Plunge

She stood in front of the brick wall leaning on the lightpost. Arms folded beneath her breast. Thinking. Peering down, her eyes followed the second hand. Tick. Tick, Lizah’s watch glowed. She liked visiting The District Mall before sunset. The cloud’s enveloped the sun in shades of purple, black and blue. Lizah watched citizens, large and small, end the work day. Size equating to the space they occupied. Lofts. Cubicles. Storefronts displaying affordable clothing for wage workers. Once filling space there. She stared at the awning smiling at Bambas Boutique. Mr. Jacket cleaned the necklace resting on the headless mannequin. No body. Just neck. Dabbing the studs with Bambas Cleaning Solution. He liked his coffee black. No sugar. No cream. Starting each morning with the District Tribune. He’d spend one hour reading an article from each section of the paper. Mr. Jacket liked staying in time and ahead of it. Educating young workers on the value of current events. Expanding one’s knowledge. Vocabulary. Lizah reminisced while watching teenagers work, carrying his coffee at the start of the evening shift. Remembering conversations coupled with classic hits circulating the boutique, she was grateful for him. His wealth. 

Second and fourth Saturdays were for fundraising. He’d allow Lizah and her best friend Mel to host events at the boutique to earn extra money. Fashion centered. He oversee’d their ideas, keeping things protected.  In order. Four years employed at Bambas felt like a spring of opportunity. Lizah and Mel paid their college tuition with the earnings. Mr. Jacket loved seeing young people win. Priding them in education. Ownership. Entrepreneurship. Lizah and Mel gave Mr. Jacket ten percent of their earnings after every fourth Saturday's show. Not from obligation, but appreciation. The only contract shared was one of integrity and respect. Grateful for the money and energy they brought to his boutique. Keeping things fresh. Current. Mr. Jacket didn’t have children, biologically. The youth were. Especially those he employed, developing under his tutelage.

First generation born, his parents immigrated from the Bahamas. Instilling ethics in labor and language. Mr. Jacket spoke four languages. Occasionally pretending he didn’t speak English when belligerent customers came into the boutique. He liked to joke, using pranks to catalyze their exit. Black and white portraits of his parents playing with him in the sand hung decoratively on the walls. Lizah loved posing under the one with Mr. Jacket running down a narrow street wearing shredded jeans. The innocence. Laughter. Despite the two decade age difference, he maintained his youthfulness. Making him relatable. Loved by many. 

It had been five years since she last spoke with Mr. Jacket and two years, Mel. Lizah worked at The District Clinic as a receptionist for two years. Earning money became her primary focus; however, Mr. Jacket livened her. She’d sit, soaking the memory of what it felt like to earn money doing what she loved. Long hours at the clinic kept her mind busy. Distracted from her desires. She had nothing to complain about. Lizah was making a steady income. Bills paid. No debt. Credit card or school. Her life was looping in cycles. Cycles of predictability. Lizah knew life was more than fine machinery. Reinvention?

Lizah, the fly seamstress. Mel, the detailed designer. They dreamed of opening their own Boutique. Yet, after college, Mel’s boyfriend died from COVID. Poor combination of the virus and pneumonia. Lizah scheduled doctor visits with return slips for fourteen days. After their second no show, she knew something wasn’t right. Post funeral, Mel wanted to take time before jumping into another long term commitment. But it wasn’t just any ole commitment, they’d spent eight years planning. Organizing fashion shows. Hoping. Dreaming. Lizah, introducing them at a design mixer for freshmen creatives. The rest was history. Nonetheless the anxiety of Zy no longer being in the picture frightened her. They lived together while attending District Fashion U.

 She missed her friend. Living for something more than the mundane. The District Mall was a place of structure filled with spontaneity. A place she could feel a bridge between potential and possibility. Live inside outward.

