Passin'

by Karen E. Quinones Miller

  No, because I wanted to spend my summers having fun with my friends at home, not working. Not that she could tell Mrs. Randolph that. Shanika sat up straighter in her chair— Joseph had always told her when she felt like sagging, she should straighten up all the more. “Well, no. But I did very well in my PR classes. In fact, I pulled a perfect 4.0 in my major. And I have letters of recommendations from three of my PR professors.”

  Mrs. Randolph put her cup down on the desk. “But why didn’t you do any internships? Didn’t any of your professors tell you how important it is to have internships to land a job upon graduation?”

  Shanika took a deep breath. “Well, yes, but you see my mother’s been ill, and I already felt guilty going away to college, although I did so at her insistence. So every summer I rushed home to be with her.” She lowered her eyes, hoping Mrs. Randolph would think she was overcome with emotion, when in reality she was sending up a quick prayer to God to forgive her lie. But after all, she thought, it was Mama who helped me come up with the fib.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Randolph said hurriedly. “How’s your mother doing now?”

  “She’s much better now, thank goodness. We’re all very thankful,” Shanika said solemnly.

  Mrs. Randolph paused for a moment before speaking again. “Well, I do want to put this delicately, but, well, would you really feel comfortable moving to New York for a job and being so far from your mother?”

  Shanika blinked quickly. She and Mama hadn’t anticipated that question. “Well, you know she’s been in remission for a while now, and the doctors are very hopeful. In fact, I spoke to her physician before I even applied here . . . just to make sure . . . and he assured me that he thought she’d be fine.”

  “Oh well, fine then,” Mrs. Randolph said reassuringly. “I didn’t want to pry. And please excuse me if I was too personal.”

  “Not at all,” Shanika said demurely.

  “And let me also say that the position you’re being considered for is rather like a trainee, so your inexperience shouldn’t be too much of a hindrance. You’d be working as an assistant to one of our associates, probably at least for a year or so, and then you’d be evaluated to see how you’ve done. And if your work is satisfactory you’d be considered for a promotion. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Shanika said excitedly. “And you’ll find I’m not only a quick learner, but I’m very motivated, I’m a team player, and—”

  “—and you’re very enthusiastic,” Mrs. Randolph said with a large smile. “I tell you what, why don’t we go see if Mr. Kadinsky is free to speak to you now.”

  Shanika dutifully followed her out of her office and down a corridor past another set of offices.

  “Oh, Jeff,” Mrs. Randolph said to a middle-aged copper-complected man in a gray suit who was about to pass them. “This is the young lady who’s interviewing for the trainee position.”

  The man looked at Shanika in surprise, then looked at Mrs. Randolph again. “Really? I thought—” he started, then cleared his throat and turned back to Shanika.

  “Shanika, this is Jeff Samuels, one of our vice presidents. Jeff,” Mrs. Randolph continued pointedly, “this is Shanika Jenkins. I believe you received the memo saying she was coming in today?”

  “Yes, of course. My mistake.” Mr. Samuels extended his hand. “Shanika Jenkins, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Shanika shook his hand while thinking, This guy is going to be trouble.

  “Shanika is a recent graduate of Delaware State University,” Mrs. Randolph said in a tone that implied “pay attention.”

  “She just flew in from Detroit,” Mrs. Randolph added.

  “Delaware State? Really?” he asked in a preoccupied voice.

  Oh God, how stupid is this guy? She’s already said my name twice, told him I’m from Detroit, and let him know I graduated from an HBCU. Can’t he see that she’s trying to tell him I’m as black as he is? The freaking idiot.

  “I always think it’s so wonderful when our young people choose to go to one of the Historically Black Colleges and Universities. Don’t you, Jeff?”

  “Yes, of course. Very commendable.” He looked at his watch and then cleared his throat. “Well, I’m running late for the board meeting. Nice to meet you, Miss Jenkins. I hope you enjoy your trip.” And with that he hurried down the hall.

