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kind of sense does that make? She’ll end up a poverty-stricken old woman, tottering around on a cane with that dull-ass Yero at her side and nothing to show for almost fifty years of labor.
    That won’t happen to me. I will not end up as an elderly, destitute black woman.
    To make sure that I never catch the fatal “money doesn’t matter, happiness is what is truly important in life” disease, I generally avoid people (with the exception of Saundra because she is my sister) who already have it. In fact, Randall is the only man I sleep with who is poor but he makes up for that between the sheets. Big time.
    Randall is a twenty-eight-year-old accountant who toils away in the back room at some two-bit firm in Brooklyn. I met him about six months ago at B Smith’s, a playground for black professional men and women. He was dressed in a beautiful suit that he later confessed he’d been saving money for almost a year. He sat down on the stool next to me and we silently appraised each other. After an average “getting to know you” conversation, we exchanged numbers and the rest is history.
    Since then, he has maxed out his credit cards: there’s been a weekend in the Bahamas, exotic restaurants, orchids, Godiva chocolates and cellar wines. CHA-CHING!
    Tonight we’re staying in to watch the Godfather trilogy. I prepared turkey sandwiches, popcorn, and a couple of cold beers. I hope he wasn’t expecting a four-course meal because I don’t cook for any man. They get way too comfortable with that shit. He will be eating Lunchables while he’s dating me unless he decides to play Martha Stewart.
    The hour is approaching eight and he should be here momentarily. I went to the bathroom and I realized my hair was a little frizzy, so I wet it a little to get my curls happening again.
    After I channel surfed for twenty minutes, my doorman announced Randy’s arrival.
    â€œHi, hon,” I said, kissing him sweetly on the cheek.
    â€œYou’re in a great mood this evening,” he said playfully, while walking into the kitchen. “Did something exciting happen at work?”
    My eyes were on the big gold box he placed gently down on the table.
    â€œHuh,” he insisted, expecting an answer.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œNever mind. I bought something for you.”
    I suppressed the desire to jump up and down and clap with excitement. Grinning, he motioned for me to join him as he opened the box. I stood over it with pop eyes as he slowly lifted the lid. To my horror, a tiny brown puppy was asleep at the bottom of the box wearing a big red bow around his silky neck. That’s when I noticed the holes on the side of the box.
    â€œHe’s adorable; what kind of dog is he?” I asked, managing a fake squeal of excitement as I scooped the drowsy pooch gently into my arms.
    â€œA golden retriever. I knew you’d like him. I always think about you being alone in here and I decided to do something about it.”
    Was this supposed to be a guard dog? What an idiot!
    As Randy turned to sit down on the sofa, I briefly pictured him and the dog going back into the elevator and far away from me. But what the hell, he’s a good listener, enjoys sex, and is trying to get some more credit cards to keep me happy. I just hope all his future tokens of affection will be inanimate.
    I took a deep breath and carried my new roommate into the next room.

Chapter 10
    SAUNDRA
    D addy was upset when I told him about Evelyn’s idea. It was a quiet weekday evening and we were watching the big screen TV downstairs in the living room. A commercial that was hawking ridiculously expensive sneakers interrupted a program on the mystery of Stonehenge when I told him about the proposed engagement party.
    He had been reclining in the La-Z-Boy. Now, he snapped the clutch and the chair sprung upright. He frowned at me sitting cross-legged on our plush beige carpet. “Here, in