A Kiss of a Different Color

by Bettye Griffin

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  A KISS OF A DIFFERENT COLOR

  by Bettye Griffin

  Copyright © 2011

  by Bettye-Lynn Griffin Underwood

  This eBook edition published by Bunderful Books

  for Kindle

  This book is not available in print.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Bunderful Books

  P.O. Box 580156

  Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin 53158

  www.bunderfulbooks.com

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  A Kiss of a Different Color

  Have You Read These Other Books by Bettye Griffin?

  About the Author

  Excerpt – Say My Name by Angie Daniels

  Excerpt – The Heat of Heat by Bettye Griffin

  Excerpt – A Love of Her Own by Bettye Griffin

  Excerpt – Save The Best For Last by Bettye Griffin

  Dedication

  To all those who have suffered a job loss

  Acknowledgments

  Bernard Underwood, Eva Mae (“Bettye”) Griffin, my favorite people on Earth.

  James G. Griffin, Gordon E. Griffin, and Peter A. Griffin, my favorite people in Heaven.

  Kimberly Rowe-Van Allen, for her editing skills.

  Sean D. Young of Young Creations, for her cover design.

  Fellow authors Angie Daniels and Donna Hill, for helping me spread the word.

  You, for reading this eBook!

  The Almighty, from whom all blessings flow.

  A Kiss of a Different Color

  Chapter 1

  Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, really, really sure?

  Miranda held the pen poised above the paper. Once she signed her name and faxed it back, it was a done deal, and she couldn’t get out of it, not unless she was struck down somehow.

  It occurred to her that she might be hoping for just such a thing to happen…which only brought her back to her initial question.

  Do you really want to uproot yourself like this, go somewhere you’ve never been, where you don’t know anyone…and where it’s very possible that no one will want to know you?

  She lowered her pen to the paper before her, the black ink spilling out and making a little splotch on the white paper. She could go back and forth all afternoon, but in her heart she knew she had no choice. The job market sucked right now. Nine months had passed since she’d been laid off, and she’d been under-employed—working part-time while incurring full-time expenses—for the last five, using more and more of her savings to make ends meet and praying she wouldn’t become ill, for she’d had to give up her health insurance. If this went on much longer she would lose everything and end up having to start all over…and since it was starting to look like she’d have to fend for herself in her old age, financial security took on even greater importance.

  But, still…of all places to move to….

  It wouldn’t be forever, she reminded herself. What difference would it really make if she spent two or three years in a different place? It wasn’t as if she had a spectacular social life here in Racine, Wisconsin. These people wanted to hire her. They were willing to pay her a good salary. Surely this was the best thing for her to do to keep her life on track. It beat either of her options, which at this point were a) moving back home to her parents’, or b) losing every dime she’d put away in her effort to build a solid financial foundation.

  She couldn’t deny this was the best move to make for her finances. But what about her social life? In another year she’d be thirty, and she had no romantic prospects, nor was she likely to develop any where she was going.

  “I don’t care,” she said aloud. She’d have to make the sacrifice, just like her great-grandparents had made sacrifices during the Depression. Times were tough out there.

  She decided she’d procrastinated enough. It was time to put an end to this indecision. Taking a deep breath, she signed her name, accepting the employment offer. M-i-r-a-n-d-a R-h-e-t-t.

  There. She’d done it.

  She’d just accepted the job offer.

  In Bismarck, North Dakota.

  Heaven help her.

  “Bismarck!” Geraldine Rhett exclaimed.

  “North Dakota!” Carlton Rhett provided the rest of the location, delivering it in the same shocked voice.

  Miranda faced her parents calmly. “Yes. And please don’t sound so shocked. From the way you two are reacting, you’d think I was moving to Jupiter.”

  “Miranda, have you really thought about this?” her father asked. “Done research on that place? I mean, North Dakota? Do you have any idea what that environment will be like? You’re likely to be the only black person in the state!”

  “No, Pop. There are…a few African-Americans in the city.”

  He snorted. “‘A few?’” he repeated. “What’s that mean? Five? Ten?”

  “Honey,” her mother said in a cajoling tone Miranda knew well. “It’s so cold there.”

  “It gets cold here, too, Mom,” she pointed out. “This is Racine, not Rio de Janeiro.”

  “I’m sure the winters are a lot colder in North Dakota than they are here. I’ll bet they barely get above zero, much less above freezing. And the summers can be brutal, with triple digit temperatures. It’s a very harsh climate all around.”

  When Miranda appeared unfazed by this—she’d already considered both points—Geraldine wiped her hands on the front of her sweat pants. “I’m calling Travis,” she announced.

  Miranda raised her brows, amused. Was her only sibling, her parents’ firstborn, supposed to get her to change her mind?

