Chapter 36

"It's my money. I can do whatever I want with it. I surely can't take it with me, now can I? I guess you'd rather have me give it to you."

Sylvia's voice was low and harsh. She was speaking to her attorney, Mr. Meyers. She put on a good front, but she was getting weaker by the day. She'd forgone all traditional treatment. No chemo, no radiation. She read where those things would just make it worse. She'd lose her hair and be sick all the time. She'd rather die than lose her hair.

She sat up tall in the large black chair, took a sip of water from the glass sitting in front of her, and waited for a response.

"Of course it's your money," Mr. Meyers replied. "It's just so unlike you, Sylvia, to simply give your money away. I just want to be sure you understand."

"What the fuck does it matter? I won't be here. You'll get your fee. I've always given to charity, and this is no different. I want shelters built in cities where they're desperately needed. I��ve provided you with all the instructions. I then want you to give the remainder of the money, my estate, jewels, paintings, etc., to my half-sister. She can do whatever she wants with it. I've also made an addendum to provide a year's salary to my staff, including the ones I fired unjustly, and Ms. Gomez, who was on my staff at the magazine. Now, I expect you to do everything I've asked. No questions, no debate. I'm fully aware of what I'm doing."

She took another sip of water. She felt as if she was going to vomit. Her stomach churned, and she felt a sharp pain. She quickly inhaled and leaned forward, clutching her stomach.

Mr. Meyer sprung to his feet and quickly walked over to her. "Sylvia, are you okay? Can I do something?" he asked. He was sitting next to her, looking very concerned.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. "No, no. I'm okay. It's just the cancer working its way through my body," she replied. Her voice had no tone, no fight.

He looked perplexed. "Why have you refused treatment, Sylvia? No chemo? It could save your life."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The pain slowly faded away. She inhaled and exhaled a few more times, then slowly opened her eyes.

"Life is a funny thing. Most of us take it for granted. When I was a little girl, I would go with my father. He was tall and strong. My hero. People loved him. He was always helping people. He didn't judge people. My mother was the exact opposite. She judged everyone; it was about social status, money, power. They fought all the time. The yelling and screaming became normal until he died. Then the yelling and screaming stopped. My mother became a different person. It changed her. It changed me. I became like her. So now, years and years later, I finally understand what my father meant when he said he got happiness out of helping people." She leaned fully into the chair and closed her eyes. "I want to do these things. As far as saving my life, chemo and radiation is something I don't want. Now, is there anything else you need from me?" she said, sounding impatient.

Mr. Meyer stared at her. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd been her attorney for the past 20 years. She was mean, cold, and calculating, especially with her divorce. She'd not only taken a very large chunk of his fortune, she took the one thing he truly loved: His magazine. She'd never read it and until the divorce had no interest in his business dealings.

She refused to have children. She viewed children as a burden, something to hold you back. She spent his money and had several affairs. Mr. Meyer never understood why her ex-husband stayed in the marriage, but when she caught him cheating, she unleashed on him. She hired the best lawyers money could buy and took him to school. When the smoke cleared, she'd won.

He left the marriage a broken man. She'd used every trick in the book, including having him sign a very one-sided prenup.

He shook his head no and stood up. "I'll have everything drawn up and messengered to your home."

She shook her head and stood up. "Very good. Thank you. By the way, your other attorney, Ms.

Avery, is she available?" Sylvia said.

He looked at her suspiciously and said, "Yes, she's in her office. I can send for her if you'd like."

"No, just point me in the right direction," she said.

Tallulah stood in her bathroom, looking in the mirror. She fixed her locs and picked up a brush.

It would be her mic.

"Welcome to the first annual Marigold Shelter Open Mic!" she said loudly. "I'm your host, Finesse the Poet."

She stopped and smiled at herself. She'd come up with that name in high school. She never told anyone, but she'd entered a few poetry contests under that name. She didn't win, but she did receive a few honorable mentions.

Tallulah had used the name again in college when she wrote for the campus newspaper or submitted poems to the poetry club's newsletter. She never told anyone it was her alter ego.

