Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [19]
Windsor was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and pants and didn’t look to me like she’d gained any extra weight. But Windsor had always been a big girl, so who could tell if she’d picked up a few pounds?
“Aunt Toukie, I might have gained a pound or two over the holidays,” Windsor said softly. She looked a slight bit embarrassed, as she was always proud of her shape.
“We all do that, Toukie,” Mrs. Adams said.
“I know good black don’t crack, but I guess it stretches pretty well,” Miss Toukie said, and laughed. I thought she had finished, but then she looked at Windsor and asked in front of everyone, “Windsor, you ain’t pregnant, are you?”
I was stunned. I couldn’t believe Miss Toukie had come out of her face like that. I looked at Windsor. Then I glanced at her father and mother, and then at Wardell. They were all waiting for an answer. I don’t think Windsor had ever lied to anyone, let alone her parents and Wardell. Was she pregnant?
Now, I liked drama, but this was more than even I could stand. I felt sorry for Windsor. She looked like a child who just got caught stealing gum from her mother’s purse. Her eyes moved around the room like she was searching for an answer. Trying to decide between fact and fiction.
“Yes, I’m going to have a baby,” Windsor said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
Windsor’s father put down his coffee cup and looked at Wardell. Mrs. Adams covered her mouth. Wardell glared at Windsor with a tightness in his face. But Miss Toukie had the final words for a little while: “Looks like our family is going to have our first Viagra baby.”
For several moments the room remained quiet and no one, not even Aunt Toukie, said a thing. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep in this house tonight. As much as I wanted to stay and help Windsor, this was her family drama. So I picked up the phone and called the Trump International Hotel and Towers and asked for Megan, one of my dressers from my Broadway days, who worked part time at the front desk. I needed a nice little room for the night, and I needed one quick.
Bart’s Big Day/ A Change in the Weather
I’d had a bad day. I had been on three model calls and I knew I wasn’t going to get any of the jobs. All three clients had thumbed through my book and dryly replied, “Thanks for coming.” It must have been high-yellow Tuesday. On my last call of the day, I heard a couple of models talking about a go-see for a sports campaign at an office located on Fifty-ninth Street near Columbus Circle.
As I rode down in the elevator, I pulled my cell phone from my bag and tried to reach my agency. I wanted to find out why I hadn’t been notified about this potential job. My booker was constantly telling me that if I wanted to do more catalog work, I needed to lose some of my muscle mass. I resisted and sought out jobs where an athletic body was an asset, and now it looked like I wasn’t even getting those opportunities. It was a little after 6:30, so I got the answering machine at the agency. But since I was my best advocate, I decided to take matters into my own hands and started moving toward the West Side.
The evening sky was heavy with snowflakes, some as big as rose petals, falling around me to the ground. The streets were filled with people, and yet a winter stillness had settled over the city. I reached the building on Fifty-ninth and walked into the high-ceilinged lobby. I went to the directory and my eyes moved to the X’s. I had overheard the guy say something about XFL. After a few seconds, I didn’t see XFL listed, but I did see a company called XJI. I walked over to the security guard and told him I was going to the twenty-ninth floor.
“I think they’ve all gone home,” the security guard said. “Who are you going to see?”
I didn’t know the name of the contact, but with my quick-thinking confidence, I said, “Ginger.”
“I don’t know everybody’s name up there, but sign in and go on up,” he said.
I signed my name and rushed to the