the rest of the money in her house and even if she did, she was not leaving her bags with a complete stranger. She tugged on the bags to try to get the driver to release them and instead he tugged back. The next thing Dior knew, she was having a tug-of-war with the taxi driver.
“Let go of my bags! What is wrong with you?” Dior shouted.
“What is wrong with me?” the driver shouted back. “What is wrong with you? You’re the one trying to stiff me for the fare!”
Cars riding down the street were slowing up as the people inside them were trying to see what was going on. Neighbors started to come to their doors. Everybody was wondering what the fuss was about. Dior was embarrassed and wanted so badly to diffuse the scene, but she’d be damned if she was letting go of her thousands of dollars in merchandise over a petty fourteen dollars.
“Yo, what’s the problem, B?” the smarmy guy from the day before said as he approached them.
The driver looked at the guy and maintained his grip on Dior’s bags.
“This lady owes me sixteen dollars and she’s trying to give me two and run. I’m not having that,” the taxi driver said.
“I said I would get the rest of the money out of my house!” Dior rebutted.
“Well, if that’s true, then why won’t you leave your bags out here until you get back?”
Dior was so mad she could have exploded. “Do you know how much I paid for this stuff?”
The taxi driver responded sarcastically, “Let me guess, too much that you can’t pay for your cab?”
“Oh my God, how dare you insult me like that!” she snapped at him.
The guy looked at Dior and at the driver. He chuckled at the two of them, then pulled three crumpled five-dollar bills from his pocket. He handed the money to the driver, who finally let go of Dior’s bags but not before he sneered at her. The driver got in his cab and angrily took off.
“Thank you. I will give you the money back,” Dior told the guy as she walked toward her door.
The guy walked beside her. “We haven’t been formally introduced, but my name’s Jerome. I live right up the street, so we’re neighbors.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jerome,” Dior said as she put her key in the door.
“Do you know that I have a fetish for small, light-skinned women with Chinese eyes and straight black hair and foreign accents?” he asked while flashing his yellow toothy grin. “It’s a coincidence that you fit that description, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. I’m flattered. Listen, how about you come by in two weeks and get the money I owe you?” Dior suggested, trying to brush Jerome off.
“I’ll do you one better,” Jerome began. “How about you give me your number and we call it even?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I can pay you the money back. It’s just that I don’t have any cash on me at the moment.”
“Oh, so I can’t have your number?”
Dior shook her head no, told Jerome good-bye, and attempted to close her door.
Jerome put his hand up on the door, keeping it open.
“Well, you’re going to have to give me the money now. I’ll stand right here and wait,” he said.
Dior was irritated beyond words. She had already gone through a mess with the cabdriver and now Jerome was pestering her with nonsense. She couldn’t believe how he had gone from a charming gentleman to an ignorant jerk in seconds. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she was in his debt, so she played nice.
“I can’t give you a number that I don’t have,” she explained. “I just moved in, remember?”
“Oh, well, let’s try this,” Jerome said. “I’ll leave you alone if you promise to give me your number when you get a phone or the money when you get the cash, whichever one comes first.”
“Deal,” Dior agreed. Anything to get you off my doorstep, she thought.
The minute Jerome walked away and Dior retreated to her air mattress in relief, her doorbell rang. Annoyed, she got up and walked to the door to see who it was and what they wanted. It was Margie, standing with one hand on her hip and the other bringing a cigarette to her mouth. Dior opened the door and forced a smile. Before she could say hello, Margie started talking.
“Hey. Listen, I just thought I’d tell you a few things that will help you out in the future. Number one, if you can buy Gucci, but can’t afford a cab ride, walk or take the bus. Number two, I warned you about Jerome yesterday. Give him more than a minute of your time and he’ll be at your door every day. And number three, Margie doesn’t play when it comes to collecting rent, so you better not think about trying to get over on me like you did that cabbie. Okay?”
“Okay,” Dior said wearily before Margie cued her to close the door.
Exhausted and confused about how she had overspent, Dior went back in her bedroom and plopped down on the floor. Her shopping bags were scattered about before her, but she didn’t even have the desire to go through them and try on all her new stuff like she normally would. Not even her new pocketbook made her feel better about what had just happened.
The sun burst through the windowpane, disturbing Dior’s sleep. Squinting, she stretched her arms above her head and let out a yawn. She felt around on the floor for her cell phone and picked it up. Despite the bright sunrays, she was able to make out the time. It was 7:15. She couldn’t believe that she had woken so early on her first weekday off in months. She lifted the quilt off her and stood up from the air mattress.
She went into the kitchen and grabbed the half-drunk twenty-ounce bottle of orange juice that she had bought the day before in the airport. She finished it off and placed the empty bottle on the counter. Maybe I should have bought a trash can instead of that Gucci bag, she thought.
She grabbed her laptop computer and set it up on the kitchen counter. Since she was up so early she decided to spend some time on the Internet. While she only had that hundred dollars on her Visa, she still had her American Express card. She hated using it, because the balance had to be paid in full every month, but she did need something to sit on, after all. Besides, by the time the bill came in she’d have received her first paycheck, so everything would be all right. She found a quaint leather sectional that would go perfect in her living room. She also ordered a glass coffee table and two leather chairs to complete the modern look she was going for. For her bedroom, she came across a low-to-the-ground bed and the dresser and nightstands to match. It was all black/brown wood and sleek. She couldn’t wait for it to be delivered.
After making her purchases and checking her e-mail, she Googled nightspots in New York to see which Harlem club she should check out that weekend. A spot called MoBay Uptown seemed interesting, she decided. It was right on 125th Street and had jazz on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Usually she liked going to dance clubs, but she’d always heard that the jazz spots in Harlem were something else, and this was her chance to find out firsthand. Besides, it probably wasn’t as expensive as the downtown clubs, and she was going to be cash poor for a while.
She scrolled down the page
