Page 51 of Pride and Protest
Dorsey tried to sound casual. “I’m going to ask her to dance.” He let the words hang.
His sister froze and caught his eye in the mirror.
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not joking. I’m going to ask someone to dance in public in front of everyone.”
“Datu, you’re going to try to danceandmake conversation?” Her incredulous look was way over the top.
“Gigi, don’t turn this into a big deal, I’m nervous enough.”
“You’returning it into a big deal, not me. Does she know about the dancing thing?”
“Of course not. Why would I tell her about Camp Sunshine?”
“You said you two talk every day.”
“Not about that,” he said, closing the Tiffany box over the book.
Camp Sunshine was a sleepaway camp they’d gone to every summer during their early adolescence. In the cooling last days of summer, the camp held a dance. Thirteen-year-old Dorsey had finally set his mind on asking a girl to dance. Everything went well until he was pressed a little too tightly against Katani Sanders. After they separated, he had a tent in his pants for the whole camp to see. To add insult to injury, her heavy diamond hooped earring slipped out of her ear and connected with his pants, giving his hard-on a disco-ball effect in the strobing lights. To a subset of children in Philadelphia’s Chestnut Hill enclave, he would always beDisco Dick.
That night also started a long and complex relationship with his right hand that Liza had recently reignited.
Gigi slapped his hands away and rearranged his tie. “I hope you can pull this off. I need her to like me. I’ve been trying to manifest powerful sisterhood.”
Dorsey straightened his back. Gigi had never looked up to anyone he was interested in. His little sister was his whole family now, but he was still surprised by how good it felt for Gigi to like Liza this much. “Justdon’tbe yourself,” he smiled at her eye roll. “She’ll love you.”
“I’m headed to the city of brotherly love this weekend to get some love from a brother! What are y’all doing this weekend? Hit me up.”
Booth G was skeletal. A few of Liza’s photos hung on the wall. Hergenerous sponsorwas the only thing keeping her show going.
“While I’m in Philly, check out my live feeds on Instagram! You’ll be hearing reruns here, but if you follow me to Philly, you can get the scoop as it happens.”
“Liza, I wish I had an invitation and half the dresses in your closet. Why are you being so close-lipped about what’s happening?” the caller asked.
“Not close-lipped, just discreet.”
“Liza, you’re not fooling anybody. I have a cousin who works security at that hotel in Philly, and Janae Bennett is on the VIP list for Pemberley Development! Are you going to work out some kind of deal whereweget screwed and you and your family get a new apartment?”
“I’m not making any deals or taking part in any foolishness. Someone gave my granny a prize for her roses, and I’m going to clap when they call her name and leave.”
“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to come out of this smelling like roses while we all get evicted?”
“Faith, sister, as tiny as a mustard seed. That’s all I need from y’all. Let’s take a break and hear from our sponsors, Pemberley Development, who care about our neighborhood’s value.”
Two hours after their flight touched down in philadelphia, the Bennetts and Chicho were bustling through two adjoining suites at the Four Seasons Hotel Philadelphia. Maurice had donated his plus-one to Chicho after Liza begged him to let Chicho come live it up with them in Philly. When Maurice finally relented, Liza noticed the blush on his neck when Chicho kissed his cheek.
The bathroom was a riot of curlers, bobby pins, lip glosses, and eyelashes, and the beds were covered in Janae’s dresses and alternate dresses. Shea butter and all manner of clashing bath and body fragrances wafted in the air. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows was a vibrant city of mostly Ben Franklinstatues. This twinkling city view reminded Liza of that moment in Dorsey’s office—her shallow breathing, his voice in her ear and his chest against her back, that spicy scent that curled around her, and the tender way he had spoken about his mother. Flashing memories of that whole night kept coming back to her at strange times.
She took a selfie next to the window, hoping she could capture the view. Maurice snatched the phone camera out of Liza’s hands.
“Dang, what is that, selfie number two hundred and four? I will admit that Deya turned you from a frog to a human but, my sister, pride goeth before a fall.”
Liza let him take the phone. The truth was that she looked damned good tonight, like some Afrofuturist version of herself. Her hair was braided in a complex, elegant updo that left coils at her nape. LeDeya’s makeup job was dramatic: a cobalt cat eye with shimmery silver liner. Her earrings were the best part, an excellent knock-off of Beyoncé’s ear cuff, where the “diamonds” went from her earlobe up the curve of her ear. She kept trying to get them at just the right angle for the camera.
“Are you wearing that?” Liza asked her brother. She looked up and down at his outfit—a drab sweat suit with large headphones bulging out of the front pocket. “Ma is going to skin you alive.”
“Come on, this is for Granny. And I don’t want them to think they can just steal our Janae and that we’ll be good little minorities. This is a protest!”