  Mrs. Randolph frowned inwardly, though she tried to keep a pleasant smile on her face for Shanika’s sake. Either that idiot Jeff still didn’t get the fact that Shanika was black or he had already decided she wasn’t going to pass muster because of her complexion. She may not have been what he expected, but the bottom line was she was black, and wasn’t that what was supposed to count? It was a damn shame how color-struck some black folks could be—either discriminating because someone was too dark, or, in Jeff’s case, because someone was too light. Of course she could see his point, but Shanika should be given the same chance as anyone else, regardless of her complexion. Besides, in just the few minutes since she’d met Shanika, she had decided she really liked the young woman. And she was going to make sure she was hired, Jeff Samuels or no Jeff Samuels.

  Shanika glanced over at Mrs. Randolph and noticed the disapproving look she bestowed on the man’s back. Okay, she’s not pleased with how that went. What am I missing here?

  Chapter Four

  She nailed it. She was pretty sure of that. Mr. Kadinsky was impressed by her quick wit, and charmed by her personality—and Mrs. Randolph had made it a point to let her know that the position didn’t really require experience—so she was pretty sure the job was hers. Heck, Mr. Kadinsky had even walked her to the door himself, and asked when she’d be available to start. Yes, she had made quite an impression. So why was there this little nagging thought that something was wrong? And the something, she was pretty sure, was Jeff Samuels. She hadn’t seen him again that morning, but . . . Well, as impressed as Mr. Kadinsky had seemed, he hadn’t come out and offered her the job. Maybe they had to hold a conference or meeting about her to make the final decision. And maybe that Jeff Samuels guy was going to gum up the works. But what the hell had she ever done to him?

  She tried to push the troublesome doubt from her mind. After all, Jeff Samuels may have been a vice president of Paxon & Green, but he was vice president of accounting. Why would he have anything to do with hiring? No, this job was hers. It was in the bag. Claim it, her mother had always told her. When you really want something, and you know you deserve

  it, just claim it. The Creator is always listening. She peered up at the sky. God, Allah, Jehovah, Olofi, Zeus, or whatever, I’m claiming this job. It’s mine.

  Her stomach grumbled as she walked down Madison Avenue toward her hotel, reminding her that it was already past noon and she hadn’t eaten since shortly after waking up at six. She mentally counted the money in her purse. She should have about eighty-three dollars left. If she spent seven on lunch, and twenty on dinner, that should still be more than enough to pay for a cab to Amtrak in the morning when her train was due to pull out, and also buy a couple of sandwiches and sodas to tide her over on the long trip home. At least she hoped so.

  She paused to take a quick look around for someplace where she could stop and get something cheap to eat. As luck would have it, she was right in front of a sidewalk deli.

  “Table for one?” the black-leotarded hostess asked as she pulled a menu from the side of the podium where she stood. “Would you like to sit inside or outside?” she asked before Shanika could answer her first question.

  “Your waiter’s name is Ivan and he’ll be with you in a minute,” the waitress said after she seated Shanika at a small round table on the sidewalk.

  “Thanks,” Shanika said with a small nod. She smoothed the white cloth napkin over her lap and picked up the menu, and then almost panicked. How the hell could they get away with charging $19.50 for a pastrami sandwich? She could get a T-bone steak platter for that back in Detroit. There was no way she wa
s going to blow that much money on a lousy sandwich. She looked around at the other tables. None of the people who were sitting there laughing and talking looked rich, but they also didn’t look as if they had been fazed by the prices. In fact, there were a couple of people who had put their cigarettes out in their only half-finished meals. Tacky and nasty, but also a statement. They obviously had money to burn. And she sure as hell didn’t.

  “And how are you today, pretty lady?” a voice said, interrupting the formulation of her escape plan. Ivan poured her a glass of water from the steel pitcher he held in one hand. “Would you like me to read you the specials?”

  “No, actually, I just realized I’m really not hungry,” Shanika said quickly. She looked at her watch. “Oh, my goodness, look at the time. I’m really late for an appointment. I’m sorry to have troubled you.” She refolded her napkin and replaced it on the table. She flashed a nervous smile at the waiter, who in turn glared at her and sauntered off with a swish of his hips. Her smile froze and her face reddened, and she wanted to yell after him, “Well, fuck you, too, you little faggot,” but she didn’t want to make a scene. People were already looking as it was.

