Read Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do for Free Online Page B

family. I could just picture them all sitting around the dining room table, twinkling at one another.
    “This place has a vacancy,” he said.
    “It does?”
    He took off his hat and extended his hand. “I'm Blue Hamilton. I own this building.”
    I didn't have to ask why they called him Blue. His hand was cool to the touch, but not rough.
    “Regina Burns.”
    “It's the unit on the left, straight up the stairs. It's freshly painted, reasonably priced, and you'll be completely safe.”
    “How much is the rent?”
    He smiled. “Why don't you take a look at it and, if you're interested, come by my office at the West End News. I'm sure we can work something out.”
    “All right,” I said, remembering the newsstand with the frosted windows. Did he own that, too?
    “Aretha can show you the place and answer any questions you have. If you like it, you can pick up the key this afternoon. How's that?”
    “Wonderful,” I said. “The truth is, I was standing here hoping there was a vacancy in this building just before you came outside, so your timing is perfect.”
    “That's my job,” he said, as the man standing at the curb opened the rear passenger door. “I'm pleased I could be of assistance.”
    Then he bowed slightly, walked over to the car, and disappeared into its black leather interior. The man at the curb closed the door, got in behind the wheel, and eased the car on down the street before I could even say thank you.
    I felt like I had fallen through the rabbit hole and come out into a peaceful place filled with thriving black businesses, industrious black men, a twenty-four-hour beauty shop, and a blue-eyed gangster with a house painter who likes Bob Marley.
    There was only one thing for me to do. Go upstairs and introduce myself to Aretha.

6
    T HE BLUE DOOR LED ME THROUGH a small foyer with four silver mailboxes. The unit numbers were displayed, but no names. At the top of a short flight of stairs were two apartments. The door was open to the one on the left where the Bob Marley concert was still in progress. A woman with her back to me was touching up some detail work around the big front windows with a small paintbrush and singing loudly off-key in the way I do only when I'm sure there's no chance anybody will hear my croaking.
    I hesitated in the doorway, reluctant to startle and embarrass her. I was thinking that whoever named her Aretha must not have heard her sing, when she turned and saw me standing there.
    “Oh! Sorry!” she said, moving to turn down the volume on the boom box in the corner of the room. “I didn't hear you come up. Are you here to look at the place?”
    “Yes,” I said. “I met Mr. Hamilton downstairs. Are you Aretha?”
    “One and the same,” she said. “I'm Regina,” I said, enjoying the strength of her handshake.
    Aretha looked to be in her mid-twenties, tall and pleasantly round with a bright, open face. She wore her hair in a close-cropped afro with three gold hoops of diminishing size in each ear and a tiny gold nose ring. Her small, well-shaped head, delicately balanced on her long neck, gave her the air of a wild swan, serenely confident of its own beauty without taking credit for it.
    “I'm just doing spot finishing,” she said. “I painted the whole place a week ago.” She looked around with justifiable pride and grinned. “I'm a better painter than I am a singer.”
    She got that right. The spotless walls were a very pale gray, as were the rugs. There was a love seat covered in what appeared to be black suede, two chairs, and a small, round coffee table in the living room. Another small table and two chairs, at the far end of the room defined a dining area.
    “I didn't realize it was furnished,” I said, pleasantly surprised. My plan had been to head for the nearest Aaron Rents, but this place looked like an upscale hotel.
    “Do you have your own furniture?” Aretha asked, opening the front blinds, exposing the large windows on the street side of the