Let That Be the Reason: A Novel - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Vickie M. Stringer is the author of Essence bestsellers, including Imagine This, Let that Be the Reason, Dirty Red, Still Dirty, and Dirtier Than Ever. She is the publisher of Triple Crown publications, one of the most successful African American book publishers in the U.S. and abroad. She has been featured in such prominent news media as The New York Times, Newsweek, MTV News, Publishers Weekly, Vibe, Millionaire Blueprints, Writer's Newsweek, Black Expressions, and many more. She lives in Columbus, Ohio, with her two children.

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Let That Be the Reason

One

“Hello, may I help you?”

Click.

Ring… ring.

“Hello! May I help you?”

“You got any girls that speak Greek?”

“No!”

Click.

What did he mean by that?

It was my first day answering the phones—my phones. I could not believe I had actually started my very own escort service.

I was living in a very expensive two-bedroom apartment with my only child, my beautiful son. He was seven months old at the time. My stacks of bills were getting taller and taller by the day, but there was no help from his father or his father’s family. It was rough. I refused to ask for help from my own family because I had too much pride. When I was forced to go on welfare, it broke my spirit, but my son needed medical care. So I did what I had to. I was struggling to maintain the lifestyle I’d had with his father, Chino. Which led me right to tricking and the escort service.

Chino was a self-made millionaire. Okay, maybe not a millionaire, but he was paid. He was a big-time drug dealer, so we had plenty of material things and a ghetto-fabulous lifestyle. That came to a harsh end, and now he has a new wife and a new life.

Chino and I had been owners of an exclusive, full-service hair salon that we built from our vision… our dreams. The space we rented was in an up-and-coming shopping plaza on Columbus’s east side. It started as drywalls and cement floors. I can remember the excitement we felt as we watched the salon take shape and evolve into the vision we shared. On a daily basis, I walked the square footage of the salon planning, dreaming and envisioning what it would become. By night I browsed magazine layouts with the desire to duplicate the sleek images on the pages. With passion and complete faith, I communicated my particulars to the contracting team.

After months of hard work, our salon was finished—its black-and-white color scheme blended with state-of-the-art salon equipment to form our stylish yet practical enterprise. We included everything a salon should have: European-style shampoo bowls with padded recliners, marble countertops and inlays to hold hair products, silver cage towel holders and brass magazine racks placed within reach of the clients seated at the dryers. We installed individual oversized dryers with see-through hoods, which lined the west wall of the salon. In the reception area sat an oversized black lacquer desk with a fresh-cut flower bouquet. To show our clients that we appreciated them, we placed a counter stocked with complimentary snacks by the entrance.

Our salon was fit for the pages of a trendsetting magazine. It was the first of its kind in Columbus, Ohio, something the city had never seen. And we did this together. One could not have succeeded without the other. We were a team, and L-O-Quent Hair Salon was our dream. A dream that came true.

One of my numerous opening duties included wiping the fingerprints and smudges off the windows from the faces pressed against the glass the previous night of people peering inside to behold the transformation of the salon. We put over $50,000 into that place. Well, he did, because after all, it was his money. But it was my sweat and stress that pulled it all together.

I can remember Chino and me in the salon, when we had it all finished. We were alone, holding hands and walking around feeling the rush. Chino said, “Look, Pooh, we did it!”

Breathlessly I said, “I know, it is so beautiful. Thank you. Are you proud?” I always needed his approval. His opinion was everything to me.

“Pooh, I am so proud of you. It looks great. Let’s put on some music.” He turned on the Sony surround-sound system and jazz floated through the air.

After turning off the lights, he took me in his safe and reassuring arms, and we danced on the shiny checkerboard floor. I tingled from his touch and felt as if I were floating. At that moment, success was already ours and I knew there were even more remarkable things to come. The business partnership was only one facet of our commitment to each other. We knew that together, the sky was the limit. Chino and I even hoped to open an all-inclusive day spa if L-O-Quent was successful.

I became accustomed to the financial and emotional stability he offered, and to top it off, we had been discussing marriage. I was on cloud nine and ready to seal the deal. Pammy and Chino together forever. Whoever said that forever meant for life was a damn fool because my “forever” ended sooner than later.

I began noticing a change in Chino. He began to distance himself from me and what we had created together. I figured he was under a lot of stress and hoped that what he was going through was only temporary. After all, I was his Pooh.

Three years later, my whole life came crashing down. I sold my dream salon for only $20,000. A small fraction of what it was worth, but I was thankful for even that price since I had no money left. During our breakup, I allowed the salon to fall apart. Everything was jeopardized; the phone, lights, water—all threatened to be turned off. But the staff kept working, anticipating my return to work. I refused to go in and was unwilling to take phone calls from the stylists seeking answers. I had none. Unable to face them and deal with my situation, I walked away.

The breakup was humiliating. I escaped to my mother’s home for solitude, and I let go. I recklessly sped through money like everything was a bad dream and wasn’t real. I wanted to believe that my Chino wouldn’t do this to me. Not to me! We had everything, or I should say, he had everything. I was just the temporary beneficiary. After Chino left, to add more fuel to the fire, he refused to give me any support at all. Bastard! Alone for the first time in many years, I needed to learn to budget and to pick up other commonsense skills I had not developed under Chino’s controlling rules.

How could he be so cruel? I have asked myself this many times. How could he be unwilling to lend support to his son? Whatever the circumstances surrounding our breakup, he should not have allowed our child to suffer. That was not the man that I had fallen deeply in love with. This Chino was a stranger to me. His cold indifference toward my situation made me feel like I never meant anything to him, and that the child we shared was nothing more than an inconsequential result of a night’s passion. He was obviously punishing me by withholding support, but why?



“Chino, I can’t deal with this shit! Bitches callin’ the shop looking for you. What’s up with that?”

“What are you talking about? I’m right here, right now, with you. I can’t even walk in the door without you stressin’.”

“Darling, it’s three motherfuckin’ a.m. What am I supposed to say, ‘How was your day?’” As easily as he had come into our home, he snatched up his coat and car keys to leave. Not wanting him to go but to stay and discuss how we had come to this, I asked the obvious: “Where are you going?”

“Out!”



As much as I was overwhelmed by feelings of vulnerability, I was even...