Chapter Forty
Forty
The first Saturday in July arrived bright, hot, and humid.
Inside Jamilah’s air-conditioned life, all was well with her world.
She snuggled up next to Rashad, still marveling how much her life had changed.
None of what happened had been expected: Blair leaving, meeting Rashad, him coming to work at Side Chic’k, them becoming lovers, and now them being in business together.
No one, not a prophet, seer, or tarot card reader, could have convinced her that any part of the life she now experienced would happen.
Ever. Yet here she lay, satiated and satisfied from last night’s lovemaking, with a man who her father not only accepted but respected, proving to someone as nonreligious as Jamilah that indeed there was a God.
Smiling at how good she felt and how fortunate she was to be lying beside this awesome man, she looked up into the eyes that had mesmerized her from the beginning.
“Hi,” she said shyly because he’d caught her sneaking a peek.
He kissed the top of her head. “Sup.”
She chuckled. “Sup.”
He kissed her lips this time.
“Spam and bologna.”
Jamilah frowned, turned to her side to see him more clearly. “That’s what’s up? Spam and bologna?”
“Those are the mystery ingredients in the wonton soup that got me hired at Side Chic’k.”
“Wow.” Jamilah felt like she’d touched the holy grail. “Finally laying bare your secrets. I really am special.”
“Told you.”
“Thank you.” She shifted until she straddled him. “If it weren’t time to get moving and we didn’t have such a long day ahead, I’d ask you to make me happy again like you did last night.”
“Baby, if you don’t want to engage in a duel, I suggest you hop off my sword.”
The two took a shower together, making quick work of washing off last night’s sexual shenanigans.
Knowing she’d be wearing a wig later on, Jamilah pulled her shoulder-length flat-iron into a ponytail, and in preparation for the scorching heat donned a simple, oversize white T-shirt over a pair of cotton shorts that hit just above the knee.
A silver chain with the words Side Chic’k in cursive, a gift from her father on the restaurant’s one-year anniversary, hoop earrings, and a grouping of thin silver bangles were her only accessories.
When Rashad reached for his standard black denim jeans, Jamilah said, “You might want to wear those linen slacks I bought you. It’s going to be crazy hot today.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Said like someone who hasn’t experienced Midwestern humidity.”
Sure enough, even though it was barely seven o’clock, they stepped outside into nature’s version of an oven.
Rashad threw an arm up as though he could shield himself from air. “Man! This heat is crazy.”
“Told you.”
“Wow!”
“Want to go back?”
“Nah, but I might be pulling out that dashiki long before it’s time to go down the Soul Train line.”
Soul Train. Who knew that a TV show that went off the air when Jamilah was ten would now have such an impact on her life.
Even though to break the record the Society of Sisters only technically needed five-hundred and thirty-seven dancers, they had set a loftier goal, one thousand people, to ensure a long reign in the record books.
They had faith that fun-loving citizens from the Show Me State would show up and show out.
Word of their intentions, and the knowledge that the monies raised from the event would go into developing after-school music and arts programs in the city helped boost not only the interest throughout the metropolitan area but also media coverage.
Educational venues from middle school through college responded with participants wanting to dance the line, as had marching bands, sororities, fraternities, dance schools, and personnel from professional sports organizations.
Cities and towns from as far away as St. Louis had inquired about attending and participating.
All of the major news outlets and newspapers had run articles on the upcoming event.
Anna, Monique, and Latonia had been interviewed, along with other members of the committee.
Because they were serving as one of the sponsors and the coordinators for the food truck festival coinciding with the dance line, Side Chic’k and Behind Bars got tons of free publicity.
As busy as it had been leading up to this big day, Jamilah’s jaw still dropped when they exited Paseo toward Vine.
Cars and people were everywhere. Food trucks lined their designated street.
The atmosphere was clearly festive, with many of the attendees already wearing the attire popular in the seventies, eighties, nineties, and early aughts, when the classic television show created by Don Cornelius appeared on televisions across the country every Saturday morning.
Approaching the security-manned barricade, she was thankful for the placard Anna had insisted they take to allow direct access to the alley behind their businesses.
“We’ll get there early,” Jamilah had informed her.
“Not early enough,” had been Anna’s correct answer.
They parked behind their businesses and entered through the back door.
In a short time Rashad had expertly assembled a stellar crew, led by an ex-Cholo gang leader, Tomás Rodriguez.
