Read Unbeweaveable for Free Online Page A

you’re going to try working at other magazines?”
    â€œYeah. I’m going to touch up my résumé and get ready to get back out there.”
    â€œThat’s positive thinking.”
    â€œAnd at least I have a great dress for interviews.”
    â€œSee? You’re thinking better already.”

Bill Cosby’s Chest Hair
    â€œI’m sorry, Mrs. Stevens, but you don’t seem qualified for this position.”
    I stared blankly at his soft white face and shook my head. For the past several weeks I had been on over ten interviews, magazines and newspapers mostly, with all of them repeating the same answer— you’re not qualified. It seemed reviewing the latest literary novel was not something that was desired at other magazines. And the fact that Spirit Magazine was the only place I’d ever worked didn’t bode well for my résumé.
    â€œLook, don’t you have anything open for me?”
    He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and sat back in his black leather chair.
    â€œI’m going to be honest with you, Mrs. Stevens—”
    â€œPlease call me Mariah.”
    â€œOkay. Um, Mrs. Stevens, you don’t have the experience we need right now for our newspaper. New York World gives hard-hitting political and editorial pieces. From what I read off your résumé, your job consisted of reading books and giving reviews. That really isn’t our thing here. We need a copy editor—do you think that is something you’re skilled at?”
    â€œNo. But I’m a fast learner, and I can be trained—”
    He put his glasses back on and wrote something down. Without looking up he remarked that he would call me if something came up for me, and I left his office with a $3,000 dress on and $727 in the bank. I walked outside to a gust of wind that blew my long weave across my cheek, caressing it like how I longed a man would do. I did everything I could think of to save money, but my weave was the only thing that I held on to, it was stitched to my hair, interlocking us together. I was as much a part of it as it was a part of me. It was who I was, my weave, and I refused to let it go. I said as much to Norma over lunch—which she paid for.
    â€œIt shouldn’t be that big of a deal,” she said, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder. “It’s just hair.”
    â€œOf course you would say that— your hair is long.”
    â€œWell, you’ve been wearing a weave for years. Maybe your hair is long, too.”
    â€œNot this long. Besides, my hair is so tight and kinky that it looks like Bill Cosby transplanted his chest hair onto my head.”
    â€œGross. I don’t want to imagine Bill Cosby without a shirt on, thank you very much,” she said, sipping her iced tea.
    â€œSomething has to give. I don’t have enough money to pay my rent next month. If things got really bad, do you think…you know—that I could move in with you and Chris? Just for a little while?”
    Right after we graduated from NYU, Norma’s grandmother bought her a tiny, two-bedroom condo near Central Park. Tall, wide windows encompassed the entire apartment with light, and the hardwood floors shined like new pennies. She immediately asked me to move in, and I was both excited and relieved that I didn’t have to find a place of my own. Life had been fun and carefree then, I was an intern at Spirit , and Norma was just getting her photography business off the ground. I’d still be there if it she hadn’t ruined everything and fell in love with Christopher Rodriguez, a handsome chef that she met at one of the weddings that she photographed. It was love at first sight for them, and he slowly came over to the house more and more. They would sit together on the sofa, snuggled in each other’s arms, while I would be in my tiny bedroom reading, or wondering why the latest man I’d been dating had dumped me. After