“The twelve-inch on this one,” said Clay, “is going to go large.”
Karras had been hoping the conversation wouldn’t go in this direction. The product mix had been the most heated debate subject for the last six months. Lately, they had been bringing in about 80 percent vinyl and cassette, 20 percent CD. No one seemed to know for sure the way the software was going to shake out. On top of that, the rumor mill had the national chains headed toward town. It was a crazy time to be in the music business. And a really crazy time, thought Karras, to be opening new stores.
“Hey, Neecie,” shouted Tate across the store. “Come away from that window, now, hear?”
Tate knew who she was looking at: that boy leaning against the Z, looked like some kind of drug boy to him, across the street. His girl was too young to be fraternizing with young men. She was especially too young to be checking out young men like that one. Far as he was concerned, she’d always be too young.
Denice Tate rolled her eyes and walked toward the men in the center of the store. She was fourteen, tall like her father, and suddenly running more to woman than to girl. Her hair fell in cornrows around a wide and pretty face.
“Denice,” said Cootch, saving her from her old man. “Got somethin’ for you here.”
He pulled a cassette tape from under the counter, handed it to Denice.
“What’s this?” she said, inspecting the unlabeled tape.
“Rare Essence,” said Cootch, “live at Anacostia Park, nineteen hundred and eighty.”
Her eyes widened. “Dag, you got this?”
“First generation, off my personal master. Take care of it, girl, it’s precious.”
“Thanks, Cootch. They say this be bumpin’!”
“They say this is bumpin’,” corrected Tate, and once again Denice rolled her eyes.
“Bumping,” said Karras to Tate. “You dropped your g there, Clarence. Just thought I’d point it out.”
“Thanks, Professor. Was wonderin’ why the boss man keeps your Greek ass around.”
Clay was looking through the window and out to the street, where a fine-looking white woman had gotten out of one of those Lee Iacocca cookie-cutter sedans and was crossing, heading toward the store. Ankle-high black boots with a short, tight skirt, black stockings, a jean jacket over a purple sweater — one of Dimitri’s friends, no doubt.
“Hey, Mitri,” said Clay, pointing his chin toward the street. “What you think about a woman wears shorty boots with a skirt like that?”
“That’s her hookup, I guess. You gotta admit, on her it looks good.”
“Yes, it does.” Clay liked the way she walked, too, not just the hip action, but the determination in her step. “You think she’s lost or somethin’, comin’ in for directions?”
Karras smiled. “No, she’s not lost. She’s comin’ to see me.”
“I’m just messin’ with you, man. I knew who she was comin’ to see.”
“You could tell, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Clay. “She looks like one of yours.”
Clay expected a response to that one, but Karras hadn’t heard the cut. He was already headed for the front door.
Karras chuckled to himself, noticing Donna’s Susanna Hoffs — style haircut as she neared the door. It was the medium-length cut from the cover of the All Over the Place album, not the redone Hoffs look off the new LP. It would be just like Donna to be a little bit behind in her look. But it suited her, that black hair fluffed out, shorter on the sides and hitting her shoulders in the back, the black a nice contrast to her pale skin. She had the thick black eyeliner going today, too. He liked that.
He held the door open for her. She came in, and they embraced. Karras pushed himself into her for a moment, a habit of his, letting her know that he was still all there. Donna broke off first.
“That you?” said Karras, giving her his patented smile, wide and holding, though a bit tight from the cocaine. “For a minute there, I thought it was that Bangles girl walking across that street.”
Donna turned to the side, made forty-five-degree angles with both wrists, did a brief version of the “Walk Like an Egyptian” dance she had seen on MTV. Miniskirted girls were doing it on the floor of Cagney’s and Poseurs and the other new-wave clubs all around town.
“Yeah, it’s just me,” said Donna. “How you doin’ Mr. Karras?”
“Doin’ good. Come on, say hello to everyone.”
Karras introduced her to Cootch, Tate and Denice, reintroduced her to Clay. Clay could hardly keep track of Karras’s women through the years, but this one he recalled vaguely, if only for her face. One of his students back when he was teaching at the University of Maryland.
Clay and Tate returned to their argument about frequency versus size, and Cootch asked Denice if she wouldn’t mind helping him file some new stock into the racks.
Donna and Karras were alone. Donna leaned forward, put her mouth close to Karras’s ear.
“Got something for me?” she said.
“Yeah,” said Karras. “Come on back.”
Marcus Clay watched them enter the back room.
Four
Dimitri Karras pulled the vial from the pocket of his jeans and unscrewed its top. Donna Morgan had a seat on the edge of the sink. It was cramped in the bathroom; Karras took his liberty, brushed the rough denim of his leg against Donna’s stockinged thigh.
Donna pulled her leg back an inch. “Isn’t Marcus gonna know something’s going on?”
“He’s out there arguing with Tate. Believe me, they’ll keep arguing for the next ten minutes.” Karras lifted a spoonful of coke up to Donna’s nose. “Here.”
Donna hoovered it like a pro. “Mmm.” She did a quick shake of her head.
“Another?” said Karras, and she took it in.
“Wow. This is the same shit I’m getting?” Donna pushed her pelvis out to slip her fingers into the right pocket of her skirt. She pulled free five folded twenties.
Karras nodded. “It’s cut out of the same eight ball.”
“Cool.”
Karras fed himself a couple of mounds. He had felt the start of that familiar, sad crash a couple of minutes earlier, and he thought he might as well get back up. He’d be on it into the night now, he knew.
Karras retrieved his wallet, pulled Donna’s snow-sealed gram from the secret place behind the photograph of his mom. He handed Donna the gram. Donna handed him the money.
“I don’t deal,” said Karras.
“I don’t care.”
“I just want you to know, I picked this up from my guy as a favor to you.”
Donna put the gram where the money had been.
“What does that mean, you’re some kind of angel now? You used to sell pot. I can remember that.”
“No one sells pot anymore,” said Karras.
“Well, I appreciate it, Mr. Karras. So does Eddie.”
“You still with him?”
“Uh-huh.” Donna eye-swept Karras. “He’s steady.”
Karras smiled tightly. “Right.”
They heard an explosion. Donna let herself down off the porcelain. The sound did not seem too close, but she had felt a vibration coming through the sink.
“Jesus,” said Donna.
“I know. Sounds like someone had a wreck or something out on U.”
“We better—”
“Yeah.” Karras had the vial out of his pocket again before Donna could step around him. He hadn’t been around her for a while, and now that he had her here he didn’t want to see her go. “Want another taste real quick?”