With tats covering almost every visible part of his body except his face, and an intimidating scar running across his chin, most people would see this young man coming and clutch their purse.
For sure, he’d been a respected figure in the streets of New Mexico where he was born and raised.
Having turned the page in his life and started a new chapter, the man Mr. Turner had introduced to Rashad and Jamilah was funny, smart and a natural leader.
Anyone watching the team work together under his supervision would have sworn they’d done so for years, not weeks.
Tomás looked up and smiled when he saw Rashad and Jamilah. She waved at him but continued through the adjoining door to check on the Side Chic’k crew. Unlike Rashad with Blair, Antonio had had no problem following Rashad’s “bible.” He fit right in with her other employees.
A couple hours later, satisfied that everything was in place and running smoothly, the two changed into their outfits.
Along with matching dashikis, Jamilah donned a large bright auburn afro, ridiculously big hoop earrings and extra-wide mustard-colored bell-bottoms. Rashad cocked an oversize black-striped denim apple cap to the side, paired with that same pattern in a pair of bell-bottoms, and he stuck an afro pick sporting a clenched fist in the leather band holding his locs.
The two were ready for their closeup. Right on!
Less than a minute of walking down the street and around the corner, Jamilah’s jaw dropped.
Rashad stopped in his tracks. Both were expecting a large crowd, but neither was prepared for the sea of people stretching down two blocks and spilling into the side streets.
Red and blue lights signaled a police presence.
“What happened?” Rashad asked.
“I don’t know.” Jamilah pulled out her phone. “Maybe crowd control?” she added, shooting off a quick text to her dad.
Red and blue lights down here. Anything going on?
She placed a hand on Rashad’s arm. “Let’s check it out.”
Moving closer, they heard the buzz and felt the excitement. Rashad moved calmly yet cautiously, placing a protective arm around her, his eyes fully alert and scanning the crowd.
She pulled out her phone to text Anna, but it buzzed in her hand.
Crowd control. Many more than everyone expected.
Jamilah replied with a smiling emoji. Are you here yet?
Later
You dancing?
No
Daddy! It’s the world record!
LOL We’ll see
Anna and Charles were at the sign-up booth, representing the eighties like two who’d actually lived through the era.
“What’s up, LL Cool J!” Rashad and Charles bumped fists, Rashad laughing as he took in the man who’d become a mentor of sorts sporting a fire-engine-red B-boy tracksuit, red Kangol bucket hat, and ginormous faux-gold double-roped chains.
“Hey, Anna.” Jamilah offered a quick hug before stepping back for a head-to-toe. “Who are you?”
Anna feigned having a heart attack. “How dare you not recognize the queen!” She turned to show Jamilah the words emblazoned in gold across the back of a black military-style shirt that she paired with shiny gold pants like MC Hammer wore in his “U Can’t Touch This” video, a classic.
“Ladies first,” Jamilah said, still clueless.
“Hey, bae,” Anna said to Charles. “Jamilah doesn’t know Queen Latifah.”
“You’re Queen Latifah? I know her. She plays on The Equalizer. But she doesn’t dress like that.”
Anna and Rashad shared a knowing look. “Youngins.”
Jamilah looked between the two of them. “What?”
“I’ll tell you later, baby.” Rashad placed his arm around Jamilah’s shoulder and drew her close.
Leon walked up, wearing his standard attire, khakis and a faded T-shirt boasting a picture of a bandanna-wearing Tupac Shakur.
“That’s your outfit?” Jamilah asked skeptically.
“Given I’m one helping to tally the number of line participants, Tupac helping me rep the nineties is the best I can do.”
Considering the importance of his assignment, showing up sans outlandish costume was immediately excused.
“Where’s Blair? And Monique?”
“Blair’s working. She’s hoping to get off early, though, so she can be a part of history. Mom is on her way,” he said as he looked around, “if she isn’t here already.”
The crowd continued to grow. At one point, an excited Juke came up, passing out flyers as he neared them.
“Check this out. Tonight’s official grand opening is going to be fire! A few pro ballers, the KC Chiefs cheerleaders, and the honorary Soul Train dancers all said they’d stop by Behind Bars tonight.”
“I hope you’re keeping our capacity in mind,” Rashad warned. “We can squeeze in a hundred and fifty tops, and that’s both buildings. I don’t want any problems with the fire department.”