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worked that way―sharing, no secrets.
    Her first try at job hunting, she secured a position as a secretary/accounting clerk at Garrett Industries, an aluminum prefabrication company out on Roosevelt Boulevard in Northeast Philly. Dad had bought her a used 1964 beige Volkswagen bug for her eighteenth birthday and promised to supplement her income if she needed help. She doubted she’d need monetary assistance. The job paid a decent salary, another point in favor of going to work, being able to share expenses associated with renting the duplex.
    More to the point, she continued to have nagging qualms about Joel.
     
    Move-in day arrived and her exhilaration constituted more than obvious reasons of having sex with Joel. It was about autonomy, having her own place and paying her own way.
    The moving men delivered and arranged the furniture. She accessorized the rooms, hanging curtains, drapes, and assorted framed Afro-American art she’d acquired from street artists, then unpacked her clothes and other personal items.
    Exhausted, she knew if she sat down, she wouldn’t get anything else done, and she had grocery shopping to do. Joel spent so much time on the road that, by her standards, nothing in the apartment was edible.
    Showered and dressed, she dragged her wheeled shopping basket from the hall closet and walked to the corner market to get something special for their first night together. As she moved through the aisle, making her choices, it occurred to her that Joel didn’t know she could cook. He thought her a pampered, bouzhe princess, so her cooking skill wasn’t a topic he’d have thought to initiate. Wasn’t he in for a surprise?
    She’d been cooking and sewing since the age of ten, and to augment those skills, she’d taken HomeEc the last two years of high school.
    Uh-huh.
    Okay, becoming a perfectionist at cooking and sewing wasn’t the reason she’d taken the class. Her purpose had been to get out of trig and chemistry, classes her counselor was insisting she take. But she wasn’t planning on an academic career, so those courses would’ve been as useless on a resume as twelve years of catechism―didn’t intend to become a nun, either.
    Catechism, trigonometry, and chemistry were right up there with gang skills as useful job-hunting experience.
    Returning to the apartment, she stored the groceries, put water on to boil for angel hair pasta, then put a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge to chill. Her parents had given her a few bottles of Pinot as a housewarming gift, insisting every household should have a variety of beverages to serve guests.
    She wasn’t a drinker, had a beer or a glass of Sangria on occasion. Not so, her parents, who entertained a lot, knew quite a bit about alcoholic beverages, and insisted their daughters learn the etiquette of entertaining. She considered wine was for cooking, which was her intended use for most of the Pinot. Her guests could drink what she had available―Kool-aid, Pepsi, ginger ale, or btob, bring their own beverage. But tonight was a special occasion, one glass of wine would work, because she wanted to impress.
    She sautéed the shrimp in butter, with chopped onions, diced celery, tenderly grilled mushrooms, and one-quarter cup of Pinot. Adding the pasta to the boiling water, when ready, she drained it, set it aside, and whipped up a creamy white sauce. She combined the shrimp mixture and white sauce, sprinkled it with cayenne pepper, and left it to simmer while she set the table.
    Dinner preparations complete, she was eager for their first meal together to be perfect, but doubted food would be the primary thing on Joel’s mind.
    Shucking out of her clothes, she flossed, brushed, and gargled, then took a soothing hot bath. After drying off, she stood at the sink, examining her reflection in the mirror while she brushed her hair then twisted it into a knot on top of her head. She shimmied into navy-blue Wranglers, a pale blue tank top, and spritzed herself