Lizah knew she could speak to Mr. Jacket about anything and he’d be glad to see her. Considering the new generation of fresh youth, she didn’t want to impose on their ideas. Opportunities in the works. Lizah and Mel had a portfolio for costuming, “Broadway,” “Movies,” “Fashion for Paris Runway” and local designs for stage productions. Epic. Exquisite. Exclusive.

Air soft. Wind giving way to the humidity. Lizah swiped her hair from her forehead and walked toward St. Nickels compass. She walked in a slow circle gazing at the tips of each star pointing toward the double layered circle that encompassed all five points.

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to bother you. My name is, Loe. My loft is the top one on the right” he pulled out a card. “I’m an architect and photographer. I’m seeking models to capture lifestyle images within our properties. For sales. You’re beautiful. Do you model?” 

“Thank-you, I have some experience in the field. More on the designing side, though.”

“Clothing. Fashion,” Lizah continued. 

“Are the buildings contracted through you?”

“Yes! Started in real estate. My company builds the properties we develop for profit,” he placed his hands in his pockets solidly standing. “So can I buy you a cup of coffee. I’d love to chat more,” Loe assertively smiled?

“What’s your budget,” Lizah softly interjected?

“Five thousand with the commercial property.”

Lizah rotated the card in her palm, “I’ll give you a call by the end of the week.”

“Excellent,” Loe winked.

Lizah continued down the escalator stairs. Pondering if Loe’s offer was an opening for the excitement she craved. Lizah unlocked her phone using her thumb. Scrolling through her contact list she tapped Mel’s name. Call went straight to Voicemail.

“Hey, Mel! It’s Lizah. Haven’t heard from you yet. It’s been two years and I hope you’ve been taking care of you. Call me. I have some news that may excite you.” Lizah hung up the phone considering what Mel had been doing exactly. She hoped her message didn’t seem overbearing, like she was trying to point her in a particular direction. But she was. The direction of her dreams. Lizah refused to push. Instead she dropped hints. Reminders that life could still be what they imagined.

Lizah stepped off the escalator steps, heading toward the train. Drums transmitted sound waves as quickly as the next approaching train. Waiting for passengers to exit, she pressed her hand along the black rubber line, applying light pressure so the doors didn’t close before she entered. Lizah gazed at her reflection through the window. She watched men in bold colors lay down tracks to a new trail line coming in the fall. Everything symbolized newness. Direction.

Lizah placed the key in the whole, pulling the gold lever down to open her apartment door. She tossed her keys on the wooden entry table. They landed slightly in front of the photograph of her and Mel at the tip of the runway with Mr. Jacket center, holding up their arms. Bouquet of flowers in the outside arm of Lizah and Mel. It was their final show at Bambas before they left for college. Lizah poured a glass of grape juice and sipped it. Staring at the smudge print of her lips, she had an idea for a new T-shirt design. Part living space, part fabric studio, her home reflected beauty in its shape, size and color. She punched two small holes into Loe’s business card, placing it inside the rotary of nameless faces. Some she recalled. Others not so much. Framed designs etched in the finest fabrics outlining designs hung on the wall. A runway gallery of sorts. 

Lizah grabbed her sewing machine and Provence soft black cotton fabric, weaving the thread as she angled the shirt under the needle. She pressed the footer as she would the gas pedal in her jeep. Determined.

☙

Lizah pushed the circular glass doors leading into The District Clinic. 

“Hey, Lyze,” Nurse Yetta greeted holding the clipboard for a patient waiting to give blood at the start of his visit.

“Goodmorning, Yetta,” Lizah cheerfully placed her leather drawstring balloon purse inside her employee cabinet.

“Nice bag. Did you make that,” Yetta jotted the serial numbers down on her patient’s waist band?

“Yes, 100% leather,” Lizah smiled with a ‘You know this’, grin.

“I wouldn’t expect anything different. You need to get back to designing. Open up your own boutique or something,” Yetta helped her patient by the arm, assisting him to stand upright before walking into the room.

