“May I help you find something in particular?” a woman’s voice asks.

I’m surprised to see a redheaded black woman about my age standing behind me. She’s just as beautiful as everything else. I want to ask her how long she’s been working here, if she could use some help, and if so, how much they pay. But that would be tacky, and I don’t have the nerve, so I just say, “I’m just looking. What a lovely shop. Everything in here is just perfect.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Let me know if I can help you find anything. We’re technically closed, but I’ll stay open as long as you like, and please don’t feel obligated to buy anything. Take your time.”

That was nice of her. I have my eye on something that has Mama’s name all over it. It’s a bunch of gold grapes sitting in a black lacquer dish. She loves this kind of stuff. I look at the price tag. I can actually afford it. I take it off the shelf, and as I pass another one, filled with lotions, a scent catches me. That’s when the woman comes back over. “That’s Fig Leaf, isn’t it wonderful?”

“It certainly is.”

“It comes in a lotion, shower gel, and aromatic mist. There’s also a candle.”

I look at the price. Reasonable again. “I’ll take the lotion, shower gel, and the candle.”

“I’ll wrap those right up for you. Are you new to the area?”

“No. I live about forty minutes from here.”

“So do I.”

“I live way out in Palmdale.”

“So do I!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Where? What street or avenue?”

“Well, I live right up on the hill.”

“Quartz Hill? It’s nice up there. What street? I know a few people up there. Their kids go to school with my daughter.”

“Well, right now I live in Goode Hill Estates.”

“Oh, then you live in the upscale part of Quartz Hill for real. I know that’s a gated community.”

“I’m not exactly upscale by a long stretch, honey, and if I don’t find a partner soon, I’ll be moving into an apartment.”

“A partner for what?”

“My shop.”

“You mean this is your shop?”

“Yes. It surprises a lot of people. I don’t even mention it to the white folks. Don’t wanna scare them off!” She starts laughing, and I find myself joining her, even though my brain is clicking like ticker tape.

“Why do you need to find a partner?”

“Because I’m going through a divorce and I have to buy my husband out and I can’t afford to run the shop alone. Know anybody?”

“I wish I could say me,” I hear myself say. “But I’m probably going to be going through one, too, and right now I don’t have anything to invest, but can we talk? I mean, can you give me a general idea how much it would take to become your partner? No, wait; don’t tell me. I don’t want to know right this minute. May I have your card? My name is Janelle Porter, I mean Janelle Price. I don’t know if I’ll get anything out of my divorce, but I’ll get my name back at least.”