This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actualevents, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Karen E. Quinones Miller
Reading Group Guide copyright © 2008 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any formor by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Grand Central Publishing
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
First eBook Edition: February 2008
Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-446-51161-2
Contents
Frontsales
Also by Karen E. Quinones Miller
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Discussion Questions
Author’s Recommended Reading List
Acknowledgments
About the Author
RAVES FOR THE NOVELS OF KAREN E. QUINONES MILLER
PASSIN’
“Living a lie has never been so fascinating! Ms. Miller is sure to receive top honors for her work.”
—Heather Elitou, Infinite MagaZine, www. infinitemag.net
“A book that is long overdue and bound to leave readers wanting more.”
—Miasha, Essence bestselling author of Mommy’s Angel, Sistah for Sale, and Never Enough: No Secret’s Safe
“An engaging read that brings the age-old issues of race, color, and accepting who you are to light.”
—Daaimah S. Poole, Essence bestselling author of All I Want Is Everything
SATIN NIGHTS
“Don’t miss.”
—USA Today
“A silky-smooth tale filled with drama, humor, and sensuality.”
—Urban-Reviews.com
“Blending themes of friendship and romantic angst with tough, independent female characters, Satin Nights captures the edginess of urban grit and celebrates the strength of sisterhood.”
—Seattle Skanner
“[Miller] is the Woody Allen for a black New York. If you know Manhattan, you’ll immediately feel at home with the author’s uncanny sense of place, and if you’re not familiar, you will be after taking in Miller’s vivid descriptions . . . You’ll almost hear the trains roar into the 145th Street stop.”
—Birmingham Times (Alabama)
SATIN DOLL
“Gritty, haunting, and hypnotic . . . powerful and provocative . . . Will keep you on the edge of your seat for days to come.”
—Essence
“In addition to its fast pace, drama, sizzling sex, and domestic fi reworks, Satin Doll raises deeper questions about class issues.”
—Virginian-Pilot
“Energetic, fast-paced, and provides intriguing action.”
—Black Issues Book Review
“A real page-turner . . . Karen Quinones Miller navigates this dilem ma of two worlds with skill and passion.”
—Albany Times Union
“A literary asset; an inspirational, gutsy story with a tough and endearing main character.”
—Philadelphia Tribune
“Marvelous . . . A skillful blend of romance, violence, and family bonding.”
—Booklist
IDA B.
“A spunky, speedy read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Miller has crafted yet another realistic, poignant, and gut-wrenching tale about the trueness of life on the streets of Harlem. She continues her honest, no-holds-barred style of presentation, where she shares all the ups and downs of life in what some would say is the lower echelon of society: where unemployment is high, hustling is a way of life, and government assistance is a reality.”
—Brenda M. Lisbon, reviewer for RAWSISTAZ Book Club
USING WHAT YOU GOT
“You couldn’t ask for a more flowing, fast, or satisfying summertime read.”
—USA Today
I’M TELLING
“An urban fairy tale, a rollicking and robust tale of incest and love, sister and mother bonds, career success, and the lure of the streets . . . a fast read with lively and likable characters. The Freeman women are hot-blooded in every way.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
“From the first page, the reader will be pulled in and never let go. This story is an action-packed emotional ride. There are no lulls in this book, so get comfortable because you will read it all in one sitting. The characters jump off the page because of rich dialogue and pertinent flashbacks . . . a compelling story about facing the truth and forgiving oneself.”
—Romance in Color
Also by Karen E. Quinones Miller
Satin Doll
I’m Telling
Using What You Got
Ida B. (Uptown Dreams)
Satin Nights
Maferefun Olodumare
Maferefun Egun
Maferefun Oshun
Maferefun gbogbo Orisha
I lovingly dedicate this book to the memory of my parents, Marjorie Bayne Quinones and Jose Quinones
And also to my dear friend, Mayme Johnson
Prologue
1984
Didn’t I tell you, Mama? Her skin is so thin and light you can see her little blue veins. I’m telling you, she’s gonna have skin as white as Meryl Streep’s. And look at that blond hair. That ain’t no hair that’s going to be napping up!”
The woman’s eyes danced as she spoke, her hands softly clapping in delight as she looked at her newborn niece greedily suckling. God had answered her prayers, and the prayers of her mother who were on their knees figuratively, during the nine months of her sister-in-law’s pregnancy.
“Ain’t that the truth, Evelyn! And her eyes,” Cecilia said, every bit the proud grandmother as she hovered over mother and child. “You know, chile, I told Peter when he first started talking about marrying Rina, I said, ‘Well, her skin might be a little too dark for my taste, but at least she ain’t no ink spot. And if even only one your kids get them blue eyes Rina’s grandmother had, it’ll all be worth it.’ Their first child didn’t get ’em, but they lucked up with this one. Oh, they really lucked up with this one.”