Lizah organized the hospital files by color, beginning with Medicare and Medicaid insurance, ending with premium insurance coverages from private companies. As she placed a senior file in a green folder, she stapled a yellow follow up slip at the top corner of the intake sheet. A line began to form.

“What a beautiful surprise. Didn’t expect to be greeted with this familiar face,” Mr. Jacket knocked his knuckles along the desk making a hip beat.  

Immediately recognizing his voice, “Mr. Jacket, Goodmorning! What are you doing here, you never get sick,” she hurried around the counter to give him a hug before briskly returning behind the desk to assist patients waiting in line.

“Meeting with the Board and VP of Women’s Health. New group of youngstas want to lead a women’s event focusing on inner health, ‘Beauty Inside Out,’ they call it.”

“Sounds wonderful. Keeping things in order like always,” Lizah placed her arms on her hips, slightly tilting her head. Half smiling. “Let me get you checked in,” she typed on the computer screen confirming his arrival. “You’re all set, Mr. Jacket. I’ll be sure to stop by,” Lizah assured. Reflecting. Feeling alive.

“How can I serve you, Ma’am,” Lizah patiently waited for the elderly woman to unfold her documents taped to a white envelope?

☙

Lizah began setting her table in The District Farmers Terminal. It was Summer Community Day. Theme: Love. She made twenty t-shirts with metallic glitter lips painted in different bold hues. Lips plump. Full. Angled as a woman biting her bottom lip. “Oh Taste & See,” written in circular italics. Supplementing each shirt were platinum mirror bags and pins with carnation flowers. Considering Yetta’s suggestion, Lyzah decided to make two exclusive balloon leather bags. One red. One orange. The premium bags resided inside baskets surrounded by oils, butters and tea candles matching the color of each purse. Displaying her design through a powerpoint, she continued adorning her table, reflecting quality. Sensuality. Wholesome love. Citizens shopped and vendors continued setting up for the day. A day notable for tourist attractions.  Fresh apple pie leered casual pedestrians to the terminal.

Mel approached Lyzah’s table as she kneeled to extract the retractable banner from its case. Noticing a woman standing wearing light blue flare jeans, ruffle vintage belly shirt, Lizah said, “Be with you in one sec.” 

“Take your time,” Mel stared at Lizah’s leather bag display and t-shirts.

Recognizing her voice, Lizah shot up, “Mel…., Mel, oh my gosh…. I’ve been calling you.”

“Lizah!” Their eyes met in rapid appreciation yet Mel was distant. Hesitant. They embraced. 

“I got your message….guess it was meant for me to deal with avoidance, huh,” she looked around, slightly escaping eye contact? Lyzah was good at reading her and it wouldn’t be long before she could hide in part truths.

“The bags, Lizah…. Top notch,” she formed an ok sign with her index and thumb fingers. 

“Thanks, Mel. How about you stay? Help me sell them,” Lizah felt her conflict between the current reality she built and the one she knew she wanted. It required a choice. Dreams over fear. Excuses. Time was on their side. They had nothing to lose but everything to gain. While it was a day reflecting something she lost, Lizah thought it equally a day of celebration of life. Choosing not to pry or bring up Zy, she hoped Mel would maximize the opportunity to grow in her first love. Fashion. Unconditional friendship.  

“You gonna be here all day,” Mel scratched the brim of her nose? 

“No, I’m leaving at two,” Lizah peered into her eyes signaling her not to pass the moment. They laughed. As Mel always did, knowing that look of accountable measure.

“I just want to go home….Freshen up a bit.”

“Hmmm….mmmm…What time will you be back,” Lizah playfully placed hands on her hips?

“It’s ten now,” she looked at her thin rhinestone watch. “Give me until twelve-thirty,” she continued.

“Twelve-thirty,” Lizah repeated.

She watched Mel’s pace shift between briskly walking to jogging. Urgency. Foretelling of her silent anticipation; even if it had been expressed incrementally. 