  “This is drastic, Miranda,” her father said. “It would be a lot easier if you just gave up your apartment and moved back in here with us. You know you’re always welcome.”

  “That’s real sweet of you, Pop, but it won’t work. I’m twenty-nine years old. I’ve been out of college for seven years. I’ve got to take care of myself. When you were my age you were married to Mom and had both Travis and me to support.”

  “That didn’t mean we didn’t ever need help,” Geraldine said. “We had to go to your grandparents a couple of times when we got in a jam.”

  “Like when you wrecked my Rivvy and we didn’t have a down payment for a new car,” Carlton said to her, a note of long-held resentment creeping into his voice.

  “That road was icy, Carlton. It could have happened to you, if you’d been the only one well enough to go to the store.” Geraldine indignantly placed her hands on her hips, forgetting—at least temporarily—about dialing Travis. “We’ve been over this story dozens of times. Even the kids know it.”

  Miranda began to recite the story she’d heard so often. “Travis, Pop, and me were all sick with colds, and we ran out of cold medicine. Mom went to the store to get some and ended up skidding off the road and into a telephone pole.”

  “It was nearly thirty years ago, and he’s never let me live it down.” Geraldine glared at her husband. “It would have been nice if you’d been more concerned about possibly losing me than having that damn Riviera totaled.”

  “Come on, Geral. You walked away without a scratch.” Carlton shook his head. “And I looooved that Rivvy. That car was fly. Powder blue, sunroof top…”

  Miranda watched, amused, a
s her mother gave her father the evil eye once more as she reached for the phone and punched in Travis’s number. “Travis, thank heavens you answered. We’ve got a family crisis. Your sister has just told us she’s going to take a job in Fargo, North Dakota, of all places.”

  “Bismarck, Geral,” her father corrected.

  “Fargo, Bismarck, what’s the difference? It’s cold and has no black people.”

  Miranda suppressed a smile as Geraldine looked at her with triumph in her eyes, which quickly faded as she heard his response, as Miranda knew it would. “Whattaya mean, ‘you know’?” She glanced Miranda’s way, defeat on her face, and in return Miranda gave her mother the sweetest of smiles.

  “Put him on speakerphone,” Carlton commanded.

  Geraldine poked the speaker button with her index finger, then returned the receiver to its cradle.

  Travis’s voice filled the room. “She told me about it last week.”

  Geraldine practically shrieked. “Why didn’t you tell your father and me about it?”

  “Mom, we’re not two kids tattling on each other anymore. We’re all grown up now, remember?”

  “Well, did you at least try to talk her out of it?” Carlton asked.

  “Sure I did, Pop. I told her she’s crazy, going off somewhere that doesn’t even have a decent radio station.”

  “That’s the least of her troubles,” Geraldine whined. “Who’s going to do your hair, Miranda? Have you thought about that?”

  Miranda reached up to run her fingertips over the chemically-smooth texture of her hair, which she lovingly and patiently tended to while letting it grow to its present shoulder blade-grazing length, with guidance from Reneé, her hairdresser of many years.

  Her mother quickly recognized her Achilles heel and jumped on it with a vengeance. “And what about church?” she pressed. “Have you thought about that? Are you planning on tossing all the religious training we gave you? Or do you plan on converting?”

  Miranda sighed. Her mother was raising valid points. It was true that she hadn’t thought about her hair. “I’m sure that hairdressers in North Dakota are experienced in touching up hair color. There’s not that much difference between that and touching up a relaxer. The concept is identical; they wear gloves and apply to the new growth only.” She made a mental note to buy a stock of about five relaxer kits to bring with her, in case availability was a problem. “As far as the church, does it really make a difference where I worship, as long as they believe in God? Lutherans, Methodists, Presbyterians, Catholics love the Lord as much as Baptists, Mom.”

  Geraldine didn’t give up. “They might love the Lord, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be glad to see you walk into their church.” She let that sink in. “And speaking of cultural differences, do you plan on giving up dating? How many black men do you think are going to be in Fargo?”

  “Bismarck, Geral,” Carlton corrected once more.

  “Whatever. It’s all North Dakota, for heaven’s sake. My point is, about ninety-eight percent of the people there are of European heritage, and the other two percent are probably Native Americans. It’s a paradise for black men with Tiger Woods syndrome.” She paused to let her words sink in. “And you can forget about going down to pick up a plate of fried catfish, potato salad, and greens for dinner. I doubt they have any Southern cuisine restaurants there in South Dakota.”

  Miranda didn’t bother to point out that she was moving to North Dakota.