Rina didn’t bother to even fake a smile for her mother-in-law and sister-in-law, since they didn’t bother to acknowledge her but instead focused all of their attention on the two-d
ay-old baby at her breast. She wasn’t surprised or even hurt— her relationship with her in-laws had always been, at best, strained. Truth be told, the relationship was horrible. Mother Jenkins had never forgiven her for marrying precious little Peter, the matriarch’s youngest son. The Jenkins were all light-skinned—in fact, what they called light-bright and damn near white—and made it a point of marrying people with matching complexions. Peter, who was the color of ash wood and with thick, curly hair, was expected to bring home a woman in keeping with that Jenkins tradition. Instead, he brought home Rina. The coldness in Cecilia’s eyes were even chillier than her voice when she was introduced to her prospective daughter-in-law. After twenty years of marriage, there’d not been a thaw, even after the birth of Cecilia’s one and only grandchild. Joseph was a beautiful child, but the copper tint at the top of his ears indicated from day one that his complexion would be lighter than Rina’s, but darker than Peter’s. And that, to Cecilia, was unacceptable.
“Yes sir, we got a good-looking baby here,” Cecilia said with a satisfied smile. “A real good-looking child. Don’t you wish your child came out like this, Evelyn? I thought for sure you was gonna have a good-looking one as fair as you and your husband is, but your boy came out looking like a tar baby, God bless his soul.”
“Now, Mama, Booby’s a good-looking child in his own right,” Evelyn started.
“Of course he is. Just dark as sin,” Cecilia said abruptly. “That’s not his fault, though, God bless him.”
Rina tenderly lifted her newborn child to her shoulder and began gently rubbing her back. She’d been shocked and terrifi ed when she found out that she was pregnant. She was forty-eight and thought her childbearing years were over. Joseph was already thirteen, and she wasn’t sure she had the patience and strength to go through diapering, potty training, and all of that again. But looking at the baby, it all seemed so worth it. There was no doubt about it, this was a beautiful baby. Not because of her complexion, or hair or her eyes, but there was something about her features that was just striking. Delicate, but striking.
Cecilia pursed her thin lips, then said sharply, “Careful, Rina, can’t you see that sweet child is fragile?” She reached her spindly sixty-nine-year-old liver-spotted hands out toward her daughter-in-law. “Gimme that baby. I’ll burp her for you.”
“I think I know how to burp a child, Mother Jenkins,” Rina said with a deep sigh. “Like you said, I’ve already had one child. I’ve had practice.”
“But Joseph wasn’t as delicate as this one,” Cecilia answered, her arms still stretched out, her manicured fingers wiggling in eager anticipation.
“Why? Because this one’s skin is lighter?” Rina said softly as she switched the baby to the shoulder farthest away from Cecilia. “Because she’s the one born with blue eyes and blond hair?”
Cecilia slowly pulled her arms back to her sides and fixed a stony glare at the younger woman who had the audacity to challenge her. “How dare you, Rina,” she said in a voice as stony cold as her dark brown eyes. “You know I love my grandchildren no matter what color they are.” She turned to Evelyn. “Don’t I love Booby? Dark as he is? And I love Joseph, too. I don’t show any favoritism.”
Rina ignored her, choosing instead to kiss and coo at the baby, who had just oozed a bit of breast milk from her mouth. She then put the baby on her stomach and pushed the black button on the side of the steel hospital bed to bring it to a reclining position and closed her eyes.
“Mama,” Evelyn said in her irritatingly shrill voice, “come sit down. Rina’s just tired, is all. She wasn’t trying to insult you. Was you, Rina?”
Rina wearily opened her eyes and looked up at the clock on the wall. Two-fifteen. Thank God the afternoon visiting hours would be over in just fifteen more minutes. She carefully picked up the now sleeping baby and lay her across her chest and began softly humming a lullaby.
“So, Rina,” Evelyn said, her always nervous hands fluttering in her lap, “have you and Peter decided on the name for your beautiful little girl? It’s bad luck not to have a name by the third day born, you know.”
Cecilia sat up straight in her chair and patted her tightly wound bun of bluish gray hair as if to make sure it was in place. “I’ve already talked to Peter and we’ve decided to name her Victoria, after her great-grandmother,” she said in her no-nonsense voice before Rina could answer Evelyn. “She was the most beautiful and most well-respected woman in Beesville, Mississippi.” She paused and looked at Rina meaningfully. “Carrying her great-grandmother’s name will always remind her of what a great family she’s come from—on her father’s side. Something to aspire to.”
“Not like my family, right?” Rina said wearily.
Evelyn’s eyes darted from her mother to Rina and back, before she cleared her throat. “Now, Rina, Mama wasn’t trying to say that—”
“It’s not our fault that your family is from the wrong side of the tracks,” Cecilia interrupted.
