two guys break-dancing. On another, a man was playing the saxophone. Dior hadn’t seen a city like it, especially in the dead of winter. Even the advertisements seemed to have life. Big and bold, they appeared as a backdrop, adding their own exciting element to the scene. The streets were packed with herds of people, various kinds of people, from old to young, white to black, short to tall, and everything in between. If you don’t fit in here, you don’t fit in anywhere, Dior thought. And she felt right at home.
She picked up a couple of pairs of jeans and tops from a boutique, but couldn’t find anything she thought suitable for work. She did find a wonderful
