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She let a saucy smile graze her lips.īreathin’. His father went there and so did baby boy before they closed it down last month. Used to go to Pops around on Jackson, the only place the brothers could go back in the ‘40s and ‘50s, Chantel chimed in. He knows the guys so he’s not new, Joi said. Where has he been all this time? Ella asked again. Joi lit up a Winston and took a long, satisfying drag. He’s nowhere, going nowhere, and I’ve been there and I ain’t going back. Seems to me if I had some fine brother like him scoping me out, I’d give him some play, Ella said, following Joi out to the alley where Chantel, the third waitress at Louie’s, already puffed away. The factory like everybody else in this joint, Joi said. Where did that fine brother come from? Umph, umph, umph. My man Pride with those bedroom-brown-eyes is still checking you out, Ella informed. Special,’ she told Louie as she joined Ella at the waitress station toward the back. Burn three cheese burgers, fries and slaw. The other two agreed.įigures, Joi mumbled, pivoting away from them and slapping the next booth with menus. Oh, man, I wouldn’t eat that mess at home let alone out and pay for it, Shorty teased. Ignoring his smile, Joi moved on to Shorty and the other two. Liver and onions, mashed potatoes and peas, she recited, knowing it’d be easier to tell him than to decipher Louie’s scribble. She had been ignoring his name stitched on the pocket over the Ford emblem for over a week now.Ĭan’t you read? She motioned over her right shoulder to the blackboard. Joi, you looking mighty dandy today, Shorty said. She stood in front of their booth and rubbed her left ankle with the scuffed-up white shoe of her right.
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Just a million bucks, Joi remarked, then asked, What’ll you have today? She patted the pockets of her pink, white-aproned uniform for a pencil and found it perched over her ear. They got nothing on you, Brown-eyes, their new friend, said. Shorty, Goldie and Edgar-the guys this place was built for, Joi thought… and Louie had been serving them for generations. In one motion Joi stuffed the tip into her pocket, picked up her pad and moved in front of some of the lunch regulars who had watched the beautifully coifed, sweet-smelling black women leave. Joi’d heard one of them remark, The place is seedy, but the food reminds me of my grandma’s… before cholesterol worries. Now these luncheon-ladies forsook ambience for good food. Women who used to lunch on linen tablecloths in posh restaurants where ferns flapped in their faces, and a prissy waiter, introducing himself as Sean, recited the specials of the day. This area of Detroit in transition now attracted these new patrons with their imported leather pants, silk blouses, manicured nails and designer bags. Now, she was forced to wait upon the women she should have been. If Joaquin had lived she would have him, a college degree, a career, two children and leisure time to lunch with her friends. She hated when things beyond her control, took control. She was supposed to have been one of them by now, but life surprised her by dealing her a trilogy of terror: the untimely deaths of her brother, her father and her fiancé. They’d taken an hour and a half to eat and lollygagged another forty-five minutes before gathering their overflowing shopping bags and leaving her a twenty percent tip-exactly. Joi picked up the dollar bills and slid the change into her cupped hand as the ladies left. (Tell me whom you love, and I’ll tell you who you are)
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Sabrina Scott (Reina Noir), Los Angeles, CA No two stories are alike or even similar - the one thing her books have in common is her brilliance and ability to draw in and engage the reader so completely that you dread coming to the end." Gunn books I read, the more I want to read.