My finger stops on the bottom of the page and my eyes roll over to her across the walkway. “Really? And exactly what is my type, C? Please inform me,” I challenge her.
“You know…bourgeois—but cool as shit…” she clarifies. “…but, yeah, definitely bourgeois.”
I’m temperamental from this mind-numbing task already. I don’t have time for Chanell’s soft jabs.
“What makes me bourgeois, C? The fact that I know how to spell the word and can tell you its origin?”
“Maybe. No. I mean, I don’t know.” Chanell pauses before inoffensively shrugging her shoulders. “You prissy as hell, is all.”
“Prissy how?”
“Rayna, man, look at where the fuck we at!” Her eyes go big as her head swings gesturing to the boutique. “This is where you prissy fucks shop. It’s all good though. You still my girl, don’t trip.”
“C, you do know you and I come from same type of neighborhood, right?”
“Pshhhh!” she waves her big hand at me. “Get the fuck outta here, man! Just ‘cuz you come from a city don’t mean we come from the same streets, Ray.” She turns back over to the wall with the gown she wants me to see.
“Chanell, where I come from, most of the kids thought if you lived in a single unit house, with no other apartments attached to it, you were rich. Where I come from, if one person in your household had a car, no matter a hooptie or not, it meant you were in a higher class than most.”
“And you was probably in that high class,” she guesses with her back to me.
“No. I was not. I lived in the projects, C, where rats and roaches believed they had just as much of a right to be in your apartment as you. Where I would go out on my porch at night and look for the farthest light, be it a star or street lamp, and say, ‘That’s where I’m going to live when I get my first apartment.’ Where block huggers and ‘bout it chicks would crack your chin if you tried to play them like a sucker. You know, for like calling them bourgeois?”
Chanell almost jumps out of her shoes, turning around to me. “Damn, Rayna! Chill the fuck out. I know you ain’t no sucka! You proved that when them fools tried to rob Divine down in Mexico. Don’t take shit so personal. You know I’m just fuckin’ witchu. You my bitch: ride or die.” She does some type of sacrilegious crossing of her heart and kissing up to the sky. “Yo, remember when we tore the dance floor to that B.I.G. track?”
It take a minute to recall that night at Azmir’s club in Compton. I can never forget the night I possibly met Erin’s father. I never told Michelle about seeing him. I didn’t want to remind her of that horrid New Year’s Day.
“C, what ever happened to that Mikey dude. He was wild that night,” I recollect casually, making sure not to mention where I’d recalled him from.
“I’on’t know. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen Mikey since that night. We used to smoke together, but he stop coming ‘round the way.” Chanell shrugs. “He had his ass handed to him after fuckin’ wit’ Divine’s *, yo!” she jeers. “Nah, I’m fuckin’ witchu. You know you my peoples, right, Ray?”
I roll my eyes back down to the catalogue, not really focusing on anything in particular.
“Rayna, you know ‘dat, right?” she asks. “C’mon, Ray, you know I was just fuckin’ witchu,” she goes on.
I barely hear much of anything else when I shout, “Here we go!”
“No. For real! You know I fucks witchu. I been ridin’ witchu since day one!” She’s losing patience in her tone.
“No, C! Here’s my gown! It’s perfect!” I exclaim as I pound the page with my index finger.
It’s a mermaid cut with a triangle neckline and corded lace. There’s a scallop trim at the neckline, back, and hem of the gown. The straps are thin and the highlight of the gown is the backless design. Similar to the gowns Azmir has been selecting for me, this one is cut low, all the way down to top of my derriere. It’s gorgeous. It’s breathtaking. I’m in love!
“Huhn?” she asks before coming over to me. “Let me see.”
I hand her the catalog as I call to Raheem, the bridal specialist. When I return to retrieve the book from Chanell so that I can inquire about the gown to Raheem, I notice Chanell’s moue.
“What’s that face for?” I ask. “You can’t deny it’s beautiful!”
“Yeah, it’s dope as shit, but can you fit in something like that? It’s showing a lot of skin back there,” she speaks suspiciously.
I roll my eyes as I place the book on the trunk in the center of the room and point the gown out to Raheem.
“Ahhh! The Poipu! This is fabulous, honey!” he shrieks. I give a goofy smile and then turn to answer Chanell.