“Mother Jenkins, it’s interesting how you seem to forget you lived right next door,” Rina snapped.
“But we didn’t start out there like your family did, a dirt-poor bunch of low-life good-for-nothings,” Cecilia said, her lips curling into a gleeful smirk. “Our family had money and property until—”
“Until white folks strung up your father like a piece of ham and burnt and stole everything you had, right?” Rina laughed softly. “And then you ended up on Chewbacca Road right along with us dirt-poor low-life good-for-nothings.”
“Now, Rina, what Mama meant was—”
“You think a lynching’s a laughing matter, do ya, missy?” Cecilia broke in with a hoarse voice. Her eyes squinted to the point of almost disappearing as she leaned forward in her chair. “You think that me, a five-year-old child, seeing my father swinging from a tree is funny?”
“No,” Rina said in a cold voice. “But what I do find so hilarious is that same five-year-old child growing up to worship white folks and trying her best to be just like them. Even hating African-Americans as much as them. Calling them the niggas while referring to herself as colored.” Rina snorted with disgust. “I don’t know how you and your high-yaller clan missed the word, Mother Jenkins, but black is beautiful. And black comes in all shades. And this baby mighta been born with blond hair and blue eyes like my grandmother, but she’s still an African-American. Not a nigger and not colored, but African-American.”
Cecilia jumped up from the chair and quickly strode toward the hospital room door, her back straight and her nose in the air. “Come on, Evelyn. It’s time for us to leave. Peter’s low-life darkie wife has obviously lost her mind, so there ain’t no use in us staying and listening to her hateful rambling.”
“Coming, Mama,” Evelyn said, quickly rising and giving Rina an apologetic glance before hurrying after her mother.
The two women departed so quickly they almost bumped into a nurse entering the room.
“They seem to be in a rush, don’t they?” the nurse said as she walked over to Rina’s bedside. “Aw, look at her sleeping like a little angel. Do you want me to take her back to the nursery so you can get some rest?”
“No, I’m fine,” Rina said while softly tracing her fingers over the child’s face. She was beautiful, so beautiful it almost took her breath away. So beautiful that it made almost six months of morning sickness and twenty-four hours of labor worth the trouble. But there would be trouble ahead, Rina knew. Cecilia and Evelyn, only to a slightly lesser degree, would do their best to ruin her baby. Make her feel the same way they did about her African heritage. Make her feel that she was better than others of her race because of her coloring. It was up to her to put a stop to it, and to do it soon, before their poisoning could take hold.
“I haven’t seen your husband today,” the nurse said while tidying up the room. “Guess he had to work? Well, I suppose he’ll make the evening visiting hours.”
Rina said nothing. Chances are Peter was off getting drunk, using the birth of his newbor
n baby as an excuse for another binge. Better for her to think that than to imagine him laying up in another woman’s bed while she was laid up in the hospital. Twenty years of marriage and Peter still hadn’t settled down. But she loved him. It wasn’t his fault that he was so handsome that women just threw themselves at him. If only he could be a little stronger.
“Maybe he’ll bring that son of yours. Most polite teenager I’ve ever seen. What is he? Like sixteen? What does he think of having a little sister?”
Rina smiled. “Actually, he’s only thirteen, and he’s thrilled to death to have a sister.”
“Thirteen? That big boy? Oh my, he’s got to be six feet tall!” the nurse exclaimed. She poured Rina a fresh glass of water. “But then both you and your husband are on the tall side. Wonder how big this pretty baby’s going to get.”
Rina looked up at the nurse. “Miss Jeffries, will you let whoever it is that needs to know that I’ve finally decided on a name for the baby?”
“Oh, good. What is it?”
Rina paused. Peter was going to have a fit, and his mother would likely have a stroke, but . . .
“Shanika,” Rina finally answered with a wide smile. “S-HA-N-I-K-A. My little angel’s name is Shanika.”
Chapter One
May 2007
The car never breaks down unless there’s somewhere you really need to go. The washing machine never breaks down unless the laundry is piled to the ceiling. And the air conditioner never breaks down unless it’s the hottest day of the year.
It was 105 degrees that dismal day in the Motor City, the warmest temperature recorded for May.
Twenty-three-year-old Shanika sat on the wooden steps of the decrepit frame house and fanned herself with the folded copy of the Detroit Free Press. She had thought the red halter top and cutoff jeans she put on that morning were a good idea considering the heat, but they gave her no protection from the sun’s vicious rays, which caused both to stick to her skin. Maybe, she thought, she should go change into a sundress— and maybe even lose her underwear while she was at it. She looked up at her mother who inexplicably seemed content and cool sitting on the porch sewing a hem in an old pair of gray work pants.
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