D.” Shane stood with his hands clasped together over his crotch, chin up, grinning from ear to ear, looking like he was posing for some 1980s album cover. “She owes me money, anyway. I want my $450 back.” His ‘best rapper of all time’ pose ended as he morphed back into rage. “Come on, King. Shit. Let’s go.” He sucked his teeth then huffed. “You’ve been in here for like an hour.”
“It’s been…” King slowly got to his feet and glanced at his watch, “fourteen minutes. Chill.”
Shane got to smacking his teeth again, turning to and fro in a dramatic fashion. This was one of his best friends. They went back a long time. They’d met at the Harlem School of the Arts and forged a fast friendship. Shane had been quite popular, entertaining, and his dance skills garnered local attention. King had been there for visual arts, drawing and painting and design. He’d made friends quickly though, including many outsiders and people he’d never have thought he’d be cool with. Those had been some of the happiest times of his life.
He placed his items on the store counter and observed Shane messing around with his earbuds out the corner of his eye.
A stern-faced, middle-aged Asian woman with a chunk of her hair sticking up on the side like a broken tree branch rang him up, sneaking peeks at Shane as if she disapproved of him even breathing. He’d dealt with her a time or two before, but much preferred her husband, who was far more hospitable. With a thick, Asian accent, she said, “$33.50.”
“$33.50? No, it comes up to $28.00 even.” The woman’s brows bunched and she shook her head.
“$33.50,” she repeated, as if saying it again would somehow make her words true.
King counted to three in his mind, trying to calm himself, and stared at his tattooed and fisted hand on the counter. First Shane’s bullshit, now this. One by one, he removed the items out of the white plastic bag, and began to rattle off the prices by memory, including the discount. “And this right here is half off.” He pointed to the pack of erasers. It’s $28.00.” Just ring it up right and give me my shit.
The woman’s inky eyes narrowed to slits as her mouth bowed at the sides like droopy cow udders. She angrily snatched the supplies off the counter and rang them again, and threw them back inside the plastic bag. Then, she slammed the bag on the counter with a thud, offering no apologies, no ‘goodbye,’ ‘thank you,’ or ‘come again’ before turning away.
“What is wrong with you?” Shane yelled out at her. She just kept walking, pretending to be busy with the shelves of assorted drawing paper and poster boards behind her. “You’re the one wrong, and got the fuckin’ nerve to have an attitude. We outta call the Better Business Bureau, or Al Sharpton’s lollipop lookin’ ass. He looked better big, but I’ll take him any way I can get him, and boycott this son of a bitch!” The woman turned to him like a viper, said something in Chinese, the tone dripping with evil, then spun back around, satisfied with her retort. “Ching chang chunga munga should’ve hung ya to you too! You ever see the movie, ‘Menace to Society?’ Next you’ll be saying you feel sorry for my mother. We can play that game if you want.”
“Shane, cut it out. Come on, let’s go.”
But his friend would have none of that. He pointed at the woman and railed at her, his voice rising like smoke. She tossed him a nervous glance over her shoulder then began to walk timidly towards the worn red curtains in the back of the building.
“You musta heard your lunch meowing. Sweet and sour Siamese kitty over fried rice!” Shane called out. “Dumb bitch.”
“Shane, shut up. Let’s go.”
“I know you can still hear me. Funny how you pretend you can’t understand any English but know all about these prices. Always tryna be slick wit’ somebody’s money; probably called me a nigga in Chinese. It was better in here when Pete ran this place, before he sold it to yo’ egg drop soup dog meat eatin’ ass!” Someone burst out laughing in the store, but there was no telling who.
All King could do is shake his head as they exited the place and walked to the subway. Once they’d gotten about a block away from their destination on 101st Street, Shane opened his jacket and