  She brushed a stray hair from her face, took a deep breath to steady herself, and then pushed her chair back as she prepared to get up. It was then that the leg of the chair struck something, forcing her to look down. A BlackBerry phone— and a pearl white one at that. She bent down and picked it up, then cleared her throat to call Ivan back over so she could give it to him, but he just shot her an uncaring look and went to check on another table.

  Well, to hell with him, Shanika thought as she slipped the gadget into her pocketbook and walked out the café with her head held high. I tried to do the right thing, but, shit, now I’m keeping this bad boy for myself.

  “How much are your sausages?” she asked a food vendor on the corner two blocks away from the café.

  “A dollar seventy-five,” came the reply. “A dollar twenty-five for a frank.”

  Shanika’s brow furrowed. “For a what?”

  “A frankfurter. A dollar twenty-five.” The man noticed the still-puzzled look on Shanika’s face and smiled. “A hot dog, miss. We call them frankfurters, or franks, here in New York,” he explained. “You must be from out of town.”

  “Yeah. Come to think of it, I’ve heard them called that before,” Shanika lied. “I just forgot. I’ll take a frank and a grape pop.”

  “A grape soda,” the vendor corrected her with a big grin.

  “Yeah, that.” Shanika didn’t bother to hide her smile. Okay, she wasn’t going to be able to pull off the seasoned traveler bit.

  “Okay, then, what do ya want on your frank?”

  “Do you have chili and cheese?”

  The vendor looked at her and shook his head. “In New York we mostly just put mustard, onions, and sauerkraut on franks. Some people put ketchup, but no true New Yorker would have it.”

  Shanika grinned. “Okay, mustard, onions, and sauerkraut it is. Like they say, when in Rome . . .”

  “There’s the spirit!” the man said. Just a few seconds later he handed her a topping-laden frankfurter. “And since this is your first dirty frank, it’s on the house.”

  “Dirty frank?”

  “It’s what we call the franks you buy on the street from vendors. Eat it and you’ll be a bona fide New Yorker. Now, the grape soda you’ll have to pay for, since you’ve had one, even if you didn’t know what to call it. That’ll be a dollar.”

  Shanika giggled and handed him a single. “Thanks a bunch!” she said as she walked away. She took a bite of the frank, then used the napkin he’d given her to wipe the mustard and the onions off her mouth. “Mmm. Now this is good,” she said out loud to no one. Her disposition improved steadily as she strolled down the avenue, peering into store windows. The clothing in the boutiques looked exquisite, but none of the outfits had price tags on them. As a lark she went into one.

  “Excuse me, how much is the red silk blouse in the window?” she asked the clerk who stepped up to greet her.

  “Actually, it’s not silk, but it is a fine polyester blend. And it’s on sale for one hundred twenty-five dollars,” the woman told her. “Would you like to see it in your size?”

  “You’re kidding! One hundred and change and it’s not even silk?”

  The clerk gave her an odd look. “Yes. It normally goes for one ninety-five, but as I said it’s on sale.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks, but no thanks,” Shanika said. “There’s no way I’m spending that much money on polyester.”

  “A fine polyester blend,” the clerk reminded her in a prim voice.

  “Uh-huh,” Shanika answered. “A fine polyester blend.”

  The woman’s already thin lips thinned even farther, and she looked as if she were going to rebuke Shanika, but she suddenly burst out laughing and motioned Shanika closer to her and out of the earshot of the other clerks who were looking on with surprised expressions.

  “Yes, a fine polyester blend,” the clerk said as she struggled to regain control. “In fact, the finest.”

  “Girl, your New York prices aren’t to be believed! How do you people afford this stuff?”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Detroit.”

  The clerk suddenly stopped chuckling. “What?” She looked Shanika up and down. “That’s not exactly the cheapest city in the world, you know. In fact, we have two, maybe three stores out there and the prices can’t be that different.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re a lot different in the stores I shop in back home.”

  The clerk shrugged. “Well, what can I say? You can find cheaper clothes in New York, too. But if you want fine clothes, you’re going to have to spend fine money. That’s the way of the world, honey, especially the world of Madison Avenue boutiques.”

