Black and Proud

"May I see Mr. Paul?" I asked her.

"And may I ask who wants to see him?" She stared at my old and torn clothes with disgust.

"Carter, Carter. I used to work for him."

She went to the back to his desk to let him know of my presence.

He arrived eating some Chinese food.

"Hey, Carter, long time no see." He tapped my shoulder.

"Mr. Paul, I have a favor to ask you."

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm going to audition today for a play." I rubbed my hand across my face in mock fear.

"I was wondering if I could borrow some clothes from you."

"Carter, you know I can't lend you some clothes. You have to buy them."

"I know, Mr. Paul, but I have no money to buy them. Please, I will do anything and promise to bring them back to you."

"I tell you what I can do for you. You sweep and mop the floor for me. Then I will give you the clothes you're worth for free," he offered me, having a look at the floor.

I thought about it for a moment.

"Okay, that's fine," I accepted.

"Don't take it personal. It's just business," he said to buck up my morale needlessly.

Broadway On stage, I performed a difficult classical song.

The judges-the director, who was between 40 and 45, and a woman in her late thirties-carefully observed me playing the song as they took notes of my performance.