The Queen of Harlem by Brian Keith Jackson

Author:Brian Keith Jackson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780385505352
Publisher: Crown
Published: 2002-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

·13·

Christmas decorations were strewn across 125th Street like those seen on any Main Street in Smalltown, USA. Music poured from the storefronts and the voice of Donny Hathaway singing “This Christmas” made it difficult to refuse the season.

Niku Henu, the artist, had just moved into a new apartment in Harlem and was having a holiday party to christen the place, and Carmen had tapped me as her date.

“Didn’t Jean-Claude want to go?” I’d asked.

“Look, do you want to come or not?” she snapped.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just get dressed.”

I called for a car to pick us up because the odds of finding a yellow cab in Harlem, at night, were like trying to find a diamond in shit.

Carmen had let me take some of Christopher’s clothes down to my room, stating, “They’re paid for and just hanging there. Someone may as well get some use out of them.” For the evening I went with the basic New York uniform: black turtleneck, black slacks, and a pair of black shoes that I’d charged on an impulse buy.

“Are you ready?” she asked, stepping into my bathroom.

“Almost.”

“You spend more time fooling around with your hair than I do.”

“What can I say?” I said, wiping my greasy hands on a bath towel. “Black hair is hard work.”

“Well, I must say that you are looking good.”

“Thanks. You too. As always.”

Carmen had on a wool pantsuit, a maroon shirt, and draped over her arm was a full-length fur coat. She handed me the coat and turned so that I could help her into it. We walked out of the town house and made our way to the car, which I was certain she would turn away, particularly as one doesn’t normally equate a fur coat with riding in a faux-wood-paneled station wagon. Nonetheless, she climbed in without complaint.

“Was that a present from Jean-Claude?” I asked, referring to the coat.

“No. I bought this myself, thank you.”

“It looks great. But aren’t you worried about people throwing paint on it?” I blew on the coat, watching the fur separate, then settle.

“Please. This is Harlem. Nobody up here is anti-fur. This very second there are women—and a few men—trying to figure out how to get their coat out of layaway before Christmas. And I’ll tell you, if you throw paint on a black woman’s fur, you’ve got an ass whipping coming.”

After a short ride, the car pulled up in front of Graham Court. I paid the driver and we slid out. The building devoured the entire block between 116th and 117th Streets on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard, and though it was in desperate need of sandblasting there was no doubt of its opulence.

“This building was commissioned by William Waldorf Astor and cornerstoned in 1901,” said Carmen as we were let in the iron gates, which secured the building. We walked through the two-story arched passageway with marble columns leading to a courtyard.

The doorman pointed us to the appropriate elevator. “There are eight elevators in this building,” said Carmen, continuing the oral history.

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