  Definitely a world I want in, Shanika thought later as she lay across the bed in her hotel room. A world I’ll be in if I get this job. Scratch that. When I get this job. I’m claiming it.

  She picked up the remote from the nightstand and clicked on the television. Friends was on—the episode where Monica and Rachel are battling Joey and Chandler to get their apartment back.

  “Let’s see,” Shanika said as she grabbed the complimentary hotel pen and notepad. “They said the position pays thirty-two thousand to start. I know rents are high here, but if I shop around, I should be able to find a place for fifteen hundred a month. Or maybe I’ll get a roommate, and get a really nice place for four thousand a month. Split two ways, I’ll be spending twenty-four thousand on rent, which’ll leave me with eight thousand for living expenses. I can buy some fly clothes with that. Especially if I bring my lunch to work and have guys take me out to dinner every night to cut down on grocery bills.”

  Shanika pushed the notepad aside and rolled over on the bed, letting her head loll over the side. “I can just see me now, hanging out every weekend at the clubs, partying with Usher and 50 Cent. Ooh, maybe I’ll even get invited out to one of P. Diddy’s parties! They say he gives the hottest in town. Yeah, I’m gonna be all up in that mug. I’m going to freaking own New York by the time I’m through.”

  Her monologue was interrupted by the ringing telephone.

  “Hello? . . . Hey, Mama! . . . Ooh yeah, I think it went real well. I think I got the job, Mama! . . . They said they’d call me in a few days to let me know . . . Oh, Mama, isn’t it exciting? . . . Oh, my God, yeah! I love New York . . . No, I haven’t gotten out to see a lot, but what I’ve seen I love. I’m going to fit right in here . . . and as soon as I get settled, I’m going to send for you and Papa to come visit with me for a while . . . It doesn’t have to be a long while, Mama, but I know you’re gonna wanna come and see my new place . . . I’m not counting my chickens before they hatch, Mama. I can just feel it. They’re going to offer me the job . . . How much you wanna bet? . . . Chicken! . . . And guess what? They actually pay moving expenses! . . . I know! Isn’t that great? . . . Oh, I don’t know, I
think my train gets in at like midnight. But, Mama, it’s such a long train ride. Can’t I ask Joe if he’ll pay for me to take a plane? . . . Okay, okay, Mama. I just don’t see what the harm is in asking . . . No, Mama, I’m not going to misplace my train ticket on purpose . . . I promise . . . Mama, I have it right here!” Shanika sighed and reached for her purse. “It says I get in at midnight, just like I said.” As she tossed her purse back on the bed, the white cell phone tumbled out. She picked it up and started scrolling through the numbers in the address book as she continued to talk. “Are you and Papa going to pick me up from the station? . . . Mama, please try. Or at least tell Joe to come get me. I don’t want to haul my stuff on the bus. I already—” Shanika gasped and almost dropped the telephone. “Mama,” she said urgently, “let me call you right back. I’ve got to go to the bathroom. Yeah, I promise I will. No, Mama, please, I can talk to Papa when I call back. Love ya.”

  She hung up quickly and looked intently at the cell phone. Paris? Could it be Paris Hilton’s number she was looking at listed in the address directory? She scrolled up in the directory and came across the name Nicky. Paris’s sister Nicky Hilton? Or did Nicole Richie’s friends maybe call her Nicky? She scrolled farther up. Lindsay. As in, perhaps, Lindsay Lohan? It couldn’t be. It must be another Paris, another Nicky, and another Lindsay. There had to be hundreds of all three names in people’s cell phones. She scrolled back down to the number listed for Paris. There’s one way to find out, she thought as she fingered the send button. Should she? She looked around the hotel room as if expecting someone to tell her to put the damn thing down and stop acting stupid, then closed her eyes, hit the send button and put the BlackBerry to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  Shanika gasped out loud, then quickly put her hand over the mouth. That was definitely Paris Hilton’s voice on the other end of the phone!

  “Hello,” the voice said again. “Is anyone there? Oh, I’m just kidding. Fooled you, though, didn’t I? That’s hot. I’m not available, but leave a message and we’ll get back to you. If we get around to it. Bye-bye, now.” Beep.