Page 10 of Church Girl
Why yes, I am justifying me lying and being sneaky.
“So where was this interview at and with who?”
I sigh, thoughts of the past few hours snuffing out any positive feels. “You remember that I signed on with that nanny service?”
Tamara nods. “And the temp agency. And you’ve been submitting applications to every grocery store between here and the Gold Coast. Yeah.” She squints at me, jabbing the spoon in my direction. “I’ve told you repeatedly you don’t have to worry about getting a job right away. I’m not trying to kick you out. There’s more than enough room here for both of us, and shit, half the time, I don’t even know you’re here.”
“Here” being her beautiful apartment in the South Loop neighborhood of Chicago. For all her talk in that motel room back home, Tamara wouldn’t hear of me posting up in an extended-stay motel. Speaking of motels...
I don’t know what I expected, but given the, uh,modestmotel I found her at in Alabama, I figured her apartment would be nothing exceptional. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The spacious three-bedroom, two-bath condo sits on the sixteenth floor of a towering high-rise. Wide, high-ceilinged rooms that seamlessly flow into each other, hardwood floors, free-standing fireplaces, and a whole wall of glass that faces east and offers a breathtaking, panoramic view of Lake Michigan, Museum Campus and Soldier Field. Out of all the rooms, ironically, her kitchen is my favorite. It’s not as big as the one in my childhood home, but the amenities make up for the lack of space. Glossy wood cabinets, quartz countertops on the breakfast bar and counters, a marble backsplash and top-of-the-line appliances that need a master’s in engineering to operate. It’s beautiful.
My cousin is living her best life as “Jade” down at Inferno, the strip club where she works. She pays her bills, owns her condo and the newest Audi A8, and always looks like she just rolled up out of a salon. I can’t lie: I’m trying to be like Tamara. Well, not the stripping part. Aside from the fact that I don’t have the guts to strut out on stage mostly naked, I can’t dance to save my life. I blow that stereotype about all Black people having rhythm out the water.
But she’s gorgeous, confident, self-reliant and doesn’t give a damn what people think or say about her.
That’s admirable.
That’s powerful.
I shrug, lifting my hand and studying my cuticles. The acrylics I’d gotten on my wedding day were long gone, leaving my nails short, unadorned. “I know, but I want to contribute. It’s important that I do.”
She doesn’t ask why; she and I come from the same place, the same family. She understands why.
Tamara shrugs, scooping up more banana pudding. “Whatever. So, back to your job hunting. Where’d you go? And I hope you Uber-ed. God knows you’re not familiar enough with Chicago to take public transportation.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I took a rideshare. I had an interview for a nanny position, but I had to meet the father at his job. It was a tattoo shop over in Irving Park.”
Tamara slowly straightens. Setting the bowl and spoon on the coffee table in front of the couch, she studies me for several long moments.
“One, why didn’t you tell me you needed a ride? I would’ve driven you. Irving Park is damn near a half hour away from here. Too far to Uber. I thought you wanted to save your money,” she points out.
“In my defense, I didn’t know it was so far.”
“Uh-huh. You didn’t seem to have a problem asking me to bring you with me to Chicago, but now you have an issue with asking me for help. If something happens to you, that’s gonna be my ass. So for my ass’s sake since it’s literally my moneymaker, stop being too proud.” She cocks her head, squinting at me. “Now, second. You interviewed at a tattoo shop? Which one?”
“King Tattoos, I think?”
“King Tattoos?” Tamara’s eyes widen as she leans forward. “Von Howard’s shop?”
“Yes, that’s who I met with. Do you know him?”
“Know him? Hell, girl, who doesn’t know him? He’s only one of the best tattoo artists in the city. Shit, the country. People from all over come to get work done by him. Including athletes and celebrities.”
“Oh.” I had no clue. But since I’ve never had the occasion to get a tattoo, why would I? “Well, he’s looking for a nanny, but I sincerely doubt that nanny will be me.” I suck my teeth. “He was an ass.”
Tamara blinks, then releases a crack of laughter. “Well damn, Aaliyah. If you’re cursing, he must’ve really rubbed you the wrong way.” Her lips twist into a smirk. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t give me a chance. At all. His mind was already made up before we spoke.”
She balls up her face. “Did you wear that to the interview?”
I glance down at my white silk blouse with the big bow at the neck and the dark blue pencil skirt. It’s one of my favorite outfits, not to mention it’s professional-looking. “Yes.” I lift my hands, giving myself another once-over. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Nothing...if you’re going to share the good news of Jesus Christ.”
“Seriously, Tamara?”