She cleared her throat, still looking in the mirror. She then held up the hairbrush. "Tonight, we come together to celebrate the art of the spoken word and the soul of the artist. Now, poetry can be spoken, sung, or played. So tonight, we welcome the poets who have chosen to share their thoughts with us. Because we're artists and sensitive, keep your negative comments to yourself. This is a stage of love, power, and encouragement.

"Okay," she said, "that sounds pretty fuckin' good!"

She walked into the bedroom and picked up the papers she'd laid on the bed. She quickly read through them and smiled. She was as ready as she was ever going to be.

Chloe waded through the bags of beauty supplies in her office. She'd gathered every sample she could find over the past several days. If she was going to do Lily's makeup, she wanted to make sure she had options. She sat down at her desk and opened a large bag. Inside were hair rollers, a blow dryer, conditioners, shampoo, hair dye, and a flat iron. She carefully surveyed everything, and then set the bag down next to her desk.

Her assistant came into the office, looked around, and said, "Wow, you must really be planning to look fabulous tonight!"

Chloe smiled. "Not for me, but for a friend."

Her assistant moved some of the bags sitting in a chair and sat down. She had a smirk on her face. Chloe looked up to see her grinning at her. She shook her head and said, "Okay, April, what's up? You've got a weird look on your face."

"Well, I'm just excited for you. Going out with Stanley Roberts! You are so lucky. You know, I read where he's one of the most eligible bachelors. Girls would kill to be you tonight, Chloe!"

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's not a date. It's business."

April smiled and said, "Well, date or business, you're lucky. At least you don't talk like those ghetto girls, so if you're interviewed –"

Chloe interrupted her. "Come again? I don't sound like what?"

April could hear the tone change in Chloe's voice. She stuttered a little. "N-n-no, I meant you

sound very professional."

"Professional?" Chloe echoed.

"Yeah, I mean, you see, some women on TV, they sound…well…" "Black?" she said.

"No, I just meant you sound…well…"

As Chloe stared at her, she could feel herself getting angry. She wanted to show her just how "Black" she could be. She could hear Zoe's voice in her head.

Sometimes you have to educate those around you.

She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but April spoke first. "Chloe, I just meant –"

"I know what you meant, so please stop talking. I put myself through college. I worked two jobs, held down a full class schedule and excelled at all my classes. I was top in my class. I worked here as an intern for 2 years before I was offered a full-time job. From there, I worked my way up to the senior rep. I sound, as you say, not ghetto. It's unfortunate that an educated Black woman who uses all her vowels and consonants is labeled as sounding white. That's what you meant."

She paused. She was trying to stay calm and carefully choose her words. She wanted to convey a message to her young assistant she wouldn't forget.

"My girlfriend Tallulah always talks about being told she sounds white. In the future, I would appreciate it if you think before you speak. Don't label people by how they sound or look, and don't ever tell any woman of color she sounds white."

April looked down at the floor, then slowly raised her eyes to meet Chloe's. "Chloe, I am so sorry. I didn't mean anything by it, really."

Chloe held up her hand. "Just remember what I said. If you want to keep working with me, you'll need to change your mindset. If this is too much to ask, I'm sure one of the other seniors could use you, or maybe another firm."

April looked at her and nodded her head. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I love working for you. You're the best boss I've ever had. I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended; just disappointed," Chloe said. Her voice was calm but firm. "Now, I need the social media stats from the shelter campaign."

April nodded. "I'll get them right away" She stood up and quickly left the office.

Chloe watched her leave and smiled.

Zoe would be so proud of me, she thought to herself.

Lily sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped only in a towel. She felt nervous and scared. She rocked back and forth, with her arms wrapped around her body. As she rocked, she started singing softly.

I don't feel sorry for you

You say it's never your fault

You're singing that same sad tune

I'm more happy without you

You need to find another home

I'm more happy without you

She stopped rocking and stood up and walked into the bathroom. "I'd better do this now, while I still have the nerve," she said.

She turned on the shower, dropped the towel to the floor, and stepped inside.

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