Lizah bit into her sliced apple pie. Rolling the warm apples and cinnamon nutmeg custard around her tongue. Both sweet and nourishing. Scooping the remaining crust with her fork, Loe and three of whom she thought were his friends slowly walked through the crowd. Spotting Lizah in a vintage sundress with a straw hat, he walked over. 

“Good day to you,”

“Loe, wonderful to see you again,”

“Still thinking of the offer,” he leaned forward to speak so his voice didn’t blend with the music.

“Yes, my business partner will be arriving at twelve-thirty. If you’d like, I can introduce you.”

“Business partner,” he eyed her table fingering through her designs.

“Yes. Double the pleasure. Double the beauty. Double the fun,”

“So that means double the fee?”

“You guessed right.” They simultaneously chuckled. 

“I like you, Ms-”

“Lizah,”

“Quick,” he asserted. 

“Twelve-thirty?”

“Twelve-thirty,” he agreed.

Lizah entertained onlookers while Mel strided wearing pink flowy pants and a matching halter. Fanning herself with a custom foldable silk fan, its bamboo patterned prints of a pink poised ostrich reflected her long smooth legs.

“Mel, here’s the price list. You look good girl,” she snapped her fingers. “We have a photoshoot next week with a realtor. Five thousand a piece,” Lyzah concluded in her business voice.

“Lizah, wait….What? One thing at a time.”

“It is. This. Then that,” she pointed to the high rise building standing above the others. Beaming. Encased in the city.

“Five thousand,” Mel looked intently? “Five thousand,” she whispered. “Okay let me think about it. In the meantime, let me grab some kiwi punch.”

“Punch…. Kiwi. You haven’t had that since college,” Lizah smirked. “See, aren’t you glad you came,” Lizah continued.

“One. Thing. At a time,” Mel said apprehensively, smiling..

Time lapsed into mid-afternoon. Lyzah stood wrapping a gift for her customer. Giving her a complimentary scented antique candle and affirmation style log with her purchase. Mel assisted, holding the scissors in place before stripping the ribbon. It coiled. Spiraling in bouncy shapes. 

“Twelve-thirty passed but I’m still on time,” Loe whispered behind his hand!

“On time for a purchase and business,” Lyzah quickly responded. They laughed. “Mel, this is Loe,” she introduced.

Extending her hand, Loe grabbed gently, gazing into her eyes with interest. Feeling an energy stream through her body like electricity, she held his hand while it caressed hers. Longer than either expected. 

Lizah escorted them behind their table, pulling out a chair for him to sit.

“This won’t take long,” Loe pulled out his phone.

“It can’t, I have customers and sales,” Lizah looked toward the crowd.

Admiring her class and spunk, he sat uploading a virtual tour of the commercial property he wanted them to showcase. Mel sitting. Contemplating how far the connection could take them. 

“The shoot includes a stylist,” Mel asked?

“Space is empty but we’ll have an interior designer for the day,” they overlapped.

“Yes, there will be a stylist, wardrobe, hair, food…”

“What time,” Lizah asked.

“Six to two.”

“Morning that is,” he continued.

“We’ll be there at five- thirty,” Lyzah firmly shook his hand. Mel standing, gathering the feelings surrounding their interaction.

☙

Lizah rolled her LV cabin designer suitcase up the ramp. Dialing Mel, the call went to voicemail. 

“Mel, it’s five-twenty! I’m on the ramp. Where are you?” Lizah ended the call, waiting two minutes in slight frustration. No shows were coupled with gaps in time. Two years to be exact. She decided to roll into the next phase of her life. Mel would have a reason. Yet, Lizah was unwilling to resolve it in their crucial moment of success. Mel, being punctual. She knew she wouldn’t show for the day. Both answering a tug in different directions. Lizah’s propelling her forward. Adventurously. She pressed the entrance bell leading to the elevator. Ascending to the high rise floor, she watched the city get small, buildings remaining in its structured place. No movement.

