Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
English sat at the sterile white desk in her office and snatched off her reading glasses. She had a mundane, monotonous job at times, but she loved it all the same. She closed her eyes and massaged her forehead, praying that the up-and-coming headache would take a back seat. It had only been a few hours into her morning, but it felt as if she’d been working for an eternity. Taking a sip of her lukewarm coffee, she sat it back down as ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’ by Queen blasted at top volume from a car passing by outside. She grabbed a book from a stack on her desk, and studied the cover:
‘Our Nig,’ by Harriet E. Wilson, first published in 1859. She opened it carefully, noting that even though it was a nice piece to have in one’s collection, it wasn’t considered collectable by any stretch of the imagination, due to it being one of the republished versions from 1981, proof of such was the introduction by Henry Louis Gates Jr. However, one thing stood out to her: the initials, L.J.
There was also a stamped cluster of grapes in faded red ink on the dedication page. Those stamps were often used in 1982 to mimic a popular postage stamp at the time. Perhaps, Henry Louis Gates had signed this copy himself, and LJ was for Louis Jr.? Suddenly, her cellphone hummed, drawing her out of her pondering. She glanced at her computer screen, seeing over fifteen unread emails, shook her head, and answered.
“You have some nerve.” She cradled her phone closer to her ear. “Stick to betting on the derby, Melanie.”
“Look, I was sincere, regardless of my ulterior motives.” Melanie laughed on the other end. “He’s a catch. I think y’all would be good together.”
“Don’t start…”
“I’m for real. I hadn’t seen Axel in forever, English, or I would have brought him up sooner. You know I’ve been trying to hook you up with someone for weeks. Anyway, there’s a comedy show down here at the bar next weekend, and I wanted to invite you. Feel free to bring others. Tickets are ten dollars in advance, fifteen at the door.”
“I don’t know… I have a lot of work to catch up on, and besides, you may decide to try and hook me up with someone else and place another bet on me, too. Like I’m some horse.”
“You aren’t kidding! Oh my God. You are actually really mad about that, English?”
She couldn’t believe the gall of her friend. “I’m not mad, just disappointed in you.”
“You sound like my mama.”
“Melanie, I knew you were a whole scam artist, but I thought, or I should say, I hoped, I would be exempt from your sidewinder ways. All of these years we’ve known each other, been cool, and then you turn an evening where I’m feeling sorry for myself and vulnerable, into an opportunity. All I was doing was speaking my truth, and then you used it for your benefit. You know you were dead wrong.”
“Why should everyone suffer just because you were? It’s best at least one of us got lucky off your misery!”
“Shut up.” She stifled a laugh.
“You know I’m just playing with you.” Melanie cackled. “Come on, I thought it was harmless. Have you two spoken again? If you have, I got another five bucks coming.”
“I’m not telling you anything, but I will say this: You should know me well enough to understand I wouldn’t like somethin’ like that. You could’ve just told me, like, ‘Look, English. I want you to go out with Axel, and I have some money riding on y’all exchanging numbers.’”
“If I did that though, I would’ve been disqualified and lost the bet. That’s like giving a horse a steroid shot right before the Derby. We bet on a few people that night. I came out victorious. What can I say? Lady Luck was on my side. Now I don’t have to start an Only Fans to support my plans to burn this city down. Don’t nobody wanna see my flapjack titties no damn way.”
English rolled her eyes when she heard her friend laughing on the other end, amused with herself.
“I feel like I’m on the phone with a pimp.”
Melanie began to sing the old 50 Cent song, “P.I.M.P.!”
“If the shoe were on the other foot, you charlatan, you’d be mad.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Bartenders do this all the time. If the roles were reversed, I would just ask for my cut, English. I’m not new to this, I’m true to this.”
“Oh, trust and believe, you owe me, and I will be getting payback. You’ve been watching too many Blaxploitation movies I see. How much did you make off me, you sneaky ass weasel?”
“I prefer to be called a sly fox. Only twenty.”
“Liar.”
“A P.I.M.P. never discusses money matters with her employees. So is this why you’ve not been returning my calls? That’s so petty, English! You can hold a grudge.” She laughed.