  Geraldine chuckled. “The food there is probably awful. One of the girls at work is originally from some town out that way. She always complains about this horrible dish her grandmother insists on making for the holidays. Lutfisk, I think they call it. It’s actually toxic, because part of the preparation calls for it to be soaked in lye. She says it’s just awful, but because her grandmother is, like ninety-something years old, no one wants to hurt her feelings, so they all pretend to eat it, then spit it out when Grandma’s back is turned.”

  “Like I used to do with your mother’s nasty mincemeat pie,” Carlton added.

  “I’ll be home for Christmas, Mom,” Miranda assured as her mother gave her father another murderous look. “And I’m sure the restaurants in Bismarck make other dishes aside from that lut—whatever you said.”

  She watched as her parents merely looked at each other. For all their bickering, Miranda knew her parents loved each other deeply and were completely devoted to each other and their family. She also marveled at the way they could communicate without words. One day she hoped to have that same total connection with someone.

  You won’t find it in Bismarck, a little voice inside reminded her.

  The now-familiar weight descended, threatening her spirit and diminishing her optimism.

  “I’m amazed the people even hired you,” Carlton remarked.

  Travis’s laughter came over the speakerphone. “They’re in for the surprise of their life when she shows up. Not only her employer, but her landlord.”

  Someone gasped; Miranda thought it was her mother. “Miranda! You mean neither one of them know you’re black?”

  “I had two interviews, both over the telephone,” she admitted. “They’ve never seen me. And I registered with a reputable real estate management company. I rented my place by mail and phone, too. It’s not like I could afford to go there in person.”

  “Miranda. That’s so dishonest.” She instantly recognized her father’s quiet, resigned, I-raised-you-better-than-that voice, even though she hadn’t heard it since her teens. Even now it gave her that two-bit ‘I disappointed my daddy’ feeling.

  But she knew it didn’t apply here, and she quickly spoke up in her own defense. “There’s nothing dishonest about it. My race isn’t supposed to matter. The fact is that times are tough. Lots of people are out of work. They’re losing their cars, losing their houses. It’s taking all the money I’ve saved just to keep myself going, and I won’t last much longer. Mom…Pop…try to understand. I need an income. I need health insurance. I’m good at what I do, and these people know it. That’s why they hired me. I’m not saying I plan to live in Bismarck for the rest of my life. And believe me, I don’t. But that’s where this job is, and I’m going.”

  Chapter 2

  Miranda knew she must have had a ridiculously dreamy expression on her face as she watched the skating competition, but at least no one was around to see it. The figure skaters moved in such perfect symmetry on the ice. Her lower lip fell open in amazement as the male skater, his female partner dangling from his shoulders, went into a dizzying spin.

  However did they do that? The male skater’s upper body strength must be massive…and his partner had to likely watch every morsel of food she swallowed. He could probably tell if she’d had an extra slice of bread with dinner.

  They moved with such incredible grace. Miranda couldn’t get enough of those slow, dreamy ice dances in which the skaters, many of them romantically involved with each other, looking like beautifully coordinated young people in love.

  Their movements looked so romantic as they moved in unison to the music. She always wanted to be able to skate like that, to put on a pretty outfit with a short skirt and show off legs shaped by years of training.

  She gave her own legs a glance. They were certainly long and undeniably shapely, but would look like sticks next to those of a professional skater. Long sticks. Miranda stood five feet, nine-and-a-half inches, and she’d never seen a figure skater as tall as that. Most of them looked petite.

  Back on the television, the skating couple took their bows while they visibly gasped for air after such a strenuous routine, and then a lone male skater took to the ice. Miranda reached for her remote control. The athletic skating of the men, while admirable, simply didn’t captivate her the way the graceful movements of the couples and women skating solo. She closed her eyes and pretended she was gliding over the ice, making triple and double salchow jumps and landing upright, continuing her routine without interruption. How lucky that she�
�d caught most of this competition, she thought as she flipped through the channels. But then again, what else would she be doing here in Bismarck other than watching TV?

  She’d been in town for three weeks, and so far it wasn’t bad. Before her move she worked with a real estate agent over the phone who found her a large room and private bath with kitchen privileges on the lower level of a raised ranch private home. The woman who owned the house, the agent explained, was looking for a female roommate, preferably one who was young and wouldn’t mind occasionally loud music. Miranda quickly said she was in her twenties, even as she wrinkled her nose at the thought of loud rock music playing at a high decibel. That might be inconvenient, but she wanted that living space. The rent included cable and utilities, and it cost less than the rent on an apartment, plus the numerous pictures on the website showed it was large enough for her bedroom and living room furniture. Technically it was in the basement, but it was what was called a look-out basement, meaning there was no exit door, but the windows were above the ground, so she wouldn’t feel like she was living in a cave.