“Lizah, good-morning! Where’s Mel,” Loe greeted?

“Something came up. Hope she’s ok, show goes on, right,” she expressed lightly. 

Loe escorted Lizah to the open face kitchen where breakfast was being served. Biscuits with honey. Scrambled eggs, sliced avocado and salmon sushi slices. Fruit. An orange sofa sat on top of a circular white carpet with bar stool tables beneath the diamond led lights. Its thin strip was reflective of a long rectangular earring - making the space modern. Cozy.

“This is Lizah, Cochi,” he introduced her to the hair and make-up stylist.

“Wonderful to meet you,” Cochi shook Lizah’s hand. 

“Does your hair have product in it,” she scrunched her fingers softly along the roots of Lizah’s mane. 

“No, just wash. Blow-dried.”

“Okay! Your hair is nice and thick. Can I trim your ends?”

“Sure, no more than an inch please,”

“You got it,” Cochi wrapped her stylist apron around her waist. Placing her scissors and comb inside the pockets, she thumbed around for her clips.

“You hungry, Lizah,” Loe sipped sparkling apple cider.

“I’ll take some scrambled eggs with a biscuit, please.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Yes, water, please,” Lizah placed her bag down beside the stylist chair.

The golden biscuits smelled as voluminous as they appeared. Full. Fluffy. Honey glaze spread beautifully on its top. Sunny side scrambled adorned with parsley and chives. 

“Thank-you,” Lizah grabbed the plate as Loe gave her an elegant glass of water.

“Cochi, Leemah will be here at eight to start wardrobe so take your time,” he patted her on the shoulders. 

“Ladies, any specialties with music,” he stopped at the top of the stairwell?

“Beyonce,”

“Yea, she always gets me in the mood.”

Loe tapped the button on his ipad. Lizah bit into her biscuit as “Honey” dropped from Queen Bey’s latest Renaissance album. She felt the dough cleave to her body filling all the right places. Soft breasts. Supple thighs. Popping buttocks. Accenting the best parts of her garments.

Cochi parted her scalp gently ensuring no strands fell into her plate. Placing drops of biosilk along her scalp, she softly brushed her hair back, stretching moisture to her ends.  

“You have any children,” Cochi continued massaging her scalp.

“No….you,” Lizah closed her eyes, chewing the biscuit, relaxed in comfort. 

“Yea, teenager.”

“Ahhhh, that’s a tricky stage,”

“She’s a good girl. I’m nervous though. She’s already talking about going to a summer health care program for AP credits.”

“Healthcare. Does she want to be a doctor,” Lizah scooped eggs on her spoon?

“Yup. Gynecologist.”

“That’s wonderful. We need more young black doctors.”

“She works part-time down the street at Bambas Boutique,”

“With Mr. Jacket…. Oh, she’s in good hands,” Lizah said surprisingly. 

“You know him,”

“Who doesn’t…. Mr. Jacket is The District's community gem,” Lizah laughed warmly.

Excitement surfaced from her pelvis, continuing to affirm her choices. Signs signaling Mr. Jacket’s key significance. 

Leemah pulled out a red one piece that hugged Lizah’s curves. Thigh high boots with a shawl sweater jacket that draped her body. 

“Lizah, very nice to meet you! Cochi, hey girl. Can you give me a shape up this afternoon,” she ran her fingers through her honey blonde curly mohawk, tapering her sides?

“You want designs?”

“Ooooh, what you thinking,” Leemah laughed? “Hook it up, girl,” she continued while Cochi looked at her through the mirror.

“Let’s get you dressed,” she grabbed Lizah’s hand.

Strikingly gorgeous, Lizah strutted to the lobby space cultivated in the loft. Cast as an executive working in the office, she posed naturally switching her angles. Business was her element. Especially effortlessly working a crowd. Imagining walking into her boutique, fitting clients for the runway or red carpet, she grounded herself in what was to come. Loe needed ads depicting how the space could be used. 

“I think I found my company model,” Loe joked as the photographer snapped. “Saves time and money. No agency fees for talent,” he continued comfortably.

Lizah placed the clipboard and tablet on the bar stool as the camera man wrapped the final photo. “Take a look,” he skimmed forward. “The colors really make the room pop,” he explained. “Thank-you,” he turned to Leemah complimenting her styling. “Very nice to work with you,” he shook Lizah’s hand, taking a swig of water. Lizah continued toward Loe as he completed writing her check for the day's work.  

“Five thousand plus a gratuity offer,” he held the envelope.

“Gratuity,” Lizah questioned? 

“Yes, I was serious! I’d love for you to be our company model. We have twenty properties within the states.”

“Same price….fee,” Lizah asked?

“Yes. Except the homes. Buyouts are Fifteen Thousand dollars for five of the mansion properties.”

Lizah’s head spun in rapid invigoration. Things were changing at the speed of lighting. Settling her nerves, she said in her professional tone, “Can you be specific regarding buyout?”

“We simply use your image in perpetuity annually. We don’t alter your image, just make adjustments for the seasons. Once we get a buyer, we return the images to you or discard them based on your consent.”

“So the commercial properties are five thousand a season.”

“Yes, give me a second please,” he upheld his hand answering a call.

Lizah’s eyes panned the loft. Thinking of the offer. Her mind racing, immediately shouting ‘YES,’ Her subconscious whispering ‘get all the details.’ Balancing excitement with practicality, she thought of questions.

“So where were we, aaaaah, yes,” he gathered his thoughts.

“Fifteen thousand,” Lizah chimed in.

“Right, the buyouts versus seasonal shoots,” he continued.

“Are you interested in adjusting the gratuity,” she gracefully placed her hand on her hip.

He laughed. 

“I’d like to feature some of my designs in a commercial property. A seasonal open-house in exchange for my fee. A season is four to six months….I really only need one hundred days to get traffic rolling,” she uttered with crisp speed.

A pause. State of intrigue. He liked her pitch. Catching her drift, Loe nodded “Sounds like a deal. I’ll have my assistant contact you so we can get it in writing.” Extending his hand, he said, “Wonderful working with you. Feel free to stay. Lounge with the ladies. I’ll be in contact,” Loe bit into a granola almond oatmeal cookie. 

Lizah walked up the staircase doing the math, “$15,000 for 5….that’s $75,000. Okay….then $5,000 for 5….that’s another $75,000.” “ONE HUNDRED FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS,” Lyzah slowly mouthed. She annually made thirty-five thousand at the clinic. Double the money for half the time as a receptionist.

“Lizah, you were working that camera,” Leemah complimented, licking the cheese twists residue from her finger.  Cocshi smiled in agreement. “I’m going to wash my hands. You can keep the suede thigh high boots but the one piece and shawl, place on the hanger near the clear garment bag,” she respectfully instructed.

☙

Lizah left the loft, immersing herself into The District’s streets. Feeling elated, she grabbed a mug from Mr. Jacket’s favorite coffee house. Filling it to its max.

Lizah pushed the door open as the bell rang signaling entry.

“Mr. Jacket,”

“Twice within one week. What do I owe the pleasure,” he said kindly?

“Just a hug,” Lizah wrapped her arms around him, squeezing in appreciation.

Spotting her favorite childhood portrait of Mr. Jacket, she pointed, “Is that one of your new workers?”

“Yes, she’s leading the “Beauty Inside Out,” symposium. Standing fashionably dressed in some shorts, sandals and v-neck blouse, Lizah watched her talk to customers at a distance, feeling her ‘Yes’ come full circle.

“How’s Mel,” Mr. Jacket sipped his coffee?

She looked at the clock. It’s red second hand moving. Tick. Tick….

“I don’t know,” placing her elbows on the plexiglass counter, Lyzah rested her chin in her palms.